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darling-i-read-it · 10 months

Text

Whispers

Dalton Lambert x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: insidious 5 spoilers, literally i think tahts it

Author’s Note: In theory this is a part 2 to blue paint but honestly could be written by itself if you just squint lol. Everyone wanted me to write more for dalton and i was at WORK people but i am here to provide a plotless fluff. An old classic style of mine 🫡Also this fic could literally be called ‘maya googles whispered synonyms’

Everyone that asked to be tagged <3 : @geeksareunique, @chaoticxbee, @snixx2088, @ellaneyt, @bespinnn,

Summary: The night you and Dalton just kind of let your relationship silently grow to avoid the horror of his situation.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You could feel sleep starting to overtake you. It was in your eyes, the drooping of your lids as you sat against the twin bed. Dalton was sitting on the ground as well, across from you. You narrowed your gaze at him, pursing your lips. You both had class in the morning. He still had blue paint stained on his face. You had leaned him over the sink and scrubbed to no avail. Finally you had both given up, conceding to his embarrassment in the morning.

The sticky heat of the day had given way for the night chills. You could feel the difference in the cracked window. The breeze had started to get to you so you threw a blanket over your shoulders.

Dalton, not wanting to fall asleep, sat across from you with a hoodie on.

“Uno.”

“No way,” you muttered. You looked at the cards in front of you, a large stack turned upwards and a yellow 7 card on top. “You just had like 15 cards. Take off your hoodie.”

“No!” Dalton exclaimed, laughing a bit.

“You’re cheating. There’s no way I missed that. I’m literally the only other person here,” you offered. He shook his head. The clock was ticking away past midnight.

“It’s late, you’re just starting to get delirious.” You shook your head, tossing your stack of cards down beside you. Usually you would never let a game go, especially one that was decently close. But you weren’t sure if you were even going to wake up to your alarm in the morning, let alone go to class.

“Am not.”

“I told you to go to bed hours ago.”

“Didn’t want you to sleepwalk on me,” you muttered.

“Astral project.”

“Whatever.” You looked up at the window. You could see the moon outside tonight in the clear sky. It had been a while since you saw the nighttime in a peaceful way. You were so used to being passed out by the time any kind of sereneness came along, or at a party trying not to pass out. It had been too long since it was just you and the night sky. And Dalton.

Your phones were laying on the bedside table, out of the way and silent. You told Dalton to call his mom but he refused. He said he could do it on his own. He was probably just overreacting, he promised you. Overreacting didn’t make someone stay up late before an 8:30 class but you decided not to mention that.

“I think I’m out D,” you muttered through a yawn. He nodded. He still looked wide awake, sans the bags under his eyes.

“I wish we had a TV in here.”

“Then we could watch Nightmare on Elm Street,” you joked. He half smiled, one of his cute little smirks. When you came to college you never thought you would admire these quieter nights the most.

“Yeah.” You stretched, trying to shake the sleep out of your eyes.

“I think I’m still gonna try to go to class tomorrow.”

“You know I don’t have a choice.” You nodded once and stood up, stretching. You felt your body expand as a satisfying calmness came over your body. Dalton grabbed the uno cards at your feet and started to put them in the box. “My last card was red by the way. You could’ve won it.”

“Rematch tomorrow,” you suggested. You put your blanket over the empty bed. It looked like it hadn’t been slept in. There was no indent of a human having been there, no one having a good night's sleep. Though it didn’t look exactly comforting, it also didn’t look unappealing to your tired mind. Dalton had given you one of his pillows. You plugged in your phone beside you and glanced over at Dalton’s side of the room. You had looked at his drawings before but never studied them.

Things seemed clearer at night.

There was a picture of his mom at the piano above his pillow. He was moving around, shuffling, getting ready for bed and doing the last things he needed to. His head obscured your view.

“She’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Your mom.” He looked at his sketch like he had forgotten it was there.

“Thanks,” he muttered. His eyes lingered for a moment. You wanted to ask if he missed her but you didn’t. Putting him in that sort of emotional position would’ve been too much for so late. “She writes music. I remember when I was a kid she would sit at the piano when she had a moment to herself. My dad was always working so I guess I thought it was her job.” He shrugged. His eyes moved away.

“She sounds like a nice lady.”

“She is. She deserves better than that guy,” he grumbled. He sat down on his bed. You were still sitting on yours. You hadn’t climbed under the covers, even though the cold was nipping at your arms. Chris’s words lingered in your brain for a bit, the prospect of staying in the same twin bed. You shook it off and went to grab the edge of the blanket.

Dalton’s eyes stayed on you. He didn’t want to go to bed yet.

“Do you mind the night light?” he asked, voice laced with exhaustion and a little embarrassment.

“Nope. I like a little mood lighting.” You climbed under the covers. Once your head hit in the pillow it was like relief flooded through your bones. You reached up and turned off the lamp beside the bed. You could still see the outline of Dalton. His face, his hair. “I like your hair when it’s down,” you whispered. Your voice was gentle, slightly fueled by the lack of sleep. You could see him turn to look at you as he was getting under the covers. You nuzzled your head into the pillow.

“Thank you,” he muttered, awkwardly. You smiled. You liked it when he squirmed a little bit.

“I set an alarm.”

“Okay.” There was a silence. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Dalton,” you whispered. Your name hung on his lips but he didn’t say it out loud. Instead he just watched as your eyes shut into an even calmness. The contours of your face were illuminated by his night light.

He rested his cheek against the pillow.

He admitted to being potentially dangerous to you and you stayed. He felt safer with you. Like he wasn’t in this alone.

You fell asleep in 15 minutes. He could tell because your face was completely relaxed. There was no tenseness in your features, no worries about anything except getting rest. When he was positive you had drifted off he sat up, grabbing his sketchbook off the center table.

He had drawn nothing but dark memories lately. A red door with blood haunted him. A face he didn’t recognize but one that he knew, watched him sleep. After the darkness flooding his brain he was happy to think of his mom. He was happy to remember her when she was tranquil. He liked the sketches that were less cursed.

He started to sketch you.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness easily. Maybe if he was super tired the next night then he wouldn't be able to dream or astral project. Just sleep. He wouldn’t mind spending tonight sketching you with observing eyes. He drew your hair as it fell in front of your face. The way your fingers gripped the blanket. Your eyes, fluttering with dreams. He wondered what you were dreaming of. He wondered if you ever dreamt of him.

Just the thought brought a redness to his cheeks.

He grabbed his airpod to put on some music.

The room was so still.

Your blanket touching the ground. The wind from the cracked window. Your even breathing, mixing with his, the only living sounds in the space. His dried paint on the table. The light from the hallway seeping in under the door. His unpacked bag at the foot of your bed.

Your bed. That wasn’t your bed. That was an empty bed, one that would be filled by anybody.

He sketched your nose.

That could be your bed. He had nothing against that. A sleepover every night, a buddy to help protect him from the nightmares. He thought of his parents. His brother. His little sister. He was safe.

He turned the focus onto your closed eyes. He was listening to some indie rock or something, whatever he had playing from earlier. He wondered what kind of music you listened to.

You moved. You hummed under your breath, eyes fluttering open. It hadn’t been that long since you fell asleep, maybe only an hour. It was two in the morning.

You forced your eyes open. Dalton was still awake, sitting against the wall.

“Still can’t sleep?” you whispered. The sleep remained in your eyes.

“Not sure where I’ll float too.” You nodded. You slowly sat up, keeping your blanket around your shoulder. “What’re you doing?” he whispered. Speaking any louder would break the muffled moment.

You shuffled over to his side of the room. He looked up at you, shielding his sketchbook. You barely noticed it. You stood at the side of his bed. There was a beat where neither of you moved. You nodded towards the bed.

“Lay down.” He squinted, unsure of what your intentions were. He put the sketchbook on the side of the bed, onto the floor. He had it facing the ground so you wouldn’t see your face. He couldn’t let you know how he perceived you quite yet.

He did as he was told. When he was comfortable you moved his blanket aside and got under the covers. You put your blanket over his so you had double the warmth.

Dalton froze.

Did he put his hand on you? Did he just let you be? He had to touch you, there was no way he could sleep here, stiff as a board, all night.

“I don’t have cooties D,” you whispered. You easily got comfortable beside him. Your eyes stayed open as you looked at him, straight ahead. “You can touch me,” you said, even lower, so much so that your voice almost gave out. “If this is okay.”

“It’s okay,” he promised. You smiled sleepily.

He put his hand on your side and you pushed yourself closer to him. You took the initiative and placed your hand over his waist. He moved so that you could nuzzle yourself into his chest. He tried not to breathe too heavily but he was sure you could hear his heart beating out of his chest.

“Sleep,” you breathed. “I’ll keep you grounded.”

His breath hitched. He finally closed his eyes.

He fell asleep quickly with you in his arms. He remained in his spot the whole night, the first time in a week.

#dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert x fem!reader #dalton lambert imagines #insidious the red door spoilers

602 notes · View notes

derangedanomaly · 2 months

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Woi!! You're still taking requests, right? If it's okay, can you do any sanses x fem!reader who's kinda like Niffty from hazbin hotel? You know, like obsessed with cleaning, extremely hyper, and a little,,, deranged? [Cute emoji]

Bonus points if reader is short. The chaotic little rat <3

Yes! I love my girl Niffty! I swear, she's so silly. I think that this is a fun request! Thank you! And since you left me to pick out the Sanses, I'll do those that aren't requested much! Thank you for the request!

Masterlist

SANS AUS X READER THAT ACTS LIKE NIFFTY

(Sci, Fresh, Epic, Horror, Ink)

Sci:

Likes having you around, because you clean up his lab 💀

I swear, he tries to clean it up, but he just doesn't have patience and the time for it.

You're a blessing for real.

The thing he's not very happy about, is how hyper you are.. you have too much energy, that you sometimes mess up an experiment of his on accident.

He tried to observe why you're so hyper all the time, but you just kept staring at him, doing absolutely nothing

He got shocked when he realized that you completely took over his normally busy schedule.

Doesn't comment on your height, but he will laugh whenever you're trying to get something that's too high up.

Do you need a lift?

He doesn't know why, or how, but you somehow wormed your way to his heart.. this needs to be figured out!

Fresh:

The first thing he immediately noticed, (besides your height), is that you like to stare. A lot.

He gets a little uncomfortable at your staring... So he will probably just leave while you're having your own staring contest. 💀 (Him?? UNCOMFORTABLE?! The skeleton that makes everyone else uncomfortable??? Well that's a first.)

Laughs whenever you're running around cleaning everything. But when he accidentally mentions that his house is a mess, he'll immediately freeze upon noticing the FATAL mistake he just did. 💀

Shares the same amount of hyper energy as you. Which makes you a pretty good duo. That's rad brah!

I swear, everyone audibly groans whenever they see you two together. They just know that it's gonna be pretty unbearable when you're both involved.

Likes your shortness. Gives him an excuse to hold you. ❤️

Epic:

Lmao this meme master constantly jokes about your height.

Tell the bugs I said hi.💀

Doesn't appreciate whenever you're cleaning because you pay no attention to him! :(

But you're a pretty good motivation if he does say himself. Like, you're always so determined to clean everything you come across! It's a motivation, really.

Doesn't know what to think about your derangement. Kinda creeps him out at times, not gonna lie.

Horror:

Horror is pretty big, so you look like a leaf next to him.

But the difference is, is that Horror is like a cuddly bear towards you, and you're like a menace to society.

It makes him feel warm whenever he finds you cleaning.

After awhile, Horror will probably start to think that you're a married couple. You're cleaning for him, cooking for him (which he helps you out with), hell, you do SO many things for him. (He's just confused with what your relationship is 😭)

He likes how deranged you are. Makes him at ease knowing that you won't freak out when he brings a dead human home.

He keeps saying that you're like his sun. (MY HEART)

Ink:

You're both short asf. So when he makes a comment about you being short, you make one right back.

You're both just stuck in a never ending insult game about your heights. 💀

Doesn't get why you're always cleaning. He doesn't see the point if it's gonna get dirty again anyways.

The only thing he probably likes about you is how hyper you are. (You're matching energies.)

You, Fresh and Ink would be a really dangerous trio 💀

Overall, you both don't really get along. But that's only because Ink is always salty. 🙄

#undertale fandom #sans undertale #undertale #sans x reader #science sans x reader #fresh sans x reader #epic sans x reader #horror sans x reader #ink sans x reader

134 notes · View notes

berryunho · 1 year

Text

THE ANSWER: The Pet

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers ‘sect.’ pairing: ateez x fem reader genre: cult au, thriller, angst check warnings on AO3

← previous || next → || masterlist chapter word count: 4,180 chapter warnings: ... murder. and descriptions of murder. hallucinations. panic attack (??) and just violence in general

Jongho doesn’t revel in the act of killing her.

No, in fact, he would much rather not be killing her. Haseul hasn’t done anything to deserve his wrath, nothing to deserve her life ended.

Other than being friends with the wrong girl.

Really, this is no fault of the blonde in his arms, her blood flowing freely from the slit in her throat. He had tried to be humane. He holds her as she bleeds out, the front of her shirt blackening with the sickening flow of her blood supply. The blood flows all the way down her front, her arms long gone limp at her sides. Her fingers twitch and Jongho knows that she’s still alive, her life still ebbing out of her.

He’s sorry for her. Wrong place at the wrong time. Contrary to popular belief, Jongho actually doesn’t like killing innocent people. Of course, what someone considers to be innocent might not align with what Jongho thinks, but still. Haseul is, or, was, someone that would be seen as innocent by anyone looking into this scene.

He doesn’t feel guilty. If she had escaped, there would have been hell to pay. Literally. Everyone would’ve been killed. Jongho doesn’t know much about what happens after we die, but he expects that, if the Christains are right, he will burn for all eternity. As would most of the other followers.

Really, Jongho’s only regret as Haseul’s body slumps completely in his arms is that (Y/n) isn’t here to see it.

How he would love to look up at her from this position. If he thinks about it hard enough, he can picture her figure here, her face illuminated by the moon. The way it would contort in horror at the sight of her dead friend. The speed at which her eyes would fill with tears, the twisted sobs that would escape her.

Would she fall to her feet? Pull her friend off of Jongho’s lap, cover herself in the gore? Would she speak? Ask Jongho why? Why he did this, how he could hurt Haseul? Or would she stay frozen, unable to move? Would she look away, hide her face in her hands? Run away and cry to San? Hongjoong?

Jongho scoffs into the silent night. He doesn’t care what her reaction would be, he only cares to see it first person. See the realization in her face when she knows that Jongho did this, Jongho killed her friend and dumped her body.

But Jongho knows that that will never happen. He’d be lucky for her to ever even find out that her friend is dead. He can already hear San and Hongjoong and Seonghwa in his ears, insisting that (Y/n) never find out. It’s pathetic, really. Shouldn’t she know? Shouldn’t she understand what he can do?

For her credit, (Y/n) can be rather crafty sometimes. Jongho is sure that she’ll eventually figure out that Haseul is dead, and it will probably be sooner rather than later. He only hopes that he’s there when she puts the pieces together.

A man can dream.

He slides Haseul from his lap, dropping her onto the ground unceremoniously so that he can stand and assess the situation.

She’s not twitching anymore. Jongho nudges one of her arms with the toe of his boot, folding it closer to her torso. Minimize the mess.

His hands are fucking filthy. He tries to rub them on his thighs, but the fabric is too wet already to accept blood. If anything, his hands get grimier when he wipes them, the blood smearing across his palms, seeping into the lines of his hands. The stickiness is almost nauseating for him, the feeling of her sticking to him like tacky glue.

It’s okay. He takes a few deep breaths, thinking about the feeling of the cold night’s air on his skin and that he’ll be able to take a shower as soon as he takes care of her. There’s no use panicking now, not when there’s still work to be done. He can’t.

It is a bit funny, though. Is it really just a coincidence that this girl’s name is Haseul? Or is there some higher power at play? Some punishment coming for him that he should’ve expected a long time ago?

He blinks down at the girl, jumping back when he sees her face instead of the Haseul’s. The gravel crunches under his feet as he takes steps back, the wet rocks making a sickening grinding sound. Jongho blinks faster, his breath coming harder and harder when her face doesn’t change.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fu—

He closes his eyes completely, resting a hand on his chest in an attempt to control his breathing. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, focusing on the expansion of his lungs under his palm. It’s not real. He knows that it isn’t real. He knows that he didn’t kill her, even if, in a way, he had. This is Haseul. (Y/n)’s friend. Not her. Never her.

He peeks his eyes open hesitantly at first, but fully once he realizes that Haseul is, once again, Haseul. Jongho sighs, blinking tears out of his eyes that he hadn’t been aware of.

The approach of the truck really pulls him back to his senses as he has to shield his eyes to the headlights.

That’ll be Hongjoong, he assumes.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Jongho isn’t entirely sure why San appears after Hongjoong leaves. He supposes its possible that Hongjoong grabbed him to make him help with the cleanup, considering it’s his fault that there’s even a mess for cleaning. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t really matter to Jongho. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to get rid of her himself.

San is always squeamish about the dismemberment, though.

Unfortunately, pigs don’t really feast upon entire corpses. They have to be broken down to more manageable pieces. To Jongho, it’s no different than processing any carcass, but… yeah, he can see how it could be gross.

“Come to help?” Jongho asks, kneeling again at Haseul’s side. He’s been trying to figure out the best way to move her, as he didn’t bring a tarp or any rope out with him. Stupid. Should’ve asked Hongjoong, no matter how pissy he was.

San won’t even look at her, keeping his head turned pointedly upward, as he approaches the pair.

“Hongjoong said I have to,” San still doesn’t look, swallowing hard, “He knows I hate this shit.”

Jongho chuckles, the thighs of his jeans starting to stick to his thighs as he shifts on his knees, “Shouldn’t have let her go, then.”

San scoffs, finally at least looking at Jongho. “As if that wasn’t the fucking plan? It couldn’t have gone any fucking smoother for him.” He finally glances down at Haseul, wincing as he does so. “Christ, what did you do to her?”

The irony of the comment almost makes Jongho laugh. “You act like you’ve never seen someone with their throat slit before, Sannie. Weren’t you there whe—”

“Shut up, Jongho.” San takes a few more steps forward, stepping into the pooled blood.

It’s Jongho’s turn to scoff as he stands, smiling at the audacity of San’s anger. “What? I can’t talk about the blood on your little girlfriend’s hands?” In all honesty, Jongho doesn’t want to think about her, not right now. Not when he just saw her face on the dead girl’s body and not when San is clearly in the mood to shove his fingers in his wounds. But he can’t stop himself, his emotions toward (Y/n) are too hot to keep inside. Too much to not taunt San with.

“(Y/n) had literally nothing to do with her. If you want to be mad at someone, you should be mad at Hongjoong." San’s voice rises, defending her so fiercely that Jongho almost laughs again. As if San has any idea what (Y/n) did or didn’t do to her.

“A little defensive, don’t you think? Already attached?” Jongho tries to wipe his hands on his thighs, though, again, this does nothing for the mess on them. “You really shouldn’t speak on something that you know nothing about.”

San’s lips twitch upward, as if against his will. “All I’m saying is that it’s unfair to (Y/n) for you to blame her for something she knows nothing about.”

He raises his eyebrows, “That’s funny logic. Do you think she won’t blame you for Haseul’s death when she finds out about it? Even if she doesn’t ever learn that you were here tonight, who does she think was the last person to see her alive? You’ll ‘know nothing’ and yet…”

San steps over Haseul, closing the distance between himself and Jongho. He grabs the front of his shirt, glaring down ever so slightly, “You’re a little fucking degenerate, you know that?”

Jongho shoves San away, blood soiling the front of his button down, “I’m the degenerate? For, what, exactly? Killing people that pose a threat to us? Our way of life? What are you, in that case?”

“I don’t know what you think you’re alluding to, Jongho,” San swallows, his voice hard, “but you won’t speak a word of any of this to (Y/n).”

“Or what? You’ll tell on me?” Jongho scoffs, sticking his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, “Go ahead. I’m not scared of Hongjoong, and I’m sure he would just love to hear about how deeply you apparently care about her and her opinion of you.”

San stares back at Jongho, blood seeping into his shoes as he stands in the puddle. “You’re seriously out of touch if you’re not scared of him, Jongho.” Silence lingers between them as Jongho stares back at San, considering his statement.

Jongho isn’t afraid of Hongjoong because he has nothing to lose. There’s nothing that he could do to hurt him, besides… well, torture, he guesses, but that wouldn’t be as bad as what’s already happened.

He shakes his head, clearing his mind and his throat, “Whatever. Just help me with the body. And stop whining about (Y/n).”

“You’re the one that brought her up in the first place,” San grumbles, but squats to help Jongho anyhow.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Jongho slams his door shut behind him, not bothering to lock it before making his way to his bathroom. He had managed to get inside and all the way upstairs without anyone seeing him, thankfully. Though he’ll have to remember to wipe down the surely bloodied door handles he touched, he’s fairly confident that there is little to no evidence that he had been out, just the way that Hongjoong likes it.

Except for the dead body in the pig sty and the blood on his hands. But both of those things will be taken care of soon enough. And the average Follower will be none the wiser.

It’s funny, Jongho thinks, their way of seeing things. And Hongjoong’s way of making them see things. Killing people in the name of ceremony, in the name of sacrifice is completely okay to them, because Hongjoong says so. But oh no, no, they can’t possibly know about the ‘senseless’ killing that goes around. As if it all isn’t senseless.

Nausea churns in his stomach as he enters his bathroom, turning the faucet on and starting to rinse his hands. The water is cold, freezing even. He doesn’t care, rubbing his hands together and watching the water turn red. The blood had started to dry on his skin, caking into the crevices of his palms and knuckles. He knows from experience that his nails are a lost cause.

Once his hands are relatively clean, he grabs a washcloth, wetting it under the running water as he finally looks up at himself in the mirror.

The mess is… just about as he expected. There’s blood on his face, dripping down his neck. His shirt is a lost cause, and he’s sure that there will be a faint residue when he peels it off. Jongho scrubs at his face and neck with the cloth, turning his face every angle he can manage. He rubs until his skin is raw, the sensation of the abrasion enough to keep him from panicking.

Which he won’t do. Not Jongho. Not after making it all night. He makes eye contact with his reflection, sneering at the state of himself. What would she have thought? Would she have been scared of him? Scared of the dog? The errand boy?

Jongho likes what he is. Likes his purpose. Likes his responsibilities and his roles. Before them, he was lost. He was the other, the weirdo, the freak… except to her. She loved him. Or, at least, she told him as much. But Jongho can’t believe that she would still love him like this. If she had seen him at his full potential, she would’ve been scared of him. She wouldn’t have felt safe in his arms or kissed his forehead or brushed his hair or, or, or anything.

Not that he thinks he deserves it. If he were an outsider looking in, he would probably be afraid of himself, too. Hell, half the time he is scared of himself. Scared of the pleasure, scared of the joy, scared of the rush of power and scared of the high of the kill. And yet…

“Fuck this,” he turns away from the mirror, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He has to peel the fabric away from his skin, the shirt so thoroughly soaked with blood that it clings to him. The sound is sickening.

He drops the shirt to the floor, not bothering to care about where it will land. Tile is easy enough to clean. Wiping his dirtied hands on the washcloth he holds, he steps out of the bathroom. He throws the towel behind him as he hurries into his bedroom, his eyes set on his target.

The Answer sits on his bedside table, where he left it before going out.

He checks his hands one more time, flipping them over and around to make sure that all of the blood is gone. He wouldn’t dare touch this copy with bloodied hands. He already touches it more than he should, the holy thing that it is. His hands don’t deserve to feel its weight, but…

Jongho picks up the text when he’s satisfied, already feeling relieved. The leather cover feels familiar in his hands, the texture welcoming him back. He opens the cover, his heart clenching at the inscription on the endsheet.

"For KIM HANEUL: if you ever need any guidance… CHOI JONGHO"

He was stupid.

He flips the first few pages, finding her first mark on the book. Jongho knows her annotations better than the text they’re in, but the blue ink still strikes him. On the first page, she had underlined one word: connection. What it had meant to her, he’s not sure. He wishes he could ask.

Jongho remembers her like she had died yesterday rather than over a year ago. He can picture her now, dozing on his bed with this exact book over her face, blocking out the sunlight. She always took naps here, on top of the covers, insistent that this time she wouldn’t fall asleep. Her pens would always roll out of her hands, falling onto the ground and clattering in that terrible plastic-y way that always reminded Jongho of lecture halls and final exams.

He would watch her sleep, even if that’s a little creepy. He would watch her breathing, counting her respirations, even. He would watch her fingers twitch in her sleep. He would shut the blinds as tight as he could before lifting the book off of her face, setting it on her nightstand. He would cover her with a blanket he kept in his closet for this exact occasion, so that he didn’t have to pull any out from under her.

His stomach rolls as he looks at his bed, the covers undisturbed. He hadn’t taken that blanket out of his closet since the last time he folded and placed it there. He couldn’t bear to look under his bed in case a stray pen still lingered.

Jongho doesn’t hold a grudge against Hongjoong or even Seonghwa. He knows that they had to do it, had to kill her. He couldn’t have been him if she had always been here. And… clearly (Y/n) is the one most at fault. She took Haneul’s spot. If Hongjoong had never found her, never stalked her and decided that he had made a mistake (or, rather, that the Guardians had guided him wrong), Haneul would probably still be alive.

Or, maybe not. But what Jongho doesn’t understand won’t keep him awake at night.

What will is the remembrance of her touch, the way that she laughed with her whole body, and the fact that she only brushed her teeth with bubblegum toothpaste. The late nights and the special requests on town outings and the books that she read and the role that she was perfectly willing to fulfill.

What would be if she was still here? Would the Sign be here already? Would the Guardians be gone? Does Jongho even believe in that bullshit? He has no fucking clue.

All he knows is that he loves Hongjoong. He worships him, praises him, accepts him as his God. Though he’s not scared of him and doesn’t particularly respect him as a man… Yeah. He knows that none of it makes sense. But it does to him.

When he’s sure that he’s backed away from the precipice of his panic attack, he sets the book back down onto the nightstand, taking care to drop it gently.

It’s unlike him to panic after killing, but it’s not unlike him to have the occasional hallucination. He just simply hadn’t been expecting the two to converge. That would be enough to send anyone into a spiral, right?

Whatever validation he’s looking for, Jongho doesn’t get it. He glances around his bedroom once more, as if expecting Hanuel to walk in through the door at any second. Maybe he is.

He turns back into the bathroom, walking with a purpose to turn the shower on. He finishes undressing and hops in, not waiting for the water to warm up.

A small part of him wonders what San walked into when he returned to his own apartment as he starts scrubbing at his skin once more. Had (Y/n) been awake? Hah, wouldn’t that have just been the event of the evening? Jongho hopes that she was awake, that she saw his bloodied clothes and sullied hands. He hopes that she’ll see San for what he is. Maybe that could get her scared enough to run again? Scared enough to take him up on his offer?

How he would love to catch her in the fields. To play a little game of cat and mouse, to hear her shrieks as his hands landed on her. How lovely would it be to wrestle her to the ground, to wrap his hands around her throat and apply his body weight. How sweet to feel her hands claw at him, to have her nails scratch his face and draw blood. How intoxicating to watch as her face became redder and redder until it went pale, to watch her eyes go from full of life to rolled back away into her skull.

And he wouldn’t let go, no. He would stay there until he was sure that she was dead, not an inkling of life remaining in her. Assuming she has no special training, she should be dead within seven minutes. He could sit there for seven minutes. Gladly. He would enjoy every second of it.

Would he feel better after killing her? He’s not entirely sure. But that’s not the point, anyways.

So he hopes that (Y/n) was awake. He hopes that San has to make up some shit cover on the spot and fails.

…But that’s unlikely and Jongho knows it. It’s quite late at night, and there’s not really much that she could’ve been doing to keep herself entertained.

And, per Hongjoong’s orders, he obviously can’t touch her.

No matter how bad it gets, no matter how angry he is or how badly he wants her to hurt like he did… it can’t happen. He can’t let himself lose control with her. All he can do is wait. And hope. That Hongjoong casts her aside like he cast away Haneul. If that happens, surely he would let Jongho have his way, right?

After everything, he owes him that mercy.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Hongjoong had Seonghwa kill Haneul.

He never would’ve asked Jongho to do it himself. Though, typically, that was the sort of thing that he did.

Hongjoong honestly hadn’t had a particular reason to kill her. He just… didn’t think she belonged, anymore. She was loyal to him, but… it felt that she was more loyal to Jongho. And, for that, she had to be punished. The devotion between lovers is strong, Hongjoong knows that, but he felt that, without Jongho, Haneul would leave.

He had to be sure that the opposite wasn’t true as well. He needed a dependent Jongho. He needed a loyal Jongho. He needed a cruel Jongho; he needed a motivated Jongho. He was sure that this would get him there.

Of course, there was also the issue of (Y/n). She was clearly the one. And there couldn’t be two of ‘the one,’ now could there?

When he had marked Haneul for ascension, Jongho’s jaw had dropped. There was a disbelief that Hongjoong thinks he held until the moment she was in (on?) the ground. He didn’t seem to process any of it; nothing past the original announcement.

Hongjoong had expected begging. He had expected pleading. But he didn’t get it. He watched as Jongho and Haneul spent their last days together, an air of freedom about the two of them that he hadn’t anticipated. They seemed happy enough.

Though he doesn’t completely understand the whims and desires and emotions of love, he thought he understood why they acted the way that they did. Haneul was devoted to the Answer, she was happy to be chosen to ascend, even if that wasn’t what had originally been planned for her. Jongho was happy that she was happy. He wanted her last days on earth to be the best that he could be, so he wouldn’t let her see his pain. Hongjoong supposed that it made sense.

The day of her death, Hongjoong had expected a snap.

One didn’t come, though. Seonghwa delivered the news to Jongho, the finality that she was gone. He didn’t ask to see her body. He just nodded his head and excused himself from the room. Hongjoong still wonders what he did when he left, wonders if he wept and asked a different God how this could happen.

He doesn’t think so. Jongho had never wavered in his loyalty, not even for a moment.

And for that, he was rewarded. With his free reign. Jongho essentially gets to do anything that he wants without threat of repercussion, something that no one else enjoys the privilege of. Part of it is the fact that Jongho is like himself, but the devotion is also quite reassuring.

Jongho could easily manipulate his own group of people into clinging onto his every word, and yet he doesn’t. Instead, he follows Hongjoong and does his bidding. Isn’t that just sweet? Just darling? You kill a man’s love and he becomes nothing but devoted to you.

Hongjoong’s sure that isn’t the case for everyone, but it sure is convenient that whatever is fucked in Jongho’s head also made him fucked in that regard as well.

One thing Hongjoong hadn’t been counting on was Jongho’s attitude toward Hanuel’s successor. It annoys him, honestly, the fact that he didn’t foresee the emotions that Jongho would harbor for (Y/n). Emotions. Ugh. Anger is one that he gets, the desire for revenge and the sadism especially, but he can’t very easily predict other people’s emotions. A disgruntling fact.

Jongho’s hatred for (Y/n) throws a wrench in the works. As sure Hongjoong is that Jongho is completely under his control… he knows what it’s like to be angry enough to kill. He knows what the desire for revenge can do to a person like them. He’s not sure that he could stop Jongho if (Y/n) were to set him off completely one day.

And that’s a threat. A threat to everything. He can’t lose either one of them, and yet it seems less and less likely that they’ll be able to peacefully coexist.

A problem for later, frankly. While losing Jongho would be inconvenient, losing (Y/n) would be a disaster. He knows who he would pick if it came down to it.

But it won’t. Surely, it won’t.

Jongho listens like the pet he is.

← previous || next → || masterlist

#ateez angst #ateez series #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #park seonghwa x reader #jeong yunho x reader #kang yeosang x reader #choi san x reader #song mingi x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #choi jongho x reader #the answer #update

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fallingdownstars · 11 months

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Head canons about Lust/ Lust tale~

- Lust is trans fem / feminine presenting and uses mainly a female ecto-body outside of work but still uses he/ him pronouns.

-Lust tale in my HC is what would happen if no humans ever fell and if the kingdom went through an infertility curse from the humans.

- In Lust tale there is a synthesized drug that is called LUST (it’s a rip on LOVE from UT) and causes the recipient of the drug to feel intense heat and euphoria. this drug, once ingested, will cause complete brain chemistry change that will make the user completely dependent (Unless like in lust’s case where he was hospitalized and put on a year long monitorization to heal damage from LUST)

- When a monster need to consume more LUST they are hit with intense sadness that can make them have suicidal ideation at it’s worse. When one overdoses on LUST, their heat can last days and will no longer use basic behaviors (such as asking for consent).

-In Under lust Gaster falls into the CORE purposely after coming to the conclusion that they will never be able to leave the underground and their society will crumble in the face of LUST.

-Lust has many issues with abandonment (from Gaster’s suicide) and being raised in the environment that is Under lust has skewed his self worth and being able to feel like love can exist without sex being a constant factor.

-Papyrus was San’s few close people because their relationship was one of the few not built on the principle of sex.

-Lust meets Dance during his recovery period where he would join Ink in traversing the Multi-verse (Ink volunteered after Therapist! Sans asked as a form of enrichment). He appreciated Dance’s very laid back attitude yet caring aura that did not feel like pity or disgust (Which he did not feel very often besides for Therapist! Sans). They would spend more and more time together (ink happily let them stay together because he didn’t want to babysit Lust) until they started dating.

-Lust struggles with feeling like he is a burden to Dance because of his many Mental struggles and his on-going rehabilitation from LUST.

-Lust after being cut off from LUST is a lot more reserved and gains more pleasure from romantic actions then rather sexual/ sexually suggestive actions in a relationship. Though Lust still enjoys occasion sex and participates in sexual behavior just not to the extent in Under lust.

-Lust as a child actually was named Plum and Dance occasionally uses the name as a term of endearment. (Yes that’s a Pj’s Daycare 2.0 ref :) )

- Dance loves Lust because he is honestly a very endearing and romantic person. He always use to hear about Lust tale and the “horrors” of its inhabitants, but after meeting Lust and hearing all he has gone through he views everything in a new light.

-Dance introduces Lust to new concepts, actions, behaviors, and items all the time and he very much enjoys it because of Lusts genuine excitement and love to learn about the world around him.

I think that will be all! It’s a lot but MAN this has been rotting my brain for weeks! Hope yall enjoy!!! :D

#undertale multiverse #undertale #utmv #underlust #underlust sans #lust sans #dancelust #recovery!tale

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astragreenwoode · 1 year

Text

The Spitfire Curse - Chapter One

Next: Chapter Two • Masterlist • AO3 Version

Rating: Explicit(18+ ONLY)

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC(Endgame), Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC, Steve Harrington x Fem!OC, Robin Buckley x Fem!OC, Chrissy Cunningham 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 One: Someone Who Loves You Wouldn't Do This.

Word Count: 7681

Chapter Warnings: Recreational Drug Use, Divorce, Implied Trauma, Language, Slight Smut, Domestic Arguments, Implied Mental Illness(not specified what kind)

Chapter Summary: Maeven looks back on the day her life took a turn, leading to her and her family down a painful path, and her life being relocated to the middle of nowhere, Indiana.

I used to make a joke that I was cursed. I was blissfully unaware as the clock stroke midnight and I welcomed 1983 with my friends and family the hard turn things would take. My life would go through a painful metamorphosis that wouldn’t stop for a while. Eventually, I learned that life was chaos and the best way to cope with existing was to be the calming breeze in the middle of the storm. Unfortunately, the best lessons are taught the hard way; through pain and suffering. It took becoming too acquainted with facing death and pushing through a secret dimension that is the closest thing to hell ever seen by human eyes.

For the longest time, it seemed that my life went in a loop. Too often, my livelihood would be torn apart, leaving me to struggle as I licked my wounds and tried to move on. And just when it seemed safe enough to get comfortable and happy, another knot in the chain of rot, ruin, and pain would be added. The cycle would start anew, leaving me to spiral down like blood in water circling the drain of the shower.

But despite all the bullshit I was put through, I wouldn’t trade my life in Hawkins, Indiana for the world.

. . .

February 1983

The year started off like any other. We spent those first few months in quiet anticipation of the new goals we had set for ourselves. My Dad made a vow to not work overtime at the University of San Diego as much so he could be home for dinner and kiss us goodnight. My Mom made a vow to work hard and earn a promotion in her job at the bank. Max made a vow to compete in a local skate contest and wanted me to join her. I made a vow with my friends that we’d collaborate for the Newport High Arts Festival.

None of those resolutions ended up being met. Max and I were too occupied by whatever pulled our parents apart to accomplish them.

That February, a week after I won a prize in the science fair and two weeks after Max’s twelfth birthday, we left the house for school with a deafening silence between us. My little sister and I fast walked toward the bus stop gripping each other’s sweaty hands like a vice. I clenched my knuckles tightly around the shoelaces of my skates slung over my shoulder as Max nervously tapped her nails on her skateboard clutched in her other hand. Normally, we’d have skate-offs to see who could reach the bus stop first. It wasn’t one of those days; Max needed her sister, and I needed mine.

Dad was supposed to drive us that morning. He even promised he’d get up early so he could make breakfast and watch the morning news with us and Mom. These things used to make up our regular morning routine, but Dad hadn’t been able to join us and be present the way he did before for at least the past six months. I couldn’t tell anymore, and I couldn’t remember exactly the last time I saw him awake before school. He would either be too tired after getting home from work or passed out from drinking too much.

I was looking forward to it so much that the excitement caused me to wake up before my alarm clock went off. But when Max and I came downstairs all packed for school and eager for breakfast, we found him passed out on the couch with the T.V. still on and a cluster of beer bottles on the table.

That morning, our Mom and Dad had their earliest and most intense argument that we’d yet seen. The last thing we heard as I pulled Max along with me out the door was my mother yelling “Sometimes, I wonder if you even care about us at all!”

Up until now, they had usually been in the next room or so over trying to muffle their yelling between the walls. This was the first time they knowingly fought in front of us. I was in such a hurry to get us out of there that I didn’t turn the doorknob three times before locking it like I always do.

We started walking slower as soon as we couldn’t hear the screams anymore and loosened our grip on our things and each other.

“Sooooo. . .what classes do you have today?”

I laughed at her timing and felt relief at the break in the tension that hung heavy in the air like a storm cloud. But as soon as I noticed Max’s lack of sarcasm in her tone and that she wasn’t laughing with me, the weight on my shoulders returned.

I didn't blame her for not wanting to talk about it. But we had to do it eventually. The elephant in the room was growing unruly and anxious. It threatened to tear the house apart.

“Are we seriously not gonna talk about what just happened?”

“You tell me," Max grumbled, staring at the ground as we continued walking. "You haven’t said shit this last month or so.”

I wasn't blameless in ignoring the situation. But up until this morning, I didn't think the tension between our parents would lead to this.

“It’s not like I don’t want to, Max. I’m still trying to process what Mom yelled back there.”

“Yeah. . ." she scoffed. "She’s sure one to talk, huh? It’s not like she’s never been passed out drunk on the couch instead of paying attention to her family, right?”

“You’re not wrong," I wheezed out at her.

Before getting her job as a bank teller, Mom had been working as a nurse at the busiest hospital in San Diego since before she married my Dad and had me. But the E.R. got busier and busier. The HIV crisis turned it grim. Mom and Dad ended up losing a few of their close friends from back in the 60s. It hit both of them hard, but Mom was the one who had to witness the disease rotting people from the inside out first-hand.

At first, her drinking wasn't anything serious; just one bottle every night at dinner to help take the edge off. But then, my uncle tested positive, and it was all suddenly so personal. He went so quickly before we even really got a grasp that it was happening. It tore Mom apart, losing her baby brother so brutally.

“Dad was there for her through her crap. Why can’t she do the same?” Max let go of my hand and wiped the sweat off her palms before gripping her skateboard in her arms. I wiped my palm, too.

“Hey. Be nice. She’s trying. It definitely wasn’t always easy for Dad to keep his shit together for her," I pointed out, lifting her chin gently to meet her ocean-blue eyes, a shade or two lighter than my own.

Mom was able to get sober with our and Dad's help, but she couldn't be a nurse anymore. The whole situation made the mention of the word "hospital" leave her sick with melancholy.

“Okay, fine. I guess you’re right. But it’s not just her, y’know? Ever since Dad came back, he’s been. . .different.”

As things were just getting back to normal, Dad was called back by the Army to help fight in the cold war. He was an engineer who helped fight in the Vietnam War and was absent for the first year and a half of Max’s life. After he played his part and came back home, he was different in the best way. Throughout our childhoods, he no longer took like for granted and spent his days making up for the time he wasn’t here with us.

He didn’t go back to fight in the Cold War for too long, but that short time made a big difference in his personality. I didn't know much about what happened to him during his time fighting overseas. All I knew was that he was awarded a lot of medals for his service. Too often, Max and I would look at them and ask him what they were for. Max didn’t understand what all of them exactly meant, which Dad was grateful for. He wanted us to stay kids for as long as we could. But he couldn’t stop me from theorizing what orders he had to follow for him to earn those medals. My favorite was his Purple Heart.

He was even able to bring back his partner home to us; a retired military dog named Bullet. He got along nicely with Lucy, our other dog, and Nutmeg, our cat. They were immediately the best of friends. I could tell Bullet's presence kept Dad calmer.

“Yeah. He’s quieter," I said. But Max wasn't satisfied with me boiling it all down to that word.

“Quiet? Try distant," she snapped, the vibes in the February air turning sour. "I’m pretty sure he forgot it was my birthday this month."

My stomach sank. I remember when Mom was once too drunk to remember my birthday. It broke my heart. But Dad wasn't like that. He was different, right?

“He did not. He got your new board, didn’t he?”

“I heard them talking a week before my party. Mom had to remind him.”

If it was possible, my broken heart then shattered for my baby sister. I was angry. I couldn't believe Dad would get so bad that he forgot the day he had to coach my mom through childbirth in his parent's house. But that didn't necessarily change anything. He still kisses the picture of our family in his wallet three times a day for good luck. That had to count for something.

“You don’t believe it right?”

“Believe what?”

“What Mom said before we left the house," I reminded her. I was still trying to process the fact that those words came out of my Mother's mouth. They were laced with hatred, and I was angry at her for letting us leave the house knowing they echoed in our heads.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.” As soon as Max's broken voice said that, my shattered heart burned up and the ashes blew in the wind.

“Hey. Don’t talk like that." I pulled her arm and stopped us a block before her bus stop. I crouched down slightly to be at her level, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dad didn’t stop loving us, okay? And he never will.”

“You don’t know that.” Max started choking up a little, fighting to hold back the tears.

“Yes I do,” I told her, reaching my hand up to cup her cheek. But before our skin could touch, she smacked my hand away.

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not defending him, Max. I just think there's something else going on," I said, pulling her along to reach her block. I felt her pull me back before I had the chance to look both ways before crossing the street.

“What, Maevey? What else could possibly be going on that he’d rather drink than come home on time to eat dinner with us?”

“We didn’t see him for months before he came back to us. I don’t know exactly all that happened when he was overseas, but I can’t imagine all of it was pleasant for him."

I was starting to lose my patience as I debated picking her up before crossing the street. But her friends were gathered at the bus stop. They didn't need to hear this.

“How are we supposed to know what happened if he won’t talk about it?”

“There's probably a reason he isn’t talking about it, Max. I don't think who he was forced to kill and the brutal war crimes he may have witnessed are ideal conversation topics."

Her face went from mad to concerned, and I could breathe easier knowing she understood a little more than before.

". . .I didn't think about that."

"It's okay, Squirt. C'mere." I pulled Max into a hug. Her embrace squeezed my ribs, but I didn't care. I wasn't too tall, but I was tall enough that her head was tucked comfortably under my chin.

"If they get divorced, do you think they'll split us up, too?" She mumbled into my coat. My heart was now completely gone from my chest. I looked both ways before eagerly pulling her along to cross the street and turned to face her again as soon as we were safe on the other side. She pulled me to the side behind the bushes, so the other kids at the bus stop couldn’t see or interrupt our conversation.

"They're not gonna get divorced, Max. Okay? And they sure as hell aren’t splitting us up. They've gone through rough patches before. This one isn't any different from the last ones," I explained, reaching out to hug her again. She pushed back a little too aggressively, but I couldn't bring myself to care. She needed to feel her feelings and I didn’t blame her for not wanting to be touched.

"Don't do that! Don't act like you know everything's gonna be fine!” Max yelled. “You don't know that, Maevey! You can't know that!"

Her breathing started to quicken as she began to hyperventilate. Like I had done a thousand times before, I put my hand on her shoulder and coached her

"Hey, don't yell. Just calm down, Max. Look at me, okay? Breathe. In. Out. Thats it.” As soon as her breathing was stable again, she pulled me back into the hug she denied herself before.

She was right. I didn’t know what was gonna happen. I couldn’t tell the future. I may read tarot cards all the time, but it wasn’t an exact science. I couldn’t guarantee what would happen to Mom and Dad. But I could guarantee that no matter where this whole fiasco would go, I’d have her back; we’d have each other.

"Everything's gonna be fine, okay? We'll get through this. We always do,” I murmured into the top of her head as her bus came into view.

"Promise?"

"Promise,” I said, pressing one last kiss on her head. I momentarily locked our pinkies together like we had done a million times before. She pulled back as we heard the high-pitched sound of the bus hitting its brakes.

“I'll see you this afternoon, okay? I have Farming Club today after classes,” I explained as I guided her toward the line of children. “. . .so I'll be home at 5 instead of 3. We'll do something fun after dinner."

I could tell she was still worked up over Mom and Dad and annoyed once again by my packed schedule. But she agreed anyway. She needed the distraction. We both did.

". . .okay."

I tussled her hair and gave her one last quick hug. "Alright, Squirt. Gotta go. Love you."

". . .I love you, too. . ."

As I moved on my way to where I usually catch my bus, I heard my sister call back to me one more time.

"And I'm not a squirt, Maevey!" I turned toward Max to see her head poking out of the school-bus window. I let out a laugh. Ever since she could talk, we’d hold our own little competitions to see who could have the last word. We had lost count by now, but we didn’t care about that anymore. We liked the rush in our blood we got from the heat of the race.

"Compared to me you are, Squirt!"

“You’re not even that tall!”

“Bye, Max!”

I wouldn’t know it until later in the day, but when I told my sister everything would be alright, that would be the very first time I ever lied to her.

. . .

Every time I left Farming Club, I left with a little more dirt under my nails and a few more animal scratches. I had many passions; from music to skating to books to art. But I knew I wanted to work with wildlife and the outdoors since I was five years old. That was the day I made friends with a gentle raccoon and brought it inside the house. I named him ‘Oscar,’ because he loved trash. Later that night, my Dad gifted me with a field journal and helped me make my first entry on raccoons.

Mom is the reason Max and I loved the beach so much. She was the reason we loved bright things like the sun and rainbows. I took on her love of arts and crafts. But neither Max nor I was as girly as she would’ve liked us to be. Dad passed his love of science and research onto me. Max adopted his love of comic books and handy skills. We both inherited his stubbornness and rebellious spirit.

But I never thought his rebellion from my Mom’s nagging would end up like this.

That afternoon, I tied my rainbow laces tightly on my light-teal skates on the bus taking me home from club. As the door opened, I held onto the handrails on the steps and jumped from the top step and outside the bus, sliding my hands down on the way to support my weight on my wheels. All the bus drivers I had nagged me to stop that lest I hurt myself. They all eventually gave up. When a Mayfield is determined, good luck trying to dissuade them.

Like I had done in my life routines a million times before, I skated down the road back home. I nailed turning on the hard curves of the neighborhood that Max and I had conquered growing up. Ever since I was little, I loved repeating myself. I thrived on routine and found comfort in everyday repetitions. It took me a while before I became comfortable with accepting changes big and small. I still counted in groups of two or three. The sequences brought me a sense of control and comfort.

No matter how far I had come in going with the flow and controlling only what I am able to, I never wanted my little sister sitting on the curb of our driveway to escape my parents’ screaming match to become a part of my routine. We had spent the last couple of nights eating dinner outside on the back porch, skating until the sun went down, and watching the sunset before the sky filled up with stars. This was the first time during our parents' fighting that I saw Max cry.

She was sitting on the curb next to our mailbox with her board in one hand and the other stroking the top of Lucy’s head as she lay down with her head in her lap. Bullet was standing guard with Nutmeg between his front legs, cleaning her face with her paws. As soon as our pets saw me, they perked up to welcome me back home.

“Hey, guys. Hey.” I gave them each a friendly pat on the head before I skidded my skates to a halt and stood on my toe stops before kneeling down to cup her face in my hands. Max didn’t even seem to notice for a moment until I wiped her tears off her cheek. Before I could say anything, she desperately wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my shoulder.

“Max, what’s going on? What’re you doing out here?”

“They’re fighting again.”

I could hear the muffled yelling coming from our childhood home. Whatever went down in there while I was at club, it wasn’t anything good.

Enough was enough. I wasn’t going to allow my sister or myself to be spectators in the middle of their shitstorm any longer. After I aggressively unlaced my skates and let my backpack carelessly drop on the lawn, I stood up.

“Stay here,” I told Max. Only Nutmeg followed after me. I marched toward the house with anger lit in my veins the same way gas would light when met with a match. The freshly watered grass soaked through my socks and chilled my feet. It helped me keep calm and grounded.

As I reached the front door, I focused my hearing on my parents’ conversation. Nutmeg rubbed on my legs and meowed at me to pick her up.

“You can’t keep doing this, Norman! You can’t keep making promises and breaking them when it’s convenient for you! You can’t keep fucking up and then come crawling back to me like that’s somehow going to fix everything! You need to do better! Be better! You need help!”

My breathing quickened and shallowed as I hugged Nutmeg closer to my chest. She nuzzled her face into my shoulder as she sensed my growing anxiety, but her actions did nothing to stop it from spreading in my lungs and head. I heard my Mom scream before; sometimes she would get frustrated parenting me and Max. But I’d never heard her like this before.

“Do you honestly think that's what I’m doing, Susan?! Do you think I’d rather drink until I black out instead of coming home to you and the girls?! I’m sorry that I’m hurting you, but I’m not going back! I’m not gonna be interrogated by a shrink just so they can punch my crazy card again and throw me in a padded cell!”

I knew very little about my Dad’s mental history. I figured it had something to do with what he saw during his time in the military.

“Maybe you should! Maybe you are crazy, Norm! I feel fucking crazy watching you rot for over a month! I’m not gonna watch you do this to yourself! I don’t deserve to see that, and neither do our girls!”

Maybe Mom was right. Maybe my Dad was crazy, but that didn’t mean it was okay to talk to him like his state of mind made him a bad person. I never saw either of them as bad people, but that was starting to change. Slowly, but surely, my sweaty palms wrapped around the doorknob and I turned it one, two, three times before I opened it.

“Do not bring them into this! Do you realize how hard it is keeping my shit together in front of them?! You should! You did the exact same thing to us! Don’t act like you haven’t! I am trying my best to be better for them! For both of them!”

“Well, your best isn’t enough, Norm!”

“STOP IT!”

They were so caught up in the heat of the moment that they didn’t even notice me open the door until my outburst. Nutmeg jumped out of my arms and pranced up the stairs. I had never seen either of my parents look so broken before, Not even after Mom lost her brother or when Dad had to bury his father. It was scary, to see this side of them.

“Mae-Mae. . .I. . .I didn’t know you were back, yet.”

Mom wiped the tears from her cheeks and stifled her breaking voice.

“Yeah, clearly,” I said, slamming the door and shaking the house around us. Somehow, it felt louder and more intense than when they were yelling.

Mom sat in the chair by the fireplace and turned away to pull herself together. Dad let out a heavy sigh, running his hands through his hair before adjusting his glasses.

“Maevey, I know how this looks. I know I haven’t been. . .present for a while-”

“Yeah, no shit, Dad! Neither of you have!”

“Excuse me?” Mom practically leaped from her chair. “I have been making you dinner, doing your laundry, and driving you to and from all your little clubs! You will not talk to me that way!”

Here we go again; right to the Martyr role.

“Yeah, but when was the last time you’ve actually been here, Mom? Huh? Do you even remember what clubs I’m in? Do you even remember what I won the science fair for last week?”

Both of their eyes widened like this was the first time they were hearing about this.

“Honey, you were in the science fair?”

“Seriously, guys?!”

They were there; both of them. But I was so caught up with everything else happening that night. I didn’t realize in the midst of everything that Dad was so antisocial that he just stayed on the sidelines and occasionally come to my booth. Mom only came up to my booth once, going around to congratulate the other kids on all of their hard work instead of my own.

They both took off after I won the blue ribbon, leaving me with a hollow ‘good job, Maeven’ before going back to fighting in the school parking lot. Why couldn’t they put their fighting on hold? Just for one night? They were so preoccupied with their sudden hatred for each other that caring for Max and I had become a chore, rather than a necessity. My parents might’ve been there, but they weren’t there . They weren’t present.

Mom rubbed her hands together, fiddling with her jewelry as she looked for the right words.

“Mae-Mae, we-”

“Don’t you ‘Mae-Mae’ me, Mom!” I pleaded with her, looking up at the ceiling and wondering what it would feel like to spontaneously combust just to escape this conversation.

“Max and I have been putting up with your shit, both of yours, for all our lives! But, this? This takes the cake.”

“Maeven, I know it's been hard seeing us fight, but I promise you, we’re working through it, okay? You and Max don’t have anything to worry about.”

It always came back to this point. We had this conversation many times in the last few months. I was tired of going around in circles. I was tired of them acting like we didn’t need to know what was happening to their marriage. I wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither was Max.

Before I knew it, I combusted. The brutal words mixed with the finger-pointing and dramatic gestures came out without warning. I probably looked like I was having a classic teenage girl tantrum; I didn’t recognize myself. It was as if I was floating outside my body, no longer in control and puppeteered by the past month of built-up frustration.

“Oh, bullshit! This is not ‘working through it, guys! This is chaos! Now will you just fucking fix your marriage or get a divorce all ready so Max and I don’t have to suffer anymore?! Jesus H. Fucking Christ!”

By the time I was given control of myself again, it took me a moment to realize what happened. It was the first time I had blacked out, and it would be far from the last time. I didn’t remember going back outside to sit next to Max. It was a scary sensation, but my body, heart and mind were hyper-focused on other things.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

At the sound of my sister's voice and the feeling of my hands absentmindedly running through Bullet’s fur, my thoughts suddenly weren’t so loud.

“You kinda spaced out there for a moment,” Max said, her hand joining mine to double Bullet’s reassuring pats. I wasn’t sure whether it was more soothing for us or for him.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, tilting my head back to look at the night sky and letting the soft breeze cool down my heated cheeks. I almost wished Dad would come out and sit with us to look at the stars as if it was just a normal night.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.”

I mentally slapped myself. Earlier that day, we had preached to each other about how sickened we were to be in the middle of Mom and Dad’s fights. It felt so hypocritical of me; to blow up like that while knowing Max could most likely hear my yelling, too. Until I felt the sudden urge to start breathing again and sniff, I didn’t even feel like I was crying.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have exploded like that, God, . .I’m just like them. . .No, I’m worse.” My voice was broken up. I sounded so pathetic. Max scooched over and leaned her head on my shoulder. I moved my arm around her as she slipped hers along my hip.

“No, you’re not,” she said, still recovering from her own crying fit from before I came home. “They had it coming.”

I breathlessly let out a laugh as ‘Call Block Tango’ crawled its way into my head. Never before had I felt so relieved and yet so angry. It was as if I just finished a long hike in the mountains and finally let my shoulders rest and stretch without a backpack on. But as I packed up my camp the next morning, I was painfully reminded that I still had a long way to go.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that. I just. . .I didn’t know what else to do. . .”

“Do you really want them to get a divorce?”

At this point, I didn’t care what happened to them. I couldn’t picture what I wanted for us in the future. I just wanted all this bullshit to end.

“Yes? No? I don’t know, Max. I just. . .I just want the fighting to stop.”

“Yeah. . .me, too,” she sighed, letting her shoulders fall as she tilted her head up and her eyes met mine.

“Do you still believe her?” I asked.

“What?”

“Do you still believe Mom when she said Dad doesn’t love us?”

Max pondered for a moment, her eyes focusing on the way my evil-eye necklace sparkled in the sunset barely shining over the neighborhood. She had the same look in her eye she got when planning her next move in a family game of Monopoly.

“No. I don’t think I even did before.”

“Good. Mom still loves us, too. Y’know that right?”

“Yeah, I know. . .I mean, God knows she tells us all the damn time.”

As much of a hard-ass our Mom could be, a day never went by where she didn’t tell us how much she loved us. Dad made sure to remind us, too, but had fallen out of practice the more time he spent away from us. He didn’t see us enough to tell us.

“Why don’t they love each other anymore?”

I knew that wasn’t true to a degree. Mom and Dad were no longer fit to be partners, but that didn’t erase the life they built together. Max and I were living proof of that.

“I wish I knew, Squirt.”

People fell out of love all the time. It happened every day. It just wasn’t as preached as much as the ‘happily ever after’ narrative. The divorce rate was currently skyrocketing ever since ‘no-fault divorce’ was legalized in the mid-70s. Until then, domestic violence wasn’t considered a valid reason for divorce. It wasn’t a bad thing that it was finally able to those who really needed it and then some. I just never thought my family would need it, too.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?”

“Whose fault is it, then?”

Max’s question wasn’t one that could be answered simply. She was just starting puberty, just starting to learn that the world wouldn’t be simple from here on out. People shouldn’t be so romanticized. People were. . .complicated, to say the least. I guess that was why I preferred to find comfort in the study of flora and fauna. Everything else in nature made sense but humans.

“No ones, Max. They didn’t want to hurt each other, it just. . .happened.”

I barely believed my own words. I knew their fighting had nothing to do with us. But I also knew how easy it was to feel like it was your fault when you were stuck in the middle of it all.

“They seem to want to hurt each other right now.”

“Because they’re scared. I don’t blame them. I’m scared, too.”

“Yeah. . .what’s gonna happen to us?”

I was so naive to think everything would always stay the same, to think that my family was untouchable to tragedy. The only thing I was certain of was that I wasn’t going to let the impending divorce break what my sister and I had with each other. All I could do was give her a hug and be as truthful with her as she could handle.

“I. . .I don’t know. I’m sorry. I wish I did.”

The divorce didn’t break us. Everything that followed afterward did.

. . .

19 Months Later

No matter how difficult it was hauling her entire life across the country, Maeven was probably the only one who saw the move to Indiana as a good thing. Of course, Susan and Neil were the ones who wanted it the most from the beginning. They had a chance to start a whole new life together, far away from the painful troubles and annoying inconveniences in California; far away from Norman Mayfield and the threat he posed to the newly blended family. Neil didn’t like the idea of being challenged that way. And he absolutely loathed the thought of his bride’s ex-husband still having a big influence on his new family

Susan wanted this for her daughters, too. The Mayfield sisters have always had trouble fitting in, of course. They both shared a tendency to not be properly labeled by others. Maeven had so many interests to keep up with, and Max practically danced on the spectrum of being a tomboy on one side and a ‘proper girl’ on the opposite. Susan hoped the move from the big city to small-town America would possibly. . .straighten them out, as she and Neil liked to put it. They all needed a fresh start. Maeven, especially.

The nineteen months that followed her parents’ divorce were a blur of unhealthy coping mechanisms, illegal activities, soul-crushing trauma, and a lot of therapy and pills. Her good clean reputation as an eccentric honors student had mutated into one carved with violence and pain. Repeating her Junior Year at Newport High after everyone witnessed her at her most vulnerable and angry felt like a death sentence. Maeven saw the move to Indiana as a clean slate, a blank canvas; a chance to find peace and start over where nobody had to know of her past sins.

Besides, she no longer felt like she belonged in California. There just wasn’t a place for her there, anymore. It was her home for such a long time, but it no longer felt that way. It now felt tainted and ruined, just like she had become. Maeven no longer felt like herself, and was convinced that she had to find herself again no matter where the road took her. All she knew was she wouldn’t find what she was looking for in California. Plus, the increase in population made her want to crawl into a hole like a wild animal and wait or all the chaos to die down.

Of course, Billy and Max objected to the move. Both of them had their own lives to live in California. It wasn’t fair to just uproot them without asking how they’d hypothetically feel first. It wasn’t fair to force them to uproot their lives so their parents could live a fantasy they never wanted a part in. The whole charade gave them another reason to hate each other; something they didn’t want but couldn’t help once Susan and Neil made up their minds. But Maeven? She had nothing that tied her there, apart from her friends, Dad, and pets; all the things Susan and Neil convinced her that she didn’t need in order to be happy.

The newly blended Hargrove/Mayfield family spent the second to last week of September moving east across eight states and directing a team of movers to move furniture and boxes into their new home. The house on Cherry Street was a few miles away from downtown Hawkins; a nice, upper-middle-class neighborhood tucked amidst the trees. Maeven was excited to explore the woods that lay across the street from them and discover the creatures who inhabited it. She could already picture herself finding a particularly interesting tree, plant, or creature to fill her sketchbook with. The cicadas were still chirping, so they’d probably be the easiest to sketch. If she was quiet and lucky enough, maybe she’d cross paths with an owl or fox.

In between helping with moving boxes and furniture, Maeven and Max skated on their new driveway and around the neighborhood despite their mother’s protests. Billy dropped the sisters off closer to town in his Camaro after Neil practically forced him to. As they explored downtown Hawkins, they managed to find an arcade connected to a video rental place. Seriously. How bad could this place really be if it had an arcade?

Max spent the next two hours working her magic, adding her name to the top of the scoreboards on each game she had already beaten back in California. Maeven snuck around to the alley behind the building to smoke a couple of hits of a joint before going back inside to lose herself amongst the 8-bit shooting noises. She shoved her face with strawberry Fanta and cool-ranch Doritos, buzzed on sugar, carbs, and weed as she hyper-focused on topping the Galaga scoreboard with IRNMVN.

The first week exploring their new home felt like heaven to Maeven. It was really the first time she truly felt at peace in over a year. Despite the abrupt adjustment from city living to small-town America, and the strange vibe she felt from Hawkins, she found her new home comforting and charming.

The last nineteen months of Maeven’s life had been a hazy blur of school scandals, bullying drugs, fighting, and police mixed with pills, mental institutions, isolation, and trauma, just to name a few. It all blended together to make up a cocktail of ups and downs, misery and pleasure. She was once on the honor roll at Newport High School, well on her way to becoming the Valedictorian of her class. Now, Maeven would have to repeat her Junior Year at Hawkins High. Indiana was a chance for her to start over; a place where no one knew of her or her past sins.

She was tired in every sense of the word; physically, mentally, emotionally. All she really wanted was not to be the center of attention like she was before. Maeven just wanted to be normal for a while, even if she wasn’t. At the very least, she wanted to be as normal as she could be. All she had to do was follow a very specific set of rules; put in place to build herself back up.

(1). Don’t be a slut

(2). Act like the smart, athletic girl she was inside

(3). Be herself, but also blend into the crowd. Don’t stand out too much,

(4). Don’t be Weird.

(5). Don’t let them find out what happened to you in California.

The last rule was easier said than done. But Billy would help her just like he always did. He was always there for her.

Maeven and Billy knew each other long before their parents started dating each other. They were classmates since sixth grade but didn’t really talk to each other until High School when Maeven started going through her rebellious phase after her parents got divorced. After all the fighting and verbally humiliating the bullies and jocks, and the snarky attitude she had with both teachers and students during class, Maeven caught Billy’s attention.

He approached her at a party, one of the last weekend ones before the end of sophomore year. She was relaxed in a lounge chair by the pool, smoking a joint and staring up at the stars. Billy unintentionally startled her before asking if he could share with her. She accepted. In between passing the joint to each other, they talked about anything and everything they could until the cops came to shut the party down. They didn’t really have any other choice but to scatter off together.

Amidst all the panic, Maeven climbed inside Billy’s Camaro and they sped off together. They probably should’ve gone home, but somehow ended up going on a long drive to a point on the mountains that looked out over the vastness of San Diego. Although they never told each other, both of them secretly wished the night would never end. The longer they talked, the tighter the tension grew before it turned into a warm tenderness they found in each other’s bodies, hearts, and minds. Billy and Maeven stayed awake together until the sun started peaking over the horizon that early Sunday morning. He made sure to savor the moment, brushing the sweat and weed from her lips to taste her one more time before she walked into her friend’s house.

Up until that night, Maeven had never seen Billy as anything more than an asshole; he was a showoff and a bully, and proud of it, too. But he could also be charming and soft when he wanted to. And for some reason, he felt safe enough to be so around her. The fact that he complimented her sudden new ability to ‘kick ass and take no shit and look super hot at the same time.’ And apparently, her ass looked really good when she skated. Maeven thought she had all the jocks properly pegged, but she noticed how Billy’s baby blue eyes had a dark sadness behind them. He was carrying a pain in his heart and soul all too similar to the one she had just taken on; his parents were divorced, too. Although, the circumstances of his situation were much worse than hers.

His mother abandoned him when he was eleven, not able to deal with her husband’s abuse toward her anymore. Before his dad started raising his fist at her, Billy’s mother was a gorgeous, loving mother to her son. In some odd way, Maeven reminded him of her. Despite the freckles and the wild red hair, she was bright, warm, and full of unconditional love, according to his fond, yet fading memory of her. He ended up being a pleasant surprise.

Of course, Billy wasn’t someone Maeven would’ve normally hung out with. She felt like he got her. They felt like they got each other. He looked at her like she was the only other person in the world. She loved his sun-yellow mullet that reminded her of a lion’s mane and could rarely ever stop herself from weaving her fingers through it. He didn’t mind in the least. Billy didn’t care about Maeven’s quirks and fidgets or cringed at the gap between her teeth as he kissed her. He made her feel safe; a special feeling of safe that she hadn’t felt since her dad moved to San Fransisco.

The fact that he knew the exact right way to make her scream his name as he fucked her hard into the cushions didn’t hurt, either. He was fast and hard-edged like his Camaro; he meant business. Maeven was Billy’s dirty little secret, and he was hers. And they liked it to stay that way. But once they officially became family, things got a whole lot harder.

Max was suspicious from the start of how close they were. Billy didn’t seem like the kind of person Maeven would be friends with. He could be a dick, and she was definitely frightened of him and what he could do. She was already forced to witness him burning a dead cat and berating her on a daily basis, among other things. Maeven had yet to find out that he was the one who broke the arm of one of Max’s best friends in San Diego. Then again, Max wasn’t really certain she wanted her big sister to know. And despite everything, Billy was really growing on her. She liked the idea of having a big brother, even if it might take longer for him to properly fill the role and all it entailed.

Maeven took every precaution to make sure Max didn’t know about her relationship with Billy. Her little sister was already dealing with her life being uprooted and relocated away from everything she knew and loved. Finding out her big sister, her idol was fucking their new step-brother would be heartbreaking. She didn’t need more chaos in her life. Once Maeven found out last November the Neil dating her mom was indeed Neil Hargrove, she immediately broke things off with Billy. Obviously, they didn’t stay that way. And after what happened to her last New Year’s Eve, she needed him more than ever.

By the time the movers finished unpacking, the sun had set far west enough so that the sky was both warm and cool at the same time. As Maeven sat next to the woods across the house to smoke, the cicadas’ chirps rang throughout the late summer hair. Susan and Neil were fast asleep by now after an exhausting day of the finishing steps of their moving process. They were way too braindead to throw a tantrum over Maeven smoking to help with her anxiety and sleep disorders. She knew neither Billy nor Max would tattle on her. Neither of them cared. In fact, Maeven made sure to put her blunt out whenever her sister came within six feet of her. They wouldn’t narc on her for a drug ten times less harmless than what she used to use.

Despite all the painful detoxing that she went through while in recovery, smoking pot had always remained Maeven’s best vice. The very act of it made her feel like she was drifting in a warm ocean, safely guarded by a pod of orcas and whale sharks. Weed was a hell of a lot better than snorting cocaine or popping pills like candy. How bad could it really be for her if it grew from the fucking ground? Besides, she knew better now than to even think about doing drugs that hardcore.

Before she left for Indiana, Maeven’s best friend and former dealer, Madison, gifted her an altoid tin filled with her legendary hand-rolled joints. They were famous around Newport High for how fat they were and how big of a buzz they gave the smoker. The matriarch of her family owned an off-the-grid farm in the heart of the Emerald Triangle. Norman Mayfield was a good friend of theirs and didn’t care if his daughter wanted to self-medicate at his house in California. After ashing her joint with the toe of her boot one, two, three times for good luck, Maeven went back inside. The voices finally managed to quiet down in her head enough for her to feel like she could get to sleep easily. Her stash wouldn’t last forever, though. Even if no one could replace Madison, she would have to investigate and find Hawkins’ resident dealer soon.

Maeven secretly envied everyone else in the house and their bodies' ability to rest without needing any extra help. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept without the assistance of 40mg of melatonin, some tea with honey, and a joint or two before bed. Thoughts of wanting nothing more than eternal sleep always lingered in her mind.

Her new room was barren of any personality save for the muted blueberry floral rug and her quilted bedspread with warm technicolored squares covering her full-sized bed. How soft the mattress was as she threw herself down face-first was all that Maeven had the energy for. She didn’t even bother trying to get under the covers properly. It was too warm that evening to curl up like that, but the breeze blowing softly through the open windows felt so nice on her bare skin.

Not feeling Nutmeg curl up on the bed by her feet or on her side was still strange. Maeven didn’t know if she’d ever get used to that, Nutmeg was with her Dad, along with Bullet and Lucy, back in San Francisco. Of course, Maeven and Max wanted to bring their beloved kitty with them when they moved. But Neil would never allow it. And after the incident with Billy setting fire to a dead cat’s corpse without hesitation, Max convinced her sister that she was safer in California. Maeven could understand the anxiety that moment must’ve given her, but Billy would never kill an animal in cold blood like that. Would he?

She didn’t even realize until the mattress dipped to her right and felt him curl his body to fill against hers that Billy managed to sneak in her room unnoticed. His sudden presence made Maeven flinch, but she melted back into his almost immediately as he ghosted his stubble-kissed lips against the nape of her neck to coax a giggle out of her.

“Hey, Dollface. . .” he whispered into her hair, sending a shiver down her back.

“Hey, yourself, Big Guy. . .” she mumbled, shifting in place to face him through her sleepy, probably bloodshot eyes. Billy pulled her tighter against him, gently gripping her knee to hook her leg around his hip.

“You feeling alright? Can smell the pot on you,” he asked, stroking Maeven’s bare thigh.

“I’m good, Billy, just needed to chill.”

“And you didn’t invite me?” he playfully accused, pressing his lips to hers as if to get a secondhand high off the taste of pot lingering on her mouth. Or maybe just because he trembled at the comforting taste of her body

“I thought you were sleeping. The house was so quiet,” she laughed, burying her hands in his golden-yellow locks. Billy’s hand traveled to her shoulders, tenderly kneading against the knots. Maeven let out a slight hiss.

“You’re so tense, Doll,” Billy whispered, nuzzling his face in the junction between her neck and shoulder, tickling her with his beard.

Maeven already knew where he was hoping this would lead. She knew him too long to not notice his telltale signs of arousal. She could already feel his erection growing as he rutted against the front of her underwear. He knew that smoking weed could make her libido rise quickly, always making sure to try and seize the open opportunity to relieve each others’ stress.

“Yeah, heavy lifting for a week will do that to you,” Maeven innocently answered, but Billy wasn’t one to easily pick up on hints.

“Think you can stay quiet for me, baby?” His hand on her thigh crept upward to squeeze one of her ass-cheeks

“Nuh-uh. Keep those hands to yourself. It’s too hot.”

“Mmm-hmm. . .and we can make things even hotter.”

As delicious as his offer was, she couldn’t. Maeven wanted nothing more than to lean into his sinful touches and let the overwhelming intrusive compulsions win. But she was tired. And even if an orgasm could help her with her insomnia, she had been doing so well compartmentalizing her dark thoughts and compulsions.

“Sorry, Big Guy. I’m too tired. . .too sore.”

His hands stopped just above the waistband of Maeven’s sleep shorts before profoundly sighing. Billy was the one out of both of them who actually liked to give in to their impulses, but he always stopped when she wanted him to.

Whenever Maeven blacked out, she had the tendency to obey every intrusive thought that poisoned her mind. She often entered a fight-or-flight state of mind, like a wild animal being hunted. In those moments, she wasn’t a person any longer. She was a monster; the one they always told her she was.

Billy sat up on Maeven’s bed and leaned over to the wooden side table, grabbing something she didn’t see him bring in before.

“Brought ya some water, thought you might be thirsty.”

He offered her now full water bottle that she didn’t even notice was missing from her room. Maeven sat up and took it, not realizing until just now how parched she was. She ended up drinking down half her bottle, just in case Cottonmouth got the better of her later in the night. Ever since she was hospitalized for dehydration, Maeven didn’t mess around when it came to water.

“Ever the gentleman,” she thanked him, closing her bottle before leaning over Billy to put it back on the table. She suddenly felt extraordinarily drowsy and dizzy, closing her eyes to escape it as she leaned on Billy’s torso for support.

“You sure you don’t need a massage, baby?” he asked, tenderly rubbing the small of her back.

She rolled her closed eyes at him, not wanting him to be right and also not fully trusting him to curb his lustful appetite. But Maeven would be able to sleep better without her body being so pent up.

“. . .okay, fine,” she murmured, rolling off of Billy and onto her stomach on the bed next to him so he could get better access to her back. Almost as soon as his hands started loosening the knots in her shoulders, Maeven moaned into her pillow as she felt her mind drifting away.

“That’s it, Dollface. Just let me take care of you,” were the last words she heard from Billy as his hands traveled down her body, sneaking their way across her hips.

When you look at someone you think the world of through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags are practically invisible. But Maeven wasn’t able to see them until it was almost too late for her.

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who showed love on the preview for this chapter! It's uplifting and refreshing knowing that people are actually interested in my work. Let me know what you think about the first chapter, what you like, and what you might wanna see.

Thumbs up to those who can name the songs where all my chapter titles come from. If you wanna be added to the tag list for this fic, let me know down below!

The Spitfire Curse Taglist:

@yaidothat

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youaremorethanapet · 1 year

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YAMTAP Chapter one!

I opened the door, it was about midday and I was ready to start my shift. I had taken my allergy meds and was prepared to take on the world. 3 big dogs “attacked” me followed by 2 more smaller dogs. Fortunately I was told I didn’t have to walk them the first day. Ms. Bethany George had already walked them. I sighed and plopped down on the couch, petting the biggest dog absentmindedly. I had no idea how much time had passed before I snapped my eyes open to the sound of a loud crash coming from the room down the hall. I stood up slowly, those must be the new pets Ms. George had been talking about. She had made it clear that I should not go in that room, as they needed to settle in.. but… Another loud crash took me out of my thoughts, followed by what sounded like talking. Curiosity peaked, I looked around the room, searching for security cameras before walking towards the door. One of the smallest dogs (beans) pawed at the door, whining. I opened the door slowly, the dogs bursting through the door. I was met by a very anticlimactic sight. It was a guinea pig cage. Just as I was about to leave the room I heard a whisper “See papyrus, it’s just the house sitter. The one Bethany was talking ‘bout.” I snapped around. Oh my god. I approached the cage, looking in, attempting to appear non threatening. “Hello?” in the cage I saw what I’d been waiting all my life to see. I had heard about the monsters from the multiverse only once before, and here they were- Two, small skeletons. Sitting in a guinea pig cage, barely clothed in rags. The taller of the two ran away under a small house. But the smaller one looked up at me with one eye. “‘Sup” it was adorable. Slightly scary, but adorable. Ugly in the cute way. It had a gaping head wound, but it wasn’t bleeding. Just a hole in its head above it’s left eye. It’s right eye socket was empty, but the other was glowing red. It had an adorable cheeky smile and didn’t seem concerned at all. “What’s your name?” I squatted by the cage, trying to reach eye level. “I’m sans, but they call me pet.” He nodded towards the door. “Who?” “Oh, Ms. Bethany.” Sans’s smile seemed to falter. “That’s my brother, papyrus” He pointed towards the house. The taller skeleton peered out of the door, slowly walking out. The taller skeleton had small, pinprick eyes, slightly crooked teeth and yellowed bone. He was absolutely adorable. “HELLO!!” He said, in a louder voice than I expected. Now that I thought about it, for his size, Sans had a pretty low voice, while Papyrus had a more high voice. Neither was shrill, like a guinea pig, I thought, with a chuckle. “WHAT’S YOUR NAME HUMAN?” Papyrus seemed to have regained his confidence and was now peeking through the bars of the cage. “Y/n!” I responded, instantly invigorated by Papyrus’s energy. Sans stood up, dusting off his rags. He put his hand through the bars of the cage for a handshake “nice to meet you Y/n.” I smiled and took his hand. original Ao3 post here: You are more than a pet. Bitty horror sans X Reader (fem pronouns) - Fell_ficti - Undertale (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] ao3 will be updated more often!!

#you are more than a pet #bitty horror sans #bitty sans #bitty sans x reader #sans x reader #horror sans x reader #horror sans

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rotinfo · 25 days

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liway miranda — the babaylan.

dossier.

FULL NAME. liway miranda

NICKNAMES. liway, lee

DOB. october 31, 1996

GENDER AND PRONOUNS. demi woman

ORIENTATION. bisexual (fem-leaning)

SPECIES. human, babaylan (filipino shaman)

BIRTHPLACE. san isidro, siargao, philippines

CURRENT HOME. verse dependent

LANGUAGES. tagalog, english, ilocano

ETHNICITY. southeast asian (filipino)

NOTABLE FEATURE(S). always smells of rosemary and rubbing alcohol, wears an anting-anting around her neck in the form of a wooden cross

skills.

OCCUPATION. forensic analyst

EDUCATION LEVEL. master's degree in forensic science

SKILLS. psychometry (the ability to divine things by touching them), forensic analysis

LIMITATIONS. mortality, overexertion leads to physical manifestations such as dizziness, exhaustion and in some cases bleeding and dizziness

psyche.

POSITIVE TRAITS. altruistic, kind, hardworking

NEUTRAL TRAITS. driven, meticulous, resourceful, intelligent

NEGATIVE TRAITS. self-deprecating, guilt complex

LIKES. surfing, homemade food, deep cleaning her apartment, buying people presents, costume parties, comic books, really bad horror movies, surfing, making people cry over lea.gue of legends

DISLIKES. people coughing without covering their mouths, people who chew with their mouths open, unnecessary rudeness, la.ng leav, sore losers

MBTI. infj-t

TEMPERAMENT. phlegmatic

MENTAL DISORDERS. n/a

FACE CLAIM. kathryn bernardo

biography.

liway was born and raise in the philippines surrounded by women; both her mother and her grandmother were babaylan and were regularly approached by their neighbors and friends for advice both mystical and mundane. liway herself was taught in their ways, and it's as normal to her as breathing.

moving to the city for her college education, liway still carried her practices with her. most of her schoolmates simply dismissed this as her being weird, and liway was able to at least make a handful of friends who grew used to her "strangeness." much of this part of her life was uneventful, and liway found herself preparing to move outside of the philippines to work to support her family.

her work as a forensic analyst led her to working at a lab. desensitized to the dead as she was, it made her job a little more bearable. occasionally a body would pass through her hands whose fate even she couldn't explain, but liway's desire to keep her head down was stronger. it wasn't until after a few other cases, including one where she met and became neighbors with sibyll bennett and her family. there had been rumors of a ghost haunting said apartment and, after chatting with liway about her history, sibyll asked in no explicit terms for her to check it out. she obliged and after banishing the spirit of a girl who claimed her ex was a popular singer, they became fast friends.

another development from this incident was liway's introduction to a secret "task force" - one that investigates strange and unnatural phenomena that the local authorities can't handle. she's become their primary "consultant" due to her abilities.

eventually, she moved in with sibyll; she had been going through some trouble with her ex husband, and liway didn't think twice about offering her own space "until she got back on her feet." now, living together just feels right. they've been living in relative peace after liway "put sibyll's ex in his place" - a phrase that's really code for "she scared the shit out of him and he hasn't been back."

currently the two still live together, and after sibyll awakened some psychic abilities she's accompanied liway on some of her "unofficial" jobs.

verses.

main verse. compatible with most supernatural verses such as tvdu, teen wolf, etc. liway is a forensic analyst and a babaylan, often stepping in to solve cases on her own that escape the understanding of the regular authorities.

muse specific notes.

liway is housemates and best friends with sibyll bennett.

tldr version is that she's a forensic analyst and a babaylan, who also occasionally investigates cases that local authorities where she lives can't explain. part of these investigations include clean up and fabricating reports to leave local folks none the wiser. this is open for plots, if anyone is interested in developing this with me!

the ghost she exorcised from the bennett household was in fact, dean kwon's ex girlfriend who died. does she know who dean is? not at all.

#do not reblog.#muse information.

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undertale-museum · 2 months

Text

Reader [Ship]

Fanfiction

Honorable Mentions

[Last updated 14March24]

*Minors Not Permitted*

————————————————————

1. A Puzzle Just For Me

By neroli9

Sans, Reader, Muffet, OC ensemble

Mobtale 1930s, exiled royal

smut, +18, very kinky, RACK

2. Doom and Gloom All Up in Your Room

Trash Collector

Y/N (room owner), Dust, Horror

Domestic reverse harem

3. Poor Little Meow Meow

Mystique & Tall Dumbass

Y/N (vet), Killer

Fluff and Angst

eventual smut

4. Six Skeletons, One Store Clerk

mccloudydayz

Reader, Sans, Paps, Red, Edge, Stretch, Blue +

Domestic, multiverse shenanigans

5. The Soldier and the Carnal Skeletons

Writers_War_Zone

Sans, Red, Horror, Blue

Animal instincts, harem,

smut, kink dynamics

6. Dirty Laundry

popatochisp

Swapfell Sans, Swapfell Papyrus, Reader

Domestic, romance

7. Love Covers a Multitude of Sins

@/bubbleteasing

Red, Reader (nun)

Romance, hard to get

+18, non-con touch, skip day in park (post fire), mafiatale

8. Foramen? Fill me in!

@/velvetwyrme

SF!Papyrus, Reader

+18, sensual, cute, shoelace

9. What will you do?

Wishing Star In A Jar

Human OC, Edge, Sans

+18, smut, graphic violence, non con

10. Saving three Ex-cell-ent Skeletons

Recklessly Caffeinated

Reader (nurse), Sans, Red, Horror

+18, graphic violence, prison, monster racism

11. The Fullfilling Ordeal of Being Known

Night Time Lights

Slash (Fem!Horror), Reader

Smut

#undertale fanfiction #underfell #underswap #horrortale #dusttale #mobtale #underfell sans #underfell papyrus #swap sans #swap papyrus #horror sans #dust sans #sans undertale #undertale

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kpop-stories-21 · 1 year

Text

Fake Love | Part One

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Fem!OC x Human Zombie!San

Word Count: 2.1k

Genres + AUs: Non-Idol AU, Zombie AU, Dystopian AU, Horror, Angst

Trigger Warnings: Strong language, blood, gore, violence, zombies, injuries

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @umbralhelwolf @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @bloopbloopkai @trashlord-007 @liliesofdreams @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @sinpiesinpie

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics

Masterlist

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Growling; a wild and erratic sound that bounced off the walls, echoing down the street and filling hearts with fear. The inhuman noise reached the ears of a woman crouched in the shadows, and she paused. Lee Sura turned and signalled the people behind her to wait.

"A horde is nearby." She whispered. "We must wait for them to pass."

"Why?" queried a girl near the back of the group.

Sura smiled patiently. "Because, Nienna, we are here to rescue survivors and not to fight the undead."

Nienna nodded and fell silent. Sura returned her attention to their surroundings. After a few moments' wait, the horde passed on and Sura led the group from their hiding spot.

Glancing around, Sura saw that they had reached their destination: an abandoned hospital on the outskirts of Utopia territory. Any further south and this task would have fallen to a group from Exordium, the colony least likely to accept survivors.

"Now, if the survivors followed instructions and have not drawn attention to themselves, we should find all of them healthy and ready to accompany us back to Utopia. If they've been discovered, we will adapt the plan once we see their situation." The others nodded and they began to cautiously approach the rundown building.

Vines of ivy hung from nearly every surface, snaking up walls as far as the eye could see. Cracks laced the building, corners and ledges had crumbled away to nothing. Windows long bereft of glass peered out at them like dark eyes, blankly watching their approach. The building gave off an aura of danger that had them all on edge.

It was deathly quiet as they entered the old hospital, something that had Sura instantly worried. Soundlessly she unstrapped her gun from her back, making sure it was fully loaded before carrying it in front of her, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

The group advanced slowly, Sura constantly checking the GPS on her wrist to ensure that they were heading in the right direction. Before long they had entered the wing where the survivors were when they last made contact with Utopia.

Sura checked the surrounding rooms, making sure they were clear of zombies before softly calling out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Are you here to help us?" A shaky voice whispered in response.

Sura let out a quiet breath before answering. "Yes, we come from the colony you contacted."

Quiet shuffling reaches her ears and presently a head peeked around the corner. It belonged to a young man with pastel pink hair who looked absolutely terrified. What little of his clothes that Sura could see was spattered with dried blood, and it speckled parts of his face as well.

Sura smiled patiently. "You can all come out, we've secured the area."

Tentatively the young man stood to his feet and approached her. Behind him walked four other males who appeared close to his age, all equally frightened. No one else came out, and Sura's heart sank.

Once the five boys reached them she noticed that one of them, a blonde with sharp features, was limping quite badly. If they encountered any trouble on the way back, there was no way he could run. Looking over her group, she settled on someone she knew could easily carry the injured boy: Choi Jongho.

"Jongho." She called. The brown-haired boy came over to her, eyes alert.

Sura motioned for him to follow as she approached the injured blonde.

"Hi there." She said, smiling gently. "My name's Sura. What's yours?"

"T-Taeyhun." The words came out stuttered as his gaze swept his surroundings nervously.

Sura continued smiling as she turned toward Jongho. "Well, Taehyun, would you be alright with Jongho carrying you? We might have to run on the way back and I don't want your injury to get any worse than it already is."

Taehyun considered this for a moment before shyly nodding his head. Sura patted his arm and stepped away, letting Jongho introduce himself.

Once Taehyun had been securely hoisted onto Jongho's back, Sura called for everyone's attention.

"Are we all ready to move out?" She questioned. Nods and words of affirmation answered her query. "Then let's go." She ordered her group members to form a circle around the rescued boys and they began to make their way back to Utopia.

They had almost gotten the tunnel that would take them to the colony doors when familiar growling reached their ears. Everyone froze.

"No sudden moves, no loud noises." Sura hissed quietly, eyes scanning the area for the approaching zombies.

"Horde at 3 o'clock!" Jongho murmured from behind her. Sura looked to her right and saw them moving swiftly closer, their inhuman gazes full of hunger. The ravenette jumped into action and began whispering out orders.

"Jongho, take Nienna and find somewhere safe for the boys to hide. Protect that area and guard them with your very lives. Jungkook-oppa, radio the colony and inform them of the situation. Tell them we need backup and have Yeosang and his medical team ready for when we return. Everyone else, stay with me. We have to hold these fuckers off until help arrives."

The group dispersed quickly as they began following Sura's directions. Jongho and Nienna ushered the frightened boys into a cavern formed from debris, carefully sliding Taehyun off Jongho's back. The two then took positions in front of the cavern, guns at the ready. Jungkook stood nearby, making sure he had cover as he opened a radio channel. The rest of them took up defensive positions alongside Sura, ready to shoot as soon she gave the word.

"Open fire!" Sura commanded.

The air filled with the noise of gunshots, drowning out the horrific cries of the undead as they came ever nearer. Sura could see now that the horse was much bigger than it had first appeared, and she wondered if they might've bitten off more than they could chew this time. No matter how many zombies they took down, they hardly seemed to make a dent in the overall mass of rotting bodies.

When the horde became too close for comfort, Sura ordered a retreat. The horde was now between them and the tunnel to Utopia, so they would have to circle around behind the zombies in order to progress. It would be tricky and dangerous, but Sura had faith in her team. They would get these boys to safety if it was the last thing they did.

Upon realizing the urgency of their situation, Taehyun's friends quickly hoisted him onto Jongho's back. They rejoined the others and began picking their way through the debris of countless ruined buildings. Slowly they made their way around until they reached the open road once more, the cracked asphalt now littered with the ruined corpses of the undead.

Picking up the pace, the group moved steadily along. Perhaps they would make it after all, Sura mused hopefully.

A large shard of glass embedded in a crack caught Nienna off guard and she let out a pained shriek as it plunged through her foot. She realized her mistake at once, guilt flooding her features as the growling drew close once more. Jungkook moved to stand over her, weapon aimed and ready.

Sura turned to see what had happened, but a sudden tight grip on her ankle grabbed her attention. Looking down she saw one of the corpses was not fully destroyed, whoever shot it having missed its head. Sharp, broken nails dug deep into her skin, drawing blood as the zombie struggled to get its feet. She aimed her gun at the middle of its forehead, only for it to slip from her hands as the zombie suddenly yanked her off her feet.

Cries erupted around her as the horde raced into view, keeping the others from helping her as they focused on trying to keep the monsters back.

The zombie slowly crawled up Sura's body, panic rising within her as its grotesque features entered her line of sight. Greenish blood dropped from an empty eye socket and the thing's fetid breath made her want to vomit. Jagged, rotten teeth came into view as its maw stretched wide, ready to feast upon her flesh. Sura closed her eyes, preparing for the worst.

BANG! The sound of a gunshot ripped through the air in front of her face and something fell heavily on her chest. Opening her eyes, Sura looked into the beautiful face of her boyfriend San. The zombie attacking her was dead, its head blown clean off. Sura shoved the body off and threw her arms around San, burying her face in his soft blonde hair.

"Perfect timing, as usual." She teased when he released her.

San chuckled, dimples edging his wide smile as he leaned in to peck her lips before helping her to her feet.

Silence reigned once more, the newly-arrived reinforcements being the needed edge to destroy the horde. Sura watched her group with pride as they helped the boys from their hiding spot. Not one of them had been lost.

"Let's go home, shall we?" San murmured, lips brushing her ear.

"I'm all for it." She replied with a grin.

Sura watched patiently as Yeosang wrapped a bandage around the gouges on her ankle.

"You should be okay to walk, but don't overdo it or you'll risk getting an infection. Come back tomorrow and I'll check how they're healing."

She smiled at him and nodded gratefully. “Thanks Yeo.” She said, hugging the mint-haired male. “See you at dinner?”

Yeosang grinned widely. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I wanna spend time with my best friend?”

Sura snorted. “You’re so full of shit. Don’t act like you’re not trying to get closer to Wooyoung!”

Yeosang blushed fiercely and punched Sura’s arm. “I thought you hadn’t noticed!” He whined, pouting.

“As you just pointed out, we’re best friends.” She reminded him. “Of course I noticed!” She gently poked the birthmark on the side of his face, making him giggle.

Her face became serious and she caught Yeosang’s gaze. “Listen, you didn’t hear this from me, but Wooyoung really likes you. I’m sure if you asked him out, he’d say yes.” Patting his shoulder she added, “I wish you luck Yeo. You deserve happiness as much as the rest of us.”

Yeosang’s blush darkened, and she chuckled. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone now. See you later!”

Waving to her friend, she left the infirmary and went to find San.

Sura found her boyfriend in their shared bedroom, lounging half-asleep on the thin mattress. She laid down beside him, kissing his lips sweetly.

San smiled at her, eyes lighting up. "Hello my petal. What did Yeosang say?"

Sura relayed the medic's instructions, and San breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad it wasn't serious." He told her, running a hand through her raven locks.

Sura nodded sleepily, eyes slipping shut as San held her close. "And I'm glad you got to us in time." She murmured before drifting off.

San placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head before following her into Dreamland.

The sky outside was dark, rain pouring down as if the gods themselves were weeping. Far below the rapidly dampening asphalt, Jung Wooyoung sat in front of an impressive multi-monitor display. He needed no lamps or other forms of light, the glow of the screens lit up the entire room almost like daylight.

As he sat there, flicking through surveillance camera screens with a keen eye for anything wrong or unusual, he was interrupted by a sudden burst of radio static.

Picking up a headset, he slipped it over his ears and began tweaking the knobs on his radio until the static faded and a voice came through clearly.

"This is General Jiang calling the leaders of Utopia, please respond."

"Greetings General, you have reached Utopia." Wooyoung replied, fiddling with the mic on his headset to ensure his words came through just as clear. "I'll need your clearance code before you tell me anything else."

The General did as asked before giving Wooyoung a brief rundown of why he had reached out. At the end he again requested to speak with Utopia's leaders, and this time Wooyoung granted it. The push of a button had an alarm blaring in both Hongjoong and Sura's rooms, waking them immediately. Moments later they were in Wooyoung's room.

"Hello General, my name is Kim Hongjoong. My co-leader Lee Sura is also present. What did you wish to tell us?"

"The General cleared his throat roughly. "My reason for reaching out to you is this: We have discovered who released the virus into the air all those years ago."

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