#pyreshe

jim had been the first to bring it up in the casual way they shared their love, gentle and sweet.     ‘ how many rooms should we put in the house? ‘     he’d asked a few months into their engagement, and melinda had said,    ❛❛ well, we need an office, don’t you think? ❜❜     she danced with his baby niece on a lazy sunday afternoon in the kitchen when he said,     ‘ you’re gonna make a great mom someday, ‘     and melinda, grinning with all her teeth, had kissed his cheek and replied,     ❛❛ i probably make a better aunt. ❜❜

and that was the game they played. he’d roll the ball into her court as gently as he’d hold her, and she, ever-stubborn, would always push it back, afraid of what that future could mean. as much as her mother tried to pretend, the truth was always there: her family’s gift had stretched three generations now, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to make it four— even if she did coo at every baby that passed her by, or lay in bed and dream of how amazing a father jim would be. 

but now…

now, jim was gone, and there was no room for dreaming anymore. suddenly, what she’d always wanted to say but never got to stretched to all the corners of the house, through the doorway he carried her through that first night— his clothes in the hamper— a glass of water, untouched, on his side of the bed. and yes, melinda knows in a way only she can that he’s not really gone. jim was just on the other side of the window, his fingertips tracing the silhouette of her hair, his lips at the corner of her own, waiting until he could reach past the pane and pull her into his arms again. but the light doesn’t bring her much comfort now. it doesn’t bring back the chapters that were ripped so unceremoniously out of her life, or the family that should’ve filled the pages full 'til the epilogue. she sat in that quiet, empty house all alone, in a bed twice as big as her, and made the only decision that made sense in a long time:

family would have to mean something else.

olivia’s last foster mom was in a hurry to usher her out. melinda stood and ignored the laughter of a full house just past the door, shaky hands balled into the pockets of her coat. she was nervous in a way she didn’t expect when she’d first spoken to the social worker, but then again, she supposed there was a difference between words and action. she smiled down at the girl and said—

❛❛ hey, livvy. i’m melinda. it’s nice to finally meet you. ❜❜

she thought of her grandma as they stood face-to-face, the car running behind her, ready to pick up a girl she’d only known from a distance. the first thing she noticed was how small she was— smaller than the pictures made her seem— and the fragility of it sent her heart into her throat. to make matters worse, though the crisp autumn air bit at her own nose, livvy wasn’t wearing a jacket. who let her out without one? melinda went to ask, but the only other adult had disappeared back into the house again, front door ajar so the light of the living room spilled out onto the driveway.

in the brief silence between them, they shared a moment.

livvy looked up at her with a gaze too old for her age, and melinda nearly flinched. it was a look she recognized, not just then but from her own childhood, too, the hollowness of her eyes too big for her tiny body. when mary ann had come eleven years too late and whisked melinda from the only hell she’d ever known, did they share this same glance? did her grandma worry she wouldn’t be enough, too?

the moment was gone as quick as it came. the woman returned, interrupting to drop a trash bag at her feet, and, with a mix of both horror and anger, melinda realized that was all the girl had.

❛❛ don’t do that. ❜❜     she’d snapped, and could’ve screamed at the confusion the other wore.

‘ sorry? '

❛❛ treating her stuff like it’s garbage. how do you think that makes a kid feel? ❜❜

her irritation eats at her the whole car ride back. olivia ( livvy, she rehearses in her head ) knows so little about her, and melinda perhaps too much. what kind of anger has she seen that the social workers hadn’t? is she afraid of her already? can melinda make the empty house a home for her, even though it’s hardly one for herself? 

she tries to push back her anxiety with each turn of the wheel, chattering now and then to fill the space between them; she even does her best to ignore a spirit staring at them from the side of the road, thumb up for a ride to gods-knows-where. it’s still not enough.

❛❛ okay, so… ❜❜     melinda begins after they’ve brought @pyreshe's things upstairs, pacing around the girl’s newly-decorated room ( frilly comforter and all ),     ❛❛ we’ve got nightlights, and, uh— some books. i know the bedset’s a little much, but i figured after you get settled, maybe we could have a girl’s trip, just you and me. oh! and— where is it— ❜❜     she remembers what she’s looking for even before she’s finished talking. turning over her shoulder towards the nightstand, she opens a drawer to pull out a whiteboard, shiny and new. a clean slate.     ❛❛ ta-da! ❜❜

melinda’s not expecting an answer, and knows there doesn’t have to be. she remembers the years she crawled into the jaws of her own heart, tucked behind the teeth she’d been taught to bear. she meets the silence with softness, kneeling down slowly so her gaze can meet livvy’s— so she can coax the girl out of the wolf’s mouth.

❛❛ i’m sure this is all a little scary, ❜❜     she says, and cringes slightly at how much of an understatement that must be,     ❛❛ if it makes you feel better, i’m a little scared, too. you know more about this than i do. but… ❜❜     she pulls out a marker from the pack in her hand, holding the whiteboard out to her.     ❛❛ maybe we can be scared together? ❜❜

                                              the astral plane is eating away at him, a place between worlds, outside of the material world. his mind is scattered in about a million pieces but oliver bird is still very much himself, more himself, perhaps. he looks out for the younger mutants, finds them before division three does.    he has always wanted to be what he lacked in his youth, a rock, an opportunity for them to know they aren’t alone. 

                                                 @pyreshe​​ has been an interesting case to watch, others have labeled her powers destructive, oliver has countered there is no such thing as a good or bad ability, their powers simply are. he looks out at the wide expanse of woods, his metaphorical kingdom now a far more literal one in that of the child’s mind. he watches the moon in the afternoon sky, it’s bright out, time slips through his fingers.

❝ I wear my silence like a mask and murmur like a ghost ❞

LMAOOOOO PERFECT

he’s not remotely worried about her being able to draw it. most grown adults can’t draw it; kate can’t draw it perfectly. it’s made for him, it takes a tremendous amount of strength and practice. 

he is mildly afraid she’s going to try and knock herself out, or off the ledge, or any other non-ending sort of horror. he should probably get up on the ledge too. he stands on the ground and squints up at her. 

“you ... have.” he peers at it. “i like the hat.”