(gif credit: @steverobin)
In Memoriam // Hunted (Prologue)
warnings: none
The street's a liar
I'm gonna lure you into the dark
My cold desire
To hear the boom, boom, boom of your heart
The danger is I'm dangerous
And I might just tear you apart
Oh, ah, oh
I'm gonna catch ya
I'm gonna get ya, get ya
Oh, ah, oh I wanna taste the way that you bleed, oh
You're my kill of the night
an undisclosed amount of time from now, sometime in the possibly near and/or certain future…
Lizzie 1. Inter-dimensional Demonic being 0. Maybe all those springs doing cross-country weren’t completely pointless after all. One more turn of a corner, and she’s finally put some distance between them. With all this running down the halls of the high school, she just wishes she wore running shoes that weren’t as pinched at the toes.
Something that looks like a man, but isn’t a man is hot on her tail and they aren’t letting her get away so easily, without a fight.
Another mad dash around a corner, when she suddenly bumps into a heavy, solid figure. For a second, she thought she was screwed, but she’s relieved to find it’s just you.
…
“Oh hey Mrs M,” the teenage girl says, between winded breaths, as you hold onto one another for balance.
“Lizzie.” You’re out of breath yourself, having just taken care of this guy’s friend.
“Right behind me,” she blurts out, just as the humanoid, figure materializes and reveals it’s hideous, inhuman face. Before letting out one of the loudest, death rattling scream you’ve ever heard.
You quickly, push her aside so you can take care of it.
“Got it.”
Without wasting any time, you whip out your blade and drive it straight through them. Watching as they explode into a cloud of ghastly, black smoke.
Your favourite part about the hunt. Watching their physical form disintegrate when you send them back to Hell. Least favourite is probably the sulphur smell.
“Nice one, Mrs. M.” Lizzie lowers her arms from her face, as you realize she’s on the floor. She nearly gags from the smell.
“Come on,” you say offering her your hand, before pulling her up with ease.
“One more down. Only a thousand or so to go.”
You know she’s exaggerating, but you can’t help but grimace. “God, I hope not.” You’re growing tired of the constant threats on your life and the town as of late. At the same exact time, Hope and Josie appear around the corner of the school.
“All good, guys?” The way Hope still looks at you, even now. Like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“Yeah,” you say, sheathing your weapon back in its holster. Smoothing a hand over her hair, you smile at the young girl.
Lizzie starts brushing off her clothes. “Being bait and unable to defend yourself is literally the worst thing. Outfit’s ruined,” she adds.
“At least you were cute bait.” Josie attempts to cheer up her sister.
“Thanks sis...But seriously? I mean we can siphon a demon, but our magic is useless against them. Who comes up with this crap? There should be someone downstairs we can talk to about this.”
Hope and Josie exchange amused glances.
“Alright ladies.” You begin directing them back toward where you all came.
“Let’s get back to the school before anyone notices you’re gone. I don’t want your dad laying into me again.”
Lizzie folds her arms. “Ugh, who cares? He complains about everything.”
“I follow his rules, out of respect for Caroline and the two of you. Plus, I made her a promise…”
“You didn’t follow his rules tonight,” Josie reminds you, with a devilish smirk.
“No, I didn’t,” you admit. “But it was an emergency. I’ll follow em, next time.” You pat Jos on the back in a teasing manner, as the four of you start walking toward the exit.
"Maybe text him at least, to let him know you aren’t dead," you add.
If you know Alaric as well as you think you do, you know he’s likely noticed something was up by now. Your eyes fall to Hope up ahead, chatting with the other two girls.
Call it a parent’s intuition.
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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