#genderqueer reader

reader notes: reader is primarily a queer, plus-size non-binary/genderqueer person. when I first wrote this a few years ago, they used she/they pronouns interchangeably, but in this version, I've made the choice to use exclusively 'they/them' pronouns. other characters may still use femme-esque nicknames in places, though I'm in the process of changing those too. there are discussions of PMS symptoms/menstruation, be advised. all mentions of skin and hair are kept as neutral as possible so any reader can have a seamless experience in regards to those, and any recommended tweaks are appreciated. reader's body size is usually only referred to in pleasurable/intimate contrast with other characters, no body negativity present. reader does at points have discussions of isolation/depression/suicidal ideation (based on my own experiences), so discretion is advised.

warnings:

sexuality related: explicit sexual content; explicit horror content; mention of established light D/s dynamics and daddy kink in a relationship (both partners are switches); blood kink, knife kink, spit kink; fluidswapping/eating; sex without protection; penetrative sex; oral sex (enby and cis male receiving); period sex; stalking/possessiveness as a kink; facesitting (enby receiving); marking; rough sex; dub-con at one point (one participant is possessed); lots of sex in cemeteries, churches, and other frowned-upon places.

violence/harm related: discussions of homophobia and being closeted in the US South; graphic violence and murder; brief discussions of an attempted reader-targeted drugging/date rape from an antagonist; brief sexism, homophobia, and transphobia from an antagonist; reader wields a knife and stabs other characters; descriptions of decayed/rotting flesh; depictions of embalming and other processes involving bodies of the deceased; depictions of necromancy, sacrifice, and demons that eat flesh; violence from a partner (while they're possessed); discussions of abusive family dynamics; discussions of past partner/familial homicide.

general heads up: discussion of gender experimentation and presentation play; mentions of death by aneurysm; mentions of family alcoholism; brief vomiting mention; brief depictions of drinking alcohol and being intoxicated; discussion of grief; discussion of losing a relative to cancer; discussion of pet murder/depictions of reanimated pet (dark humor); discussion of child death.

this has been one of my favorite stories I've ever written, and I'm so excited to get to repost it with some much-needed updates, now that it's years later and I understand the characters immeasurably better than I did the first time through.

Unrevised

(English is not my first language, so if at any point outside the context of the plot I accidentally used a wrong pronoun, please let me know. Have a good reading!)

Lips frowning, eyebrows together and a pair of startled eyes staring at you, trying their best to avoid the observant look of the man next to you, Rossi sighs and throws himself against the chair, both frustrated with each other. You have just arrived in the room attached to the police station where it was supposed to be a welcoming moment for the victim of an attempted rape and murder, but escalated quickly into an interrogation of sorts when the victim seemed not to pass unharmed by the hawkish eyes of the BAU veteran. After half an hour of a conversation being brought to naught you came to intervene, Tara's recommendation, although the man has a special tact with children you can't say the same thing with youngsters, no matter how hard he tries.

- Dakota, this is Agent Y/L/N, you said the problem is gender, here it is. She is...- before the man can finish he is interrupted by them, the youth slams a hand on the table and stands up in a rage.

- No! No! You don't understand me, it's about me, I just want you to call me like I asked you to. - they walk from one side to the other, before sitting down again in the same place as before, leaning over to put their head between their hands, visibly distressed.

- And you won't tell me why you were with a false document at that party? - Rossi replies, his tone of voice making it clear that he is losing patience.

There is only silence in response. You move slowly, picking up the laminated document on the table and read it carefully, it looks legitimate to the blind eye, but you notice the small differences and imperfections between a real one and a fake one, the date gives them an age they really appear to be, 22, but as you go through the gender identification you notice the difference in this space, instead of the usual and currently usable acronyms it's filled with NB. The weight of the situation falls like an anvil in your stomach; using fake ID has become a common practice for under 21s and teenagers, but this particular detail, unnoticed, almost imperceptible, puts the whole situation into better context. The person in front of you is a genderqueer, and apparently Rossi doesn't understand yet, and if he does, he doesn't respect the way they prefer to be called.

- David. - you call him in a whisper and lick your lips before continuing, thinking about the choice of words, trying to approach this correctly and tactfully so they don't feel embarrassed, or like they are not there - All they are asking is that you use the correct pronoun, Dakota is nervous and may not have expressed themselves in the best way. It's them.

- If Dakota is really her name. - he seems to have ignored everything you said making you sigh and start to get irritated - So, girl, what...

- Dakota might be their social name. - you say quickly before he could get back to firing them with disrespectfully accusatory questions, the youth looks in your direction with an expression of relief that someone has finally understood them and even smiles when hearing the neutral pronoun - And wants you to use their pronoun correctly. And those two factors...

- But she...

- Come, let's go outside for a second. - you turn to them and smile, trying to pass on some reassurance, before closing the door.

You leave the room and go to the next, where part of the team is watching and taking notes. JJ, Reid, Tara and Emily are there, the first two stare a bit confused at what just happened, as is Rossi, still overcome with euphoria at being dealing with the youth, all of whom know that he must be deeply suspicious of them to act in such a way, understandable with the gravity, difficulty and annuities of the ongoing case. Tara is propped against the wall, words on the tip of her tongue, and Emily is closer to the mirrored glass, arms crossed and a small scowl on her face. She knows how frustrating and difficult it is for you to hide your identity on a day-to-day basis, the lack of understanding about and lack of interest in it, what is happening only reinforces what you both already know. When you look at each other she blinks her eyes slowly and drops the arms beside her body, instinctively walking to soothe you with a hug, but she stops halfway remembering where you are and that maybe it's not the right thing to do, even though she knows it's burning you up inside. As chief she has access to your record and since your admission she knows about your gender identity, pronouns, how you prefer to be called and how these situations can really affect you, especially since you tried to explain several times during the "interrogation". When you met you immediately hit it off, at the end of your first month as an agent she asked you to go to a bar, just the two of you, and that night brought you even closer, Emily asked you more about genderqueer, showing real interest and respect. Within a couple of months you started a secret relationship that has been going on for almost three years.

- What is happening? - JJ asks, standing up, facing you and the older agent.

- I don't know, I thought that taking Y/N there would help to get some information, but apparently it didn't work out. - he shrugs and the attention turns back to you.

- Because you were acting like a jerk to them. - on any other occasion you wouldn't be talking like that to a co-worker, much less calling him a jerk, but if it wasn't enough to have a difficult case going on, there is still this whole situation where a youth is having their identity invisibilized when they should be being respected and welcomed by the team members.

- Just because he called her a girl? - JJ replies, genuinely confused she draws her eyebrows together thoughtfully.

- Also, JJ. - Emily interjects, remaining calm contrasting with your growing irritation with your co-workers - It's besides, Dakota is genderqueer, apparently they use neutral pronouns, their preference.

- Isn't this that thing kids have invented now? Neutral pronouns and stuff like that? - Rossi sketches a smile, as if it wasn't something important, which irritates you, but the following words make you lose the rest of your self-control regarding the subject - It's a passing trend, too confusing, just another thing invented by this generation.

- A passing trend?! That's what I am, David! I am genderqueer. And I'm not confused, I'm not a trend, I'm a person with a real identity and I want respect. - you get excited, not even realizing that you have just came out to practically the whole team, and point to the youth on the other side of the glass - Just like this kid.

- Oh... - the realization of what has just happened doesn't sink in until you hear Emily behind you, she doesn't know exactly what to say, too surprised to formulate a decent sentence. You have just come out adruptically in the middle of a case and she really doesn't know how to react, she just wants to hug you and tell that she is proud, but as she looks around she realizes that it's not the best scenario or moment, not yet - Y/N, are you okay? - is the only thing she can ask.

- No, at least not totally.

- What is genderqueer exactly? - Reid asks confused and it makes you smile for a second because he seems really interested, staring at you anxiously for an answer.

- Genderqueer is when someone doesn't identify with the gender binary, that is, neither male nor female. It's a term that covers many different gender identities and gender expressions, such as non-binary, genderfluid, gender neutral, and others. - it's Tara who ends up responding when you delay giving him an answer, still in shock at what has just happened, this is emotionally exhausting and scary, now everyone knows, those who don't know will know soon - Some genderqueer people may prefer to use neutral pronouns, which are "they/them", as Dakota seems to want to be referred to, while others may prefer masculine or feminine pronouns, or even other pronouns they may choose. And some people are fine with any pronoun.

- And how am I supposed to know what to call them? - Rossi is the one who asks now, leaning on the wall.

- Just ask them what their preferred pronoun is and use it correctly. - your girlfriend says, this reminds you of the moment when you approached her and she asked, wanted to know, was interested in who you are.

- Exactly! Don't make assumptions about how a person presents or dresses. They can express themselves in authentic ways and it's important to respect their choices no matter what. Gender identity is a personal experience unique to each individual, it cannot be assumed based on their appearance or behavior. - you complement and are relieved to see that they are looking at you intently, with no judgment in their eyes, they are trying to understand, even David who seemed so reluctant before. - I want you to know that this is important to me because it's who I am. I hope you will respect my identity, just as I respect each of you and who you are.

Reid then says: - I will use your pronouns correctly, now I know and obviously I will do that. - and hugging you awkwardly, continues - Thank you for letting us know, I understand what this means to you.

JJ joins you and Reid then, wrapping you around the waist in a triple hug.

- You know, you could have told us earlier, we're laymen but we're always willing to learn. - she says calmly and strokes your hair, the three of you break away from the hug when Tara approaches, she has a smile on and opens her arms to wrap around you.

- I'm so proud of you. I suspected as much, and I'm glad you're here, free to express yourself. - you didn't want to cut this beautiful moment short by saying that you accidentally and just accepted the warm hug from your co-workers, you can see, behind them, Emily smiling just watching the scene and she blinks in your direction.

- Hey, sorry to interrupt this moment - the sheriff appears in the doorway, with a piece of paper in hand, the youth data sheet that the team had asked Penelope for and she had sent to them - here it is.

You take the sheet with Dakota's data and feel relieved to understand why they had a fake ID, it makes a lot of sense that they had the fake document, and with NB, because Dakota is just a 16 year old teenager. They were nervous about Rossi and his evasive questions because they are in a bad way about being in a late night club. So they were trying to avoid the situation, not wanting Rossi to find out the truth about them and their legal status. Maybe out of fear of their parents or whoever was guardian. You smirked at the whole situation this detail created, Dakota would rather face a trip with all the local police than face punishment for spending the night out in a place they shouldn't be, it reminded you of yourself as a teenager in rebellious moments.

Rossi then approaches you, looks at the paper and at you, interspersing several times. Trying to find words to apologize.

- Sorry for all the questions and for this situation, I think I now understand what is happening. I really sorry for everything, for offending them and you, I will work on that. - he looks at Dakota's data sheet and adds - It seems that they have a lot to explain to parents, don't they?

- Yes, they do. - you agree and look directly at him, smiling - Hey, you used the correct pronoun now.

- Well, I guess I just needed to calm down and learn a little. - David gives you a pat on the back - I'm proud of you too, now get out there and talk to that teen. I'll arrange for her parents, oops, theirs to be here soon.

- Right. - you agree and direct a happy look to the team before closing the door, barely noticing the brunette following you silently, leaving almost unnoticed by them.

But it's not as if they haven't realized for more than a year that you are a couple, even if you never had a formal announcement and your girlfriend believes in her abilities to keep secrets. They saw you making out in the car in the parking lot of a bar after the New Year's celebration. JJ and Tara exchange glances, along with Reid, who doesn't really notice the slight mischief and just smiles pretending to be in the know. Outside, Emily walks briskly before you can reach the other room and practically throws herself at you when she catches up to you, wrapping her arms around you in a hug from behind, arms holding tightly around your waist and lips sneaking up to the back of your neck, depositing a kiss there.

- Hey, baby. I'm proud of you too, very proud. - she squeezes you even tighter in her embrace. - You were so brave and inspiring there, you stood up for Dakota and fought for them. You make me more proud every day. I'm proud of how protective, brave, understanding and kind you are, of everything you are. You are amazing, and I am so lucky that you are by my side. I love you, and I have no doubt that you are the best partner I could ever have.

- I love you too, Emily. - you turning to hug her properly - I never imagined we'd be here, but I'm so happy we've made it this far together. I feel so honored to have you by my side.

- You're so lovely, I'd kiss you right now if I could, but I'm sure if I look up the sheriff is staring at us.

- Fuck him. - you smile, at that moment you approach more and kiss Emily softly, as if for the first time. The kiss is slow but intense, full of feelings and emotion. The seconds go by, the moment doesn't seem to end. When you separate, your eyes meet, and your souls seem to communicate, saying that you will be together always - Now I have to get back to work. You too.

from sokovia with love -

Just you, your dissertation research on a country that no longer exists, and Baron Zemo twisting your arm to help him with his latest master plan as the pair of you flee the authorities (and Captain America) across Europe. Really, in a world where half the population can appear and disappear in the blink of an eye, what could go wrong?

The Fic Itself, currently standing at eleven chapters out of fourteen

oneshots set in the same universe as from sokovia with love:

…and everything’s very strange (zombie!au of my own fic, which still needs one of its endings)

mutual frustration (18+, the proof-of-concept sketch that inspired the larger story)

delight in your sweetness (18+, body positivity story for plus size/non-binary reader w/ skin picking issues)

their heartache and their reasons (grief fic, Father’s Day)

bedside manner (sick fic)

covetousness (18+, Zemo and reader are fully in their possessive era)

and he told me I was holy (18+ for violence, rescue fic)

the urges we can’t admit - 

You’re an experienced practitioner of the sadistic arts at Mrs. Williams’s upper crust establishment of pleasure and pain. Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, renowned Alienist, has sought your services on a word of advice from his former patient. What was intended to be just a working relationship blossoms into something much more - but his latest case raises the stakes for both of you, especially as you try to keep it a secret from prying eyes. (Most of this story is 18+, just fyi.)

The Fic Itself, which has been long in progress.

oneshots set in this universe with the same reader:

hold me tight as I tell myself that you might make sense (18+, Reader and Las talk through a boundary in their relationship

bring me to my knees, make me testify (18+, body worship for Laszlo)

la vie en rose (Laszlo indulges in nice weather, brings you flowers.)

we’ll get away with everything (18+, You and Laszlo have been married 20 years. A night out is… eventful.)

servatis a maleficum (once again, a zombie!au of my own fic. fight me.)

look alive, sunshine -

(looking for the source on the needlepoint in this edit - if you know it, could you lmk?)

A totally self-indulgent modern grad student!au, which at this point has only be a stand-alone fic - but could do with a continuation or two.

The Fic Itself. (18+ for confessions-of-feelings sex.)

the headcanons that inspired it

the playlist

Actually, being the only stranger might not have been an exaggeration. Every so often, you felt the crawl of eyes across your skin when people thought you weren’t looking, or when you took another long sip of your drink. You might have been the topic of a few conversations even now, having moved to town three months ago. Greymoon was small enough that it didn’t seem to get newcomers regularly.

Though, the way people kept looking at you like they expected something bad to happen, you couldn’t imagine people moved here very often.

You looked down at your outfit, trying to keep your face outwardly blank. You didn’t think your clothes stuck out too much, even for the quiet part of Louisiana — hell, some of the people here were wearing less than you. It was a house party, after all. When you were pretty sure you didn’t have anyone looking at you, you quickly gave the shoulder of your top a sniff. These clothes were clean, and you’d even managed a shower before you’d been picked up after work. Was it the makeup you were wearing, or maybe what you weren’t? Your hair?

Or, maybe you made for kind of a disappointing stranger. You’d walked in here with your coworker, and after she’d pointedly shoved a drink in your hand, you had awkwardly followed her around a little as she worked the room before finally dismissing yourself to go sit on this couch in the back corner. You’d told her you were only going to be a minute, you just wanted to take things in, get the vibe of the place.

That had been… nearly an hour ago, according to your phone.

A thud to your right startled you, heralding a body falling onto the adjacent couch cushion.

“So are you just gonna sit here all night and pretend you’re not here,” said your coworker, Imari. “Or are you actually going to get up and make me not regret inviting you?”

Imari was gorgeous, with black skin like glass, lipstick that was somehow perfect at any point in her shift, and clever dark eyes that more often than not glittered like she had a private joke. She was too good for a town this small, and until you’d gotten to know each other, when she told you about taking care of her ailing grandmother, it was a mystery to you why she hadn’t left for somewhere that could appreciate her properly. While she could often be dry and sometimes cutting, she was the first person in town who had been genuinely kind to you, and tried to pierce the shell of awkward silence you’d taken to hiding yourself in. 

You gave her your best attempt at a half-smile. “Ugh, yeah. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t,” she said, shoving you lightly in the shoulder. “Don’t say sorry, that’s not what I’m asking for. I invited you so your sadsack self could get out of your house, and people could stop thinking I’m crazy when I tell them you’re actually funny. But you have to get up and talk to them for that to happen.” She glanced pointedly from you to the surrounding crowds. “They’re not gonna bite you, I swear. And if they want to, just make them ask first.”

You actually laughed, and Imari smiled. “See, that’s half your problem,” she said, relaxing further into the cushion next to you. “That’s the first time you’ve smiled all night.”

Honestly, if you were at a different point in your life, you would’ve had a giant crush on her already. You hadn’t realized she’d been paying attention to you, she’d been so busy talking to everyone she knew — which was seemingly everyone in the room. Your eyes fell to your drink again, hoping she didn’t see it all over your face. “No, you’re right,” you said quietly. “What’s the point of coming to a party if I don’t even try, yeah?” You glanced back at her as you took a sip from the red plastic cup you’d been clutching this whole time, trying to drown your nerves. “Thanks again for inviting me. That was really nice of you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Imari ‘tsk’ed, taking a drink from her own cup. “Give it a bit. I bet you someone’s gonna do something real stupid, knowing this crowd.”

“Is that why you brought me along? To bear witness?” You were still smiling. Huh. It’d been a while since you felt like doing that.

“Partially the company, partially so you wouldn’t think I was bullshitting you on Monday.” Imari nudged you playfully. “In a place this small, crazy bubbles up whenever it sees an opportunity.”

You looked around the room, idly taking in the faces of the people chatting, drinking, some managing to dance despite the cramped space. “…Can I ask a stupid question?”

“Sure, anyone can.” She smirked at her own joke. “Shoot.”

“Whose house are we even at?”

She paused. “…You know what, fair enough.” She moved so she was sitting shoulder to shoulder with you, squinting slightly as she scoped the crowd. “You see that guy right there, with the sides cut out of his shirt like it’s still 2006?” She pointed with her chin to a beefy blonde white guy who had just stabbed the side of a tall boy can, and was now chugging for all he was worth.

“…Sure do, yeah,” you said, watching him crush the can with a loud whoop to his waiting buddies. 

She laughed, seeing your expression. “He only looks annoying as fuck, I swear, he’s actually alright. That’s Bubba. We’re in his daddy’s basement; he moved back home from Atlanta about six months ago, when he got laid off. Rent, y’know?”

You winced sympathetically. “Sure, yeah.” Your brow furrowed nonetheless, certain this guy was like… thirty-something. “…Does he ever get to not be ‘Bubba’?”

“Even if he didn’t live here, he still works as a coroner’s apprentice, and his daddy’s the coroner,” Imari said, shaking her head. “So… no, probably not.”

“Damn.” You took another sip of your drink. “And I thought I had problems.”

Imari let out a surprised giggle, her eyes alight, and you managed to smile at yourself. When was the last time you had made a joke?

Maybe there was hope for you after all.

But then Bubba broke away from his crew with a grin like a little kid with a secret, grabbing a shape in a faded purple Southern Comfort bottle bag off a shelf before unveiling it on the table with a flourish:

The Hand.

Sitting there on the grimy table, it looked… surprisingly mundane, despite the way a hush fell over the room.

It was coated in plaster that had once been white, dinginess having settled in as a patina amidst under layers and layers of scribbled missives in multiple languages. You could recognize some; a lot names, mostly. Maybe people who'd been here, or people they wanted to talk to.

There were other things you recognized too -- short messages: 'I want to see you.' 'Open your eyes.' 'Don't leave me.' 'Speak to me.' Evidence of all the other parties just like this one that it must have seen, all the people who must have reached out to complete the silent entreaty of its outstretched grasp.

'El diablo esta conmigo.' The devil is with me.

'L'enfer est vide.' Hell is empty...

You took another sip of your drink, refusing to finish that quote even in your mind. You'd heard rumors of what this thing was supposed to do, but you never actually thought you'd get to see it up close.

You’d seen it pop up in a few photos of people who knew people that you’ve just met, accompanied by strange reels - both of which had a tendency to disappear, pulled down almost immediately after. Videos of people with pitch black eyes as they held the Hand seemingly out of their minds: speaking in languages they don’t know, screaming words that don’t make sense, shrieking and raving at the top of their lungs as their body writhed with god knows what —

They almost looked... possessed.

But in those rictus grins that split their faces until the skin tore, the laughter high and mad and shrill in crowded rooms, you saw a glimmer of something that you hadn’t felt in forever.

They looked happy. Euphorically giddy. Like they’d never known what sadness was.

So when the party’s host looked expectantly at the knot of guests gathered around the chipped coffee table, their phones already out to film, but no one with the gumption to be the one in the chair, you surprised even yourself when you didn’t immediately return your gaze to your plastic red cup.

“It’s legit,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at the waiting crowd. He was... cute-ish, in a homespun sort of way, you guessed: he had the muscles of a high school football star-turned-college benchwarmer, with bright brown eyes and cornsilk hair in a cut that would’ve looked like an e-boy’s... if his shirt didn't also have a faded Bass Pro Shops logo across the front. “The real deal. Story goes its the embalmed hand of a medium -- y'know, those guys that talk to ghosts?" He looked around eagerly for his guests' reactions, and you couldn't tell if he was wetting his lips from excitement or a touch of anxiety. "If you use it right, it'll let you talk to them, too." He preened a little as the crowd broke into curious murmurs, clearly proud of himself. "Snuck it outta the coroner’s office myself.”

“Aw, come on now, Bubba, you work there. Be honest,” called Imari. She tossed some of her locs over her shoulder, giving you a smirk before she looked back to the man standing in front of y'all. “Did you really sneak it out, or did you just stuff it down your pants when he put it on the evidence shelf?”

The crowd tittered, and Bubba rolled his eyes, trying to keep his showman's bravado in place. “Whatever, Mari,” he said, with all the familiarity of two people who’ve known each other since grade school. He leveled his gaze at her, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna do it, or are you just all talk?”

“And end up online screaming and spitting all over myself? Absolutely not, thank you very much.” Imari rolled her eyes in turn, settling in back in at your side.

“You heard it here, y'all! Imari Reeves is all talk.” Bubba stuck his tongue out at her, trying to look rakish but not quite able to pull it off. “Who isn’t, huh? We got anyone here with the balls?”

"Who the hell is that crazy?" she whispered to you.

You could barely manage a grimace, your eyes back on the layers of writing and thinking again about what you'd seen.

The grins. The eyes.

'Et tous les démons sons ici.'

And all the devils are here.

You didn't even notice yourself inhale, your lips dry, until a sound escaped unexpectedly between them:

“I’ll go.”

There was a pause as everyone turned to look at you. From Bubba's face alone, you almost thought he hadn't realized you could talk.

You felt Imari balk at your side, pulling back to try to look at you, but you didn’t turn to make eye contact or seek assurance. This was not something you want to see reflected back at you in someone else’s face.

This was you being stupid. Reckless.

But if you could feel even a fraction less of the empty ache that had come to inhabit the space behind your chest, you’d take it.

You got up right as Imari leaned towards you, looking concerned, and you barely registered as Bubba and a burly friend of his strapped you down to the wooden kitchen chair with multiple belts.

Your gaze was fixed on the Hand, still sitting on the rickety table and looking for all the world like an art piece. A conversation starter you’d buy at a local craft fair on the weekend, like the kind you used to go to with—

You cut off the thought, and when the guys finally step[ed aside, you nearly slammed your elbow on the table like you were about to arm wrestle the thing. “How do I do it?”

“You get ninety seconds. Just ninety, because otherwise they get too comfortable." Beckett made eye contact with a few of the people moving in for a closer look, before he leaned down next to you, the two of you suddenly close. Though you weren't touching, he gave off a surprising amount of heat, and his cologne wasn't unpleasant. More... nostalgic, in a college dorm sort of way. "You reach out,” he said softly, the whole room so quiet that his voice still fills the space “And hold it. Like you're shaking hands with it, you know? Ask it for what you want - say, ‘Talk to Me.’

“And then, when you see them,” he continued, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught him looking around for effect. “You say the magic words: ‘I let you in.’”

At this, the very air seemed to change, becoming… thicker, somehow. Heavier.

Like more bodies were pressing in around you than are actually in the room.

“…And then I feel it?” you asked, licking your lips nervously. Fuck talking to a ghost. You were no stranger to dead people, you knew enough of those.

You just wanted what came after. You just wanted the obscene-looking magic to take over your brain for a little while, to let you out of your own body. Let you just be… something else, for a while.

Maybe nothing at all.

Beckett looked over your shoulder, giving the crowd in front of you another showman’s grin. “You’ll feel somethin’, alright.”

Before the group finished tittering again, you caught another glance of Imari, her doe-ish black eyes watching you with a mix of anxiety and confusion. There was no impatience there now. It was all soft compassion. Like she was seeing you for the first time.

You had to look away before it could break through the numb shell around you. The one that put you in this chair. As kind as she was, compassion - pity - was not what you wanted to feel now. You needed something, anything else.

“Ready?” Beckett asked, his thumb hovering over the button to start the timer on his phone.

It was only for ninety seconds. If you hated it, then that was it. You'd never have to do it again.

But at least, for those ninety seconds, it would be something new.

You swallowed hard, looking back to the Hand.

Before Beckett had even given the signal, you seized the cold porcelain Hand in your sweaty palm.

“Talk to me.”

There was a rushing in your ears that drowned out Beckett scrambling to start the timer, people hurriedly hitting ‘record’ on their phones and whispering giddily to one another as they crowded in closer.

You realized without warning, without even a shimmer of a change, that you weren't holding the Hand anymore. You were holding the hand of someone sitting across from you, as though you'd meant to take theirs in the first place.

The other chair's new occupant was a thin girl in a tattered lace dress, with pale skin that seems almost... blue. At first you thought it was just the lighting down here, the shadows at play, but no. As you looked at her arm, at the hand holding yours, her nailbeds were blue too, and the skin at her knuckles as well.

'Hypoxia,' said the part of your brain that used to be smart. 'Oxygen deprivation.' You knew you were staring, but you couldn't help it; for it to be this obvious, she would have come close to - no, actually, must have suffocated.

When you looked back to her, taking in the frail figure before you, you realized with a jolt that she couldn't have been any older than eighteen. Her black hair hung heavily about her shoulders, obscuring her face. You could hear her trying to breathe underneath it, but it was wheezy, wet and stuttering, like too much air was getting in somehow. The hair at chest level was matted with still-wet clotting blood, seemingly from a deep laceration across her breast, where her heart would conceivably be...

But then she gasped a broken breath, and shifted her hair away from her face.

The wet sound, you realized, was coming from a hole torn through her skin - as though by acid, or some sort of gunshot wound - through the bottom of her mouth. Her tongue kept slipping thickly from the exposed mandible of her skull down towards her neck, which was also collapsing under the corrosive weight of whatever was still eating through her esophagus. You could still hear the faintest hissing sound as her flesh seemed to be eternally dissolving. Blood and saliva mingled in a thick pink river, staining the neck of her dress where you couldn't see before.

Now that her face was exposed, she looked up from her lap -- and locked eyes with you, as if realizing for the first time that you could see her.

When she lunged towards you across the table, you realized hers are the deepest shade of green you have ever seen.

She tried to speak — to scream, really — and the sound that came from somewhere at the edges of her gaping wound was muffled, squelching, but still upsettingly human-sounding.

You thought you could make out the bare semblance of a word. Her tongue didn't work, flopping uselessly outside of where her jaw should be, and there were no lips to give it shape. But her eyes filled in the context of what she's trying to say almost effortlessly:

"Please."

Immediately, you let go of her hand, somewhere on the verge of vomiting or screaming yourself.

The girl in the chair was gone.

Where her hand was, there was only the Hand, once again looking for all the world a weird find from a curio shop or someone's cousin's etsy store.

In her place, you stared once more at the mortified faces of the other party-goers.

They did not lower their lit, recording phones.

Only Imari didn't have one out, but her hands were otherwise occupied: covering her mouth in shock and horror as she stares at you, eyes silently screaming.

You whipped around to see Beckett, who was gawping at you with his mouth open like a fish. “Did you see her?” You were panting, your mouth suddenly too hot and too wet as your stomach twisted in on itself.

Beckett only shook his head, still stunned. “…No,” he said, when he finally remembered to speak. “No one sees the ghost but the holder. What did you see? Who?" He leaned closer, showmanship forgotten for pure curiosity.

“A girl. She was... her face." You went to gesture to your jaw with your hand, unable to speak the words, but it was unsteady. You were shivering.

You forcibly tried to shake your head as if to clear it, but when your eyes squeezed closed, it was like she was etched on the insides of your lids.

Her ruined mouth. Her eyes. Pleading for something you can't give.

"Is that it?” You opened your eyes to look back to Beckett, and then to the Hand, swallowing hard against the gag threatening at the back of your throat. That was barely anything. You wanted what you'd seen that mindless ecstasy, floating in a sea of chemicals in your brain and god knows what else. “Is it over?”

Beckett blinked at you like he was certain you’d lost it. “Nah,” he said, trying to get back into his party persona. He gave you an unsteady grin that just looked like a wince with teeth. “You didn’t say the second part. You just got a peek, that’s all.”

Imari started to rise cautiously from the couch, uncertain but taking the chance. “Look, it's getting late, and we closed today. Let's just--"

You beat her to the end of her sentence, grasping the Hand again. “Talk to me.”

The girl that had sat across from you is gone, but any relief you felt was cut short by the sight of the new person holding your hand.

A man. Older than you by a decade, you’d estimate. Or at least, he was.

He was bent nearly double in the chair, curling into himself, with brown hair hanging in lank, greasy clumps around his face. The hoodie he was wearing was black, but still gave off a shine from soaked patches scattered across his torso — blood, gleaming like an oil slick all over. Like he’d been drenched in it, when he finally took his last.

When he took a sudden, gasping inhale, like he’s just come up from underwater, your skin threatened to crawl off your body.

He jerked up, and you startled again — both from the motion (too quick, angled oddly) and from the face suddenly staring back at you through the hair.

Your stomach twisted in sympathetic pain, seeing the clearly broken bridge of a once-elegant nose, deep purple bruises blooming around both his eyes. If you imagined away the blood and the swelling, he might have been handsome, once.

But of everything you'd seen tonight, his eyes were perhaps the most… unreal thing about this encounter, seeming to be lit from within. They were glowing a color of purple that no human eye could possibly be.

When he opened his mouth to speak, blood spattered the floor, thick and nearly black. A stomach wound, the smart part of you said distantly. Something deep for the blood to be that dark. Maybe the hoodie was hiding stab wounds, something in his gut.

“Sunday’s still looking for me,” he groaned, his eyes unfocused. “He’s not gonna stop until he’s found all of us, until we’re all dead. More than dead. Escúchame.” He jerked closer to you across the table, and you flinched away from his pleading stare. “You gotta listen to me, bonita. You find my cousin, okay?” He licked his busted lips, blood congealing between his teeth as he hissed in pain. “You gotta warn him, warn my mom. He’s coming for all of them—“

He shuddered, racked with spasms of pain and curling again around a specific part of his body. You heard the muffled sound of more blood splashing against the floor. Despite your best instincts, the buried logical part of your brain screaming for you not to, you leaned slowly downwards to look under the table.

One of his hands was holding yours on the table: clammy, trembling, covered with sweat and missing a few fingernails, like they'd been ripped out. But it took you a minute to realize that there is no corresponding hand down below.

Instead you saw a ragged, torn hoodie sleeve that had been clumsily tied off with a ziptie, soaked through with blood that continued to drip into a steadily-growing puddle of red.

A tourniquet. Someone was trying to keep him alive, staunch blood flow, but it didn't work.

His hand being amputated must have been the thing that did him in. No one could have survived as much as he was bleeding over an extended period of time.

But why his hand? And what did they do with it?

"H-hey. Háblame, ángel."

Your gaze snapped back up to find him trying to lean even further across the table, staring at you and clearly in a pain you couldn’t begin to imagine.

For being dead, his eyes still managed to somehow look on the verge of manic.

"Escucha bien, okay? I need your help. You're the only one who can tell them what's happening, you can still save them. Please, ayúdame, I'm begging you." His eyes seemed to gleam an even brighter purple, and for a moment, you could've sworn they were wet with unshed tears. "It's too late for me, but I'll do anything, give you anything, if you can just get to them, please--"

Your mouth fell open, your lips stumbling to form words before you could speak again:

“...I let you in.”

You didn't know exactly what happened next, but all you saw was darkness.

You were finally - finally - weightless.

[I always felt kind of guilty about that Rora cameo, ngl. :'D but I feel worse about reader being so dead inside that they're just like 'yeah okay hold please' to Hector's plea!! and it only gets worse!!! Imari is actually a cameo from the manuscript version, but no one's seen that yet, so it only counts for me lmao

This pensive silence was shattered by two sets of footsteps hurrying up the basement stairs, by-passing the embalming room to emerge through a kicked door into the ground floor kitchen. Rora stumbled through over her new feet, half-balancing on Maxi’s arm even as she tried to push away his support. Maxi in turn was half-guiding, half-shoving Rora’s corpse-like corporeal form through the doorway, his face far more aggravated than awestruck at this dark would-be miracle.

Between their limbs where their skin came in contact, tiny red and green particles of light seemed to bleed from each of them respectively, sparking together like opposite sides of a head-on collision.

Maxi glanced at this spectacle with a deep frown, something he dreaded now confirmed.

It was her, all right.

“You,” he hissed, marching her the rest of the way into the kitchen. “Are gonna get us killed. Or get me killed and get you killed again, which will make all of this,” he gestured sharply at her general presence. “For nothing.” His accent was thicker in his frustration, decapitating the ‘g’s like a guillotine.

Rora caught herself on the high back of an antique kitchen chair, and settled in it with a smug look despite the awkward range of motion from her still-stiff muscles. She regarded Maxi’s rage with a feline detachment, smirking — or something close to that, given the muscles in her new face were still fusing with the parchment-like skin of her old one. “I don’t remember you being such a hardass about the rules, Maxi Pad.”

Maxi rolled his eyes. “I am when my dead sister decides to break the arrangement we’ve had with the other families for centuries,” he said. He near-slammed his palms on the table and leaned towards her. “Which potentially brings a whole mess of people I never wanted to see again — and whom I’ve been avoiding for years, pointedly! — to my door, so they can tell your ass off, or worse.”

“Oh, hell, I didn’t even break that rule really.” Rora shook the body’s lank hair out of her eyes, blinking as she tried to force them both back into proper focus. “We’re not supposed to revive our own bodies, remember? And this one wasn’t mine.” She shrugged, and the shroud fell from around her shoulders again where Maxi had tried to hastily pin it together. She pulled it up again, more irritated than embarrassed. “I found it just lying around. It’s not like it was occupied anymore, and you were about to cremate it anyway.”

Maxi took off his glasses and ran a hand down his face, exhaling through gritted teeth into his palm. “You know that’s not how this works.”

“Says who?” Rora raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t see anything written down in the original pact. And I would know,” she added, her tone flat. “I spent decades staring at where it's engraved on the inside of my tomb. Constantly. I think it’s burned into my eyelids now. …Or maybe that was my old ones?” She closed one eye as if to check.

“And whose fault was that?” Maxi snapped, replacing his glasses to glare at her, only to immediately turn away again at her shroud still mostly askew. “Would you please go put some fucking clothes on?”

Rora rolled her eyes in turn. “Oh, grow up. How many people do you see naked on a daily basis? And in much worse shape than this.” She nevertheless hitched the sheet further upwards. “Cut me some slack, I haven’t been able to feel anything on my skin — or had skin, period — in twenty years. Let a girl breathe for a second.”

The new body suited her undeniably: long, miraculously thick dark hair that would probably shine once she’d washed the death sweat out of it, skin that would nearly glow once she’d scoured away the previous owner’s grime. Even her patchwork face was starting to settle, the skin evening out as the veins threaded themselves together, with her new cheekbones suiting her natural sharpness. The eyes were a bit hard to look at, still yellow and weirdly dry from the time spent staring blankly at nothing in death, but Maxi was starting to recognize the green of their mother’s eyes as it took over the host’s irises. 

For an instant, he was almost moved; he hadn’t seen any living eyes like that in this house for years.

…And then Rora tossed her hair over her shoulder, clearly pleased with herself, and he remembered exactly who he was dealing with.

“Can you at least go be nude in a room that’s not the kitchen?” he sighed. He looked at the chair she was sitting on with a slight wince. “I’d only just had time to clean that body before you decided to steal it.”

“You’re still fucking fussy, you know that?” Rora looked at him with a bored expression he hadn’t seen since she died. “You have no room to be worried about anything, with where your mouth has been lately.” She laughed again as Maxi’s face flushed scarlet. “Oh, what? Like I wasn’t supposed to see? Right there on Mama’s couch, too. I swear, where haven’t you had that—”

“You keep them out of your mouth.” Maxi was suddenly an inch from Rora’s face, eyes dark and voice darker still with fury. “You don’t talk about them, you don’t talk to them, and so help me god, Rora, if I catch you going anywhere near them, I will put you right back in the fucking ground and make sure you stay there this time.”

Rora, for the first time since she came back to life, blinked. It was a few seconds before she let out a low chuckle, seemingly impressed. “Well! Look who finally up and got a spine. Only took you a decade or two.” She leaned right back into Maxi’s face, her smirk like light on the blade of a knife. “You’d really put down your own twin sister, your own blood, for some sacrifice-to-be?”

“Without question.” Maxi never even blinked, his jaw set. When Rora paused, squinting slightly as if to inspect his eyes, he pulled back abruptly and looked away. “I'm not gonna let that happen to them. Ever. And besides, you tried to put me down for a lot less,” he added, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back against a cabinet.

“Are you still on about that?” Rora threw her hands up. “We were fourteen! I was just getting the hang of necromancy! I didn’t know how the chain ritual was supposed to work—“

“Bullshit, I wasn’t part of your chain. You just got bored that summer and wanted something else to stuff and pose.” He glared at her, a touch of hurt visible now. “Just like you did Magnolia before that.”

“Oh goddamn, Maxi, not the cat again.” She leaned her cheek on her hand, bored. “I said I was sorry.”

“Because Dad told you to.”

“Okay, fine, because Daddy told me to! She was just a stupid stray, I didn’t realize you’d cry your little eyes out over it! Shit!” Rora paused, then leaned forward abruptly, her eyes sharp. “And speaking of Daddy, you have no room to talk about putting family down for nothing.”

“You’re just mad because I thought to use him as a link before you did.” Maxi straightened up, a smirk of his own emerging.

“No,” Rora said a touch too quickly. “I’m mad because you wouldn’t have had the guts to try if I’d still been around.” She sat up, her pout turning back into a grin. “And I would’ve finished the ritual, too.”

“Still no.” Maxi shook his head. “Because I bet you all the cursed gold in the basement that you still wouldn’t have found your seventh death. Even after all this time.”

Rora stood up so fast her chair fell backwards, striding towards him with a snarl. “And just what do you know about that, you little—“

“Whoa.”

A third voice had them both turn on the spot, Rora indeed pulling the shroud protectively up around her chest, and Maxi’s hand shoved into his trouser pocket around a spare scalpel.

The man slouched against the doorframe like he’d been there for years, hands shoved in the pockets of a well-worn hoodie and watching the two of them with all the cool remove of someone watching a play. With wind-swept shoulder length dark hair, evidence of dirt on his boots and jeans, and a tan neither of the Morvant twins could ever hope to achieve, he looked like a stranger who’d just wandered in after a leisurely hike. 

But when he smiled, a wry twist of his lips that wrinkled the skin around deep-set dark eyes, he was very clearly a relation. 

“Oh, great,” Maxi sighed. “Hector’s here.”

“Payaso, don’t be rude.” Hector's eyes cut to Maxi, his frown almost a pout. “Your mom would be embarrassed, she kept a better house than that.” 

“Oh, of course, my apologies. Would you like some lemonade? Thirsty after, what, breaking and entering?” Maxi grumbled.

“Hey, not my fault you keep the spare key in the same spot your dad did.” Hector shot him a glare — but when his eyes wandered to Rora, the frown turned immediately into a coy smirk that was admittedly quite charming. He gave her a very obvious once over as he sidled out of the doorway towards them. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your… wait a minute.” His frown returned, more puzzled than annoyed as he stopped. “This isn’t the one from the club the other night.” He looked back to Maxi. “Since when did you keep a roster?”

“It’s Aurore, you dumbass,” Maxi deadpanned. When Hector only responded by looking like he’d been slapped, he went on.“Our Aurore? Your cousin, my sister? I know the ayahuasca ain’t turned your head to mush that fucking fast, come on now.”

“I- What.” Hector looked from Maxi to Rora, his brown eyes abruptly less wolfish and more wide. “What the fuck, man, why would you say…? Don’t.” He shook his head, bristling. “Don’t fuck with me like that. Fuck you, that’s fucking mean. I don’t care if you’re mad at me, asshole, you don’t talk about her like that, not when she’s dead. For fuck’s sake, she was family. She was my—”

“No, Hex,” Rora said softly, causing Hector’s gaze to snap back to her. “He’s not lying. It’s me.” Adjusting the sheet, she crossed the kitchen to stand right in front of him. “It’s really me, I swear.” She beamed at him with a genuine warmth that had been nowhere in sight when she talked to her brother “I missed you.”

Maxi looked down, suddenly very interested in his shoes.

As Hector gave her a searching look, clearly still not understanding, she pointed to the scar around her face where the skin was still fusing together. “Look! I gave myself a facelift!” Her giggle at her own joke was both eerily reminiscent of Maxi’s and clearly familiar to Hector, as he blinked like he’d again been struck.

He stared at Rora with his brows furrowed, before leaning forward, as though trying to determine if her skin was counterfeit. He lifted a finger but didn’t seem to be quite aware of it, letting it hover over the jagged, raw scars around the edge of her face and along her jaw.

“It’ll heal,” Rora said, grimacing even as she gently batted the finger away. “The process can’t be quite seamless, of course. ‘Blood requires blood, flesh requires flesh,’ all that shit our dads used to tell us over and over.” She laughed once, dry and brittle. “Turns out they were right.” 

Hector said nothing, taking in the Y-incision on her chest — which was glowing, oddly, with a strange sort of green color. Like fireflies had swarmed and taken up residence in the gaps between the coroner’s stitching. 

Something about the color made Hector blink hard, as if caught off-guard less by the glowing scar and more by how it glowed. His hand hovered over that next, hesitant, with deep purple sparks appearing from nowhere to swarm up his palm and towards his fingertips.

Rora took his wrist in both her hands, gently drawing his palm closer to the expanse of her breastbone where the scar took up the most room.

Maxi looked up towards the ceiling now, folding his arms awkwardly over his chest. He glanced every so often towards the two out of the corner of his eye, like watching two newly introduced cats to make sure they didn’t suddenly start to brawl.

A mere inch from Rora’s skin, Hector’s neon purple light reacted to the green light emitting from somewhere in her chest, the two swirling mid-air and erupting like tiny sparklers. The lights reflected in both their eyes: Rora grinning in delight, Hector still in shock.

After studying every inch of her he could see, Hector slowly looked again to Maxi, as if expecting confirmation.

Despite the fact that the two clearly had enmity between them, Maxi’s single curt nod seemed definitive, and Hector blinked like he’d been given permission to believe. 

He turned back to Rora, eyes wide with wonder. Silently, he lifted both of his hands — now visibly shaking — to her face, clasping her cheeks in his palms.

Rora’s hands covered Hector’s, and she stood on her tiptoes, leaning up to press their foreheads together.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Hector could only let out a choked exhale, his eyes welling up. “It’s you.” His thumbs traced her cheekbones. “You’re… you’re on this side of the Veil. You’re back.”

“Yeah.” Rora intertwined her fingers with his. “I’m here. With you.”

Hector laughed softly, shaking his head somewhat. “You look… different.” He took her in again, as if truly seeing her now. “Like you got to get older.”

Rora giggled once more, the sound of wind through dead leaves. “You’re one to talk.” She reached up with one hand, tracing a finger down his cheekbone and into his dark beard. “Where’d this come from, huh? You steal it off someone?” She stuck out the tip of her tongue through her teeth. “Last time I saw you, you couldn’t grow one to save your life.”

“Shut up.” But Hector’s voice was muffled as he pulled her into an all-encompassing hug, burying his face in her hair for a long moment and taking a deep breath. “God, you smell gross.” But he lifted her by the waist, spinning her in a circle. “You finally come back to me and you have the nerve to smell like death warmed over. But I’ll keep you anyway.”

“Careful!” Rora was giggling wildly now, her hands on his shoulders. “Hex, careful, the stitches—!”

“No, by all means, you two catch up," Maxi drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. “I’ll just keep an eye out for when They Who Decide roll up to the front porch to put us all in the mausoleum downstairs.”

“Jesus, Maxi, all these years later and you’re still a fucking buzzkill.” Rora rolled her eyes as the two came to a stop, still hugging Hector’s neck. “You could at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

Hector’s eyes lifted from where they’d been locked onto Rora’s to Maxi, the giddy smile falling off his face. “What? Why? This is none of their business—”

“Except for where that’s part of our generations-long pact with They Who Provide: that our family can have power over death, so long as we never resurrect ourselves,” Maxi said, staring pointedly at Rora as he replaced his glasses once again. “Lest they call upon They Who Decide, come to reclaim those powers on their behalf.”

Hector looked down at Rora, stunned again. “You did what?”

“People keep flipping out, but it’s not even like it was my own body! And it’s not like it’s hard.” Rora rolled her eyes. “Honest to god, if you two would just apply yourselves—“

“Hey, slow down, I think it’s cool,” he said, showing her his palms.

She looked back up him, preening under this compliment. “Right?”

Hector grinned. “No, absolutely, it’s metal as hell—“

“Well, this has been great, the two of you suddenly showing up again after decades of being gone,” Maxi said a little too loudly, clapping his hands together. “But I have a grieving family coming over in, oh,” he paused, checking his watch. “Fifteen minutes or so? So if you could both… I don’t know, take this somewhere else, I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, come on.” Hector gave Maxi an irritated frown. “Like we’re really going to buy that.”

“No, he’s serious,” Rora said. She was leaning against Hector’s shoulder, giving Maxi a look of bored contempt. “He kept the whole ‘family business’ shtick going.”

“…What,” Hector said again, looking back to Maxi incredulously. “That’s what you’ve been doing? This whole time? Bro,” he shook his head. “That’s fucking sad.”

“Look, I know neither of you ever gave a shit,” Maxi said, looking more annoyed by the minute with his hands still folded in front of him. “But I thought I’d actually use this bullshit curse to do something useful with my time. Help people, even. Shocking concept for this family, I know, but still.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Rora folded her arms, letting go of Hector at last. “You’re only doing this to keep the mantle for yourself without having to actually earn it.”

“Because I don’t fucking want it,” Maxi said, folding his arms in turn. “Because some of us — and hold on, because this might stun y’all,” he added. “Want out. Want to go live a life with other people, outside this goddamn family, and actually enjoy living without having to serve the whims of the damned or look over our shoulder the whole time. And hey, who knows! Maybe I’ll actually live past fucking fifty! Crazy idea, right?” He threw his hands up in the air as he stormed past the pair of them. “Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us actually have to work for a living.”

Hector and Rora watched him leave with matching incredulous expressions.

“…That sounds fucking lame,” Hector said at last.

“And Daddy only died at fifty because Maxi killed him, anyway,” Rora added with a pout.

There was a moment where the two of them stood there, shoulder to shoulder, as they clearly contemplated their respective next moves. As if their thoughts mirrored one another exactly, they both looked to basement stairs. Despite the heavy darkness into which said stairs descended, they seemed almost normal. The door hung still on its hinges, nothing creaked or groaned.

…Until something that had looked like just a shadow opened bright, opaque white eyes, revealing its height with their placement as being far taller than either of them.

The thing scanned the kitchen until it spotted the two cousins, tilting its head as it blinked at them.

Then it revealed it had a mouth - a surprisingly large one, with many teeth - when it grinned at them soundlessly, the head tilting much farther to one side than a normal neck should allow.

“…You know what,” Rora said, her voice carefully calm as she kept her eyes on the entity. “I think I’m going to go get dressed now.”

“Claro,” Hector agreed, nodding as he also kept eyes locked on the thing. “I’m, uh. Gonna go see if Maxi needs a hand. With the family. And stuff.”

He looked around when Rora didn’t answer him, and, seeing that she had already silently backed up most of the way through the kitchen, he hastily stumbled after her.

Hector paused in the kitchen doorway and turned back, fingers fixed to give the creature the international hand gesture for ‘I’m watching you’ — but the thing was already gone, leaving the light to the stairs cheerfully on in its place.

Rora grabbed the collar of his shirt, dragging him quickly from the kitchen.

When they left, the basement door swung closed, the lock clicking into place.

Maxi was already on the front porch when the little sedan pulled up, suit jacket back on, tie straightened, and hair hastily smothered back into place.

He had the notes from the initial phone call in a leather binder, and was already trying to stop worrying his lip with his teeth. It was bad enough that Rora and Hector were both back and likely primed to cause all sorts of chaos, but this would have been a difficult case even without them here. The would-be guest of honor had been young. The death had been abrupt and entirely unexpected. Aneurysms were a bitch like that.

It seemed the parents were already of two minds how they wanted to handle this. As the decedent was only just recently of age, he couldn’t get around their bickering with a concrete will or anything binding. They were simply gone, leaving a blistering absence in their wake.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar situation. But that didn’t make it any easier.

He made a point to look thoughtfully preoccupied with the contents of the dossier when he noticed the mother - maybe late forties, early fifties at most - start to break down again behind her steering wheel. People who were already pre-disposed to be criers were even more likely to do so when they were parents… most of the time. 

He waited patiently for the woman to compose herself, only looking up and offering her a small smile when she actually got out of her car and walked towards him. “Mrs. Landry. Hi. I’m Maxi, we spoke on the phone?”

“Yes. Hi there,” she nodded, struggling to offer even a grimace in return as he held the door open for her. They made the barest amount of idle chit-chat as he walked her into the parlor (him frowning momentarily at the dirt from Hector’s boots on the carpet he’d just cleaned, goddamnit) and sat her down, cursing both his relatives for taking up his time to prepare his usual pitcher of lemonade and plate of cookies to have out waiting for guests. “D’you want anything? Water, iced tea?” He gestured slightly to the kitchen door, not far off. Even if they didn’t eat - and parents usually didn’t - having the kitchen smell like baked goods at least made things fractionally less miserable. Like maybe they could pretend they were just in someone’s house, and there wasn’t a crematorium just beneath their feet.

She shook her head, as he knew she would. He offered her the good couch (not the one you two had, er, frequented) and resigned himself to an antique loveseat with a much too-rigid back. 

“So.” He took a silent breath as he opened the dossier and pulled a pen out of his suit jacket. This was going to be hard. He paused before he began, realizing she was sitting to one side of the couch. “…Are we waiting on Mr. Landry?” 

Maxi was rather good at reading faces — he had to be — but for a moment, hers truly stumped him. There was a flash of sadness, of course, but something else - rage? - that she seemed to sweep away hastily as she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure he’ll be coming.”

Maxi nodded slowly. “These kinds of decisions can be difficult, of course—“

“No,” she said quietly, and he paused. 

She was a somewhat meek woman, with bobbed mousy brown hair and simple wire-framed glasses. Maxi thought she looked like more of a Spring in terms of colors. He could tell that the black shirtdress she was wearing probably didn’t get a lot of use, maybe something from the back of her closet. Something she only wore when she had to. 

“No, it’s not that.” She swallowed again, harder, like she was trying to choke something down.

“…Ma’am,” Maxi said softly, moving to the edge of his seat. He waited until she looked at him and tried subtly to read her face again. “If there’s anything I can help with in this regard, or in terms of the process, I’d love to—“

“I told him he’s not allowed to come,” Mrs. Landry said, almost too fast for him to catch.

Maxi blinked. “…Okay.” He nodded slowly again. This wasn’t totally unfamiliar either - death often broke long-existing cracks in relationships wide open. “If he shows up after all, would you like me to show him out?”

“Yes. …No.” Mrs. Landry blinked rapidly, tears returning to her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Maxi kept his eyes on her face, scooping up the tissue box on the table next to him and extending it to her.

She took it gratefully, setting it next to her on the couch as she wiped her eyes with one. “I just… I don’t want him to not be here,” she explained quietly. “On some level. He’s… he’s her— their dad.” She sniffled. “I want him to be here for them. They deserve that.” She blinked hard, her face crumpling. “No one should have their parents not come to their funeral. That’s cruel.”

Maxi kept his mouth shut. Sometimes that was exactly the opposite of what people needed. He’d seen that himself. Instead, he waited, hands folded in front of him as he let her gather herself.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “…But he won’t use their name,” she said. She gestured weakly in front of her. “The right one, the— the one she— they,” she corrected herself, swallowing hard. “Picked out. You know.” She gave a small helpless shrug. “They knew who they were. It wasn’t the one I— we… chose for them…” She trailed off again, turning her head to stare sightlessly out the window. “…But they loved theirs,” she said quietly, with the tiniest wistful smile. “And it made them so happy.”

Oh. Oh, oh, oh. Maxi quietly took another deep breath, steeling himself. This was about to get so much worse than he thought. He snuck a glance down at his shoes, trying to think quickly, and for a moment he desperately wished you were here. Not that you needed to see… this, especially when you had probably dealt with some version of it yourself. 

He knew, at least on some level, what it felt like when you weren’t who your family expected you to be. He could only imagine that was far more intense if you actually wound up changing the parts of yourself other people felt they had a right to claim, however misguided their feeling. But he just wanted to be able to look at you, to read in your face if he was saying the right thing, or if he needed to do something else. To maybe hold your hand, or have you hold his. Things like this were… harder for him now, by proxy. It was difficult for him not to wonder in the moment if someone had hurt you in a way like this before. If someone you thought loved you had ever acted like you were only allowed to be who they thought you were.

Gathering himself, he looked to Mrs. Landry again. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and she snapped out of her reverie. “It’s already hard enough to lose a loved one.” He kept his voice level. “I’m sure this doesn’t help.” He hesitated a moment before extending his hand in her direction, palm upturned. “Please understand that I’ll do anything you wish to help them be remembered for who they were.”

She blinked, as if she hadn’t expected this. Maxi tried not to take it personally; between the suit, the pasty complexion, and the accent, he knew sometimes it was hard for people to tell right away what kind of funeral home he ran. Especially this far down south.

Hesitantly, she adjusted in her seat, sizing up Maxi’s hand… before gently accepting it, holding it for just a second. She gave him a watery smile, just this side of more tears. “I wasn’t…” She paused, swallowing hard again. “I don’t know how all this goes,” she confessed. “I haven’t sorted out a plan for- for this, myself, I just haven’t had time.” She laughed, the sound cracking slightly in her throat. “And I figured, ‘what does it matter? I’ll be dead’.” Her tears returned to the edge of her waterline. “‘I know my Casey will do the right thing for me.’” She bit her lip as it trembled. “They were always so smart, you know? And gentle. And kind.” She was still trying to smile even as her face crumpled. “I was never afraid of them burying me. That’s what’s supposed to happen.” Almost imperceptibly, her shoulders started to shake. “I’m not supposed to bury my baby, Mr. Morvant.” 

She pulled her hand away to cover her face as she fully broke down. 

Maxi started to rise, to go join her on the couch, when he felt a hand on his shoulder hold him in place. He looked up to see Rora standing behind him, apparently recently showered, now wearing one of his spare white dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a pair of what he guessed had been their mother’s wide-legged black slacks she’d found… somewhere, upstairs. He followed more movement out of the corner of his eye to see Hector sit down next to Mrs. Landry, handing her a glass of ice water. 

She looked up from her hands, surprised, then clearly a little perplexed and flustered to see someone like Hector smiling gently at her. 

Maxi had to resist the urge to roll his eyes; Hector had always been the pretty boy of the family. Combined with the fact that he had clearly combed his hair back into a loose bun and was wearing yet another one of Maxi’s freshly laundered (goddamnit!) shirts and a pair of his slacks, he cut quite the figure.

Well, at least Mrs. Landry was feeling better, he supposed. She smiled genuinely as he introduced himself to her in a low murmur, then gratefully accepted his offered water and took a sip. 

Maxi had to do his best not to show any visible concern as she did so, keeping his feet firmly on the ground as he fought the urge to quickly knock the glass out of her hand. He glanced to Hector — he wouldn’t, would he? He was awful, but not that much of a fucking monster, right?

Hector must have noticed Maxi staring at him, because he quickly rolled his eyes and just as imperceptibly shook his head. No, there wasn’t anything in the water.

Maxi had to not flinch as Rora lightly smacked the back of his head, as if shaming him for the idea that the most active killer between the three of them could possibly poison a grieving mother. Maxi shot her an annoyed look before straightening up again in his chair when Mrs. Landry looked back to him. “My cousin, Aurore,” he explained, gesturing over his shoulder when she gave him a questioning look. “You’ve met my other cousin, Hector,” he said, nodding to her left and doing his best not to look irritated. “They’re…” He paused for just a second, too used to handling everything himself to think of things they could feasibly be doing here.

“Business associates,” Rora said, giving her a polished smile. “We’re going to be helping out while we’re staying in town.”

“Unless y’all decide to leave soon, anyway.” Maxi said a little too quickly, giving them both a subtle warning look before looking back to Mrs. Landry. “Now then, Mrs.—“

“Oh, call me Eileen,” Mrs. Landry said, giving Hector another watery smile as she did so. She looked quickly back to Maxi, remembering who she was actually talking to. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” said Maxi, just relieved that at least she was starting to feel comfortable. “Now, Ms. Eileen—“

Outside, a car door slammed loud enough to cause them all to look toward the window. The small smile dropped immediately off Eileen’s face, her worried look returning. 

Hector looked from her to Maxi, his frown a silent question, and Maxi’s dark expression answered. Hector and Rora exchanged pointed looks as Maxi rose quietly to his feet, straightening his suit jacket and tie and heading for the front door.

He didn’t make it far, as a middle-aged man in worn jeans and a wrinkled polo shirt stormed through the foyer and into the parlor, already looking annoyed. Maxi stopped immediately, folding his hands in front of him and doing his best to put even a fraction of his usual customer service smile back in place. “Mr. Landry, I presume.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Landry said simply, folding his arms across his narrow chest. “Took me forever to find the damn place. You started?”

Maxi kept his smile in place, but exhaled softly through his nose. Okay then. “We’ve begun discussing the details of your child’s service, yes.”

“‘Begun?’” Mr. Landry raised an eyebrow, the hair so light it was nearly a white line on his ruddy complexion. He looked to Eileen, the frown deepening into a scowl. “We said we were gonna keep this simple. No viewing, no visitation.”

“Gil,” Eileen said, her voice shaking a little despite her best warning tone. “That’s not fair to Casey. Their friends—“

“Are you still on this?” Landry glowered at Eileen. “Her name was Camille. It was my mother’s name. That’s what’s on the papers, that’s what’s going on the urn. Damn it, Eileen, we’ve been over this. It’s not hard.”

“Gilbert, that’s not right,” Eileen said again, her voice already starting to break. “They didn’t like that name—“

“Well it’s the one we gave her,” Landry said flatly. “If she hated it so much, she should’ve filed the paperwork. Otherwise, it’s what we have. I already compromised with you, Eileen,” he snapped. “You didn’t want her in a dress, so I said closed casket. You said she didn’t want to be buried in the family plot - the one we’ve had for years, so there goes that money, by the way - so I said we’d cremate her. You wanted her weird classmates there, I didn’t, so we said no viewing, period. I’m already having to bury my kid without the blessing of my family, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to give you another inch, you hear me? Now, if you’ll quit with this bullshit—“

“That’s enough,” Maxi cut in, the customer service voice dropped entirely.

Landry rounded on Maxi. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll speak up,” Maxi said, his tone just barely civil. “That’s. Enough. Sir.”

As his back was to them, he didn’t see Rora and Hector silently exchange a surprised look. Maxi had always been the quiet, eager to please one of the bunch. This was something… new.

Landry's nostrils flared, walking over to Maxi with a finger pointing accusingly. “Now I don’t know where you get off, son,” he said, pointing vigorously despite only coming up to Maxi’s chest. “I’m the one that’s paying for all this, and as my daughter’s next of kin, I have rights—“

“So does Mrs. Landry,” said Maxi, enunciating every word with ice. “And as the mortician in residence here, so do I. Now, you will either respect the name of the deceased, and their wishes as enacted by their mother,” he said, nodding to Eileen. “Or I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

“Like hell,” Landry sneered. “You make me walk, son, and I’ll take my daughter with me. I’ll go all the way to Port Barre if I have to, but I’m burying her like she was made, damn it.”

“Gilbert, no!” Eileen was suddenly also on her feet, her tears turned cold in her anger. “You leave that young man alone, he’s doing his job—“

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Landry glared at Eileen before looking back to Maxi. “I want to talk to your supervisor, boy, and I want you to tell me how long you’ve worked here - and don’t count tomorrow.”

Maxi stared down at Landry with all the hushed stillness of a cat sighting a moth with a crumpled wing. The room was so completely silent, one could’ve heard a ghost cough. Hector and Rora looked to each other again, as if trying to decide between the two of them if they should intervene.

Finally, Maxi smiled. It was small, and so cold, as if at some sort of grim unheard joke, that Landry visibly balked in surprise.

“Of course, sir,” he said, his voice light again. “It’d be our pleasure.” His eyes cut to the parlor. “Hector. Rora.”

The two perked up, curious.

“Would you mind showing Mr. Landry here to the office in the basement?” Maxi’s tone was even, his hands still clasped together. “I’m going to show Mrs. Landry out to her car.” He looked to Eileen, his smile softening into something genuine. “Unless you wish to stay, ma’am?”

Eileen shook her head, looking mortified as Maxi had anticipated she would. Perfect, he wouldn’t have to find an excuse to ask her to leave. 

She gathered her purse, sniffling slightly in her embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to Hector, sliding past him towards the door.

“No pasa nada, Miss Eileen.” Hector shrugged, his own small smile in place. “I do hope we can work things out.”

Eileen gave Hector a weak smile, ducking her head as she walked towards the door.

Landry watched her go with a venomous expression, but startled when Rora approached his other side, having not heard her move. 

“If you’ll follow me, Mr. Landry,” she said, lightly resting her fingers on his shoulder.

Landry nodded tersely, but still walked after Rora as she headed for the kitchen, looking somewhat intrigued by the woman with the long black hair. She locked eyes with both Hector and Maxi in turn before she disappeared from view.

Maxi and Hector exchanged a look of their own before Maxi offered his arm to Eileen, which she readily took. As he escorted her to the door, Hector watched them go.

When it had shut behind them, he walked through the show parlor to the living room, reaching under the old armchair to drag out his duffel bag where he’d stashed it upon first walking in. Out of a cushioned camera case, he pulled one of his nicer models, adjusting the settings and the focus briefly.

He paused as he made to leave, frowning at the large gap where the couch had been for so long, before simply shrugging and heading for the basement with his camera in hand.

“I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Maxi,” Eileen said, her arm through his as he walked her back into the late afternoon sun. “My husband has just been… impossible,” she sighed, sounding bone-tired. “He has for a long time.”

“There’s no need for you to apologize, Ms. Eileen,” Maxi said quietly. “I’m sure having your spouse being belligerent about your child’s last wishes has just made everything so much harder. Especially when he should be a source of support for you right now.”

Eileen shook her head. “He couldn’t even humor Casey when they were alive,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why I expected him to change when— when they…” She swallowed audibly, clearly still having trouble with the words.

Maxi covered her hand on his arm with his own, and she looked up at him. “People can be so scared of change,” he said. “I see it a lot in my line of work. Loss is just another form of that.” He shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t between them. “We like to think that people will suddenly get their priorities straight when we lose someone, and our whole world changes,” he went on. “But sometimes, that just pushes them further back into their own fear.”

They stopped by Eileen’s little gray car, Maxi letting go of her arm to fall back into a regimented posture: straight back, hands clasped behind him, a product of years of having it drilled into him 

“…If I may, ma’am,” he added, causing Eileen to pause as she dug for her keys. “I didn’t know Casey, obviously.” He made a point to look her dead in the eyes. “But I imagine they would be very proud of you, for how brave you’ve been about handling this alone.”

Eileen blinked, taken aback by this unexpected gentleness. She tried her best to smile, her eyes still watery, before abruptly crushing Maxi in a hug.

Maxi hesitated briefly, trying to decide what would be most appropriate… before gently putting a hand between the woman’s shoulders, hugging her lightly back.

“Thank you,” she said in a near-whisper, wiping her eyes when she at last pushed away. “And again, I’m sorry about…” She gestured back towards the house with an exhausted roll of her eyes. “Please don’t let him give you any trouble. And,” she added, suddenly concerned. “I… I would very much like to keep Casey… here.” She nodded once. “If you don’t object, that is— you have every right to say no, I read about that—“

“Ms. Eileen,” Maxi said, giving her a reassuring smile. “So long as you would like me to handle Casey’s service, I will. We’ll make sure they’re remembered how they deserve to be. Don’t worry about Mr. Landry,” he waved a hand casually. “I’m sure we’ll come to a suitable arrangement on all sides.”

With a last smile between them - a hopeful one on Eileen’s end, a serene one on Maxi’s - he watched her drive off, waving as she turned off down the end of the long driveway that led back to the house. 

As soon as she was out of sight, the smile neatly disappeared, replaced with a grim certainty. With a sigh, Maxi headed back to the mortuary, silhouetted by the already-setting fall sun. 

He could see the curtains fluttering expectantly in the windows as the House anticipated its next feeding.

As he descended the basement stairs, shedding his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves, he could already hear Rora and Hector doing their best to placate an ornery Mr. Landry.

“What the hell does he mean by having y’all bring me down here?”

“This is his office, sir. This is where he handles the majority of our cases.” There was Rora.

“It’s morbid, is what it is! He’s lucky I don’t report him to the local branch of the Better Business Bureau!”

“You knew what a mortuary was when you came here, right?” 

Maxi sighed — Hector had never been great at client small talk.

“Are you getting smart with me, young man?”

When he descended the stairs, he found Landry with his back to the door, Rora and Hector in front of him. Hector leaned against a prep table, frowning with his arms folded as he tried to visibly squash his own irritation. Rora stood slightly to Landry’s right with a finger tapping her lip, sizing him up like she was considering the menu at a particularly uninspired restaurant.

Briefly, Maxi wondered if it wouldn’t just be better to take the scalpel in his pocket and cut the man’s carotid before he could turn around. He’d have to watch the spray, of course - that red pallor spoke of insanely high blood pressure - but shutting this little nuisance up forever, unceremoniously, was tempting.

But then he remembered how the man shit-talked his own dead kid, and then he thought of you. And he decided that perhaps Gil Landry deserved something a little… extra.

“Mr. Landry,” he drawled, his tone casual as he reached the floor. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

“And you did,” Landry said, whipping around to face him - and, critically, turning his back on Rora and Hector, whose eyes gleamed as he did so. “What on earth took you so long? Eileen’s not bright, but she can walk to her damn car by herself, I know that much.”

Maxi froze mid-step as the corner of his mouth twitched. “Straight to business, then,” he muttered, loosening his tie.

“I don’t know what you mean by business,” Landry went on, oblivious. “But you’re doing a piss poor job running this one. I’ll be surprised if y’all are still open in a year, I’ll give you such a time on Yelp—“

“You know, sir,” Maxi said, his cold smile returning as a full-fledged, off-putting grin. “You really could’ve just kept your mouth shut and saved yourself all this.”

Landry spluttered. “Excuse me?!”

“No. I don’t think I will.” Maxi advanced on him with slow, even steps, towering over the smaller man and causing him to back up haltingly. “You were boorish in my house, and you were rude to your wife — but above all,” he added, the lightness leaving his voice with every step. “You disrespected not only the dead, but your own blood.” Maxi kept eye contact as he tilted his neck from side to side, the sound more of an upsetting crunch than a pop. “Do you have anything to say for yourself before you can’t, sir?”

“Are- are you threatening me?” Landry asked. He whirled around, his anger melting into alarm as he realized Hector and Rora had closed ranks behind him. “Wait, now — aren’t you going to do something?”

“Of course they are.” Maxi’s tone was briefly falsely bright again, paired with a grin that did not reach his eyes. But when he looked between the other two, all semblance of it left his face. “Hold him down.”

Rora and Hector each seized one of Landry’s arms and dragged him backwards onto a metal prep table. The two of them seemed to share Maxi’s surprising strength to some degree, each pushing hard enough to get him flat on its surface and hold him there despite his thrashing.

“What- what are you—?!”

“Still running that mouth of yours.” Maxi sighed, pulling a black latex glove onto each hand. “It’s fine, we’ll fix it.” He reached for a silver pen-looking object, checking to make sure the needle injector was loaded before he walked over to the table.

He leaned between Rora and Hector where Gil Landry was still struggling, grabbing the older man’s chin in his hand to keep his skull in place and forcing two fingers roughly under his lips to reveal the gums. “If you’d hold still, this won’t be crooked.”

“Jesus, Maxi, it doesn’t need to look nice,” Rora sighed, rolling her eyes.

Maxi shot her a look before setting the tip of the needle injector against Landry’s upper gums. “Spray incoming,” he warned, before he fired the injector directly through the thin tissue and bone with a loud, crunching click.

Landry screamed as the metal needle was forced through, blood indeed spattering the three Morvants as he writhed blindly against their grip. Hector only looked annoyed, more focused on using the hand not holding his camera to push Landry’s head down against the steel table so Maxi could pry his jaw open to reveal the gums of the mandible. Rora visibly pouted as the blood stained the shirt she was wearing.

“Two,” Maxi said, before injecting the needle into the lower gums with a second sickening crunch. He set the gun aside as Landry began howling in pain against the metal wires protruding through his mouth.

“If you keep hollering like that,” Maxi said loudly, bringing his elbow down hard onto Landry’s nose to shut him up. “You’re gonna tear your mouth when I wire it, Mr. Landry.”

“Oh shit, for real?” Hector leaned forward, curious.

“Oh, come on.” Rora looked less impressed. “My dad used to do this all the time, it’s not new.”

“Yeah, but I never got to see that.” Hector looked to Rora, slightly put out. “I wasn’t allowed in the embalming room after the grape juice accident when I was six, remember?”

“Here, look,” Maxi said with surprising patience, like he was showing a student. Wiping away the blood from Landry’s gums and now-broken nose, he seized the two metal wires protruding inside his lips and pulled them together. Landry started to choke on the blood quickly filling his mouth as it was forced closed, and Rora pushed down on his chest, holding him still as Maxi’s fingers nimbly tied the wires together.

“So that just keeps the mouth from falling open during a viewing, right?” he explained. “But if we keep tightening it—“ As he continued to twine the wires together, the two jaws were pulled closer and closer, a curious reddish gleam shining off the metal as Maxi’s fingers continued to work. 

With a final closing twist, Landry’s jaw was wired shut forever, muffling his cries and his spluttering choking on his own blood. He resembled more a trapped animal than a man then, his bloodshot eyes rolling between the three as he tried to figure out who might inflict the next horror.

“…Well damn.” Hector leaned back again with a lift to his eyebrows that suggested he’d learned something. Turning, he pulled his camera from the counter where he’d set it, taking a few close detail shots of Landry’s mutilated gums.

Maxi raised an eyebrow in turn. “You gonna use those for anything, or is that just for fun?”

“I dunno.” Hector shrugged “You still have a drawer full of makeup samples for corpses, I don’t think you get to judge.”

“It’s literally for my job,” Maxi said, exasperated. 

“Lo que sea, bro.” Hector moved around the table to get a different angle, turning Landry’s head slightly to follow the light like it was a prop.

“Are we just leaving him here, or…?” Rora gestured vaguely, looking bored already.

Maxi shrugged. “Whatever y’all wanna do.” He walked over to a cabinet on the far side of the room, opening a wood-paneled door — to reveal a hidden tumbler of whiskey and a set of cut crystal glasses. He pulled one out before turning to his family with it held aloft. “Anyone else?”

“Convenient.” Hector beamed and nodded. 

Maxi poured him a glass and slid it to him down the other empty embalming table, making sure he was focused enough to catch it first, before he glanced to Rora. 

Rora held up a hand as well, looking surprised. “So you kept some of Daddy’s bad habits after all.” She caught and sipped hers with equal delicacy.

“Not the worst ones.” Maxi sighed, pouring his own glass more generously and taking a long swig. He leaned back against the counter, staring at Landry’s pleading eyes as if pondering something. “I drink maybe a bottle every couple months, if that. Not one a week.”

“And do you finish that with help?” Rora asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t." Maxi's glare was pointed.

“Aw, what?” Rora batted her eyelashes. “My big brother has a crush. I just want to get to know them.”

“Do they know?” Hector asked, looking up with some interest from where he was flipping through his photos. “About you?” He jerked his chin towards their victim’s table. “About…?”

“Of course they don’t know,” Maxi muttered. “God, no. Like I’d ever want to show them… this.” He gestured towards Landry’s limp and moaning form with an expression of disgust.

“Oh, get off your high horse.” Rora rolled her eyes in turn. “‘Boo hoo, my mortal date doesn’t know I hold power over life and death,’ grow up.” 

“I told you to drop it, Aurore,” Maxi snapped at her.

“Don’t you talk to her that way.” Hector bristled and moved to stand protectively next to Rora, who at this was torn between a frown of irritation and an amused smirk. “And besides, she’s right. It’s a pissbaby move, hiding what you are. What we are. You really care that much what some mortal thinks of you?” He punctuated this with a long, disdainful sip.

“The hell do either of you get off saying any of that? My life is none of y’all’s business,” Maxi said, staring them both down. “It hasn’t been for years now.”

“Yeah, you made sure of that,” Hector muttered.

“You left first, may I remind you?” Maxi's glare suddenly held a newfound layer of hurt. “And even when I did find you again, all you wanted to do was kill people at random. Just whatever got you off, no decision-making, no thought to it—“

“First of all, fuck you, you know that wasn’t my fault. And second, don’t act like you weren’t just as fine with doing things the ‘easy’ way as I was, pendejo,” Hector retorted. “Admit it, it was fun. You had fun, covered in blood and god knows what else, just listening for the music in people’s veins. I don’t know where you get the stones to suddenly act like you weren’t right there with me the whole time—”

“We had no point. No purpose.” Maxi’s teeth were clenched. “We were dogs chasing anything that moved — no, less than that. We were gonna be stuck in an endless cycle forever, fucking around in the desert killing whoever we came across—”

“Speak for yourself, guy. I was doing fine.” Hector held up his hands, fingers spread. “You were the one who had that whole existential meltdown thing and bailed on me.”

“And how many times have you started your Chain over since then, Hex?” Maxi asked flatly, as if this question proved his point.

Hector’s jaw clenched, glaring Maxi down despite his clear embarrassment. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, right, like you’ve made so much progress being a goody-two-shoes teetotaler about all this,” Rora said, putting a protective hand on Hector’s shoulder. “And just how far along are you then?” The question dripped with venom.

“I have six.” Maxi didn’t look at either of them as he took another sip of his whiskey.

He continued not to meet their eyes as their stunned silence filled the room, leaving only the frantic bloodied mumbling of their shared victim as the only sound.

“…You’re fucking with me,” Hector said, his dark eyes narrowing.

“I’m not,” Maxi said, turning back at last with a gaze that was honest, if not somewhat… haunted. 

Rora shook her head. “Bullshit. There’s no way.” She looked between the two. “I’ve been here, in this House, the whole time. I would have seen you get six links.”

Maxi pulled the latex gloves off his pianist’s fingers. “Dad was my first, the Tyrant,” he said, counting off a thumb on his left hand. “And you were still… elsewhere, for that one.” 

Rora looked away, suddenly sheepish. 

“I got two through four when I left for a while. Hell, I was with you for two of those.” He nodded in Hector’s direction. “The rest I got when I came back and opened up again.”

Hector frowned. “I thought I imagined those when I was high.”

“You were high,” Maxi rolled his eyes, although it wasn’t without a hint of affection. “Kept talking about the pretty glowing lights both times, while I had to drag the bodies off myself in the middle of—“

“But which two?” Hector interrupted. “What ones could you have possibly found over there?”

“The Martyr and the Healer.” He shrugged.

“Oh, fuck off,” Hector groaned, shooting Maxi a dirty look. “You found two of the hardest deaths and I was right there? Fucking seriously?”

“So what are you missing?” Rora cut in, wanting to get straight to the point.

Maxi’s gaze was listless as he took another sip. “You know which one I’m missing. It’s the one everyone misses.”

“The Obsession,” Rora said, half to herself. 

Maxi merely hummed in the affirmative, his eyes distant, not quite focused on them.

“Oh,” Hector suddenly seemed to cheer up considerably. “Well, shit, okay. So you’re really not even close then.” He stroked his beard as he looked back down at his camera, his eyes bright again. “I still have time.”

“And what’re you at?” Maxi drawled, looking to Hector skeptically.

“Four, fuck you very much.” Hector straightened up to his full height. “So you better watch your back, because we both know I can close that gap like nothing.” He snapped his fingers sharply for emphasis.

“Is one of the ones you’re missing also the Obsession?” Maxi shot back, sounding almost bored.

Hector looked back down to his camera with a small sulking frown instead of answering.

“Mm-hm.” Maxi finished the glass in his hand. “I think my back’s just fine, thank you.” He looked to Rora. “And I’m guessing your Chain broke when you kicked it the first time.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rora said, her eyes like ice. “I can find the first five in no time.”

“But between the three of us — and, I mean this with all the love in the world, especially you two,” Maxi deadpanned. “No one is finding the Obsession anytime soon. So I don’t know what y’all are doing here, thinking y’all have any claim to the title. They Who Decide can throw a hissy fit right there on the front porch, if they want to, but if none of us have a full Chain, then they can’t do shit about it. I mean, hell, if they want to, they can take it up with the ones who set the damn spell.” He nodded towards the grate in the prep room floor. “But I doubt it would go anywhere.” He sat back against the counter with a theatrical ‘aw, shucks’ shrug. He’d obviously been thinking about this for a long while, and seemed rather content with this little loophole.

“…But you’re not actually missing the Obsession,” Rora said, having watched Maxi without blinking for quite a few minutes now. “Are you?”

Maxi’s smile faltered as his eyes cut to her.

Hector looked from Maxi to Rora, intrigued. “What?”

“No,” Rora said slowly, circling around the table without taking her eyes off her brother. “Because you’ve been awfully protective of that new little playmate of yours, aren’t you?” 

Maxi flattened his back somewhat against the cabinet, watching Rora warily.

“And earlier in the kitchen,” she continued, slowly closing the distance between them. “When we were talking about them, you seemed awful keen not to look me in the eye, Maxi dearest.”

“You haven’t exactly been the most supportive sister in the past, Ror,” Maxi said, tone even. “And you’ll forgive me if I want to keep that part of my life to myself.” That said, he pushed off from the counter, walking towards where Landry was still wriggling and meebling weakly on the table through the immense blinding pain in his mouth. “Anyway, I was going to—“

Hector moved quickly around the other side of the table to cut him off as Rora walked up behind him, and together, the two of them shoved him around before pinning him with his back against the other embalming table.

Maxi was a bit quicker on the draw than their victim, cracking a left hook right into Hector’s lip and busting it wide open as he went down. Hector hissed in pain but only redoubled his efforts, putting all his weight on Maxi’s shoulder and right arm so he couldn’t sit up.

“If you don’t let the fuck go of me right the fuck now, I’ll have both your molars—“ Maxi snarled, only to have Rora shove his own disposable gloves in his mouth as a gag.

“Hush now.” She leaned hard on Maxi’s left arm to pin it down, inspecting his eyes.

Maxi was still yelling all sorts of epithets as best he could around the bloody latex, trying his best to throw both of them off, but she rolled her eyes, then pulled a scalpel off the nearby counter and held it to his jugular. “Hold still, or you’re goin’ on your next date exsanguinated.”

Maxi stilled reluctantly, but if looks could kill, Rora’s brains would’ve been splattered on the ceiling. Stubbornly, he closed his eyes, only for Hector and Rora to each reach under his glasses and pull one open as best they could. Rora nodded to Hector silently, and he leaned closer to Maxi’s face, making direct eye contact. 

“I’m going to find that little friend of yours,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “And I’m going to take their pretty eyes for my collection—“

Maxi’s eyes did something  then that only the other Morvants would have expected: they rolled back until they were, abruptly, entirely black. The same reddish gleam that danced over the wires in Landry’s mouth danced over Maxi’s palm, knuckles, and fingers, and he kicked against Hector’s left knee. Hector dropped with a yelp, and Maxi shoved Rora forcefully into a cabinet before kneeling hard on Hector’s chest to pin him to the floor.

Maxi pressed his now glowing palm over Hector’s mouth, and Hector’s eyes went wide as the flesh around where their skin connected quickly started to gray —

“He rescinds the threat!” Rora ran over and tried to pull Maxi backwards off their cousin. “He rescinds the threat, let him go!”

At these words, Maxi’s hand stopped glowing, and the Hector’s skin quickly started to regain its color. As Maxi’s eyes faded back to normal, he abruptly inhaled deeply, like he’d been holding his breath. He frowned, looking between Hector and Rora as if not sure how he got there… before leaping to his feet and, backing away from them as if repelled.

“…So it is them,” Hector said from the floor, sitting up with a wince.

Maxi shook his head quickly with a wide-eyed look of horror, as if he hadn’t actually expected this to be true. But as the reality settled in, he turned and kicked the leg of the prep table hard, unable to contain an anguished, wordless roar.

He rounded on Aurore. “I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE IT THE FUCK ALONE!”

Rora didn’t even flinch, leaning over to help pull Hector back to his feet. “How long have you known?”

Maxi was panting, trying to get his breath back as he ran a hand under his glasses and over his face. “…The last time they spent the night,” he said at last, his voice strained. He put his hands on his head like he had just run a marathon, still trying to breathe normally. 

“So, two weeks now,” Rora said, doing the math. She folded her arms, her face dispassionate. “And you were just going to… what? Let them live?”

“Yes,” Maxi growled through gritted teeth, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Yes, I am.”

“Chale, fresa. You have your seventh, what are you doing?” Hector shook his head as if in disgust. “If you’re so worried about either of us getting the mantle, you could have it by sundown. It’s right there.”

“Get it through your head,” Maxi said, ice again in every word. “I don’t. Want it. I haven’t wanted it in a long time,” he said, swallowing hard. “But there’s nothing in the world that could make me want it now.”

“Nothing, huh?” Rora tilted her head, sucking on the inside of her cheek. “So you don’t mind staying out of the way so Hector and I can take it for ourselves then?”

Maxi continued to glare at her, opening his mouth for a moment before clenching his jaw, staying resolutely silent.

“Sucks for you,” Hector said, smirking. “Because that’s your options: kill your querido, or stand aside.”

“…Fuck both of you,” Maxi spat. “It’s not even like you want it for a good reason, you just want it because it’s there.”

“That’s all the reason in the world to want it, man.” Hector’s smirk became a knife-sharp grin. 

"Oh, go to hell, Hec—“ Maxi’s eyes locked suddenly on something over their shoulders. “Fuck!”

Hector and Rora turned to see Landry, having rolled off the table during the scuffle between the relatives, slowly crawling on his hands and knees towards the stairs and leaving blood in a strange snail-like trail behind him. 

“Would you get him in the goddamn vent?!” Maxi gestured frustratedly to where the two were standing closer to their pathetic offering.

“Chill, dude, we got this.” Hector reached towards Maxi’s instruments table to his right and snatched stainless steel skull hammer. With a calm, patient stride towards the wounded man, he slammed the hammer end down hard onto the back of Landry’s head, the resulting crunch forcing the man’s face straight into the floor and flattening his nose. He expertly flipped it in his hand, digging the hook end into the back of Landry’s neck to drag him backwards.

Landry moaned as he was dragged, but that was the closest thing to coherency he’d ever have again. As he continued to trail blood across the floor like a gruesome snail, now the other way, Rora quick lifted the grate off over the chute before moving to help Hector in his efforts.

“Oh, please,” Rora sighed, clearly irritated as he continued to whine through the wire. “You can't actually think you were getting out of here by crawling like the worm you are.”

"He really is kind of grub-shaped, huh," Hector mused through a grunt of effort.

They pulled Landry the rest of the way, carefully stepping over the grate together, before shoving the man in feet first. The last thing they saw was the man’s mashed, mangled face, his tiny eyes blinking out of sync as his body sank with an upsettingly viscous sound from his wounds down the shaft into the waiting basement.

Below, a few interested hisses could be heard drifting up from the cavernous dark, slowly coalescing into an ominous hum.

“There,” Hector said, twirling the postmortem hammer expertly between his nimble fingers. “Handled. See, you worry too—“ He turned back to where Maxi had been standing, and frowned. “…Wait, where’d he go?”

Rora turned also, looking around to find no one else waiting with them in the prep room. “Well, son of a bitch,” she muttered, putting her hands on her hips. “He’s faster than I remembered.”

From the loading bay door on the other side of the room, they heard the sound of a car starting. They crossed to the door’s windows, only just seeing Maxi quickly throwing the hearse into a practiced three-point turn before tearing down the long driveway, blood still spattered over his glasses and shirt.

“That boy’s gotten so rude since he started living alone, I swear,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. 

“Tell me about it,” Hector agreed. 

The two of them stood there, looking from the window to each other, and something in the air changed. 

Hector gave her a wry smile, still twirling the skull hammer in his right hand absently. “…So I guess we have some catching up to do, while we wait for him to figure his shit out.”

Rora hummed thoughtfully, folding her arms and drumming her fingers softly on one bicep. “And then some.”

The smile flickered on Hector’s face as he realized Rora wasn’t necessarily looking at him — rather, back to the shaft in the floor, her (now fully green) eyes intensely focused on the source of the growing, harmonizing drone, still the muffled sound of many mouths sewn shut in an attempted chorus. He blinked, looking from her down to the skull hammer in his hand, and for a moment, he pursed his lips as if pondering something himself.

After an extended pause, Rora clicked her tongue softly against her teeth, turning and walking back across the prep room to the counter where Maxi’d been leaning. Opening the paneled door, she pulled out the whiskey and gestured invitingly to Hector. “Care for another round?”

Hector’s smile returned, but this time, it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I never could say no to you.”

He joined her on that side of the table, the trickle of fresh-poured drinks muffled by the loud noises of cracking and sucking bones that had begun echoing up from the chamber below. Neither of them seemed concerned, raising their glasses in a mutual toast. 

“Well,” Hector said, his voice low. “May the best man win.”

“Promise me you won't take it personally when I do, fantasmito." Rora's own smile was affectionate, but there was something dark layered beneath it. A warning.

Hector blinked, shaken. "Damn, nobody's called me that in... years." A genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The darkness in Rora's expression also evaporated, leaving her looking almost wistful. "I hadn't said it since you left," she said. Her voice was hushed, despite it being just the two of them there.

They interlocked their elbows, and as they finally drank, their eyes never left one another’s. 

"You're one to talk about being a ghost." Hector took another long look at the body she'd commandeered, but still kept the skull hammer in his free hand.

"Oh, I can tell you plenty." Rora tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear with hers, green sparks subtly racing down the strands from her fingertips as she did so. "Like how I much prefer being corporeal again."

Maxi didn’t even have to concentrate anymore to drive to your house. He could have done it with his eyes closed, if he really wanted to prove a point.

He sat in your driveway, hands still white-knuckle tight around the steering wheel despite having parked the hearse and shut the engine down fifteen minutes ago. Your car was in its usual spot, and he could see your light in your bedroom window through the gathering dusk. But he didn’t want you to see him until his hands stopped shaking whenever he let go.

He’d been trying not to admit it to himself, that you’d emerged as the last link in his sacred Chain: a set of seven perfect deaths all Morvants had to complete before they could assume the title of house necromancer, and a seat at the table of They Who Decide. Every victim served as a specific sacrifice — something the practitioner was willing to surrender in the name of preserving the family lineage.

He knew his father’s Obsession had been his first love. His grandfather’s before him had been the love of his entire life, Maxi’s own grandmother. He had sworn to himself ages ago that while he might love another person, he would never, under any circumstances, let himself fall in love with them for that exact reason.

And then you showed up, that day in the cemetery, and simultaneously ruined everything and made it all worthwhile.

The other thing he hated to admit, and the thing that was weighing on him most now as he worried his lip with his teeth, was that Hector and Rora had been right. You knew none of this. He had lied to you, and not just by omission. If he was going to choose you, over everything — family, power, immortality — a small, selfish part of him wanted to know you were choosing him too, despite every reason not to. 

But would it help, truly, to tell you? Was this not simply another act of selfishness on his part? To foist his own misdeeds upon you and ask you to ignore them in the name of a feeling, against all logic and reason?

He adjusted his glasses needlessly, desperate to find something to do with his hands as he attempted to regulate his breathing. If he told you, and you decided to leave — as you had every reason and right to — would the curse implore him to follow you? Or to keep you there? 

To be honest, magic aside… he was certain now that it would break him completely if you did.

He swallowed hard, but couldn't dislodge the panic beginning to squeeze his throat from the inside. He threw himself back against the seat, his hands raking his hair away from his face so hard it verged on pulling at it.

If Rora and Hector were going to be around, he had to tell you the truth. It was only fair.

But for a few more minutes, he could sit there, staring at the light in your window and pretending everything could still be okay.

[so, major changes from last time in this chapter:

the title - whereas the original title was a song from Nox Arcana that was just meant to invoke eeriness/dread, this version of the reunion felt far more emotional to me because I know just what baggage everyone is bringing to the table, even if they're all still trying to pretend they're Totally Over It and not grieving their past relationships at all. it's still a song lyric, just from elsewhere.

I changed the Chain from needing 13 perfect deaths to 7 - I went back and forth on this for a while, because 13 is such a significant number that during the first version, it just seemed obvious. But then the longer I thought about it afterwards, the more I wondered how much of a leap it would be for each Morvant to be responsible for 13 missing people minimum around/near a town as small as Greymoon, over multiple generations... and I decided 7, while still a heavily mystical number, might be a touch more reasonable. Not trying to inject too much reality into my fantasy necromancy, but still ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Landry's first name - just bc I know a guy with his original first name, and he doesn't deserve all that lmao. now, granted, Louisiana didn't have its current governor when I first posted this... but you know what, fuck it. it's a common enough last name, but if you want to read it for catharsis, be my guest ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Hex and Rora's relationship dynamic - in my first version of this, I mellowed out the strength of their bond considerably, as I was a little bit intimidated by putting something so intensely line-skirting out there in a project already so laden with a lot of my own personal Id-related explorations. in this version, though, I am fully saying Fuck It: it's fictional and it's horror, we're swinging for the fences with the weird!! they were obsessed with each other when they both were alive, and co-dependent/trauma-bonded in all sorts of fucked up ways that rival Maxi and Rora being goddamn twins; it's thematically juicy and we're exploring that!!!

they will both find their ultimate soulmate in their readers, still, and in a much healthier way, respectively. but before then, we have decades of history between all three of them to deal with, so we're Gonna.

anyway!! thanks for letting me yap about my process <3 revising something you love is ridiculously fun and I enjoy getting to share.