memento mori, y'all @morvantmortuary - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
memento mori, y'all
@morvantmortuary
a family-run mortuary faithfully serving greymoon, louisiana for generations. (a blog for the morvant slasher family, etc. by @raraeavesmoriendi. horror blog, minors will be blocked. icon by @pamelasensei, banner by @three-stacked-raccons)
author is Rarae/Rae, 30s, bi & non-binary/genderqueer (they/them). personal is @raraeavesmoriendi
minors still dni
I do not consent for any of these to be copy/pasted/transferred/translated/etc. to any site other than where these originally appear without my express permission, aka Not at All.
podfic is fine and welcome, if that’s a thing you’d want to do for any reason.
I don't do in-character asks very much anymore due to a work/dissertation balance, but you're still welcome to send them if you like -- there's nothing to say they won't spark something!!
obligatory dark fic content disclaimer
reader note: I generally view my Reader characters as non-binary, like myself, but they wear dresses for disguises sometimes and are referred to by some characters with fem pet names, so I mark them as fem just so they don’t trigger anyone other non-binary person’s dysphoria. Gender is a fuck, idk. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
(all the dividers used on this blog are by Daisy at @firefly-graphics, just fyi!)
Morvant Mortuary Vol. I 2025 - 2026 Rewrite
(The main story arc, formerly called The October Arc. Currently undergoing rewrites and updates after a few years, masterlist will be updated accordingly.)
The Morvant Comfort Masterlist
(A collection of soft asks about the Morvants taking care of their beloved Reader. Ranging from heavy topics to light and fluffy preference posts.)
Morvant Mortuary Playlists
(All playlists I’ve posted having to do with characters, AUs, arc plots, and anything else I can come up with an excuse to post one for lol)
Art Tag
(Art of various types done by really kind, talented people!!)
Maximilian “Maxi” Vincent Morvant:
Info sheet here. | Post-October Arc info sheet here.
maxi morvant dating headcanons (18+)
maxi reacting to being bitten affectionately
maxi and the grade school field trip
maxi and kids
maxi and disney movies
maxi’s secret love of musicals
we don’t fight fair (18+)
maxi totally wears sock garters and shirt stays (18+)
if maxi had a youtube channel
maxi’s first bi panic
hearse maintenance
our strange duet (18+)
if I die young
let me dirty up your mind (18+)
general tags: maxi morvant/maximilan vincent morvant
aesthetic tag: maxi vibes
Hector “Hex” Emile Morvant-Casares:
Info sheet here. | Post-October Arc info sheet here.
hector morvant-casares dating headcanons (18+)
no mistakes, know the stakes (18+)
hector’s motives
hector dessert preferences
hex and Just Dance
hex giving magnolia a plastic bolillo to play with
hector preferences: harshest thing someone ever said, last thing he cried over, who he’d apologize to
no confíes en mi (18+)
hex preference ask: childhood tv shows, tattoos/piercings, people he hates
sugar high
general tags: hector morvant-casares/hector emile morvant-casares
aesthetic tag: hector vibes
(the late) Aurore “Rora” Marie Morvant:
Info sheet here. | Post-October Arc info sheet here.
rora morvant dating headcanons (18+)
rora being seduced by her s/o for the first time (18+)
rora and her nightmares
5 songs that fit rora
rora’s tell when she’s lying
light the sky and hold on tight (18+)
general tags: rora morvant/aurore maria morvant
aesthetic tag: rora vibes
The Miraculous Seth Sunday:
“you can call me seth. all my friends do.” (intro post)
seth sunday dating hcs (18+)
storm warning (18+)
general tags: seth sunday/the miraculous mr. sunday
aesthetic tag: seth vibes
Morvant Mortuary (The House, Greymoon, The Family Reunited):
the fam and their s/o expressing interest in their occupation
the fam and planning holiday gifts
Scooby Doo and the Haunted Mortuary
describing the Morvants’ voices
...and now their singing voices!
the Morvants and leaving hickies (mdni, 18+)
cozy winter preference asks
The Morvants Are All Bi (more commentary than anything)
fam ask: a secret they’ll take to their grave, hallucinations
fam ask: what you’d say to utterly destroy them
fam preference ask: them at school, them w/ animals, favorite insults
the Morvants and a lonely childhood (ft. friends of the family)
the fam and their pajama preferences
how the Morvants get off when they first get obsessed with you (18+, mdni)
Greymoon Knows (sorta)
the Morvants each reacting to an unexpected hug
sweetweirds
skinnydipping in the summer with their readers
least to most likely to dance to Hot to Go in public
Every year I write a Birthday Blog where I reflect on reflect on the year, all the things I've done, and what's coming next. You can check out last year's blog, "28 & Cooking"
Last year on my birthday, it felt like everything was ahead of me and I was waiting. Waiting for my wedding, my honeymoon, waiting to announce this project or to start that new idea. Last year seems so far away, like I've lived a whole lifetime in the last year.
First, since last year I got married, it was a wonderful day, week, and month. We had friends and family fly out from all over the world (with our furthest guests flying in from Europe)! Six months later, Syd & I traveled to Prague for our honeymoon, which was equally magical. And now, approaching our eighth anniversary (and first year of marriage) it feels like all these memories slipped by too fast for me to really grasp. But it's been an incredible year.
But what about work stuff?! Surely I've done some cool creative things in between all the big life milestones, right!? Yeah, man! I have!
First, back in April it was announced that I'll be creating a new fiction podcast with John Carpenter. It's too early to talk about it yet, but I'm incredibly excited about the idea, and I can't wait to sink my teeth into it!
Then, we launched Season 3 of Mayfair Watchers Society back in November. Also I just discovered Mayfair Watchers Society has a TV Tropes page?! Sorry, big moment for me, I basically grew up on TV Tropes reading all the cliches and devices used across my favorite shows.
SCP chugged on, as always, and we even broke from format to release twelve episode of Situationally Comedic People, our workplace comedy mini-series written by Hannah Schooner & Giancarlo Herrera.
The Really Big Thing
If you read my Birthday Blog last year, I teased a new project, American Abyss. So now it's time to tell you about American Abyss. Are you ready?
A little over three years ago, I approached my colleague Ben Counter (Out of Place, Warhammer 40k, Project SERAPIS) and asked him what he wanted to make next. He pitched me an idea, and we work shopped it, let it rest, totally reworked it, and eventually we landed on something really exciting. We were going to create a new "weird zone" fiction podcast, inspired by Roadside Picnic, S.T.A.L.K.E.R., Annihilation, and Pacific Drive.
But– Around the same time, I was trying to solve a problem with my podcasts. Advertising our shows online has always been an uphill battle, for a very simple reason: Fiction podcasts are an audio medium and the internet is a visual landscape. For a long time, my solution was to just promote on other podcasts in trailers and feed drops. And despite the odds, we did find a big audience (that's you)! But the prospect of starting from scratch and trying to hit that kinda luck again felt like a long shot. So, I set out to make a podcast with visuals (not a movie, I promise). But, as the project evolved, I didn't want to limit our storytelling to just audio. And it grew and grew and grew. And now, three years later, I'm excited to share American Abyss with you.
American Abyss is a multi-media internet horror project consisting of short stories, artwork, audio clips, and a podcast. Each of these small parts aim to give a glimpse into the world of the Palmyra Exclusion Zone. This world is hand crafted for folks who like to read the item descriptions in Souls games, or watch long lore videos. The closest approximation is something like Mystery Flesh Pit National Park, or Welcome Home (but with a podcast and a zine slapped on).
This all brings me to the next exciting (and nerve wracking) part of this announcement. We need your help to make American Abyss. We've put in a lot of work into this project, and we have about the first 4-5 months of content done. But we have a lot more story to tell. So here's what we're going to do:
Our Kickstarter launches on August 21
In the month between now and launch, we'll be uploading the first month-ish of content for you to listen to, including:
two podcast episodes
weekly artwork
and some "artifacts" recovered from the zone
Please help us spread the word by following our new project on social media, and reblogging our artwork! We're on Discord, Tumblr, BlueSky, Instagram, and YouTube
But that's not it! It's my birthday, so I come bearing gifts (That's how it works, right?) The first podcast episode is available right now on Youtube and so is the first artwork/artifact (and a couple of other smaller ones).
Something foul grew within our city, it poisoned the water in the well. Out of the festering growth, a homegrown militia with stockpiled wea
American Abyss is a team effort. And boy oh boy, do we have a killer team. Check it out:
Trevor Henderson (Siren Head, Cartoon Cat)
Eduardo Valdés-Hevia (Book of Bill, Home Safety Hotline)
Trevor Roberts (Mystery Flesh Pit National Park)
Ben Counter (Warhammer 40k, Out of Place)
Nic Boone (Dead by Daylight, League of Legends)
Mattie roi Berger (Fall of the House of Sunshine, SCP Archives)
Kayla Temshiv (Something's Amiss at Juniper's House)
Jesse Hall (Tales of Thattown, Jesse's Lockbox Anthology)
Marisa E. Cardin (Jax Cassaway novels, Mayfair Watchers Society)
and Pacific S. Obadiah (that's me)!
Interested? Then check out our Kickstarter! And don't forget to head over to AmericanAbyss.org and check out the first few posts! We'll have new content every Friday.
Is it bad that I need Hex and Reader watching the World Cup and reader having to comfort him after México’s lost?
first of all,
I'm sorry, babe 😭 they played their hearts out and impressed the whole world. it's not the same as a win, but everyone can be proud of them beyond words. I'm not even really a sports person in general, and I wanted Mexico to get it more than I wanted my own home team to get it :'D
second of all: ...you know what, I'm still underemployed and I have more time now than I have for a while. yeah, I can say I still take requests!! (I just have to make sure I don't get too hung up on Making Them Perfect and then end up accidentally never posting like I have previously (⁄ ⁄•⁄Д⁄•⁄ ⁄) )
so here's this one. it's not long, but I hope it helps 🖤🫂
note 7/20/26: I've been writing this since you sent it to me, I'm sorry it took so long!! explanation in the after notes. :'D I hope you still like it!! 💜
Achicopala
Before this year's World Cup started, you knew Hector was into soccer ("Don't call it that, it's fútbol," being his frequent refrain), but he'd been relatively low key about it. He'd told you once or twice about going to matches with the Casares side of the family back when he was still living with his mom, sure, but you'd thought things only got crazy at those because he was with his other cousins (whom you'd yet to meet, but sounded like a hell of a time from the stories), or because they actually got to go to Estadio Azteca and witness the electricity in the air for themselves. When y'all had talked about watching matches together this year, he'd made it sound like he'd be interested, but only coincidentally. Like if you caught one on air, it was cool, but if not, it wasn't the end of the world.
Then Mexico won their opening match for the first time in Cup history, and it was like a switch flipped to turn everything that familiar shade of green.
In your relationship thus far, you were used to watching TV together normally being more like parallel play: you would ask Hex what he'd want to watch, but he'd always defer to you, then spend the run time of whatever you chose appraising shots on his camera from his latest project, or doing some light- and color-editing of said shots on his laptop, or even playing a game on one of his handheld consoles (though he always kept the speakers respectfully on mute). That wasn't to say he was disengaged; he actually paid attention better than even some of your friends, trading jokes and commentary with you through the highs and lows of the plot. If you told him you were sharing something formative with him -- like the first time you showed him your favorite movie, or your comfort show -- then he'd happily set aside whatever he was using to keep his hands busy and pull you into his lap so he could watch attentively over your shoulder (while secretly enjoying your reactions, feeling from how you moved or flinched or leaned towards the screen just how engaged you got even when something was familiar). But while he occasionally watched an episode of the telenovelas he and his mom used to watch together if it came on, he wasn't huge on sitting still for more than a double-feature at most (and even then, unless you specified otherwise, there was nothing to guarantee the two of you wouldn't end up... distracted, before the credits rolled).
This, then, was entirely uncharted territory. After the opener, he was keen to make a definite date for the next group match. When you showed up for that one with some snacks to share and your favorite throw blanket in tow (the House, and Hex himself, always left you a bit chilly), he opened the door to reveal - despite the summer heat outside - a hoodie you'd never seen before: the same green of Mexico's jerseys, with the team's logo embroidered on the left sleeve. You could tell that it must have come from the back of his closet when he pulled you in close for a kiss hello, and he smelled overwhelmingly (but not unpleasantly) of the remnants of his mother's incense sticks that he kept on a shelf. You could also tell that it was definitely an older one; the fabric was worn in some places, and the hood's draw strings were oddly frayed. But it only took until ten minutes into the second half for you to realize why: whenever things got tense on the pitch, his hands immediately went to those, either tying and untying them subconsciously into knots, or (adorably) pulling the hood tight over his eyes when he couldn't bear to watch a risky shot. It was a wonder they were even still attached at all.
It was the first time you'd ever seen him watching something this closely, and it was its own kind of revelation. For the second and third matches, the two of you sat close like you always did, only for him to slowly gravitate into his own space as the clock counted up. He was still affectionate, to be sure: squeezing your knee when he was excited or kissing the top of your head whenever Memo Ochoa kept the ball out of the net. But you'd never seen him so involved -- on the couch one moment, falling to his knees on the carpet for a near miss, or nearly launching off the cushion when the team approached the opposition's goal. His jubilation whenever the ball slipped past their goalkeeper's fingers was contagious, and there was more than one explosion of chips all over the room or other snacks from a bowl when he jumped to his feet. While you'd always known your boyfriend to be intense, you were used to that being something he kept under wraps until exactly the right moment -- the perfect illustration of "still waters run deep." Seeing his heart on his sleeve like this was a rare treat indeed, and though you also hadn't been quite invested at the start, by the time they got to the round of thirty two, you felt like your heart was in their hands.
Once or twice during each game, Maxi and Rora would stop in and casually see what was up. They were both passingly aware of the Cup, but you could see it didn't mean as much to them as it did to Hex.
Maxi would usually appear in the door from the kitchen; if he was still dressed in his black scrubs from the embalming room downstairs, he'd give the two of you a friendly wave, but kept his distance to make sure you weren't overwhelmed by the scent of the chemicals he'd been using. If he was in a suit from having just made arrangements with a family, however, he often came in and sat on Hex's other side for a few minutes, frequently bringing an offering of some sort: a plate of fresh sandwiches, some lemonade he'd made that morning, or even the remnants of the cookies he'd made for clients. Only when you and Hex had each taken something did he seem to fully relax, throwing his tie back over his shoulder and having a quick bite himself.
"Who's got the ball?" he always asked Hex, then listened quietly as Hex gave a rapid-fire recap of the entire game thus far, literally talking a mile a minute. Every so often during this rundown, he'd lean back over Hex's shoulder to make eye contact with you, raising an eyebrow to silently ask if something was good or bad. Sports had never been his forté to begin with; he only knew enough American football to make the smallest of talk about the Saints or the Tigers with the families he served, to help put them at ease during what was already a difficult time. Based on your own reactions - an eager nod, or a grimace - Maxi would either give Hex a grin and an elbow nudge to the ribs, or sigh accordingly and lean for a sec so their shoulders bumped in solidarity. "They're gonna get it, bro," he said either way. "This is their year, it's gotta be." For what little while he would stick around after before getting back to work, he'd be less obviously interested in the game than he would be in observing his cousin react to the events onscreen. Every so often, you would sneak a glance his direction to see him leaning against the arm of the couch with his chin propped on his hand, watching Hex with a gentle, wistful sort of smile that made your chest ache for reasons you couldn't identify.
You wondered if this was what they had looked like when they were just kids, back when the family's legacy and necromancy hadn't taken over their lives yet.
Maybe that's what Maxi was seeing too, when he looked at his cousin.
Rora, however, took quite a different approach, opening the door from the hallway to the staircase with a nudge from her hip with her phone usually in one hand and a drink in the other. "Oh my god, is this thing still on?" she'd drawl, rolling her eyes theatrically. She'd flop over on the other side of the couch and sprawl out so her feet were in Hex's lap, causing him to grumble and shove them away.
Then she'd look at you. "Hi there, sweetness." You knew the two of you had reached a comfortable point in your relationship because now she did things like playfully wink at you or bat her long eyelashes, always pretending to flirt to annoy her cousin. When the two of you had initially been introduced, she'd been cordial but aloof, with a queen's posture, keeping her distance and generally not speaking unless good manners absolutely demanded it. Now she had no compunction about being an annoying youngest sibling in front of you. "He got you shut in here on this glorious day to see grown men kick a ball around? For shame."
"You say that like you actually go outside when plants aren't involved," Hector would mutter, turning up the volume but still moving towards the middle of the couch so she had space to sit.
She'd do so, and then do something like put her whole foot against Hex's thigh again and push so his leg rocked back and forth. "You've got a guest far more lovely than you deserve, and all you want to do is watch TV?" She'd 'tsk' her tongue against her teeth. "What a waste, honestly."
"Cállate, fresa," he'd sigh. "Don't you have some skeletons to go have a tea party with? Or some innocent Disney critters to kill and and skin?" Without waiting for an answer, he'd seize the ankle of the foot bothering him and maneuver her leg using her body weight so she nearly fell off the couch.
"Rude!" Rora would catch herself and move to shove against his shoulder, which in turn caused him to loop an arm around her neck to hold her (not too tightly) in a headlock. The two would bicker at each other for a few minutes as she tried to escape, Hector mussing Rora's voluminous black hair in a noogie and Rora trying to get her teeth in his sleeve in revenge, until something happened onscreen to cause him to drop her entirely in his distraction.
At which point, Rora would settle back onto her side of the couch and quietly loiter while scrolling through an app with lots of photos of strange plants and fungi, or other taxidermists' latest work, or whatever other things caught her peculiar fixation. That said, she was much like her brother in the sense that you'd catch her watching Hex out of the corner of her eye: while part of her face remained hidden behind the dark veil of her hair, the corner of her mouth would tug upwards whenever he cheered, her green eyes no less sharp but crinkled at the corners in a way that spoke of immense fondness. She'd make a show of sighing and rolling her eyes again before shifting in her seat, but her smile remained even when Hex was locked in entirely on the game.
Neither of the twins ever stayed for the full match, both confident Hex would update them later. Which meant, starting around the second game or so, he was free to lean over with ten minutes left in the match and give you a kiss that always managed to steal your breath.
The first time this happened, he pulled back right as you were beginning to forget what the two of you were watching, too distracted by the taste of his lips on yours. You knew you looked confused, feeling it in the crease of your brows as he grinned at you in that way that reminded you of a cat's eyes glinting in the dark. "For luck," was all he said by explanation. "Between you and this--" he nodded down at the team hoodie you hadn't seen before that day. "How could they lose, huh?"
And goddamn if it hadn't seemed to work, for a little while. By the end of the group matches, you were almost more likely than he was to fly to the middle of the couch as soon as the clock ticked up to eighty, willing whatever pebbles of magic you had in the nooks and crannies of your soul to keep the score in Mexico's favor. With each win, Hector was only more ecstatic, peppering your face with kisses as the crowd roared their approval onscreen. Each time, you couldn't help but laugh between his jubilation and the way his beard scratched at your skin, happy to accompany him into the kitchen to help make a dinner worthy of the victory (and to listen to him tell the twins 'I told you so' at every opportunity during the meal itself).
When it came time for the round of sixteen, you even slept over at the House the night before, and helped with snack prep that morning so neither of you would have to pause the game to wander back into the kitchen. For ninety minutes (plus whatever was added on), the two of you would be nowhere else but that couch, there to witness a new chapter in the team history.
Perhaps sensing this game was a bigger deal than the others, Maxi and Rora really didn't come in to tease or watch this afternoon, giving the living room space. Indeed, Hex himself was still excited, but there were tells: his knee bounced like crazy next to yours, and he kept running his hands through his hair, putting it up into a ponytail only to take it down again a minute later. At one point towards the end of the first half, you were worried he was going to tear one of the drawstrings off his hoodie completely with how much he was tying and untying it.
As the second half wore on, the two of you jumped to your feet at every near miss on England's goal, and yelled in alarm whenever they got too close to Mexico's. At the eighty minute mark, the two of you were already locked in at the middle of the couch, squeezing each other's hand as tight as you could without crushing the other person's knuckles.
You turned to look at him, and for a moment, his wide-eyed gaze at the screen made him look... impossibly young.
You and Hex had met as adults, him with a little more than a decade on you. You'd never gotten the chance to know him as the scruffy teen in framed photos hanging in the halls, or the college kid with bottle-black hair and smudged black lipstick in the polaroids on his dresser. He'd always been the handsome, quiet man you'd first glimpsed watching you from afar; smirking in a way that was more amused than arrogant, his eyes glittering with a private joke as he adjusted his camera settings for his next shot.
Seeing him like this, fragile hope so plain on his face, made your chest ache with just how... vulnerable, he looked.
"Hey." You put your hands on his cheeks, making him blink and look at you at last. You did your best to smile. "It's not over yet, right? We can't lose faith."
It took him a second, but he nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering into existence. "Yeah." He squeezed your hand before he leaned in, completing the ritual the two of you had started.
The kiss wasn't as long as usual, neither of you wanting to look away from the screen lest you miss something vital. But you wished twice as hard that the team pulled off some last minute miracle, if only because you knew just how happy it would make him.
...And yet, it just wasn't to be, this time.
Though the forwards made attempt after attempt on the goal in the last few minutes, all valiant efforts, it wasn't enough. The clock counted out the last of the time, and the stadium rang with the roar of the English fans as they realized they were moving on.
When the camera cut to the expression on Memo Ochoa's face, Hex finally crumpled, hiding his face in his hands with groan of defeat --
That abruptly changed pitch into something less... human. Something that echoed despite the small space of the room, distorting oddly even though it came from human vocal cords. The temperature dropped so fast that you gasped, your skin breaking out in goosebumps and a shiver creeping down your spine.
The picture on the screen wavered and was overcome by static as the commentators' voices cut in and out, like the strange sound was an invisible storm was raging against the connection. On the end tables, the lamps flickered rapidly, before the lights of the whole House began to do the same, threatening to plunge you both into darkness.
"Hex? Babe?" You touched his upper arm gently.
Out of the corner of your eye, you swore shadows moved at the edge of the room, darkness gathering around the pair of you. Whispers seemed to come from another room, in voices you didn't recognize that sounded scared, or grief-stricken.
When Hex still didn't respond and the strange, ethereal wail continued, snippets of his voice still entangled within, you scooted so your hip was smushed against his and leaned your cheek against his shoulder. "I know, honey. I know."
Poor little Gil Mora was just visible through the static, clearly in tears as he hugged Don Memo, who patted him on the back with obvious fondness for his young teammate. Your throat tightened around a lump that hadn't been there a second ago, hating this for both of them. It was Mora's first time to play, and Memo's last. It could've been so different.
Through the curtain of hair hanging over his face and being nearly bent double against his own knees, you could've sworn you heard Hector sniffle.
Outside the room, thundering footsteps approached from opposite sides of the House, then tore down the hall together towards the door. You sat upright again as it banged open to reveal the other two Morvants: Maxi with his plastic splashguard still covering his face and wielding a scalpel, Rora in gore-spattered overalls and holding a bone saw aloft like she meant to amputate first and ask questions later. Both their eyes were already gleaming with the respective colors of their magic, and in the unsteady lamplight, your chest went cold at the sight.
When Hex's eyes were purple, now that you were used to it, it looked mysterious, even somehow celestial. Like there were tiny universes hidden inside your beloved's skull.
Seeing the twins like this, however, reminded you how eerie it really must have looked.
In the back of your mind, you wondered about the sheer number of people who might have had those same sets of glowing eyes be the last thing they ever saw, alone on some dark night.
The two necromancers somehow squeezed through the door frame at the same time, then turned in a circle back to back to scan each corner of the room for some sort of threat. When they'd done a full three sixty and nothing presented itself, they each lowered their instrument, their expressions of confusion uncanny in how similar they were.
Maxi looked at you sitting next to Hex as Rora looked to the television, then vice versa, and you could've sworn you saw the lightbulb go off in both their heads simultaneously.
He looked back to the two of you on the couch, tilting his head to confirm what he already had guessed: the team had lost. Mexico's World Cup run was over.
You shook your head grimly, your lips pressed together so your lower one didn't wobble.
It was just a football game, you knew. But still.
He winced, then mouthed 'Sorry' with obvious earnestness. He stepped hesitantly towards Hex, lifting a hand as though to pat him on the shoulder, before Rora grabbed her brother's elbow and shook her head when he looked at her. The two gave you the same grimace in unison before they turned, stepping quietly back out the door.
Before Rora closed it behind her, she made a point to catch your eye, then pointed to Hex's hair.
You nodded, familiar with this trick already from the times Hex's insomnia or his depression had been kicking his ass. You reached up, running your fingers through the long locks he was so vain about --
And the strange spectral sound wavered, the television reception clearing again for an instant.
Rora gave you a grave nod and shut the door, leaving the two of you alone once more.
You leaned your cheek back against Hex's shoulder, letting your nails scrape a little along his scalp as you worked your fingers through his hair. "Hey," you said softly. "I'm still here, pretty boy. We can suffer together, huh?"
The banshee wail began to quaver and fade as you continued petting him, the temperature of the room gradually rising again and the lights stabilizing until he fell silent. After a couple of minutes, the television static vanished as though nothing had happened, the commentators still dissecting the match. Without sitting up, you grabbed the remote and turned them down to a dull mumble.
"They did so well," you murmured. "Really. The whole squad played a great game. They all have a lot to be proud of." You were trying to be positive, but it was hard. Especially when you'd both had so much hope just ninety minutes ago. "And there's always next time, right?" you said, a bit less confidently.
Hex sniffled again, and you heard his voice muffled against his palms.
You frowned, unable to make it out. "...You're gonna have to come out here and tell me that, handsome."
"...Not Ochoa, remember?" Hex sat up at last, pushing his hair out of his face and hastily running his sleeve across his eyes, which only reminded you of the lump in your throat. "It's his last game. Ever." He cleared his own throat loudly, hiding another sniffle, then flopped backwards so he was slumped down in the couch. "He did all that work for years, and for what?"
"Hey." You shifted so you were curled against his side, leaning your head on his shoulder once more. "He got them as far as he could. No one's going to blame him for this. No one's going to remember him as anything less than a hero." You wound one strand of Hex's hair around your finger, fiddling with it. "Now Mora and the others get to carry on, and they'll do it for him, too."
You wound the fingers of your free hand through one of Hex's, squeezing gently. "This sucks, I know." You nuzzled into the fabric of his hoodie. "But they did so well this time! The last time they got this far was..." You paused, trying to do the math.
"I was five." Hex's voice was barely above a whisper.
You blinked. This... somehow hadn't occurred to you.
Hector shifted, sitting so his cheek was pressed against the top of your head as you leaned on him. He turned his hand over as you held it, adjusting his grip so he could run his thumb back and forth over your knuckles. "I was with my folks for that game. It was my first one, ever." He smiled a little. "My dad just... didn't get it. I mean, it's not like they have real football out here, yeah?" He gestured lazily around the room, indicating Greymoon, maybe Louisiana as a whole. "He was still learning all the rules and stuff. But he still knew how important it was to my mom." His thumb traced slowly over the top of your ring finger. "He got us tickets that must've cost an arm and a leg, as close to the pitch as he could find, and surprised her with them. She was so excited, she screamed." He laughed quietly, and you felt the rumble of it in his chest. "That's one of my favorite memories: just the three of us, together, watching the game. No arguing between them, no Tio Vincent and Tia Mathilde talking shit in the background, no Abuela Paciencia whispering in my mom's ear to leave him and come back home..."
You had to fight the urge to sit up and look at him. The few times he talked about the Casares side of the family at all, he'd definitely never discussed his mother's mother.
"And yeah, the squad lost then, too. My mom was furious, but only because she was heartbroken. I'd never seen her so mad, I thought she was going to cuss out the Ref right there," he chuckled. "...Still. It was the only time we ever felt... y'know, normal." Hex's fingers finally went still on your skin. "Like we could go home to some random apartment in the city and be just like any other family. Like the curse and all its bullshit," he gestured at the House in general. "Wouldn't follow us anymore. I'd just get to be some dumb little kid with his parents."
He sighed, and you could hear the slightest shake to it, which made your chest tighten painfully.
"It's kinda stupid," he said quietly. "But they were doing so well this time, that... I don't know." He shrugged. "I remembered what that felt like, I guess. Or... something." He scoffed, sinking lower into the couch. "O sea -- whatever, it's not--"
Before he could play it off with the familiar cool indifference he had for anything that bothered him, you turned and wrapped your arms around his chest as tight as you could, pressing your cheek to where you knew it held his heart. The force of it threw you both flat to the couch, leaving you sprawled out on top of him.
"It's not stupid," you said, your voice somewhat muffled by his hoodie. Your eyes felt too warm again, your throat too tight. "If something makes you happy, Hex, it's not stupid at all." You fought the urge to sniffle. "I love you, and all the weird shit you can do -- the Veil, seeing things, all of it." You had to swallow hard. "But I want you to feel normal with me. I wanna be that for you when you need it."
The room blurred out of focus with the weight of this feeling crushing your chest.
"...Hey, what--? Hey, baby. Look at me?" Hector's calloused hands, ever chill to the touch, found your cheeks and shifted you so he could see your face. You tried to blink away the liquid in your eyes, but couldn't manage it before he got a clear look at you. "Aw, cielo, no." He shushed you gently, his thumbs wiping away the tear tracks left on your skin. "No llores. Hey, c'mon." He leaned down, kissing the top of your head, then your forehead. "Baby, no -- you don't need to cry. It's okay. I'm okay, you're okay. What's that old Tom Hanks movie you made me rewatch? 'There's no crying in futból,' remember?"
"'There's no crying in baseball,'" you sniffled. "If Memo and Mora can cry, I think I'm allowed to. A little."
This, at least, got Hex to laugh, a sound that triggered a wobbly smile from you.
"Aw, see? There's my muse." He cupped your cheeks in his hands, kissing the end of your nose before fully kissing you, albeit briefly. He let his forehead rest against yours, one hand moving to stroke up and down your back. "Hey. No te preocupes, okay?" He tilted his head so he met your eyes with the full warm darkness of his own. "I am absurdly lucky, because I have a partner who's so thoughtful," he punctuated this with a kiss to your cheek. "And kind," he kissed the other. "And so completely extraordinary," he kissed the corner of your mouth. "That it somehow all circles back so I feel like the most normal guy on this side of the Veil. I mean really, look at me," he spread his arms out, gesturing to himself. "Don't I look incredibly normal?" He raised his eyebrows in faux shock, pulling a small laugh from you now. "Just totally ordinary? Nothing peculiar going on here? Or here?" He pointed to his skull, and the genuine laughter this earned made him grin.
"Sure, okay. Nothing to see, nothing of note. Downright average, even," you managed with a smile.
Hex's eyebrows furrowed as he playfully narrowed his eyes. "Hey now. Be gentle with a guy." He touched a hand to his chest as though wounded. "I just saw my childhood dreams get smashed again, I'm fragile." He couldn't totally keep away his grin as he said it, though.
"I know," you said quietly, genuine now as you leaned forward to kiss the end of his nose. "I'm sorry, babe. That does suck."
"Not the first time, won't be the last," he said, shrugging. He moved some of your hair away from your eyes. "But I had the best watch partner, and the loveliest lucky charm." He caught your chin gently in his grasp, tilting your head ever so slightly. "The squad's gonna have to find their own, I'm afraid. "His eyes moved to your lips and back again. "This one's just for me."
This kiss didn't have the urgency of the one you'd shared during the match, but your wish behind it was twice as strong:
That the two of you could just stay like this, comfortable and safe, for as long as you possibly could.
...Which lasted for a good half hour, until Rora thumped the door loud enough to make you both jump to ask what the plan was for dinner (here read: what Hex planned on making).
The two of you then spent the next portion of the evening in the kitchen with the twins, making what the pair of you dubbed 'Extremely Normal Nachos' while Hector filled them in on the highs and lows of the match.
Before long, the kitchen was a soft bubble of light against the night pressing against the windows outside, the four of you still sitting and talking idly around the table over drinks and the remnants of a last minute dessert. Hex held your hand under the table the entire time.
As you glimpsed the late-season fireflies dancing outside the glass, you knew that if you were very lucky indeed, this would stay normal for you both.
[I'm sorry this took so long, Nonny! :'D I hope it was worth the wait. I meant to have it up by yesterday's final, but alas. OTL one thing I'm learning since I moved into my parents' new house is that, being in their mid-60s and early 70s respectively, they need a lot more help with various tasks than they like to let on (esp. with my 90 y/o grandma around). I have more or less become the new troubleshooter/IT person for the entire house, as well as the occasional muscle since my dad hurt his back not too long ago.
and, while they're all supposedly very supportive of me writing, they kind of tend to forget how much quiet and concentration that takes. especially when they feel like they need something done right away :'D so writing even little things like this takes a little more time than they used to back when I was living alone.
this was a lot of fun for me to write, and hopefully that shows!! :3 Hex hasn't had his turn in the spotlight for a hot minute, and watching Mexico perform in the WC this year had me doing a lot of research into games he might have gotten to see when he was younger. (not to mention, I finally got to play around with him having a Howl's Moving Castle-style meltdown, because I always secretly pictured him being capable of those with his medium abilities. we're just assuming reader is used to it at this point lmao.)
a lot of reader's reactions are based on my own when I was watching their last match, too. :'D I might have just got here, but damn if I'm not going to be keeping an eye on that little Mora kid from now on. the fact that they had to put him on little milk cartons because he wasn't(/still isn't???) old enough to drink had me in stitches. :3 also, Carlos Acevedo has the best hair I've ever seen??? like, good god, man, stop being that pretty and distracting.
anyway, all this to say, if you read this far, I hope your team kicks ass in the WWC next year. 🖤 I hope to watch it with y'all!]
(before I trundle off to bed: I read the Lindsey Graham notification on my phone and couldn't help but picture the Morvants in their basement, sweaty and in their demon shapes and exhausted, having just completed some sort of dark and terrible ritual to They Who Provide...
only for Maxi's phone to buzz (bc he's the only one with notifications for news headlines turned on)
Maxi: ...Were we aimin' for Lindsey Graham?
Hector: No! Fuck, we were using McConnell's hair! How the fuck did it miss?
Rora: Two possibilities -- one, they had a tripwire ward in place on ol' Turtle Face that sent anything aimed at him to a proxy. In this case, they probably figured Graham Cracker wouldn't be mourned much. Or, two, that wasn't Mitchy's hair after all.
Maxi: ...That presents a whole other question that I don't know I want the answer to.
Hex: Ugh, fuck this, I'm taking a shower and going to bed.
Maxi: Mind the goat blood doesn't drip when you're walkin' on the carpet, please.
Hector: Yes, Mom.
Rora: Well. One dead old power-hungry motherfucker will have to suffice tonight, I guess.
a ton of people have unexpectedly followed me over the last 2 days so here is my rent-lowering gunshot:
the american south is the most racially diverse and poorest region of the united states, and any political sentiment that treats the south is stupid or expendable is inherently racist and classist. a lot of y'all are racist and classist. the south is also the heart of american culture. argue with a wall. you cannot deny that everybody in the entire world does not emulate artists from atlanta. there is vested interest in keeping the south poor and uneducated BECAUSE this is the most racially diverse region in this country. if you actually give a fuck about progress, you would fight for the south, not mock us.
"I had a perfectly cordial 20-minute conversation with Mitch McConnell about world politics. I don't know why you would doubt this. Here is a photo of the conversation to prove it"
