#you deserve your eric draven content

[brandonlees]

me: :( . *you posting the crow gifset* me: :) .

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Hi can u please write about domestic life with Bills Eric Draven? Can there be fluffy and smutty moments? Tyyyy

Boy can I??? I’d be DELIGHTED. His domesticity is all I think about. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving bf and you can’t change my mind. I got a little carried away! Hopefully this is what you were wanting! Enjoy doll!

Bf!Eric x gf!reader. Explicit sexual content under the cut, minors dni, oral (f receiving), p in v. brief mentions of drug use, mostly fluffy relationship stuff

It wasn’t entirely easy. You and Eric. The circumstances under which you met and the nature of the both of you was quite dysfunctional. You were chaos, and he was a mess. But it worked. The two of you. You worked perfectly. You weren’t sure what it was, you had never been able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. But it was almost like you were meant to be together. If you didn’t believe in the whole soulmates thing, you started to believe it when you met Eric.

He was so unreal, so out of this world. He was always by your side, fingers laced with yours, arm thrown over your shoulder. He always had to be touching you, whether it was something as little as holding your hand, or going as far as putting you in a matting press when he fucked you, because he hated the idea of not being as close to you as possible. He never meant to, he didn’t even know what it was. He just did it one day. Your knees damn near next to your head, your body nearly folded in half as he draped his body over yours. You didn’t even know your body could bend this way. But god this you like it. How deep he could be this way. And you had him so close you could hear his little sounds, his hard breathing and his soft grunts.

He always felt a little bad, manhandling you around like you were nothing. If he wasn’t bending your body in ways you didn’t think were human, he was putting you in a headlock as he took you from behind, one arm draped around your neck from shoulder to shoulder. He just wanted you close, afraid you’d run away. But he sometimes forgot to take it easy on you. You always assured him you were more than happy with him, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Deep down it made you all kinds of earn to know you could arise such passions from him. For someone so morbidly quiet and nonchalant, Eric was very intense and passionate lover.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.” He would tell you, his voice soft and quiet in your ear, grounding you as his cock fucked you into nothing. “I just want to make you feel good, hm? Just want to make you feel good. That’s what you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve this. You’re too good for me.” He would say, his lips on your cheek as quiet moans spilled from your lips. “You’re just so… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” His name falling from your lips would be the end of him. So soft and desperate for him. He didn’t have much experience before you, but now he just can’t get enough of you. He wanted to be all over you at all times it actually upset him when you had to leave or when he did.9

But he was also oh so kind, so gentle and patient with you. He always followed you around like an oversized puppy, quietly listening to whatever tangent you would go on about. You could be cursing up a storm (albeit not directed at him) and he would take it with a straight face and big eyes. And it was often that nothing more but his presence would calm you down, center you.

“How do you do it?” You asked him one day, hot tears staining your face after a day of one stressor after another. Eric had managed to get you on the couch where he silently sat you down on his lap. You almost immediately curled up into his lap, legs tucked under you and your head on his chest. You felt an almost instant sense of relief and peace fill you, and you were sighing deeply, feeling your heart slow its fast beating.

“Do what?” He asked you softly, his fingers massaging your head calmly. You rested your hand on his chest, eyes closed.

“This. You calm me down. I was crying two minutes ago and now I feel… okay.” You felt him shrug under you and when you looked up he had a smile on his face. That smile could make you forget any grief or sadness you might have, because none of it really mattered.

But it wasn’t just him who could bring you peace, you were his, too. His lows weren’t as intense or visible as yours, but when he was at his low, he was at an all time low. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, he would just go about his day like a corpse, eyes dead and empty and his mind elsewhere. You understood he had his issues too, so you tried to be there for him without pushing him. You were more subtle. You’d make him dinner, you’d invite him to watch a movie with you. And you’d tangle up with him on the couch as you all but forced him to eat, and you’d talk to him about your day. But something so small always meant so much to him. He couldn’t help the way he felt, he couldn’t help his negative thoughts that drove him to do drugs in the first place, but having you around to remind him someone in this world loved and cared for him, it made it all a little bit easier.

Eric started to bring you flowers one day. Every week once a week, he could come home with your favorite flowers. He alternated colors. With a sheepish smile he’d stand in the doorway with his hands behind his back. And the way he would look at you when gushed about how pretty they were was like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world, the only one that mattered. And to him you were. Seeing that smile on your face was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“You like them?” He would ask as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’d do it just to hear you giggle and watch you all but skip to put them in water. “Yeah? I saw them and thought about you.”

He always thought about you. There wasn’t a single waking second where he didn’t. You were good for him. And he knew that. He didn’t need anything else to fill the emptiness in his chest because he had you. You had filled that hole and he made sure you knew that everyday.

Eric had many ways to show his love and devotion for you. He wrote you poems, he drew for you, you had so many sketches you have started to run out of places to hang them, but this one was by far his favorite. He could spend literal hours between your legs. He absolutely loved it. He was absolutely obsessed with it.

“E-Eric.. Please.” You were shaking, sweating, incoherent as his tongue circled on your clit, his long fingers fucking you through your, fourth, fifth? You stopped keeping count. He had been down there for an eternity. He just kept asking for one more, just one more and he’d leave you alone. But it wasn’t enough. He was quite obsessive with the things he wanted.

But he figured he’d have to give you a break eventually. He was also painfully hard.

“I’m sorry baby.” He muttered softly as he crawled up your body, using the back of his hand to wipe the mess you had made, but his plush lips were still bright red and glistening. “You know I get carried away sometimes… You’re just so..”

He would kiss your face, brush your hair, soothe you back into a functioning human being. It wasn’t often that Eric vocalized his thoughts, but in moments like this when he felt safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, he would tell you all about how pretty you were, how talented you were, how much he loved you.

Eric was always full of surprises. He was quiet and nonchalant, but he was impulsive. You learned that very quickly.

“Baby?” You heard Eric call out to you as he came into the loft. You sat on the computer as you listened to one of his recordings. He had asked you to help him out since he really wanted to start pursuing his music and art now that he actually had someone that supported him.

With a smile, you took your headphones off and went to greet him, but you immediately frowned when you saw him hold something wrapped up in his hoodie.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” You stood up, approaching him with narrowed eyes as he broke out a smile.

“I’m sorry. I just found it, I just.. I felt bad.” He pulled down his hoodie to reveal a precious little kitten. A black ball of fur coating its little face. Your heart immediately sank and you wanted to cry.

“Oh my god, Eric.” You took the kitten into your hands and your eyes started watering as you hugged it. Eric wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction. Did you hate it? Were you upset?

“No, baby, I’m sorry. I found it outside, it’s kinda cold and it was drinking from a puddle. I didn’t want a car to hit it. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, we can take it to a shelter or something.” He started to mumble, a hand coming to rub the back of his head and his lips fell open when he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He approached you, reaching to grab your face. “Please don’t cry.”

“No… No Eric I’m not..” You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears as you leaned into Eric’s chest while still hugging the now purring black ball of fur. “I’m not upset at all. It’s just… I’ve never had my own pet before. And it’s so cute, can we keep it, please? It’d be our little child.”

The way you looked at him with big pleading eyes made him feel so warm, he never thought he’d feel something like this. He smiled, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course we can keep it. He’s kinda cute, right?” Eric chuckled as he scratched the little one’s head.

“Or she.”

Your little ball of fur wasn’t the only thing you and Eric shared. You got so many matching tattoos it was concerning. Your friends and family had even told you it was odd to get tattoos with a guy you had been dating for only a few months. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t know why, but deep down you knew your connection with Eric was out of this world. So what were a couple tattoos? You loved that you had a physical reminder of your connection with him. The feelings deep within your souls were forever marked on your skin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Truth was, Eric loved tracing each and every one of your tattoos. He traced his fingers over the fine lines, traced the words, he traced his lips over them too. He particularly loved the ones on your back and on your stomach, the ones no one but him could see. They were his little secret.

You matched each other perfectly, in every way.

[amomentsescape]

i’m loving the eric draven content! maybe for your next prompt some comfort where the reader and eric stay in for the night for a self care evening with skincare & bubble baths? he always looks so worn out and exhausted & i think he would def enjoy it

Self-Care Evening with Eric

Eric Draven x Reader

A/N: Eric only deserves the nicest things in life.

It may have taken a full week of begging on your part, but Eric finally gave in

It's nearly impossible to keep Eric inside during the night

His passion for fighting crime and preventing people from meeting the same fate as himself is so strong that he never wants to take a break from it all

But he also loves you dearly

So hearing your sad voice pleading him to finally just take one night to relax forced him to give in

In the end, your happiness will always be his number one priority

So when the night finally came around, you went all out

You ran a warm bath and added some flower petals in it, wanting the experience to be both relaxing and romantic for Eric

You also lit several candles, the dim glow creating the perfect atmosphere to relax in

With a little bit of music and some cuddles, you finally got Eric to hop in the tub with you, the water causing a noticeable difference in his body

He relaxed almost instantly, his eyes shutting at the sensation

You took this time to help wash him, slowly going over each tense muscle and massaging it, much to Eric's content

You also helped wash off the remains of yesterday's escapade, the face paint slowly melting off of his smooth skin

It's moments like this when you get to reflect on just how perfect this man is

He hums in appreciation

But he can only do this for so long before he's switching the roles, now massaging your body and pulling you into his frame

It just wouldn't feel right to take care of him without him returning the favor

Eric simply doesn't allow this

And even as the water begins to cool, you both cuddle into one another, taking this time to really appreciate having these moments together

Whether he admits it or not, this evening was exactly what he needed

It was the first time in a while where he actually felt content and not exhausted

You're the only one that can convince him to take time for himself, and that's exactly what Eric needs

[the-corvid-ghuleh]

The Crow: No Rest for the Wicked

Chapter 5/15!

Also on FanFiction.Net, and AO3!

Rating: M

Summary:  It has been eighteen years since Eric Draven had come back from the dead to avenge himself as well as his beloved Shelly Webster. Tonight, the resurrection shall begin anew. She is a force to be reckoned with. Rated M for content, nothing too graphic though.

Note: The Crow (the original story) was created by James O'Barr. I am only creating a fanfiction for it for fun.Here's some trigger warnings: Violence against a child, accidental killing, finding a dead body, language, self harm, implied torture, gross description of an infected wound, and suicidal ideation.

Chapter One Here!

Chapter Two Here!

Chapter Three Here!

Chapter Four Here!

Chapter Five: London Bridge is Falling Down

"We're all killers.

We've all killed parts of ourselves to survive.

We've all got blood on our hands.

Something somewhere had to die so that we could stay alive."

- If memories could bleed, if dreams could scream | M.A.W.

Property of Sarah Monster

Those were the words etched on the vintage skateboard. Unfortunately, this triggered another flashback:

The young girl ran as far away as she could from the scene of the crime she had just committed. She now had blood on her hands, however vile the person whose veins contained it was.

She ran back to her home and slammed the door, startling her sleeping mother.

"Mom!" She shouted.

Her heavily pregnant mother woke up from her nap and was visibly annoyed.

"Whatisit?" The older woman woke up groggily.

The girl was pretty hesitant to confess her sin to her mother, she knew she would get an angry lecture from her.

"Well, what is it?" The pregnant woman demanded.

"I,I,I..Uh.." The girl stammered.

"Well, spit it out!" She said.

"I just killed a man!" She finally said.

"You what?" The mother exclaimed, alarm and anger present in her face.

"I just killed a man." The girl repeated.

"Well, why did you do that? You better explain yourself right away!" The mother warned.

"He was forcing me to fight him, and I hit him too hard, and he stumbled backwards, fell, and hit his head on the ground. I tried to, but he never woke up.." The girl was ashamed of what she did, and the consequences that would come after.

"Oh god WHY?" The older woman shout rhetorically.

The girl had no answer for that, just silence.

"Alright. First thing is, you will have to tell the police! Say it was self-defense. Otherwise, they'll think you killed him on purpose."

~I~

The girl and her mother were driving along the roads of the city. The crime had quieted down ever since the last Devil's Night had occurred a couple years ago. Since then, the girl and her mother learned to get back on their feet, and everything was going great. At least, up until what happened.

~I~

"C'mon you little shit! Fight like a man!" A gangbanger had stunned the girl out of nowhere. He punched her in the face when she wasn't looking and she found herself trying to deflect all of his crushing blows.

The girl was at her wit's end, this guy was high on his own adrenaline and looking for his next trip, which, unfortunately, she would have to be providing.

"Leave me alone!" The girl cried, falling on selectively deaf ears.

The attacker just laughed and punched her in the face again, blood oozing out of her nose.

"Now why would I do that? Jaguaro never quits just 'cause you ask." The gangbanger, named Jaguaro, taunted, referring to himself in the third person.

With that, he kept throwing punch after punch. The girl had finally had enough and caught one of the arrogant gangbanger's fists.

"What the..?" Jaguaro did not have enough time to finish his sentence, as the little girl had struck the bridge of his nose. This attack had stunned him both physically and mentally stunned. He attempted to strike back, only to be met with another, much harder, punch to the face. His momentum driving him to stumble backwards, ultimately leading him to trip and tumble over the steps, hitting his head along the way down.

The girl, picking herself back up, walked over to check on him. His sprawled out form had been contorted uncomfortably, blood still freshly oozing from the wound on his head, his nose equally as bloody, his eyes still open, staring at nothing. Jaguaro remained motionless, which was what worried the girl.

She checked his neck for a pulse.

Nothing. Not even a feint beat.

In a fruitless attempt to resuscitate him, she tried to push down on his chest, like the doctors on TV did, but she had given up easily. This was hopeless, she cannot just un-dead someone she just killed. She began to burst into tears,

This is not the path I am meant to take, The girl thought as she picked her skateboard back up, and ran back home.

~I~

The whole scene had replayed over and over in her head like a movie. What was even worse was that the cops may even question her, and god forbid, if she did something wrong, or not do something right, she might have to go to prison!

Every inch of her being filled with dread at that thought.

A loud sound jolted her out of those thoughts, along with some violent vibrations reverberating throughout the car. The girl's mother looked to see the source of the sound and vibes, but fear gripped every fiber of her being.

The girl was filled to the brim with dread as well. she heard a smashing of glass and a pair of hands jerk her out of the car through the broken window.

Those same hands tied her up, blindfolded her, and silenced her cries with a simple piece of silver tape.

"This is what you get for killing Jaguaro!" A strange, male voice told her. She could only struggle against the binds of silence and darkness as she was hauled to another place.

~I~

The woman felt strange. Different. Depleted even. Though her name was scrawled on the old skateboard, she had sort of felt, well... Detached from it. Perhaps due to the fact that she was named Nemesis for the longest time, or she did things that Sarah Monster would never do, like hurt, maim, or even kill people just because she was ordered to, and work for a gang.

"I don't deserve the name Sarah."The woman said to herself.

It doesn't matter what you deserved or not. The crow told her.

He is correct. The Woman in Black said. The worst can and will happen to the best of all of us.

What matters now is you are putting the wrong things right, just as you had always quoted yourself. No matter what, you have help now. The crow assured the woman.

"You're right. I am doing everything right now. But I'd like to know where they put Jaguaro's body." The woman realized.

I can guide you to there right now. The crow answered as he flew away, with the woman and her new pet cat following on her motorcycle.

The woman was led to a deep, grassy marsh in the woods of an abandoned part of the former Detroitian suburbia. There, she had another flashback that did not exactly pertain to her, but did involve Damian and Co.

~I~

Even with all five men pitching in, Jaguaro's body was still heavy for them to carry.

"Finally!" Blaze gruffed, still trying to catch his breath.

"Now comes the fun part. Hurling the dead weight into the gully." Envy snarked, wiping sweat off of his nonexistent eyebrows.

"Less talking, more disposing of the body!" Damian berated, despite not having anything to do with carrying the body.

"Hey I have an idea! How about help us and not jerk us around like that!" Caliber protested.

"You know I can't." Damian replied.

"Yeah, there's always something wrong with your bone spurs or some shit!" Mastodon aggrieved.

Jackal just simply shook his masked head in disapproval at the injustice of it all.

With all their strengths, the men had managed to roll the body off until it disappeared into the tall grass and weeds.

"See you in Hell, buddy!" Envy saluted condescendingly.

Just then, Ace appeared out of nowhere.

"I found where the girl who killed Jaguaro lives." He informed.

~I~

Feeling mentally drained from the flashback, the woman stalled for a little while. After a couple of breaths, she finally gathered some motivation to walk steadily down the marsh to find the body.

It wasn't long until she accidentally stepped on what she thought was a thick twig. She brushed aside the long grass and saw that the "twig" was white. It was then that she knew, she had found Jaguaro, or rather yet, what was left of him, which were rags and bones.

At first, she didn't know what to think. Sure he was an ass to her in their first and only meeting, but seeing his remains and how the gang just cast him off like that, like he was roadkill, made her twinge with sympathy. However, she hated that his death (In self-defense, mind you) caused a string of events that led up to her... Current situation.

It doesn't do you any good to dwell on what could have been. What happened, happened. You must accept the circumstances. The Woman in Black appeared next to the woman.

She didn't respond, but she turned her head to her zombie companion.

"I'm gonna need a wagon, a bed sheet, a piece of paper, something to write with, a box, and... I think that's it." The woman said.

The Woman in Black complied and walked to one of the homes to find such supplies.

What do you need these things for? The crow asked, perched on one of the trees.

"Giving Jaguaro a proper burial, as well as giving the gang an old reminder." The woman answered.

Dolph had managed to escape his restrictive binds and ran as fast as he could to where Damian currently resided. It was a very long run from Oldboy Avenue through where Club Trash is all the way to Weinger Street.

By the time he reached Damian's current residence, he was all out of breath.

"What do you want, Dolph?" Damian asked, not looking at him.

"Houston..." He gasped for air. "We have a problem." He took a few more deep breaths.

Raising an eyebrow, Damian asked, "What is this problem that we have now?"

"Some girl..." taking a few more slow breaths. "Wearing all... black leather and makeup and shit.."

"Yes, go on." Damian motioned for him to get to the point.

"I think she's out to get all y'all, and I think she already got Mastodon."

So he saw what the assailant may have looked like. Hmmm... Interesting. Damian thought to himself.

"Tell me more." He instructed.

"Alright. She took a few things. A lot of weapons, my prized motorcycle, a skateboard..." Dolph obliged.

"Ok..." Damian nodded. "What did she say to you?"

"Other than nonsense rambling? She asked about Leviathan, and our plan." Dolph answered.

"Did she give any hints to who she was?" Damian asked.

"Nothing, zilch, nada! I don't think even she knew either!"

"Shit. If Leviathan finds out about this, we're all done for!" Ace panicked.

"Leviathan will. Not. Know. And furthermore, it is a simple mishap that can be fixed. Do you understand?" Damian berated.

"Yes Dam." He relented.

"Good." Damian concluded, dismissing Dolph.

The already inebriated Blaze took yet another gulp of booze before inflicting another cut on his arm. The blood slowly, but surely, oozed out.

Good. He thought to himself.

He had been doing this since he was a youth. Ever since his father always drunkenly beat him bloody, He liked the pain. So much, that his asshole father was creeped out by him.

Fuck you old man. He thought as well.

To Blaze, pain was the best drug anyone can take. It doesn't require much, and there's no need for a dealer. It also kept his masculinity in check. He loved inflicting it on himself, and anyone else. It was one of the reasons he was thankful for Damian, who allowed and encouraged his habit. He especially loved having a friend to share his pain addiction to, such as Envy, even thought his way receiving pain involved body modification.

His thoughts were interrupted by a single knock on his door.

"WHOSERE?" Blaze drunkenly muddled in one word.

Outside, the woman was knocking, the crow on her shoulder, Zen the cat rubbing against her left leg.

"He's drunk." She concluded. It'll be easy to take him down.

Do not think for a second that just because he's inebriated, he will be any more easy to kill. I learned that the hard way when I killed F- I mean, one of my killers. The crow warned, listening to her unspoken intentions.

The woman took the advice in stride and knocked on the door again.

A stumbling sound along with several unnamed items shattering had occurred. "GODDAMMIT! ASS! SHIT!" Blaze yelled, his voice muffled by the thickness of the door. The woman giggled at his loud, boisterous swearing.

The door suddenly swung open. It was Blaze in all his shirtless, drunken glory.

"That's not piss! I spilt beer on me!" He defensively said, mentioning the suspicious stain on the crotch of his pants.

"I didn't say anything." The woman put her hands up.

Once Blaze took a good look at her, there was something familiar about how she looked, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"You here to give me my daily dose of pain, babe?" He asked, inebriation tainting his better judgement.

"You could say that." The woman replied in unamused monotone.

"Come on in then." He said bluntly. He then pointed to the crow and the cat. "No birds or cats allowed though."

I'll stay outside with Zen. The crow assured.

The woman nodded and entered the dumpster of a house. Beer cans and bottles were everywhere. The place stank of only god knows what, and mold and mildew littered the walls.

"Welcome to the dungeon." Blaze said with a smile.

"Doesn't look like much." The woman deadpanned.

"That's my boss Damian for ya. Takes and hoards all the good shit and leaves us with the scraps. Stingy asshole." Blaze explained.

You're telling me! The woman thought to herself. He was right though, Damian does take the best things for himself, even girls.

~I~

"So.. I heard you have a girlfriend now, huh Nemesis?" Damian inquired with a smirk.

"What's it to you?" The woman asked discourteously.

"Well, you ought to let me see how she is, if you know what I mean, of course." he implied.

The statement however, set her off.

"The answer is fuck you!" The woman snapped.

She was suddenly punched in the face, blood oozing out of her nose and the corner of her mouth.

"You know the rules of relationships here, girl!" Damian growled.

"If you ever lay a hand on Elorah, I will kill you!" The woman warned.

~I~

The woman was interrupted from her thoughts by Blaze.

"You in la la land or somethin'? I'm ready for my dose of pain, babe." He said impatiently.

"Sometimes, pain can be messy, so I ought to put on an apron and gloves, and maybe, pull my hair back. Oh, and get something to tether you with. You can never be too careful." The woman instructed with a smile.

"Alright, babe. Just hurry up. I'm eager for my fix."

With that, the woman left. While she was out of view, Blaze noticed something.

She kinda looks like Nemesis. Can't be her though, we killed her. He thought.

Before he could think any further, the woman reappeared dressed as she promised.

"I found zip ties. I hope that's okay." The woman said.

"Sure." He replied, anticipating what was to come next. The woman then bound his hands and feet to the chair and then pulled out a few select blades: a scalpel, a serrated knife, a hooked blade...

Blaze's eyes grew wide with every knife she pulled out. This was too much, even for a masochist like him.

"Alright, I think that's enough." He said, his voice crackling with panic.

Just then, the woman's cheerful look twisted into one of hatred.

"No, I think not." The woman replied. "I do not think that pain is a fitting enough punishment for you. You deserve much, much, worse, in my opinion."

"What the hell did I ever do to you?" Blaze was in full panic mode now.

"Actually, the question is, what haven't you done to me? You raped and killed my girlfriend,.."

"Well hellooo... kiddo." Blaze said, ripping Elorah's shirt open, seeing she had no underwear on.

"You disfigured my face..."

"You look a little too pretty in my opinion." Blaze said as he got a vial of acid to do a little.. 'work' on her face.

"You shattered my knee.."

He picked up a nearby rock and slammed it down as hard as he could on the woman's knee.

"AAAHHHH!" She screamed in pain.

"Need I say more?" The woman asked.

Blaze's suspicions were confirmed.

"It's you, isn't it, Nemesis?"

"You talk as if you expected me to come back to life or something." The woman raised an eyebrow.

"So the legends are true. A dead person can come back for revenge." He replied.

"Right answer." The woman answered.

"Let's just get it over with." He sighed.

"Now where's the fun in that?" She chuckled.

Blaze then took his very last breath, resigned to his fate.

Sabriel managed to drive back to her apartment and took her shower and changed into her pajamas and after that, took her leftovers out from the fridge and microwaved them. She then turned her TV on to Netflix, but nothing was working to keep her from mentally reeling from what had happened.

Jesus, was that really her, or was it just some creepette who just happened to look like her?

She could've sworn that a year ago, she had recognized her dead body on the morgue, it was even confirmed that she was buried in the same place where she was found.

If so, then why was she moving around like a living person? Why does she wear that makeup on her face like it's some kind of war paint? So many questions and so little answers running through her head like crazy.

Was it partially guilt? Not that Sabriel would admit it to anyone, not even God, but sometimes, she felt bad for judging the woman so harshly. Not just for her little sister's sake, but that woman used to be friends with her mother and stepfather to be before they were violently killed in their apartment by some disgusting criminals.

If that was the case, why did she become a criminal like them? Sabriel thought bitterly.

It was ironic because a year later, those same criminals were found dead by mysterious means. Officially, their boss had killed them and the rest of his cohorts in a fit of insanity, but when gossip spread, she constantly heard the name of the man who would have been her stepfather. That he came back from the grave. That he killed those men. He had similar makeup on, he wore black leather, and he had a crow on his shoulder.

Just like her.

Could that be it? She came back from the dead to get revenge on whoever killed her and Elorah? It was all so confusing to her. Every conclusion she went to left more questions than answers.

Next time I see her, she owes me an explanation. Sabriel thought, eating her leftovers and watching TV.

Dalle had responded to a panicked call coming from the address 1011 Darkman Drive. The lady who called had apparently been the occupant's uh... Dominatrix. She appeared a little late and ended up finding a pretty nasty crime scene. She drove over there to see how much gruesome it was.

Once Dalle got to the address, the word 'gruesome' was an understatement.

Nathaniel Dorff aka "Blaze" was found murdered. His body remained bound to his chair in zip ties. His eyes and mouth were both sewn shut. However, there were thin cut slits that struck vertically over both of his eyes. His mouth though, the stitches extended further from the mouth onto the cuts that made somewhat of a Glasgow smile. Unfortunately, that wasn't the most disgusting thing to happen to him. His back, however, had sustained the most damage. The bones were cut out and twisted out, making him look like he had wings, like a bird or something. It was as if someone put him through blood eagle or something.

And if that wasn't weird enough, a couple pieces of jewelry and his phone were missing, but not the money he had on top of his mostly empty counter. That goes to tell Dalle that the motive definitely wasn't robbery.

"That's the second body we went through today." An officer stated.

"Yeah, I know, something must be up." Dalle inquired as she stared at the clear glass sliding door, pondering the significance of it all. However, her thoughts were interrupted by what looked like the rustling of the back bushes.

Probably just a rabbit. Dalle thought at first, but when she looked closely, the figure was too large to be a rabbit. It was in fact, person sized.

A vagrant, then.

She approached the bushes to warn whoever was straying there to leave, that this was an active crime scene, but once Dalle took a closer look at the figure, it was a woman. This woman wore black and leather, and her face was painted up somewhat like a harlequin, except there was a blackbird shape which covered her eyes and nose. One of her eyelids were sewn shut, with a scar striking through it. Her face looked familiar, but Dalle couldn't exactly tell who at the moment. One thing was for certain though, the stolen jewelry and the phone were on her person.

"Freeze!" Dalle ordered. The strange looking woman complied with the order.

"Give me the phone!" She ordered.

"I was done with it anyways." The woman spoke as she handed over the phone.

"Hands behind your back!" Another order.

"Alright." The strange woman sighed in mock defeat as she was handcuffed.

"Why are you so smug?" Dalle demanded.

"We both know how futile this situation is. You cannot stop me from fulfilling my revenge pact as a revenant." The woman answered.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Hell has nothing to do with who or what I am. In the minds of the vengeful and disgruntled, I am but a mere fantasy acting on the urges that a morally bound being such as you wouldn't even dream of. Your law will not bind me from avenging me and Elorah. In fact, law does not apply when you're dead."

With a single jerk of the hands, the woman broke free of the binding of the handcuffs.

"With that, I bid you adieu. But not before imparting a couple words that you may have heard before: When the hangman jokes, nobody laughs!" The woman bowed before disappearing.

Dalle was left dumbstruck by what this woman just said and did.

Did she... No, that's not possible, it can't be!

Many thoughts and scenarios ran though her mind, but every lead just brought up more questions than answers.

"The fuck?" Dalle cursed to herself.

Elorah walked in the big, empty streets, trying not to get caught by anyone with bad intentions. The white plumaged crow cautiously followed her as well. Something compelled her to walk in this side of town, but it was not yet known what.

At least, until her white crow guide flew to an abandoned place.

She was here. The white crow said.

Elorah had followed, but not before seeing a crow shaped impact crack on the wall. She came closer to it before feeling flashbacks involving her girlfriend hit her mentally. She ran to the abandoned asylum to find her guide, but that didn't help at all. she kept getting flashbacks of her beloved girlfriend fighting off one of the men who killed the both of them.

Are you alright? The white crow asked. Elorah nodded.

What happened? She asked.

"I just felt her presence. You're right, she was here, with a black plumaged crow. She had killed him and escaped. Her exit was over there." Elorah answered, pointing to the path where her girlfriend ran.

You felt her pain and rage through those flashbacks, didn't you? The white crow asked.

"Yes. Is she, well, you know, avenging us?"

Yes Elorah. She is. She answered. And he is guiding her.

"Who?"

The crow on her shoulder. She answered proudly.

Both Elorah and the white crow exited the abandoned building, knowing where to go next.

Tallulah pulled up one of her fingerless gloves, and gazed for what seemed to be a long time on the scabbed over, recently inflicted cuts on her arm. They looked infected with red skin surrounding the afflicted areas, the scabs themselves appeared to be laden with a green tinge with fibers from her glove sticking to them. They were sore to the touch when she picked at the crass, bumpy area of the injury.

Damn you disease, why can't you just kill me faster? She thought.

Unbeknownst to everyone around her but herself, she did in fact have a disease. It affected her blood and her blood flow, but it took such a long time to kill her. It wasn't hereditary, it was simply passed to her by Nemesis herself, when she tried to suck the venom out of the snakebite she inflicted upon herself.

Nemesis walked to Tallulah's room because she hadn't gotten out of bed yet, and she was getting increasingly worried about her. She looked peaceful, but when she saw a snake, she started to panic. She threw the snake out of the building, and checked for any bites. Sure enough, there was one on her shoulder.

She pulled out her knife and cut open the afflicted area. She put her mouth on the wound and started sucking the venom out, spitting out blood in the process.

Tallulah moaned at the pain and the feeling of the other woman's lips on her wound.

"Nngh..."

Nemesis heard this and looked up at her.

"You're alive!" She exclaimed, blood covering her mouth.

"Why did you bother with me?" She asked weakly.

"Because you were nice to me." Nemesis answered as she sewed up Tallulah's wound.

Silence filled the air for a moment or two.

"Do you love me?" Tallulah asked, the cloudiness clearing up.

To Nemesis, that question was complex. On finding out her family lineage, it was less than ideal, sometimes she felt like it was betraying her friends who were killed by those people. But, she had to have a friend and supporter somewhere. She loved her as a friend, but she couldn't and wouldn't ever go further than a just that, a friend. But she was sensitive, kind, and endearing.

"I love... That you are a very empathetic person." Nemesis answered, trying to answer the question satisfactorily as possible.

"Will you.. Have sex with me?" Tallulah asked, the question on her mind finally out in the open.

Nemesis thought about it for a while before answering. "Yes."

Once she found out about the disease, Tallulah kept it a secret to everyone, including her. She couldn't tell Nemesis about the disease, she'd hate herself and want to die. She'd been hoping that the disease would kill her before anyone else did, without success.

Ding! A text from Blaze. She picked up the phone.

Everything will be alright, I promise

-Nemesis

A smile overcame her senses.

The gang was dumbstruck by what just appeared on their phones. It was a picture of Blaze, only, his back was cut open, and the bones were twisted out like wings. Along with the disturbing image came this text: Where is your god now?

"Shit! First Mastodon, now Blaze? What the fuck are we gonna do, man?" Caliber was panicking now.

"I dunno. But, we have to keep our cool on this." Envy replied.

Jackal nodded in agreement.

"I don't fuckin' know 'bout you guys. But I know what I'm gonna do. I'm getting the hell outta dodge!" He declared, his decision final.

"What? Damian ain't gonna like this one bit. You know that right?" Envy exclaimed.

"Yeah! But I ain't getting killed by... Her!" Caliber said.

"How the fuck do ya know whoever killed them is a her? For all we know, it could be someone from a rival gang trying to fuck with us!" Envy replied.

"It's that bitch we killed last year! She's back from the dead and she's gonna kill us all!" Caliber ranted.

"Okay, this is getting fucking ridiculous. Are you starting to believe that stupid bullshit that Blazey told you 'bout the Eric Draven dude? Cause I'm startin to think Damian might be right." Envy said.

"Be a skeptic all you want bruh, just don't come cryin' to me when she's beatin' the ever living tar out of you." Caliber said as he exited the building.

Envy and Jackal followed him outside as he went to his car.

"At least think about where you're gonna go." Envy despondently said.

"Probably L.A., or Salt Lake City, or somewhere in the Southwest. Anywhere far away from here." Caliber said, hugging his buddies before entering his car.

"I wish you'd realize all it is is just a boogeyman folk tale to scare naughty kids into submission." Envy tried, but deep down knowing, that Caliber made up his mind.

"I'm not staying here while a revenant is trying to kill us." Caliber said.

"Caliber..."

"I'm not staying here while a revenant is trying to kill us."

"Cal.." Envy said, teeth clenched.

"I'M NOT STAYING HERE WHILE A FUCKING REVENANT IS TRYING TO KILL US! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? THAT BITCH IS GONNA TORTURE AND KILL ALL OF YOU 'TILL SHE GETS BORED! You know what? Stay here and die bitches." Caliber finally shouted as he drove off, leaving Envy and Jackal dumbfounded.

"What happened?" Ace suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

"Blaze just got bumped off and Caliber turned tail and chickened the fuck outta here. Dam's just gonna love this." Envy answered, the last sentence laden thick with sarcasm.

"Doesn't matter now. Cal made his choice, and now he's gonna get his due, undead avenger be damned." Ace said, looking out into the distance.

The Woman in Black, while all by herself, decided to do a little self-reflection. While her young novice was a bit, rash, to say the least, she would readily admit that the woman she is to guide reminded her a lot of her own self as a recently revived revenant.

So much feist, so much rage, so much vengeance yet to be inflicted, and yet, so much regret, regret over things beyond her realm of control. Attempting to rationalize the cruelty of fate herself, looking for someone to take it out on. What if she had been irredeemably evil in a past life? Believing that if Death themself had their way, she'd be immortal while everyone else around her was not. Alas, every human must be mortal, so the next best thing would be to make everyone around her die while she was forced to live and watch them die, only dying because she metaphorically taunted a predatorial beast that would kill anything in its path. The opportunity of coming back from the dead would be an excuse to look for some little slip up so she could be damned to walk the earth forever.

Another alternative could be making a sacrifice so senseless and pathetic that she would be too sinful for Heaven, not evil enough for Hell, she wouldn't even have a place in Purgatory, so she would have no choice but to come back from the dead and walk among the shadows.

That was what it once felt like for her. That was why she could relate to the woman so much.

She had first seen that woman when she was a child, placing flowers on the graves of a young couple who never had a real chance at happiness, much less with each other. In fact, the male half of the couple, over finding out what happened to her, well, we would just say a 'mental breakdown', but that didn't even come close to what happened. The fact that she had chosen to become what he once was did not help matters either. In fact, it made it even worse, so much, that it took several tries to snap him out of his temporary insanity. However, once he regained sanity, he requested that he become a spirit crow to guide her.

Despite many objections, (mainly over him returning in a different form since he had already successfully completed his mission for revenge years ago) this request was granted, under one condition: That she not know who he really is until she herself had successfully completed her own mission.

Many years went by since her own failed attempt at revenge. For this reason, guiding this woman successfully to the right paths was vital for any chance for her to rest in peace again.

The woman had decided that it was time for a little break before resuming her rampage. After a little hiding, she grabbed Zen and gestured for the crow to follow her as well.

She sat on the seat of Ghost Rider, revved up and rode away on a temporary detour. To be honest, she was reluctant to visit that place. For many reasons, she felt too dirty and tainted to visit that place, with all the bad stuff she did, even though the long dead former occupants, her friends and parent figures, would probably understand that she was too scared for her life to leave earlier. How they probably would have reacted for real was overshadowed by what her anxiety might have thought they would have reacted.

Before she thought about it any further, she reached her intended destination. The large victorian-esque mansionlike building still stood tall. However, it was marred by years and years of disarray and decay. The only vandalism among the structure was a little graffiti and she knew why. Even though she and her late cop friend had made up a plausible, but fake story, made official, the truth had still slipped through the cracks. True, most people (Thinking of Damian) would brush it off as a Halloween ghost superstition, but if they were in her shoes, they would know it was indeed, fact. But, with urban legend came exaggerated stories. A lot of criminals, even the most skeptical and vile ones, would absolutely refuse to set foot in the place for fear he still occupied it and would kill them on sight. Some would say they heard footsteps and that was enough to scare them away.

A little silly, she thought, but at least it was for the most part, untouched. Once she walked at the entrance, it was unboarded and vulnerable.

So no one even bothered to barricade it back up. The woman thought. She semi hoped that it would be, mostly to take longer, but then again, the last time she visited the place as a young girl, the few boards that were on there she could easily take off. It was like they didn't even try. She took a deep breath before attempting to enter the hall. Even then, reluctance and anxiety still had an iron grip on her.

I know what you're thinking. It's alright. We-I mean, they will understand. The crow flew out of nowhere and landed on the woman's shoulder. He bunted his face beside hers, as if to demonstrate comforting. Because of that, her anxiety was replaced by a burning sadness that threatened to erupt into tears. In spite of this, she managed to fight back the urge to cry as she walked up the rickety steps. One stair gave out under her foot and she almost fell through, that even the crow himself was startled, but she managed to pick herself back up and continued to walk up the stairs.

Once she was at the top story, reluctance and fear once again gripped her, but for different reasons. She suddenly remembered her psychometric abilities and how she can regain and attain new memories, and seeing how her friends were murdered in that very place, she was concerned that she would absorb those memories herself. Her own assault and murder as well as that of her girlfriends' was bad enough, to experience that night from their point of view was the last thing she needed.

It's alright princess, go on. The crow encouraged.

Not long after setting foot in the derelict loft, the memories came back, both good and bad. As she looked upon the inward structure, she had seen the erosion of time marring it. The paint and wall paper had either peeled or chipped off. Dust and cobwebs covered the furniture that was still in place after all these years, especially the vanity. The broken mirror on it had most of its looking glass shards missing and the few drawers that remained were bereft of anything. The fireplace had seen better days. The floors creaked under pressure with every step, but did not break. Not yet, at least. The band posters depicting five young men had been faded and crinkled that they looked brittle to the touch. But what caught her attention the most was the circular window. It had been shattered that night, but now, it looked there was no glass left on the broken pane.

The woman idled for what seemed to be a long time, until she heard footsteps. She was on high alert, thinking it was a criminal or vagrant, or maybe even a curious person. A shadow had emerged, but it was too short to be an adult. The little person, albeit reluctantly, emerged from the shadows. It was a little girl, not much older than she herself was when she was young. Her choice of clothing and jewelry was not much different from her own as a youth. Her hair was dark, probably dark brown or black, but it was mid length and shaggy, with red streaking through the front.

Silence was thick between the two females. At least until the child girl spoke out.

"My name' Dusty. D, U, S, T, Y, wha' your?" The little girl said, drool escaping her mouth.

The woman could easily tell that the girl needed special help, more help than what she could possibly offer. Though, to answer the name question, she was unsure of what name to give. Her gang name? She was no longer one of them, and she didn't want to intimidate the girl, her real name? It still felt foreign and far away from her. Should she call herself the Crow? It was kind of vague.

"..." Nothing would come out of the woman's mouth.

"You loo' pre'ey." The girl, named Dusty said, changing the subject.

The woman cracked a smile. "Thanks."

"I li'e your ma'up. I wish' I knew how t'wear my face lik'at." Dusty also said.

The woman smiled. "Where's your mama? Or your daddy? or whoever takes care of you?"

Dusty's brown eyes welled up with tears. "She' gone an' ne'er com' back. Mea' man threw m'out in th'stree', so I liv'ere."

Heartache gripped the woman. What Dusty went through, that was similar to her own childhood. She never knew what happened to her own mother or unborn baby sister, and Damian would never give her the satisfaction of telling her anything... That little girl deserved much better than this, as welcoming as this place used to be, it was no longer a safe place for anyone, much less a disabled kid.

The next time I run into Dalle, I'm telling her about this. She thought.

"Caw!" The crow said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Bir'y!" Dusty exclaimed, pointing to the crow.

The crow flew downwards in front of the girl and did a curtsy like bow at her, which Dusty giggled at. He then walked over to get a stray saucer, once he had it, he walked over to one of the left arch beams which led to the broken window. He placed the saucer on the beam and propped himself on it. As the saucer slid down, so did he. On the steps to the window, he rolled around on the floor, and both Dusty and the woman laughed at his funny antics when he started dancing around. Finally, he flew onto Dusty's shoulder. She lifted her arm, and he perched himself on her forearm. He reached his beak out, and "kissed" the young girl on the nose. He bunted his head against hers and flew back to the woman.

She reminds me of you. The crow said to the woman.

"Meow!" Zen the black cat managed to climb up the steps and find her way in the room.

"Ki''ie!" Dusty said, pointing to the cat.

"Yes, kitty." The woman said. "Would you like to have her?"

Dusty shook her head happily.

"Her name is Zen, but if you wanna name her something else, you are more than welcome to. Also, I have something else for you, if you want it. It used to belong to me when I was your age, but I have no more need for it anymore." The woman reached into her duffel bag and pulled out the skateboard.

"'For me?" Dusty asked.

"For you." The woman answered.

Dusty ran up and hugged the woman.

"Th'ank you, ma'am. Wi' I be ab'e to 'ee you a'ain?" Dusty asked.

"Yes, and you will have a home of your own, I promise." The woman answered, kneeling to dusty's level and wiping the drool from her face.

Dusty gave the woman a kiss on the cheek, and hugged her again.

"Lo' you!" She said.

"Love you too." The woman said with deep sadness as she left the room.

Once she exited, tears flowed out of her eyes, she sat down on the floor and sobbed. The Woman in Black walked up the stairs to sit down with her and hugged her too.

It's alright, darling.

Read, Like, Reblog!