devotion.

𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾  𝗂𝗌  𝗌𝗈  𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁  𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇  𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾  𝗂𝗇  𝗍𝗁𝖾  𝗁𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇  𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍.

[enhaloes]

✷  ENHALOES  :  an  exploration  of  how  guilt  can  leave  behind  a  shadow  just  as  large  as  a  supernatural  hunger;  of  the  sacrifices  you're  willing  to  make  for  the  people  you  love;  of  being  unable  to  offer  anything  except  yourself,  and  hoping  it's  enough.  told  through  the  perspective  of  xingyu  “xander”  fei,  the  beacon,  as  he  descends  into  maggot creek.  ⸻  written by  hyun  ( she/her ).

                                        skeleton. dossier. pinterest. threads.

[scythebcrn]

there were many things that didn’t make sense to alistair these days: how his friends never came for him, the fact that his dad had died while he was trapped in the void and he never got to say goodbye, occasionally the difference between reality and insanity, and now added to the ever-growing list was lily leaving xingyu a note to come to their training grounds. a human.  what the hell is she thinking? and what the hell did xingyu mean, we’re here for the same reason. did he even know the reason lily called them there? her note was vague and unexplained, and that’s all it had to be for people like alistair, who knew the significance of this location. but, for people like xingyu? what could he possibly know other than an old teammate's sister inviting him out into the forest? is he stupid? this is how people get killed in movies. “and what reason is that?” alistair looked around, scoping the area for any lurking danger; lily was going to get xingyu killed. inviting him out here and without the forethought to escort him at the very least… but, his sister wasn’t stupid. alistair knew that much, even if her actions may have been. she wouldn’t have left xingyu unaware unless she was some imposter intent on making a meal out of the man in front of him. which meant xingyu did know something… which still didn’t make any sense at all. “what exactly do you know— what do you think I know?” it was rougher, not yet accusatory but nearly there; xingyu couldn’t know anything because there was no reason for him to, no reason for him to be involved. but if he did, then alistair needed to know why, because the last time he’d seen him he told him to get out of there; he expected him to be safe. these woods, maroon peak, the impending meeting? none of that was safe.

[enhaloes]

MAYBE IF THIS CONVERSATION HAD GONE RIGHT, IT WOULD HAVE STARTED WITH A HUG. that after six years of thinking alistair was dead he could say, thank god you’re alive or i’m sorry or you have no idea how good it is to see you again. and maybe those would have been entirely too normal or too optimistic or not enough to wrench the guilt that clings to his ribcage. and now he can’t take anything back, and all he has is this road to maroon peak and the choices he’s made and this conversation. confusion flits across xingyu’s face. he doubles back. “i mean i— you got the note too, right?” he starts with the obvious, starting to process all of this. “i thought lily would’ve told you.” he swallows, remembers all the time he’s stood at alistair’s gravestone, remembers the times he went with her. mourning without a body to bury meant you were stuck with your imagination of what happened, of their final moments, of the pain dealt. now he doesn’t need to imagine, alistair can spell it out for him, and he doesn’t know if that’s for better or for worse. whether running through the what ifs with more exact outcomes of what wouldn’t have happened is any help at all. “she reached out to me sometime after you— after we thought you died.” he winces at his own correction. imagining the time where all the shadows had clung to him so tightly he could barely pick up his feet. and then meeting lily had pulled him from the quicksand of it all, that maybe he could be more than his grief, that he could make something of himself anew. 

“she told me about everything. about vampires, werewolves, witches, slayers…” he gestures towards alistair. the words still feel foreign sometimes, creatures from myth spoken with so much weight, a world that he hadn’t known about six years ago, that often still felt well out of his depth. “and the hunger. the thing that took you.”  he has to look away then, gaze shifting to his hands. bloodless. useless. memory of him, twenty years old, kneeling into the dirt in the aftermath, staring into the carnage. his grip tightens on the flashlight and his bat. “and that we would have to find an end to all this.” as he looks back up to alistair, his voice comes out more sure than anything else he’s said. “i told her i’d be there. that i’d follow.” he stands straighter, like he’s trying to replicate the bravery he saw in alistair before he disappeared, the determination he sees in his friends for this to end differently. “i can’t do nothing.”  “i thought you knew that i’d be here. a part of this. that i can’t just walk away.” searches alistair’s eyes, as if they will tell xingyu all that’s happened to him in the six years since they last saw each other. “don’t you feel the same?”

[prcphetgirl]

catharsis. it was a term her favorite college professor had used when talking about why they needed to address the ugly parts of literature, of history. there was a phrase he had shared that lettie would never forget; sunlight can be antiseptic. bringing things to light, allowing them to be seen, could be cleansing—healing, even. unfortunately, no part of this feels cathartic. if anything, it's making her skin crawl. strange. wrong. abominable. what if xingyu and the others started seeing her the way she saw this part of herself?

"it started a month before i moved here." three days before her mother died, before her life split into before and after. "sometimes, i'll hear the name of the book a student wants read for story time. other times, it's this awful feeling in my chest and then i'll see that thalia's written an obituary for a name that i recognize." for the first time since she started talking about her abilities, lettie looks over at her friend. "this summer, it's pretty much been the same thing, over and over. this...void and then him." it had been so dark, so cavernous, so lonely. lettie could tell that the man was hurting, but there was nothing that she could do but watch. "i didn't know who he was until he came back."

[enhaloes]

HE CAN’T IMAGINE THE WEIGHT OF IT ALL. how disorienting it must be for her, to see things you can’t place, can’t explain until it’s too late. how heavy it must be to carry the knowledge, to be the first to experience it before anyone else. how lonely. he wouldn’t know how to hold it, what to do with it all.  “that must be…” it’s said softly, barely audible as he can’t finish the sentence, can’t find the right words, can’t convey how much he is trying to understand her and feels like he’ll only come up short. instead, a soft touch to her shoulder, keeping steady eye contact. as if to say, i hope you know that i’m here for you. you don’t have to do this alone. because what else can he do for her? “by him you mean…” he begins to ask, hesitates to say the name, flashes of memories from the last time he saw him. “...alistair? in the void?”  he tries to process what she means, that she had seen him before he had crawled onto the banks and everything started shifting. he’s not sure he’s ready to ask what she’d seen, to know what his choices—or lack of choices—led to. he’s watching the way her face shifts as she talks about all her visions. maybe it’s not fair to ask to begin with.  “have you told him? that you saw him? or… does everyone else know, about your dreams?”

[noctxrne]

IT'S AMUSING THE WAY HIS HEART FLUTTERS while his jaw remains set. a willful display of bravery. it's admirable — with any luck, it won't get him killed. ❛ i suppose that’s better than throwing a football at them. ❜

straightforward indeed. rylan’s gaze follows his to their knife, lips curving into a smirk. ❛ you could say that. ❜ they toss the dagger loosely, smooth wood slicing through the air before once more finding their grip.

experience makes their movements fluid, careless in a way that betrayed centuries of practice. if anything, it takes more thought to maintain a human pace than it did to plan their approach.

still, he’s new. the way they were once. so, they slow half a stride, no longer leading. ❛ remember, they aren't like other vampires. they've lost the ability of rational thought. they won't hesitate, even if it means their death. they will go for the obvious kill. ❜

they’re hunting a group, and from the footprints on the ground, there are at least four ferals. not too many to handle, but they would be unpredictable. ❛ and never let them get behind you. that’s where they’re most dangerous. ❜

with minds clouded by hunger, group cooperation should prove difficult. perhaps if the pair could draw them close enough, they would tear each other's throats out. then, as an afterthought, ❛ do you have any silver on you? ❜ they don’t carry any, for obvious reasons, but it could prove useful. ❛ a necklace, a ring… a stake. ❜ teeth flash in a grin at the last suggestion. ❛ worth a shot. ❜

[enhaloes]

HE APPRECIATES THAT THEY SLOW DOWN, EVEN JUST A FRACTION, and in turn he tries to match their pace better, learn from the way they’re carrying themselves through the graveyard.  they will go for the obvious kill.  “right.” xingyu nods once, a sharp inhale to try and calm that racing heart of his. someone like him should say no, turn around, stay back, let someone else handle it. but he imagines the carnage the ferals could leave in their wake if they make it out of god’s acre. remembers what happened the last time he couldn’t act, the memory prodding him at the base of his spine, propelling him forward.  he needs to prove to himself that he’s not the person he once was. that he can be trusted to follow the others on whatever it takes to end the hunger. 

“don’t let them get behind me,” he repeats under his breath, nods again as he looks around once more at that thought. luckily, before they had departed, he had remembered that fact about silver. “i have this…” he says, cautiously, because sometimes it still feels like he’s just playing into myth, even if he knows it to be real. xingyu holds out his arm to show them a plain silver bracelet he got from harbor pawn & loan a few weeks ago, metal glistening in the moonlight. on his index finger shines a ring, where he instinctively runs his thumb along the floral design engraved into it. a present from his grandparents, one he hopes he doesn’t have to use, even if there may not be a choice.  “how much will it really slow them down?” he asks, eyeing the footprints then looks out into the darkness, where they could be hiding anywhere. “...will it be enough?”

[heartfled]

›› closed starter for xingyu fei ⸻ july 11th, 2:06 p.m. at elderberry bakery. @enhaloes

ece had always known magnolia creek was full of ghosts—she'd just never anticipated becoming one herself. nearly a month returned and she couldn't shake the feeling that her homecoming was more akin to a haunting. like a phantom trapped in place, unable to move on, she's forced to retrace the steps of a life she'd tried very hard to make sure no longer belonged to her. and it was agonizing. more than ece ever imagined. because every corner was a reckoning, a reminder that while she was busy outgrowing her past, what she'd left behind hadn't simply ceased to exist in her absence, either. it wasn't something she'd had to think about in new york where her life was a constant blur of movement; running away from something was always easier when there was someplace to run towards. but in magnolia creek, there was no running. it wasn't a lesson she needed repeated twice. if one asked her about it later, ece might say that sentiment is why she ended up at the bakery in the first place. that is was nothing more than a way to showcase the fact that she had no qualms confronting the past, and plus, where else was she meant to get a halfway decent croissant, anyway? no mention of old flames, or birthdays, or the knowledge six years of separation hadn't been enough to erase. no mention that a part of her was searching for reprieve, for something that had stayed the same even if she hadn't. she's staring at the strawberry cheesecake like she can burn a hole through the glass. it's enough to make ece jump when the cashier speaks again, too startled to make sense of the words right away. an unwarranted wave of nausea accompanies the realization that they're asking if she'd like to add anything else to her order, and it's only when their eyes glance towards the cheesecake that ece decides this venture was ridiculous. "you know what," manicured fingers rummage through her purse for the first bill she can find, a crumpled twenty shoved hastily in their direction. "cancel that." it was entirely too much for the single croissant she'd asked for and no longer had any plans on receiving, but ece didn't care, the overwhelming urge to get out get out get out taking over her body. she's only a few feet from the door when it swings open again, the bell above cutting through the afternoon chatter like an alarm. for a moment, the world stops moving.

for a moment, she's seventeen again. untouched by the hunger, unchained to a prophecy, and the only future she'd ever known wore xingyu fei's face. but the face in front of her isn't the one she remembers, or even the one she'd sometimes let herself dream about coming to find her in new york on nights the quiet got too loud and she wasn't strong enough to keep everything she'd left behind buried. her eyes are unashamed in their roving, drinking in the details of all the ways age had changed him like maybe ece was planning on not seeing him for another six years after this. she's not sure how long she stands there staring, only that she speaks first. "i was just leaving." no hi, certainly no happy birthday. no anything to convey even a modicum of the emotions swirling up her ribcage. only her feet don't work, her body making no effort to move, her eyes still glued to his.

[enhaloes]

SOMETIMES, THE HAUNTING COMES NOT FROM A CURSE, OR A MONSTER, OR ANY SUPERNATURAL ENTITY AT ALL. sometimes all it takes is the question of what could have been. xingyu has played that game more times than he’d like to admit. it’s dangerous, standing on the crossroads of the past, trying to peer down a closed path and imagine what life would be like, conjure something from the haze of a future that doesn’t belong to him. what if he had run away that night on the field? what if he ran in? what if he left magnolia creek and never looked back? what if he had followed ece? staying in magnolia creek meant that question sneaks up on him easily, taps him on the shoulder to say hello when he least expects it. like the last time he walked into briar & bramble, where the florist asked if he was still with that girlfriend of his, getting flowers for her again. or hours ago, sitting on that bench with lettie and he couldn’t help but gaze out towards the creaky wooden platform where he’d once walked with ece, on this day many years ago.  or right now, as he pushes into elderberry bakery. the last time he stood in front of her like this, he couldn’t give the answer she wanted, or the answer he thought she wanted, the answer he would’ve given if she had asked him anytime prior to halloween. he had stared at her, then, trying to wrench the right response from the sands of a future he had once seen with her, the expectations that they had set for themselves. and yet when he pulled his hands from the earth, all of it fell away and he was left with only his hands and a memory he knew he couldn’t walk away from.

“ece.” it’s pronounced more like an exhale, like saying her name aloud again has lured the past to come rushing towards his chest, press down on his lungs.

xingyu had heard about her return, that she was somewhere in town. he had thought about what it’d be like to see her again, to see if anything he knew of her still held true. if she still had the same coffee order, or the same favorite band. if she found what she was looking for in new york. and what would she see in him? maybe a straighter spine, a heart more exposed, a gaze just as soft but the naivety burned away. he’s staring too, studying her face for all the things that have changed and all the ways she’s the same. like maybe she isn’t real, or that she’ll disappear if he blinks, evaporate if he moves an inch, says anything more. or like maybe he can find the answers to what's down that other path if he just stares longer.  “i…” i was just passing through. i didn’t think i would run into you like this. none of the right words come forth, like the past and future are colliding to constrict his throat. he's forgotten what he even came here for, that today is his birthday, that tonight he'll have to hike maroon peak. but then she finds her words first. i was just leaving.  “wait,” he says, gentle, unsure of how quiet or how loud he’s speaking, the din of the bakery drowned out. his fingertips twitch, but he still can’t move. he blinks a few times. she’s still there. “could you—” a pause, like he’s asking the impossible. “—stay? to talk? or— it’s just…”  xingyu notices he’s standing in front of the exit, the people in the bakery are beginning to turn their heads curiously at them. swallows. shakes his head once as if it’ll clear his thoughts, as if it’ll help him find the right thing to say to relieve the weight on his chest. gaze still on hers. just like six years ago, he doesn’t want to hold her here if she doesn’t want to stay. so an addition stumbles out.  “if you have some time. to spare.”

[moralcompcss]

where:  xingyu's  house @enhaloes

when:  july  11th,  8:19am

in  his  earlier  years,  kaden  had  resigned  to  the  fact  that  he  might  not  ever  have  a  best  friend,  so  easily  repelling  through  friendship  groups  with  no  true  attachment.  he  had  never  imagined  a  lifetime  when  he  would  be  so  attached,  so  interlinked  with  another  person  that  he  would  have  felt  that  there  wasn't  enough  in  the  world  that  he  could  do  with  them.  there  were  times  when  he  wondered  how  over  the  past  six  years,  he  had  been  given  the  first  true  luck  of  his  life  when  it  came  to  being  given  the  gift  of  being  close  to  someone  like  xingyu.  the  worst  day  of  his  life  had  led  to  one  of  his  strongest  bonds;  it  was  crazy  how  life  worked.

standing  on  the  doorstep,  the  cake  tin  balanced  in  his  hand,  the  rapping  on  the  door  not  unfamiliar  from  him  even  at  this  hour,  especially  on  this  day.  the  years  had  fallen  away,  barriers  that  had  existed  no  longer  existed  and  kaden  was  sure  that  on  this  day...  just  for  one  more...  he  wanted  to  be  human.  to  live  in  a  world  where  the  only  thing  on  his  mind  was  the  person  that  he  loved  the  most  and  seeing  a  smile  on  his  face,  seeing  him  understand  how  important  he  was.  he  couldn't  believe  there  had  been  a  time  when  this  was  just  any  other  day...

when  the  door  opens,  free  hand  moves  to  adjust  the  lid,  revealing  beneath  a  strawberry  cheesecake  (or  what  may  be  considered  as  one),  whipped  cream  hiding  the  sins  of  bad  craftmanship.  pink  sticky  note  taken  from  his  nieces  stash  and  the  final  version  of  many  crumbled  trash  can  versions  reading  a  simply  happy  birthday.  "i  know  i'm  early,  but  i  couldn't  wait  for  you  to  get  here,"  he  jokes,  the  grin  on  his  face  spreading  when  he  announces,  "happy  birthday,  xingyu."

as  if  he  couldn't  stand  the  seriousness,  eye  contact  broken  momentarily,  "well,  in  one  minute  and  39  seconds…"

[enhaloes]

IF THERE WAS ONE PERSON WHO COULD STAVE OFF THE SHARP EDGE OF MEMORY and let him set down the weight upon his shoulders, it was kaden. being with him was like remembering what it was like to breathe before guilt had alighted upon his chest with talons at his throat. if there was anything to be grateful for in the aftermath of that night, it was certainly this. this morning, he’s thinking about the note lily left, about the trek he’ll have to make later tonight to maroon peak. combined with his lack of sleep lately, it’s nearly enough to distract him from the fact that today is his birthday. but the knock on the door dissipates his worries, brings him back to the present. it’s instantaneous, the way his eyes light up, smile forming easily. grateful, that despite everything, at least they still had this. he spies kaden through the peephole and swings the door open. laughter escapes, eyes crinkling at the corners as he spies the cake with his favorite flavor, kaden’s handwriting on the sticky note. 

“thank you,” he says with sincerity, but truthfully he thinks that there’s not enough words to communicate the magnitude with which he means it, beyond just keeping this tradition of theirs alive. if to be known is to be loved, he certainly thinks that in this moment he can feel the full meaning of the statement.  a glance down at his watch affirms the accuracy of kaden’s statement. “minute and thirty-six seconds now,” he jokes in return, swinging the door wider to invite him in. leads them to the small dining table in the corner. he rubs his eyes once, looks at the cake again, then back to kaden. “thank you,” he repeats, as if kaden could’ve possibly missed it the first time. he wants to preserve the normalcy of it all, but he knows that today may be anything but, and more honesty spills forth.  “i think with everything going on, i almost forgot what today was.”

[prcphetgirl]

some kind of direction. for a moment, lettie almost mentions the library, her and lily's late night (or was it early morning?) trek through a room the librarian had never seen. if anything gave direction, it was a prophecy, however vague and sinister they tended to be (in stories this is the first she's encountered in reality). despite her vision leading them to it, it doesn't quite feel like her secret to share, and so she leaves it be.

the gentleness in her friend's voice is what ultimately brings her to answer. mindlessly tapping her fingers against the bottle of water, lettie gives a small nod before her gaze shifts from her hands to the waves across from their bench. "my mother was from magnolia creek." it wasn't exactly a secret, the devaux name an old and familiar one in the town. it was a name synonymous with suspicion, with whispers, with a debt never fully paid. she had not understood all that came with it until she had arrived just over six years ago; she still isn't sure she fully understands.

perhaps the familial connection was enough to explain her involvement, but lettie continues. the words feel odd on her tongue, as if the muscle isn't used to such honesty. "i've been dreaming about it...whatever's happening. or has happened, or will happen. i can't really tell the difference sometimes." when her visions dreams visions came, time didn't work the way that it was supposed to.

[enhaloes]

xingyu just nods quietly, at first, the mention of her mother causing his eyes to drift in the direction of the neighborhood, roofs jutting out over the trees. he grew up hearing rumors about the devauxs, that he shouldn’t go near the house just down the road. whispers that they were cursed, or that the house was haunted. that a daughter ran away and never looked back. he had figured by lettie’s last name that she must be related in some way. but xingyu had never been one to put stock in the town gossip, so realizing the fact never changed that much for him, never made him question her before. eyebrows raise at the new information, then knit into slight concern. he shifts on the bench to face her better. “dreams?” he repeats, more to himself as he processes it. he shouldn’t be too surprised, he supposes — with friends who grew up as slayers their whole life and he was none the wiser; with a werewolf and vampires joining their circle; with the knowledge that something unfathomable lurks underneath town. and as much as he tries to understand it all, in truth he doesn’t know anything else except being human. “when did you start having them?” he asks, tries to contain all the questions he has but another spills forth. “are they… about random things? about our group? about…” he trails off. he means the hunger, but he’s unable to finish the sentence, like speaking about it directly will conjure it before them.

[griefbound]

matteo  lingers  outside  xingyu’s  door  long  past  the  point  of  normal,  staring  at  the  same  splintered  rectangle  of  wood  like  it  might  rearrange  itself  into  something  he  can  understand.  pupils  blown  so  wide, they've nearly  swallowed  the  brown  clean  out  of  his  eyes.  every  time  he  tries  to  fix his gaze, it slips somewhere else.  his hands go searching anyway. sweater pocket. jeans. inside pocket. back pocket. again. the key's gone. the  one  scrap  of  metal  he’d  sworn he'd never misplace, because there  was  still  one  door in  this  moss-eaten  town  that  opened  without  a  side-eye  or  a  spit-comment  about  him.  the  sweater  hanging  off  him  is  thin  enough  for  summer,  lettie's detergent caught in the knit,  the  cuffs  stretched  loose  where  he’s  worried  them  apart  over  the  years. yeah,  the  trailer park's  got  his  back. they’ll  feed  him,  patch  him  up,  even  cuss  out  the  sheriff  if  it  comes  to  that,  but  the  minute  he  steps  past  the  hollows,  doors close quicker and porches go quiet. now his pockets turn up nothing but a busted lighter out of fluid and a bent marlboro, filter already kissed flat. “fuck.” when  the  door  finally  opens,  one  shoulder  is already braced against the frame, the building  doing most of the  work  of  keeping  him  upright.  “lost the key.” it  comes  out  blunt,  irritated,  as  if  the  offense  is  the  key’s  and  not  his.   “don’t  know  where  the  hell  it  went.” matteo  doesn’t  say  sorry, but  the  way  he  avoids  xingyu’s  eyes  says  enough as he slips inside,  without collapsing onto the couch like he owns the place. tonight he moves like the floorboards  might shift if he trusts them too much.  “not hungry,”  he answers, one  hand  worrying  at  the  loose  cuff  until  another  thread  snags  beneath  his  nails. instead matteo keeps talking,  because  silence is dangerous;  silence  means  room  for  the  blood  in  his  ears,  the riot in his head.  “park’s  still  got  people up.”  the  excuse  comes  out  too  fast,  already  lined up  and  waiting.  “some  stupid  birthday shit.  i  dunno.  whole  place  was  packed. ” his fingers catch another loose thread and pull. “everybody’s  still  asking about  him. where  he’s  been.  what  happened. like i fucking know what to tell them.”

[enhaloes]

IF THE DIM LIGHT OUTSIDE HAD SEEMED HAUNTING BEFORE MATTEO’S ARRIVAL, now it suddenly feels like it’s providing the two a reprieve, softening their silhouettes, blurring shadows that would otherwise be obvious in the daylight. xingyu makes a mental note to get a new copy of the key as he turns on a small lamp in the corner, keeps it low to preserve the respite, warm yellow tinting the room as if it can paint over what’s keeping these two up in the middle of the night. he grabs a glass from the cabinet. pours water as he listens to matteo, slides the glass in his direction. he didn’t ask for it but xingyu leaves it for him just in case. he doesn’t question the reason he gives for being here, just nods. but he can tell. there’s something that lurks underneath the rough edge of his words. watches matteo’s hand picking at the sweater cuff. and then— everyone’s still asking about him. his eyes widen. he wasn’t expecting for matteo to bring it up. the fact of alistair’s return keeps catching him off-guard. he thought he had come to terms with all the implications, but every mention still deepens the cracks in the foundation built beneath him, eroding a resolve that keeps the guilt from hemorrhaging into the open.  a short, dry laugh comes out under his breath, exhaustion wearing down his usual composure. “yeah. someone asked me about the same thing yesterday.” a teammate had called, saying he heard from his parents, wondering if he knew anything about it. “didn’t know what to say, either.” his gaze shifts away from matteo and down at their feet. leans against the counter again like it’ll provide him any more stability.

they haven’t talked about his return yet, about what it really means to either of them. matteo hasn’t brought up his actual name yet, either, and xingyu thinks he can’t bring it up either, like it’ll crack something fragile if he does, or rather it’ll keep something together if he doesn’t. “i haven’t… i haven’t actually talked to him yet, you know,” he admits.  xingyu’s voice comes out quieter, as gentle as the lamp’s glow. he omits that his avoidance is somewhat intentional. looks back up at matteo, opens his mouth. hesitates for a moment before proceeding to ask,  “...have you?”

[scythebcrn]

👤 closed for xingyu fei ,📍 trail to maroon peak, 📆 july 11th, 11:40 pm @enhaloes

fingers pressed to lips. smoke filling lungs to purge them of anything clean. ash falling to the ground in a trail beneath his feet. nerves unsteady and ready to attack at any moment. alistair smoked like he was trying to fumigate his body of the twisting, crawling pests that lived just beneath the skin. a fucking note.  what did lily think this was, middle school? passing notes behind the teacher’s back, laughing and giggling as they tried not to get caught? it was stupid. it was childish. it was ridiculous; and yet… he was the one who decided to come. i hate her.

‘no, you don’t, ali.’ “yes, i do.” ‘then why’d you listen to me and come?’ because he didn’t.  “shut up.” he wanted to hate her. sometimes he felt as if he really did, but he couldn’t actually, and that’s what he hated. she called; he followed. she needed him, and he’d answer because she was his sister, and… he hated himself enough to care about that fact.  maroon peak meant something to them. it wasn’t just a place for the six of them to train; it was a prophecy. their prophecy and if she was calling him there after everything he lost because of it, then it meant she wasn’t done with it. and if she wasn’t, then he wasn’t either. he wished he could hate her. another drag. another lung full. embers sputtering and— a familiar back? he wasn’t sure who, wasn’t sure if they knew he was behind them, but he followed. this wasn’t any of the six; he knew that for certain. tall, nearly as tall as him. a bat in one hand, flashlight steady in the other. shoulders squared, posture good. a whistling tune. alistair nearly stopped in his tracks, cigarette falling from his fingers in the sudden stutter. his delusions had either grown since he’d left the motel to go to this meeting, or that was xingyu. the last person he’d ever expect to see here, of all places, on this trail and where it led. what the hell is he doing here? the last time alistair had seen him was on the field halloween night, telling him to get out of there, leaving him with a single reassuring pat to the shoulder before rushing off to start the worst six years of his life. at one point since his return, he’d considered visiting his old teammate, but he couldn’t bring himself to. before everything happened, xingyu was someone who looked up to alistair, and though he never understood why, it was something he held precious. something some part of him still held precious. an older version of himself wanting to protect the last impression xingyu had of him, from the version of himself that he was now. but, he was in front of him now, in this place, on this trail, and that didn’t sit right.  time sped up, leaves crunching beneath alistair’s quick feet, and he grabbed that same shoulder. not rough, not reassuring, but firm enough to convince someone to stop. “xingyu?” alistair couldn’t fathom why he was out here. even if the reason was so obvious; it flew over his head because there was no way in his mind that xingyu could be here for the same reason as he.  confusion, and a now-rare concern in his voice; the woods of maggot creek weren’t a safe place for a human to be.  “what are you doing out here?”

[enhaloes]

MAROON PEAK REGARDS HIM AS AN OUTSIDER. the trees angle more like they’re closing in rather than parting the way, leaves above him covering the sliver of moonlight in the sky, dirt just a little too soft underfoot like one wrong move and it’d collapse beneath him, swallow him whole. he would never have even known this trail if not for this group. stay out of the forest, his parents had always warned, stay away from the mountain. and he had listened faithfully. in the before, at least. one hand wraps around the baseball bat, slightly more familiar than it was days ago when he had stalked god’s acre with rylan. the other grips a flashlight, steadily sweeping the trees and the path. double checks his watch to make sure he’s keeping pace. he can’t bear the silence, needs to keep the thoughts about what might happen tonight at bay. so instead he fills it with his whistling, an old song he heard on the radio once with his grandparents. the melody conceals the leaves crunching behind him. but then a hand touches his shoulder and he startles, stopping in his tracks as he turns.

“alistair.” his lips part, as if he meant to say something more, but any words he thought he had die before it reaches his tongue.

he’s had time to reconcile with the meaning of alistair’s return. that all of a sudden he didn’t need to go to a gravestone to repeat apologies with only the wind to carry his words. that suddenly the final memory of him on the football field didn’t have to be the final one anymore. that he’s spent years searching for how to make up for all of this and maybe he finally had someone to ask.  the past three weeks have been spent trying to figure out how to approach him without feeling like he was bearing his guilt so openly it felt like pointing exactly where it hurts. but of all that time, it didn’t matter. nothing could’ve prepared him to face alistair again.  the voice is the same, the one he’s gone over millions of times trying to decipher what was said to him when he froze, when all he could do was watch alistair disappear into the smoke. the burn marks on his arms familiar, seen at practices that now feel lifetimes ago. but his face. as the flashlight glows from beneath them, the shadows carve something foreign.  xingyu’s eyes search alistair’s, a subconscious search for what he remembers, sun-soaked memories of simpler times. it’s unfair to ask for it. what are you doing out here?  there are so many answers to that question, isn’t there? all tangled up within him, and he doesn’t know where to begin unknotting it, which string to tug on first. because you used to come to me in dreams, where we stood on that field and you questioned how i could just stand there. because the people i care about are all ready to follow this to the end, and i’ll follow right behind them.  because i’ve thought about what it’d be like to face you again, and i haven’t become the person i need to be for it to end the right way. instead he closes his mouth, swallows. blinks a couple times as he tries to find the right thread. “lily. i got the note, to come here. she asked me to come,” he replies, finally finding the words, although it stumbles out at an awkward pace, like someone regaining their footing. “we’re here for the same reason, aren’t we?” he means the note, but the implications of a deeper answer loom over them. he has so many questions but none of them take the right shape. so he just tacks on, “i thought you knew.” i thought you knew i was always going to come here.

[prcphetgirl]

lettie had spent six years pretending that magnolia creek was just another struggling, aging town. sure, there was the odd rustling in the woods and the feeling of eyes tracking her as she made her way home. there were flickering lights and haunted faces and visions dreams. there was her cousin, strange and wise in equal measure, and the others in her home who glanced at her with knowing eyes. there were the obituaries, the haunted looks on her friend’s faces when october reared its head each year. but with enough small talk, enough distractions, she could play pretend.

xingyu was not a distraction, but running always had been. it was a routine she’d slipped into after arriving in the town, although it wasn’t something she actually enjoyed until their paths crossed. the young doctor was a bright spot in the town, kind to the core. their weekly run was a ritual the witch woman treasured.

slightly out of breath, she gives a grateful smile as she takes the offered water. the cool liquid glides down her throat as she looks out over the harbor. devaux house is just out of sight, and she briefly thinks of everything that’s still left to do before she can move in; it’s easier to focus on home renovations than what’s stirring in magnolia creek.

lettie’s grip tightens on the water bottle as xingyu breaks the silence, and it takes her a moment to reply. she’s spent so long pretending, but with the meeting mere hours away, is there a point in keeping up the charade?

“i did,” she nods, glancing over at him. it’s difficult to tell if he’s as unsure about all of this as she is. this has never been something they’ve really broached before. hell, until the last month or so, she hasn’t broached it with anyone. “i don’t know what to expect, but…it’s lily,” she finishes, as if that explains it all. because if lily was the one asking, how could they say no?

[enhaloes]

THE PHRASE MAKES A GHOST OF A SMILE APPEAR ON HIS LIPS. it’s lily. that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? that if anything, he would follow her anywhere, even if it meant into something he had yet to understand. and perhaps that was true for lettie as well. but something in his gut tells him that the group is teetering on the edge of no return, and tonight may very well push them over. or maybe it was always going to end up this way, decided on that halloween six years ago.  “i don’t know, either,” he admits, leaning back onto the bench. the circles the group has been going in has left everything still murky, dead ends after dead ends. “maybe we’ll finally get answers. or some kind of direction.”  xingyu knows that in the end, it can’t be him to decide any of that. he doesn’t have the training of the slayers, or the knowledge of the ones who have lived at least a century longer than him. he’s come to understand most of everyone’s roles in this, why lily decided to gather such a group together. but what about lettie? he never expected her to be a part of any of this. his friendship with lettie has been amongst the most normal parts since staying in magnolia creek. bringing the subject forth feels like bursting a bubble that surrounds them on this bench, from the rest of the secrets that lurk beneath the town. but the question has simmered beneath the surface, and it’s harder to keep letting it go unnoticed. he’s been trying to eschew his fears, start tackling these things head on. it’s the only way they’ll get anywhere. maybe it starts here. “can i ask you another question?” he asks, with the same gentleness as the wind that skirts the harbor. a beat, as he gathers his thoughts. “about… how you got involved in all this?” 

[noctxrne]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑:  xingyu ​​​​– the beacon @enhaloes 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: god's acre

❛ STAY CLOSE, ❜ rylan tosses over their shoulder, less a suggestion than a command. the ground is soft underfoot, and their boots sink into thick moss with each step.

it’s the first time they’ve been hunting with another, much less a human, and they have taken every precaution. their muscles sing with the fresh human blood, replacing their usual diet of deer and black bear.

for the sake of their companion, rylan had fed prior to their meeting. the man had bled faster than expected —anemic, most likely— and his pulse was thready by the time the vampire drew back. they didn’t like to leave them that way; the phantom thread connecting them a nuisance, an open door that strayed too close to the truth. a reminder of the monster they became to protect those around them. they made sure his end was quick.

out of an abundance of caution, they chew a piece of gum. the pack rests heavy in their pocket.

an overturned headstone draws their attention, and they turn sharply. ❛ this way. ❜

facing a group of ferals is no small task. somehow, the pediatrics nurse isn’t who they envisioned as their hunting partner.

they have met before, a child rescued from a house fire. rylan had a rule of not visiting once the ambulance left the medical bay, but the girl had been so small, lungs filled with smoke, heaving beneath an oxygen mask. when they visited a week later, xingyu was there.

he’s nice enough, and that worries them. there’s little room for niceties when it comes to hunting. ❛ how are you with that thing? ❜ they ask after a minute, nodding toward his bat. ❛ the great american pastime. ❜

[enhaloes]

WHEN XINGYU VOLUNTEERED TO JOIN RYLAN ON THE HUNT, he thought he had prepared himself for it. for the quiet eerieness that always plagued god’s acre regardless of the time of day, for having to follow rylan’s lead chasing something he’s only heard about in passing, for the unfamiliar weight of the baseball bat in his palm. he eyes the headstone that they did. nods once. soft features hardening, muscles tense. with every step they take to push deeper into the cemetery, it’s getting harder to pretend that he can’t feel his heartbeat stamp loud enough to feel its pressure in his ears. even if putting on this bravado doesn’t matter — he’s sure rylan can hear it — he has to at least pretend for his own sake. their question cuts through the nerves. he looks down at the baseball bat. “i was a football player, not a baseball player,” he admits. taps it once in his hand to feel the heft again. it was his brother’s that was left behind from his family’s move. “and not that i’ve swung it at anyone before, either…” he looks away with a grimace. tonight will probably be the last sentence he gets to say that.

his slender fingers, uncalloused, adjust their grip around the handle. it does no use to think this way, and if anything poses a risk to them. so he takes a breath, and amends, “but i think it’s pretty straightforward, right?” eyes meet theirs again, hoping that through it he can promise that he has their back. not that they have a storied history, but he remembers when they had come with the girl rescued from the fire, and the look in their eyes when they had come back, asking if the girl was okay. he at least trusts rylan enough to get them through the hunt. “...and you?” his gaze shifts to the blade in their hand, the curve of the blade visible in the moonlight. “someone told me you… have experience with this?”

[enhaloes]

✷  TIME 〳 july 11th, 9:00am ✷  PLACE 〳hawthorne pier ✷  FT. 〳 lettie devaux ( @prcphetgirl )

IN THE MORNING, MAGNOLIA CREEK ALMOST FEELS WHOLE. the sun crests over the low profile of the rundown buildings, through the tops of the pine trees, light washing over the rot, however temporary. those precious few hours are enough to motivate xingyu to wake up early and placate the past that edges at his heels. the other motivation is his weekly runs with lettie. born from their shared hobby, it’s become something to look forward to. he enjoys the routine of it, of doing something to keep his body moving, if only so it can distract him from whatever had been going on that week. or in this case, what has been going on in the past month. if he can just focus on this and work and stay close to his friends, then he can keep himself afloat. because it’s the people that anchor him, that make him want to be someone better. today, the two have stopped by a bench along the pier, included on a path xingyu likes to run from time to time, partially for the nostalgia of having once lived in hawthorne harbor. he sits down, wipes at the sweat upon his forehead, extends a bottle of water out to lettie. as heartbeat comes to rest, the note lily left him springs forth to his mind, again. midnight. maroon peak. come. “you know, i’ve been meaning to ask…” he starts, staring out at the waves that come to lap against the abandoned boats moored here. xingyu hasn’t dared to talk much, if at all, about what’s been brewing for the past few weeks amongst the group. as much as he’s adjusted to the situation, he still finds it difficult to be the first to broach the subject of… well. where do you even begin?

he turns back to lettie. “you got the note too, right? from lily?”

[enhaloes]

✷  TIME 〳 july 8th, 1:30am ✷  PLACE 〳xingyu’s apartment, sawtooth ✷  FT. 〳 matteo nassar ( @griefbound )

THE GLOW OF SAWTOOTH’S STREETLAMPS REACH WITH CAREFUL FINGERS past his curtains, casting long shadows onto the hardwood, as if etching its own ghosts to keep him awake. Not that he needed anything more to haunt him lately.  Xingyu stands with his back pressed against the kitchen counter, rubbing tired eyes with the back of his hand. He tried to go to sleep hours ago. Last month he had been on a bit of a streak of restful slumber, and as if Magnolia Creek had to remind him not to become too comfortable, the events of the past few weeks brought back an insomnia with renewed vigor. It was like the ground had split open beneath him to reveal all that he thought to have been well-buried. Every time he closed his eyes, the memories from six years ago came surging forth in a clarity that gripped his throat too tightly.  He’s grateful then, that before more memories begin to claw for him, a knock at the door ushers it away. Xingyu glances at the clock and figures who it must be. He had given Matteo the key to the door that opens to Sawtooth, considering the amount of times he’s come to Xingyu’s apartment ( or the amount of times Xingyu has dragged him here ). Some days he recognizes the oddness in the quiet clockwork of it all, a cadence which was not unwelcome, just… a reminder, perhaps, of all that changed in the aftermath.  He checks through the peephole to confirm his assumption before swinging the door open, inviting Matteo in with a tilt of his head.  “Always good to see you at this hour,” Xingyu greets courteously, shutting the door behind them.

Then a smile, even if the dark circles under his eyes betray his lack of sleep. A quick once-over to assess any injuries, like he’s back at the clinic, then meets Matteo's gaze, as if to open the floor to him, if he wants to elaborate on a reason; but it's less a hard prodding and more a gentle nudge. He offers with a sweeping motion of his arm towards his small kitchen, a sense of normalcy returning to him as they perform a familiar rhythm. It's almost enough to ignore why he's awake at this hour. “Snack? Something to drink?”

[enhaloes]

✧ THE BEACON. ZHOU YIRAN. CIS MALE. HE/HIM. ⸻ can you feel it, XINGYU “XANDER” FEI? it’s starting again. something’s coming up the creek bed — and soon, there’ll be nowhere left to hide. but i can tell by your eyes, you’re not the running type. yeah, you’re too STEADFAST and SELF-SACRIFICING for that, aren’t you? just about what i’d expect from a HUMAN. so you’ve been in magnolia creek about TWENTY YEARS now? word travels fast in a small, dying town like this — i hear you’re 26 years old and A PEDIATRIC NURSE. don’t think that’ll help much in a fight against the hunger, but at least you’ve got your BASEBALL BAT. that’s more than i can say for most. i’ve seen this cycle turn before, and i think i know how it ends. you think it’ll end DIFFERENTLY? well. we’ll see. i’d love to be proven wrong in all this. ( HYUN. 24. SHE/HER. GMT+9. )

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