#to my soul that refuses to cope with canon...

[loadinghellsing]

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5 . part 6 . part 7

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[howlsofbloodhounds]

cjskncks murder/reaper anon here 😭

the idea started as a crackship. i was joking with my friend how murder's name is murder, and reaper's representation animal is crow, and the saying about "a murder of crows" and stuff (i nicknamed the ship "crowshipping" lmao). later on, it became more serious as i think about how murder's story and possible endings will always revolve around death. he is a reluctant murderer trapped in a constant cycle of killings because his story ("fate") decides it to be so. canonically he can/will never escape his universe. he doesn't have the reset abilities to turn back time, so he will forever be haunted by his empty universe if the human decides to quit. that type of loneliness, his only eternal companion is death, metaphorically of course.

but what if it's not metaphorical? what if death - reaper - is there to witness what murder has done over and over again? to reaper, murder is like the harbinger of death. everywhere he goes, death occurs. reaper has to come to dusttale time and time again because the murdered souls call for him. both murder and reaper are tied together in that sense, by their stories and roles/functions.

i don't know if this is a fluffy ship/duo or not, since i don't know if murder can even see reaper normally? i'd imagine you can only see reaper if you're close to death, and murder refuses to die. but i'd like to imagine murder kinda knows someone (other than his phantom brother) is watching over him in a way.

That’s a sorta adorable dynamic I’ll admit. Someone watching over you, although with the type of person murder is, it might lead to more paranoia than anything at first. Especially if he can’t tell if the feeling is real or a hallucination.

Itd be interesting to imagine their first meeting, or if murder ever manages to leave his timeline and gain an answer. perhaps even from killer, whose whole deal with Resetting has likely managed to meet reaper a few times.

and escape him but thats not that important. killer is a spiteful little bitch, nothing new.

anyway the potential dynamic between murder and reaper is honestly kinda fantastic, especially if you lean into the idea ive seen floating around that murder kinda delusionally believes himself to be the Angel in the prophecy, liberating the Underground and bestowing mercy upon them by not allowing the human to kill them first. a sorta justification for himself.

and hell, reaper is an actual death god, people in real life already worship the gods. it’s only fitting for the supposed Angel of Death to leave offerings for the death God(s), yeah? crow bones. crow feathers. dead leaves and plants. animal skulls already dead.

Reading any myths that Reaper and Grim (Reapertale Papyrus) have told about them. ways to worship and venerate them if you wanna go that route with a murder sans who has managed to somehow leave his timeline.

hell maybe thats how murder manages to cope with what he does to other timelines in aus where nightmare kidnaps him and forces him to work for him. make it dedicated to the Death gods themselves, and maybe his victims who he never wanted to hurt or kill will be lead safely into whatever afterlife exists.

[lana7779]

They look extra gay because I have no chill.

Ot3 rambles under the cut for those interested!

Ever just love three characters so much you decide to make them work despite two of them explicitly canonically hating each other, the other two are biological brothers, and the third pairing has a 15 year age gap?(Wow, that sounded a lot less problematic in my head...)

Anyways!

They're in love, your honour.

All three of them. Between each other. I refuse to see it any other way. (If you don't agree, that's perfectly fine, these are just my personal Ot3 thoughts.)

Break made little Vince's wish come true by reuniting him with his long lost brother. I wonder how much of Vince's wish influenced Break's decision to make Gil his left eye within the Nightray manor. Would he have asked the same of any poor sap he found out in the rain, or did he conveniently do it because he knew the Nightrays held his brother there and it was his way of giving back to this child he was somehow connected with through the Abyss? His ill omened little brother.

Did Vince put two and two together that it was Break who brought him Gil? Did that ever come up in conversation between them? Like "how convenient that I asked you to send anyone matching Gil's description to the Nightray manor and one day Gil just showed up wrapped up in a bow for adoption."

With that said, Vince's childhood was so messed up... so bloody messed up, my heart weeps for him. No wonder he started showing these incestuous tendencies towards his own brother, who was the only good thing in his life. It's his coping mechanism in a sense, to love his brother above anything else so... passionately.

Frankly, Gil is no less messed up because of his own childhood, but he wants to feel needed, and he is certainly needed by both Vince and Break. Reluctantly, and after a lot of soul searching, he accepts Vince for who he is, and of course he accepts Break, which comes with a lot of teasing and pushing him to his limits. Without Break, he wouldn't be half of the person he could be if the other wouldn't be pushing him beyond his limit constantly (as any good mentor should).

And yes, though Break teases Gil a lot about being mopey and useless, he'd never let anything actually happen to Gil and actually only ever has his best interests in mind, at least on a psychological level. So whether they like it or not, they need each other and rely on each other to be at their best. Gil, via cooking for and maintaining Break's health, and Break, via literally pulling Gil out of brainwashed psychosis.

Similarly, because of Break's caring nature, he can't let Vince commit the irreversible, and that finally slaps some sense into dear ol' Vince to recognize that Break isn't the bad guy, and perhaps he never was.

And thus, with this mutual trust, shared by some deep seated trauma between each other, I see them all bonding with each other and forming deeper connections over time that would lead into a healthy relationship.

At first I thought Gil would be the sole key keeping them together and happy, but after finding all the crumbs that support that Vince and Break could very much work with each other as well, yeah, I think that each pair can exist happily independent of each other, but by God is it so much better to just imagine them polyamourously working together.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, this is my first ot3, and I have entirely too many thoughts about them. 💖

[fayedartmouth]

looking forward to reading ur thoughts on obx s4 <3 just finished myself and my heart and soul have left the chat </3 in the worst way possible

I'll just say now -- spoilers for Outer Banks season four for any poor soul who hasn't found out yet.

My thoughts are hard to completely nail down just because they're so deeply emotional, I think. I never believed the rumors -- like fiercely denied them -- because narratively none of it made sense. There was no satisfying narrative arc that allowed JJ to screw up and struggle the way they did in S4 and then end it with his death. As a character arc, it's horribly depressing. This is a character who blows up his entire life in S4 and who literally loses everything he's worked to build -- and it IS kind of his fault. I was convinced that meant the writers were priming him for redemption and the happiest of endings.

However, I misjudged the fact that the writers weren't writing this for JJ's arc. They used his death as a plot device to further everything else, and I don't know, maybe they DID plan it from the start because in the concept of the show, JJ's the reckless, loyal best friend. Killing him off is the plot device they need to bring the story to the fullest fruition and it will be the catalyst for the others to truly realize what their bonds mean. Like I can sketch out the reason narratively -- but it all involves stripping JJ of his personal story and using him to advance the plot.

Which is their choice, I guess?  As writers they can do what they want and it's their show. But it vastly underestimates the investment some of us put into that CHARACTER. It just felt so cruel, to have him basically end up a suicidal mess -- and then to kill him off. He's always been a character who never saw a future for himself -- who believed he was doomed by the narrative -- and guess what? He was. I know I put JJ through hell in my fics, but it's always to fix him and give him the happy ending I want him to have.

Because JJ is so fundamentally broken.  He's got so many issues and he's working at such a deficit. Life has been so unfair to JJ. And this episode season said YEP and used it to take him to the grave. I know the whole logic is that JJ will always take the risk but my goodness. It was supposed to PAY OFF.

And in particular, I hated that JJ was abused and abandoned his entire life. And they let him be manipulated and then MURDERED by his father. They made JJ a victim until the end, and I have real pain over that. He deserved better. Y'all, we deserved better.

I don't know how to talk about the rest because I guess I stopped caring?  Like sincerely, once I knew JJ was dead, everything else was meaningless. Is that bad? I don't care. It's real. I don't mind anything else -- John B and Sarah having a baby is a little contrived but okay. I thought Pope was interesting and I loved his turn for being protective. I liked Mike coming around on JJ but wanted more? I wanted more with how Kie was reacting to JJ's absolute self destruction. I loved Shoupe. I am fascinated by the twist with Luke. I don't loathe Rafe's redemption as much as I thought it would.

It just doesn't matter. The show, for me, is done with JJ. I can't emotionally accept his death, so I reject canon. It's a coping mechanism because this show was my happy place. It was my escape. And I refuse to let them take that from me.

And just also, I'm angry but it's not personal, okay? The writers made the choice they made, and I think it's a dumb choice. I think they failed to realize the necessary arc of that character and it shot their own show in the foot (and, frankly, the heart). I think there will be a decent portion of fans who are done because of this, but I'm sure not everyone is taking it as hard as me. I don't have any thoughts on actors or behind the screen tensions. They will all make the choices they need to make for the reasons they need to make them, and that's their right. So I can be profoundly disappointed and mad and disappointed, but at the end of the day, it IS just a TV show and I don't get to judge people's lives.

All that said -- I'm wordy! -- I will write my own version of S5. I've already been plotting it (with my partner in crime woudsohfiv!). It's going to be long and it's going to be epic and I'm really, really excited about it. I have to write it in order to get over what I've lost here, and it's a healing process for me to let go of canon and make this all my own. I refuse to let them take my escape, so I'll reclaim it any way I can. 

It does mean I'm done, though. There's no S5 (unless I hear otherwise) and it'll be awhile before I'm able to rewatch anything and not feel hollow inside. That is the part I hate the most. It will be almost impossible to enjoy the show the same way because of what they did with JJ, and that is a shame. I was all in with them, I was with them to the end. I was rewatching, buying dumb fan crap, all of it. But I have to create a safe space for myself.

I'm happy to talk more about any of it and the ideas for the fic. But I've rambled on super long as it is. As far as I'm concerned, JJ is ours now. The writers didn't want him, so we'll take him. And we'll give him the ending he deserves.

[broadwayfangirl222]

Alastor and Power

This isn't gonna bit more rambly but I wanted to share my thoughts anyway: I've been thinking about Alastor and his motivation and stuff and the comment Vivziepop and the crew said this comment about him not really caring about power itself. Now obviously that could've been changed in production and he's power hungry now but I'm not so sure. Yes even with the "Guess who'll pulling all the strings!!!!" or "Filled with potential I could guide" lines. I think Alastor is less interested in power and more interested in control. It's a subtle difference but there is one. Like what he tells Charlie about smiles is about maintaining control, or at least maintaining the illusion of control, no matter what situation you're in

Even when Alastor is on the verge of dying in his fight against Adam he refuses to drop the smile/illusion of control

His hatred for Lucifer could be less about him not being the most powerful in the room and more Lucifer being there throws a wrench in his plan (also maybe unintentionally bringing up his own father issues) and potentially making him redundant if he did finally start stepping up and helping with the hotel. Since if it was over power he'd have issues with Charlie too, and other overlords even, if those with more power make him feel threatened.

Him wanting to guide Charlie and her being his ally would be him having the actual control even if he objectively isn't the one in an actual position of power. I've actually seen posts pointing out when he's dressed up in different outfits they're always these more servile, "lesser" positions/roles/jobs than the "main" ones like priest or chef and pretty much how he'd rather being in these kinds of roles since in an odd way there's more freedom, less responsibility/accountability compared to their counterparts (i can't find them though):

Alastor in general despises not being in control or not having all the answers or at least voice in a situation and I think people tend to mistake it for him being power hungry. If he cares about power at all it's merely a way to maintain control. A needed tool than say something he actively wants. I feel he'd pick being able to have to total control of his life vs ultimate power but still having to answer to someone in a heartbeat. His own autonomy and never letting someone else have more control of a situation than him just seems to be a very big part of his story. Him in a soul contract is the biggest thing that has affected him the most. Even down how he's dressed and presents himself is control. Alastor is canonically the name he had when he was alive and still is fully dedicated to the era he was alive. He's not a fan of change at all.

I'm even wondering if this even stems from his fanon/implied backstory of his where his dad being this horribly abusive asshole or whatever potential trauma he had both in life, before he became an overlord or whoever he made a deal with. Husks copes with drinking, Angel copes through sex & drugs and Alastor copes by needing to be the one "pulling all the strings" and having absolute iron clad control over everything and everyone in his life.

[marshmallowprotection]

Vampire fever finally caught me, but as always my mind chooses the path of angst—

And by angst I mean SE Saeran, of course.

So how would my favorite vampire deal with the mixture of guilt and bloodlust? Would he starve himself? Would he absolutely refuse to bite his partner again, even when they implore him to do so because it hurts them to see him suffer like that? I'm so, SO curious.

- Assistant Anon.

At first, he tried to starve himself.

Saeran's self-destructive tendencies are in full-swing.

He wants to destroy himself because he sees no purpose in going on from where he stands. Depending on what happened when he was rescued from that situation he was in, if you were the one to get hurt in the line of fire instead of Jihyun—that would break him.

I imagine he would have built up an image of you in his head, one that imagined you to be indestructible because no matter what he did in a moment of impulse, you would never break. Even if you were human and that meant you could be destroyed, you never felt, so in his head, it almost felt as though nothing could get rid of you, not even him. 

If you got hurt... if he nearly drained you dry... if he hurt your body with any capacity of his brute force?

Well, he would blame himself for it.

You deserve better than the devastation and destruction he brings everywhere he goes. You brought kindness into his world when he didn't know it and even if he didn't deserve it, you still gave it to him readily and he never wanted to put you in a position that would get you hurt. The only reason why he took you was because your blood was so strong, so sweet, and meant for him. 

You were meant to be together, that's what he thought, but after seeing you laying in a pool of your own blood, that would make him want to leave you behind because why would you ever want to be with a damned soul that could kill you at any moment? 

You don't deserve to be damned... to be a monster... to destroy everything you hold dear in a fit of blood lust you can't control. God, he nearly took you away from this world... why would you want to go back into his arms? Get away from him! That's what he screams if you try to come close to him. Get so far away that you can have a normal mortal life!

He can't bear the idea of having been the one to kill you. He can't stomach it.

If he had a stomach, all of its contents would've been expelled the minute he thought about what it would feel like to be the one who killed you.

Saeyoung would have to force blood bags down his throat to keep him alive. That's how bad it would get. But, considering Saeyoung's actions in the canon universe, he already had to be on guard with every attempt Saeran made against his life. This is no different. No glass this time, just blood bags he pays someone off for to ensure his brother is taken care of... since he's afraid of trusting Jumin's offer on the off chance Saejoong thinks something about that when he goes looking.

I imagine that he wouldn't allow himself to feed from you. Even if it was an incredibly desperate situation, he would go out of his way to find something else or just get rid of himself because if it comes between your safety and him becoming a monster, he would rather get rid of himself than have you get hurt again.

It's the same reason why he keeps the tattoo after everything that happened, it is a reminder of what he did and what he was, and as long as it's with him, he can never forget. If he never forgets, then he will always be conscious of his actions. 

He is trying everything in his power to make sure it never happens again, and it is definitely not healthy but it's the only way he knows how to cope with his situation. That's not to say that he doesn't miss the sensation that comes with the intimacy of sharing that moment with you, he does, but to him, it's just... not worth the risk of losing you. 

That is something he's terrified of. 

But, there is a chance... a very small one... that he might let himself drink your blood again. It'll come down to a heated conversation at his worst when he's denying blood bags, and Saeyoung is at his wits end. Obviously, he doesn't want to hurt you, but your blood... the way it works in this universe... it tastes better than any blood... it gives his body the power he needs... way faster than any other blood he takes in.

He will try everything to push you away, but you'll offer your arm up and no matter how much he wants to push it away, you'll keep it in front of him. You were always like that. Even at his worst, you thought about what he needed to survive instead of what you did. It's not a good look for you, but at the same time, he can't deny that kindness in your eyes always made him feel good. 

"Saeran, I want you to take my blood, okay? You're not going to hurt me."

"I could."

"You won't."

"I could."

"But, you won't. Saeyoung's standing outside if that's what you're afraid of. I know you better than that, Saeran, and I know you won't do anything to put me in danger. But if you're so afraid of something going wrong, the minute I make a noise that sounds wrong, he'll stop you. You can't keep denying yourself what you need to survive."

"I can get other—"

"We both know my blood is what your body needs, Saeran. We both know the difference between what happens when you get something for me and when you get it from somewhere else. It's day and night. Let me do this for you. You're not manipulating me to do it, I want to do it."

"...You're insane."

"No, I just love you."

[astragreenwoode]

The Spitfire Curse - Chapter Six

Previous: Chapter Five • Next: Chapter Seven • Masterlist • AO3 Version 

Rating: Explicit(18+ ONLY)

Pairings:  Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC, Steve Harrington x Fem!OC, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Non-specified Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Drug Use, Hypersexuality, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Horror, Slow-Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, Fluff, Slight Canon-Divergence, Fix-it fic

And a special thanks to my beta-reader @take-everything-you-can! Thank you so much for all your feedback and ideas, love!

Chapter Six: Red Means "I Love You"

Word Count: 12,861

Chapter Warnings: Sexual Assault, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Drugging, Disembodied Voices, Self-Deprecating Talk, Hypersexual Behaviors and Thoughts, Language, Confusion, Hallucinations, General Angst

Chapter Summary: Billy had been Maeven's classmate since Middle School but only got to know her at a party at the end of their sophomore year. As treasured as that night was to them both, the current state of their relationship isn't as pretty.

THERE'S A HUGE SHIFT IN TONE IN THE STORY FROM HERE ON OUT. REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES. IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS CONTAIN TOPICS THAT ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU, PROCEED WITH CAUTION OR FEEL FREE TO NOT READ PAST THIS SYMBOL: !*!*!

I feel super nervous publishing this, as it's one of the darkest things I've ever written. This fic is my main outlet for processing all my trauma, so I hope others can understand and appreciate that. Remember to be kind to yourself and do what you need for self-care.

*Originally posted on AO3 on December 20th, 2023

May 1983

The love Billy Hargrove felt for Maeven Mayfield bordered on obsessive.

Growing up, he didn’t exactly have the best example of what real love looks like. One could barely even list his parents as an example. He knew how much his dad loved his mom, even if the way he showed it confused him from time to time. He had pieced it together in his mind that his mom left because she couldn’t handle Dad’s beatings anymore. Neil drove her away from them. It wasn’t Billy’s fault, it was Neil’s.

He wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse, but he sometimes pretended that his mother never loved him at all. At least then, he would have a simple answer for why she left him behind. Knowing how much she cared for him meant she left her little boy with a despicable man, but just didn’t care enough to bring him with her. And he suddenly understood why his dad grabbed women and pulled them back to him; to make them stay.

Eventually, Billy learned to grieve and cope the same way his dad did. He had taken enough beatings from his old man in his short life that the anger and pain that grew inside him only went away when he was inflicting it upon others. He passed his father’s abuse through his heart and soul before forcing that pain upon someone else. And even though Neil refused to show it, Billy knew he missed her as much as he did. Over time, his demeanor grew more cocky and his sense of humor dimmed darker. But he never dared to bring up his mother, lest he get another black eye from his dad that he’d be forced to blame on a sports accident once he stepped inside the school.

Like most High School jocks, sports was a way for Billy to channel all his aggression in a way that no one questioned. Each game played is fueled by rage, aggression, and excitement from both players and spectators. It gave him an excuse; a way out of being seen as a bully. He was well aware that he was a bully, of course. If he could be a different person, he would. But these were the cards he was dealt with by whatever bullshit, narcissistic higher power was in charge. He couldn’t just trade them in for something new. Billy knew he was tainted; born broken. There was no cure for what he was.

And then, Maeven walked into his life, with her long, fiery hair and adorable gap-toothed smile. Billy had seen her around before, of course. She made an impression by being one of the most intelligent kids in their grade once she entered middle school. There were even whispers that she would go on to become Valedictorian once they all entered High School together. But she was also that weird girl who collected animal bones and drew patterns on her arms with sparkly gel pens in class. She was a smartass and a showoff, always the first to volunteer to help the teachers; a goody-two-shoes, someone Billy would never hang out with in a million years. Until she suddenly became a badass out of nowhere. 

In June of 1982, before school was let out for the year, rumors spread that Maeven was arrested for beating the ever-loving shit out of her now ex-boyfriend, Jordan Bernard. Billy wasn’t surprised by this. Jordan always talked big in the locker room about how tight he had two girls wrapped around his fingers, and sometimes his cock. Of course, he stayed quiet about the whole thing, not wanting to admit to his teammates that his broken nose was from a 5’4 freshman girl. But he also seemed ashamed that the situation happened at all, and ended up convincing the police and his father to drop all the charges against her. 

Neither he nor Maeven spoke a word about it, leaving Emily Bernard, his sister,  to spill the beans. Not only did the peace-and-love preaching hippie freak punch someone, but she was arrested as a result.

So maybe Maeven wasn’t a complete nerd or loser like Billy initially thought. That didn’t mean he liked her now. She’d get a free pass from him, sure; maybe even a compliment or two if he happened to catch her in a fight. She ended up getting noticed for being the most aggressive player on the girl’s soccer team, but that was really it. He never thought he’d have to care about her until Susan somehow wandered her way into his dad’s heart.

The following October, after starting his Sophomore Year, Billy noticed his dad was acting differently. Normally, he wouldn’t give a shit about Neil or how he was doing as long as he left him alone and kept the beatings to a minimum. But he seemed suspiciously pleasant when he came home from his job as a security guard at a bank in downtown San Diego. Billy could’ve also sworn he saw him smile, something he had to sit down and process for a moment. He still didn’t dare to ask him what had him so damn happy all of a sudden, as he knew he would probably receive a “mind your own damn business, boy” as a result.

Billy’s only real option to get answers without fueling the fire of his father’s rage was to investigate himself. He drove by the bank, dressed in sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a jacket he otherwise wouldn’t be caught dead in. His dad wasn’t by the front doors like he was supposed to be, but instead chatting up an older redhead woman behind the counter. At first, Billy didn’t really care. His dad fucked around with a different woman every other week, so it wasn’t a surprise to see him sweetening up his next meal before he would eventually toss out the leftovers.

But this was different than all the other women. Neil seemed constantly fixed on her, acting too sweet and sappy for this to just be another booty call. A month after catching a glimpse of her, he came home late one Friday night to see another car parked in the driveway next to his dad’s station wagon. Billy had to park on the street that night as he crashed into his bed, trying his best to drown out the cringe-worthy sex noises coming from the other room.

The next morning, he found himself face-to-face with Susan Mayfield making his dad breakfast, as she awkwardly introduced herself to him. Billy paid her no mind except a quick nod before going back to eat the eggs and bacon he begrudgingly took from her. He didn’t have it in him to admit that her cooking was actually delicious.

For three months, Billy avoided his father and his new shtup like the plague. Neil didn’t ask much of his son, just to acknowledge Susan when she hung out there and not mention her outside of their house. Billy was okay with that. In fact, he could care less. Until he spotted her outside of the regular booty calls and secret date nights with his dad, that is. The worst part? It was at school. Three months after their first, awkward meeting in his kitchen, he finally knew why Susan seemed so familiar. He had seen that shade of red hair on a particular strange classmate of his.

It was only then that Billy took a sudden interest in Maeven. He took a moment to wrap his head around the mere idea that Susan the Buzzkill and Maeven the Freak were mother and daughter. But the more he thought about it, the more it made perfect sense. Both Mayfield women shared the same annoyingly bubbly personality and stubbornness. 

He considered telling her about her mom’s little affair; how the seemingly perfect housewife with the perfect family was sneaking with his revolting carpet stain of a father. Before he got the chance, rumors circulated in school that Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield were getting divorced. Maeven was visibly sour for weeks that the entire grade now knew the details and circumstances of her family drama.

It pissed him off a little bit, sure. Billy would’ve liked to play a part in shattering Susan’s life after she had the nerve to crawl into his. It didn’t matter, though. Somehow, she managed to shatter her life and her marriage without any help. And he had to admit, it made Maeven more interesting. He tried all different flavors of girls; smart, dense, pretty, sporty, bad, good, sluts, and virgins. But nothing caught Billy Hargrove’s attention quite like a good girl gone bad. 

She had always stood out among their peers, of course. Maeven was constantly fidgeting in her seat, drawing on whatever surface she could find, and using every chance she got to talk about animals. She was in waaayy too many after-school clubs, always raised her hand first in class, and was way too proud of herself. Maeven was always such a show-off, a try-hard, a good girl. 

All these years, she was just a familiar stranger. Billy noticed her around and heard about her, but now that he’s seen her in a different light, a flattering light, it was like he was properly noticing her for the first time. He hadn’t expected someone so nerdy and dorky to suddenly be so naturally pretty, as well. The night he formally introduced himself to her ended up being one of the best nights of Billy’s life. And she didn’t know it yet, but it would end up being one of Maeven’s, too.

Melody Chandler always threw the best parties. Her parents were never home; sort of rich nomads, always on trips for both business and pleasure. They just never bothered to include their daughter in any of them. Every week, they’d have her aunt come in and check on her, but for the most part, Melody had free reign to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it. It was a monthly ritual amongst the Newport Student Body to drown themselves in their drink or drug of choice at Melody’s place. It was the place to be.

In the months following her parents’ separation, Maeven had gained a reputation as quite the fox. Billy wasn’t that surprised that she grew up to be a horny little freak, something he discovered she and her mother had in common. He still remembers when she the hottest topic for weeks in seventh grade after their class trip to the aquarium. That night was still so vivid in his head. He wasn’t sure he could forget about it even if he wanted to. 

The night of the field trip, Maeven went to sleep earlier than their other classmates, tired after a day of running around and telling everyone random facts about the fish and aquatic animals. He remembered that her favorite was the sea otter. When the rest of the grade returned to the auditorium to sleep, everyone was shell-shocked to find her humping the stuffed otter she had gotten that day at the gift shop while in her sleep. She was so mortified she ended up crying herself to sleep in front of the fish tanks with her gang of girlfriends who joined to comfort her. While Billy felt incredibly bad seeing her embarrassed like that, he couldn’t deny that the whole experience left him walking away with something new awakened in him. He still thought about it from time to time; remembering that he had never blushed so hard in his life than he did watching her accidentally humiliating herself. Maybe he liked Maeven for longer than he wanted to admit. He wondered f she still had that otter, and if she still used it the same way she had that night.

Melody’s parties eventually became her favorite place to hunt for people to play with. According to most of the jocks, she was a tease; she liked playing with her food and rarely ever took a bite. She enjoyed taking control, pleasing them with her hands and mouth, often leaving them desperate for her to touch them again. If they were really lucky, she’d grind her clothed sex on their laps until they begged her to stop. Only maybe two or three of them could claim that she let them inside her, including Jordan Bernard.

Apparently, she liked messing around with girls, too, but no girl in school was brave enough to admit that. So the rumor remained unconfirmed. That didn’t stop boys from trying to convince her into a threesome with her and their girlfriends. Most of these attempts were followed by a surprise groping of her ass and ended with her throwing them against the lockers and collapsing their urethras when she kicked them where it hurt most. Maeven the science nerd was now bolder, stronger, sluttier, but definitely not as easy as some of the boys she hooked up with claimed.

All this and more were the reasons that Billy now understood why she gained so many nicknames for herself; Iron Maeven, Metal Maeven, Spitfire. That last one was his personal favorite, as it was criminally underused. It was what her Dad called her, something Billy discovered while spying on Susan.

The second to last of Melody Chandler’s monthly parties for their sophomore year ended up being memorable, indeed. After humiliating yet another sleazeball who tried to grab her without her permission, Maeven retired to the poolside lounge chair where she lit up a freshly-rolled joint she got from Madison Gray. You could always tell when it was hers because of how lush and thick they were.

Most people partied inside towards the second half of the night, the wallflowers chilling outside in the quiet of the night by the now calm pool. Melody’s place wasn’t isolated, per se. It was, however, far away enough from town that the stars could be viewed in all their glory. Maeven even caught a glimpse of the Milky Way, naming the constellations the way her dad used to do with her and Max on clear summer nights just like this.

She missed all the tiny beautiful moments that made up the love she shared with her family. Living without it as a constant reminder every day left her feeling hollow. It may not have been the healthiest coping mechanism, but the only things that made her feel whole again were weed and random makeout sessions. Maeven couldn’t just bury herself in her clubs and projects the way she used to. Of course, she still went on regular hiking trips to sketch the flora and fauna of California and find more animal bones, but it just wasn’t doing the trick, anymore.

Occasionally, Maeven would get this feeling whenever she was sad, scared, or worried, that made her feel like gravity no longer applied to her body and that she was being pulled away from the safety of the planet and drifting off into the abyss. It worsened when her parents started fighting, and only grew and grew after their divorce. But the night she finally lit up one of Madison’s legendary blunts, she finally felt safe in her own head, her own body for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

As she inhaled another hit from the blunt, Maeven sunk back into the lounge chair. The warm bliss delightfully fogged up her senses and grounded her to the earth. Everything felt so warm and fluffy, and it still tasted like Heaven despite the grassy, sour flavor of the weed. She giggled to herself.

“Maybe space isn’t so big and scary, after all,” the voice said to her. Maeven silently agreed. It was nice when they found neutral ground even if those times were hard to come by. She furrowed her eyebrows in curiosity and found herself raising her hand.

“What if we could touch it? It’s worth a try.”

Her eyesight blurred the bright constellations and clusters in the sky, almost the same way a blob in a lava lamp would. She wanted to dip her fingers into the Milky Way and use it to paint. But alas, she could only do that once she inquired Madison for some psychedelics. So, Maeven settled for tracing the patterns amongst the stars. Some were the real kind her dad showed to her and Max one night last summer. The others popped into her head with no warning or prompt as her mind wondered if there was more hidden between all the lines that the ancient astronomers already charted.

“Hey there, Iron Maeve-”

Startled by Billy’s sudden appearance, Maeven’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest as she tumbled off the lounge chair.

“AAAH! What the fuck, man?!” she exclaimed, brushing her hair out of her face as she put her half-finished blunt in the ashtray. “You can’t just sneak up on somebody like that!”

“Awww. Are you scared of me, Mayfield?” Billy fake-pouted as he mocked her, leaning down to face her with his hands on his knees. Maeven gracelessly pulled herself back to her feet as she snarled back at him.

“I don’t know. Should I be?”

“. . .maybe,” Billy answered. He honestly had no clue. That all depended on her and how the rest of the night went. Maeven looked him up and down. She wasn’t sure if it was just her or the effects of the weed, but, Goddamnit, was he better looking up close.

“Eh, I think I can handle it.” she shrugged, taking her joint from the ashtray before walking over to the bar by the pool to raid the snacks, thinking the conversation had ended. Billy trailed behind her, observing and sizing her up like a predator as she foraged around the table for leftovers.

“You seem awfully confident for someone getting high at a party alone,” he noticed aloud. By then, Maeven had grabbed the last piece of large, double chocolate cake and ate it shamelessly. Whenever she had the munchies, chocolate was always her go-to snack. As she gulped down another bite, her eyes threateningly narrowed, gently pressing the sharp end of her silver fork right below Billy’s collarbone. Now, he was the one a little bit afraid.

“Do I come over to you while you’re having fun with your keg boys and shame you for the way you choose to party?” she blankly asked, playfully tapping it each time she emphasized her words.

“No?” he laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood while his breath hitched in his throat. God, this girl really was a fucking unreadable freak. But maybe Billy liked that. He wasn’t completely sure, yet.

“Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you did the same,” Maeven pulled her fork back, returning to her slice of cake as if what just happened didn’t at all.

Billy relaxed once he no longer felt the metal against his skin, letting the air back into his lungs. Although he knew he could’ve smacked her hand away at any time, he didn’t want to. He enjoyed the thrill in his body he got from her empty threats. It all felt so dangerous, so hot; maybe he had finally met his match.

“Now that that’s established, will you at least let me introduce myself?” Billy asked as if he was doing her a kindness by waiting for her permission.

“Alright, then, Pretty Boy. What’s your name?” Maeven laughed as she shrugged, taking a seat at the pool bar.

“It’s Billy. Billy Hargrove,” he answered, holding out his hand for her to shake as he sat on the bar stool next to hers.

She hesitated before cautiously reaching for his hand as she tilted her head to the side, her brain still foggy and warm from her buzz. A gasp caught in her throat as Billy tugged on her wrist to brush a soft kiss against the back of her hand, followed by his trademark smile and sly wink. His sudden forwardness sent an electric shock through Maeven’s bones and tickled her spine. Again, was this guy actually coming on to her, or was she too under the influence of Madison’s blunt that reality began to blend with her mind? She hadn’t been properly asked out on a date since Jordan broke up with her.

It took a moment for both her body and mind to catch up when Maeven realized she had been too silent and too still for too long. She still had a role to play. If she jumped in too fast and this guy turned out too good to be true, she’d regret it later. Re-masking herself, she playfully wiped the back of her hand on her dress, faking repulsion before she continued.

“Margaret. I mean Maeven. Mayfield,” she stumbled on her words, her hands moving in many different directions as she talked.. “Well, 'Margaret' is my first name, but I go by my middle name because I'm named after my aunt and two Maggies are confusing. So, I go by 'Maeven.' 'Mayfield' is my last name,”

“Yeah. I know who you are, Iron Maeven,” Billy chuckled.

“Oh. . .okay. . .” she awkwardly trailed off at the sound of her other nickname, going back to her slice of cake as her mind wandered. She didn’t hate the name. On the contrary, it was actually quite an improvement after years of being called a nerd or teacher’s pet. However, it originated from her breakup with Jordan. Every time it was used, she couldn’t help but be haunted by the awful memories that day left her with.

Billy noticed Maeven’s face drop when he used it, Maybe she didn’t like being called that? He didn’t understand why. It was good; it was badass. She always seemed to like it when people called her that when she got into a fight or scored a goal in soccer.

“How’d you get a name like ‘Maeven’ anyway?” he commented, just now realizing that he didn’t really know her; he just knew the version of herself she presented to the world. Billy wanted to know Maeven; her secrets, the parts of her no one else knew about. He had to know exactly why just the thought of her was driving him insane.

“‘Makes it sound like you’re some. . .mythical creature, or whatever the fuck. . .” he trailed off, catching her attention with just a few weird words.

The last hit she took was a while ago, but Maeven could’ve sworn the world had suddenly gone crazy. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine a jock like Billy using the term ‘mythical creature.’ But she rolled with it. Her mind could never really stay on topic for too long, anyway.

“My dad picked it, initially. It kinda. . .has multiple meanings for both him and my mom,” she told him, grabbing the blunt that rested on her plate. She felt she was going to need it if she was going to survive a long conversation with a jock that hopefully didn’t end in a fight. . .this time.

“Oh, really? Care to explain?”

Maeven inhaled, tilting her head up to the sky as she breathed out the cannabis through her nose and mouth. As she opened her eyes, the stars in the sky brightened up like a black light poster amidst her cannabis and chocolate-drunk vision. Her hand tilted to the side, offering the blunt to Billy, which he accepted gratefully.

“My dad was raised Celtic Pagan and my mom’s Scottish Catholic. In the bible, in Hebrew, it means ‘one who understands.’ But in Irish Gaelic, it means ‘sage.’ Which, of course, means the plant, but it also means someone who is a spiritual expert or just very smart in general. And. . .” she trailed off, taking a few seconds to get her train of thought back to its main rail. “. . .it comes from the Gaelic word ‘Meave,’ meaning ‘she who rules,’ or ‘intoxicating.’ In Irish Mythology, Mebh is the Goddess of Love and Desire.”

It took her a while until Maeven realized it was completely silent. Did he leave? She turned her head to the side where Billy was, still sitting as his face twisted to a half-confused, half-curious combo. By now, he had taken another hit. Maeven felt her cheeks light up once it dawned on her that this jock probably didn’t want to listen to her ramble, and the voice crept back in behind her.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. You talked too much. He even had to take another hit to process all your stupid and insane words. That’s it. This is the end of your social life, Maeven. Get ready, because this guy is about to ruin everything once another rumor starts. You should just kill yourself. Right here, right now. You can use the fork! Go on! Do it!”

Once her brain was no longer attacking itself, she broke the silence.

“Sorry. I’m a bit talkative when I get high. I’ll shut up now.” she fake-laughed, turning away to shove the last few bites of cake in her mouth as if it would finally keep her from talking.

Billy laughed, knowing too well that she was talkative even when she wasn’t high. It wasn’t exactly a secret amongst the other kids in their grade that she was the one who participated the most. 

“Holy shit, Mayfield,” he coughed out. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway?” Maeven laughed.

“No offense, but that's. . .a lot of information to process in 30 seconds, dollface.” he joked, unsure if it would be a compliment or an insult in her eyes. She just smiled as she rolled her eyes, leaning over to give him a playful shove.

“You signed up for this, Billy. You asked me about my name and I delivered, didn’t I?” Maeven pointed out, swiping back her joint and taking another hit.

“That you did. It’s definitely a lot better than ‘Margaret,’ that’s for sure,” he observed, not bothering to hide the way he was looking her up and down, anymore. It was a good name; it suited her.

“So. . .I was right, then?” he asked.

Maeven rapidly blinked, bringing herself back from zoning out before taking a sip from her bottle of coke.

“About what?”

“About you being a mythical creature,” Billy clarified. “I feel like you just pitched me a fantasy movie or the back cover of that Tocain book or some shit.”

Maeven narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as she almost choked on her soda. She definitely couldn’t recall seeing that name in the Dewey decimal system or any of her English classes.

“What the fuck’s a ‘tocain?’”

“Y’know, that. . .the guy that. . .wrote the books about magic rings and shit. . .”

It took a moment for the gears to turn in Maeven’s head before she finally connected the dots. She couldn’t help but start laughing.

“Oh, my God. . .are you trying to say ‘Tolkien?’”

“Don’t patronize me, Mayfield! I’m not the fucking nerd, here!”

Maeven started laughing harder, holding her head in her hands as she balanced herself with her elbows on the counter.

“Oh, please! If anyone’s a nerd, it’s the guy who doesn’t know how to pronounce the name of one of the most popular writers of our generation!”

Billy would’ve been offended if anyone else had said that to him. But for some reason, it was different with Maeven. Maybe it was because of how endearing and contagious her laugh was.

“I’m not a nerd, you little freak!” he audaciously chuckled as he jokingly shoved her shoulder, not caring who might be listening for once. “Everyone wants to fuck me ‘cause I know nothing about this Tolkein dude you’re so obsessed with!”

“And yet, I’m the one with the slutty reputation?” Maeven pointed at herself, finally getting a chance to catch her breath as she rubbed the tears of laughter from her eyes.

“There’s just no winning with you, is there, Maeven?” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Oh? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were playing,” she laughed, letting gravity take over her body as she melted off the chair and onto the ground. Her legs felt like jelly. At this point in her high, Maeven couldn’t find it in herself to care. Billy, however, practically jumped from his bar stool to grab her arm.

“Woah there, hey. You doing okay?” he asked, not noticing until now how fast his heartbeat was racing. The last time he saw a woman fall like that, it was his mother. Neil had gotten her way too drunk, resulting in her slipping out of her chair and leaving her with her head bleeding on the kitchen tile.

But Maeven wasn’t passed out and bleeding. She was fine, just drunk. Or high? At this point, Billy was certain it was both. She may have fallen to her knees on the stone flooring, but she didn’t seem too upset about it. She was giggling, and her skin was warm. She was fine; everything was fine. Billy needed to remind himself of that.

“You wanna go lie down or something?”

Maeven softly nodded, leaning against the pole of the pavilion covering the pool bar. She spread her legs apart to keep herself balanced in her black leather boots, drowsily grabbing onto the pole like she was hugging it, catching her breath.

Billy almost let his intrusive thoughts win but resisted the urge to grab her butt. Even if she looked a bit ridiculous right now, accidentally displaying herself like she was ready to be taken from behind, she was drunk. Billy was just glad he was here with her instead of some other dirtbag guy who would’ve probably taken what he wanted from her while she was drunk.

For what was probably the first time ever, Billy ignored the primal instincts to seek sex from this girl. She deserved better than that. He approached her slowly, putting a hand on her shoulder just to let her know he was there. Before he could lead her back to the lounge chair where he originally found her, Maeven stumbled back to the bar to grab her blunt from the edge of her now-empty plate.

Rolling his eyes at her vivacious nature, Billy made sure she had regained her balance before leading her by her wrist.

“Get that pretty ass back in that chair before you hurt yourself, you little animal,” he impishly asserted, prepared to have her lean on him in support if she needed. Surprisingly, Maeven didn’t waste a second flopping back down into the longue chair as if her body melted.

“No arguments here,” she groaned, unpromptedly stretching her body; she stretched her back by keeping her shoulder on the chair and shamelessly lifting her hips up as far as they could go. She also couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling in her stomach at the word ‘pretty.’

Did she seriously not notice how lewd she was being right now? Maybe the weed gave her the extra courage? Billy couldn’t tell anymore. All he could really do was lay down in the chair next to her, cross his legs, and try to conceal how aroused she was making him.

“Isn’t sage that weird plant that witches use in potions or some shit like that?” he asked, suddenly remembering one of the many meanings of her name. If only he could remember math equations this easily, maybe Neil would finally get off his ass about it.

It was quiet for a moment. Maeven had to silently process Billy’s question as she continued to zone out looking at the night sky.

“What? Oh. No. We burn it. For cleansing rituals and to clear the air,” she clarified.

“Like weed?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side. Maeven rolled her eyes as she scoffed.

“No, dipshit. Not like weed,” she laughed, thinking of the right way to explain this to him without sounding like a total freak. “ More just. . .like, to smell good. Like a candle. You can’t get high off it. . .or maybe you can? I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it,” Maeven wondered aloud. Maybe that was something she and Madison could try experimenting with. Would that even work? Either way, there was only one way to find out.

Billy, meanwhile, didn’t feel like he got a definitive answer.  She already seemed pretty damn magical.“So. . .you are a witch?”

Maeven just shrugged, taking another hit of her blunt.

“That’s what people are saying,” she replied, offering her blunt to Billy, which he willingly accepted. This was her favorite aspect of these parties; playing with her food. But tonight, she didn’t want to stop. Maeven couldn’t remember the last time she had such a casual conversation with someone. Even if she was always on edge and suspicious of the guys she met at parties, Billy was the first one in a while that didn’t seem. . .malicious.

“They’re saying other things, y’know?” he breathed out, recalling the many rumors he heard through the Newport High Grapevine. He turned his head to Maeven, handing her blunt back to her as he eyed her up and down “That you go around seducing guys with your magic touch and mysterious powers.”

There it was. Maybe she had gotten her hopes up about this guy too quickly.

Maeven tilted her head to the side and playfully raised her eyebrows, still refusing to give him a definitive answer.“I can neither confirm nor deny any of these rumors, Billy.”

“They also say that you beat the shit out of Jordan Bernard last year. He still denies it to this day,” he mentioned, remembering the day everyone in the locker room teased Jordan for his black eye.

Maeven’s eyes widened as she fought herself from laughing. She knew that their breakup wasn’t exactly a secret, but to say she ‘beat the shit out of him’ was a little much. However, she was pleasantly surprised that Billy seemed to drop the subject once she refused to answer his questions about her. . .body count.

“Oh, no. That’s definitely true,” she laughed, not seeing the point in being in denying any more questions. “I have the burn to prove it.”

“Burn?” Billy cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Maeven tilted her arm and rolled her short sleeve up her arm to expose her shoulder, leaning in to give Billy a closer look. Even if it was coming close to a year of healing, it was still noticeable. The burn mark was about the size of a baseball, maybe even the size of his fist. It was way pinker than the rest of her skin, but it was recovering fairly well; freckles had even started to come back.

“Asshole thought it was a good idea to throw a log from his fire pit at me,” Maeven explained.

When he was younger, Neil often threatened to put out his cigars on his son’s skin. His mother always ended up taking it in his place.  Billy had lost count of how many times his Dad left lash marks from his belt on his back, but he had yet to experience a burn. He was hoping it would stay that way. But he had never met someone else who also had evidence on their body like that until now.

“Shit,” he laughed in disbelief. “Bet you gave his ass the beating it deserved, right?”

Maeven looked back at Billy, noticing the supposed fascination his eyes held, before looking back at her scar. Billy Hargrove was the first boy she met who wasn’t repulsed by the mark when she let it show. He really was full of surprises. She pulled her sleeve back down before getting comfortable in the longue chair again, turning her attention back to the night sky as she continued the conversation.

“I don’t know about that,” Maeven sighed. “It was really just a. . .’heat-of-the-moment’ rash impulse I didn’t think through. I guess I was just. . .mad at him,” she shrugged, tracing the constellations with her fingers again.

“As you should be,” Billy agreed. He had yet to be cheated on. If he was anything like his father, he would be the first one to cheat. He prayed he wouldn’t end up like him, but the whole concept always lingered in his head.

“We both said and did some things that day we regret. But. . .he does seem really sorry, y’know? That he hurt me like that,” Maeven observed, turning to lay down her head toward Billy. She hadn’t had a real conversation with Jordan since their breakup; she didn’t know what to say to him. Every time she tried, nothing came out. All Jordan had to say was how sorry he was and she was sick of it. The memory haunted her every day when they crossed paths in the hallway at school

“You thinking about forgiving him?” he asked her, more curious than anything. Still, he crossed his fingers and hoped she wouldn’t. She was too good for Jordan Bernard, anyway.

“Kinda? Sorta? I dunno,” Maeven shrugged, moving around in the longue so that she was curled up on her side, now fully facing Billy before taking another hit. “Maybe he just feels guilty? Is that really the same thing as being sorry?”

“I don’t think so. Guilt isn’t the same as remorse,” he replied.

Billy Hargrove witnessed the difference between the two in his own parents. His Dad wasn’t sorry that he cheated; he was sorry that he was caught. If he was really sorry, he wouldn’t have cheated, punched, and driven his mother away in the first place.

“I’d forget about him if I were you. Cheaters are the worst. They don’t deserve to be forgiven. . .they don’t deserve love,” he said suddenly, taking Maeven by surprise. She wondered what happened to make Billy so passionate about this, handing out her blunt once more as her way of saying ‘Chill Out, Dude.’

“If I’m being honest?” she trailed off, her buzz making the stars brighter and more mesmerizing than they were before.“Even if I did forgive him, I wouldn’t wanna get back together with him. Not a chance.”

Billy took that as a good sign for himself. He swiped away her blunt from between her fingers for another hit. Maeven didn’t even flinch, too high and too talkative to notice; in her own little world.

“He’s a bit of a douche, anyway. Even if he has changed, you shouldn’t waste your time on him.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I had a good time with him and he, uhmm. . .he taught me a lot. But he’s just. . .not my person.”

All Maeven wanted was to not feel terrible every time she saw him again. Maybe they could even go back to being friends again. Was that really too much to ask?

“Well. . .you’re a pretty interesting person, Iron Maeven. I’m sure you’ll find someone good enough for you.”

“My aunt Maggie said being interesting is all you really need in life.”

Billy always wondered if she was just so self-centered that she liked to hear the sound of her own voice. But watching how she froze up in embarrassment once she realized she was rambling about her name gave Billy a new perspective. Maeven Mayfield had so much going on in her head. She had no choice but to talk until it was no longer crowded in there.

“She’s not wrong,” he laughed along with her as her high was clearly starting to grow to its peak. Billy had to admit that the way she giggled was downright adorable. Seeing the infamous Iron Maeven zone out from her joint was a sight he never thought he’d see, much less enjoy. In all honesty, all the things he found annoying about her suddenly turned adorable.

There was something about Maeven’s voice that suddenly made him want to keep on listening to her ramble. He suddenly realized that her voice sounded so much better when she was high. Melodic and Beautiful.

“When you do find the right person, make sure to hold them real tight and never let them go. You got that?” He was surprised he held her attention for this long with her being so easily distracted. It felt almost like he had hypnotized her or something. Or maybe she was the one who hypnotized him.

Billy became absolutely obsessed with the way she was looking at him, unsure if it was from the high or something else. He had completely forgotten all about the stars at that moment. Maybe she was some sort of mythical creature after all. He was almost mesmerized by it. He hadn’t ever been this distracted by someone before. “Okay. I promise.”

. . .

By the time the sisters had finished unpacking all of Maeven’s books, the sun was now setting over the western horizon. The girls stretched as they stepped out of her room and made their way to the bathroom to brush their teeth.

“Thanks for helping me unpack Squirt,” Maeven said after spitting out her toothpaste and rinsing her mouth. “We can start yours tomorrow,” she promised, patting Max on her head. As she yawned and rubbed her eyes walking out of the bathroom, her little sister pulled her arm to stop her.

“By the way, here’s your night light,” she said, handing her big sister a bundled-up bath towel. “It was in the trash in the bathroom.”

Maeven took the towel from Max, unwrapping it to find her beloved token from her childhood now shattered to bits. It was in the shape of the sun surrounded by a couple of clouds. Susan and Neil made it together when they first found out they were pregnant with Maeven.

“What?” she asked allowed. It didn’t make any sense. Even if she was sleepwalking, why would she throw it away?

“That’s where I found it,” Max clarified, just as confused as her sister. “Did you sleepwalk again last night?” she asked.

Maeven debated on lying, but that wouldn’t help anything. Max would eventually find out, anyway, if she did.

“Yeah. I blacked out,” she softly admitted, trying to hold back her tears. 

Max said nothing back, only walking forward to wrap her sister in a hug. No words were needed to describe how either of them felt about the situation.

“G’Night, Sis.”

“Goodnight, Max.”

As she watched her little sister turn the corner of the hallway to her room, Maeven’s smile dropped before she walked back into her room and shut the door behind her. She collapsed backward onto her bed with a bounce and stared blankly up at the ceiling as her heartbeat quickened.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, shaky and laced with panic. 

Maeven silently cursed herself for leaving Nutmeg behind so easily. Whenever she felt herself panicking at home, she would immediately come sprinting over from whatever room she was in to crawl into her lap. She’d often stand on her hind legs and lean herself into her person’s chest. The sense of deep pressure she applied usually calmed her down. She was their kitty, both to Maeven and Max. Every night as they went to bed, Nutmeg would curl up on top of the blankets with either of the sisters.

Max was insistent that she was safer with Dad in California. The incident where Billy nearly caused a fire after he burnt a stray cat’s corpse played a big factor in that decision. Maeven didn’t blame her in the least. She would be lying if she said witnessing Billy showing no remorse as he set the decaying dead body aflame didn’t put her on edge. Most importantly, Nutmeg would be safe from her.

“You can’t be trusted with another life, anyway. You should call that woman from the store and tell her you’re too insane to watch her son.”

Maeven abruptly sat up, her legs shaking as her toes curled in a rapid wave of spine-chilling, fear-fueled pain. She pressed the heel of her palms against her ears in an attempt to drown out how loud the world became all of a sudden. Her sharp nails sat atop her head and pulled at the roots of her hair, threatening to dig them into her scalp as they pulsed with a terrifying bloodlust to tear into her flesh; maybe if she could do it, she could finally stop overthinking.

“Please. . .don’t ruin this for me,” she begged the dark voice.

“I don’t need to. You’ll ruin it all by yourself,” it laughed at her.

Maeven slapped her own cheek to silence it, even if just for a minute. As she found her bearings and looked around her room, her eye caught the now-shattered night light atop her desk. She could faintly identify splatters of dried blood; an explanation for her bandaged palm.

“Billy was right. You did throw it away,” the voice said as it returned to her side.

“Yeah. . .I guess I did,” Maeven still hesitated, even if the evidence was right in front of her face. It was so hard to look at it. She thought she was getting better. Billy wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t do that. She really did black out and sleepwalk last night. And that only meant one thing; she was getting bad again.

“Too bad it’s broken. Just like you.”

“No, I’m not,” she shook her head, reaching for her water bottle on her table and gulping down half of the sugary strawberry-flavored water that Billy mixed for her. It had more to do with the act somehow calming her anxiety than it did with being thirsty.

“Yeah. . .you just keep telling yourself that.”

Maeven groaned in annoyance as she flopped down aggressively onto her bed. Underneath the soft glow of the Indiana sun, she curiously examined her own hands the way a newborn would. As she fiddled around, running her fingers over the calluses and scratches and weaving her digits together, she didn’t feel like a person at that moment. She sinks down into her mattress as she starts feeling numb. It was as if nothing else existed outside her room painted in the soft glow of the sun.

Maeven eyed her nails, growing just barely past her fingertips. She liked to file them down to make them pointed and sharp, like an animal’s claws. It was another one of those little things that helped her feel safer. She also made sure never to let them grow too long, lest she end up hurting herself when rubbing out an orgasm. The other downside was when she would clench her fists in frustration or anxiety, they would literally cut into the palms of her hands. Having people ask why she was wearing bandages on her palms was an incredibly awkward conversation.

She liked to imagine what it would be like to use claws. She often pictured herself using her sharp nails to cut into herself; to reach deep inside her body, turn herself inside out, and become something else. Something better. It didn’t matter what she would find in there. All that mattered to Maeven was that she was no longer herself, and life would suddenly be so much easier. She wouldn’t mind being a monster, even; anything to be relieved from the pain she endured from just existing, from being human.

This feeling wasn’t new. It started in childhood and only grew the more she ignored it. And this feeling only grew in the last nine months. She wouldn’t admit this to herself, but it made her feel good. The foreboding need to brutally destroy those who hurt her made the pain disappear, even if only for a moment. At the same time, she was scared; she was terrified of losing her mind even further than she already did, and what exactly that meant for her in the not-so-distant future.

As Maeven’s breath started to quicken, she could feel her body getting warmer; it began as a soft flame below her belly, slowly heating up her body so deliciously. It made her squeeze her thighs together for relief, as she curled up on her side and began rolling her hips. The warmth manifested from her womb and spread like wildfire blissfully throughout her torso and limbs. 

On instinct, as if her body was being controlled, Maeven crawled underneath her covers in a blissful haze. Peaking her head out to feel the chilling breeze from the open window, she grabbed her extra pillow from the other side of the bed and shoved it in between her legs as she squeezed it with her plush thighs. The way the skin of her inner legs stuck and touched together always bothered her, but she couldn’t properly say why.

It was a weird occurrence, as she felt as relaxed and dazed whenever she smoked a joint before bed. But she hadn’t even gotten the chance to do it, yet. Maybe she was just tired. That was it. Between checking out her new school, meeting some of her new classmates, having to check in with the Chief of Police, and being berated by her mom at the store, Maeven had a busy day. Then again, if her body was winding down naturally without the extra assistance of drugs, recreational or otherwise, who was she to complain? 

She closed her eyes and willed her brain to sleep, afraid her busy mind would blink it way if she didn’t. After a few moments of fidgeting as she curled up like an animal underneath the oasis of comfort and warmth of her blankets, Maeven’s mind finally allowed her body to lose all feeling and sink deeper into her mattress without a care in the world; slowly, and then all at once. Everything was warm and quiet for her first few minutes of rest, the dark nothingness cradling her in it’s embrace. More often than she’d like to admit, she found herself never wanting to wake up. It was just something to add to the list of things to tell the school counselor. Said list was locked away in her head, and seemed to get longer and longer each day.

“Go on. Do it. You deserve it,” the voice came up from behind her, now turning sultry and inviting. Maeven felt a familiar pulse of arousal between her legs as her cheeks tinted red.

“Mmm-hmm. . .” she whined, subconsciously burying her face into the sheets as she rolled her body to lay on her stomach with her hips elevated by the extra pillow between her legs. She preferred having Oscar the Otter, her favorite toy to “play” with, as opposed to a pillow. But Oscar was still in a box and Maeven's body was so comfortably numb. The pillow would have to do for the night.

“That’s right. Get into your favorite position, you little nympho,” it continued to encourage her.

The feeling of the blankets on Maeven’s bare, sensitive flesh imitated the feeling of a warm hug from behind her from what she could only describe as a monster. It was something she could never tell if it was really there or not; another frustrating side effect of her damaged psyche. But this was one of the only times she welcomed the voice with open arms. 

It wasn’t scary during the intimate moments she shared with herself in the dark of her room. It became seductive and comforting; something that she never really understood, but always relied on at the end of a long, hard day. And when she was asleep, she found that having orgasms came to her easier.  Her record was having five different orgasms throughout the night wash over her with little to no effort.

“So. . .that guy you and Billy met, today? Steve?” the voice reminded Maeven, who felt its looming, heavy presence press its weight against her back.

“Yes?” she suddenly gasped

“He was pretty cute, right?” it purred in her ear, “Tall. I bet he has soft hands. The guy looks like he takes care of himself.”

Steve reminded Maeven of Jordan Bernard before he turned on her; sassy and confident, while also somehow being awkward and shy depending on the day. She noticed the two boys even shared the same eye color. Her hips began slowly grinding against her pillow.

“He was asking you all kinds of questions. He’s totally into you,” the voice teased her, but Maeven wasn’t so easily persuaded tonight. Nancy was also very pretty. Too pretty not to notice. She didn’t have bags under her eyes or bite her lips to the point of bleeding. A girl like Nancy was perfect for a guy like Steve, unlike Maeven.

“It doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend. And even if he didn’t, he still wouldn’t fuck me,” she said, verbally fighting off the beast’s words before it spoke again.

“You don’t know that,” it argued, not willing to drop it and determined to get Maeven warmer and wetter. “He probably would if you gave him the chance.”

Maeven would be lying if she said she hadn’t been thinking about Steve roughly taking her against the locker-lined halls of Hawkins High School. The beast on her back constantly reminded her for the rest of the tour.

“Billy would get too jealous,” she ventured a guess. He tended to be possessive, the reason behind all the bites and bruises she accumulated after they started dating.

“Don’t be so sure, Maeven. You two have fucked around with other people before. You like being passed around, don’t you?”

Maeven quivered at the mere idea of being used as a toy, rolling her hips faster against her pillow and adding fuel to the fire soaking beneath the thin cotton of her underwear. There must’ve been something seriously wrong with her to be into having her body used like that, especially after everything she went through. But that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about it.

“Aw. . .fuck. . .” Maeven gasped out as she rolled her hips, the blood rushing down and sending ever-building waves of pleasure to her clit.

“What about that other guy you saw today? The one coming out of detention?”

“The guy who sells drugs behind the school?” Her breathing was heavy now, whining in frustration as she attempted to visualize. It did have a point; that Munson guy, she thinks that’s right, was pretty fucking gorgeous. Anyone who would dare to say otherwise was dead wrong.

“Yeah. That guy’s definitely into some kinky shit. He had a pair of handcuffs for a belt.”

“He’s a metalhead. It’s part of the fashion.”

“Maybe. But did you see that black bandana in his pocket?”

“Either way, I think he’d definitely be into tying you up,” The beast laughed wickedly, seductively, bringing her deeper into her fantasy and sending her body on autopilot as her brain continued to drift. Again, this was something she absolutely shouldn’t get drenched from. She was disgusted with herself that her mind and body ached for the things she should be afraid of. Nevertheless, she leaned into it; she always did.

“Oh, God, fuck. That’s it. . .that’s it,” she whined out, finally able to paint the perfect picture in her head as she continued shamelessly grinding her clit against her pillow.

“I bet if you let him hit you raw, he’d give you free weed.”

. . .

!*!*!

It had been about an hour since Billy had refilled Maeven’s water bottle. And if he planned the timing and the dosage correctly, which he always did, she should be under her covers humping a pillow or a stuffed animal by now. He wouldn’t dare make the same mistake twice. To be fair, he didn’t think he’d still be doing this almost a year after he first thought of it. Now, it had just become a part of his normal routine. 

Of course, it was no secret that Maeven Mayfield was a horny little spazz. Hell, Billy was living evidence of that; they both wore the bruises and love bites to prove it. But if he thought she was spastic without these drugs mixed into her drinks, he was in for the ride of his life. And this wasn’t just for his benefit. It was for Maeven’s, too.

Maeven didn’t always know what was best for her. As much as she loved making precise plans and carefully following lists of steps, she was equally impulsive and stubborn. In the months following what happened to her last New Year’s, it was like she was a completely different person; angry, self-loathing, irrational. And Billy knew he was partially to blame for that. He over-indulged and enabled her during those months. 

It was fun at first. He thought taking her out to parties and encouraging her reckless behavior helped her grieve what she lost that night. He now knew that if he enabled her any further, it would most likely end in her death. Billy was just glad he was able to stop her and that she got the proper professional help she needed before it was too late.

Who knows? Maybe if he had measured the dose correctly that night, none of this would have happened. Billy wouldn’t have had to put her back together again. He wouldn’t have to slip drugs into her water multiple times a week just to keep her calm. She wouldn’t be a shell of her former self. They would still be in California. Maeven would still be on the honor roll and not expelled. She wouldn’t have to repeat her Junior Year. 

Would his dad and her mom still have gotten married? Maybe if those guys hadn’t been so rough with her, Jordan would still be alive. Maeven wouldn’t have to live with the extreme guilt he knew haunted her every day. She wouldn’t be crippled by the pain of her injuries. But none of that mattered now, anyway. At least one silver lining came out of that horrible night; it brought Billy and Maeven together again, and closer than they had ever been.

As he approached her bedroom, he could already hear her hushed gasps for air and needy whines. Silently pushing the door open, Billy palmed himself through his sweatpants in anticipation. Just as he had planned, Maeven was already under her comforter, blissfully unaware of her surroundings as she ground her hips against her extra pillow. He loved it when he was right.

. . .

In her mind’s eye, Maeven was back in Hawkins High School, being carried like a freshly hunted animal. Steve was holding her wrists so tightly in his grasp that they hurt. Munson held her ankles together as they both carried her down the hallway. Maeven twisted and struggled her body in protest with all the strength she could gather from within, but their hold never loosened. Walking backward, Steve opened the lever handle on the door to the Janitor’s closet with his elbow. Once they were all inside, the boys let the door slam shut. They were planning on letting it stay that way for a while.

Steve was now holding Maeven’s wrists together with just one hand, sliding the other down her body to grope at her breasts through her sweater. She liked to imagine that Steve had strong hands like Billy’s, but possibly had softer palms than him. Nothing about Steve Harrington was threatening. He was definitely intimidating in terms of his size and muscle mass, but his eyes held a sense of vulnerability and tenderness. He’d never touch a girl in anger, unlike others. She could tell.

“What do you think she’s hiding underneath all those layers, Harrington?” Munson laughed, tugging at Maeven’s long skirt as he continued holding her ankles together.

“Only one way to find out,” Steve slyly replied, pointing to the set of handcuffs weaved through the metalhead’s belt loops. “Gimme those.”

Munson didn’t need to be told twice, immediately dropping Maeven’s ankles and hastily removing his makeshift belt. Seeing an opportunity to fight back, she started clumsily kicking into the air as she tried to catch her balance. Steve then forced her down on her knees onto the cold floor, sending a sharp pain through her legs. He firmly, yet gently, trapped her in his arms, pinning hers to the sides of her torso and not giving her a chance to struggle.

Once Munson successfully removed the cuffs, he playfully swung them around in a circular motion, signaling Steve to bring Maeven over. Her continuing struggle did nothing to draw the boys off course; they were on a mission and nothing could get in their way. Steve picked her up like she weighed nothing, forcing his arms underneath hers to raise them up high. Once they were able to cuff one wrist, Munson through the other end up, looping it over a large pipe above them before cuffing her other wrist.

The cold metal bit at Maeven’s skin, forcing her up so that the tips of her boots were just barely touching the floor. Her raised arms made her sweater ride up her stomach and left her freckle-kissed hips and navel bare to them; a sneak peek of what they were in for. Maeven grunted as she dangled from the ceiling, unable to regain her footing as her face flushed an even darker shade of red if that was even possible. The best she could do to fight this was clench her thighs together.

“There we go. All bound up the way you belong,” Billy’s sultry voice echoed throughout the closet as he emerged from the shadows, sending a shiver down her spine.

. . .

After over a year of knowing someone up close and personally, you tend to pick up on a few things. You start to notice the little things in their behavior that make them who they are. If you pay close enough attention, you notice the physical changes in their body when their mood changes. Whenever Maeven became anxious, her shoulders would tense up as she crossed her arms to hug herself. She would curl into herself and keep her head held low instead of tall and proud the way she used to; these mannerisms had become more common since she was released from that treatment center, to be fair.

Seeing these little changes in her demeanor throughout the day, Billy knew Maeven could benefit from an orgasm or two after a long hard, day; and he wouldn’t mind taking at least one for himself. She had practically been begging for him all day with the way she moved her body as she walked. And she also should’ve known by now that he couldn’t exactly control himself whenever a girl wore fishnets.

Time and time again, she kept proving him to be correct. The drugs Billy slipped into her water bottle may have. . .enhanced Maeven’s libido, but it simply revealed to him what he already knew she kept hidden inside. These days, she was anxious all the time; shaking like a leaf at the smallest things. He was helping her; that’s what he told himself. Eventually, he believed it without question.

Stepping inside Maeven’s bedroom, he shut the door slowly to not wake up Susan or Neil. Leaning his hand on the surface of her desk, he quickly pulled it back at the sharpness piercing his palm. Looking down, Billy recognized the remnants of what he threw away last night; Maeven’s nightlight. It didn’t stay that way, obviously. Damn Maxine. She was too old to still have something like that, anyway. Besides, she didn’t deserve it after defying him last night; those cuts he gave her weren’t enough. He’d deal with it later. This wasn’t what he came for.

Focusing his attention back to the task at hand, Billy tiptoed to Maeven’s bed, spreading his weight out to make sure it wouldn’t creak too loudly. Eyeing her figure under the covers up and down, he gently tugged the comforter to reveal her bare flesh, hot to the touch from her arousal and constant movement. She squeezed the pillow tightly between her legs as she continued to roll her hips, already soaking down the pillowcase and dripping onto the sheets.

Maeven was still in her lucid state, unaware of what was happening in the world outside her dreams. Billy always wondered what sort of dreams she had when she was on the aphrodisiacs. Then again, it didn’t matter. As long as he could take what he needed from her and she was lubed up and submissive enough, he didn’t care what went on in there. Still, Billy wanted to pick her brain; dissect her beautiful, crazed mind, and discover her deepest secrets like an archeologist unearthing a treasure. And each time he slipped another dosage into her water bottle, he came closer and closer to the whole truth.

Positioning himself behind her and pulling her waist into his lap, Billy picked up the pace and guided Maeven to rub her soaking heat away from her wrinkled pillow and against his clothed cock, tenderly massaging her ass. She let out a hushed gasp at the soft sensation of her pillow being replaced with something harder.

. . .

Back inside her head, Maeven shivered in suspense as the boys tore her long skirt off her waist. She stumbled in place as she squeezed her net-covered legs together. Steve came up behind her, one hand squeezing her ass while the other softly danced its fingers along her thigh, attempting to find her ticklish spot and coax her legs open.

“So, what kind of girl hides her legs all day, but wears fishnets?” he laughed in her ear, delivering a sharp slap to her butt, causing her to shriek and flinch away. But Steve held her in place, continuing his torment on the sensitive flesh below her waist.

Munson walked over, helping Steve try and pry her legs open. Maeven let out weak whimpers of protest, quickly turning into whines of desperation when the metalhead forcefully shoved his hand between her thighs. He laughed at the way she somehow got even more hot and bothered by the way he rubbed his ringed fingers against her heatsource covered by the soaked fabric of her panties.

“I knew I saw these, earlier,” he smirked, snapping the fishnet stocking against her thigh before fishing a pocket knife from behind his back.“She’s just a little freak, isn’t she?”

Maeven eyes widened in fear at the sight of the knife, her blood racing as she tried to wriggle from their grasp. Steve shoved his fingers inside her mouth before any more cries could escape.

“You have no idea, Munson,” Billy practically cackled, walking closer to help the boys keep her legs steady as he pulled at the waistband of her black panties before letting it snap.

“C’mon, let’s get these off her. You don’t need them, anyway. Do you, Maeven?” he asked, grabbing her by her cheeks and forcing her to look straight at him.

Swallowing her pride to keep herself safe, Maeven agreed, shaking her head. From the look at that knife, she had no choice. At least she put up a good fight until the end. It was only when she agreed did Steve take away his fingers, causing her to choke and gasp for air as she prepared herself for what was to come.

Munson’s one hand kept her legs steady as he dragged the cold metal across her skin, the mixture of fear and arousal growing as he brought it closer to her heat. He continued to leave her in anticipation, letting her guess when and where he would cut before carefully slicing the net atop her panties. Her heart was beating so fast she felt like it would burst out of her chest as the evidence of her lust dripped onto the blade. This was so wrong. So why did it feel so hot?

Tired of the teasing, Munson slid the knife beneath the drenched fabric, carefully pressing the metal against her wet lips which made her whine and shiver before cutting through the cloth of the crotch and accidentally knicking her thigh.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs, dollface,” Billy purred in her ear, tearing her stockings from her legs with no effort. “I told them what a cute little cunt you have. You don’t wanna disappoint them, do you? So. . .are you gonna be a good girl for us?”

. . .

“Ahhh, fuck, yeah. . .just like that,” Billy moaned out, grabbing Maeven’s hips tighter as she matched his pace on her own. He bit his lip to keep his volume down as his cock twitched beneath his thin sweatpants, reacting to her needy pussy already soaking through her panties.

Whatever was happening in Maeven’s dream must’ve been hot, because the way she was writhing against Billy made him wonder if he was the one dreaming. It didn’t matter how many times they had fucked beforehand; every new time was better than the last. Her body always left him crawling back and wanting her again and again. 

There were many good things about this girl, but Billy still couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe she really was a witch who lured guys to her bed, and he was just really lucky that she decided he was worth keeping. Even when she called it off, she didn’t mean it. He knew that she didn’t. Did she? His memory was fuzzy. Regardless, Billy got what he wanted, what he craved, needed; Maeven by his side. Maeven Mayfield was much more addictive than any cigarette, drink or drug Billy Hargrove could ever find and he never wanted to sober up.

Tired of teasing both her and himself, he roughly tugged her hips to meet his, always mesmerized how her needy little pussy swallowed his fingers. She now lay flat on her mattress, her back arched as she buried her face in the pillow she was previously writhing against, too powerless to stop his love-drunk-disguised assault.

. . .

Maeven said nothing as Billy held her face tightly in his hand, the adrenaline in her body and the intense anticipation causing her eyes to water. She silently nodded with a look in her eyes that told Billy, “I’ll be Good.”

Steve wasted no time using his now saliva-soaked fingers to test the waters, experimentally massaging the lips of her pussy perfectly framed by soft ginger fuzz. Maeven imagined that he’d take his time warming up a girl, passionate and gentle like he was; taking his time to learn about his partner’s body instead of just diving head-first into the deep end like other guys.

“Nancy’s one lucky girl. . .” Maeven’s inner voice echoing inside her head.

“Holy. . .shit. . .” Steve quietly exclaimed, pleasantly surprised that she did his job for him. She didn’t need any warming up

Munson roughly nudged Harrington to the sidelines like an excited kid cutting the line to get the first pick of the candy bowl on Halloween, aggressively spreading Maeven’s legs. He hooked her left one back to wrap around his hips. She was definitely more flexible than she appeared. Munson snaked his hand around her and cruelly trailed from her navel down to her pelvis, eager to finally discover her nooks and crannies.

“What the fuck? She’s already soaking wet!” he laughed in disbelief.

Maeven shrieked again at the contrast from the cold metal of his rings against her painfully desperate pussy. She could see Munson being a generous lover; something about his abundant amount of energy allowed her to picture him reducing a girl, or maybe another guy, to tears with his aggressive tongue and hands.

“Yeah, that’s the thing about little Maeven, here; she’s always turned on,” Billy growled in her ear, watching eagerly as the bound girl’s whines and moans became more frequent. He could watch her fall apart forever. Munson kept relentlessly thrusting his fingers in and out of Maeven’s aching heat-source as he teased her clit with his other hand. 

“Always waiting for her pussy to be filled like the greedy little whore she is,” Billy finished.

. . .

Maeven could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy when her heart suddenly dropped into her stomach. The mystery presence she usually seeked comfort in had twisted into something sinister that aggressively trapped her body in it’s invisible grip, crushing her underneath it’s weight. It felt so familiar, but also so. . .foreign. 

This wasn’t right.

What was this feeling? Why did Maeven recognize it? What was happening to her body? Why couldn’t she stop herself? Why couldn’t she move anymore?

The heavy breathing and moans against the back of her neck accompanied with the hot weight on top of her was enough to bring her somewhat out of her haze. If it were possible for her heart to drop any deeper, it would’ve, because she knew that musky scent.

“Billy?” she gasped out, her heart immediately starting to race so fast it hurt.

“Shhh, babydoll. ‘Gotta be quiet, remember?” He said it as if it was the most casual situation in the world. What the hell was happening?

“What’re you doing. . .aah!” Maeven choked on a silent scream as Billy wrapped his bicep around her neck to shut her up, cutting off both her voice and her air before he slipped his fingers inside her quivering cunt.

“Just be still and keep your mouth, Maeven. Be a good girl and let me take care of you,” he whispered, biting her earlobe following his last words as he removed his bicep from around her throat and kneeled straight up. Once Maeven briefly celebrated with a long inhale of air, she then involuntarily clenched her pussy around Billy’s thick fingers as he violently massaged her moist walls and prepared her for what would come next. Drawing them from her core, he delivered a sharp slap against her aching pussy before lining himself up.

Why couldn’t she move? Why was she so wet? Had it really come down to this; her own body betraying her?

Her mind became even more fuzzy from the lack of air, the veil between the fantasy inside her head and the world outside it where she was supposed to be sleeping had blended until she couldn’t tell which was which, anymore. And when something so passionately aggressive was shoved deep inside her without warning, Maeven couldn’t even comprehend the difference between unbearable pain and mind-numbing pleasure. She had cried from both before, but the tears falling from her now was something entirely new, and she didn’t like it.

“Fuuuuck, you feel so good. . .” Billy shamelessly moaned out, ramming all of himself into Maeven, from the tip to the base in one thrust. Pressing his chest against her back as her buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent like his life depended on it, Billy’s sharp thrusts continued. He never wanted to let her go. He couldn’t let her leave him like his Mother did. Maeven was the only ray of light he had left.

“Billy, please wait,” she sobbed out, finally regaining control of her limbs as she attempted to fight her way out from under him. “Let’s just-”

“Shh, we’re just having a little fun. That’s all. We’ll go nice and slow, okay?” he promised, his thrusts then turning harder and quicker as he succumbed to how heavenly Maeven felt around him.

“You don’t want me to reopen that cut, do you, dollface?” Billy took his bicep off from around her throat and trailed his fingers down beneath her to pinch her swollen clit. His other hand traced along the bandaged cuts along her arms and chest; his fresh handiwork from the night before. 

The sudden harsh rubs on her clit forced Maeven’s back to arch, giving Billy the perfect opportunity to grab her hair. She stopped breathing and her world stood still as she realized how close he was bringing her to the edge. Maeven panicked. She didn’t want to cum. Not like this, at least. It was fine when it was only her and the vivid scenes she around played with in her head. But she didn’t ask for this. Billy’s pace picked up and Maeven could tell he was close by the way he was growling; desperately hungry for release. 

Images of the night her life was ruined then intruded her mind; the party and the woods, and what they did to her. How betrayed she felt. How much the knife carving into her flesh hurt. The knife in her hands and how monstrous and free it made her feel. Her blood-drenched, naked body shining underneath the glow of the winter moon.

Maeven squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will all these bad feelings away, attempting to ground herself by focusing on how nice the cold autumn wind felt in contrast to how heated her cheeks were. She wanted to go back to that fantasy. She was safe in there, so that’s where she went.

Billy chuckled to himself as Maeven drifted away once again, knowing that by the next morning, she wouldn’t remember a thing.

. . .

Stay Wild and Safe, my dears!

A/N: ♫♫ I'm sorry I was gone, but look, I made you some content!♫♫

♫ Mommy made you your favorite! Open Wide!♫

♫♫ Here comes the content!♫♫

♫It's a beautiful day to stay inside!♫

Also, Happy Birthday to Me!! I turned 23 on the Solstice! Working my full-time retail job has left me burnt out without any time or energy to create, and my huge family is going through some hardships right now. I'm grateful that I was able to get family leave and it's going to last until February! Hopefully, that'll give me time to rest and put my life together while my family and I heal.

It felt really weird but somehow fitting that I finished this chapter on my last day being 22. Despite the Angst and Heartbreak this held, I really hope you enjoyed this one. I ran into a few roadblocks trying to get it just right. It's my longest one yet. A lot of you wanted some lore dumps and I hope I delivered well. As always, please let me know your thoughts and theories; they really help motivate me.

The Spitifre Curse Taglist:

@yaidothat

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

[comshipbracket]

Antis DNI

Propaganda for both ships provided under the cut

Hayniss (Age Gap - Ages not provided)

"These two are kindred spirits. They both survived the games using their wits and then cope with the aftermath using their hardened hearts.

This ship is tragic because not only is it questionable to society due to the age gap and dynamics, but they also could never be together because Katniss is forced into a fabricated relationship with another victor of the games, Peeta, for the sake of preserving the Capitol's image in allowing the two of them to survive the games.

You see, Peeta and Katniss have to portray their refusal to kill each other as an act of love rather than the act of defiance it really was. Meanwhile, Haymitch, as Katniss' (and Peeta's) mentor, has to be one of ones orchestrating said romance behind the scenes as part of what is essentially her PR team.

Haymitch has to instruct Katniss, this cold hearted and brash girl who warmed his soul and reminded him of who the real enemy is, on how exactly to convince others she's in love with someone who isn't him. I think this is all also poetic and tragic in a sense, as she's the first tribute he really tried to help win the games in a long time. He sees himself in her, he's protective of her, and you can't tell me he doesn't love her."

SeymourxTwoey Propaganda (Species Difference, Abusive Dynamic)

"Twoey is the least interesting part of the movie in canon for me, but I find him much more interesting when I think of him/write him as simultaneously being a voice in Seymour's head, a physical manifestation of his intrusive thoughts/mental health struggles, and an independently alive/conscious, mute alien plant. This way of conceptualizing him is weird and contradictory by design, partially because it makes him and his dynamic with Seymour interesting and complicated and partially because it raises questions as to where he ends and Seymour begins and just generally adds a lot of weight and edge to Seymour's self doubt/loathing, which is his fatal flaw in my rewrite where one of the changes is that Seymour is a tragic Shakespearean hero. Most of my specific thoughts on this ship don't make sense without the context of my rewrite, but I like the ideas of Seymour literally getting screwed by the physical manifestation of his mental health issues (which he is consenting to due to his drive to torture himself/self hatred manifesting in this case as psuedo-sexual attraction towards a being that is manipulating/abusing him, has the potential to cause him great physical harm/pain, and is named after/heavily associated with his crush), having a sexual relationship with a being that he has a sort-of father-son dynamic with when he himself was abused by his sort-of father, and 'accusing' (in quotes because he isn't actually mad at her and doesn't think she did anything morally wrong, he also doesn't communicate with her about this because he's terrible at communicating with her) Audrey of seeking out abusive guys when he is literally doing that. Technically the version of Seymour x Audrey in my rewrite is extremely comship as well, but it's not in canon, and Seymour x Twoey is also fun, so I'm submitting it even though the Little Shop fandom has like five people in it and most of them don't even like Seymour x Twoey."

[teamdilf]

The first chapter of my post-canon Baldur's Gate 3 longfic, Lost Souls Like Us, is up, and I'm super excited to share it with the world! Please note that the first chapter and the fic as a whole contains spoilers for the ending.

“I’m gonna be dead in a month and she loves you too. I want you to be together - but only when she’s ready. You don’t grow old so you can afford to wait on her.”

“We may all be dead or worse in a month anyway,” Astarion says and she scowls at him; she won’t let him weasel out of this. It’s too fucking important.

“Fine. Deny you love her but you’ll smarten up and think of this conversation years from now while you’re pining for her because you’re both gonna be too stubborn to do anything about it until things blow up and you wind up rolling in bed on the obnoxiously plush sheets you insist are ‘necessary’. Want some tips?”

“Absolutely not,” Astarion says quickly.

She wasn’t gonna give him tips anyway - he’s gotta do his own legwork there.

“Be there for her. She’s not gonna want to see anyone - big feelings are tough for her and she’ll hide because hiding is easier. You were brave as shit for dealing with Cazador instead of running, but you had help. Petra’s gonna need that same help to be brave and go out into the world again. Promise me you’ll be the person that drags her out to look at the stars. Promise me that, if she refuses to respond to your letters or see you, you’ll give her a push. You’ll know when she needs it. Even if you never tell her you want to snuggle up to her and use her as a space heater - and I know you want that more than sex even if you try to hide it, buddy, take care of her. For me. Please.”

“I’ll take care of her,” he says quietly, looking away.

“Promise.”

“I promise I’ll take care of Petra.” This time Astarion’s voice breaks and - shit, she’s gone and got him blubbering. Karlach realizes that he must really fucking like her! Well, she knew that already; she figured him out long ago but he’s not the sort to come out and say it. She gets it; he’s seen a whole lot of shit and copes how he can, but he’s doing better, and she’s glad she told him how proud she is of him after he killed Cazador.

[theweirdestroller]

Headcanons Pt 2 - Star Sanses

Part two of this headcanon saga! If anyone here knows me from my time on Wattpad, a lot of this may be new to you. I actually used to favor this trio before I looked deeper into Ink and Dream. I would like to say my opinions on the Apple Incident now look less like "wtf Dream, why weren't you a better brother???" and more like "wtf village, those are six-year-olds. Leave them alone." To be fair, I typically write the incident with the twins nearing their teens. So, y'know. But canonically, they're both like, six. Anyway! Stars, you're up! It's your turn on the headcanon chopping block! (they're all sympathetic btw)

Ink:

Really good at drawing but can't write a simple story to save his life

Actually pretty good at sewing. He can not only repair clothing, but make his own

Uses he/they pronouns but doesn't really understand gender. Blue has tried to explain it, but Ink just can't grasp the concept. Or forgets. It might actually be that he keeps forgetting

Despite being horrible at reading others' emotions, he's very good at making and keeping friends. It could be the general joy and carefree attitude he has, but people just really like him

So, with the paints, Ink is supposed to have a bit of each. And most of the time he does. But much like some people ignore certain feelings to cope, Ink will refuse to drink blue or red on certain days because he doesn't want to put up with those feelings if something happens to make them flare up

Has a severe case of leukophobia. He likes painting on his and his friends' bones because of this, but does not explain why

As much as he loves animals, he's scared to have a pet because he thinks he'll forget to take care of it

Despite all his fear of having a pet, he has raised multiple generations of butterflies! And has a pollinator garden

Dream:

Much like Nightmare, Dream forgave Nim for everything. Much like the Gang, Ink and Blue don't agree

Doesn't know how the modern world works. Nightmare remained awake for the 500 years Dream was in stone and it shows. Dream doesn't understand modern tech, modern clothes, or modern slang. Barely understands what a laptop is much less how it works. Never seen a hoodie before, but now he must have ten. "And what, Ink, in the multiverse is a yeet?!" Nightmare likes teasing him for it. Nightmare watched technology and style and weird slang grow. He has a smartphone and regularly shows other people all the pictures of stupid things the Gang did

Can't stand the taste or smell of apples. Which is weird, because Nightmare can, but the Gang thinks he can't

Can't talk to people. If he gets past his nerves, he's really charismatic, but he'd rather die than approach someone first. This was not an issue when he was little, or even newly freed

Likes climbing things, mainly mountains and other tall landforms, but he'll join Cross in scaling random buildings or people sometimes

His magic feels like someone injected cotton candy into your soul. It's sweet and fluffy, sugary, but you know too much is bad for you

Blue:

Okie dokie! The one normal one. He is the best cook out of the Stars. Just really good at following recipes

Has a pet, it's just Toby. Toby likes stealing Blue's attacks.

He has 20 HP, and it took so much training just to get there. He's also pretty good at dodging, but compared to other Sanses, he's not particularly skilled

Feels like he doesn't belong in the Stars. He'll walk into an AU next to literal gods and everyone's cheering. For all three of them. Doesn't really know what to do about these feelings

So, Blue's best friends are some of the strongest Sanses alive. And he regularly has to battle with their stupidity. This makes him incredibly intolerant to stupid/arrogant/idiotic people. He will call people out on rude behavior, bullying, or other such things. A lot of people love him for this. A lot of people, who I shall refer to as Karens, hate him for this.

I need to stress, Blue isn't mean to people, but you can't be a prick around him. He just won't put up with it, whether it affected him directly, or it just occurred near him

Despite being the only Sans out of the Gang and Stars that was younger than his Papyrus, he probably acts more like a fun yet responsible big brother than anyone else

And there are the Stars! I realized I never spat my stupid Hogwarts Sorting list and reasonings behind it, and I must do that next. Because Blue is a Gryffindor. And he's the only one of these three. So I'll do my sorting next, before moving on to other Sanses.

[chaotic-tired-cat]

Heads up i have posted!!! a new fic!!! but AO3 seems to have eaten it, which is unfortunate. If the link ever works it's Day By Day We Stumble On - Chapter 1 - Sandtalon - 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) [Archive of Our Own] Alas. It does not. I am dealing with the results of my own misplaced trust in technology by cross-posting the first chapter here so there will be a copy of it SOMEWHERE (deleted my copy after posting whoops.)

So, for whoever wants it, here is a tumblr-formatted copy of my terrible comedy jjk & naruto crossover where Shoko does exactly what you may expect given the title.

Summary: Every sorcerer has their own way to cope with the stress tremors quaking the jujutsu world. Satoru stomps his way through paper lines in shifting sand. Mei Mei-senpai draws new ones. Utahime cares for who she can, where she can, to keep from being buried. Nanami makes his peace. None of these methods are wrong, but they don't fit Shoko. She is tired, overworked, and so used to a life judged by the service she provides that she can't imagine functioning without it. Satoru's brother is familiar with the concept.

Friendship can look like two people sitting in a tub of misery, side by side. It works for them.

(Reincarnation AU but it's not about reincarnation or dimension travel. No, that's not on anyone's radar except for the guy it happened to. Shoko is in charge of this story, and she has decided this narrative will focus on the local coffee-addict finally catching a break.)

(This fic includes medical issues, chronic illness, and canon-typical child soldier nonsense, as well as topics like overwork, medical malpractice, smoking & alcohol use, and unhealthy work-life balance. It also includes mention of patricide, child abuse, and strangulation.)

Gojo Satoru has the eyes of a Furby and the soul of a slightly drunk hyena. 

This isn't a facet of her friend that Shoko needs to be paid to confront, necessarily, right up until it really, really is. Those cursed - and sometimes Cursed - occasions are reserved for the worst possible time, like Satoru's all-seeing luck peered directly through Shoko's life to hand-pick her unluckiest days. It's a talent. The worst talent in the world, and sometimes Shoko understands how Utahime wonders why they get along so well. Then again, that's coming from someone who barely considers herself to be reluctant acquaintances, let alone tentative friends with "the local nuisance."

Utahime would have opinions about a lot of Shoko's life decisions. Most of them would be correct, because it's Utahime. Unfortunately, she’s an unreliable source of wisdom due to losing about half her common sense to Satoru’s baiting on the regular. Shoko can understand it sometimes.

Such as now. Three in the ungodly morning is not a good time to test if Shoko's medical license is just for show.

It's just not.

Satoru knows this.

Just as he knows that the only thing that can get Shoko livid enough to act on her anger is functioning on less than two hours of sleep.

He could probably see that she was awake anyway and contemplating just how many shots of espresso puts her on the ungovernable side of a caffeine addiction, but she's refusing to acknowledge that. It's too early for comprehensive thought processing. Too late. Too far on one end of the sun's presence in the sky, but just tired enough to forget if the rise or setting is closer. Time has lost all meaning. Satoru can probably see her brain trying desperately to fire neurotransmitters to wake her up properly. On top of that, he knows she's frustrated at the higher-ups for pushing her working hours into barely manageable configurations when she complains. It shows in the way his voice stays under the headache threshold of volume. She is so damn tired.

Stop.

Drink the damn coffee.

Breathe.

She won't make his life more difficult than it already is. He didn't intend to test her patience and skill by spontaneously threatening the puppet masters of the jujutsu world, taking on a special grade in Hokkaido, and somehow returning with a mysterious brother. Lost sleep isn't personal. Shoko knows this.

Friends don't press each other into this lukewarm hell of overwork unless the situation is dire, which makes her current conundrum just that extra bit of a headache.

She crosses her arms at the cot.

Did-

Did Satoru spawn via mitosis?

She can never tell with him. This is a legitimate question.

Shoko has had the tentatively arguable displeasure of being his friend for years and is firmly of the belief that things like Conservation of Matter apply to Satoru only because they amuse him. It's her leading theory. Generations have passed since the last holder of the Six Eyes, and every moldy text on the abilities they hold is wrapped up in musty ancient language that relies on metaphors more than actual instruction. There is no recipe card for the Gojo clan's sacred technique. Just confusion and a hyperactive teenager who somehow grew weirder with time. He ages like cheese.

"You've cloned yourself," Shoko diagnoses even as her technique rules out that possibility.

Satoru preens. "The world couldn't handle two of me."

He's not wrong.

She listens to his chatter while she checks over the sibling he has managed to pull from thin air. Honestly. Of all the things to make a man who is harder to pin down than the raccoon in her apartment garage – that kind of person – ask for help… well. She wasn't expecting a brother. 

It's impossible to tell if the unconscious brother even looks like Satoru. Satoru covers only his eyes, while this guy covers everything but one of his eyes. A dark mask stretches down from the bridge of his nose, and there's a wide band of fabric pulled over the other eye. Apparently that one got gouged out for some reason Satoru cheerfully seethes over when she notices the old injury. The elder Gojo's got slightly darker grey hair than Satoru’s white, though. A bit more gravity-defying, and thank goodness for that. Identical twins would have snapped her last brain cell clean in half.

Shoko chooses to believe in mitosis. It's easier that way.

Satoru goes quiet when she asks for details as to why his spontaneously new brother is unconscious and needing a doctor. A quiet Satoru is about as good a sign as a harbinger of doom.

"I just need to know what took him out," she assures him. It's Satoru's business what secrets he wants to keep. “That’s it.”

"No." Satoru braces his elbows on his knees and bends over in the uncomfortable chair. He's smiling. Like a kitsune, yeah, but that anger is not her problem. "I'm tired of hiding, and Kakashi has never cared either way."

"Alright."

The story clarifies little.

Gojo Kakashi is three years Satori's elder. Kicked out of the Gojo line of succession due to a weak constitution and being physically incapable of wielding cursed energy, Kakashi should have died from his illness years ago. He did not. As far as Shoko can tell, spite created willpower and that, more than anything, fueled his survival-based cursed technique. It’s very odd. Lupine, lightning-based cursed energy sparks in a blaze of white energy that stitches his health back together like a calamity that is self-sustaining out of luck and little else. It gets tripped up around the eye he keeps covered as if expecting the Six Eyes to spontaneously manifest, but all that's done is fry his optic nerves from the inside out.

In short, Kakashi's body tried so hard to activate a technique it does not have that it blinded him in one eye. He was lucky not to lose both. It probably drained him half to death.

Ouch.

Satoru says in cheerful, acidic words that Kakashi’s worth has always been in his use to the Gojo clan elders. Both brothers have that in common. The crucial difference is that while Satoru got fucked-up eyes, Kakashi got fucked-up cursed energy due to the circle of a family tree the Gojo clan insists on to keep their technique from fading. It puts Satoru's sharp distaste of his own clan's politics in perspective.

Bluntly speaking, the elder brother is considered ‘better off dead’ by those old bastards. 

He's bought survival in unnatural talent for every single weapon put into his hands, but even that is shaky ground. He is chronically ill. Satoru’s pretty sure they’re bleeding his older brother dry, because apparently the second Kakashi was able to perform light exercise, marching orders rolled out. There was no regard for the fact that his health was tentative at best. Pricy medical assistance could not make up for self-destructive cursed energy, though patience was bought in the map of scar tissue and poorly-healed old injuries Shoko notices. It seems this has never mattered. Kakashi has apparently spent his entire life quietly training as a good little bodyguard for the Gojo elders to order around.

A little bit of treason in the form of one child soldier, as a treat to themselves.

It explains so much about Satoru. All the gift shopping and refusal to explain who made the dango he sometimes brought to school suddenly makes so much sense. His cute little bento boxes were always a touch too neat to be made by someone so impatient. Yes, Satoru is the kind of person to cut out nori in a ‘you can do it!’ message across bento onigiri for himself, but he wouldn’t be that protective of it. Wouldn’t have cared when Suguru filched one.

Satoru’s hidden temper boils as he tells a story from the impersonal plastic chairs Shoko uses to make unwanted visitors leave faster. His voice is syrup-happy.

Bitter.

He softens when he talks about his brother, though.

Plain as day.

Kakashi has spent the majority of his life wandering through his little section the Gojo compound, safe under a fairly high-powered barrier. It’s like a lethal hermit lifestyle. They apparently instituted it because Kakashi’s cursed energy and trouble attraction abilities had every medical professional saying, "welp. That's weird," before doing absolutely nothing. This led the Gojo clan to further seal away their eldest heir for twenty or so years, except for when they toss him like a pipe bomb at people they dislike.

You know.

As one does.

A weird assassination tactic, but it apparently works. Kakashi seems very talented at surviving despite the concentrated efforts of nearly everyone he's ever met. Shoko reads his vitals and thinks he's good at surviving despite himself as well. This man has not respected his mortal limits if he has that kind of muscle mass while suffering an untreated illness. 

…He probably didn't have much choice.

Shoko gets why Satoru has been hiding his brother. The inner workings of his clan must be a nightmare.

Ooh, those politics.

So much backstabbing and old-people gossip exists there. The toxic vibes must boost their cursed energy and explain why the six eyes manifested at all. Disgusting. Never shall she ask for details. It makes a bit of Satoru's squirreliness understandable. Just the littlest bit.

She doesn't know if it justifies keeping a secret this big. They may be antagonistic, and Satoru may be stuck in a shitty situation, but there's no way he'd hide an entire brother without someone manipulating the game. Shoko has been the one member of their weird little trio to see her friend in nearly all the best and worst moments of his life. He’s done the same for her. Even when she crashed into his weird little abode with rattling bottles and insults for every single professor to gift her the workload of a pre-med disaster, Satoru had decency to commiserate together. They’ve always been more alike than anyone wanted to acknowledge. It makes the secrecy a little less surprising, but still. 

Satoru, a younger brother. 

What?

Who initiated the process of pulling his strings to keep that hidden?

It gets pretty clear as Satoru explains.

Damn.

His father sucks.

Kakashi apparently wasn't meant to survive to adulthood, to ensure Satoru could become the next Gojo head without any opposing factions. It would be logical in a horrible sort of way, if Satoru didn't have the skillset of a mildly over-caffeinated god. There's also the helpful fact that Kakashi is willing and able to kill for his brother.

And he has, though Satoru leaves out what happened. Shoko hears it in the silence anyway. There was a time, when Satoru became clan successor, that Suguru quietly admitted to her that something was wrong. Facts didn't add up. The old Gojo head was decently strong, enough so to win against the curse that supposedly killed him. Satoru was at school when it happened, but… Shoko can guess what Kakashi did.

Patricide.

Lovely.

Kakashi is apparently just as unhinged as Satoru. It must be hereditary.

In response to that cute little murder, the Gojo elders apparently took away medical assistance to help get rid of their former heir faster. This was probably the beginning of the end.

Kakashi's hermit lifestyle lasted a few more years through ailing health out of sheer spite until Satoru had enough and outright threatened his clan elders a week ago. Shoko decides not to ask what caused the escalation, because Kakashi's lungs are ruined from an infection created by his own cursed energy. She already has her answers. It's a marvel he's still alive.

The elders did what they thought was sensible and sent a few special grade curses after Satoru as a slap on the wrist. It had the opposite effect. He met fire with the fire that stunt deserved, and dropped one of the special grades directly into their meeting room.

Right onto the table.

As a gift.

The 'old farts' disliked their brand new centerpiece. They disliked it enough to make sure Satoru was very aware of their big feelings and continued to dislike it while they delt with it. Loudly. Violently. There was allegedly lots of shouting. Satoru gets a little hazy with the details, but apparently his elders came to a quicker decision than he thinks they’d ever managed before in their lives.

They proceeded to take inspiration from Satoru's spite and decided to bait a new curse into Kakashi's cute little hermit abode.

Just for fun.

Kakashi, who is lethal in all ways except for the fact that he cannot handle cursed energy, responded by exorcizing the curse with his bare hands and promptly passing out. He charged reverse-cursed energy into his palms and apparently gave it a mild static shock while he strangled it in his kitchen. Satoru came home from a day out to find his brother dying and a curse already dead, after elders warned him at the gates that he’d find things the other way around.

Shoko wants to dissect that curse so badly. Curiosity itches under her skin.

That leads them to now, after Satoru has followed through on his threat. His clan is short a few elders and one house-arrest heir as of this evening.

Cool.

Shoko's compliant in a revolution now. She is perfectly fine with that.

"Kakashi's cursed energy and reverse-curse are generated at the same time," Satoru says, like he didn't just terraform a feared jujutsu clan's politics in a week. "Normally that should cancel out most of it, but his just kind of doesn't. Like ice cream, you know?"

Shoko does not know. "Ice cream."

"Yeah, like how chocolate and vanilla ice cream swirl!"

"I see," Shoko says, and takes a second to admire the fact that she's not even lying.

Satoru shrugs and hums a nonsensical tune like he isn't willing to burn down the world for those he cares about.

He never really changes in that way.

Shoko runs through the usual procedure and documents it all in the looping scrawl of medical professionals. Satoru is right – cursed energy and reverse-curse energy should cancel itself out slightly. It's why Shoko's technique is so rare: she's able to separate them before that process starts.

Kakashi's does not cancel out or separate.

It combines. The whole process and resulting mixture is, in Shoko's professional opinion, weird as fuck. Curses can probably sense it from across the prefecture. That's outrageous. It’s honestly no wonder he got put under house arrest instead of being exiled when Satoru pissed off the elders. The fallout from Kakashi wandering around outside a barrier would be immense. The Gojo compound would survive his stepping outside their wards, but their family’s reputation would not. 

He could probably annihilate a city just by walking through it.

"Well?" Satoru leans over so his chin is propped on her shoulder. 

"Congratulations," Shoko says flatly as she taps her clipboard with the pen. "He'll live. I might even be able to make him less of a curse-bait, but he'll need to be awake for that."

She's so tired.

Satoru flutters around her like a gangly, unhinged butterfly who refuses to take his hands out of his pockets. "You can fix it?"

Fix it.

Ha.

Shoko’s pen drums a faster rhythm on the paperwork. She can't even comprehend much beyond that this Cursed Energy nonsense is not killing Kakashi any faster than the blood loss. Satoru takes her clipboard and she barely notices.

"He'll survive the night," Shoko says as she finishes the basic first aid to keep her patient stable. "We'll worry about the rest in the morning."

"Not now?"

Shoko holds up a hand and notes the exact moment Satoru realizes how badly she's shaking. "Tomorrow. Doing anything right now lowers chances of success, and I'm not risking your brother."

He's lost enough.

"There's a line of emergency numbers on the desk," she starts. Satoru lets Shoko run through all the things to do if his brother wakes up, what not to touch in the office, who to call if she is too deep in REM sleep to hear her phone ringing-

She is so tired.

Shoko blinks and finds herself in her apartment, already half-forgetting how she got there. It's possible Satoru dropped her off. That was nice of him.

What a fucking day, she thinks as she flops onto her couch.

The next morning, she barely makes it onto Jujutsu High’s main campus before things get complicated. It happens before she can even get inside - an unexpected and unwanted visitor finds her in the foggy predawn chill between parking lot and building. Shoko stands with her coffee, bag, and exhaustion as a wizened old man tries to manipulate her. It is not an auspicious start to the day.

“I trust you know he is of better use resting than healed,” says the council elder with grey hair and Cursed Energy that eats at the morning silence like acid. Unspoken is a threat: you are of use to us. Do not change this.

Shoko looks down at her coffee, then back at the elder.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Are you telling me to ignore my oath?” Not that she cares about it, but still. If she gives ground now, they’ll never stop asking for more.

“I am telling you to listen to your funding.” A grim smile twists up. “It wouldn’t do to lose that.”

Well. Yeah, she can’t lose the only way she's able to keep sorcerers with the self-preservation instincts of lemmings alive. Shoko’s overworked and understaffed. She’s doing the job of four people all alone. School nurse, mortician, autopsy specialist, and on-call Cursed Energy healer. That’s not even counting her research on far too many projects.

“I am very tired,” Shoko says flatly. “So you’re going to have to spell this out for me. Please use small words.”

“Gojo Satoru needs to be controlled,” the old man says, which shows astronomically bad social awareness on his part. That’s her former classmate they’re talking about blackmailing. Her friend. If Satoru finds out about this he’s going to bait the bastards into a homicidal rage, which is not fun, thrifty, or enjoyable in any way. Then Utahime will have to spend a day watching Shoko lie on the floor contemplating her place in the universe. Nobody will have a halfway decent time, except Meimei-senpai, who may actually enjoy it so long as she gets paid time off while the jujutsu world burns and Satoru dances in the ashes. 

This is a terrible marketing pitch. Shoko stares at her coffee and scrambles for any reaction that is not going to make her life harder. She finds nothing in her brain but the most basic rule of surviving a toxic workplace.

“Can you give that to me in writing?” Shoko asks. “In the meantime, I have patients to see. So. Thank you for stopping by.”

She all but forces them to run through the social dance of goodbyes, and walks past him into the building. She has until that email arrives to make her last free move. Better start now.

Shoko climbs the school stairs and texts her med school group chat about the unfairness of the world. One of her friends who went on to be a paramedic immediately sends emoji hearts and commiserating tears in equal measure. It helps.

Those emoji hearts continue helping her all through the paperwork. Help looks like Satoru's hand on her elbow that stops her just shy of walking into a wall. It looks like a filled mug passed into willing hands.

Like unexpected patience.

Shoko wouldn't ask for that last one, so she prioritizes accordingly and shuffles her newest patient to the top of the list. Financial threats and demands of old farts would have her swamped for the week, so Shoko pretends she simply forgot to check her email that morning and gets to work. Her friend has waited long enough.

Besides, Satoru is not a worried person. He stews and giggles like a child attempting to scream defiance. Satoru usually burns the attempts of a world powerless to set him into a nondescript beige box like the rest of them. It is vicious. Spiteful. Petty. Worry on Satoru is a near-imperceptible thing that turns poison into a halberd swung wildly through tightening tripwires. He is uncontrollable, except-

Except.

"You should tell people you care for them," Shoko says lowly as she tugs on blue gloves. Satoru smiles wide and guileless. It is a devastatingly untrustworthy look on him.

"Aw, are you concerned about little old me, Shoko-chan?"

Yes.

Somebody's got to be, but he'll be insufferable if she says that.

Shoko settles for tossing him an unimpressed look, and knows her point is received when his smile grows the tiniest bit more honest. Worry is still settled in the teeth of it. It's almost funny, how there's once again two people Shoko knows of who Satoru can worry like that for. She thought he lost that ability along with Suguru. Turns out, he just learned to hide the lengths to which he can be pushed. It's not her business what alerted Satoru to that danger.

Threats come in many shapes and sizes.

As if to prove that point, Gojo Kakashi's first instinct upon awakening is to try stabbing her with a knife he should not have. 

Luckily, Satoru's first instinct upon seeing his brother wake up is to tackle-hug him right off the hospital bed, so the knife goes wide and Shoko remains uninjured to ignore them and return to her paperwork. Those idiots can figure out they're mortal and breakable without her spelling it out for them. Their terrible choices seem to cancel each other out. It makes a humorous kind of sense.

"You brought me to your school," Kakashi notes once he and Satoru have reached a limpet-shaped stalemate on Shoko's thoroughly sanitized tile floors. He pats his brother on the shoulder and executes a bendy maneuver to extract himself from the hug. It is strangely effective. Unfortunately, now Shoko refuses to believe this weirdo possesses bones.

"Aw, are you intimidated?" Satoru reaches out to pinch his older brother's cheeks and nearly gets stabbed. “All these kiddos to corrupt, and so little time! Don’t worry, nii-san. I believe in you.”

"This is an entire school-"

"Such marvelous powers of observation-"

"-Full of very mortal people-"

"-You can tell we're related, it's all in the eyes-

"-And I'm a curse-magnet," Kakashi stresses, inching suspiciously closer to the window. "This is a terrible idea."

"It kind of is," Shoko agrees, pressing her cheek further into her desk and wishing for a vacation. All she gets is paper stuck to her face.

Kakashi shoots her a thankful look. He is now her favorite of the two.

"Maybe. But then I thought, hey, showing up with a clone would be just the thing to throw those old farts into hysterics." Satoru beams. "Do you think the shock will finally take them out?"

"It won't," Shoko tells them before Satoru can make fools of them all or get his hopes up.

“Aww, where’s your ganbaru spirit? Your gaman-suru? You know, the I can do it!” Satoru says with a little hand gesture that practically sounds like a background chorus of children saying ‘yay!’ in some kind of weekend educational television program. The whole thing shows both terrible grammar and energy that’s not remotely as cutesy as he’s trying to make it.

“Killed it,” Shoko says automatically, just as Kakashi says, “Lost it on the road of life.”

“Besides,” Kakashi adds, “I thought the goal was not to make them stab me. That’s going to take some work, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am prime knife real estate.”

“It’s the scarecrow energy,” Satoru says. “Come on, nii-san. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Kakashi goes quiet, and as one, their attention turns to the edge of a lurid orange book, half-hidden in the pile of fabric abandoned on a nearby chair. Shoko hadn't bothered looking at the visibly bulletproof armor Satoru brought his brother in with. It wasn't her business.

Satoru and Kakashi meet eyes - as much as they can with only one of four eyes visible - and Shoko can physically see the clown-to-clown communication transpire in real time. 

Oh, no. 

There's two of them.

"You're technically an assassin," Satoru notes. Shoko really hates that she's not surprised this is where the conversation is going already.

The lone eye crinkles up as if Kakashi is smiling.

"How many dishes would I have to clean for-"

"Out," Shoko interrupts. When Satoru opens his mouth to confirm something she doesn't want to know about, she adds, "plausible deniability is all I'm asking for. I don't care what's going on so long as it happens outside. Go on."

Kakashi has the utter gall to coyly wave at her while Satoru lifts him up in a princess carry. He is no longer her favorite. She is exhausted by them both equally.

Shoko presses her forehead to the desk and takes a steadying breath.

She wants to sink into the earth. Who invented bones? That was a terrible idea. Actually, who decided they should grow legs and leave the ocean at all? Look at where that’s gotten all of humanity. They have paperwork.

Wait.

The door nearly splinters when she slams it open to point an accusing finger at the brothers. They're only halfway down the hallway. Small mercies.

"Don't walk, don't run, don't do anything more strenuous than eat and breathe, got it?!"

Satoru beams, and Kakashi projects lazy indifference through the mask.

Whatever, they heard her.

Good enough.

It takes three hours for the gossip to reach Shoko that Gojo Kakashi has been instituted as a sorcerer. The movers and shakers of the jujutsu world have found the second Gojo to be steeped in similar potential as his brother. An exhibition match is being planned.

Four hours to know who came up with that bright idea.

Six hours to know they want to test his combat abilities.

Shoko stares through the ink staining her papers and realizes she needs to make a choice.

Shoko's heels click down the hallway's wooden floors like a war anthem. She likes the sound - it's a bit of a reminder to herself that she's allowed to make noise, that her words have worth. After growing up alongside two legends, she carries that with her.

They all used to command attention in different ways.

Satoru and his personality, a noxiously potent force he's crafted as if desperate to be defined by more than the weight of unbeatable power.

Suguru had a kind of danger about him like a riptide current. Hidden and waiting. It dragged him under eventually.

Shoko pushes her limits until they snap, and is very aware this makes her peers view her as terrifyingly impossible to rattle. It's her own brand of danger. A time limit.

Kakashi blinks at her from behind his nearly-neon book, unperturbed despite having been relegated to waiting outside the meeting room like a scolded child. Shoko pauses just long enough to warn him not to stand up from that chair before entering.

"He's not cleared for combat," Shoko announces as she pulls open the door. Yoshinobu-sensei glares up at her from his seat, one eye visible behind drooping white eyebrows. A gnarled hand pauses from stroking his beard, and Shoko knows to the depths of her soul that he's judging her choice of caffeine.

"Shoko-san," Yoshinobu-sensei greets. 

Fuck you, old man.

There's a doctorate that goes with that name and owes her at least the sensei suffix. Yeah, she cheated her way through, but it still fucking counts, doesn’t it? If he has a problem, he can give her another raise that will allow actual retirement to maybe happen soon in her lifetime. Then they’ll all be rid of her. Everybody wins.

She offers the slightest of acceptable bows and pulls the door closed.

Satoru tips his head back on his seat to grin at her, upside down and unrepentant. "Oh?"

"Gojo Kakashi can barely stand, let alone fight." Shoko chews over her words before gritting out, "I'm barring him from using cursed techniques and anything more than bedrest. Estimated two weeks 'till walking or light stretching. If he's gotta go up stairs within the month, there damn well better be a railing."

It's something she does less than she should. Usually she just doesn't give a shit, so Shoko can count on being taken seriously.

Satoru whistles lowly, because he must aggravate every situation he is forced into.

The look Yoshinobu-sense gives her makes it clear that Shoko's next words should be offering to speed up the healing timetable, like that's something she can do easily. "He will be required to undergo a performance review to assess his skill level."

“If you’re putting a sorcerer out there,” Shoko says with all the energy of a commuting salaryman who just got rainwater in his crocs, “then I am healing them. That is my oath.”

Yoshinobu-sensei hunches over his cane. "Unfortunate."

For him?

Maybe.

Shoko, however, could not care less. She has paperwork to fill out and an autopsy to do, unless it's Tuesday. Is it Tuesday? She's planning on spilling hot asphalt over her keyboard as an excuse for missing a conference call then.

Shoko drains the last of her cup and tosses it in the trash. "I can't stay long, but that's my say."

"We will take it under advisement."

Sure.

Shoko turns around and leaves. She needs a smoke.

"You heard the doctor," Satoru says with vicious glee as she slides the door closed. "Hey, hey, did you know that-"

Wood clacks shut; sound oddly muted beyond.

Shoko takes a moment to mourn her lack of beverage, then glances to her right at the eldest troublemaker. The reluctance in his shoulders hints that she is rather lucky to find him where he was left. Kakashi meets her apathetic look with steady resignment and raises his book in a silent toast to mutual suffering. It's the first of many similar moments.

In the end, common sense prevails. Kakashi is not required to partake in an exhibition match, which is fun, fantastic, and fortunate. Shoko loves being listened to. Respect is hard to come by. The politics that accompany both Gojo brothers are horrible and best not thought of, so she switches tasks every time her mind wanders too far and tries to keep this problem in the pocket of her lab coat amongst ink stains and soft lint. It’s the wisest choice.

Shoko submerges herself in work. Days pass, crawling by with email after email until Utahime appears to drag her out of the school.

"They're terrible," Utahime says when they find a precious moment of silence at a bus stop. Aching hands curl over coffee, as if Shoko can leach the warmth into her bones. Decaf, for once.

"Pretty sure mine are worse," Shoko grumbles. "There’s a little international shop just outside the school grounds, and for some hellish reason every last student adores their food violations. They put green food coloring in the guacamole. It’s an insult to the meal."

Utahime frowns. "What?"

"Food coloring."

"Why?"

"To hide that it expired."

Shoko's eyes close.

There's an empty sort of quiet in her head, like the seaside ponds undisturbed by crashing waves a little step away. Her jaw is amber, eyes opal, and there is a crystallized stillness that drifts like swamp water through her chest. It will break under this stress. Cracks and impurities lace structural weakness through her cartilage in the form of weight on her shoulders. Exhaustion is familiar. Waking up after a full night's sleep is not.

Caffeine withdrawal, or she just isn't used to having free time not spent desperately clawing back lost hours of sleep.

Or both.

Both is good.

"Alright," Utahime says. "You've got me there."

Shoko smiles into her cup.

Exhaustion is easy, but life is still so, so good. Days like these are nectar and ambrosia, water in the desert or pulled from the tap in her kitchen sink past 3am and all the sweeter for that late hour.

They go back to Utahime's flat, and Shoko manages to claim cooking duty. She starts the rice cooker and starts rustling through the fridge, only to learn that Utahime has placed her firmly in checkmate.

"Bath's ready," is all the warning Shoko has before Utahime all but marches her down the hallway.

Sweatpants and a shirt Utahime has never worn in her life despite buying them new are dumped into her hands. The lights are all shut off but for a soft nightlight Utahime swears isn't because Shoko lives most of her life with a headache. The large rubber duckie in the corner glows like a nightlight with dim ambient color that’s just soft enough to be comfortable. On her way out, Utahime blows a kiss at Shoko like she’d throw a fastball.

The bathroom door is shut.

Mochi promptly raises a racket.

The door is opened, cat let in, and shut again.

Shoko watches Mochi curl up next to the tub and wonders what kind of hubris that must be. Someday that cat is going to slip into bathwater and emerge a tan-white ball of soaking wrath. There will be claws. Complaints. Maybe even some yelling from multiple species, if it's a particularly fancy occasion.

Everyone gets humbled eventually.

The bath is nice. Tension drains as steam rises. Just for a moment, the strain she carries with her eases, though the weight dragging her down stays. Water to marinate in up past her shoulders can only fix so much. Pain is always a dull ache and constant drag, but her burdens seem to float in the bath, at least.

Pressure becomes manageable.

She used to think everyone felt like this: like there were chains reaching from the center of the earth to wrap around her shoulders, her head, her hips. They anchor in her cheekbones and pull her down with exhaustion. Not everyone struggles so much to stand, to walk, to work. Schedules and medication heal only so much. The rest needs careful attention. Care. Effort and discipline.

Shoko closes aching eyes and wishes she were born a fish.

Fish don't have curses.

Actually, that's not true. Some fish are curses, which kind of sucks for them. Shoko pulled the guts out of one a couple months ago and learned quite a bit about how cursed energy can interact with aquatic species. That one used it to replace oxygen. The whole thing is bizarre. Theoretically she could launch one into space and it’d survive just fine beyond issues like a lack of atmospheric pressure.

…Shoko still wishes she were born a fish.

Tomorrow she will go back to work. She isn't even being called in to do her actual job - no, tomorrow is all for office politics.

What a fucking farce.

Ceramic presses into her cheek as Shoko props her face up beside the cat. One brilliant green eye opens, pupil contracting and expanding as it adjusts to warm yellow lamplight. The cat's nose twitches.

"You don't even have a salary," Shoko whispers. Her voice catches and scrapes like thick paint under a palette knife.

One white paw reaches out, toe pads pressing against Shoko's nose. Mochi rolls, one triangle ear nearly brushing the water. Another paw lands on Shoko's chin. Back feet stick straight up, claws extended and toes wiggling with the stretch.

Yeah.

Mochi's too cute to work.

Would that they all be so lucky.

Shoko exits the bathroom in worn sleepwear to the smell of cooking garlic and onion.

After evening has fallen, she flops onto the empty futon by Utahime's occupied one. It's warm, proof Utahime plugged in her hair dryer and swept it under the blankets like a cheap heating pad. The mellow lamp between their beds stays on for a few minutes of precious silence. Mochi arrives to purr and make biscuits on Utahime's blankets.

These are the good moments.

Almost nothing hurts.

Utahime reaches out of her pile of blankets, hand offered across the floor. Shoko stretches out her own arm, braving cold in the apartment air from where her shirt sleeve ends with its promise of warmth. Their fingers lace together like the stitches holding Shoko's heart in one piece.

"Good night, ‘Hime."

Utahime's free hand blindly slaps at the light until it turns off. She has to twist at an awkward angle to do it, all elbows and the soft clumsiness that only appears with this apartment's safety.

"'Night."

The new sorcerer settles in well enough.

He's a terrible patient and a headache to deal with, but Kakashi seems aware she's regularly pulling overtime to get him functional. He never goes too far out of his way to antagonize her, and Shoko repays it by watching her cruel streak. With a little communication they strike a comfortable balance. From the rumors, she is one of the very few people he's not actively trying to tempt into homicide.

That's a misconception she's never quite understood.

Suffering does not breed wisdom. It does not cultivate patience or serenity. Gojo Kakashi is chronically ill and raging against the world. He sulks and thrashes recklessly against his limits, baiting every sorcerer he meets into a fight with poisonous cheer that mirrors his little brother's habit of smiling though anger. Shoko understands from the depths of her soul. She, too, knows what it is to be defined by too-confining limits, to wake up in the night because everything hurts too much to sleep. People like them are screaming inside, but have only headache and heartache to show for the effort. The only difference is that Kakashi turns to trolling and bad literature while Shoko marinates in apathetic smoke-drunk sorrows.

They are mutually poor role models for this kind of thing.

Kakashi sends off several Valentine's Day glitter bombs. Shoko lets him put down her flat as the return address, if only so she can witness the fallout. It goes as expected. Sheer lethality seems to be keeping the remaining Gojo elders from sniping Kakashi at long range.

Utahime watches it all from Kyoto warily. She and the new guy get along disconcertingly well for all that they logically shouldn’t.

Shoko puts it out of her mind and turns to more important matters. The students are sparring with no regard for their health, and the new first year incoming batch has only two potential recruits. Keeping them alive to adulthood is a fool's errand. Still worth a try, though.

At least it seems all the students are enjoying their summer break.

Something Shoko has never really talked about to anyone but her two closest friends in high school is that there’s an empathy component to her technique.

Cursed energy is created out of emotions. It’s a funny thing, how the nature of those components are mixed and compressed into a tangible form that can interact with the spiritual layer of the world. For an introspective technique like hers, Shoko is very aware of what negative and positive emotions are bleeding into that energy. It’s an awareness that can’t be turned off.

And the survival instinct that’s keeping Kakashi together only shuts off when he gets gleeful enough about annoying the higher-ups. It even halts the grief that follows him like a cloud of mold spores, though that’s not surprising for someone who lost the first twenty or so years of their life to an illness that may never be completely cured.

She really could not care less about who he’s tempting into murder, so long as the fallout does not reach her.

So Shoko shoos Kakashi away and stitches him back together through a series of appointments.

They might be something like friends.

Maybe.

He’s less malevolent than Satoru, more willing to let her pass out on the sofa of his ramshackle house in the woods, when leaving campus would go against her contract but staying awake would lead to injury. In return, she drops the formality and occasionally heals him outside the clinic. The big nerd hates the smell of cleaning chemicals. She bullies him into caring for himself, he adjusts his life to allow her a few seconds of sleep, and they keep each other alive. 

One night he shows up at her window, Utahime behind him and Nanami hauled over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and demands they roast a wild boar he somehow hunted and killed for fun. Utahime claimed there was no ethical problem with game animals the government is literally advertising to minimize farm damage, but Shoko is already both not sure enough to ask and too tired of the hereditary Gojo nonsense to question it. Nanami later informs them that boar-hunting alone is ill advised. How he sounds regretfully familiar with the process is a mystery Shoko is content to ignore until she forgets it. Besides, if Kakashi can take out an adult wild boar while alone, he can hunt however he wants.

So.

Friends.

He’s like a feral cat.

But when Kakashi wanders through the door to her infirmary with a book practically glued to his face and a little brother skipping at his heels, Shoko isn't expecting thanks. That's not something doctors get in the jujutsu world when they bar sorcerers from fighting. Theirs is the duty of resupplying soldiers in this never-ending war against curses, and any spare time can be spent in more productive ways than loitering around and recovering.

They get complaints from impatient brats. Pleas for help with fallen teammates and friends. Resentment for failure to fix the world. Demands from their superiors.

Not thanks.

"You didn't have to buy us time back then," Kakashi says vaguely, and it's honest and cheeky like the lethal menace Shoko just knows he'll end up becoming once fully healed. "Thanks."

Sounds fake, but okay. Sure. "Is this because I'm about to operate on you?"

Satoru faux-gasps at her cruelty, but Kakashi just crinkles his visible eye. 

"Maa, didn't you know? It's good to be on decent terms with your doctor."

Shoko rolls her eyes and checks her own reserves of reverse-cursed energy as she drones, "shut up and lie down. Satoru, you can sit in the chair if Kakashi is fine with that, but one step closer and I'll ruin your life."

Satoru parks himself on the chair, elbows on his knees and grin a bit too wide. "That was almost a decent threat."

"I have blackmail and your brother's phone number."

Satoru makes a sound like she just hit him with a rubber chicken, and Kakashi wheezes a laugh until Shoko shoves a clipboard in his face to fill out.

She's nearly finished coaxing his cursed energy into something a little less noxious, and by all accounts he's capable of entering the field physically. He's got enough of a clean bill of health. At the very least, she's not going to limit his exercise anymore.

The problem is that he's still functionally curse-bait. Stepping outside the barrier will make his presence light up like a beacon.

Last night she scraped together just enough sleep for steady hands. It’s not enough to deal with everything, but… enough to let him go without fighting for his life every second he's outside a barrier. She can grant him subtlety. Mostly. Particularly sensitive curses will still notice that something's wrong, though.

It takes three hours of ridiculously delicate focus on Kakashi's cursed and reverse-cursed energy.

Three hours of mind-numbing details, miniscule adjustments, and use of old techniques that are all but crumbled to dust.

But she does it, tells Satoru to keep an eye on his brother while she passes out for five minutes, and tosses her gloves in the trash. He'll notice if anything is wrong. That's pretty much what his technique was made for, after all. Whether he has to climb onto the cot and wrap his spindly brother in a hug is another matter entirely.

Kakashi endures the obnoxious mother-henning with a resigned grace Shoko is very familiar with. Satoru tends to inspire that reaction in his close friends.

It's fine.

It's done.

She can sleep for a few damn minutes.

Shoko's eyes slip closed the second she collapses at her desk. She wonders, as she notes the heavy pull of drowsiness, how this will come back to bite her.

Technically she shouldn't nod off at work.

Technically.

Satoru has the basic decency to keep his voice at a manageable level as she dozes. It's not behavior anyone expects from a man who does his best to embody a lethal court jester to the utmost degree, but people forget that Satoru knows weakness. He knows how easy bones crack and shatter; how fragile lives are when contrasted with Infinity. Untouchability throws the world into stark comparison. He can probably see the buildup of stress in her mind, the blood flow and developing bags under her eyes, and the red tracing over her sclera as capillaries burst from lack of sleep.

So, no.

Satoru's not going to piss off a doctor. Much less his friend, who he saw go from a grungy kid with an attitude problem to the chain-smoking wine aunt she is now.

It is, Shoko thinks as she accidentally drops into a deeper sleep, his most redeeming quality.

She wakes up eighteen hours later with a killer headache on Satoru’s ridiculously expensive couch. Some merciful deity has encouraged Satoru to keep the lights off and leave a paper napkin on the table next to her in their usual signal. Shoko remembers high school. She remembers collapsing in the back of black cars, both her boys beside her after a mission accomplished. They’d all nod off in the wake of an adrenaline high. She can picture it now - Suguru sitting up straight like some kind of monster, Shoko leaning on his left shoulder, and Satoru drooling on his right.

Good times.

Then one died, one lost his anchor, and one lost her way.

Now she's waking up and her mouth feels like something died in it, her eyes are crusted over, and the blanket tossed over her has slipped away to leave her cold as a frozen hell. At least the lights are off.

Small mercies.

Shoko grabs the napkin and finds her way to the fridge, cracking it open to pour holy light across kitchen tiles and countertops. Squinting past illuminated sweets, Shoko fishes out the takeout.

Yakisoba.

Nice.

Dim streetlights pour illumination in from open windows, helping Shoko stumble towards Satoru’s bedroom door. Luck and little else keep her from tripping on the carpet before finding it nearly closed. He even put a nameplate on it. Cute. She does him the favor of opening it past the carpet to preserve the expensive repairs from this exact scenario, which repeats at least biannually. Habit makes her check there’s no weird knives tucked on top of the door frame before stepping back and kicking the door open with little ceremony. Noodles are shoved into her mouth as she peers in.

Satoru’s not there. Kakashi is passed out like a starfish, but Shoko could care less about that one. She’s looking for her honorary brother. The sweet-tooth dumbass.

Oh, that fucking idiot.

She retreats to the room she was in and yep, there he is, passed out while sitting in the window like the world’s most dandelion-shaped target. Some people make the worst decisions. Worse still, they have the skills to half-way justify it, which only makes the dumbass ideas hit slightly different. This feels like a rosemary-flavored mistake. Satoru has herbs growing in a line of pots by his bedroom, though it's only recently that she discovered he isn't at fault for the little garden at all.

She thinks the rosemary is named Bisuke.

Or Pakkun.

Whatever.

Someday Satoru is going to get sniped.

Shoko considers kicking her former teammate for old time’s sake.

Upsides: he’s near indestructible and wouldn’t be hurt by the fall. He also wouldn't be offended - if anything, it'd be nostalgic given what he and Suguru used to pull when they devolved into wrestling.

Downsides: he’d be loud about it.

She kicks him.

Gently.

Really, it's his own surprise and need for drama that tips him out the window. They both know this, but his squirrel brain loves it for some reason.

Once Satoru has been defenestrated, re-fenestrated, and subsequently complained about the entire process, Shoko is feeling a little better.

She spends the next day at Satoru's apartment, sheltering from her responsibilities like she's sixteen years old again. Sixteen and bright. Sixteen and proud. Sixteen and able to shirk these duties without counting the lives her days off cost on tackily painted nails.

But everyone needs a break.

Overwork is a medical condition.

Shoko lies on the scraggly rug in Satoru's apartment, head on a pillow from the couch and blanket on her lap. She watches the wind blow thin curtains into the room like tidal waves. It is the way of things; this push and pull. Sunlight paints the fabric brilliant white, like it's washed the cotton with water, time, and thyme.

Ceramic clinks.

"A medic's first duty is to heal and keep healing until the job is done," Kakashi says as he sets a cup of tea on the floor somewhere by her elbow. "A medic's second duty is to let their comrades hold the fighting far away from them."

Shoko sighs from the depths of her soul.

"A medic's third duty," he says, "is to die last."

"Which old journal did you pull that from?"

Kakashi smiles behind the mask.

It's such a non-answer.

Shoko looks at him with a doctor's mind and notes how the shadow under his visible eye is already lesser. The other is hidden under fabric, because despite whatever injury cost him it, Kakashi scorns real eye patches. He's so weird. Shoko loves that for him. She also fully supports the healthy color he's already regaining.

"Alright, then," she says, too exhausted and aching to really push this or any other matter. "Keep your secrets."

"Headache?"

"Fading." Shoko eyes him, noting the tension he always holds. It's lesser, yes, but not gone. "You?"

Kakashi tips his head to the side. "Better."

Alright.

Shoko debates hauling herself upright and decides against it. "So, how's Satoru treating your new read?"

Kakashi hacks out an oddly lupine laugh and plops down to sprawl just out of reach. They sit on the ground, forsaking the couch entirely, as he tells her exactly how scandalized his little brother is at his newest choice in smutty romance novels.

-

Satoru drags Megumi off on a field trip and comes back with a vessel of Sukuna. 

Shoko hears about it and mourns all the time she'll have to spend patching up a teenager with that kind of risk assessment skills. The kid looked at a shriveled-up finger that radiated pure evil, and said: wouldn't it be wild if someone ate that? Hey. Hey, is anyone gonna…? Let me just… just put this in my mouth like a toddler. 

Then he didn't wait for an answer.

Disgusting.

Who even does that?

Kakashi and Nanami have started a running bet on what kind of monsters Satoru's students will turn into. One of them's already apparently unhinged, and Megumi goes completely wild if he's pushed far enough in a fight. Shinigami users resemble their spirits over time due to the leaking energy of their techniques, and it shows. Kugisaki – the new student Shoko doesn’t know past paperwork – has pride to spare and brutality to match. She's got a technique the higher-ups can market as merciful. Elegant. It hides the blood. 

They're going to be world-shakers.

Do we get paid overtime for this, Nanami types into their group chat. Kakashi sends him a reply made only of assorted emoji hearts.

No💖, he adds like an afterthought.

Ugh.

Shoko would bet on Satoru snapping and killing the elders before Itadori Yuuji consumes all ten fingers, but Kakashi is right there. Waiting. Lurking in the rafters like an evil little patch of mold. Her workload is heavy enough without this all boiling over, because if there's no fatalities due to internal squabbling, Shoko will be honestly surprised. Stress bubbles under her skin.

She needs to do her taxes.

Shoko goes home, flops face-first onto her couch, and screams into the cushions.

An email notification pops up, one solitary light in the dark apartment. Shoko glares at her phone from the corner of her eye and wonders who will die if she calls in sick tomorrow.

She won't.

Some days, Shoko's mind and body calls it quits. She saves her sick days for when she physically can't get out the door. It's not worth wasting time off that will be needed unexpectedly later. Burnout is hard to fight when her cursed technique is holding up half the jujutsu world. Doctors don't sleep enough, but sorcerers push their medical teams to the edge daily. Shoko thinks it's part of the exorcist culture.

There are so many people who are irreplaceable and running on fumes all at once.

Mei Mei-senpai would make the list if she weren't expensive enough to make the elders wary. Self-employed and a prodigious sensory technique, combined with perfect awareness of her value. She answers to nobody but her bank account. It's not a fair comparison when the rest of them trudge along through political quagmire.

Rats in a maze.

Mei Mei-senpai made a place for herself. Suguru cracked under the pressure. Satoru kicks the whole maze around until it rearranges to his liking, damn the consequences and everyone else. Shoko wonders who will be next to shift this house of cards.

It's trembling.

Do the elders see?

She passes out on that couch, too tired to heat dinner in the microwave. It takes most of her energy to plug in her phone and snag a blanket from the floor.

Morning sun drifts through the windows.

Screeching music drills into her ears.

Five, Shoko tells herself. Four. Three, two, one- She pushes herself off the couch and smacks into the floor. A bruised hip and elbow chivvy her upright, then through her morning routine.

Email notifications follow her out the door.

She is halfway awake by the train station.

Three-quarters awake and covering a yawn by the time she reaches the school entrance.

A man in a business suit is waiting at her office door. Shoko scans him for injuries out of habit, notes the regulation white dress shirt, black jacket, black slacks, and wonders who she pissed off this time.

He introduces himself but Shoko's coffee burns her hands, and she misses his name. It feels rude to ask again, so she gets a business card. She finds she does not need it when he steps aside, and a wizened old man appears from behind him in the world’s shittiest magic trick.

An esteemed elder.

Not one she's ever spoken to, though.

He has questions about her two least favorite patients.

About what happened to the last Gojo head.

About how strong Kakashi is. Does she know he beat a special grade with his bare hands and no formal training? How did he do it? Did she detect anomalies while healing him?

Confidentiality is something they seem rather intent on ignoring, no matter how often she cites the law. Not like that could hold anyone back in the jujutsu world, but Shoko is still beholden to her oaths.

In all honesty she really doesn't pay them much notice, but they’re useful. Sometimes.

Like now.

"I am delighted to inform you that the Gojo brothers are none of my business," Shoko says flatly as she flicks on the overhead lights. "It's my new favorite motto. The world is weird, and I'm tired, so I've decided that unless given a good reason, I am minding my own business."

"He is nearly a curse-user," the elder notes, which is a captivatingly bold lie. Kakashi is unhinged as a half-rabid wolf, but he hides it right up until someone threatens his brother.

Besides, what’s the definition of curse-user? Someone who has a technique and uses it in a way that’s not perfectly what the old busybodies want? Big fuckin’ whoop. They can call her when she makes the list. Until then, Shoko is going to sit in her lab sharing a smoke with her wine and her misery.

"Oh?" Shoko says, as if distracted by finding gloves. They're in the same place as always, but she rustles through a cabinet to show proper disdain for the authorities. Ignoring him feels delightfully petty. "Is that all?"

"If he refuses to submit his techniques for testing again, we will take measures."

Satoru would have a field day with that.

She kind of wants them to take those cute little ‘measures’ just so everyone getting comfy with their unquestioned power remembers a bit of humility. There's no need for the jujutsu world to resemble a dictatorship quite so closely.

"I simply do not care about that." The curse she needs to inspect makes a heavy splat sound as she drops it on the dissection table.

The old man pointedly lifts a sleeve over his nose.

He is ignored.

If she cycles her technique internally, Shoko can cleanse her lungs of chemical fumes with every inhale. This ability is not replicable. Sooner rather than later, she will be left alone. Shoko pries cartilage loose from a femur and cracks it open to sniff at cursed bone marrow. 

Apparently he has no clue how to deal with her apathy, because he rambles on as if she didn't say anything. It's annoying. Shoko guts another curse and spills bleach across the floor until he gets the hint and leaves. Good riddance.

Windows are thrown open, fans turned on, the floor cleaned, and Shoko contentedly settles elbow-deep in her research.

She stays there until her lunch break, which Shoko uses to march into the forest towards a tiny little cottage-like residence Satoru recently pushed, prodded, and bullied his way into securing. The idea of giving a former curse-magnet access to a barrier space that can contain that issue should it resurface was just logical enough for the elders. They chose a little scrap of land in the forest, had the beefiest barriers they could think of built up, and seemed content to forget about it entirely. Whether the building appeared within these barriers before or after barrier creation is unclear. It has a coffee machine, a couch, and an owner that doesn't mind her crashing at his place for five blessed minutes.

Kakashi is good like that, even if he's a menace.

Luckily, her friend is sitting outside like usual these days. He's sharpening blades the old-fashioned way with a whetstone, though Shoko ignores this.

"Is anyone listening in?"

Kakashi turns towards her just enough to watch, likely caught off guard by the bluntness. They tend to poke at each other and complain about whatever inconvenience caught their fraying attention. It’s a habit built out of long hours dragging his health into something manageable. They know each other's boundaries; Shoko complains, Kakashi trolls, and they mutually go easy on each other. 

Kakashi leans back until he's leaning on one of the paper ofuda plastered around his little building. "No."

"When this all goes up in flames," Shoko says, "do me a favor? Kill your targets."

Kakashi's hands pause on the blade. "That's treason."

Treason.

What an archaic term for the mercy she's asking. 

"I am so tired," Shoko says quietly. "Please. Don't let them push my technique past its limits in the aftermath."

Stone and steel scrape together one last time before Kakashi chooses another blade.

"Some things never change," he says, so quietly Shoko wonders if she's supposed to hear. Then, louder, "alright."

Thank goodness and good riddance.

Shoko could refuse to heal whoever shows up for emergency treatment in the aftermath of that inevitable conflict. She could pick and choose. Doing so would break many rules, though.

Shoko isn't Kakashi or Satoru. Her worth and use fail if she refuses to offer them up for consumption. It is an exhausting way of life that leaves her feeling hollow and beaten, but she is still standing. Despite it all, Shoko is still here. That matters.

"Thanks," is all she says.

-

A/N: Regarding how/why Kakashi reincarnated: thats really up to you as a reader. I, personally, think the Sage was skipping stones across the tanabata star river and accidentally beaned a ninja in the head with one. A second chance at life is his apology gift. Kakashi remembers none of this. He is living off the goal to someday figure out how to summon his doggos, completely unaware that the ninja world he left is dealing with the fact that several dozen witnesses saw an elite assassin get struck down from the sky. Divine judgement to the extreme. They then saw an old due with horns and unmistakable resemblance to many folktales to show up, scratch his head at the whole aftermath, and go "whoops" before dipping. My basis for this theory is that I think it's funny

[mikeellee]

I never did a rant about a ship before bc I always thought someone else could do a better job defending it but, considering how this fandom is...maybe I should give my 2 cents for shigadeku

Note: please. I’m note here to cause any ship war. You ship what you want. If you dont like shigadeku then that’s fine.

That’s out of the way, lets talk about this ship. Now, Hori is a bad writer but even in his bad canon...shigadeku does have interesting and “strong” foundations.

I put “” here bc any ship headed by Hori will be bad written. I know this.

Both are different sides of the same coin. Both are outcasts, both have quirks that caused them pain.

And both are alone.

Now, what we know about shiggy is that he is being manipulated by AFO since a young age.

* I want to mention here how...in the hands of a better writer, the name deku could mean smth omen and AFO could call shiggy deku either in front of him or to his back to add more paralels and development for the 2 like, Izu stood up and says/make bk stop calling him deku is great but imagine him defending shiggy?*

oK think with me. In any sci fi/fantasy movie when a character is being mind controlled or groomed...what would stop him to finished the task is seeing the hero/loved one bc would be the begin for the character to.set free.

“I was supposed to kill this person but I dont want ....for now” and develop from there.

Now, when we meet Shiggy is into the hate AFO spill. He has 0 reasons for wanting AM dead.

“Ahhh but AM represent how this society is bad”

Great answer and idea for a fic. But in canon he never gives a real answer. “I hate AM” is his get go....no further explanation.

But how funny he saw Zuzu and staet wanting to talk to him. No one put this idea in his head.

No AFO.

No Kotaro.

Its all Shiggy.

He, still under AFO’s bullshite, went to see Zuzu. And yes we get the mall scene but what many fans oddly refuse to admit is how...he went to Zuzu on his own free will.

THAT IS HUGE. Especially considering SHIGGY IS GROOMED (that is not fanfic that is canon and I do hate hori’a canon)

He has a photo of Izu...who by the time was just a student.

Like this has a HUGE potential. And I dont get why people refuse to reconize that?

If this stoey was headed by a competent writer shigadeku would be a more prevalent relationship.

They arent mortal enemies...they are two hurt boys stuck in this stupid war and decide to stop the feud.

God this line above is more romantic.

For those wondering...I did watch boku already liking IzuOcha but...Hori sideline Ochako and her feelings so much.

“Ah and the cute moments? Izuocha will be canon, not shigadeku”

I Know. And I have no problems with this ship- if we compare with naruto’s canon ship- but it doesnt change how underveloped it is. Also, Izu could have cute moments with Mina too and no one will say they are endgame.

Not sure if my point is clear. All I’m saying is that Shigadeku has such romantic potential and you dont need to turn Izu into “soft cinnamon roll” or change Shiggy into “playboy” to make it work.

“Ah gross. Shiggy is older than Zuzu”

3 or 4 years isnt a big deal. I mean, Shiggy was a 17 years old when the story begins and that didnt stop anyone to ship shiggy witb dabi or eraserhead who are older than him.

Plus why equate a romantic relationship with sex right away? Zuzu and Shiggy are traumatized and while yes, some people can cope differently...I doubt Shiggy will go “welp time to fuck some bitches”

Shigadeku can be a slow burn. Two souls who meet each other, who are healing and learning to trust again and...then comes sex.

Or they can fuck too. This is fiction. I promise you the shipping police is not real.

“Ah but shigadeku is abusive. He tried to kill zuzu”

In the bs of war arc? Yes. But note how a dude who is seeting to kill Heroes and was groomed for this...never decayed Zuzu in that mall.

BUT HEY WANNA KNOW WHO TRIED TO KILL HIM 2 TIMES AND THE FANDOM SHIPS ZUZU WITH? 🙃🙃

“Izu is not gay”

They are fictional, plus, you know what? After the bs of Mineta...Zuzu is the Bi king we deserve.

“Shiggy would abuse Zuzu”

Actually ....nope. Take how Shiggy treats LoV for example, i know therw are fics who make Shiggy be EVIL and awful to his found family but in Hori’a canon...he is pretty nice to them.

HEY WANNA KNOW WHO IS ABUSIVE TOWARDS ZUZU AND THE FANDOM STILL SHIP ZUZU WITH THIS PERSON?🙃🙃

“Why you hate hori’a canon so much?”

Bc this relationship was dropped and wasted. Like when the mall scene happened on my first watch I thought “oh they will interact again after that” NOPE AND HE TRIES TO RECRUIT BK AND EVEN THROUGH HE IS CRAZY ABOUT ZUZU AND HAS A PHOTO OF HIM...NEVER TRIES TO LEARN ANYTHING ABOUT HIM.

Some call that bk’s redemption arc ...excuse me

🤢🤮

Lets call bs arc to not ruin the redemption arcs’s name.

Not only it make Shiggy seem a bit dumb (and still a better option tham bk) bk DIDNT CHANGE AT ALL.

A reason for me to like this ship, aside the paralels and enemies to lovers, is the idea of someone truly caring and protecting Zuzu...someone who can understand his pain and help him.

“And yoi think shiggy could be that person?”

I do. We saw how he cares for LoV and while yeah Shiggy and Izu wouldnt be cassanovas here...it would have a great deal of caring and trust.

(I know shigadeku writers like to dumb down zuzu so he can be Shiggy’s sexy toy and...I say....write what you want but what a way to waste great characters and what a way to be boring)

Overral, wish this ship get more consideration in this fandom but...if we are in a fandom where some say “trash boy is the best boy” 🙁😔

[acnelli]

Hi acnelli! This is going to sound really morbid, but do you have an fic recs where Ron dies (nearly or fake are cool too) and the other characters have to deal with the aftermath? I love the kind of angst where you don't really appreciate something until it's gone. Please and thank you!

Hello anon,

oh no, don't worry. I live for reading this kind of angst. This list includes mainly Romione, but also Rarry (self-rec) and one Dron story.

Should anyone else know stories with this trope, please reblog this post with your recs.

You know the drill. If you enjoyed reading these stories, please take a moment to leave Kudos and comments/reviews, regardless of how old the fics might be. Your comments matter, they matter always.

***

For Lack of a Bezoar by BolshevikMuppet99

Canon Divergence from HBP. When Harry fails to save Ron's life in Slughorn's office, he and Hermione are thrust into a search for answers. But the path is thornier than either of them could have possibly imagined.

Harry and Hermione snap after Ron's death and go on a Kill-all-Death-Eaters-trip.

7 Years, 6 Months, 4 Days by @trademarkblue

Hermione tries to cope with life after Ron's death, but what if all she thought she knew about what happened to him so many years ago was a lie?

Prepare for a lot of angst, pain and some good smut!

In This Together by @firethecanonsfanfiction

When tragedy strikes, Rose and Hugo have no choice but to deal with what has befallen them. Through struggles, anger, frustration, and most importantly, love, how will their tragic circumstances bring them closer together?

Both Ron and Hermione die in this one.

Refusing to Believe by carrytheotter

In the search for Hermione's parents Ron is stricken with an unknown curse. The experts and family all agree that Ron is brain dead, alive only in a shell of himself. But Hermione refuses to believe that her soul mate is gone, fighting to find him and bring him home. Ron, meanwhile, is fighting just as hard to get back, falling more in love with his witch every step of the way.

Stranger Stranger by @azaleablueme

With Ron gone, Harry struggles to move on while Hermione remains stuck in limbo- until she finds him. Or does she?

Angst, angst and some really good mystery.

My Boyfriend (self-rec)

When Harry goes through his dead husband's belongings, he discovers something he had never seen before: Ron's old diary.

I was being told that this made people cry. So I guess it fits your request (I hope).

While You Were Sleeping by keeperofthemoon

When Ron doesn't return home from a mission as expected, Draco has to swallow his pride and figure out what happened to him.

This story shows Draco's, Harry's, and Ginny's fear for Ron so well.

***

Thanks for the ask, anon. I hope you enjoy reading them.

[smokyvrbada]

Any head cannons for Cyrax

Of course! Cyrax has been one of my favorites for as long as I can remember, here ya go!😊

General HC's for Cyrax

Summary: General Headcanons for Cyrax

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), canon-typical violence + death, angst, mentions of abuse and loss, Cyrax honestly needs to make a comeback

The only assassin out of the main five Lin Kuei to join the clan under his own decisions, in a way. After losing both his parents when he was in his early teen years, Lin Kuei scouts approached Cyrax in Botswana, having observed his skill in kombat for some time now; at this point, he did not know they were Lin Kuei, rather thinking they were offering their condolences. In a state of grief, he went with them willingly, seeking a newfound purpose and the rest is history; Cyrax was 14 when he officially joined the Lin Kuei.

Cyrax befriended Bi-Han before Sektor maybe a week or so after his arrival; they honestly have a stronger friendship. He would often get paired up with one of them on missions, both Bi-Han and Sektor had gained mutual respect for him. Cyrax acts as the voice of reason in the trio when they are on missions together; he tends to hang around Sektor a lot more though, brainstorming more ideas for weapons and such, they even have their own workshop.

It took well over a year after joining for Cyrax to be fully accustomed to Lin Kuei life; he was shocked upon hearing/seeing the brutality of it all. Within a couple months of being at the temple, Kuai Liang and Smoke would often flood him with questions, curious about the idea of life outside the Lin Kuei. It broke Cyrax's heart a little, but he finds comfort in recalling fond memories of his past, as it helps him cope and reflect.

Cyrax is mostly peaceful, a laid-back man, at least when he's not in kombat; like Smoke, he doesn't talk much, but he won't shy away from a conversation he finds interesting. Cyrax can be very sarcastic/straightforward when he wants to be, and has a great sense of humor. He quickly learned not to question the clan's morals, but they don't exactly stop him in doing what he believes to be right (i.e. refusing to kill Johnny Cage in MK9 + speaking out against the Cyber Initiative).

Surprisingly, Cyrax is the second youngest Lin Kuei in the group; all of them have relatively short age gaps, I'd like to think Smoke beats him by only a few months; Cyrax's facial hair makes a big difference though. Also is one of the few members in the entire clan to join at such a late age. Cyrax likes being paired up with Smoke and Kuai Liang since they're closer in age and get along better; not that he doesn't mind being on joint missions with Bi-Han or Sektor, but he feels slightly more at ease with the others.

Tends to get migraines a lot due to stress. It doesn't help that on top of that he's constantly building/around technology, after a while Cyrax can get overwhelmed by it. He was requested by the Grandmaster to make armor prototypes to help warriors thrive in more extreme conditions; unbeknownst to him, Cyrax would create the framework for the Cyber Lin Kuei's bodies.

Overall, Cyrax has a kind soul, hidden under the aloof exterior that all Lin Kuei are acclimated into; he often regrets letting his guard down in such a vulnerable state, but has grown to adapt and survive in the Lin Kuei. Unfortunately, it caused him to get mixed up with the wrong people, and ultimately, he lost his humanity in the end.

[coolguycoconutchutney]

I didn’t end up putting my thoughts onto tumblr and just dumped them stream of conscious into text messages but I stopped at season 9 I couldn’t go any further

After s5 it had been mostly relegated to background noise but whenever I tune back in it’s just getting increasingly depressing watching the quality of the show rapidly deteriorate while the budget keeps increasing and the HD cameras really capture these poor actors aging into their late 30s still doing this shit (they make up for this by spray tanning the shit out of them like these men are Oompa Loompa orange atp). And like, poor Sam and Dean (and everyone in their periphery) they can never catch a break and keep going in circles and they keep unraveling all the character traits that made me care for them in the first place :( look how they massacred my boys

Like somewhere in the first 5 seasons idr exactly but Sam and Dean get themselves into jail to catch a ghost killing prisoners and even though they realized that they didn’t actually successfully get rid of the ghost, Sam was ready to go forward with their escape and tells Dean that these are criminals does it really even matter if they didn’t catch the ghost but Dean tells him that just because they’re in jail it doesn’t mean they deserve to die, and that moment really stuck with me and what it told us about his character. But then couple seasons later when they’re trying to get Sam’s soul back (against his will????) Dean has to be Death for the day and he just waits to let a guy who was shot and killed while robbing a convenience store die just so he can keep suffering as punishment for robbing a store (aside: that whole episode made me so mad, one of which is like are you telling me that Death really only goes through like 3 people a day within the same 5 mile radius?????)

As soon as they elevated Sam and Dean to be some sort of Special Generational Heirs the show started going downhill, like what made the show great was that it was a procedural with a paranormal flair grounded by the relationship between these two brothers set in the backdrop of small town america (which yes I know blah blah America let’s speed run through the discourse, but the show was a love letter to small town America and how even in these remote, seemingly unremarkable places, there’s still so much history and people who care about each other). Sam and Dean were special, but not capital S Special and that’s why they were compelling characters. They were just two brothers working through their trauma, especially at the hands of their abusive father, trying their best to kill things that go bump in the night since that’s the only thing that they are sure of and how they can cope with the damage and pain that has followed them their whole life. The moment you add some sort of ordained higher power to the mix, these characters are stripped of their agency and their motivations become unclear. (Also personally not a fan of cementing judeo-Christian canon as the Official Truth Of The Universe, I cannot emphasize how much I hate the episode in s5 with the “””pagan gods””” in the weird hotel who want to drink blood or whatever (mind you, at least 2 were from Hinduism a major world religion that is very much alive and active) S4 rocks since the arc was Dean coming to terms with the abuse at the hands of his father and that he didn’t deserve any of it and that he does deserve to live, he has value outside of just being a caretaker for Sam. He’d do anything for his brother but at the same time he realizes his brother is his own person with his own sense of agency, and he owes it to his brother to let him make his own choices. But now as time goes on Dean just seems to increasingly resent Sam but still refuses to let go of their codependency (this is around the time where I shift from favoring Dean to favoring Sam because man in the first few seasons Dean just loves his brother and Bobby so fucking much 🥹 and then later they traumatize this poor man so much and he becomes Insufferable)

Hot take, I really don’t care for Cas. The queerness of his and Dean’s relationship is (un)intentionally palpable, but so much of their intense dialogue hinges on how “Cas is family” and how important Cas is to them, but most of the time they have no clue where Cas is and what his motivations are (which the intensity of their relationship in contrast with what they actually do together just makes the whole thing seem more gay, like I didn’t read Dean and Benny’s relationship as queer and instead just as an example of a genuine male friendship because their bond was way more earned. Dean and Cas are just constantly pining for each other)

The final straw that made me put the show down was in s9 where I’m presuming that the showrunners were trying to squash the gay allegations and human!Cas is homeless and standing in the rain and some lady randomly brings him to her home and has sex with him (which is already ???????) and afterwards Cas is all like 👉🏾👈🏾🥺 was that good and how he’d like to keep doing that (the lady says yes which you know damn well it was not good), which I’m so sorry maybe I was just high but it felt nauseating to watch. The lady turned out to be a demon or whatever so it’s like. well that was just sexual assault of both Cas and the human vessel, neither of whom consented to the sex. Also idk if Misha Collins did this on purpose but every time they try to pair Cas up with a woman (like with Meg???????) it sounds so unconvincing and forced and he very much doesn’t seem very enthused to be involved. I think they’re frantically trying to un-gay Cas but like. Just let an angel be gay and autistic damn

Now I understand why this show had such a cult fandom that made this show very much their own because there’s so much potential here and the characters are multi-dimensional with complex relationships with each other but I don’t think the showrunners realized that

Anyways I’m almost 20 years late to this so this has probably all been Discoursed to death already

For context I am rewatching/watching Supernatural beyond where I quit the last time I tried watching it (in high school bc I wanted to fit in on tumblr). I finished The Boys and Kripke openly pays homage to Supernatural so I thought it was time I finish what I started (I’m still just 2 seasons after Kripke’s departure so idk when it’ll really start going off the rails).

I Have So Many Thoughts about it after watching it a decade later and with a less liquified brain. I have been dumping them all on my friend (hi kawaii king) so I will try to articulate it on my cloutless tumblr account, from whence it all began

(Side note It’s been playing almost nonstop since I started and sometimes it’s just ambient noise, so I will never grasp the experience of following this story for a decade and a half. Like I’m on season 7 and it’s like cool we’re pretty much halfway, but that was SEVEN whole ass YEARS and we’re still just getting started)

Anyways it’s absurd if the showrunners didn’t want people to read Dean and Castiel’s relationship as queer like Castiel literally rebelled from heaven for Dean and Dean literally only has 3 very intense (male) relationships in the show and one is his brother and the other is his (adoptive) father. What do you expect people to think if they keep staring deeply into each others eyes man

[messymessyml]

This fic idea haunts me:

So Damian canonically dies and is brought back to life with a chaos shard, and this process grants him some powerful abilities before he uses them up in a fight orchestrated by Bruce/the JL (from what I understood, Bruce was concerned Damian wasn't able to control them and his ego combined with the new powers was concerning, so he staged a mecha fight to have Damian save the JL and the mech was just powerful enough to require everything Damian had to give). This was a very entertaining plot as a reader, but a pretty horrifying and manipulative way of dealing with Damian.

This got me thinking; if I was Damian and had just been revived and developed powers and my father had manipulated me into losing them, I'd be angry but more than that I don't know if I'd trust any of the adults in my life if they were willing to completely lie their way through a plot to take away a new advantage (one that allowed me to literally fly and be on par strengthwise with my best bro Superboy) that I'd gained after having died because I was too slow. A death that happened as a result of being betrayed by my own mother and my aged-up clone. I decided to give my all to save the adults in my life at the cost of my powers (powers that might protect me the next time my mother decided I was less than useful to her schemes yet again) only to realize the entire fight was staged. I was lied to. The gratitude I received from the big three, two of which are father figures and one of the most powerful women in the world, a family friend, all decided to lie to my face and manipulate me.

This, on the tail end of my very traumatic revival where my father and a lot my my family almost died trying to bring me back. Everyone was so relieved I'd survived that they forgot to help me cope with the fact that I still died. In my teens. After a year in the ground, most people had processed my death but i felt like i had just died and seemingly woken up with my father stabbing me in the same place my clone brother had impaled me mere moments ago.

I could definitely see the trauma and betrayal and non-existent coping skills driving a wedge even further between my family and I and dissolving any bonds of trust I had with the outside adults in my life. Driven mad with nightmares and the uncanny feeling that you're behind the times and life is moving too fast to heal from, I'd definitely decide to do something rash.

Maybe even move to Tibet rash.

What's interesting is that in one of the storylines, Damian goes and learns from a Buddhist monastery at one point. What if, Damian does this after losing all trust in his support network and decides the best way to protect himself is by leaving.

Here's where The crossover happens. I'm getting tired so I'm switching to bullet points:

Damian moves to Tibet

He finds his way into the mountains on a soul searching journey and stumbles upon the Temple of the Miraculous

The kwami here have free reign and more direct action abilities, which, in this case, means they can turn into animals and act as independent guardians when their miraculous are not in use

Marinette had had longer to train with the kwami and is not the direct grand guardian, she's just a guardian in training with a true Ladybug soul

Marinette portals back and forth from Paris to Tibet with Kaalki and on one of her visits meets Damian

Hawkmoth is still at large but Marinette had more backup this time around

Dami and Mari kick it off

Damian wants to help Marinette and ends up joining in guardian training

Idk if he's a true cat soul or not, but they aren't soulmates in that sense of the word, he just matches Marinette and can tell he could grow to love her

Again growing tired, but eventually, through meeting and helping each other (Mari with tactics, Dami with healing) they fall for each other

Damian starts a new life with Mari and ends up being a full guardian

Unclear if Damian would forgive his family in this one

Damian may or may not have been involved in Hawkmoth's defeat but he definitely keeps Mari stable and Plagg in a good mood

Idk this idea refuses to write itself even though it's already written in my head. Good luck me. I have some written out but I've been hesitant to post about it as transitions have been very hard for this one.