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chaotic-orphan · 8 months

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Delirious Villain x Hero Caretaker, part 3:

Read part one Here

Read part two here

TW(for all parts): panic attacks, sick villain, delirious villain, sick Whump, villain hates being sick, fear of being sick, past whump, older brother whumper, PTSD, family Whump, sibling Whump, forced to vomit, graphic depictions of fever and illness and hallucinations, panicked whumpee, hero caretaker, villain doesn’t want help, graphic depictions of throwing up, sweat, heavy manipulation

I know it took me a million years to upload this part, but I finally understand the writers WIP jokes now better, so, ahaaaah… eheh… ahem, anyways.

*~*~*~*~*

They wiped their eyes on their sleeve, eyebrows knitting together as they settled down again, lying on Villain’s shoulder, tucked up next to them cozy.

“Villain?”

“Yeah Hero?”

“The… your brother beating you… it doesn’t explain why you hate being sick,” Hero said. Villain laughed a little and Hero felt the vibrations on their cheek.

“Right, yeah. After a while, when we were older… I think I was thirteen, he was sixteen. We all got a takeaway from the local Chinese place. We were eating it at the dinner table, and it was all fine and good. Then after Brother told me to come with him. I remember I didn’t want to at first, but my mum insisted I do, so I did.”

“He walked up the stairs to the bathroom and when I got in he locked the door.”

“Did you enjoy your food?” Brother asked, arms folded across his chest, leaning against the door. The years had only made him taller, more handsome and broad. High school had turned him into an idol around town and everyone knew his name.

“Yeah, I did,” said Villain. “It was nice. Did you enjoy yours?”

“Yeah, I did,” said Brother, black eyes locked on Villain’s. His mouth twisted up into a pondering pout. “But I mean, I’m allowed enjoy unhealthy food because I work out a lot. You don’t.”

“I do,” Villain protested. “I work out everyday after school, and I’ve been eating well, the diet you gave me I’ve been doing it all to the letter, Brother, I swear.”

“Okay, so if I check your school bag downstairs I won’t find chocolate bar wrappers will I?”

Villain froze at the question. Brother pushed off the door, looming over Villain, backing them up until Villain’s legs hit the side of the bath and they sat on the edge of it, shrinking down small, but Brother kept crowding them.

“That’s what I thought. It doesn’t matter how much you work out or what diet you follow if you’re still going to eat junk food. You are what you eat, Villain. People who eat takeaway and junk food get fat. Do you want to be fat?”

“No, no, I don’t Brother. I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I pro—“

Brother’s hand shot out, wrapping around Villain’s throat and hurtling them back against the wall of the bath, their legs flying up as they fell.

“I am so sick of you and your fucking promises, Villain. They mean nothing. You know why? Because you are nothing. Yet you keep trying to worm your way out of the consequences. My patience is running thin.”

Brother squeezed Villain’s throat harder and Villain gasped and flailed, trying to escape to get air to breathe. Brother was stronger than them though, and held them there a moment longer before letting up and walking to the bathroom sink with a long, drawn out sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Villain gasped, hand’s going to their throat. “I’m sorry, Brother.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Brother said, gripping the sides of the sink and staring into the mirror. “I have tried with you, Villain. I have tried so hard to make you better. To make you perfect, likeable, loveable, anything more than this pathetic thing you are, but you make it so hard! Why can’t you just be better? Fucking god fucking damn it!”

Brother turned to face Villain in the bath, walked over to them and grabbed them by the collar of the shirt yanking them out. The motion was too quick for Villain to register, they couldn’t get their legs under them in time. Villain’s legs folded against the edge of the bath as Brother dragged them out, their knees hitting the bathroom floor with a heavy thud.

“Even your body knows where it belongs,” Brother hissed. “So why don’t you?!”

Brother dragged them to the toilet and flipped up the seat, dragging a struggling Villain to it. “No! Get off me! Mum! Dad! AGH—“

Brother laced his fingers through Villain’s hair and slammed his head against the toilet bowl. Villain bit his tongue with the impact, the taste of iron flooding his mouth and nose as his body was becoming more loose and struggles ceasing slightly.

“Look what you make me do! Just obey! Obey and all this will be easier on you, Villain. I’m doing this to help you! To make you better. Stronger, and you fight me the entire way!”

Brother let go of Villain’s hair and left them kneeling in front of the toilet. Villain spat some of the blood into the bowl in protest.

“What do you expect me to do?” Villain asked, the fight gone out of them. They just wanted this beating to be over with as soon as possible. They wanted to sleep.

“You’re going to throw up your dinner.”

Villain turned their head to Brother, eyes narrowing into a glare. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

Villain put two hands on either side of the toilet bowl and stood up. Brother grinned, though his eyes betrayed the emptiness of it. The malice behind their smile. The sick twisted enjoyment of Villain being defiant.

“Getting brave now, are we?” Brother hummed, head tilting as they regarded Villain. Fists balled by their sides and that hatred fuelled glare told Brother he was in for a fight. Good. “You’re throwing up your dinner tonight, Villain. The choice is whether you want to do it, or I do it. Either way you’re not getting out of here until you do.”

“Hope you’re ready for the long haul then,” said Villain and they struck first. Brother hummed as Villain’s fist connected with their jaw.

“Maybe you have been working out,” said Brother, and he swung his fist. Villain ducked under Brother’s arm and used his momentum to shove him forward. Villain didn’t wait to see if he fell or how far, he turned to the door, unlocked it and bolted out of it and down the stairs.

Brother’s footsteps followed close behind, haunting Villain as they desperately ran to the front door, unlocking it and yanking it open. A hand slammed it shut above their head and Villain yanked at it with all their strength but it barely budged open again before clicking shut.

“Kids!” Dad said from the kitchen and Villain ran to them. To help them, save them. Brother yanked on the hood of Villain’s jumper, choking them but Villain scrambled out of the stupid jumper and kept running, fixing their t-shirt as they ran into the kitchen.

“Why are you two—“

“Brother has been beating me,” Villain all but screamed. He panted as his lungs tried to catch up with him, swallowing air like it was free pizza at the arcade. “He’s been beating me, all the time. That’s how I get the bruises. That’s how I get the cuts,” Villain said, showing them his patchwork arms that he hid beneath his hoodies and long sleeves.

Well not anymore. No more hiding. Screw that. Screw protecting their psycho older Brother.

Brother walked slowly into the room, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, Villain’s jumper in his fist. Black eyes watching Villain as they spoke. Completely unfazed.

“That’s why I’m wearing jumpers in July. That’s why I haven’t worn shorts all year. He has been beating me, cutting me, hurting me— and neither of you ever lifted a finger. Ever noticed how much he was hurting me, but you know now, so please… please…” Villain begged, tears flooding his eyes and streaming fat and fast down his face. “He told me I have to throw up the Chinese we just ate. He locked me in the bathroom with him and told me either I did it or he would make me. Make me throw up.”

The more Villain spoke, the louder the silence became as their parents looked both shocked and horrified at what Villain was telling them, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Please,” Villain sniffed. “Please say something. Tell him to fuck off. To stop hurting me please. I can’t live like this, I can’t.”

“Oh sweetheart, come here,” said Mum and Villain ran straight into her arms. She wrapped him in the warmest, tightest hug he had ever had and shushed him as he cried. Running gentle fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. We’ll sort this out, okay?”

Villain nodded against her shoulder.

“You want to explain what Villain just said, Brother?” Dad asked and Villain felt warmth flood through their chest as they realised that mum and dad believed them. They actually believed them, despite what Brother had told them all this time.

Brother let out a sigh. Villain turned to face him, stepping out of their mum’s arms and slightly in front of her. Inky black eyes followed Villain’s movements and settled on their face as they spoke.

“Villain is out of control,” said Brother, voice calm. “Ever since we were kids he has been picking fights with kids for no good reason, so I’ve been trying to help him out since he came into secondary school. He doesn’t… he just doesn’t listen. Everyone else, listens! He just again and again refuses my help.”

“Your help is making sure I can’t wear proper clothes anymore you dick!” Villain yelled, a hand on their shoulder calmed them as their mum shushed them.

“See what I mean?” Brother said, gesturing at Villain. “They have these outbursts all the time! I tried to reason with them for years, and I’ve just grown impatient. The only thing that Villain responds to is violence. It hurts me as much as it hurts them, but it’s just a fact.”

“That doesn’t give you a right to hurt them,” said Dad and Brother shook their head with a scoff.

“It does. Do you know how hard it is to be perfect? I have worked my arse off trying to make you both proud of me. Trying to be the best, I just want to help people, you know this. I want to be good, and join the Hero program. I want to make the world a better place.”

“That still doesn’t explain cutting and punching your brother, Brother,” Dad scolded, glancing back at Villain’s arms. “You have left them with scars!”

“That was the last resort, Dad! That was after they got into another fight at school with a teacher no less.”

“What fight?” Mum asked and Villain stiffened under her comforting hand.

Brother sighed again, more dramatically this time and ran his hand down his face, before finally stepping into the kitchen. Villain took an instinctive step back, their back hitting Mum. Brother didn’t even smile like they usually would at Villain’s fear. It sent a shiver up Villain’s spine.

“I think you should sit down,” said Brother, tone somber and heavy. He pulled a chair out for himself and sat down. Mum and Dad shared a look then did the same. All in their usual places. Mum and dad sitting across from each other. Brother and Villain sitting across from each other.

Brother threw Villain’s hoodie onto the table and Villain took it back hesitantly, before throwing it back on.

Hiding.

Again.

It felt like one nail in their coffin.

“Ever since we were kids,” Brother began, looking at Villain. “I have been protecting Villain from getting into trouble as much as I could. Which means, if he got into a fight with another kid I would smooth talk the other kid until I knew they wouldn’t tell a teacher or their parents or anything.”

“Why?” Dad asked.

“Because…” Brother said, throwing his hands up in a useless gesture. “I had built this pristine reputation. Everyone liked me. Everyone wanted to be friends with me, and then Villain comes along and gets into fights left and right, I didn’t want people to think bad of us. Or for either of you to be troubled by Villain’s fighting.”

“Is this true, Villain?” Mum asked, and Villain’s heart sunk to the bottom of their stomach.

Villain swallowed helpless, looking from Mum to Dad to Brother. “I— yes, but I wasn’t fighting for bad reasons! I promise!”

“How many fights did you get into?” Dad asked and Villain was quiet. “How many fights a week, then, Villain?”

“I—“ Villain said with a sigh, shoulders sagging. “I didn’t keep count.”

“There was that many?” Mum asked and Villain shrunk in their seat.

“There was about three fights a week,” said Brother, and Villain glared at him.

“No way there was three!”

“You just said you didn’t keep count,” said Brother matter of factly.

Villain turned to their parents and said: “I wasn’t fighting just to fight. I was fighting like how Brother fought. For people being bullied by other people. And sometimes even for brother—“

“Punching a bully only makes you a bully, Villain,” said Dad, shaking his head.

“Say that to the people being bullied! I was a bully, but I was a bully of bullies!” Villain protested. “The bullies were afraid of me, so they left other people alone.”

“There’s no need to raise your voice, Villain,” Dad chastised and Villain bowed their head and said: “sorry.”

Dad turned back to Brother then. “And Brother, you didn’t need to take this on board for us. You should have let those kids call home so we would know what is going on with Villain as it happens. We are the parents, not you.”

Brother had the audacity to look humbled by the reprimanding. “I’m sorry dad. I just thought… I’m Villain’s big brother. It’s my job to protect them. To help them. To guide them through the troubles of High school and now that they’re older they can’t think fighting solves everything. Especially not fighting with teachers.”

When Dad turned to face Villain again, and Mum was looking at Villain too, Villain saw the way Brother’s repentance morphed into a twisted grin. As if they already knew that they had won Mum and Dad over.

“What was the fight with your teacher about, sweetheart?” Mum asked gently.

Villain frowned, foreboding settling on their chest like a breezeblock, as they realised, it didn’t matter what they said. Somehow brother would twist the story and make themselves look good. They needed to be convincing and tell the truth.

“They said that Heroes were stupid, that they ruined our city and brought all the psychos and Villains into the spotlight, said we were wasting our taxes on them when they destroy our buildings and roads with their fighting.”

Even retelling the words that stupid teacher used made Villain’s hands curl into fists by their sides, how dare they say such a thing. Bet they wouldn’t be so cocky if a Villain was holding them hostage and a Hero saved them.

“And what did you do?” Dad asked.

Villain raised their head, chin jutting in the air and said: “I told him that it was very rude of him not to appreciate how hard the Heroes work to keep us all safe. Then he got mad at me and—“

Brother snorted from across the table. All heads turned to face him. Brother had the audacity to look innocent, but their eyes held that same knowing stare, twinkling with confidence that they could win their parents to his side.

“That’s not what I heard happened,” said Brother and Villain nearly lunged for him, but with the table in the way they wouldn’t be able to reach over and punch him. “I heard you called the teacher an idiot and caused a riot in your class over Heroes and Villains and where teachers fit into the spectrum.”

“That’s a lie,” Villain hissed, slamming their hands on the table. Brother beamed at that.

“See? Villain has issues, anger issues! They can’t even handle me telling the other side of the story.”

“The other side of a story you made up in your head, Brother! You’re lying!”

Brother sat back in their chair, smug, and scoffed. Folding their arms across their chest they said, “fine. All Mum and Dad have to do is call the teacher and they’ll tell them what really happened.”

“And?” Hero asked, voice gentle and soft and safe.

Villain hummed, a wry smile on their lips. “They went to fact check Brother’s story.”

“And what happened?”

“In the time it took them to make the call, Brother had me upstairs, wheezing, winded and over the toilet, spidery fingers down my throat.”

“Christ, Villain!”

“I know,” Villain said with a small laugh. “I guess the fear started there… and Brother… they knew how much it got under my skin, more so than the cuts and bruises, so he kept doing it. In school, out of school, on the way home. He was relentless.”

“And where is he now? Brother, I mean.”

“He was here earlier but I think he’s gone now, I think, shit, I must have been hallucinating or something,” Villain said, eyes widening slightly.

“Let’s just hope you start feeling better tomorrow, Vil.”

“I better. I’m looking forward to your chicken soup,” Villain hummed and Hero laughed.

“You just spent the last twenty four hours throwing up and all you can think about is food?”

“I’m a simple person, Hero, and your soup is like a miracle cure.”

“You’re putting a lot of hope in this soup,” said Hero and Villain laughed, cuddling closer to Hero.

“No, I’m not. I just— Hero… thank you for everything today.”

“You’ve done it for me before,” said Hero, “remember the food poisoning incident? That was not pretty.”

“Just take the compliment, crime fighter,” Villain murmured sleepily. Hero just smiled and kissed Villain’s head and said: “okay, Vil. I’ll take the compliment. Go to sleep.”

Villain’s soft, even breaths was Hero’s answer, and they smiled, and closed their eyes as well. Holding Villain closer than they ever have before.

*~*~*~*~*

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mycrayolamarkers · 9 months

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#memes #yandere resident evil #meme #yandere ethan winters #yandere mia winters #yandere resident evil8 #yandere platonic #platonic yandere #handsome is a bad bitch #yandere chris redfield #tw: family problems #mommy issues #daddy issues #rose winters

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treesusedtotalktome · 1 year

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i want it to stop

#traumacore #tw: abuse #tw: family problems #tw: neglect #ventcore #please dont repost

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jo-harrington · 9 months

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As Above, So Below - Chapter 1: Illumination

Previous Chapter: Prologue - Annunciation

Summary: You embark on a long journey and you face the ghosts of your past.

Word Count: 10k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Original Character (Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Religious Themes, Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Fate vs. Free Will, Mentions of Death and Injury, Mention of Suicide, Established Relationship, Romance, Supernatural Encounters, Angst, Difficult Family Relationships, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References

Note: As we start getting into the meat of the story, I would like to remind everyone to read the Prequels. Especially Purgatory as we will be stepping in right where Purgatory left off.

The categorization for this story is also no longer xReader, but xOC; however, I will still be writing from the same POV and I will still be vague about our Knight's physical characteristics and name. Please see either the Prologue for the note about her background to set the expectation for yourself before you begin to read the this chapter as we will be getting further details of her origins.

This series will not be for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” — Christopher Reeve

October 5th, 1987

Don't be afraid.

You waited restlessly in what could only be described as a receiving line as a black car pulled up and a figure in red emerged from the back.

Don't back down.

With every step he took, another person shook his hand, bowed to kiss his signet ring in respect, and you could feel your resolve begin to crumble.

Don't show weakness.

Finally, he made it to you.

There was no real greeting, no pleasantries. He could put on a show, but it wasn't hard to detect everything rotten beneath the surface.

The newly-appointed Cardinal Jinette had no fondness for you.

"It's good to see you being useful in a time of need," he greeted backhandedly.

Nor did you have any for him.

"I'm only meant to do as I'm told, isn't that right?" you countered trying to hold back the venom in your voice.

He held his hand out and you shook it, but avoided the show of respect. You didn't even look at his ring. He wasn't entitled to it. You gripped his hand tighter as he tried to move on from you.

"We need to talk."

The serene expression that he had schooled himself to give turned hard and impatient, and he reluctantly motioned for you to follow him as he continued down the line.

As he led a prayer for the congregants, you reflected and prepared yourself for the battle ahead.

It had been a few days since the earthquake rocked Los Angeles; countless buildings were damaged and destroyed. The death toll was low, but the number of people injured and missing got higher by the day. The church, of course, became a beacon of hope and refuge as it usually did. People flocked, people prayed and lit candles, they begged God for mercy.

So one would think that you, acting on behalf of the church—on behalf of God—would be put to use in the best of ways. To heal, and fix, for once, instead of strike and destroy.

You had been eager for it, craved it.

But for someone like you there was a line that couldn't be crossed. Rules that couldn't be broken. And when you had shown up at the cathedral amidst chaos after returning to the city from your hike, you had been told to stay out of the way. To let the people who could help in a meaningful way do so.

There would be no healing, no peace, no comfort for those afflicted by tragedy.

"An act of God," Jinette began, because there could be no other explanation. "An act of God requires no miracles; there is nothing to fix."

Miracles?

Was that what he thought they were?

Your nonna always told you that you were destined for miracles. It was in your blood. You'd follow in your father's footsteps and your grandfathers. Save the world from darkness through miracles.

Your father would laugh, though, as he packed his bag to leave on yet another mission for a God that damned him. You'd sit, too young to truly understand her hopeful devotion and his cynicism, and ask what Nonna meant. What miracles he was going to perform.

"Miracles are for Saints. Not for us."

You could have put up a fight. You should have. You should have pushed to make a difference and end someone's suffering but Jinette knew what buttons to press to get you to back down.

Especially since you carried the guilt that the earthquake was your fault in the first place.

Jinette sent you away to a place where he didn't need to look at you, where you could make the least amount of noise.

If only he knew the irony in his choice: the Misión San Gabriel Arcángel.

You swore you heard Gabriel's stiff, judgmental hum as you stepped through the gates. A warning that he could watch you here...watch you anywhere. A reminder that the clock was ticking and fate was waiting.

You helped with disaster relief efforts for days. Walked through the neighborhood passing out food and water, helped set up shelter in the rectory building, and prepared care packages.

Some of the historic buildings on the property had sustained damage in the quake; plaster gave way to show concerning cracks in the adobe below. So you volunteered to go into the chapel to survey the integrity of the building and see if it could be used to safely shelter people who had been displaced from their homes. If an aftershock occurred and the building collapsed, you could get yourself out when others could not.

You had done it before, after all.

However, the most important task you undertook was answering the rectory phone, and it was the reason your eyes burned a hole through the back of Jinette's skull.

He said his final amen, offered some additional handshakes, and then turned on his heel and started towards the cemetery on the grounds. You were quick to follow.

There was an uneasiness that filled you as you stepped past the cemetery gates and onto the grass, an unsettling energy. Not aimed towards you...but at Jinette...

You had always been receptive to the dead, but it had never manifested like this before.

It was a Mission, after all. What else did you expect?

"So," Jinette began and sat on one of the small stone benches. "What have you done now?"

"W-what have I done?" you choked on your words. You shouldn't have been surprised by his dismissal of you. "Why would you assume it's something I've done?"

"Because it's the truth of your soul, child. You sin again and again, you ask for penance, you're sent on another task to find it."

How dare he speak of penance. How dare he set foot on their graves. How dare he disturb their rest. How dare he talk about miracles and healing and peace and sin and forgiveness.

Thoughts bubbled up inside of you like heartburn and fed on your internalized wrath. Thoughts that were not your own.

You pushed them back and tried to focus on the task at hand. You wouldn't get anywhere if you weren't careful.

"I haven't done anything..." you explained. "Yet."

"Ah, you see?" He smirked and clapped his hands, triumphant that his assumption was correct.

"I need to go."

"Go? Go where?"

"Father Arnold had me on the phones yesterday," you began your explanation. "People calling for supplies, to help arrange funerals...standard calls you might expect in this circumstance. But there was one call that...was interesting...concerning.

"Someone from the Geological Survey. Calling to let us know that someone would be out, to the mission specifically...to survey some kind of fault line that might have contributed to the damage. I'm not entirely sure; my father made sure I knew scriptures not science. What was interesting, though, was that he said this earthquake wasn't the only one that happened on Thursday.

"There was another one. Several, in fact, In Indiana. Hawkins. And that—”

Jinette's laughter cut you off and your stomach turned. You could hear the hissing at the back of your mind as the spirits grew restless once again.

"That's what this is about?" he asked incredulously. "Your...silly fascination with Hawkins?"

"It's not a fascination."

"Obsession. With that boy."

"It isn't about Eddie," you scoffed. "Hawkins was already the sight of an atrocity. The...the monsters...the portal...I told you all about it. What if this is related?"

"You didn't seem to think the last earthquake was an atrocity."

No, you hadn't thought so.

There hadn't been a reason for you to think otherwise.

Your thoughts were only on Eddie, not Hawkins. Who cared about the town when he was gone? When he waited for you? Your focus and determination was to undo the curse so you could be with him. More determined than your predecessors ever had been, surely, to reach the ultimate prize.

Love. Forgiveness. Salvation. Rest.

You toed the line between life and death countless times over the past 18 months, you never declined a mission. You became the mindless sword you were destined to be...and it still wasn't enough.

The weariness you had felt before Eddie's death had only increased tenfold. There seemed to be no end in sight.

Then the Earth below Hawkins shook and cracked and split open once again. For 7 days it had been rumbling with some frequency, unexplained.

But there were no such things as coincidences. For Gabriel to show his face here, after something happened in Hawkins again...

"I've changed my mind," you finally answered. "It must have been related. Something infernal. I have a gut feeling, I have to follow it."

"There's a proclivity to temptation in your blood. You know this."

How dare he speak of temptation. Ask about his temptation. Ask him what he did to earn the scarlet robe. He's hungry for power. Power over you.

"It isn't temptation," you argued. "It's a genuine concern. We should at least investigate."

"Have you tried calling? Any of your friends in Hawkins? Called anybody?"

"I have. The phone lines are down. Everywhere. Even the Pizza Parlor. Hawkins went dark...over a week ago it seems."

"Because of the earthquake. There is nothing nefarious there."

"But what if it is? If you're not going to let me go, ask someone else," you begged. "We can contact the Order. It wouldn't hurt to ask."

The two of you talked over one another to convince each other to see reason. You knew you needed to go, and Jinette was desperate for you to stay.

"You have no connection to Hawkins anymore," Jinette raised his voice and stomped his foot down in finality as he rose from the bench.

The anger bubbled up inside you once again and your throat tightened, the hissing of the spirits just as loud in your ear as Jinette’s.

Tell him. Tell him that a power greater than him demands your presence.

"Your little...boyfriend is dead. You have work to do elsewhere. You're better off doing work here, helping people here."

Tell him his rotten little existence is eclipsed by the majesty that awaits you.

“Instead of playing into your little fantasy where you can make up for being unable to save him.”

Tell him to go to Hell and then let us drag him there.

You let out a screech for them to shut up, all of them. Your voice echoed through the cemetery, bounced off headstones and monuments and columbariums.

Then the ground began to violently shake.

You began to shake.

You trembled with fury at a frequency that easily penetrated the earth and rippled out from you.

Jinette lost his balance and fell back on the bench as he stared at you in shock. Frantic shouts could be heard from beyond the walls that enclosed the graveyard. Cars beeped and crashed on the road as drivers lost control.

Across from the mission was the Civic Theater; it was another historic monument in devotion to your Guardian, with three bell towers situated proudly atop it. As the tremors increased, the bells started to sway. The distressed ringing emulated screams and cries for help as the adobe began to crack and give way around them.

“Please,” they seemed to beg in harmony. “We are innocent.”

But their cries fell on unsympathetic ears, and you watched with a dark, sick glee as one of the bell towers broke and crashed through the roof into the auditorium below.

You knew no one was hurt. You could feel it.

But Jinette did not.

"Stop this, stop! Enough" He shouted, pleaded. You recentered yourself and the tremors stopped.

“What have you done?” He asked in disgust. “What have you done?! You’re meant to save the innocent, protect them. You’re a monster!”

You quickly closed the distance between you and he flinched.

“If I’m a monster, it is because you made me one Father,” you hissed at him.

“Then may God find the mercy to save you,” he whispered.

"God isn’t going to save me. I’m going to save myself.”

October 7th, 1987

It was unfair to say that you didn't have any supporters within the church; there were a few people who could even be considered as having a fondness for you. A handful of nuns, the old priest at the parish back home, maybe maybe the Pope if you were really pushing it; he remembered your name once.

The other members of the Holy Order itself...well that was complicated.

However, as soon as you effectively burned bridges with Jinette, the number dwindled even further. And it was evident as you set foot on the grounds of the cathedral to collect your things.

You had only grabbed the bare minimum to go to the Mission on Jinette's orders and the rest had been stored away in some spare room in the rectory. But no matter who you asked, you never got a straight answer.

"The Cardinal had us put your things in storage."

"Your bags? We were told they were to be donated."

"Are you sure you didn't bring them along with you? Maybe a prayer to St. Anthony if you've misplaced them."

One of the nuns who usually had a sweet smile and prayer for you even made the sign of the cross as you went to ask for her help.

You stared at her in shock as she scurried away from you as quickly as she could. You covered your face and groaned.

You shouldn't have done what you did, you knew it...it was just...enough was enough. And you couldn't undo it now. You just...you knew you needed to get to Hawkins, desperately, and if Jinette wasn't going to loosen your leash enough to let you go, after you destroyed yourself for the church—for him—you knew you needed to break free.

But you also needed more than a dirty change of clothes and the handful of bills you had tucked into the glovebox of your car.

"UGH! For fuck's sak--"

"Sorry, did you need help?" a soft voice interrupted you, and as you peeled your hands away to see who the newcomer was, you found yourself vaguely remembering the woman. "Oh, it's you."

She looked different from the last time—the only time—you saw her. She had a coif and veil covering her hair now, and a maroon apron over her blouse and skirt. Not a nun yet, still a novice.

"Mary...Victoria, right?" you recalled. She smiled and nodded, then glanced to the sides.

"I, uh, don't think you're really welcome here anymore," she whispered conspiratorially. "The Cardinal is...really mad; he might have...banned you from the Cathedral."

"Tell me something I don't know." You rolled your eyes. "I just need to get my stuff. I'm making a run for it."

"Oh?" Her eyes brightened. "Where are you going? Official Knight's Business?"

"Less official and more..." You took a breath and tried to find the right words.

She had already been kinder to you than anyone else you'd come across, and could potentially get herself into trouble just for talking to you. It was strange, though, how clearly you remembered the mischief in her when you met.

"...more the exact reason I'm banned from the cathedral in the first place."

Mary Victoria laughed wickedly and nodded.

"Quick getaway, got it. I've been kinda looking for one of those myself."

She was?

She motioned for you to follow her and she led you through the maze of hallways in the rectory to a room that only a select few would see: the sacristy.

It was the room where the priests would prepare for mass, and especially now that Jinette was a Cardinal, it held a larger array of vestments and vessels. Atop a cabinet in the middle of the room was a white cassock and stole...and your duffel bag, the contents of which had been spread out along the cabinet, obviously rifled through.

Mary Victoria quickly tried to make some sort of excuse, that the Cardinal was just taking a tally of your things, maybe to return everything to you...but you both knew she was just doing it to spare your feelings.

Jinette was never intending to return your things.

You wondered, as you scoffed and shoved your clothes and books back into the bag, how many times this had been done before. By how many "well-meaning" priests and bishops and cardinals. They never took anything—they might have been assholes but they never broke a commandment...besides you would have noticed—but it still made you feel...less than.

Could you be surprised though? Over the years it had been made obvious to you that you weren't...a real person in the church's eyes. Especially to those like Jinette. Thus, the things that belonged to you...weren't really yours either. You were not allowed nice things, not allowed a life.

You hoisted your bag over your shoulder and the two of you made a quick getaway out of the rectory.

Mary Victoria hesitantly asked questions as you walked to fill the silence—where you were going, what you were planning to do when you got there—and you wanted to answer her as truthfully as possible, but you didn't really know what would be waiting for you in Hawkins.

"I'm sorry." She sighed and shook her head when you took a little longer to answer. "I know you can't say much."

"No it's not that," you tried to explain, but she continued.

"The first time I heard about the Order, I just thought it sounded so interesting. Fighting against evil, like something in a movie. But then we weren't allowed to ask any questions. We were told to avoid you unless you needed assistance. That's it. Not who you were or what you did or how to become one."

That was another surprise.

"You want to...be a Knight of the Holy Order?"

"I mean I gue—"

"Sister!" a stern voice echoed from behind you and the two of you stopped in your tracks. Mary Victoria suddenly looked like a deer in the headlights. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Mother Superior!" Mary Victoria greeted the older woman in shock. "I was just showing my friend here the way to the exit."

You recognized her. For most of your acquaintance, she had been Sister Kathleen; she was a severe woman and incredibly devout. She'd come to Los Angeles from Chicago, which is where you met her, once upon a time. She had known you for longer than she would probably ever admit, and disliked you for just as long.

She had been your kindergarten teacher.

What had taken her from teaching children to running an abbey...well that was between Kathleen and God, but somewhere deep down, you liked to think it was because of you. She was not the kindest woman, and you weren't like all of the other children under her care.

You were young and not in control of your abilities yet, but you suppose that was just your Mother's excuse for the number of fires that had been started...one for each of the lies that Kathleen had told.

Because of this Kathleen, much like Jinette, had never been your biggest fan, and it was made obvious as she pushed between you and Mary Victoria, as if to form a barrier. She narrowed her eyes at you in distrust, but you just smiled innocently.

You were leaving; what more could she want?

"I think she can find her own way out," Kathleen concluded sharply. "Mass is starting shortly; we shouldn't be late."

"Oh but, we were discussing the Holy Order," Mary Victoria explained. "About her next mission."

"How many times have you been told to leave the Knights alone, Sister," Kathleen hissed at her, then her eyes slid to you. "Especially this one. Now, we must go."

Mary Victoria nodded solemnly, and followed after Kathleen without another word.

It didn't take much effort for you to reach out and feel the despair within her. You didn't know much about Mary Victoria—you didn't know anything—but it felt as though she was a candle that was slowly being snuffed out. Fighting, desperate for life, for light...unable to do anything but suffocate.

How many times had you felt that way over the years?

You made your way out of the cathedral, threw your things in the backseat, and got situated, ready to begin your journey. But the entire time, as you started your car and you dug through your glovebox to find a tape, your thoughts were occupied by Mary Victoria.

She wasn't a friend, she was a stranger. Someone who you met twice, briefly, in this long, unending nightmare that was your life.

She was also someone who helped you, twice, even if she didn't have to.

But that was a part of her vow, part of her becoming a nun...wasn't it? Helping people in need. She chose to be in this situation, chose to do good.

By that same logic, wasn't that part of your deal as well? Part of your vow, part of your curse?

You could have chosen to live the life you wanted. To indulge in freedom and happiness like every other person on the planet and to choose free will. Plenty of your predecessors had done it. But you chose to keep playing this game. Chose to keep fighting evil and helping people, even if the way you helped them...really only did more harm than good sometimes.

You didn't owe her anything.

But what did people owe one another, other than kindness and consideration and respect.

She was being snuffed out, and if you didn't help her...who else would?

"Fuck it!" You yanked your key out of the ignition, jumped out of the car, and then ran back into the cathedral.

You dipped your hand into the holy water and did a vague sign of the cross as you walked into the chapel and beelined straight for the group of nuns at the front. Mary Victoria was sitting beside Mother Kathleen in the middle of the group. You knelt at the end of their pew and whispered to her.

"Psst, Mare? Hey Mare!" She went wide-eyed at the sight of you; all of the nuns did, actually, and Mother Kathleen's face puffed with anger.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded but you ignored her. You were on a mission.

A side quest, Eddie would have called it. Save a damsel in distress before going on your mission. Like Taran saved Eilonwy on his quest to find Hen Wen.

"Do you wanna be a Knight?" You kept your focus on Mary Victoria.

"This is blasphemous!"

"What are you doing?" Mary Victoria hissed fearfully in question. The other nuns and novitiates also cowered at the anger of their leader.

"You said it yourself, everyone's supposed to steer clear of the Knights unless they need help," you explained. "So I'm here asking for help. I think you might be the best fit. You already saved my ass twice."

"Foul language in the church—"

"Seriously?"

"—banned from this cathedral already—"

"I think we need to hit the road before the opening hymn starts, so if you could make a decision quickly so I'm not actually crucified, that would be great?" You held your hands together in a plea and Mary Victoria sighed.

It was the longest two seconds of your life as she got to her feet and pulled the veil off her head. She shoved it in Mother Kathleen's hand then pressed a kiss to her cheek with a quick "forgive me" and then shimmied her way past the other nuns to get to you.

"You're really twisting my arm here.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically and then motioned for you to go.

The two of you made it out of the doors of the Cathedral just as the bell tower began to ring at the top of the hour and the organist hit the first chord for the entrance procession.

When you had first moved into your little apartment in Hawkins, oh so long ago it seemed, a conflict rose inside of you.

It had been empty; barebones made of walls and cabinets and avocado-colored appliances...but not much else. You were expected to fill the barren space and turn it into a home. It was such a daunting task; so much of who you were had been left behind. How could you create comfort when you had nothing to work with? Nothing to go off of?

But you had been on the road for so long, free to do whatever and go wherever you please, that it quickly became a cage. The simple act of defining who you were was something you actively fought. You hid every part of you away from everyone, because surely if no one knew who you were...you didn't need to know either.

Eddie had ultimately been the person who helped you find yourself. He saw the part of you that even you struggled to see. He helped you find comfort in a cage because it was the blank slate you were looking for. You just didn't realize it yet.

Now here you were, back in a cage that was both vast and barren, yet never big enough to provide the freedom it belied.

But it wasn't a cage for you; it was for Eddie.

A cage that he created for himself, whether he realized it or not.

One with bars that he, at first, threw himself against and rattled restlessly as he called for a warden that would never come. As he begged for the parts of himself that he left behind, that he willingly gave away. He could get them back, all he needed was a way out.

You would reach through the bars and whisper sweet words of comfort, promising that you would find the key. You gave him all that you could of himself, reminded him of what it was he left. It was everything you could spare but it wasn't enough to sate him.

Little by little hands began to pull him back, pull him away.

Claw him away.

"Please don't go," you begged. "I'll help you, just stay."

"I'm hungry," he moaned. "So hungry."

More hands flocked to him, ready to provide the sustenance that you barely could. They filtered it back into him, to repay the debt they owed. Because this was not a cage to them, this was their playground.

If you couldn't help make it a home for him, they surely would.

You tried to pry them away but they laughed at you, mocked you; they were stronger than you were, their will to keep him for themselves stronger than yours to save him.

Because as Eddie got weaker, so did you.

To provide for him, you starved yourself.

And one day, it would kill you.

Your world tilted and you woke up as a horn blared in your ears and the car swerved on the highway.

"Fuck you, fucking asshole!" Mary Victoria shouted. "Learn how to drive."

One thing you quickly learned about Mary Victoria was that she was a terrible driver.

The car swerved again and you grabbed the dashboard before you were flung out through the windshield.

Well, maybe not terrible, just...a little reckless.

"Mare? What's going on?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." She gripped the steering wheel tighter and bared her teeth. "It really wasn't my fault; this guy decided to merge last second without putting his signal on. Almost took us out. Fucker."

She also swore like a sailor.

Which was not...mutually exclusive with becoming a nun...but as soon as the two of you warmed up to each other, you learned that the careful and meek personality that she schooled herself into when in a house of God was not the real Mary Victoria underneath.

It honestly sparked your curiosity.

She had, quite literally, nothing but the clothes on her back when she jumped into your car and you left Los Angeles 18 hours ago. You had offered to stop at the abbey to pick up any of her things, and she hesitated.

"I mean...I don't have anything...worth stopping for," she explained vaguely. "Maybe underwear...uh...some extra habits. I didn't have a whole lot when I joined the Sisters, so I don't have a whole lot now."

So you stopped at the first Kmart you passed to pick up some supplies for her.

"It's on me," you insisted when she tried to explain she didn't have cash either. "Since you helped me get my stuff back and you’re potentially going headfirst into danger with me."

She talked a mile a minute as she scanned through the racks of clothes.

Would she need warm weather? Cold weather? These boots looked like they might be good for running in; would you be doing any running?

"Just dress comfortably," you explained, motioning down to your own clothes. A black t-shirt, ripped jeans that had seen better days, scuffed boots, and a canvas jacket that actually belonged to Mickey Caldwell once upon a time. He left it at Eddie's trailer when he went off to college so Eddie insisted it was fair game.

He had ripped off the patches that featured some of Mickey's favorite questionable bands and had found a few that suited your tastes more. You spent an afternoon helping him with his English homework as he stitched them on for you.

"We could be helping with disaster relief, or we could be...jumping out of the way of a creature that's trying to rip our throats out. It's a tossup."

Her eyes got wide but she understood. Her selection was pretty plain, consisting of the essentials. The most exciting article of clothing she insisted on, though, was a brown, imitation suede jacket that hung on her more like a cloak.

"It looks like one I used to have, if that's ok?" she twirled back and forth a bit.

You wouldn’t have said no even if she didn’t explain; her smile was infectious.

Then, at your first stop for gas, she insisted on taking shifts driving so you wouldn’t have to stop for the night...as long as you could grab her a pack of cigarettes.

"Or two, actually. They made me quit cold turkey, and it was brutal," she explained. "But I haven't driven in...a good few years so that would really help me survive this trip."

You got her three packs of Virginia Slims, one of which she chainsmoked during her first 8-hour shift, cigarette perpetually hanging from her lips as she cruised and swerved along I-15.

There was a lot of honking and a lot of singing along with the radio—she even made a joke about stopping in Vegas—but eventually it started getting dark and you both needed to rest.

You insisted that she take the first rest, mostly so you could have some time to think.

"As long as you're fine driving at night," she asked while she got settled.

Of course, you were. You'd spent plenty of nights wandering abandoned roads and ignoring the things that lurked outside of the vehicle, right at the corners of your vision.

You woke her up at an oasis at the crack of dawn to gently wake her up and grab breakfast, before you took your own rest that came to an abrupt stop by—

"GET OVER. STOP STRADDLING THE LANE PAL!"

Mary Victoria laid her hand on the horn again until the box truck in front of you picked a lane. Her hand shot in front of your face to flip the bird at the driver as she accelerated past him.

—By that.

"Good morning to me," you muttered.

"Sorry," she repeated sheepishly.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Iowa." She pointed to the road map that was draped on the dashboard and tapped at a certain mile marker. "We just passed this rest stop...looks like there might be a truck stop coming up...or I can try to turn around if you really need to pee."

What you really needed was to be in the driver's seat.

"I don't mind waiting," you insisted and shifted in the seat now that you weren't in danger from being thrown from the car. "Some nice driving you're doing Mare."

"Listen," she said with a warning tone. "I said I was sorry."

"No, it's funny. The swearing, the honking, the smoking. Not entirely convinced you weren't joking about Vegas either."

"I'll have you know that Sister Prudence talks about the river boat casino that was a half hour from her last convent like it's Disneyland. Nuns just wanna have fun too."

"You're devoted to piety, to God."

"Ah, ah, ah," she tutted and shook a finger at you. "Not devoted to God yet."

"See? There's some hesitation in there," you pointed right back at her. She slapped your hand away. "You're looking for a loophole. How did you decide you wanted to be a nun anyway?”

Her smile was a strange one, nostalgic almost...or as though there was an inside joke between her and...God...the Devil...you would never know.

"That's a long story," she insisted.

"We have nothing but time," you countered.

She leaned back and threw an arm over the back of the bench seat to grab the bag full of treat wrappers and supplies for her cigarettes. She lit one up and then started her tale.

“Yeah it’s…I mean." She immediately paused. "Ok so...yeah I guess I can admit I'm kind of on the fence about it. But can you blame me? It's a huge commitment, and I've already been doing it for years. But every step I get closer to the finish line...I dunno...something just doesn't seem right.

"I've done a lot of healing though, they've helped me out so much. So how can I change my mind now? I used to be...such a miserable person. You know when you just...get into trouble—well I guess you wouldn't know...which hey that how did you become a Knight anyway? Remind me to ask you that again later—but you get into enough trouble and people tell you that the only thing left to do is pray? Well I did.

"Los Angeles...Hollywood...I was gonna be a star, and I ran away from home and my mother told me...well she told me that I was..."

Mary Victoria clamped her mouth shut for a second. A split second. But you saw her lip quiver. She immediately sucked on the cigarette, a deep and hungry inhale, like she needed the hot tobacco to burn through the painful thoughts.

"Well anyway...it's actually not easy to become a star, especially when you come from nothing and you end up...racking up a lot of debt. And then I had this awful boyfriend who got me into more debt and he wasn't even that good in bed but he said he had connections, you know? He did have connections. Said he was gonna help me and I believed him.

"The next thing I know, I'm single, I've been evicted, I have nothing but the clothes on my back and maybe $20 in my pocket. I'm sobbing...like mascara running down the face sobbing. Walking down Hollywood Boulevard and it's literally about to rain. So I pray."

She rolled her window down and flicked the butt out. She then put her hands together in prayer.

"Please God, I just need a sign, I need a chance so I don't just step into traffic right now. I made a mistake, please can you help me. AND BOOM!" She clapped her hands together. "There's this light. I open my eyes and the El Capitan Marquee is right in front of me and wouldn't you know, standing in line are this group of nuns getting tickets to Splash. Fucking. Splash."

It could have been the ridiculous situation the two of you had found yourselves in or a general lack of sleep or just the bond that two people made while driving in a car together, but you both broke out in hysterical laughter. Because the image was just too much to really wrap your mind around.

By the time you overcame the levity, you were approaching the truck stop, and as you perused new snacks, used the restrooms, and filled your tank, she finished the rest of her story.

Sister Bernadette got her a ticket for the movie and dinner that night, offered her a place to stay, and then by morning was asking if she ever considered devoting herself to God.

"And the rest was history," she explained. "Listen, I couldn't have said no. I asked God for help and He gave it to me."

"Did He?" you asked.

"Didn't He?" she parroted.

"You literally jumped when I offered for you to come with me." You shrugged. "I don't think that's...I don't know, devotion."

"What are you devoted to then?" she questioned and something shifted inside you at her words.

You stopped in your tracks as you walked back to your car from inside the convenience store, but Mary Victoria kept talking, hands waving to emphasize your point as you stewed in your own self doubt.

"Why are you in the Holy Order if not to serve God? If not to devote yourself to a righteous cause and to stand for the good of the world against the approaching darkness?"

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, recollection of a thousand terrible things that you had done in the name of Goodness. And yes some of them were for the greater good, but...the rest?

What had it all been for?

She suddenly realized you weren't beside her and she turned back to you and balked when she saw what must have been a miserable expression.

"Is that what they say about the Holy Order?" you asked tensely.

"Uh..." She swallowed. "I mean...yeah. They don't say a lot. But...I mean...you're heroes."

You quickly approached her and grabbed the keys from her hand so you could drive.

"No," you said darkly. "We're not."

October 9th, 1987

The last leg of your trip started off tense. You barely said a word. Mary Victoria tried to make a joke now and again but it didn't get much of a reaction from you.

Soon you approached Chicago and the radio stations became familiar, sounds and shock jocks that you'd heard for most of your life. You didn't even second guess yourself before you rocketed your car off the highway and through familiar streets.

Mary Victoria had never been to Chicago before, so before you made your final pitstop, you took her to Gene and Judes. Maybe a chance to have a last little something nice before you potentially walked into the jaws of Hell itself.

"So...no Ketchup?" she cracked as she peeled the paper away from her hot dog. "And why is the relish...like...that color?"

"You're kidding right?" you asked with your own mouth full.

"Yes I'm kidding," she rolled her eyes. "Listen...I didn't...I didn't get to say thank you. I know...I-I gave you some shit...and I've been apologizing pretty much since we left LA, but I never said thank you. For helping me out."

"You've helped me out. You're still helping me out," you reminded her.

"Still, please...let me...." she fumbled with her words, but you stopped her.

"You can thank me if I get you back to LA alive," you insisted.

The two of you finished your dinner and then you headed for your home base. A tiny bungalow house with a half-dead lawn and a line of religious statues in the window of the front room—Saint Anthony, Saint Michael, Saint Gabriel, Our Lady of Mount Carmel—to let any curious passersby know that the house was blessed and protected.

You pulled up to an open spot at the curb and told Mary Victoria to wait in the car, you wouldn't be very long.

And you weren't.

The house was still half in disarray from when you moved in after your Nonna passed last Fall. Your mother insisted on selling the old house, but gave you a share of the money and left you with boxes filled with secrets and walls that contained ghosts while she went to enjoy what was left of her own life.

"25 years since I met your father," she said as you begged her not to go. "I just can't do this anymore."

You didn't need much. Everything you were looking for was in your bedroom and the kitchen. You hesitated as you were about to leave and grabbed a small amulet that was hanging by the door: a red horn capped with a golden crown.

You could use all the luck you could get.

And that luck immediately evaded you because when you got back outside, Mary Victoria was at the back of your car with the trunk popped open, and she stared at the contents in confusion.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You asked as you jogged down your porch steps to get to her.

You tried to push the trunk closed but she held both hands against it and begged.

"What the fuck is all of this?"

You glanced into the trunk and assessed your possessions. Things you tried to ignore most of the time, but had come to help you out in a pinch.

Jars and boxes and books. A larger tome that was a family bible-turned-diary that belonged to a great-great-grandfather. You vaguely remembered your own grandfather reading to you from it as a young child, but you had read it yourself countless times in the past year.

Two large iron crucifixes, all engraved with hyacinths, were tucked in a bag at the back. A set of knives that matched. A revolver with silver bullets that you honestly debated throwing into a river when you opened the trunk for the first time after you had run away from home. Your destiny followed you whether you liked it or not.

It was your grandfather's car, and all of his tools of the trade. And while you didn't have much memory of him, the contents spoke volumes about who he had been and why he met his demise.

"Supplies," you explained.

"I thought you were running in for supplies."

"Different supplies."

"I don't think jars of peppers are supplies," she countered. She reached into the trunk and opened the drawstring of a burlap sack. "I don't think a bag of bones is a supply."

"Keep your voice down," you hissed and forced her hands away and shoved the trunk closed. "The neighbors are nosy. Why are you snooping anyway?"

You got into the driver's seat and immediately hung the amulet around your rearview mirror alongside the existing black cord and tassel and a guitar pick on a ball chain that already hung there. Mary Victoria was quick to slide into the passenger's side and pin you with an inquisitive stare.

"Another pepper? Is that the supply you went in to get?" she asked.

"No but it doesn't hurt to have," you replied.

"It's a pepper," she deadpanned.

"It's a cornicello, it's for luck," you explained and started the car. "It's...an Italian superstition thing."

"You're supposed to be a Holy Knight, not...superstitious. What's this then?" she flicked at the cord that now tangled with the amulet. "Is it a...uh...ARGH! See I can't even think of one because it's not the same."

"They're one in the same," you insisted. "Ok, rule number one about being a Knight of the Holy Order? It's true. It's all true. Everything you know. Everything you don't. Things you couldn't even fathom? They're true."

"So God is real."

"Sure."

"What does that mean?"

"What is God?" you countered. "There could be one, there could be many. There is a Heaven and a Hell. Or you might find Nirvana. Or you could be sent to Jahannam. Or you're reincarnated. Magic and superstition and miracles and damnation. All of it exists. Or nothing does and we exist in chaos and that is explanation enough for all of the shit we see.

"That's the truth you have to face when you become a Knight, and it sucks."

"I..." She sunk into her seat, slightly shocked. Dejected? You couldn't tell. "Ok."

You had a good hour of silence as you got on the Tri-State and crossed into Indiana. But you couldn't even enjoy it because guilt roiled inside of you.

Shit.

Because she was a nun and she was devoted, even if the devotion was on shaky ground, and it was a hard pill to swallow. It had been a hard pill for you to swallow—well, your whole life was the biggest horse pill that had ever been manufactured—when your father had told you at 9 years old that everything you had been told was a lie and that you wouldn't have a First Communion with the other kids because...

You needed something to fill the silence.

You reached across the car to open the glovebox and you pulled a cassette out. An old mixtape with a label that had faded over time; it was skipping in some places but still brought you some comfort.

You shoved it into the cassette player and Ozzy's echoing voice softly filled the car as Bark at the Moon started.

"You don't have a Black Sabbath patch on your jacket," Mary Victoria said softly after a few beats.

"You like metal?" You looked over with a quirked brow.

"Eh that deadbeat ex boyfriend was all about it," she shrugged. "Had wannabe rock stars in and out of our apartment all the time. What about you?"

"I like it but my boyfriend was probably more like the wannabe rock stars than your boyfriend," you explained fondly, thinking of his stupid grin the first time he successfully swung his guitar over his shoulder at the end of a gig at the Hideout.

"You have a boyfriend?" Mary Victoria scoffed.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"No I just...I don't know. I guess I have questions."

"Ok."

"What, like you're gonna tell me everything?"

"Sure," you agreed. She had told you about her life...you probably owed her some answers. You owed yourself some too, if you were honest. "Ask away."

"Is he a Knight too?" she immediately jumped at the opening. "Your boyfriend?"

"No, he's..." You bit your lip for a second. "No he didn't know I was involved with any of this. And...now he's dead so...guess it's too late."

"Oh Christ," she gasped. "I'm...I'm so sorry I didn't mean to—"

"No it's ok. I'm...it's ok." You waved her on to the next question.

"How did you become a Knight then?"

"I was born into it."

"What do you mean?"

"My father was one, and his father, and his father."

"But it's..." she hesitated. "You guys have like...you're anointed aren't you? Did they...baptize you with holy oil or—"

"My specific case is...unique, I guess you could say," you began and braced yourself to open this can of worms.

"The other knights...yes...they are anointed. They've done good deeds, so they're offered the chance to do more; God chose them to purge the darkness from the Earth. There's no rhyme or reason; you're chosen and you must go. It's almost impossible to say no. They never do. Knights are the best of the best, the purest of soul. It's fate.

"But...then there's me. There's my family. Who, if you ask anyone who is aware of the curse—"

"Curse?!" Mary Victoria exclaimed. "Ok that's not what I expected."

"Curses are real." You shrug. "Unfortunately. And they're often associated with evil right? An evil witch curses a young princess and all of that. But this...this is different. We are the evil. And the good put a curse on us. To punish us."

"And I was not expecting that either." She whistled low. "How are you evil?"

"Can I finish one thought before we move onto the next one Mare, jeez!"

"Sorry."

"Alright," you took a deep breath. "Let's rewind back to the Crusades."

"The Crusades?!"

"Mary Victoria!" You shouted and she shrank back in her seat.

"Sorry," she repeated. "I'll shut up now. But I reserve the right for follow up questions after the fact."

"Fine. So the Crusades. The quest to conquer the Holy Land, the quest for the Holy Grail, all of that. Well, it all stems back to someone wanting power over someone else. That's what happens, that's what always happens. At that time, there were no Knights of the Holy Order, there were very few who understood the way things worked; one belief rivaled another and it was man versus man instead of good versus evil. For a hundred years...more, even. Blah blah.

"And then along comes...something...a gift. Bestowed upon a select few. The power of Heaven itself. Think of...ok this is much later but think of Joan of Arc. She performed miracles, she healed people, she...she saw visions of angels and fought in battles to protect her people. Well...that...so my great, great, whatever...grandfather...was born with a power beyond understanding.

"He was called to fight in a Crusade...his power was too good of a weapon not to use. And he wasn't the only one, there were people like this on all sides...but he was the only one who refused to go. Thou shalt not kill, it is a law of God Himself. But who speaks for God? The King. The Pope. He was just one man...but he stood for what was good and they damned him.

"His blood would have to pay. Every death that he could have prevented now rested upon his shoulders, and the shoulders of his son, and his son, and none shall ever enter heaven until the debt was paid."

"Fuck," Mary Victoria coughed.

"Yeah," you laughed. "Fuck indeed. I think there's an old ass scroll in the trunk that says all of that in Latin if you want proof."

"I'm good."

"So for years, it becomes...I don't know...this legacy. Every father has a son, and they're mercenaries for whatever man is in Power, essentially. In France, in England, in Italy...and then you have, actually, Vlad the Impaler who makes a deal with the Devil to op—"

"NO! Shut up...Vlad...like Dracula?!" Mary Victoria grabbed your arm. "Don't tell me Dracula's real. That vampires are real."

"Vampires are real...Dracula is not," you explained with a laugh. "Whatever, ok Vlad the Impaler makes a deal with the Devil, or so it would seem, to open up a doorway into hell and release darkness. Well it’s all myth...the door was already open. It always has been. He just took advantage of it."

"Sure." Mary Victoria held her hands out in disbelief. "That's the most...normal thing. How does that lead to you?"

"Leads to the Knights," you corrected her. "Because Europe—I mean...the world, really—is now extra overrun with monsters and infernal creatures and bad things. And the Pope sends his chosen few, these people with the power of Heaven, to stop them.

"Now, we don't actually hate this pope," you explain. "He's...he did a good thing. He created the Holy Order. He gave these people with gifts a purpose, to do good. He called my ancestor to Rome, told him to bring his whole family—his wife and son—gave him a home and helped them set up roots. Then he says that this is the chance for penance. No more mercenary work; think bigger. Fight the darkness. Take the oath. Gratia. Charitas. Solamen. Grace, Charity, Peace.

"And what does my ancestor do? He let the wrath take over," you struck your hands against the steering wheel to emphasize your words. "And he killed the pope. Fucking asshole."

"Are you kidding me?" Mary Victoria screeched. "HE...WHAT?!"

"But his son, ok?" You held your hands up to her. "Stepped up to the plate. Killed his own father, of course, and volunteered the family to the Order. He made a vow, which...we know magic and whatever is real...that every member of the bloodline will devote their lives to the Order, shall fight every bit of evil they come across, until the penance is paid.

"And that...is the key here," you concluded. "There's no escaping it. He said the right words in the right order and somewhere in the Celestial Scheme of things, it means that darkness will follow wherever we go, so we can defeat it, and little by little we pay the penance so one day...we can all go to Heaven.

“There’s no escaping it. Even if you wanted a peaceful life, there’s nowhere to run where that vow and the curse won’t follow. Where fate won’t find you.

“And it killed my grandfather. And it killed my father. And one day...either I get to go to Heaven, or it will kill me too and this will all be over."

Mary Victoria scrunched her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "It'll be over."

"Well it's gonna end with me," you explained. "I'm...I'm not having kids. I don't know how no one realized it before. Every man and his need to have a son and fucked a thousand years of our bloodline right in the ass."

"But why not just...kill yourself and let it be over now?" she speculated. "If you don't mind going to Hell? The other Knights will carry on the oath. Why prolong the inevitable?"

You felt yourself choke up.

"Th-thanks Mare," you laughed to try to avoid the pain. "Glad to know you're trying to get rid of me."

You saw a sign for a familiar exit up ahead and sighed.

"Well...I would happily just end it...you know? I would...I would spare myself of this mindless activity every day, I would finally get myself out from under the thumb of every priest and bishop and king who think they can manipulate me and use my power for their benefit, if it wasn't for Eddie, my boyfriend."

"Oh shit..."

"Yeah...you know...when he died I begged...I begged everyone, anyone, to undo this curse. Man did it, man could undo it. And when no one would…I asked for them to give me just one clue that Eddie was in Heaven. Everyone told me that if he was a good person, he would be waiting but I needed some kind of sign. He wasn't...he was good but was he Heaven good?

"I even wrote the Pope a letter begging for Beatification—I know, that’s a big stretch—and of course he never saw it. Some secretary sent me a Postcard back," you scoffed. "But I can't...think of him in Hell, I can't imagine him suffering a fate worse than Death because...because I love him. Because Eddie's love was the purest love I have ever known in my life. Because when I close my eyes or I fall asleep I still feel him and I will do anything, I would push myself as far as I can until my body breaks and my soul splits in two just for the chance to get back to him.

"I didn't even think that way when my own Father died. When the Vatican sent me his things, back from some mission that killed him. I was shocked; I could imagine him in Hell...in Purgatory...in some void...but I couldn't mourn, Mare. I didn't feel it, because...because that man wasn't my father...that man was the one who turned me into a weapon who had a fighting chance at something better.

"But he didn't love me. He wouldn't do this to me if he loved me." You gripped the steering wheel with a grip made of steel. It was a wonder that it didn't bend under your touch as the wrath started to fill you. "Maybe when I was born? Maybe...but how irresponsible is that? Knowing you're cursed to eternal damnation and letting your father try to fix it for you and bringing a child into the world just to let it suffer too."

"Now hey that's not fair," Mary Victoria interjected. "Hey now, hey...listen even when my mother and I were on the outs I never thought that she--"

You started talking over her.

"That's why it ends with me. It's not fate. No where was it ever written that there had to be a child to carry it on. They all had an out, they were selfish. There's even...there's even a journal of my great grandfather on the boat from Italy to America...surrounded by a thousand other people looking for a better future and a chance at some kind of prosperity. Sacrificing everything they know for absolute uncertainty. A dream that was a lie. But he talked about watching his small son play with another child. And he wondered if this new life would offer them salvation, if the curse would be left behind, so his son could be happy and free. News-fucking-flash Nonetto, if you didn't have a son, you wouldn't have needed to worry."

The road started to get precarious with potholes and fissures but you navigated them expertly. A weird fog had also started to roll in, and you simply turned your headlights off.

As if this trip wasn't already off to a smooth start. You needed to calm down before you drove into a ditch or hit something.

"Listen," you sighed and looked at Mary Victoria with openness and honesty. "Actually...don't listen to me. Of all the Knights you got saddled with you really got the fucked up one. If this is what you really want, I can help you. We can work together and...and maybe little by little I can break this curse and we can work on your abilities."

"But you just said the abilities are something you're born with," she reminded you.

"Eh...everyone has a little bit of it inside of them." You gestured vaguely out of the car. "There are plenty of people who can...read thoughts or commune with the dead or move things with their minds who haven't...fully unlocked their potential. Being a knight only involves goodness...heroic deeds...and in turn that just opens the door to these abilities a little further. I don't know what it is we might find in Hawkins, but...I don't know, maybe if we actually are able to do some good, we'll be able to see if those abilities can manifest in you."

Mary Victoria smiled wickedly.

"Ok...you know what would be cool," she prefaced. "If...if you could make explosions happen...or...or...conjure the power of the sun."

"Yeah I've seen that last one happen before," you agreed. "It's like...pretty useful against vampires actually."

"Seriously?" her jaw dropped. "Have you seriously seen vampires before?"

"I told you they were real!"

"I didn't think you were the one who faced them!" She turned in her seat and squared her shoulder. "Ok so now I'm really hoping that we face something crazy. Maybe it'll be vampires."

"Maybe."

"Or like...a werewolf...or...ok is Frankenstein's monster a thing because I think that—”

All of a sudden a shadowy figure crossed the road into the street and the two of you screamed as you hit it head on. It rolled over your windshield—cracking the glass—and off your car.

You hit the brakes hard and your car skidded to a stop. The two of you caught your breaths.

"What the fuck was that?" Mary Victoria asked weakly.

"I don't know maybe...maybe a fox or a deer," you rationalized and turned to look out the rear windshield, but all you could see was fog, somehow even denser behind you than it was up ahead.

"A fox?!" she shrieked. "That wasn't a fox!"

"A wolf then," you offered instead and turned back around in your seat. Just up ahead was a decaying green sign that said "Welcome to Hawkins" with the words HELL spray painted over the town name in red.

You felt panic start to grip you and you glanced back out the rear window once more.

You knew, more than anyone, the kind of creatures that haunted Hawkins.

Mary Victoria reached for the door handle and you grabbed her. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm gonna see if it's ok!"

"It's...listen if it's a wild animal, we can just get into town and ask if someone can come look with us." You motioned to the sign. "We're almost to town. It'll be ok."

"Hell," she scoffed. "Sure. Fine. Let's go."

Hell.

You repeated in your head.

More like home.

“Bravest hearts[s] will carry on when sleep is death, and hope is gone.” -- Emily Rodda, Rowan of Rin

Next Chapter: Descendió a los Infiernos

#aasb #as above so below #Eddie munson x oc #Eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #vampire Eddie munson #tw: religious themes #tw: death #tw: family problems #tw: suicide

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ohtobeleah · 4 months

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Me and my husband (B) have been together for 11 years, been spending Christmas with his family (mine don’t celebrate it) for the past 9. And every year I asked him the same question “why do we go?” Because every year we get asked when we’re having kids, when most of them know I’ve had three miscarriages. One year Bs aunt tried to set him up with her daughters best friend whilst I was sat right there, the girl was uncomfortable and was like I have a boyfriend. Last year I had a miscarriage and on Christmas Day my bil and his wife announced she was pregnant and yes I was a little upset because me and B never got to do that -announcing it to everyone- but I was so genuinely happy for them because I knew they had been trying and my mil legit said “it’s about time one of my sons wife’s gave me a grandchild unlike someone” whilst looking right at me then she got mad that B stood up and got our things and told me we were going home. Then she got super mad at me when my sil wanted me in the delivery room along with bil, mil thought she was going to be in there. This year mil told me to let B have a mistress so he can have children in front of everyone, B then outed the real reason for her divorce from fil and it was because she was having an affair with a married man. Her “best friends” husband to be precise. Bil and Sil laughed so we all got kicked out. I don’t think we’ll be invited back next year

Babe…..this is, this is like a car accident I just can’t look away from. I’m so sorry you have to experience all that. It’s not fair or right, but no. No I don’t think the two of you will be invited back next year and honestly would you wanna be?

#tw: family problems #tw: miscarriage #tw: pregnancy

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writingforatwistedworld · 1 year

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Otome au-Character introduction: Rollo Flamm

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR GLORIOUS MASQUERADE EVENT, Yandere themes, death, murder, implied stalking, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, violence, family problems

Position:

Judge of the city of flowers

Backstory:

It was no secret that judge Rollo had a rather… radical streak when it came to magic users. Whenever he could hear someone utter a spell, or simply someone voicing that they liked magic did not matter. Although, you did earn a pityfull look from him before being questioned if you knew someone with the ability to wield magic if you were a normal person. No magic. Simply normal.

Judge Rollo despised magic. It took and burned everything away like the destructive force it was. And as such, the young judge saw himself in a position in which he needed to be equally as destructive when it came to cleansing the world of that power. Even if it meant lying to himself. Although less lying, more like burying a part of him deep below where even the ghosts of the dead could not reach. Rollo was aware that he was also someone “impure”, someone tainted by magic.

Although sometimes he remembered a small boy, equally as stained and yet also so full of light.

If only the light hadn’t gotten burned to ashes.

How did he become Self-aware?

The process of noticing that this world was controlled by a higher power on a whim was something he did not start on his own. Quite the contrary. One day when Rollo was once more looking over papers, trying to get some sort of order into the sea of pure chaos on his desk, a place always seemingly to be full with these, he did notice something odd though.

Hadn’t he seen this case before? But it wasn’t noted down in the records. Then why was he so certain the lead investigator had been given a large sum of money to hide details, leading to an innocent person being locked away?

And like this it began. At first Rollo thought that it was his “impurity” which told him these things. Much later though he did notice that this was not the case. A strange individual set foot into his beautifull city, bringing with them the wind of foregin lands. Rollo heard a voice saying something along the lines of finally getting the DLC, whatever that was, even though the stranger did not talk.

As such his descend into the depths of the truth of this world started but if he was honest, he didn’t mind. He did not mind as he flung a spell at someone, making them breathe their last breath all so they wouldn’t get between him figuring out who, no what kind of enigma, you were. He did not mind to do all of that as long as he could follow that light at the end of the tunnel, you.

To not even meant to be part of your path throuh this world and yet to foster such feelings, wouldn’t it be only fair for him to act upon them?

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bradshawsbaby · 2 months

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to the person with a strained relationship with their sibling:

I haven’t spoken to my sibling since I moved away for uni (about 1 and a half years), I don’t even have their phone number, in fact I don’t think I ever had it. Now, my situation might be different from yours, my sibling has a personality disorder and abused me in different ways ever since I was a small child (they’re about 2 years older than me). They terrorised me when our parents were at work, tried to strangle me and “prohibited” me from being in the same space while they were in it. They also have a complicated relationship with our parents. I’ve talked about this in therapy and the conclusion I got is the following:

even though I want a sibling that loves me, that I can trust in and everything else associated with sibling bond, I won’t get that. And I also can’t take back all the trauma I have now. I don’t forgive them and I don’t know that even if they ever change I’d want them in my life. All that time we had growing up is gone, our relationship is beyond repair. This has caused me so much grief and sadness, specially when I feel lonely or my friends talk about their siblings. I’ve found myself wanting a “sibling bond” with new friends, as if I want them to place me in the same importance and trust level as their siblings. I know that’s not possible and I’m working on it in therapy. I don’t know what your relationship is like, but maybe it would help to think about what’s truly making you sad. Are you grieving a relationship that got damaged with time or the relationship that you never had but wish you did?

@dlea203 I hope this is helpful to you! I’m always here if you ever to need to chat ♥️

And to the person who sent this message, I’m sending you lots of love 💕🫂

#tw: family trauma #tw: family problems #anon message

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ofluminance-a · 6 months

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on my way home from work, my dad texted me that he drove himself to the emergency room because he's had chest pains and headaches for about a week now. he has a history of heart problems, so we try not to take chances. he's 73.

i'm just feeling a little anxious and worried about everything. i'm also upset he didn't say anything until now about it. he should have told me right away. but theres nothing that can be done now.

i asked him if he wanted me to come ( the hospital is over an hr away ), and he said not until he knows more details about what's going on. so. i'm here, but i'm not in any kind of headspace to write. --i think i'm going to just try to relax tonight and take it easy. but, if he does get admitted, there will definitely be a drop in my activity here. just a small heads up.

i'll be on discord if anyone needs me. thanks for taking the time to read this, when i find out more information, i'll be sure to post an update on what's going on.

#⋆ ― ✧ out of chocolate. / ooc.#tw: hospital #tw: illness #tw: family problems #⋆ ― ✧ candy is dandy but liquor is quicker. / dandi.#⋆ ― ✧ sound the alarm. / psa.

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nebulousmistress · 10 months

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On Major Life Events...

Tomorrow I descend into Hell.

Tomorrow I return to my family’s demesne and put on an empty pretty face for my grandfather’s funeral. His death was entirely unexpected as he collapsed in the middle of the desert and crashed after surgery. It wasn’t his heart, it wasn’t his brain, it wasn’t cancer, it wasn’t anything that you’d expect might kill an 86 year old man. He died of much the same thing that I suffered three years ago, a torsioned abdominal organ. I was simply in a city at the time, and I lost one of a pair of organs. He only had the one.

This isn’t like Grandma where I poured one out for the racist bitch and moved on with my life, who finally forgave me for being born when I was in my 30s. This grandfather was different. He respected me for my choices, not in spite of. He loved me as a person, because I existed and I deserved it. He adored my partner and bragged about her to all his friends no matter how right wing they were because he was proud of us, dammit, and because my partner could handle any gun he handed her and this delighted him.

He was one of three people in my family whom I will mourn.

Tomorrow I descend into Hell. But I will escape again.

#really #welcome to Los Angeles #bleh #tw: family problems

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greenishghostey · 2 years

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These are mostly sad tbh. I thought about Eddie’s mum and got SAD

EDIT: I’ve now seen how horribly this is formatted on mobile. I am so sorry oh my god

tw: mention of death, unstable family life, neglect (to an extent), parent death

Eddie was best friends with his mom before she died. Her name was Jennifer and she was the best mom she could be. She worked two jobs, cashier at the grocery store in the mornings and bartending at night to make ends meet because her husband certainly wasn’t going to do it. The constant stress and responsibility of being the backbone and provider for her family made her tired and she fell asleep at the wheel of her car on her way home one night. Eddie was six years old when his mom died and sometimes he worries that it was his fault. He remembers how tired she always looked when she was home and she tried to be home a lot for him.

Eddie’s dad wasn’t necessarily a “bad guy”, he never raised a hand to his son or his wife or anything like that. Harvey Munson was a spineless coward through and through. He was a pushover when it came to the wrong people and he became a petty criminal as a result. Theft, fraud, gambling, Harvey did it all thinking that he would strike gold and then Jenny wouldn’t need to work anymore. Honestly, he did like Eddie but he had never really wanted a kid, but having Eddie around was helpful when he needed smaller hands and someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

Eddie’s parents had only been together for a short period of time when they found out they were going to have a child. They had a very quick wedding. Jennifer was over the moon that she was going to have her own family.

Eddie makes sure to never forget what his mom’s voice sounded like. It’s the voice he tries to replicate for female characters when he is DM-ing - slightly raspy but with a distinct warmness that was soothing to listen to as a little boy.

Eddie looks exactly like his mom and bares very little resemblance to any of the Munson side of his family. He’s actually kind of glad that he doesn’t look like his dad because his mom was beautiful so maybe he is too.

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smashing-pixel · 7 days

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"Ah yes, parents…"

Subiendo cosas en la noche BD

Me inspiré en el dibujo de avogado6:

#jet set radio #jet grind radio #tw: blood #tw: family problems

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treesusedtotalktome · 6 months

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#traumacore #actually traumatized #actually mentally ill #ventcore #tw: abuse #tw: family problems #tw: neglect #sadcore #please don't repost

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girlwithwolftatoo · 2 years

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hello!

i just saw that you take requests! (And I hope they are open rn lmao)

I don't really know a lot of people who write for Arthur so im very happy rn!

So could I please request an Arthur Harrow x Female Reader?

I just thought about an fluff / angst fic which the reader tells arthur that she got daddy issues and she's afraid bc a lot of people made fun of her about it and in the end she just wants a person that is like a 'caregiver' to her?

I'm not an expert in explaining things so I hope you understand what I mean.

I just think that the whole 'Daddy Issues' thing is way more than a lot of people think.

And i just felt insecured about it bc people made a lot of fun about me sooo i would be happy with some arthur who is comforting :)

I hope you are okay with writing something like that and If not, im really sorry for the ask :/

Hope u have a great day tho!

Soooo here it is! Ended up being a little longer than expected but I think we needed some good context for this one.

Where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?

Warnings: family ab*use, viol*ence.

It was customary that when a member of the community was marked with the scales, a small celebration was held in their honor, nothing fancy or extravagant, but it meant a lot to the newcomer, that regardless of their age or how long they had been among them, they could now be considered a chosen one, an enlightened one who would live to heal the world. So, when a rush of people caught up with Harrow to show him that a girl younger than you had gotten her mark, you felt your soul leave your body.

Arthur was proud, hugged the girl warmly and congratulated her on being blessed by their goddess. You smiled, your body dirty with dirt from having been weeding some planters and a freshly healed cut, and you applauded just like the others. You should have felt happy, they were all like a family, a village where the achievement of one was the glory of all, but in reality, your eyes stung and your mouth tasted bitter.

You were not going to ruin that girl's party, so you left early, only after a hurried dinner. Like other people who had no family within the community, you had a room of your own in one of the buildings, but as soon as you entered you kicked a small table so hard you almost knocked it over, and then started shaking.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid" you repeated as you pulled your hair. You went to the bathroom, even though there was no one else in the house, and locked yourself in to cry out your frustration.

Maybe you were wrong about yourself, you thought as you rubbed your face so hard that your eyes became irritated. Maybe Arthur had been too compassionate with you by letting you join them, really good people, with a promising future... When had you ever had such a thing? Hadn't you already learned it many years ago?

"(Y/N), I am a woman. I have my own desires, my own impulses... now that you are older, I can accept it without feeling that I am unfair to you" was what your mother said when you were thirteen and you found out by chance that she was dating a man. You were happy for her, but there was something empty in your chest that grew when, only a year later, you learned that they would have a child together.

"Why don't you spend a few days with your father?" she questioned you, the afternoon she had to go for you to the principal's office because you were found smoking in the bathroom "You haven't talked to him for weeks" She was wrong, it was months "I understand that you feel pressured with the new baby, but he is your brother, you will love him when everything passes, you don't have to be unfair".

You saw the little one in his crib and you were sorry you didn't feel the great love that your mother assured you should feel. That rosy face was sweet, yet every time you stretched out your hand to caress him, you regretted it, and fled like a criminal. The only safe place in that house was a hole in the wall that had been intended for a closet, and you ran your hands over the old scribbles you made on the wall for years, when you pretended not to hear the screams and cries.

"What's wrong with you, (Y/N)? Is it some teenage thing I don't understand or are you throwing a tantrum? You've never been like this before. I'll call your father to-"

"I don't have a father," you finally blurted out. Your mother looked pale, she had had to pick you up from the police station for an altercation at a party, and you still had dried blood on your blouse.

"How can you say that?" she asked you with tears in her eyes.

"Because it's the truth, Mom" your lower lip trembled, you couldn't stand to see her cry, when she did, you remembered those intense, horrible weeks leading up to the divorce, where she would spend her time crying and making soup, and crying again, while he angrily reminded her that he had two families to watch over and that she was a mess. You had survived by laying low, but you knew what was coming by then, and the only thing you regretted was that it hadn't happened faster.

"I'm not going to let you throw your future away like this because of your tantrums. Albert came with me, he's outside waiting for us and he helped me with your bail, at least apologize to him..."

"Why, did I make him mad?" you snorted under your breath, with a sarcastic grimace.

"He wouldn't have to go through this..."

"I know, I'm not his daughter."

"I didn't say that."

"But it's true, isn't it? Al's a nice guy, but honestly... I'm left over between you."

You were unnecessary everywhere, you were a blind spot, an uncomfortable lump that occasionally got in the way. You knew it since your father started forgetting your birthday, since you saw his networks flooded with pictures of him with his new family, since that time when you met him by accident in the street and, rather than admit you were his daughter to a co-worker, he preferred that idiot to think disgusting things about you.

"Stop it!" your mother's hands hit the table. You didn't even flinch, it seemed as if your feelings were buried in a place you couldn't reach "You're ungrateful! All we've done for you, all the patience we've had! Do you know how many times I hated picking up the phone and talking to your father?"

"I never wanted you to" you answered in a hoarse voice "I told you many times that he had left us, Mom, but you wouldn't listen. You wanted me to keep talking to him...for what, mom? He never wanted us"

"Don't say such things!"

"But it's the truth! Why did you always force me to keep looking for him, uh? What did you want to achieve?"

"I wanted you to have a father so that you weren't going to be...!" the words seemed to pile up on her. You saw in her eyes the fire of resentment, of the anguish she could never release, the fear that her perfect world would fall apart again. She was fragile. Fortunately you were not.

The night before your eighteenth birthday you showed up at the building where your father lived. He owned a rich penthouse where he spent much of his time, life was smiling on him and he could afford to live apart from his second family as well, with whom he nevertheless got along much better than he ever could with you. You circumvented security, wrote "FUCK YOU SHIT DADDY" on the door and smashed a bottle of cheap alcohol against it to set it on fire. You knew the incident would not get very far thanks to the fire alarms, but that childish revenge that was like a rite of passage into the gritty life that awaited you made you immensely happy.

For a few weeks you were living anywhere, London had some shelters where you would arrive and spend most of the day, and at night, in the company of certain people you couldn't exactly consider friends, you would hang around the crowded areas looking to pick up a few pounds from drunken partygoers that would eventually be spent on alcohol, cigarettes and junk food.

Murphy's law was not long in coming, and one of those nights things went wrong. One of your colleagues picked the wrong victim, and you saw him fall after the devastating blow of a cricket bat. Almost everyone abandoned the boy, who was bleeding profusely and screaming for forgiveness, but you stood by, transfixed, looking for some way to help him. The bully with the bat took a second swing at him, and from your companion's cry of pain you knew he had broken his leg.

"Stop!" you stepped forward, terrified. The guy was tall and stocky, whatever he had taken had made him more aggressive.

"Are you with him?" he exclaimed, coming at you "Answer me, you bloody rat!"

You narrowly dodged the first blow, and the enraged guy lashed out at you with his fist. A dull, throbbing pain told you that he had just connected with your face, and you staggered before managing to grab hold of a trash can. A hand grabbed you by the hair and you were thrown to the ground, unable even to scream as the blow knocked the air from your lungs. The cricket bat clattered beside you, teasing.

"Did ya think ya'll were gonna rob me?" you heard it, mocking and rabid "Did ya'll think so? I'm gonna break every goddamn bone in your bodies!"

A foot landed right in the middle of your back, making you squeal. You hadn't thought much about death ever, it seemed to you something mysterious and quiet that appeared suddenly to certain people, people who enjoyed life generally, and you didn't. And so it was then, you were going to die but that meant nothing, you had no future, and the past was too horrible to treasure. You were a rotten fruit, and now someone would finally pluck you from the tree.

"Wait! You don't want to do this, believe me"

The voice that spoke was different, low, slow. You heard your attacker snort, at the climax of his bloodlust. You dared to raise your head a little, and saw a pair of feet a few steps away advancing towards you, shod in simple leather sandals.

"Get out of here, old man!" shouted the guy with the bat.

"You want to get blood on your hands without even knowing if it's the right thing to do?"

"They were going to rob me! Are you going to defend this scum?"

"You don't want to hurt them, you're scared..."

"I'm not scared!" the guy brandished his bat, threatening the stranger with it. "Get away, get out of the way!"

The other man was still approaching, he was leaning on a cane that gleamed silver. Since the guy had taken his foot and his attention away from you, you could see better what was going on.

"True justice does not seek to indulge in suffering" the stranger held out his hands, as if seeking to embrace his enemy "A better world is coming..."

" You' re crazy!"

The guy swung his bat, but it collided with the newcomer's cane. The bat got caught in the grip of the cane, and then, the man wielding it reached out his free hand and grabbed the other by one wrist.

"It's a pity," he whispered. The eyes of the guy with the bat popped out of their sockets, and seconds later... something big and heavy fell behind you. Some new footsteps came closer and you saw some silhouettes approaching "Take care of the other boy, please."

The man with the cane then laid his attention on you. You were trembling, your face was bloodstained and you had several scrapes where the skin was unprotected, and the stranger, helping himself with the cane, knelt down and held your face by the chin. He had long blond hair, with silver highlights here and there, and his eyes were a stunning blue.

Then you remembered why you were there, and you felt fear. Your eyes went to the staff, which had two crocodile heads carved on it.

"You're scared, I understand" he whispered "But you have nothing to fear for tonight."

Adrenaline brought the first tears, which stung as they touched the bleeding parts of your face. The man was still looking at you, and that made you uneasy as well as fascinated, you didn't remember anyone had ever seen you like that.

"Thank you" you whispered with great sincerity. The man smiled, and gently, so as not to hurt you any more, wiped away a tear with his thumb.

"What is your name, my dear?"

"(Y/N), just (Y/N)."

"Would you like to come with us?"

You frowned, confused. That's when you noticed that, around you and your colleague, who had passed out, at least half a dozen people were gathered.

That night you met Arthur Harrow and his community. That night you had died and been reborn, and you saw before you a hope and a second chance.

But perhaps you had been too lenient. Perhaps, you thought when you could no longer see straight after so many minutes of crying, you really should have died.

"Here you were."

You barely reacted when the door opened, but you realized that the one who had arrived was Arthur. Embarrassed, you hid your face in your knees.

"Please let me" you asked in a choked voice. Arthur sat down beside you, sympathetic as always, and busied himself stroking the crocodile heads on his cane.

"Perhaps others refuse to accept that in every garden there are spiders" he commented "but the bad times are just as important as the ones that are good. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

If you felt bad before, it was worse now.

"I'm so sorry" you stammered, sniffling through your nose "I didn't mean to...really forgive me."

"You think I'm mad at you, (Y/N)?" Arthur turned so he could look at you, and you felt his hand reach for yours "Why do you think you're unworthy? Does it mean that much to you that Ammit hasn't pointed you out yet?"

You knew there was something unique about that community, something that eliminated it from the cult of madmen trope, but when you thought of Ammit it was as distant to you as any other god, it was possible you would never even get to meet her in person. No, it wasn't because of Ammit.

"I did a lot of bad things... I don't justify them" you explained. Arthur's hand was still holding yours "I always hated my father, for what he did to mom... but I also abandoned her... I'm a bad daughter, how could I be a good person? The night we met I was really trying to rob that guy, my friend had better luck than me, I guess, because he died"

"Give me your hands" Arthur demanded nonchalantly. You obeyed him immediately, you felt that that was the least you could do "You know very well how the scales work, your fears and insecurities cloud your judgement, could you accept that of our goddess?"

You let him place the crocodile heads on your wrists, Arthur looked at the scale on his forearm, but you only looked at him. You didn't care about the outcome, you knew it beforehand, but in that darkness that would have shattered others you found your own light. Harrow had saved your life, and it was he who was to take it from you.

The blue eyes went to yours, undecipherable.

"Your heart is wounded," he said, and put away the cane "It is not evil that nests in you, but immense sorrow. You were abandoned at the moment when you most needed to be protected, and you lost your way."

So many times you had boasted that neither of your parents made the slightest effort to look for you when you disappeared, that now you didn't understand why that made you cry. Arthur took you in his arms, holding you close to him, and you clung to his shoulders.

"All I want" you sobbed "is for someone to care about me, to believe that I am enough."

"You are enough" Arthur murmured, stroking your head "And I care about you very much"

"But I wish you cared only about me"

That confession was so sudden that it took you a few seconds to realize what you said.

"I'm sorry."

Harrow took your face in his hands, smiling at you. You on the other hand felt your face burning with embarrassment.

"Is that what's wrong?" he asked.

"No, I... sorry, it's not right..."

"(Y/N), desiring things is not a sin. If to heal your heart you need a little more from me, I will gladly do it."

You hugged him again. Your sorrows and worries seemed to have disappeared with your tears.

"I love you, Arthur."

"I love you too, my dearest."

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