#But the drums were real. and they never went away. and nothing else he sought help for changed. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nemo-draco · 4 years

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The First Step

Hi all! Bit of a crossover piece here, courtesy of some amazing art on behalf of @rose-junk-junky on Tumblr, and @a-rae-of-sunshine, whose characters feature here along with my own. Long story short, saw some amazing animatics and art with Rae's characters in a Frankenstein-like scenario, and my guys jumped in with a cry of 'new friend!'.

To read off our cast, Whimsy, Fancy, and Whimsy's 'creator' (this AU's version of the Mayor of Burnsville) are the characters of a-rae-of-sunshine. The AU itself was thought up by rose-junk-junky, who I also have to thank for showing the Frankenstein Musical album in the animatics. All the rest are mine.

Hope you enjoy!

A First Step:

"If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundredfold; for that one creature's sake I would make peace with the whole kind!" Adam Frankenstein, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Their dreams were racing, blurred things, fraught with frantic energy and a sinking sense of wrongness that made them feel sick to their stomach. It was like they were stuck on a top, whirling from images of crackling electricity, to fire, to the ripping of stitches, to the sounds of people screaming in both anger and fear. But rising above it all was that one face, that one person, who's attention they had coveted the most, and the one they hated all the more for what HE'D DONE TO THEM-

"I should never have given you breath…"

-Awakening in a dark room, empty, filled with books and beakers, devoid of anyone-

"You're a beast to be feared…"

-Wandering in the wilderness, cold and alone, seeing others but always being met with screams and vitriol-

"By heaven we'll drag you…"

-The brief respite of the blind woman and her company, ruined when the others came and saw-

"And haunt you…"

-Fire leaping, climbing higher and higher, growing out of control-

"And banish your soul…"

-His face, their own creator, staring at them with such revulsion and hatred-

"From this earth!"

The nightmare went from formless to something concrete, Whimsy all but slamming down into their own body just in time to feel a rope slip around their neck. Immediately it tightened, yanking the reanimated faerie towards…

…A creaky, rickety platform of wood. One that somehow filled them with more dread and fear than they'd ever thought possible. The fear became something real, forming fire that leapt around the construct like it was some specter summoned up from Hell. A shadowy crowd appeared in the billows of smoke, voices like howling wolves as they screamed.

"Kill it!"

"It's a demon, a monster!"

"Be rid of the awful thing!"

They spun, pulled, tried everything they could to get away from the noose's pull, even slipping their fingers around the rope to try to yank it off, but nothing worked. And worse still, a numbness was seeping into their body, starting from their feet and working its way up to their ankles.

A face in the crowd leapt out to them, their eyes widening as they recognized their creator standing among the throng. Before they could even think, or read into the neutral, blank expression on their maker's face, they cried out like a drowning man casting about for a lifeline.

"Help me! Help me, please!"

Their legs grew stiff and cold, only weighing them down as they struggled to escape the noose, the fire, the awful drop...

"I'm alive!" They screamed, eyes tearing as they sought out their creator's emotionless stare, as cold as the deadening sensation creeping up their body. They were being pulled up the stairs, up to the gallows...

But somehow, even over all the screaming, the jeers, the fire, and the creaking pull of the hangman's rope, they could hear their creator whisper as though he were right next to them.

"No, you aren't."

"You made me!" Whimsy cried, feeling a slight give in the boards under their feet, hinting at the presence of a trapdoor. The fire climbed, the crowd howled for their death, the feeling of the end pulling their hands away from the lethally light weight of the noose. "YOU MADE ME!"

But with no inflection, no emotion, came the cold response.

"I reject you."

And with a snap, then came the short drop...

...And the sudden stop as their body thudded against the floor, thankfully a carpeted one that masked the noise.

Not that Whimsy, for the moment, had much mind to be thankful.

For the time being, their mind was frozen, limbs shakily drawing in to curl out of some instinctive reaction as they tried to figure out whether or not they were once again dead.

The feeling of their heart galloping in their chest, as well as the frantic gasping rushing in and out of their clenched teeth, contradicted that idea. Well, that and a slight sting radiating through their hip given that had smacked into the floor before the rest of them.

Sitting gingerly up and untangling themselves with a trembling set of arms, Whimsy sat in the dark for a spell, before deciding that this wasn't helping and stumbling to their feet. Their hands only shook a little as they found the doorknob, though as they stepped out into the hall the faintly cooler temperature jolted them to something that felt a little more in control...and drew their eye down to a plate that had been left next to their door. A quick sniff brought the scents of beef, some kind of vegetables, maybe bread? All of it was a little dulled though, the plate itself cool to the touch. This had been left a while ago, that was for sure...

It made them realize that they weren't even fully aware of what time it was. The most they could say was 'night' but the house around them was dead silent. Everyone else must already be in bed.

The notion was surprisingly relieving, Whimsy picking up the plate and deciding to head downstairs. Even the faintly chilled food was somewhat appetizing, especially since this would be the first time they'd eaten all day. Or…night? Whenever.

Despite their height, the reanimated (corpse) faerie was able to move stealthily down the hallway, to the stairs leading down to the larger part of the house. The…guy, Cab, who had brought them here had said that it was an old firehouse. When they'd gotten it set up, they'd moved the pole, somehow got a spiral staircase, and made the whole downstairs open to co-join the garage with the rest of the first floor, barring a little section for a bathroom and closet. That was a design choice that Whimsy'd been a little confused by, Cab's words that it was for 'Bee's benefit not really helping to illuminate much.

At least, not until the car sitting in the garage space started talking, during which that little mystery was cleared up in short order.

Whimsy had just come down the stairs when a faint noise caught their attention, their head jerking in the direction it had come from to see a very small figure sitting at the table. The most eye-grabbing feature was a small streak of silver running through a head of otherwise black hair, a tired shadow in the tailor's face despite the brief flash of nerves at the sight of the towering, stitched-together faerie (reanimated corpse). The pair stared at each other, Whimsy belatedly remembering that this was the person who owned this house, what had Cab called him again?

Either way, they couldn't exactly ask with their mouth full, so they made an effort to swallow a rather large mouthful of chilled beef and bread. He ended up beating them to actually talking though, voice quiet with an attempt at nonchalance.

"Glad to see you liked the food. We did have dinner a while ago, but you were asleep. We didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks," Whimsy muttered, once their mouth was free to reply, though they realized that they didn't really have anything to add or say. Funnily enough, Fancy seemed to have the same issue too, drumming his fingers on the table for an instant as his eyes cast around before lighting on the softly steaming mug in front of him.

"Do, you want some tea?"

Tea. Whimsy had a vague memory of it from when they'd spoken to the blind woman. A bit bitter, but warm. And, if something were to go wrong, then they could just leave, right?

So, even with the mistrust nudging at the back of their mind, Whimsy edged cautiously forward, carefully watching for some sign of underhanded play. It was a nervousness that was echoed a little in the tailor, Fancy looking up to meet Whimsy's eyes and, consciously or not, huddling down a bit like a fox that had come too close to a bear.

The faerie themselves edged quietly into the seat, nearly approaching calm before a metallic, humming voice spoke up from behind them.

"'Ey Whims."

Oh, right, and the car, the thought of which immediately had Whimsy changing seats to keep both Fancy and 'Bee' within view (and noticing with a silent shiver of bracing tension that the sleek, not all together large but still not small black car had rolled closer). Not that Bee himself seemed to take much offense, given his next, calm words.

"Thanks for switchin', by the way. Easier to talk when I'm not hollering over someone. Guess it's the exterior, dunno. Not many people expect the car to hold a conversation." Despite the easy tone, Whimsy couldn't feel relaxed, like there was a trap somewhere that they needed to keep an eye out for. They might not have been run out on a rail yet but it had barely been twenty four hours.

"People…ignore you?" Whimsy still asked, faintly piqued by the implication. Though they really couldn't guess what was worse, to be shunned or ignored. A faintly vindictive part of them hissed that to be shunned was worse, an ignored person could at least live among other people.

"Eh, sometimes. Though bein' innocuous enough to escape notice does have its perks. It's how I was designed after all."

Immediately Whimsy's brain got stuck on that last bit, to the point where they couldn't help asking.

"…Designed?"

"Originally I was made to be what you'd call a 'cursed object'. Maker just decided to be more ambitious and cursed a car rather than something like a toaster or doll or whatever. Demonically-charged rituals can be a mite bit unpredictable, apparently, 'cause I ended up with enough 'me' to say I liked the guy I was supposed to be causing trouble for a lot better. 'Course I couldn't stay when I kinda revealed I was alive, but, y'know, nice while it lasted."

"We're glad to have you either way, Bee." Fancy spoke up, it just striking Whimsy then and there that the tailor didn't seem surprised by any of what Bee had just said. Granted that could make sense, considering they had known each other longer. Things like this had probably come up before. It definitely seemed like it considering that Bee's tone was casual, even wistful in some spots, when talking about this person that he'd supposedly been sent to cause trouble for.

"Same. Great to be in a house where I can actually talk to people."

It was almost relieving for Whimsy to drop into the role of a spectator, but inevitably, the talk had to turn back to the last conversation partner that was sitting at the table.

"So, Whimsy, were exactly have you been? Thought I knew all the myths around here. Granted, most of them live in this house, but, well…" Though Bee trailed off, and certainly didn't sound like he was anything but calm and faintly curious, Whimsy couldn't help but feel the edge of an interrogation in the words.

"I, I've been…traveling…" Even to their ears, it sounded incredibly feeble. But they didn't know what else to add so they stayed quiet. At least, what they could say without getting into some worrying territory.

"Blew in from outta town?"

"Yeah." The faint grumble from the reanimated faerie completely contradicted the easier, flowing tone that the car employed, Whimsy remembering what they'd just learned about Bee and feeling…a sort of discomfort. Bee had sounded like he'd at least known something about what they went through, at least on some level, how on earth could he sound so put together? So calm?

It wasn't fair.

"What made you decide to come here? It's not exactly a prime tourist spot."

"…I wanted to meet someone."

"This a myth or a person?"

"Person. Didn't work out." To put it mildly, their memory flashing to a twisted, destroyed frame hidden partially under a sheet, sightless eyes staring up at them as that voice screamed about how they would not be tricked or cowed by a demon, a shambling wreck of a faerie-

"Sorry to hear that."

Whimsy didn't have an answer, and looked down as Fancy came back with a mug of tea. It was too hot to drink, but the warmth from the mug was more than enough to create a comfortable heat, soaking into their hands and driving the memories away. At least for the time being.

"Do you have anywhere else to go? I know Cab's probably said you could stay, but… do you have someone that might be waiting for you?" Bee asked, the somewhat quieter, hesitant tone a definite tell that this was a question that the car was aware might be difficult.

"…No."

Alone. All alone. Anything they might've had gone in a blaze of fire and all because of some bad timing. Anything they could have had gone because of a selfish, stupid creator that only cared that they'd taken their first breath, and not any of what came after.

A flash of pain went through Whimsy's temple, causing a wince that had them bringing their hand up before they realized what they were doing.

"You alright?"

"Fine."

The sound of something rustling off to the side caught Whimsy's attention, the reanimated faerie nearly jumping out of their stitched skin as they looked in the direction of the noise, only to see Fancy having reached to the center of the table for a napkin. The sudden movement on their part made the tailor jump too, though something in Whimsy's face seemed to catch his attention.

"Whimsy?"

They weren't fine. This wasn't fine. They felt horribly off kilter and the questions and constant presence of people were starting to take their toll. If it was just Bee, or just Fancy, Whimsy felt like they could have handled it better. But the fact that there were two relatively sharp individuals here, moving around and poking at them, stoked their nerves. Even though they knew that there was no immediate danger, that no one had lit fires or gathered up weapons, a part of them was consistently on edge, looking for some sign of trouble.

And they didn't want to! It was making their jaw clench, their head zinging with overstressed aches and pains. They were jumping at shadows and it made it hard to concentrate.

They knew that the full answers would only provoke suspicion, and perhaps an eviction. It wasn't like they'd told everything to anyone here. Though, the memory of the blind woman, and the distinct difference in how that had felt versus this, tugged at Whimsy, making them wonder both just what had changed in them to create such a feral anxiety, and also knowing exactly why.

How long before this ended too…

Another faint pain twanged at the muscles in their temple as a result, the feeling making Whimsy wince and murmur to themselves as they tried to knead the sensation out.

"What's, what's wrong with me...?"

There was a pause, Fancy seeming to shore up his nerve before taking a seat next to the steadily devolving faerie, a hand tentatively resting on their arm.

"I think, that there's a lot you're grappling with, and you need some time to process it all. I could be wrong about this, but it doesn't seem like you've really had anyone before Cab brought you here, and part of that might be due to your appearance. Which, isn't fair to you, you can't control that sort of thing, not completely. I would say it's normal, even expected, for you to feel angry, to feel hurt, and... perhaps even a little afraid."

The notion that they were, or had ever been afraid caused Whimsy to recoil, turning a hard look Fancy's way as the tailor jumped and also withdrew, his face a mask of tension. Bee too remained quiet, though Whimsy could just faintly hear the noise of his tires rolling closer by a half-inch. The standoff lasted for all of a few moments, before Whimsy remembered that Fancy did not have to let them stay in his house. Besides, he had drawn off, and didn't look ready to try touching the reanimated faerie again.

So, Whimsy let him be, and turned back to stare into their tea.

But the sight of their own reflection merely stirred those thoughts up again, the defiant bark of why would I be afraid answered with a smaller, insidious whisper of because your existence is singular, and you will always be alone. You don't even like the sight of yourself in the mirror, remember? Your creator wanted nothing to do with you, you were a mistake from beginning to end...

And when death finally claims you, who will even bother to mourn?

A small droplet of water splashed into the tea from above, Whimsy's grip on the mug handle so tight it was quivering.

"Whimsy...?" Fancy's voice came from the side, still worried sounding but there was a new edge of care to it that still felt so alien for Whimsy to hear directed at themselves.

"Oh geez…" Bee's voice murmured, with the same sort of softer, concerned tones.

"Damn that stupid, selfish..."

It was quick, a hissed few words on Fancy's part, but Whimsy had heard them clear as a bell.

They weren't able to move, much less address those words, and Fancy didn't acknowledge them either. Instead, he rested his hand atop their arm again and continued to speak.

"Whimsy, I need you to take deep breaths, just a few. Can you do that for me?"

They tried, but what came out were hisses that turned into gasps that felt like far too much effort for the simple act of breathing.

"Alright, that's a good start. Now I want you to try breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth, Whimsy. It'll help you feel better, I promise."

Though there was that instinctive nugget of mistrust, there was also the part of Whimsy that was starting to believe that they were being smothered somehow, and the way Fancy had spoken before tipped the scales in favor of trusting the little tailor.

And, in spite of everything, the advice was helping. Whimsy found air coming easier and easier after a moment or two. But the whole experience had left them winded and exhausted, which made it a little difficult to hear what Fancy asked at first.

"How are you feeling?"

"I," Whimsy started, swallowing around a dry throat. "I feel…"

It took a moment to really parse through their physical symptoms, though eventually words came to describe the strange mix of light-headed and completely worn out.

"Dizzy. Air, I need, outside…"

"It's alright, there's a window next to you, I'll open it. Just stay sitting down, please. I don't think I could carry you if you fall."

Whimsy glanced to the side as Fancy moved to the window in question, getting it open with only a small bit of effort. The rush of cool air was a balm, Whimsy turning in the direction and leaning as much on the chair as their towering frame would allow.

"Just take deep breaths, it'll pass." Fancy's voice came, the faerie's eyes fluttering open for a moment and locking straight on the tailor's gaze. There was a slight flinch that went through Fancy as their eyes met, Whimsy frowning and looking away first.

Something in their face must've leaked to Fancy, because he spoke up again.

"Do you, want to try drinking some more of your tea?"

With nothing else to do, Whimsy did take a sip, the lukewarm liquid still having a soothing edge to it. There wasn't much left, but the whole episode had taken a lot out of the reanimated faerie, leaving them rubbing at their eyes and blinking blearily as they set the mug down.

That eventually turned into them letting their head rest on their folded arms, though they still tried to remain turned towards the window. It was later in the year, but the faint chirping of crickets was still prevalent over the dark nightscape outside. The sound was a calming, and vaguely relieving one, reminding the faerie of those times when they'd lived off the land and spent long nights under the stars.

Before they realized how…different they were. It was definitely an easier time.

They must've dozed off at some point, because a new voice speaking up brought them back to reality.

"Aww, lookit that. All tuckered out."

It was a voice they only somewhat remembered, given that the person in question had been present when they had been brought in to be introduced. A concealingly-dressed figure that had been quietly leaning back in his chair, looking them up and down with a set of luminously colored eyes that flickered through bright, sharp hues. Everything about this otherwise gray shape was nonchalant, from the way their frame settled to the way a similarly colored smile flickered into being over the wrapping covering the lower half of the face, there and gone. After everything Whimsy had been through, it was a different way to be greeted, and they still weren't sure if that was a good thing.

So, carefully, they opened their eyes and turned their head in the direction of the voice, and immediately caught sight of the same figure simply lounging in the chair next to them, even going so far as to tilt it onto its back legs.

"Tagger, please don't break the chairs." Fancy's voice came, the tailor gathering up the mugs before stepping away.

"Alright, alright. No fun," 'Tagger' replied, and performed the somewhat odd feat of dropping the chair back on all four legs with barely any noise. Though, as it landed, those oddly-colored eyes happened to see Whimsy's, and immediately there was a flicker of that smile again.

"Oop, guess somebody is awake. Hey, Whims. Think maybe you wanna catch some 'z's in your own bed?"

On some level, that should have been a good idea, though there was a part of Whimsy that definitely remembered why they'd come down to the kitchen to begin with, and therefore was not so ready to just head up to lie in bed, jumping at more shadows and quite possibly have more nightmares. So, instead of acquiescing, they settled in and closed their eyes, turning their head away.

"No, good here."

"But, you're gonna go back to sleep." Tagger pointed out.

"Maybe I will," Whimsy growled back, still refusing to open their eyes.

"Inna chair."

The rather frank observation did get a more venomous look from the faerie, though Tagger didn't look the least bit worried by the much taller Whimsy staring him down. It was such a strange switch to what would usually happen that they honestly weren't sure what to do, so they ended up breaking off the impromptu contest first to stubbornly shut their eyes, huddling in their arms like it was some sort of impregnable fortress.

And they knew exactly what Tagger thought of that given that the sound of him chuckling to himself wasn't long in following.

"Oh, you are just a treat, aren't you? Can see why Cab liked you."

Cab being the one that had brought them here, that had opened the door to his home. Admittedly, he'd neglected to mention the presence of folks like Tagger, or Bee, but he did mention the fact that he knew two faeries. They'd already made the decision, but it definitely helped things along. Still didn't endear them much to Tagger right now though.

"Bit of a backstory moment here, Whims. I was the first."

"…What?" The reanimated faerie couldn't help asking, their gaze turning back to Tagger just to see if they could spot some falsehood. A bit hard with a mostly concealed face, but for the most part it looked like he was telling the truth.

"The first one Cab made friends with. The very first. We've been paling around together for years! Think after that it was Patches, then we found Bee, then Sunny, and finally Manny. Oh, and then Fancy." Tagger elaborated, just as the tailor walked by and glanced over with a fondly sardonic look.

"Thanks for remembering."

"Welcome. Anyway. Guess we can add you to the list. That's if you plan on sticking around, a'course." Whimsy honestly wasn't sure if the implication that they would just up and leave was insulting or not, and ended up giving off at least half a surly glare which was probably why Tagger continued. "Well, you don't gotta make a decision just yet. It's only your first night. Plenty'a time if you decide you're sick of us an' wanna split."

Yeah, that language really wasn't helping, Whimsy's stare towards Tagger turning a touch more spiteful. Though, instead of being bothered by that, he gave a theatric shiver before slipping back into his seemingly normal, at ease persona.

"Yeesh, if looks could kill… Tone down the eyeballs kid, it's casual conversation." Then a brief flicker of that same, glaringly colored smile appeared over the wrappings covering Tagger's mouth, further conveying the mischievous smirk in his following words. "Though I guess someone does need to go back to bed. A certain grumpy someone."

And back to this again, Whimsy growing fed up enough with the whole encounter to just resettle their head on their arms and close their eyes. Though, in doing so, they completely missed the somewhat conspiratorial, and equally impish grin that Tagger flashed to both Fancy and Bee.

It made the feeling of being swept up into a pair of arms all the more jarring, Whimsy left blinking as Tagger arranged the reanimated faerie in a bridal style carry and spun on his heel for the stairs.

"H-Hey! What're you-?!"

"Wouldn't squirm too much, Whims, the staircase is only so wide."

A very good point, and while Tagger was apparently strong enough to carry someone that definitely was a good few inches taller that didn't mean that the stairs were necessarily going to alter their proportions to make it easier.

So, out of a perceived sense of self-preservation, they scrunched in their towering frame as much as possible, warily eyeing the metallic edges as Tagger easily ascended. After what felt like a harrowing few minutes, they both made it to the upstairs hall, though to Whimsy's surprise and more-than-slight annoyance, Tagger kept going until he was standing next to the door of their room.

"…You can put me down now."

"Whatever you say, Whims," Tagger replied with shadows of that same amused chuckling, to the point where Whimsy had the honest impulse to just scramble away and figure things out from there. Tagger's approach to them may have been novel, but the novelty was quickly turning sour. They weren't a child!

Still, Tagger was both deft and careful, setting them down on their feet and heading past them to a door down at the furthest end of the hallway.

"Night, Whims. See you in the morning."

And he was gone, leaving Whimsy standing like a silent sentinel in the hall. With nothing better to do, they went back into their room, quietly clambering onto the bed and staring at the night sky they could see from their window. The sight brought to mind the window downstairs, from which those familiar sounds had emanated that had provided a brief spark of respite.

Whimsy got up to crack the window open, sliding under their covers and looking in the direction of the small square that looked out to the outside world. The sound of crickets and the rush of wind through the trees accompanied them as the world grayed out, and they slid into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

A knock at the door snapped Whimsy awake, though it only felt like they'd just closed their eyes. Blinking bemusedly, they stared in the direction of the window, seeing a blue sky and trees losing their red and yellow leaves, not quite sure what was going on before the knocking came again.

Yeah, they…probably should answer that, shouldn't they? The thought of which was what teased them up, causing Whimsy to reel to their feet and plod around their bed for the door.

A familiar face was there, a more unique set of features given the black and white, checkerboard-like pattern that was stamped into the other person's skin. Cab was wearing the same primarily white pinstriped suit as yesterday, a not-totally open grin on his face that somewhat disguised his teeth, which Whimsy couldn't help noticing yesterday given that they'd resembled the sharper ones in their own mouth. Cab was tall, lean, though even a six-foot-tall frame didn't have much when compared to Whimsy's eight feet in height, and therefore he'd had to crane his neckless head back a little to look them in the eye, reaching up to hold his boater hat on his head.

Not that Cab seemed to mind, an ever-present grin on his face that sharply contrasted Whimsy's barely awake stare.

"'Ey Whims! Sorry for wakin' you up, but I figured you'd wanna get some breakfast. Ever had pancakes before?"

It took their wakening brain a few moments to figure out, firstly, what had been asked, and secondly, that no. Pancakes were a somewhat foreign concept.

"It's a food…right?"

"Yep, it's a food, a breakfast food. Wanna come down an' try some?"

Their curiosity had been piqued, so they did say yes and made to follow Cab. Whimsy found themselves waking up a little bit more, enough that they couldn't help noticing the confused look Cab passed them just before making it to the stairs.

"…What's wrong?"

"Nothin', nothin', it's just…did you sleep in your overalls?"

Were they being insulted? It was a little hard to tell, though from what they saw Cab wasn't the sort to just poke a beehive just for the sake of it. But, if it was sincere then what was even the point of the question?

"…Yes?"

"We could try givin' you some pajamas if you like."

"What are… pa-jamas? Is that even a word?"

"It is too a word! They're clothes you wear when you're sleepin'."

"People wear special clothes just for when they sleep?"

"Well, yeah, they're meant t'be comfier. Fancy could make you some if you like!" Cab's offer was nice, though Whimsy was decently sure that if they tried to go to the tailor to ask for anything they might end up giving the poor guy a heart attack. Hopefully, they thought as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, Cab wouldn't bring it up with Fancy because they sure weren't about to.

"What're we talkin' about Fancy makin'?" The sudden presence of Tagger's voice made Whimsy jump, head swinging around to see the whatever-he-was in question leaning on the railing like he might as well have been there all along. Even though Whimsy knew he hadn't been just a moment ago.

"Hi, Tagger! We're talkin' about pajamas! Fancy could make Whimsy some!" Cab replied, as though the sudden appearance just didn't bother him.

"Oh, are we?" Tagger's reply had Whimsy preparing for more demeaning mockery, though they were somewhat thrown when Tagger instead looked them up and down before coming to a decision.

"Green or red. Maybe blue. But not light, definitely darker colors."

"You think so?" Cab's frank question was also somewhat disarming, to the point where Whimsy finally had enough and decided to break in.

"Wait, wait, what are you talking about?"

"If you were gonna get new clothes, those colors would probably look the best on you. Your fur's darker, so lighter stuff would just clash. And make you look pale. Paler. You get what I mean."

"Tagger's an artist!" Cab jumped in, the 'artist' in question looking more flippant.

"You can see my work around town sometimes. Usually at night. I've, ah, 'tagged' a lot of buildings." Tagger's expression clearly hinted at a joke, though as to what the actual joke was, Whimsy couldn't help not knowing. And Tagger didn't seem too primed to explain, muttering about how 'it didn't land' and turning away, heading out to the kitchen.

The kitchen at which Fancy was quietly helping a much taller figure, a similarly patchwork shape that was handing him plates to put on the table. Whimsy had seen this one too, back when they'd first come in. They'd been given a name, they knew, but the sight of a figure even remotely similar to them had caught them off-guard.

Though, as the moments of that first meeting had worn on, it became clear that there were differences.

This other creature, this other faerie, did not seem to need to blink, for starters. Pale blue eyes ringed in black faintly glowing and constantly staring, almost as if their owner had been trying to pick apart Whimsy by sight alone. They, no, she, was also considerably shorter, with the top of her head coming up to the middle of Cab and Tagger's faces. In physical shape, she resembled a doll with a simplified face, jagged-edged mouth and all. But, much like a faerie, she had more animalistic features mixed in, namely small but noticeable claws, legs that resembled a dog's or a cat's, along with two points coming out of the top of her head that resembled a pair of ears. Though, given that her skin appeared to be a sort of canvas material, Whimsy wasn't sure exactly how well they worked. Then again, maybe they did, faerie logic being the way it was. Whimsy had tried to read into it, but the general consensus was that people generally didn't know how faeries worked. At least, not inside and out.

Their creator might've known. But the ship had sailed on asking.

Before Whimsy could even have a hope of sitting down, a pair of fast-moving shapes dashed past their legs, hurrying to the table with the same frenetic urgency of a starving animal that had just been presented with the prospect of food. And they were both chanting 'pancakes' like the apparent breakfast would need some sort of summoning ritual.

"Hold on you two." Fancy's calmer tone hinted that he had no fear of either, despite the fact that one was a literal skeleton but dressed like a child they might see walking down the street, and the other looked like an uplifted wolf puppy, dressed in what looked like some sort of medieval garb. A tail wagged through the seat of the canid creature's pants, mirroring the flicking movements of a pair of batlike wings poking through the wrap covering the upper part of the small body. Somehow Whimsy knew, without being told, that this was another faerie.

Granted, they had the same feeling that they did when first looking at the canvas-made fae, that, just maybe, they might be too different to fit in with another faerie. The fact that this little one was so bouncy, full of life, didn't help that notion any.

They felt like a note in a song that didn't fit, Whimsy's feet already sliding back before an arm at their back caught their attention. A glance to the side revealed that Cab was the culprit, the sharp-toothed grin turning softer at the edges as they gave the reanimated faerie a little nudge; it's okay.

So, taking a deep breath, and feeling like the act of moving their own limbs was a momentous thing, Whimsy put one foot in front of the other and started moving towards the table. They weren't exactly making a lot of noise, even with their larger size, so they weren't sure what exactly made the little faerie-puppy's ears swivel around to them. Her head followed the movement, cherry-red eyes growing wide as she looked up and up…

I should say something, right? Whimsy couldn't helping thinking, the feeling of something squirming in their stomach as they stared down at the faerie-puppy's face, the mask-like fur around her eyes starkly contrasting with that bright scarlet.

"U-Uh, h-"

"You're tall…"

This hadn't come from the faerie-puppy, but from the little skeleton who had turned around while Whimsy had been focused on what exactly they were going to say. The small, child-sized skull had bright lights set in the sockets, glowing blue pinpricks that also stared up and up at Whimsy with the same stunned shock.

"Yep! This is…" Cab started, before trailing off and gesturing with theatric dramatics to Whimsy, inviting them to introduce themselves.

"Whimsy."

"…Whimsy! They'll be stayin' with us ferra bit, so, don't give 'em too much trouble, okay?" Cab continuation may have been meant well, but it seemed to hammer in the notion that Whimsy had done their introduction wrong. Not that they had much experience, but the emotional knife had already been pushed in, and twisted all the more by who exactly they were being introduced to. They didn't exactly have the best luck when it came to people, never mind children…

An image flashed through their mind, of a small child clutching his arm as they tried to skitter away from the faerie, eyes wide and liquid-y at the edges as they stared at Whimsy with nothing short of complete fright.

"Why did you do that? I-I was trying to help you!"

-a limp little figure in their arms, before a CRACK-BOOM rang out and pain blasted through their shoulder-

They blinked, hard, the images vanishing though the sight that greeted them when they opened their eyes didn't seem much easier. Both the little skeleton and the faerie-puppy were still staring up at them with frankly unreadable, worrying awe, and Whimsy felt fresh out of possible conversation. Thankfully Cab came to their rescue, though the reanimated faerie felt like a coward as they accepted his reminder of pancakes as an excuse to get away from the pair, and actually sit down.

However, the trials for the day were not done, as the one that slid in to sit on Whimsy's other side was the other faerie, the taller one with the staring eyes. It didn't help that once the dishes were all laid out, this faerie was taking over the actual doling out of the pancakes, and while Whimsy was trying their best to mirror what they saw the others do, it didn't keep them from feeling a twinge of nerves when those unblinking, unreadable eyes turned to them.

It seemed to take an inordinate while of them staring at each other for the other faerie to figure out that Whimsy needed a little help, a much softer toned, feminine voice speaking up and somehow very audible to them despite one of the children laughing about something nearby.

"Did you want one pancake or two?"

"…Can I get three?" Whimsy's request was answered as she doled out three pancakes, though they couldn't help the brief glance at the plates around, mentally doing the math as to whether or not they'd taken too much. It seemed fine, but their brief spate of figuring was interrupted as they realized that the other faerie had not stopped looking at them.

"…Wh-What is it?"

"You never mentioned your name."

Though the specific language wasn't used, this still felt like a request for a name, and not in just the 'what is your name' kind of fashion. Whimsy had certainly not forgotten that this was a faerie, a faerie that, even with their more placid demeanor, probably held to at least some of the old standards when it came to behavior. So, squaring their shoulders a little, they replied.

"You can call me Whimsy. I don't think I got your name either?"

"Do you want to know it?"

Wasn't that why they were asking? Maybe they should have phrased themselves differently…

"…Yes?"

"Then you can call me Patches." The frankness with which the words were delivered made it hard to tell if the other faerie was upset or angry about what they'd said, Whimsy feeling that uncomfortable, cornered-animal-type squirming settle in their gut as they maintained eye contact. Patches was the one to look away first, turning to her two pancakes and leaving Whimsy to awkwardly consider their own three. The pancakes themselves were warm, the smell more than appetizing though the sight of the faerie-puppy trying to slice hers with her fork while partially shoving them in her mouth caught their attention briefly. Fancy's efforts to get her to use the knife something that Whimsy paid close attention to. While there was a surlier, more combative part of them that groused who cares how we eat it, a part of them couldn't help pointing out that if they wanted to avoid attention, they'd at least have to give some semblance of good manners.

Though when they finally tasted the pancakes for the first time, Whimsy couldn't help the immediate impulse to scarf them down. They were good, the one with the little dots of blue in it quickly discerned to have blueberries and wasn't that just a completely welcome surprise.

Non-sarcastically meant. At this point they were seriously considering asking for more, though a quiet chuckle from Tagger cut through the euphoria.

"You enjoyin' the pancakes, Whims?"

Of course, their mouth was full when he asked, leading to them throwing the neon-eyed figure a glare as they considered the notion of whether or not they could rush through swallowing this. Deciding that no, they wanted to savor the pancakes, Whimsy instead made to turn their attention back to their food, and ended up having another distraction in the form of Cab proffering what looked like some kind of jug.

"Syrup's real good on those. Here, give it a try."

Whimsy watched with a growing-less-wary sense of curiosity as the golden…liquid (?) was poured onto what remained of their pancakes. And a hesitant taste turned into pure bliss as Cab had been proven completely right. The rest of the pancakes were quickly scarfed down, though a quick glance around the table showed that there were other things to pick at. They recognized the small bowl of berries, snagging a few and quickly eating those, though the one with the bacon going too quickly for them to have a hope of getting anything and with everyone reaching for some they weren't too sure they wanted to bother.

But, just as Whimsy had dropped back to more or less consider their empty plate, Cab reached over and placed down a few strips of bacon. At their surprised look, he pointed to his other side, to where the little skeleton boy gave a bright wave to go with his fixed grin. Whimsy's lips twitched, though the sight of the relatively normal-looking teeth brought to mind their own, sharp-toothed grin, and they kept their smile small. It didn't seem to deter the little skeleton at all though, the small bones clattering as the child jittered around with pure happiness at the simple show of gratitude.

It did help, a little, though Whimsy found themselves drifting towards a silent backdrop, more listening to the words of the others rather than contributing. They didn't think they would have very much to say anyway. At least, not things you said when everyone else was talking, laughing, telling jokes, and overall being far more light-hearted.

Was this what it was like? To be…normal? To have a home and a family? It was vaguely reminiscent of what they saw through the cracks in the walls of the blind woman's family, the strangeness of the current cast aside, and it made the role of the watcher feel all the more fitting and familiar. Safe.

"Whimsy," someone started, the faerie feeling like that veneer of security just tumbled down around them as they were yanked into the conversation. The source turned out to be the nearly silent Patches on Whimsy's other side, their eyes yanking to her like she'd brandished a knife. "Have you ever done this sort of thing before?"

Their brain stuttered out a little, because they knew the answer and also had the very certain knowledge that perhaps telling the whole group in any detail how that went likely wouldn't end well.

"I, uh, yes. A long time ago."

Not so long though, the reanimated faerie avoiding everyone's eyes as they drew inward, closing off from the rest of the group. It didn't stop them from hearing the somewhat awkward pause in their wake, the conversation stuttering to life with some sort of joke from Tagger that blurred in their ears. They didn't really feel like paying attention much anymore, the earlier, calmer feeling gone by the wayside as things seemed to move on around them. Before they knew it, everyone was getting up, doing their respective parts to gather up the dishes as Cab took over the washing of said dishes.

It felt like the rest of the group moved on like a hurricane, taking their warmth and energy with them. Whimsy was left clumsily fumbling along in the aftermath, glancing around in askance before handing their plate off to Cab who'd practically all but entreated the reanimated faerie to give it over.

Just as the porcelain left their fingers, a tug on their overalls caught their attention, Whimsy looking around before dropping their gaze even further, and finally catching sight of the faerie-puppy staring up at them.

"Y'smell really funny." Her voice had such an odd accent to it that it took Whimsy a few moments to realize that the words weren't altogether flattering.

"Uh…"

"Y'smell like a lotta different things. It's weird."

"Uh, Sunny…" Cab tried to interject, though he was still up to his elbows in the dishes from breakfast.

"They smell like apples, Cab!" Sunny insisted, before closing her eyes and taking in another deep breath through her nose. "An' trees. An' dirt. An'…"

Another inhale, and Sunny's eyes opened again, looking more puzzled.

"…Lightnin'. You smell like dead things an' live things. Which one are you s'pposed t'be? Are you like Manny or are you like me?"

It felt very much like the child was asking the question 'are you alive or are you dead?'. It was one that Whimsy couldn't help asking themselves sometimes, especially given the fact that the only side of the spectrum they'd ever see were the people in the villages, the towns. The very much alive, and the dead things were lying in their worm-infested, decomposing beds. Seeing Manny was definitely a first, but Whimsy knew that they weren't the same as the little skeleton.

"I, I don't know. I don't think I'm…either…"

"Why don't you know? Wasn't anyone there t'tell you?"

No, but the word wouldn't come to their mouth, as it came with ranting about how their own creator hadn't wanted them, had taken one look at them and fled, leaving Whimsy to deal with the world alone. Even with distance, and cares, that still stung worse than physical wounds. But, as they tried to figure out how best to answer, Sunny seemed to come to her own conclusion, reaching out from her perch and pressing a hand to Whimsy's front.

"…It's okay. No one told me either. But if you're smart, you won't need tellin'. You'll figure it out. That's what Tagger said. But Patches said I could ask an' so did Cab an' Fancy. Maybe they can tell which one you are." Sunny said, with the gravitas of someone delivering a prime solution, punctuated in the conciliatory pat they gave the leg of Whimsy's overalls. It was the sort of thing that they really didn't have any words for, but in lieu of just sitting there like a dullard Whimsy did try to add something to the conversation.

"That's…that's some nose you have."

…Didn't mean that it didn't sound any less lame to their ears. Though, thankfully Sunny didn't seem too off-put by the switch. If anything, she seemed proud that Whimsy had pointed it out.

"I've got the best nose. Ask anyone."

"It's the best. Can find a rabbit in the whole forest." Cab pointed out, Sunny grinning happily at the support.

"Yep!"

But, even with the lighter switch, the question that the little faerie-pup had asked stuck in Whimsy's mind, beating like a drum.

Are you alive or are you dead?

It was one that, for all their efforts to wrangle an answer, they couldn't quite manage it.

They ended up retreating to the couch again, settling down on the leather fabric with a quiet sigh. Was there a right way that that was supposed to go? It hadn't felt right at all…

The faint sound of someone walking caught their attention, their head turning to see Cab approaching, a somewhat nerve-edged smile flickering over his face as he came near.

"'Ey, Whimsy. You doin' alright?"

"Yeah, fine," they mumbled, looking away to consider their knees and feet yet again. It seemed to provoke something in Cab, his tone changing from moderately upbeat to quietly apologetic.

"…Hey, just wanted t'say sorry. Forgot the kids can be a lil' inquisitive sometimes, realized that y'prob'ly didn't want t'deal with that just after wakin' up. And don't worry about Sunny, she's just curious. An', hey, Manny seems t'like you."

Which was, reasonable, and a little bolstering, but Whimsy couldn't help a recriminating thought from slipping out.

"…Don't think most people would want their kids being around me…"

"Hey, hey no, none of that now," Cab suddenly murmured, sitting down on the table in front of the sofa just to be within the reanimated faerie's field of vision. "Whimsy, no one here thinks you're a bad person, y'hear?"

Whole mobs of people felt differently, Cab, Whimsy wanted to say, though the more biting thought wouldn't quite make it to their tongue. Instead, something a bit more lame slid out, the faerie letting their chin drop even more as their shoulders rolled inward.

"…yeah, sure…"

"Whimsy, look at me? Please?" Ordinarily, they might've rankled a little at the thought of anyone telling them what to do. But Cab's behavior, his tone, everything felt like he was actually trying to be nice, like he thought of them as a person. So, even though they didn't quite relinquish their hangdog, beaten-down demeanor, Whimsy did look up to meet Cab's eyes. The look they saw there was enough to give them pause, only having seen something like it once before. Beaming sincerity and emotion, to the point where the eyes glimmered faintly at the edges. Cab's hands came up to grasp Whimsy's shoulders, the touch only getting the faerie to look away for the briefest instant before their gaze immediately snapped back to Cab's, somehow sensing that what he was about to say was something that he wanted them to properly hear and absorb.

"Trust me, I know. This is hard. And it's okay to be freaked out about it. But, Whimsy, no one here thinks you're a bad person. And, if you want to, you don't have to be a bad person. You don't have to be. You can be just as good as anyone else, just as good a person as you want to be. Nobody can force you t'make a choice, only you do that. And, Whims, I don't know a whole lot, I'll admit it. But, anythin' anyone said, anythin' anyone did to you, it's not your fault, okay? That's on them, what they do, what they say. Not on you."

It was nearly everything they'd wanted to hear, but somehow, there was doubt. There was a part of them that couldn't help looking for falsehoods and tricks, that thought that what Cab was saying couldn't apply to them. And maybe it didn't. It wasn't as though Cab knew about what happened to the blind woman's house, or that child's arm, or a similarly patchwork shape underneath a sheet…

"…Why do you care? Why, why does this…matter so much to you?" It was an honest question given how suddenly Cab had come in and just started, offering them things like friendship and a place to stay. Though while Whimsy couldn't fault themselves entirely for asking it, a part of them couldn't help feeling just a little like they'd done something wrong as Cab's hands fell away, his eyes glancing around as though for help before he just seemed to decide to come out with it.

"…I, I've been there, before, Whims. Maybe not exactly where you are, but…I've been somewhere near it. And, in a lotta cases, what I'm tellin' you was, I didn' exactly have that many friends to start out. Pretty much none, actually." Cab's eyeline dropped, his whole, lanky frame drooping as though held down by weights. But he didn't stay that way for long, quietly looking back up to meet Whimsy's eyes though there was still a careworn shadow in his face as he smiled. "Kinda, y'know, when you see someone goin' through somethin' similar, makes you wanna stick up for people like that. T'help them out. Heh, sorry, prob'ly not makin' much sense."

"No, I, I think I get it." Whimsy replied, feeling a faint, nearly involuntary grin tugging at the corners of their mouth. "Thanks…Cab. Thank you."

"Welcome. Also, Whims, we're goin' out, by the way. Just takin' a walk. Wanna come with?" As Cab spoke, his hand reached out to Whimsy, gloved palm up with the fingers a little outstretched. There, if they wanted. But...

More crowds, more people, more feeling out of place.

"...No." They should say something else, right? "No thank you."

Though there was a slight downturn to Cab's smile, he nodded in that understanding sort of way before heading back into the kitchen.

"Okay. I'll see you later, okay, Whims?"

"…Sure." Whimsy more murmured back, a faltering feeling in their stomach that Cab probably couldn't hear them. The thought that the group would have to come back through the room, and would therefore have to walk past them, forced Whimsy up and back to the spiral staircase. Not to mention, Bee was right beyond the door, and if he were to come back…

Well-meaning or not, Whimsy didn't want to deal with really anyone right now.

They were nearly to their room when they saw a faint ribbon of light playing across the floor, from a door that was a little further down the hallway than theirs. A wary sort of curiosity pricked at Whimsy's conscious mind, the reanimated faerie skirting down the hall with a stealth that was a little disarming given their eight-foot-frame.

It was a skill well honed, though, and put them right next to the door in question. And, with the way it opened, they got a rather good view of the room beyond. It was a space filled with color, different reels of fabric here and there, gatherings of sewing material, a rack full of completed and partially completed clothing. There was a desk directly across from the door, a familiar figure there and quietly at work. Fancy was bowed over what looked like a mess of warm colored fabrics, hands a constant blur of motion as he carefully stitched one of the seams. Whimsy honestly could not have said what it was, both because of the angle and just by looking, they were hardly any sort of expert on clothing.

But, the more they watched, the more they found the motions, and the overall atmosphere of the room, soothing. Perhaps it was the fact that it was quiet, but warm, and perhaps it also had something to do with the stitches running through their own frame, but somehow it was enough to keep Whimsy rooted there, quietly watching, for what felt like a good few minutes, their eyes quietly roving over everything from the clothes themselves to other things scattered about the room.

On one of the upper shelves of the desk, standing out because it was different from the other nooks and crannies filled with sewing supplies, were a bunch of what looked like random objects. Small stones, what looked like some sort of porcelain figure of someone dancing, an apparent amulet with a piece of some kind of crystal, a small mechanic's wrench, and a folded piece of paper with a smaller, colored piece pinned to it.

They were too far away to really look at any of the other objects, but the wrench immediately brought to mind Bee. Had Bee given Fancy that? Were the other objects all gifts too?

With the added layer of detail, the view into the room almost became a mirage, something that Whimsy could almost imagine themselves stepping into and claiming as their own. Someplace warm and inviting, with objects here and there that had their own stories, their own place.

Their own home…

Though unfortunately, the spell was broken with a too-loud creak coming from the hallway, Whimsy not sure if they'd accidentally shifted or not but seeing Fancy pause and make to look up. Without thinking, they turned tail and tried to hurry back down the hallway as quietly as they could, closing the door of their bedroom behind them.

For a brief instant they stood there, listening, before realizing that there was light coming in through the window behind them, which would illuminate the fact that they were standing there. Stepping back, Whimsy moved closer to the window, and happened to catch sight of movement in the yard below.

Out of instinct, they drew back, but it still didn't mask the sight of Cab, Tagger, Patches, Sunny, and Manny all heading off for their walk. The younger children skirted around the older three, clearly in good spirits with Cab more readily following along. Tagger and Patches were going at a more sedate pace, though were clearly part of the group. Despite the strangeness of the people, it was much like what Whimsy had watched from a distance.

What would it have looked like if they had gone too?

It felt foolish, not to mention horribly vulnerable, to just stand there staring out the window, so Whimsy instead turned to the bed, still rumpled from the nightmare-fraught sleep of last night. It looked just as lonely and forlorn as they felt, the reanimated faerie letting their eight-foot-tall frame thump onto the mattress. They didn't want to sleep, for a multitude of reasons, but, really…they had nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go.

It was…frustrating. Wasn't this supposed to be better? Were they doing this right? Was there a right way? They didn't want to go on the walk. Cab hadn't tried to force them, but he'd seemed… not bothered, but maybe a little put out. Had he wanted them to come?

But, they hadn't wanted to. Should they have agreed anyway?

The thoughts were more maddening than helpful, and getting tumultuous enough that Whimsy forcibly cut them off with an irritated growl as they pressed their face into the pillow.

Of course, cutting off their own air really didn't help much, so after a few seconds the reanimated faerie quietly pulled their face away and looked to the side instead, fixating on the blue and the tops of the trees they could see through the window. They had the thought to open the window again, to hear the sounds of the nature outside given that so far, it had been the only comfort. Though the thought was in their head, and they could easily picture getting up to do it, for some reason, they couldn't make themselves move. Instead, what happened was that Whimsy rolled onto their side, eyes lazily focusing on the trees outside as they gently swayed in a breeze.

Time melted by like that, and they easily could have slipped into a doze that thankfully was too light for dreams. But, as they flopped onto their back, a knock came from the door.

It brought to mind Cab, though in a twist, the one standing there when Whimsy opened the door was Tagger.

"Hey, Whims!"

"Hi." Whimsy wasn't about to force more than a politely neutral tone, though Tagger's voice still kept that calm, devil-may-care lilt that showed he wasn't the least bit intimidated by anything, never mind the eight-foot-tall faerie staring him down.

"Missed you on the walk, but Sunny and Manny wanted to get you some stuff. Think you might be able to come out and play next time?" They weren't sure how it happened, but somehow Tagger moved past them, setting down a few objects on the dresser across from the bed. Two rocks, one lighter colored and with rounded edges, the other jet black with sharp angles. As Tagger placed down the little souvenirs from the hike, it struck Whimsy just how plain and bare the place was. Fancy's room had been littered with personal touches, but for them the only thing in the room was the furniture.

Well, it wasn't like they'd set up shop anywhere long enough to really acquire things of their own. The fact that they had an actual bed still felt like a marvel. Tagger was currently sitting on it but it still counted.

Still, Tagger's tone, and words, rankled enough that now Whimsy actually felt a rebuke coming to their tongue.

"I'm not a child, you know."

"…Funny you should say that. T'me, pretty much everyone in this house is young. Well, younger." Tagger's tone had softened a little as he turned back, the look in those oddly-colored, glaring eyes easing down to something a little less blinding. It brought to mind the conversation that Whimsy had sort of participated in, where Tagger had divulged that he had been the first one that Cab had befriended, and more or less kicked off the formation of this strange group. Perhaps then would have been a good time to actually dig in and find out more, but, well, they were here now. No time like the present, right?

"…How old are you?"

"Rude." Given that it was more than a little hard to read Tagger's face, Whimsy couldn't help the immediate apology that leapt to their tongue. It didn't help that Tagger's body language could have been either mock-affronted or real-affronted, his arms crossed and upper body turned away with his head back a little. Had they said something offensive, it wasn't like they would know…

"I, wait, I wasn't…"

Thankfully, Tagger seemed to get that facing in the opposite direction wasn't helpful, turning around and actually facing the reanimated faerie as he replied.

"No, no, it's okay. I'm kidding, Whims. Don't be so serious. And, honestly? Couldn't give you an exact, numerical answer. I just know that, in terms of age, I pretty much rank ahead of everyone, Fancy included."

The notion was honestly a bit of a shocking one, though it stoked to life Whimsy's curiosity. And, if Tagger hadn't been too bothered by that one question…

"What exactly are you?"

"Well…you know that feeling you get when you're out at night, alone, and you keep having the feeling that someone's behind you even though you're pretty sure no one's there?"

"…Yeah?"

"That's kinda in the same ballpark as me. 'Course, you might be a little more familiar with the rest of the family. The Call of Cthulhu mean anythin' t'you?"

"…No, not really."

"Don't worry about it. For reference's sake, think of it like the blackness between the stars, or like when you're swimmin' in deep water an' just happen to look down at all that nothin'. Just, all the stuff out there that's too big to know that might keep you up at night if you think about it too much because, as it turns out, there's either no answer, or there's one you might not like all that much. Point bein', there's a reason I keep all this paraphernalia on."

Well, that was something of a revelation, even though Whimsy felt they really could only guess at exactly what Tagger was eluding to. Something unknowable, something too old to really pin down a proper age to, something that couldn't even show its true face or form around anyone. How on Earth did Cab even befriend something like that?!

"So, now that you know somethin' about me, can I ask somethin' about you, Whims?"

Seemed fair, though they weren't too certain they'd like where this was going.

"…Sure."

"Y'can sit down by the way, not gonna bite. Alright, my question is…where've you been, exactly? I can tell you're a faerie, at least on the outside and before whatever happened there, but somethin' like you doesn't just sprout up overnight."

"…I, I was, I've been traveling. Around. I…I spent some time in a village, a good ways north of here." Whimsy haltingly replied, sinking down to sit next to Tagger.

"Yeah? Spent a while up there?"

"Yeah. I, I was staying with a family…they didn't really know I was staying with them." This felt like the start of a chain reaction, Whimsy fully aware that this was, while not the worst of their crimes, a good lead into the destruction they'd wrecked.

"Guessin' the family might not have reacted well to their house guest, huh?"

"…One did. There was an older woman who lived there. She was blind. I thought if I could make my case to her, then, maybe they'd let me stay…"

"Didn't work out?"

"No. Her family came back, and they saw me, and chased me away, and when I'd gotten back they'd left and I-" Fire, fire had happened as the little cottage that they'd been so fond of burned up around them like some portion of Hell had risen to devour it. Whimsy had been angry, true, but there'd been something so soul-chilling in the sight that it had sapped them of their anger like a bucket of water to the face. Their efforts to put out the flames had ended in burns, burns that hadn't stopped stinging until they'd been able to douse it with water from the well and despite their best efforts, the whole thing had gone up. They'd had the thought in the back of their mind before, but especially now as they relived the memory, they couldn't help wondering what happened to the family. Did they come back? Did they see what the faerie had done?

"…I burned their house down."

"You don't sound proud of that."

"I wasn't, I'm not, I just…I got angry." A deep sigh, before Whimsy went with the first thought knocking about in their stitched-together head. "Doesn't matter anymore. Wouldn't have worked."

"Maybe you didn't find the right people."

"There aren't any right people. Nobody cares about me."

"You sure?" Tagger's voice had started to take on that semi-teasing lilt again, the reanimated faerie finding that they had barely any patience left for that nonsense, thank you.

"…Look, whatever you want to say, just come out and say it."

"Don't know the specifics, but Cab didn't have to say he'd be your friend, right? Fancy didn't have to let you stay in his house. I didn't have to carry you back up to your room last night. But we did. Kids didn't have to get you presents either. But they did. Know your experience is a little skewed, but…what'dya have to lose in tryin' again, Whims? Besides, you're not dealin' with some run of the mill, salt of the earth types. We're all pretty weird. Think I just demonstrated my own case decently well. And, if you're runnin' around with a crowd of folks that're weird, d'you really stand out?"

It was a good point, Whimsy going quiet as they considered it. They were, unique, for sure, and they were pretty sure that there wasn't anyone else in the world like them, but, considering what they were learning about their new housemates, maybe someone exactly like them wasn't needed.

"We're a stubborn bunch, Whims. You ain't gettin' rid of us that easy." The words, in and of themselves, were something to think on, but what grabbed Whimsy's attention was the fact that Tagger, did something. Made some sort of motion like he was going to reach out to the reanimated faerie, but as Whimsy stared and leaned away, Tagger pulled back.

"Alrighty then, suit yourself," he murmured, almost sounding dismissive. Though as Tagger made it to the door, he glanced back to the faerie. "And, if and when you're ready, c'mon down. We'd like to see you sometime."

They'd all like to see them. There was nothing in Tagger's voice that suggested a falsehood, which made the knee-jerk, resulting thought that no, no one wanted to see them, feel very much like a double-edged sword. Keeping anyone else away, but cutting deep somewhere inside.

"Oh, by the way, Whims," Tagger spoke up, twisting around in a way that didn't look altogether right as the neon pie-cut eyes glimmering from underneath the hood glanced back at the reanimated faerie. "Left you a surprise on one of your gifts, but you gotta turn the lights off and close the curtains to see it. Anyway, see you 'round!"

And with that, he was gone, leaving a somewhat confused Whimsy in his wake. Bemusedly their eyes turned to the little stones that were now sitting innocently on their dresser, the faerie even resorting to going over and picking them up for a closer look. Left something on them? What the heck did that mean?

Though there was the added stipulation of the lights, Whimsy quietly putting the stones back down before going to the light switch and then crossing the room to get the curtains.

It was when they turned back to the stones that they saw the glimmers of light, almost like paint, dotting the surface of the darker one. But it was only when they got close and picked it up that the reanimated faerie could read what had been scrawled over the rock.

A simple message, written in brilliantly neon colors with ever letter being a different shade: Hi Whimsy!

And a sort of design underneath it that, as they turned it around, looked like a small, simplified face winking at them.

It was such a small thing, the kids not having to think to get them a present but Tagger also had not had to add in the extra message. But it felt both lightening, and a little worrying. Like Whimsy was standing on the edge of a precipice and couldn't see the bottom of the pit they were looking to jump into. They'd seen groups of people, both friends and presumably families, that looked to have that perfect happiness.

It had been a strong lure, as perfect and content as it looked, to tease Whimsy from the trees and pique them to try talking to the people they saw. But it had never worked. Even when the other person couldn't see how they looked, it never worked.

Whimsy was weird, Whimsy was wrong, Whimsy was disgusting, a monster, unwanted, not supposed to be…

In a snap, they realized that they had started to squeeze the little stone, and immediately loosened their grip with a worried grimace. The present, and the message written upon it, were thankfully unharmed, Whimsy looking down at it for a moment before carefully placing it back on the dresser.

Their attention was grabbed by a brief shuffling noise in the hallway, Whimsy wondering for a brief instant if Tagger had come back to see if his gift had been warmly received. The door had been left open a crack, a few strides taking them over to it and a brief nudge opening it enough for them to look out into the hall.

Which was empty. Whimsy peered left, then right, seeing no one.

They pulled back into their room, thoughts turning to what Tagger had said before. Maybe, maybe they would try to go downstairs in a little bit. Just to maybe explore the place a little more, though they couldn't help a mental block on the notion of what they would do if they actually encountered anyone. Maybe better to tackle that in the moment rather than try to plan ahead, planning ahead didn't seem to do them much good…

Whimsy ended up being so engrossed in their own thoughts, that they missed seeing the door to Fancy's workroom, which had been open a crack, surreptitiously slid shut as they returned to their own room.

It took a few hours before Whimsy felt ready, heading down to the landing and ending up a little relieved by how quiet the main area was. Bee, it seemed, had left, and though the sight was calming, they were still on-edge given that just because the more-visible car had apparently stepped out didn't mean that the others weren't here somewhere.

Though, thankfully, at least from the higher-up vantage point, Whimsy could safely say that they couldn't outright see anyone wandering around in near the couch below, or in the kitchen. Listening around revealed that things were quiet, though a quick glance to the windows drew Whimsy's eye to the fact that the sky had gone gray, the first of a rainfall pattering against the glass.

It did kill the fleeting impulse to actually wander around outside, though Whimsy was loath to just return to their room. Not after they'd come this far. Maybe, even with the possibility of someone coming along, they could just sit for a while.

So, with that thought in mind, they slipped the rest of the way down the stairs, walking past the little kitchen area to the sort-of living room.

It was a good thing that Whimsy had gotten into the habit of watching where they were putting their feet, otherwise they might've traipsed all over the two little forms simply sprawled on the living room floor. As such, they simply stood there for a moment, a foot handing in the air as they stared. Sunny was predictable enough, the little canine-gargoyle faerie arranged like a sleeping puppy, but Manny was…more interesting, to say the least. At least, Whimsy was fairly sure that when things looked all disjointed and, spread out like that, they were supposed to be dead. Actually dead, but then again, Manny being a little skeleton, maybe the rules were different?

Either way, this was a little more weird than they felt equipped to handle, especially from children, so the reanimated faerie turned on their heel. Thankfully, Patches was just coming out of the back room, though the other faerie's lighter tread meant that Whimsy nearly ended up running into her when they peeked out. Immediately both recoiled, Whimsy with an apology on their lips, though they ended up truncating it, given that Patches had that ever-present serene look as she considered them. The kind that barely seemed to get ruffled, it was almost maddening given that it made it difficult to tell what she was really thinking.

But it would be…wrong, to simply judge the other faerie for a trick of her demeanor, something not able to be really helped, so Whimsy simply bit their tongue and stayed quiet on their internal thoughts. Instead, they turned, gesturing to the scene in the living room as they tried their best to convey the issue at hand.

"I just, I found them like this, is Manny supposed to be…?"

Patches peeked around them, pale, unblinking eyes immediately lighting on the slumbering pair. Perhaps it was relieving, in a way, that the cloth-made faerie didn't immediately blanch, or scream, but that calm serenity was a little maddening. This was precisely why they'd been so slow to integrate with anyone, Fancy was easy to read, Cab was too earnest to have ulterior motives, the children were children, Bee was a demon, if not an easy-going one, and Tagger was…Tagger. Whimsy still had yet to figure that one out, but at least he had more visible moods, unlike Patches who seemed to skate through life with a strange sort of distant coolness.

"This happens sometimes," she was saying, lightly skirting over with barely a noise. "You can just pick up Sunny. I'll show you what to do with Manny. Just watch my hands."

"If you just give him a little help, he'll come together on his own." To illustrate her point her gentle motions of picking up the somewhat discombobulated skeleton caused Manny's bones to jolt back into place, Patches carefully scooping up the small monster and tucking him close, like Whimsy had seen mothers handle their children. Manny himself barely woke up, automatically snuggling in to Patches's shoulder, though the reanimated faerie felt themselves bristle as those unblinking eyes turned to them.

"You can try picking up Sunny. As long as she's comfortable, it should be fine."

Though there was a part of them that bristled at the notion, especially since Sunny could easily fit in an arm, Whimsy still knelt, reaching carefully out to the small, winged body. It was only after they'd carefully plucked the wolf puppy-like faerie off the ground that they realized that Sunny had been sleeping on top of something. It was a sheave of paper, along with some pencils, though what drew Whimsy's attention was what was on the paper.

"Sunny likes to draw," Patches said by way of explanation as Whimsy picked up the paper, though something in their expression caught her eye. "Is something wrong?"

"I, she drew me."

And it was so, Whimsy able to more feel than hear Patches coming around to look, but for the moment they had no space left for their knee-jerk guardedness. They only had eyes for this, picture. This child's creation that had them as a part of the group, standing under a bright sun and blue sky, amongst what looked like long, yellow grass. Strangely enough, Tagger was the tallest of the group, Whimsy competing with Cab for second-tallest, and what was probably Bee looked like more of a jumble of red and black than a proper car, Sunny, Manny, and Fancy looking similarly blobbish, but it was all recognizable. And they were a part of it.

"Patches told us," Sunny spoke up through a yawn, having woken as Whimsy had picked her up, ", 'bout the fields she used to live in, when she scared the crows. She said it was like a dream, when it was sunny, and the winds blew through the fields. It's her best place. She said I could use it. Wanted you to be there too. No more bad people, just us. All of us."

"Wh-Why…?" Whimsy forced out, their mouth feeling very dry as something about the word, or perhaps the emotions behind it, stuck in their throat. But Sunny merely looked up at them with her cherry red eyes, beaming that sort of empathetic heaviness that most children didn't have. Maybe Whimsy might've considered it more, though right now, their emotions were bubbling up their throat, coming out in a soft sob at what had simply fallen in their lap.

"If I had known…I would never have given you breath!"

"You're an object of shame, without soul or a name!"

"You…no place but…THE GRAVE…"

"No," Cab had said the other night, when they'd first met. "You don't need him! You don't need someone that don't want you! He's hurt you, cut him out of your life! If you need somewhere to go, you can come with me, with us."

"You're a little late offering me friendship," Whimsy had replied, a sneer curling their lip as they glared at the bizarre…thing, a creature dressed very much like a man, that stood before them. But, a strange thing was happening, had happened. Even as Cab had spoken, tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes, like he'd meant every word of what he'd been about to say.

"But I'm doin' it. Late or on time, the point is in the doin' of the thing! An', if'n you saw someone who you know felt as lonely and as hurtin' as you do now, would you just stand by? Knowin' what you know, and havin' been through what you've been through, would you, would you just let them suffer?"

They hadn't an answer, but when Cab had held out his hand, they'd taken it with only a faint bit of hesitation. Cab had tried more to steer them along, but the way he'd been keeping a grip on Whimsy's hand made them wonder if he thought they might bolt if he let them go. But then he'd turned to them and said something that had been sitting quietly at the back of Whimsy's mind.

"Everythin' in life is a choice, an' while you've gotten one hell of a raw deal, you don't hav'ta stay there, you hear? You won't be alone, not with us."

A choice. Whether they'd been aware of the significance or not, they'd made a choice. And it had brought them something small, but heartfelt, and precious. This, not small, but simple life that accepted them so readily as one of their own. That accepted them as…

"Whimsy, it's okay, I just meant that we're family now, see? Patches, Cab, Tagger, Bee, Fancy, Manny, me, you, we're all a family now." Sunny's voice trembled with upset, though Whimsy felt completely unable to answer. But, like a calm wind, a ray of sun in darkness, Patches's calm, whispery quiet voice spoke up.

"I think Whimsy needs a hug, Sunny. Can you give them a hug? One of your very best?"

The small arms wrapping around what they could of their frame snapped the last, delicate thread holding back the emotional floodgates, Whimsy doing their best not to crush the smaller faerie as they cradled her, and cried. Deep, heaving sobs that came from somewhere far down inside as a wail stayed locked behind a set of clenched teeth, their stitched together frame feeling like it might shake itself to pieces from the maelstrom raging inside.

We're a family…

"No soul or a name!"

You don't have to stay there…

"Corruption of biology…"

You won't be alone…

The feeling of another small frame, this one bonier, coming to hug them caused Whimsy to start, wide eyes finding the equally tumultuous ones of Manny. They must've woken up the little skeleton, but before they could even think to apologize the boney little arms were wrapping around their own arm, Manny tucking in in his own effort.

Whimsy looked up just in time to see Patches kneel in front of them, something beaming through as they made eye contact. That calm serenity swirled with a compassion that loomed as large as the open sky, Patches quietly reaching out to the reanimated faerie, and carefully brushing their tears away with a hand made of course cloth. They were quickly replaced by more, though for the moment Whimsy only bowed their head, shoulders helplessly shivering as they tried their best to ride out the storm.

What they weren't expecting was for Patches to reach out, gently easing them to lean into her shoulder. Her hands, with their faint suggestion of needle-like claws, carefully combed through the topmost layer of their curly mane. Their head rested against Patches's shoulder, folded down enough that even their eight-foot-tall frame could rest comfortably while still not crushing the two children doing their best to give the overwrought faerie a hug.

A soft hum caught Whimsy's attention, Patches's whispery tones rumbling low in her ribcage before it blossomed into a lulling song.

"You'll remember me, when the west wind moves, 'pon the fields of barley, you'll forget the sun in his jealous sky, as we walk in fields of gold…"

The 'best place', a field of pure gold that rippled in the movements of wind like something alive. But peacefully so, like the soft rise and fall of breath. It felt so antithetical to what they had known before, the shouting, the strife, the loneliness, the abandonment…

Though there was a part of Whimsy that wanted to push back, to withdraw until they felt safe, they found they couldn't. It felt so foreign, and yet there was a part of them that couldn't help staying right where they were. It was also the part of them that seemed to be the center of the emotional storm, this screaming, wailing, crying thing that grasped at the physical comfort like a lifeline. Patches's voice blurred in their ears, a lulling hum as their mind moved away from the images of darkness, lightning, mobs, screaming…and to a field of softly waving gold.

The thought caused a soft, near-involuntary sob to rattle through Whimsy's frame, Patches briefly breaking in her song to murmur some soothing words that was probably meant to be nonsense, but somehow, Whimsy couldn't take it that way.

"Shh, shh, we're here, we're here…"

A few moments of that, and carefully rocking them a little, and the scarecrow faerie went back to her tune. Whimsy listened, holding onto it like it was a part of the stitches running throughout their skin as the world dissolved into an exhaustion-dulled haze.

"I never made promises lightly, and there have been some that I've broken, but I swear in the days still left, we'll walk in fields of gold…"

"Hey, Whimsy…" A voice spoke, piercing the calm stupor that had drifted in. In the moment, Whimsy had no other thought apart from that they particularly liked where they were and didn't want to move, burying their face in the material as they tried to get away from whoever this was.

"G'way…"

"Would, but you're kinda pinning Patches to the floor. Wanna try gettin' up on the couch, probably be comfier?" At first, Cab's words were confusing, Whimsy's eyes blinking groggily open before they realized that, well, he was right. Turning their head brought Patches's face into view, the calm, even stare a little softer as she looked down at the reanimated faerie. With a somewhat sheepish flutter in their chest, they realized that they were still using Patches's shoulder and upper body as a pillow, with Sunny and Manny still held close in a careful but firm grip. Whimsy straightened, pulling away from the relatively vulnerable position, but they couldn't make themselves let go of the pair just yet.

With nothing else they could do, and a glance around telling them nothing, they couldn't help asking a somewhat hesitant question.

"H-How long was I asleep?"

"About ten minutes. Not very long at all," Patches replied, stretching now that the weight of all three had been removed.

"Hence why we're bringin' up the couch." Cab pointed out, about to reach down to help Whimsy up before Tagger nudged him aside.

"They got two heads on you, noodle-arms. Lemme do it."

Though Tagger was definitely more than ready to haul Whimsy up, it was a little difficult given that their hands were full of sleeping children. Patches and Cab tried to make it easier by taking at least one per each of them, but Whimsy had a moment of conflict as they looked between the offered hands and the little forms nestled against their front.

"It's okay," Cab spoke, catching Whimsy's hesitation. "They're pretty much out. You wanna take five with 'em?"

The question provoked a shy, eye-avoiding nod, though no one seemed to begrudge Whimsy an iota as they clambered up onto the sofa, and quietly scooted inward to make room for the sleeping Sunny and Manny. Instead, there were just quiet words on the part of Cab and Tagger, varying levels of affection in the pair's voices as Cab handed Whimsy a blanket and wished them a good nap, and Tagger's neon grin rife with rough warmth as he said he'd see the faerie later.

Sleep well, see you later. Was that normal to hear, and to feel like it was being meant? They weren't sure if they wanted to ask, but it definitely was a first for them. But, as Cab and Tagger were moving away, it suddenly struck Whimsy that Patches was still standing by, and apparently had something to say.

"You can come to me again if you need to talk, I don't mind. Also," she murmured, kneeling down next to the couch to look Whimsy in the eye. "You have brambles in your hair. I got about three out but there's probably more. We can try to fix that later if you like."

The faerie in question wasn't sure they could offer much to that, but Patches thankfully didn't seem to need an answer, getting up and leaving without any prompting. Whimsy was left blinking in the wake of that, before deciding that, well, they didn't need to really decide anything now and settling into the pillow with a sigh.

The slight movement made both Sunny and Manny move around, twitching and squirming for a moment or two. Without thinking Whimsy reached out and placed an arm over the pair, mostly for the sake of keeping them from rolling off the couch, but found themselves surprised when Sunny turned to huddle into them, Manny's arms reaching over Whimsy's and wrapping around like the limb was a stuffed animal.

It made the realization hammer in all the more that these little creatures, these kids, trusted them. Trusted them enough to sleep peacefully next to them, trusted them enough to let them into their home, draw pictures of them like they were one of the, the family.

The thought had Whimsy swallow another lump in their throat, a prickling at the corners of their eyes stubbornly forced back down because they were sick and tired of feeling miserable. Besides, if they started up again it might wake the kids.

"Shh, go to sleep, you're safe with me." They found themselves murmuring anyway, a faint tremble eating at their voice as they huddled around Sunny and Manny.

The sounds of the rain pattering on the windowpanes formed a soothing backdrop, Whimsy's eyes lazily drifting to see the water as it ran in rivets down the glass. It didn't quite banish the sounds of fire, of screams, that lay burned in their memory, nor the ghostly feeling of a noose tightening around their neck…

…But it was some space. It was a start. Maybe that would be good enough for right now, the thought bringing enough peace to the reanimated faerie that they let their eyes slip closed, breathing growing slow and deep as they slipped into slumber.

It made them miss when, a little while later, a much shorter figure came round the sofa to look at the little huddle gathered there. Fancy looked upon the otherwise sweet scene, a slight furrow in his brow as his eyes turned to the hand and arm Whimsy had used to keep Sunny and Manny close, covered in stitches that he knew so very well. Because he'd sown them with his own hands, slaved for hours over the eight-foot-tall frame that now belonged to the sleeping faerie on his couch.

Briefly, the tailor reached out for the fingers in some knee-jerk impulse to inspect them, before the thought of what if Whimsy woke up, how on earth he would explain what he was doing made him draw back. Thankfully none of them moved, but it left Fancy standing there, awkwardly staring, and wondering what on earth to do.

The sight of a light flashing from behind the sofa, out in the garage, quickly caught the tailor's attention, and he followed the nonverbal signal all the way to the car innocuously parked in the far corner of the garage. The door opened silently in an invitation, Fancy climbing into the driver's seat with an exhausted sigh and feeling more tired than he'd felt back when Cab had simply brought his 'new friend' right to their doorstep.

"You gonna tell them?" Bee's voice spoke from the radio, quiet but questioning. Not accusing, or forceful, but like a nudge on your shoulder to get you in gear. But right now, Fancy very much did not want to 'get in gear'. Instead, one of his arms folded over his front, his hand coming up to knead at his forehead to dispel the growing ache there.

"Okay, different question," Bee started, "what'dya think of them? It's been a few days, you gotta have at least some thoughts."

"I think…they've had to deal with far more than they should have. That that stupid idiot…made some very big mistakes in handling them. That they've probably been alone for a while. I'm glad they're connecting with people though, be it Cab, or Sunny and Manny, or Patches. It should be good for them."

"Alright. Gonna let 'em stay?" Bee asked, the sudden question catching Fancy off-guard.

"Huh?"

"Whimsy. It's your house. Is it okay if they stay?"

He could tell that this wasn't meant to cast doubt on Whimsy or their character, but if the tailor were to be any judge he would say that this might be a way to make up for the downright shock that Cab simply bringing the reanimated faerie home had been. Especially given that it was practically unannounced, which was something that tended to throw everyone when it came to Cab. In a group of supernaturals that had to adhere to some strict etiquette rules, the one that behaved the most like a mortal, with all of the spontaneity that came with, tended to stand out like a sore thumb. Even if, to this day, Cab was something of a mystery. A mystery that tended to be danced around, given that telling someone like Cab that they were 'different' was usually a recipe for the checkered-skinned toon to just avoid the issue and then for him to burn out a few days later from how much he tried to avoid dealing with it.

And, either way, it wasn't like Whimsy had destroyed his house or anything, so Fancy didn't feel too much conflict over his next words.

"Don't think I could throw them out now even if I tried. The kids would be too upset if their new playmate left. Cab wouldn't like it either." It also probably wouldn't be very good for Whimsy to be just acclimating to a new place and then be thrown out. If anything, it would likely undo that bit of progress that Fancy had just seen. And, though Fancy might not admit it to anyone other than himself, there was a slowly growing sense of responsibility for the reanimated faerie. If the mayor would not look out for his own creation, then maybe the only other person aware of the circumstances behind said creation should.

"Good point." Bee's voice rumbled through the speakers, before taking on a somewhat more hesitant air as he asked his next question. "You, uh, holdin' up okay?"

"I'll be fine. You're not worried, are you?"

"Think Tagger an' I have been sorta worried since you called us to come get you. First time I saw you that freaked out by anything. Second might'a been when Whimsy came in."

To be fair, Fancy ruminated, both instances had been firsts for him too. The fact that a reanimated myth had simply been brought to his doorstep was a shock in and of itself, but the fact that it was the same myth that he'd been more or less forced to slave over, put together from dead bodies, and whose creator pushed him to the point of a nervous breakdown, now that was enough to perhaps add to the gray streak in the tailor's hair.

The nervous breakdown itself had been something, given that while Fancy could say that he'd had rough points in his life before, there was nothing quite like the experience he'd had when one of the bodies that Whimsy's creator had been working with turned out to be a little more rotten than previously thought. Mostly because trying to take anything from it had resulted in a horrid, absolutely putrid smell filling the room, Fancy having gotten a glimpse enough of the rotting features that he'd about lost whatever little he'd been able to eat beforehand. He'd run out, managing to get a call home and getting Tagger, and of course he'd come with Bee for expediency's sake.

The ride home was an ordeal, given that by the time Fancy had been sitting on the curb for a good fifteen minutes, trying to banish the stench and sights from his mind, he'd become uncomfortably aware just how acquainted he'd become with the dead. The sight of dehydrated, blackened flesh no longer enough to sicken him but in retrospect it was all the more horrifying. He'd tried to focus, tried to buckle down, tried to tell himself that it was just a job and he'd make it through, and the mayor had definitely been paying good money that could be put to good use.

But in the end it wasn't enough, and Tagger had been coming just shy of outright putting his foot down in stating it. It wasn't enough to justify poor sleep and worsening health. It wasn't enough to make up for the fact that Fancy knew, in his heart of hearts, that what the mayor wanted wouldn't be so easily obtained. Some 'conditions' just weren't curable, and death was unfortunately in that category. And while the tailor had been able to ignore the niggling concerns in the back of his mind about just where these bodies were coming from, there was the part of him that wondered if they were all being obtained by 'legal' means. Or, if any family involved might be aware of what was happening to their loved ones.

There was only one body that he'd felt more or less sure about, the one that the mayor had had set up on that main table, the one that had been having the most alterations done to it. That one had clearly died not that long ago, still with a shadow of life in its features. In the right light, it almost looked like someone languishing under an illness, their face frozen in a look of quiet but poignant resignation though their neck had been a little oddly bent.

Perhaps it was to be expected, given that it was a faerie's corpse, though there had been a part of Fancy that had been a little put off by how dismal the expression was coupled with what the mayor had been doing. Perhaps it could be partially blamed on the fact that he knew faeries, Patches and Sunny, and to see either of them in this position would have been gut-wrenching. But he hadn't known this one, so looking at them had just brought a sort of melancholy irritation for their situation.

You look like you've suffered enough. Can't he just let you rest?

But then that night had happened, and Fancy had taken a break for a few days to come back to a note on the door for him, explaining that his services were no longer required. There was talk of a payment, the mayor had sounded apologetic regarding the whole incident, but Fancy's mind kept going over what had happened when he'd asked why his services hadn't been needed anymore. The mayor's exact words were that the experiment had been a failure, but he didn't elaborate.

Maybe that should have been a sign that not all was well, but Fancy had believed the whole endeavor impossible. How was he to know it had actually succeeded in creating something?

Though, as Fancy snapped out of his thoughts, he realized that he'd more or less been sitting in silence, ruminating, for a good minute now, with Bee patiently waiting for him to reply.

"…I'm doing better, promise. Startled me, definitely, but I'm feeling more…balanced. Definitely less 'freaked out', as you put it."

"Good to hear there. Though, Fancy…I get 'not now', but, be careful with that kinda secret. If anything just because it'll end up sitting like a rock in the trunk."

"Fair enough. Worried I'll get more gray hair?" It might've been a bit of an unfair thing to joke about, as while Fancy had adjusted to the streak of gray in his hair following the whole incident with the mayor, the supernatural cast of characters in his household…really hadn't. At least, not until everyone was sure he wasn't about to keel over given that they'd all made the somewhat correct assertion that 'going gray' could mean that you were close to the end of your life. It had taken at least a few weeks for them all to back off, though out of all of them, Tagger and Bee were the only ones that knew the full circumstances. Still, there was a laugh in Bee's tone as he replied, hinting that while there might be a worry it wasn't nearly as strong as it had been.

"Hey, don't even go there, mister. Not until you're at least pushin' fifty."

"Alright, alright, I'll be careful. And, I probably will tell them. Just not right now. Thank you, Bee." The words were punctuated with a gentle pat on the steering wheel, the lights flickering like a grin in reply.

"Welcome. Gotta work on stuff?"

"As always."

"Can you show me sometime? Can't exactly make it up the stairs…or wear clothes, but it looks fun." It might've been an odd request for a car to make, but Fancy was decently sure that Bee had made similar ones before now, about various things that though he knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of him being able to participate he still wanted to know about. Ergo, it wasn't too hard to agree.

"Sure thing."

As Fancy was about to cross the living room, his path brought him within viewing distance of the huddle still slumbering on the couch, the tailor pausing for a moment to sort of re-take in the sight. Whimsy's face was quietly relaxed, arm still in that careful, protective position over Sunny and Manny, the pair just barely visible though Fancy could see Manny's much smaller arms still wrapped around the darker, stitched-together limb.

It was a surprisingly sweet sight, even with the unusual-ness of the cast of characters. Fancy gave a quiet, calm smile, before heading for the stairs.

#nemo's writing #whimsy #whimsy the faerie #frankenstein #frankenstein au #a-rae-of-sunshine #original characters #misfit toons

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pynches · 5 years

Text

there’s no one else (i’d love to hold more)

a/n: for @thegirlwhocanbemoved, the “wait, are you jealous?” prompt. It may not be what you expected but i still hope you like it!

word count: 1999

no tw!

For as long as Ronan could remember, everything he dreamt was a reflection of himself, his feelings and emotions implemented in whatever he decided to give life to in his dreams. Often, these feelings and emotions were unconscious, something Ronan wasn’t aware of before he saw them play out in real life.

The first time Chainsaw landed on Adam’s shoulder, gently nipping at his fingers as Adam had reached up to ruffle her feathers Ronan knew he was in trouble.

Chainsaw had taken a liking to Adam from the start. She had been too shy, however, to interact with him. Instead, she stared intensely at Adam every chance she got, much like her creator, flying away whenever Adam happened to look in her general direction.

This went on for a while.

Then Ronan stopped hating himself.

Chainsaw became a lot more affectionate after Ronan stopped denying his feelings. Adam’s shoulder had become a permanent residence for the raven and Ronan couldn’t blame her, he would be touching Adam on any occasion too if he thought Adam would let him.

Adam didn’t seem to mind either, always petting Chainsaw or ruffling her feathers, blissfully unaware of the implications of this, how she was really a part of Ronan’s soul embedded into the body of a raven.

Chainsaw was all too happy with the attention, preening at Adam’s careful fingers and fond gaze, something Ronan had dreamed about having directed at himself for months.

“I think she likes you better than me,” he had said one night at St. Agnes, a loaded confession disguised by an off-handed comment.

Adam laughed at that, something soft and fleeting. Ronan wanted to catch the laugh and put it in a bottle to listen to when the loneliness he often felt was threatening to rip him apart.

“I wonder why,” Adam shot back, his tone sarcastic but not unkind. He scratched underneath Chainsaw’s chin, Ronan had to clench his hands into fists at the sight before he did or said something stupid. Something that would reveal too much of himself and set him up for the eventual rejection he would like to procrastinate until he was less vulnerable, if that time ever came.

Chainsaw watched him knowingly, he had always dreamt up his creatures too smart for their own good. It almost seemed as if she was smiling mockingly. “Look! I’ve got Adam’s hands on me, something you’ve always wanted but never been the recipient of.”

Ronan stuck out his tongue at the bird when Adam wasn’t watching and went back to laying on the floor with a sour expression, his headphones back on his ears to drown everything out.

Not that much later, Ronan felt a soft kick to his boot and opened his eyes to Adam staring at him, Chainsaw tucked against his chest.

“I’m going to bed,” Adam said softly once Ronan had removed his headphones with the customary eye roll. It took him only a few seconds to realise why Adam had reduced his voice to a whisper.

Ronan felt his mouth pull back into an involuntary sneer. “Why the fuck should I care, Parrish,” he said loudly, waking up Chainsaw who glared at him. He would have felt bad for her if there wasn’t a hot surge of something awful coursing through his body at the sight of her nestled against Adam’s body, all protected and warm while he was reduced to sleep on the floor with only his jacket as a sorry excuse for a pillow.

“Jesus, Lynch,” Adam said, his tone reprimanding, his eyes disbelieving. Ronan tried to shake it off like he often had in the past without issue. He had been on the receiving end of that exact expression more times than he could count, but it usually not Adam who was looking at him like that, talking to him like he was something else than just “Ronan”. Something to be ashamed of maybe.

Ronan shrugged, pretended he had brushed the comment off and went right back to closing his eyes, ignoring the happy squawks Chainsaw let out when he was allowed in Adam’s bed.

Ronan’s blood only boiled further until he was so close to saying something he sat up immediately. He shook out his jacket and put it on, ignoring the confusion on Adam’s tongue.

“Ronan-”

“You can babysit the bird tonight,” he said before he walked out of the door. He was down the stairs before Adam could even comprehend what had just happened, he was in his car before Adam looked down at Chainsaw who looked back with a guilty expression.

Nothing ever escaped Adam, especially not when Ronan was the subject of his watchful gaze.

Ronan knew this, he knew he would have to explain himself in the morning but with the wide expanse of the highway stretched in front of him, the deafening beat of some song he had randomly burned on one of his tapes drumming through the thoughts nagging in his brain, he really didn’t care.

He knew Adam, despite his best efforts to remain unknowable so when the next day rolled around and Adam kept glancing at him from his locker, Chainsaw still on perched on his shoulder, Ronan sighed and closed the door, stepping right into Adam’s face. “What?” he asked, though he knew exactly what Adam was going to ask next.

“What happened last night?” Adam asked as if they had rehearsed this.

Ronan kept to the script. “Nothing special.”

It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the truth either.

Adam lifted one of his eyebrows with practised ease. “I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t give a shit about what you believe,” Ronan sneered back. This time it was more lie than truth. He watched as Adam looked around the hallway, catching some people glancing at them. They once had been notorious for fighting at any given moment but that changed over the months they had known each other. Now, when they happened to fight, it was treated as a new piece of gossip, happily spread between the bored boys of Aglionby.

“Meet me at St. Agnes tonight?” Adam asked. Ronan treated it as a command. He could never say no to Adam and somewhere deep within him, he knew Adam knew this but that was something he wasn’t ready to think about yet.

Ronan nodded and watched as Adam walked off, Chainsaw still on his shoulder, ignoring Ronan completely.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he did miss Chainsaw, the bird he had hand-fed through the early stages of her life and as much as he loved fighting, he hated fighting with her.

The evening couldn’t come early enough.

By now, Ronan had memorised Adam’s schedule to the minute. That didn’t prevent him from showing up late to St. Agnes. It was half an hour after Adam got off from work and Ronan had sought out every excuse to be this late. He marked it off as being busy but he knew the real reason.

He didn’t want to seem too eager and scare Adam off.

He knocked on his apartment door obnoxiously, impatiently waiting until Adam opened the door.

His hands were still a little dirty with leftover motor oil, his hair in disarray, no doubt from going through it with his hands when he was looking at one of the few exercises he didn’t understand and stressed about until he was practically tearing out his hair and biting through his pencils. In those moments, Ronan wanted to wrap him up and finally show him the softness Ronan kept inside at all times, show Adam the softness he deserved to feel.

Instead, he brushed past Adam into the small room, looking at him with a bored expression even though his heartbeat would have revealed it if Adam could hear it as much as Ronan could feel it.

“What do you want?” he asked, his words venom on his tongue.

Adam sighed as if he was already tired from the conversation, tired from Ronan. It set him off even more.

“To talk.”

Adam nodded his head to his mattress and sat down, staring up at Ronan until he sat down too.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Ronan tried but Adam pretended not to hear him. Instead, he looked at the sunset happening outside of the window that now had his attention. Ronan desperately wanted to get Adam’s eyes back on himself.

“You’ve never acted this way with Chainsaw,” Adam said, pricking through every layer Ronan had wrapped himself up with. “Something is wrong.”

“What do you care?” Ronan asked, hiding his desperation for Adam’s caring nature behind a disinterested tone, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket to match the attitude even though he did it for the added benefit of feeling the heat of Adam’s skin through the leather of his jacket.

“You’re my friend,” Adam said like it was something simple. Ronan wanted to tear himself apart.

“She’s attached to you,” Ronan mumbled, willing for Adam to understand him without having to say anything more.

He didn’t understand it and even if he did, he didn’t let anything on.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s always around you. Sitting on your shoulder and shit,” Ronan said. Adam understood it as it was, the only explanation he was willing to give.

“Wait a minute,” Adam said and Ronan knew this was the end. “Are you jealous.”

Ronan Lynch didn’t lie but that didn’t mean he had to tell the truth either.

They stayed silent for a few seconds, watching as the sun fully disappeared and left them in the darkness, unable to see anything but the shimmer of leftover light outside.

Everything was easier in the dark.

“Are you jealous of me or are you jealous of Chainsaw?”

Ronan swallowed hard.

Adam took his hand, tangling their fingers together. Slight tremors were going through the muscles of Adam’s hand, revealing his own nerves at this development.

It made Ronan feel a little better.

“I don’t like a bird better than I like you,” Adam offered with a small laugh, a way out, a way for Ronan to laugh along with him and forget this happened.

“Do you like me?” Ronan asked instead, letting the desperation he felt bleed through his words. It was the one chance he gave Adam to say something or he would try to get over him even though it felt like Adam had nestled himself in his heart much like Chainsaw had nestled himself against Adam’s chest the night before. Secure and unmovable.

He felt rough fingertips on his jaw and couldn’t suppress the goosebumps rising on his skin. He couldn’t see Adam come nearer but he felt his breath mingle with his own, his lips close enough if he had the courage to lean forward.

He didn’t have the courage.

Adam had.

The kiss was slow, soft, nothing like either of them but right enough it made something unfurl in his chest.

“Does that answer your question?” Adam asked, a whisper against his lips before he was pulled into another kiss.

It wasn’t until they were breathless and lying down on Adam’s shitty mattress, unable to hold themselves up anymore, only illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside table light Adam had quickly turned on, that Chainsaw joined them, bumping her head against Ronan’s hand apologetically.

Ronan smiled unguardedly at her, giving her some crumbed crackers from his pocket he had kept there just in case she came flying back to him.

“You’re still my favourite girl,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t tell the maggot.”

He felt Adam’s eyes on him but for once he felt unafraid and looked back like he had wanted to do since the moment they met.

Adam smiled at him, his lips stretching over his teeth, and Ronan forgot what he had been jealous about in the first place.

#trc #the raven cycle #pynch #pynch fic #pynch fanfic #pynch fanfiction #trc fic #trc fanfic #trc fanfiction #the raven cycle fic #the raven cycle fanfic #the raven cycle fanfiction #Adam Parrish #ronan lynch #adam x ronan #ronan x adam

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blackfiremagic · 5 years

Text

Show off your OC: Continued

One of my fave scenes , is one where my OCs come together. ( Shea,Jade and Hera are all there along with some other long running OCs)

Those who sat there now where no ladies of the court but the knights they had always been, the warriors of their home.

Hera sat hands folded before her watching the sisters GreenStone talk. The room was hushed, the looming threat of the unknown hung over them all. They had all heard the warning, they had all been in a sense debriefed.

Battles were never easy. War was not something to be taken lightly. But she had never seen Shea so tense about anything. Even when they all faced off against the Cutlass brothers, angels and dragons Shea had been nothing but confident. Now she looked worried.

The D word had been spoken. That this battle, this war would end with death. Hera looked up and down the table. True they weren’t all battle hardened. Some had only seen a few battles and never a war. But many of them had seen war. She knew none of those there would go lightly.

Shea turned to address the group. Hera looked over the elf. Shea was a short thing. Five foot five maybe. Her hair was dark blue with many streaks of silver through it. Her eyes were eerie, pure silver with no sign of black iris.

She wore what Hera considered basic battle wear, but the mage now even bore a sword that she had not carried in some time. In fact everyone woman there carried a weapon, something physical, more than magic or mere power. Even she was armed to the hilt as if the battle could begin at any moment.

Shea spoke. She gave them no pretty words. She spoke to them like a general would. Yet Shea was hardly what most would see as a general. But As Hera watched her she knew that was just what the mage was. She was the leader of this rag tag group. She was the one here with all the power. No matter who sat there at the table, no matter their age or back ground it was Shea they all would follow. And it was the mage who was the most willing to give up her life.

"I am going to see Issy this day, as soon as I hear from Radella about the children. You did tell her I was coming yes?"

Hera nodded. "Yep. Jade and I are going to head out with some of the soldiers." Shea nodded. "Go then, be careful. The men should return by dusk with news of the reinforcements."

Hera double nodded to that and left the room. Hera Fyre had seen battle and war. Blood shed and death were nothing new to her. Perhaps even the well worn battle ready fighters could need to beef up their skills for what ever or who ever was coming.

There was something about training that made Hera think of old times. Maybe it was that she had been through all these paces before. Or maybe it was knowing what battle and war could bring.

Now as she sat in the shade of the forest after running Cadaria through every pace and every training method both she and Jade could think of Hera sat alone eyes closed.

She had left ashes in her wake. She had both seen and dealt death. And now there was another war coming. Shea had asked her a simple question. Has she given Issy the pendant. The answer was yes. Hera had found the will and way to do just that.

Thinking back to that night Hera opened her eyes. She had stated that Shea had wanted Issy to have it. But in in all truth Hera had wanted it too. To reach out to that one old ally Hera could always count upon.

Looking across the open glen now she watched Jade sparing with some of the soldiers still even as the day lingered on. .. Hera had watched as mounted men and women came towards the woods and disappeared within. The rulers of the kingdoms of Edhel Ndor, Crendia, and Sim'Tahl. They had been gathered and spoken to but now they all came led on by the silent drums of war. Issy had taken the pendant of alliance with out question. It would become a beacon.

Made of elven silver , a tree with a dragon on the left and right and four gems among the trees branches. One for each realm of the alliance. "A token. " She held out the pendant. Hera had laid down just what it did. It opened up the allied realms. But also it would give Shea something to pull from. Hera leaned back upon the tree she sat under. . Her allies were readying for battle and all she knew was that death was coming. She had long ago vowed to die on her feet, to die sword in hand. She had always figured that death would come in Rhydin. Now she was not so sure ~~~~

"Ready as we can be" Jade spoke looking down to Hera. "The allies are coming." Jade looked over her shoulder towards the Dark Enchanted Woods. "Salice will begin speaking to them."

"Shea’s gone to Rhydin." Hera felt the pulse there at her neck.

Jade nodded. "The mage is very busy.""She's hiding something."Again the lupine nodded as she shifted in to the shade. "Shea does what she feels is best."Hera chuckled at that. "She's reached out to old allies. And its not to throw a party this time."

Jade lowered her self to sit beside the fire elf. "She's not the only one who keeps secrets." Jade nodded towards the castle now slowly being hidden by a slow mist.

Hera nodded. "The daughters of the alliance will have powerful allies."Jade smirked. “I always figured I would die fighting some amazing battle in Rhydin.”Hera looked over at the lupine. “What ever is coming it wont be our end Jade. You and I both know the ways of war.” Jade nodded. “Yes we do, but we also are fond of throwing our selves in to the fire, for others.”

Hera smirked. “If it comes to that, then we will all burn together.”That is the way of the alliance.” ~~~~~ Turning she looked to Shea. Though the mage was inches shorter that Hera herself. The firechild felt as if the mage had grown a full ten feet. "Its time isn't it?"

Shea looked off towards the castle and nodded. "There is something I must tell both you and Jade. You wont recall it after the battle. But I feel it is only right to tell you."

Hera leaned on the near by tree and crossed her arms over her chest.

" I have sensed death in this battle, but I do not think it will be a normal death. When I took my heart to the Sacred Tree he saw all that I have seen. I sent the children away to keep them safe. And I have sent the men we all love away. Back to where they came from. Those who did not already go with the children to protect them. At the end of this battle none who are here save the very powerful in Edhel Ndor will recall parts of our alliance.Memories of love and history's will fade. We will not forget our children, but it is the men we love that we are all destine to loose. " Shea looked off towards the misty castle. They were all to loose, her sisters as well. "It is the price of this war."

"All of us?" Hera asked calmly.

"For the few men who went with the children to protect them, their memories may fade. I can not see it for them. For those I sent away they will forget, it will not go all at once, they will not forget their children. It is a breaking of magic. "

"They went willingly?"

"No, nor did any of the others. It was not easy for any of them. In the end it may come that magic rips apart the bonds we have made. That would mean all of them, every last one."

"You said we wont recall this after the battle?"

"Those of great power will. And though you are of great power Hera Fyre. Your memories of what was will be washed away. At the end of the battle, it will feel as if they have died a honored death, and be washed from minds. "

"But you'll know.""I will. Radella, Willow and Anarya. None else. For all else there will be mourning. It is a burden we must all bare."

"Why tell me this if I am going to forget? ""You have an hour, to gather anything you may need from their lands, your old homes and say goodbye. After that The portal will close, perhaps forever."

Hera nodded. She had most of her things with her, she had taken them to GreenStone days ago. But she would go she knew to say goodbye

Hera nodded once more and headed off to the closest portal. ~~~ Fog of War

"There!" Sira's bow fired off, quick and fast as lightning. Hera looked and saw the fog roll in over everyone. "Atara!" Aiden's voice cried out and Hera saw him fade in to the fog as well.

"Be ready!" She's voice called out. Hera drew Alfirin from her back and saw it begin to glow. Though she could see none of her allies she knew they were there.

"Hera." A voice, deep and rich and filled with the past. Turning Hera looked in to the eyes of Byron Druconis her former guild master and head of the Haloisi Akh'Velahr stood before her, as he had years ago long before she had killed him and his fellows.

"Byron." Hera moved in to her defense stance ready now to face his ghost and what ever else or whom ever else he might have brought with him.

~~~~~ Battle and Blood The Haloisi Akh'Velahr were not to be trifled with. They were assassins of the finest order. Yet Hera Fyre had been the ruin of them all. They had sought their own destruction, the moment they crossed her.

She recalled the day fully still. The day the woman she now was was born. She had not been born to blood and war. But had been forged as much as the twin blades she carried. There were few better at it than she had become. She wasn’t arrogant, or fool hearty. She knew the risks of war. She smirked now at Bryon. She was not the same woman who had killed him so long ago. That woman was strong, this one before him now was forged through fires of hell, twice as strong.

There were somethings a warrior like Hera could never forget, or forgive. What Byron had done would damn him to hell for all time as far as she was considered. Alfirin was a solid reminder in her hands of what and who she was fighting for.

Not only her trusted allies here. But for herself, and for those allies she had sought so long ago.

Though she knew the specter before her was real, as real as he had been all those years ago. She knew she could defeat him. It would bot happen as it had before. For they stood on green grass and not within the confines of the old Manor house. She had been young then. So young. But the names of those who she had killed for The assassins would always remain with her. If they had been worthy of their deaths, or if it had always been a joke, some sick joke. Hera Fyre would never know. She could live with it. She had made death her art and in the end. Divine vengeance was hers.

Partenia Harosi,Merrick Ridgley,Carica Rhiamon,Mya Sorin,Dagnar Sirllie,Vana Herie,Kunne Lirie, Jathrn Loremoren,Lady 'Krsha and Andaiti had all died by her hand. One by one she had taken them all down. The might house had fallen and Bryon had been the last one to fall.

It made perfect sense to her. He embodied everything she hated. And everything she fought not to be. Hera would never forget the day she stood there in that burning manor. Set upon killing the man who had taken everything from her. But he had also given her the training that would end him. Hera had never been one to believe in destiny. That was until she met a certain wind mage. She did believe in honor and justice. He had spoken to her then, but the wraith before he wasted no words. He went right in banishing a weapon that too had burned.

So she stepped in to combat.

~~~~ Flickering Flames Remembered What is an assassin? But someone who kills. One death, then another, then another. The blood washes over the blade, the hands, the soul. It changes one. No matter if that death is justified.

An assassin is never truly done. No matter how removed from that life they have become. If there is one never to cross it is the assassin. The next is the warrior. crossing someone who is both. You will be lucky to leave with your life. Byron Druconis, had never been that lucky. Hera looked at him now, the form the specter of war had taken on. Hunched over already bleeding. She was no longer the same woman she had been all those years ago when she had walked in to his formal office while the guild house burned behind her. She was stronger now than she had ever been.

Alfirin had cut a burning line in his flesh. Meneluin had scored him along the back of his leg. He had tried and failed to use that gun on her once more. Now it lay a melted pile of molten metal in the green grass.

Bryon was hunched over , coughing up blood from a well placed kick across his jaw. When he looked up at her and started to rise he held another weapon. A dagger. He had never been the best at hand to hand combat. But as he rose she saw his form and face shift, to take on that of another fallen member of the once mighty band of assassins. Carica Rhiamon, master of all things you could throw as a weapon. Daggers had been her favored thing. She looked as she had, short cropped green hair, eyes like daggers themselves.

I had killed her with a poison dart, and done it with flare. The memory was not one I minded having. That dagger flew, a lesser warrior might have been caught by it but not Hera Fyre. ~~~~~ Done, Not Over

Hera knelt on the grass. She spat blood from her mouth and looked up to the fog that surrounded her.

She had never guessed she would see so many old ghosts. Perhaps it had been a long time coming. Rising slowly to her feet. She knew she was alone. At last alone. No ghosts or specters came through the fog. Theghosts of the past were gone. She had fought them and survived. Taking a deep breath Hera felt a moment of peace.

Her body was bloody, but wounds would heal. Around her the fog stayed, yet she could hear the sounds of battle. The clash of blades, the call to magic. Hera stood there alone, and swore for a moment she heard Jade scream. "You have done well, Hera Fyre daughter of great Haloisi ."Hera turned,looking for the voice.

"Be at ease."There standing in the fog, was a woman. She was dressed in gray robes. "I mean you no harm." Hera looked to her, she was slight of stature. Her skin was tan. When the hood of the cloak she wore was dropped Hera was shocked. She had heard much of the woman known as Cala. But had never seen her, nor met her.

"Your Cala." The woman nodded. "You are wise. Yes, I am Cala." There was a scream, then the sound of magic, that pieced the fog. "The battle wages on, for the others, yet be at ease. Not many will fall. And those that do, shall be remembered for all time."

"We were told you were gone. Why don't you stop this?" "I can not. It is the realms destiny. " "Destiny is cruel." "Yes, sometimes. But at the end of all this one and all shall come to see it was for the better. Take my hand, I will allow you to see what only Shea has fully seen."

Hera took a step forward and with out a second thought touched her palm to Cala's. Hera felt the utter power that ebbed through the woman. She saw flashes of the battle, of her closest friends and allies. Of those who had already fallen. Then of the grim future that would await them all should this battle never have come.

She stood with Jade at her side. The lupine stood in her half human half wolf form.Beside them stood Aiden and Sira. Before them a mass of graves. All with names she knew. They were battled forged, and blood soaked. Yet some how Hera knew, they were all that was left. Turning in the vision she saw GreenStone Castle bathed in darkness and fire.

When Hera opened her eyes again she was kneeling before Cala. "This is what must happen, Shea saw that end as you did. All lost, few to remain. The kingdom gone. It is less you all will loose now."

"My memories." Hera let out a low sob. "It will be up to Shea, as to what you recall. But know this, even if you recall everything, nothing will change. Though you may see those you knew in Rhydin. They will never know you, even if you know them. Your destiny lies with another Hera Fyre. " Cala took a step back. " Rest now, you will need your strength in the days to come."

Hera stayed there kneeling in the grass, the fog wavered and Cala was gone. Then there was a call through the fog. "Atara!" That was Aiden's voice. Between Blood and Fog

Hera Fyre had seen much in battle and war.

Hell Hera Fyre had caused much in battle and war.

But it had been a long time sense she felt helpless.

Standing there on the edge of the fog as it drifted away looking in at the slight wind mage. Shea floating there in mid air. She was bloody, beaten, starring off in to the beyond with a gaze of pure silver that even made Hera shiver. It was just too eerie.

"Shea!" Hera beat her fists upon the magical barrier that kept her from rushing to the mages side. A moment ago, Hera had felt such deep pain but now, there was this peace. This utter peace even as she starred at the broken wind mage.

There was no more pain. No more wonder if that lover, friend, or ally had fallen in battle, only sure known peace that all was well. Attention turned again to the fallen warriors.

Attention turned to Shea. The elements that wiped about her.

As the others came to stand there at that barrier. Hera could see their wounds, but they seemed to pay them no heed. Salice cried for her sister, Aiden shouted. Jade had come limping up and stood there looking utterly defeated. No matter how they shouted Shea did not hear them, nor seem to even see them. No matter how they pounded on the barrier it did not give way.

The elements that had been dancing there forged each in to its own sword, made of that element. One each for wind, water, earth and fire. Each of the four elemental swords floated around Shea. Another was forged then of the spirit of the realm. Two more then forged one made of pure darkness, one of pure light. They floated there, each pulsing with pure power. Seven elemental swords conjured by the magic of the realm.

Then one by one each sword fused together. The first four of the elements, wind,water,earth and fire and spirit became one great sword. The last two of darkness and light fused together, then became one with the great sword forged of the elements. Now the one great sword floated before the mage. "What in the hell?" Hera looked to Jade who leaned heavily on to her left leg. Then to the horrified Aiden and Salice who stood there watching. They could do nothing.

Hera looked back unable to tear her eyes away from Shea. Ten it happened. That sword forged of the elements spun up and dove in to Shea's breast. "NO!" Aiden pounded on the barrier and he was not alone. Hera beat her fire born fist tot it. Jade raked her claws across it. Little drop lets of water danced down the invisible shield as Salice threw all her magic at it, yet still it did not waver.

The others had gathered and pounded on it with everything they had, yet it did not break. "Atara!" Aiden cried. He beat on the barrier, his hand bloody. "Shea!" Hera cried out and noted that Jade joined her in the call.

"Seler!" Salice voice was joined by Shavyn's. But none of them could do anything. They stood helpless on the outside of tha barrier that held them at bay. ~~~~ On a Wing and A Prayer

Hera knelt looking down at the figure who lay in the grass. Blood soaked,battle worn. So small. Hera had never judged Shea by her height, as most could and often did. The elfess was short and slight, and thus most would look upon her as see a fragile thing.

Hera had seen beyond it all. Ever before she trusted the elf with her life. Now kneeling there while others begged for Shea's life to be saved. Hera thought the elf looked very small indeed.

Radella stood looking older than Hera had ever seen her look. Aiden wept in the grass. Salice and Shay's tears ran freely. Beside her Hera saw Jade give her a glance.

The had both known war and battle for a long time. Both had seen so much bloodshed. This was the cost of battle.

"I can not." Radella said with a solemn look. "Radella, she will die."Salice pleaded as well, tears streaked the queen's face.

"It is her destiny to die. Shea knew the costs." The elder looked upon Shea. "She knew far more than she told any of you. She had foreseen great death in this battle."

"Its true. Cala came to me." Hera stated, her mouth felt dry and gritty, she tasted blood upon the tip of her tongue. "She came to me as well." Jade muttered softly. Hera spared a glance to the lupine. Then looked back to the fallen Shea.

"We need to take her to the counsel house to the healing room. I will tend to her wounds." That was all the wise woman could offer. There was a few slow nods and Jade, Aiden, and Hera lifted the fallen mage off the bloody ground and walked with her between them.

As Hera backed out of the healing room, she felt the pain of the loss.

Shea's loss. Hera shook her head and slowly let down her hair. How much loss could they all bare? Shea had died before, and been brought back. Yet this time it seemed very different. Magic was powerful, but perhaps not that powerful.

As the fire elf stepped outside she saw Jade standing against a tree. The rest of the alliance was there..Hera blinked. Someone was missing. She lifted her hand to the pendant at her neck. The feeling flashed away as soon as it came. Salice stood with Shay. Aiden with his arms tightly around Mila.

They waited. Hera walked slowly over to Jade. " What did she say to you?"ade looked over to Hera. Even in battle worn mode the fire elf was still lovely and fierce to behold. "She sent in a messenger first. Elear."

Hera leaned softly beside the lupine. The name didn’t ring any bells with her.

"He was an ally of mine, long ago, and long dead. She was there then. I thought at first it was Shea. Yet then I saw her fully. I could barely get off the ground." She looked now to her bound leg. "She said that she was not there to hurt me, she told me the battle for me was done. She gave me a choice.."Jade rubbed the side of her head. "I don't remember what it was.." She shook her head, there was something missing. " Then suddenly it was like she was gone. I heard Aiden's cry and then I saw Shea."

Hera nodded softly. " I thought it was Shea too, when Cala came to me. That same essence of power. She told me I had done well. To be at ease. She spoke of the realms but.." Hera ran her hand through her hair. "There’s something missing..some part of what she said that I cant recall." Jade nodded. "Powerful magic's.""She came and went so quickly. I felt a moment of peace. Then I saw Shea."

Jade sighed. "We both have seen enough war to know that Shea may never come back. Even with all her power, what happened out there." She lowered her eyes to the ground. "It was like nothing I have ever seen or felt."

Hera agreed a bit silently. Looking back towards the counsel house she could only hope and pray.

~~~~~~ Process of Healing

Passage of Time

How does an assassin mark the passage of time?

Hera had often wondered if she had been born mortal, if she would have seen so much come to pass. Would she have known the powerful friends and allies she now knew. Would she have loved and lost and some how remained standing tall.

She recalled every moment of the battle, every moment before it. Those they had lost to magic and those who has passed on. Though she had been told she would forget, she recalled everything.

Sitting again outside the great counsel chambers looking up and the waxing moon, Hera wondered how many more moons would pass before the mage who lay still as cold death within those walls awoke?

Would Shea awake at all? And why did Hera recall everything? Rising to her feet she walked towards the building and inside. Stopping when she heard Radella and Jades voices as they carried."I remember." Jades voice was firm, yet there was that pitch to it that had those undercurrents of, wonder and fear. " I remember everything." Hera could almost see Radella rising, crossing to the lupine.

"Shea came to me. She spoke of the battle, the war." Jade continued."She came to me and told me everything, showed me. So many would have died, so many. Its gone, all of it. What do I do with this knowledge?"

Hera wondered the same damn thing? How do you let go, when you recall everything as if it were yesterday?

"Take a moment Jade, take a breath. I was Shea's choice to take on so much. In time when or if she wakes, we may come to understand why it happened. But for now. Grieve and forget. Your not the first to come to me. Salice and Shay recall much as well. It seems the power has deemed a few to recall and others to mourn, forget and be at peace." Radella's voice was so even, so easy.

"Well that explains a lot." Hera picked that moment to walk in. "Yes, the power was gifted.We were gifted the lives of many others." Radella was solemn. The sons had been take, some would recall other would not. Radella could not imagine Hera's pain, yet the assassin wore no look of it on her face.

"But not everyone." Jade added. "No. It is not the first time. I believe this has happened before, long ago. It is what tore Sim'Tahl and Crendia from us, it also tore other realms from us and gave us access to places like Rhydin." Radella explained.

Jade slowly sat and Hera crossed to sit beside the lupine. "It is odd. I recall everything, yet I feel no pain over it. ""At peace." Jade added in. "Yes. That is the way it is supposed to be. You both said Cala came to you in the battle field. That can only mean you both have a larger part to play here and in the realms as a whole. What was taken from you will never be replaced, but there is a future for you both."

Radella slowly sat beside them.

"Does she stir at all?" The lupine looked to the closed doors ahead of her. "No. She breathes, and her heart beats. But nothing more. Her wounds have healed, even where the elemental blade pierced her heart. Yet still she does not wake. She took the blow for us, for the realms. I can not say what could be happening in the realm we lost. I can no longer feel it or those we knew who went there by choice or who were taken back there by magic. They are no longer in my visions..no longer apart of us."

Jade lifted the alliance pendant. "How is Sira?""She morns the loss of her love, Damien was lost in battle, and that she will never forget. Mila and Kulbin are with her. She will heal, in time. We all shall." She titled her head to the right to the sound of a low cry. She rose slowly.

"What will you do?" Hera asked softly. Wondering how the wise woman carried on so well.

"I will do as I always have, tend to my family. I feel his loss, though I know he is alive. One day his children may know him, but even if they do not. I will tell them of him, as if he died in battle. They are my children, and a gift to Edhel Ndor. Future seers." She smiled softly then walked away towards the sound of her daughter crying.

Jade sat back and looked to Hera. " You've been back to Rhydin." Hera nodded, smirking softly. That city brought her more solace than any where else of late."I saw Issy, walked around, let myself be there."

Jade nodded, soon she would return to the forsaken city as well, but not yet. "Next time you go, I'll tag along."

Hera nodded sitting back looking off in to space. Hera knew she would go back to Rhydin soon, tonight maybe or tomorrow.

So This is how you heal

There were somethings Hera Fyre could not forget, and somethings she could never forgive.

With the breeze at her back she stood on the roof top of the inn. She slid her bow, Morthond across her back and looked out to the city. Waiting on the edge was her strong suit. She had been waiting for days, for any news. Now back in the city she had returned to her old fold and the ways she had almost forgotten.

The day was warm and thus she needed no jacket. She had daggers along her belt,and there was no sign of her commonly seen double blades. Walking along the roof top she scanned the near by street below and the roof tops that spanded beyond. Like a hunter who sought prey. Seeing nothing,sensing nothing Hera walked to the edge of the roof and jumpped down to the street below.

What was it about this city? The ebb and flow of it. Hera cast her eyes off towards the place she knew she would end up sooner or later. Tucked away in tot he cliffs beyond. Sanctuary.

Looking back a the inn Hera shrugged. It would be quite within. Shifting on a heel she turned and headed up the porch steps and to the door which she opened with ease before heading in to the common room.

She was uneasy sitting around Edhel Ndor. Waiting for battle. She wasn't the only one, she had seen the lovely lupine within the city as well. Jade had her own tasks at hand. Hera wanted to keep busy until more word came. She idly touched the necklace at her neck and gazed around the inn as she walked in. A glance around was given. A smirk as she knew it would be quiet. Walking towards the bar, she deiced on something to drink would suit her before she headed out to see old friends.

Slipping through the break in the bar and heading right to the cooler Hera opened it and dug out the first cold item she found. It wouldnt have mattered to her if it was soda or beer. Popping the cap off on the side of the bar, cyan eyes took in the commons before she took a sip. Root Beer. Just as well.

Drowning ones sorrows never helped. But a good hard whiskey never hurt. Not tonight. No tonight shed have a bit of a sugar rush then go pick off riff raff down on the docks or head for the darker side of the west end.

This was healing. This was her style of healing. ~~~~~~ Lost or Found

Hera could understand reckless abandon. There were times where she wanted nothing more than to forget her oath, her promise and all her allies and just be.

But never had she known Shea to be like that.

But now Shea was missing. Her body gone from the healing room in Edhel Ndor. Taken? Or just gone? Hera had a hard time believing that Shea would just wake up and leave. It wasn't the mages way.

But then Shea had been through so much. Death could change a person. Hera knew that. So now Hera was on the hunt, off through the city. Laying ground work to find the mage. She told those who knew Shea to keep an eye out. She even called in Liam.

Some how his behind by her side for this meant more to her than anything had in so long. He didn't know Shea, had never met her. Yet there he was willing and able to be there look for her and even calm Hera down when she needed it.

Now that so many allies knew Shea was missing the hunt had begun.

"She's not at the docks." Jade waited in the shadows looking to Hera and Liam. They made a good pair, a good solid alliance there forged out of other alliances. Jade could smile at it.

They all needed healing. Maybe Shea had awoken and just left. Maybe she needed to sort things out in her own way. But they would look for her still. "We'll try by The Sanctuary." Hera offered.

Jade nodded. "I'll try the woods."

"Check in later." Jade had only nodded tot hat and walked off for the woods. The Lupine had her own methods Hera supposed. But tension was high. "We will try the Sanctuary see if anyone's seen her. Then I suppose we can canvas the rest of the city."

Liam kept quiet. If they were meant to find her friend they would. But sometimes you just needed to get gone. ~~~~ Price of Peace

The moment she sensed the mage Hera was headed back to Edhel Ndor. It made sense that Shea would go there. How many times would that place be her spot? There at the base of the great GreenStone mountains, Shea should have died. More than once.

Now the mage sat there looking very small indeed and wrecked beyond all measure. Hera could almost feel the pain, the loss, it bled from Shea like a wound. "It is a gift, not a curse." Hera spoke. When Shea's eyes opened, that cast of silver glance with no pupil. Hera felt the power. Shea seemed almost surprised to see the assassin.

Hera crossed over and sat beside Shea. Knowing the mage was trying to find a way to heal. But coming up short. The lupine was there then, in the wood. It made sense that Jade would find the mage as well. Maybe now was the moment Shea needed.

"Life is a gift, is that what you mean?" Shea smirked at Hera. And Hera saw that look in those silver eyes, as if Hera was insane, talking of life as a gift, for she who took life with a flare of fire. But it was never truly easy.

"It can be. You bare many wounds, ones that have healed from flesh and bone. But ones far deeper. Your not alone in this. We bare the weight as well. I know it was not your intent that we do, but it was the will of the power, the will of some god or goddess."

"I am not ready. I said that I was. That I was ready for all this, the power and the pain. That I was ready to give it up, to recall it all and let it go."

"We may never be ready." Jade looked over to Shea then to Hera. They shared a sisterhood, deeper than blood now.

"But we are here. We stand together. Women of a new alliance. The realms left will not fall, and we will not forsake our friends, what's left of our family."

"Looking at them.." Shea looked to the trees. " At our children, reminds me so..."

Jade nodded. "I understand that.""It is no easier for me, but somehow it is. To let him be dead, gone." "The memories are like knives." Shea hung her head.

"Then do what we must do." The voice was Radella's. The elder stood beyond the three of them."We bare the wounds of those who do not know what was. Our children can not. I have spoken with Salice and Shay. They do not bare the weight that we do. Salice does not recall any of it, nor Shay. They shall be fine. Even with the losses they bared. But we who recall live with it, in the faces of our children. They bare his eyes, or his hair color. They bare a memory. There is a place they could go. I could tell the other women about it as well, have many if not all the children go. A place where they will learn and be taught, where their gifts will be nurtured and brought to bare. They would be safe there. The very young could stay here, or go as well."

There was a moment. A pause. A mothers thought of sending her child away that gripped like cold fingers on the heart. But Hera knew she would do it, with out pause if the choice was hers.

"I'll do it." Jade spoke. "They need it, they need to be children. As I love them so. They need to go.""Will Salice send Dalryn and Lona?" Hera asked Radella. The Queen recalled none of what they did, but it would be good for the other children to go.

"The Queen thinks on it now, though she knows nothing of the man she lost nor the child she lost with him. Shay also considers sending Kaleigh. Your son and Mila think on sending Amaleigh and Adaron. I am sending my twins. They have gifts, gifts that will grow. And in time. We shall be able to put behind us what was. We all will love again. Some of us very deeply."

Shea nodded. "Do it." Radella nodded. "I shall tell the others. And help prepare the children for the journey." Radella was gone then.

Shea took a deep breath. It was a breath of a woman on the edge, stepping back.Jade wrapped her arm about the mages shoulders. Hera leaned in a bit closer. She did not have to make the same choice, hers had been made for her.

"It will be better." Jade offered. "You should go home Shea, see your sisters, your son."Shea nodded. "Yes, I know. I do not feel as if I am the same woman I was when we all set out for war."

"We are not the same." Hera said softly. "Blood and death change you. Jade and I know that better than most. But you can rise above it, we all can. It will take time. Much time even. But it can and will be done."

Shea offered them a slight smile. "Go on." Hera looked to the woods. Shea nodded and was gone in the next moment. ~~~~ The castle was whole and good. It stood as a reminder that even in battle and war it had stood.

Hera watched Shea as the mage wandered about. The children were being gathered. Packed and ready for their journey to save haven. Hera could stand and watch and feel nothing even if she felt everything.

There were no tears this time. For the battle was over. Looking up to the old embattlements she saw Shea, standing in the winds that seemed to always surround her one way or the other. The mage had helped Mina pack, had kissed her and her grand children goodbye. Jade had hugged her girls and sent them off.

It was better. It was. Even if Hera knew if it was her, shed feel a bit stricken. But it wasn't her, shed been spared that by some act of god or goddess. And for all her faults, she did not mind it.

Looking down the way as Radella ushered the children along, with the knights at her side. Hera could only take a breath. Change was in the wind. ~~~~~ Change. It was something Hera knew well enough.

She could roll with the punches. Her life had demanded it.

Now things were back to what they were, or as close as they would get. They had all hung on to hope and it had turned out well. Shea was back,and as alive as the rest of them. Even if Hera knew the woman was forever changed. They all were. In the time where they had waited, things had shifted.

@leporidaefluff

#OCS OriginalCharacters writing

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jessahmewren · 5 years

Text

“Some Day, One Day” / Queen / Bohemian Rhapsody Fan Fiction

A lovely anon asked for “Freddie falling from the stairs (or the stage) during a concert like in 1984 in Hanover, but this time it's Freddie from 70s and he is hurt more badly and everyone (boys, crew, roadies, crowd etc) is worried and scared. And Brian, when he is holding the unconscious Freddie, realized that he loves him more than just like a brother.“ and THIS is what I came up with :).

Thank you so much for trusting me with your vision, dear. I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Brian's missing the one thing he's had all along...someone to share his life with. Or, it takes Freddie becoming injured to make Brian realize he could never live without him.

Pairing: Brian May/Freddie Mercury

Rating: T for Tame but Teasing

Word Count: 2159

Also on AO3

-0-0-0-

The rain was coming down in sheets, one of those storms that was known to blow in off the North Sea and just settle over a village until it had emptied its belly and moved on.

Brian drove on, the wipers doing double time against the onslaught as he crept along the highway. Freddie sat in the passenger seat, or rather reclined, one foot propped delicately on the dash as he sang scales.

Roger was in the second row seat, answering him in a higher range.

“Bugger off, the both of you,” John groused. “You’re gonna blow your voices before we even get there.”

Freddie smiled, smirking back at the young man. “Why don’t you join us darling? Oh, that’s right. You can’t sing,” he said playfully.

John frowned. “I’d rather do one thing really well than a lot of things only better than average,” he spat back.

Roger giggled, taunting Freddie with an “oooooh,” as Freddie opened his mouth to say more, when Brian slapped the steering wheel in frustration. “That’s enough!” he exclaimed. Driving the van in the storm had his nerves on edge, and coupled with his mates’ arguing he felt like he was losing his mind.

The three boys grew quiet, waiting on Brian to say something. “It’s been a long drive,” he said tiredly, the slosh of the windshield wipers nearly drowning out his voice. “We’re all wired and we’ve still got to the show to do. Let’s just get to the club and have a pint so we can put on a bloody good show. Alright?”

Affirmative murmurs came from all members, and everyone grew quiet…until Deaky threw a guitar pick into Freddie’s hair.

Freddie rounded on him, all giggles. “Wanker!”

“Bitch!” Deaky shot back.

“Oh God, the biggest,” Freddie said with a smile, and just like that they were all laughing, even Brian.

---

They arrived at the club a few hours before the show, which was ideal for the band. Everyone was still a bit rankled from the drive, and energy was high for the upcoming performance. Some pints would do them good.

They made their way to the bar and ordered a few. Roger went off to talk to some girls he’d noticed, and after a few drinks, John decided to go ahead and set up on the club’s small stage. Brian smiled as he walked off, bass in hand. They boys may get into arguments sometimes, but they always made up.

By then the storm had cleared, and the sun was stunning as it flashed brightly before sinking beneath the horizon. Brian could see it just beyond the window of the club. It had been a five hour drive up to this part of England, and the day was nearly gone.

Freddie eased up beside him, his tan face warmed even further in the orange light. “Let’s go outside…sit on the patio,” he said suddenly. “Just me and you left now.”

Brian smiled, following his friend outside to the club’s small outdoor seating area. The chairs were still wet from the storm, so they brushed them off and sat at the little tables where they could watch the sun slip low while sipping their beers.

A little thought occurred to Brian, then went away just as quickly. This is nice. How nice would it be to have someone to do this with all the time? He pushed the thought down deep into the depths of his mind. He didn’t need anyone like that. He had his mates, and that was enough.

Freddie was looking at him curiously, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What’s on your mind darling?”

Brian smiled. Freddie was his best friend…had been for as long as he could remember. He was so lucky to have him. He should be ashamed of wanting more for himself.

Freddie’s warm eyes sought his, now slightly concerned.

“Nothing Fred. Just thinking about tonight,” Brian lied.

Freddie smiled, looking off into the rapidly descending sun briefly before meeting Brian’s gaze. “It’s going to be fantastic darling! I’ve got our wardrobe, of course! Even Deaky will love it.” He gave Brian a devilish wink, and something warm stirred in Brian’s belly.

“You shouldn’t tease Deaky so much,” Brian scolded. “He loves you so.”

Freddie smiled widely, the setting sun painting his golden skin and raven hair in ribbons of molten light. “That’s exactly why I should,” he said fondly. “Because I love him too. And you only tease the ones you love.”

Brian swallowed. “But why don’t you tease me?”

Freddie’s face changed almost imperceptibly. His eyes moved over Brian’s face, and he graced him with a fond smile. “Oh Brian. You’re different.”

Brian considered that. How was he any different than Roger or John?

He looked up and Freddie was stretching cat-like in the dying light. “Gotta make myself beautiful, Bri,” he said through a stretch. “It’s almost show time.”

Freddie left Brian sitting on the patio, still wondering what he meant.

---

Backstage was crowded and hot, a miserable little room with two dressing tables (one Freddie required entirely) and no windows. The two mirrors afforded them were scratched and dull, and Brian had to grip a makeup sponge in one hand and wipe sweat with the other.

“I’ve never been so bloody miserable in my entire life,” he muttered sullenly.

“Take your shirt off,” Roger offered. He was walking around in a pair of tight jeans and suspenders and nothing else, and Brian had no doubt he was planning on going on stage like that.

“No thanks,” Brian said. “I don’t have a drumset to hide behind.”

Deaky was characteristically quiet as he drew a dark line of kohl around his eyes. Freddie watched him without hovering, making sure he applied it properly. “Like this darling,” he said, helpfully making an adjustment. “Now that’s sexy.”

Freddie was, of course, a vision in white satin pants and matching top with a deep plunging neckline emblazoned with sequins. His dark hair shined. He had dusted his prominent cheekbones with blush and accented his eyes with kohl. On his feet, he wore a pair of high-heel white leather boots.

“Be careful on stage tonight, Fred. It’s a small space, and it’s high. I was up there earlier setting up,” Deaky said.

Freddie patted his cheek. “Don’t you worry about a thing, darling, I’m as surefooted as a cat.”

Brian huffed. “Freddie, what have you got picked out for me to wear? Hopefully something light…I’m melting in here.”

Freddie stood and fluffed his hair, dramatically moving to the makeshift closet the stagehands had set up for them.

He withdrew a sheer black top with matching pants. There were sequins down the leg.

“Here you go my love.” He looked at Brian meaningfully. “My stage counterpart…black to my white.” His eyes shined as he met Brian’s gaze. “I thought we would switch it up this time around.”

Something fluttered in Brian’s chest as he looked at Freddie, striking in his makeup and stagewear, but beneath it all, just as amazing.

“Yeah,” Brian managed. “That was a good idea.”

Brian hurriedly got dressed, finding the clothes Freddie had chosen for him were just right. He was pretty sure the shirt was Freddie’s. The pants might have been Deaky’s, but they fit him well.

Freddie clapped his hands. “Ok gents! Are we ready to fucking do this?!” They all circled around Freddie, responding enthusiastically. When the time came, they lined up behind the curtain and waited for their cue.

Brian could hear the tightly packed club, assembled crowd cheering their name. He looked at Freddie, and his eyes were lit with excitement. “Let’s do it, darling,” he said over the chants from the audience.

The show was electric. Brian’s fingers flew over his guitar…it was like his body was connected to every string, every note he played. Roger’s drums held them together, wild yet reliable. Deaky’s bass thrummed like a heartbeat.

But the real showstopper, of course, was Freddie. His voice soared to the rafters. He spun and whirled, every step taking him closer and closer to the edge of the small stage.

Deaky had warned him about going too far, but there had always been an air of invincibility about Freddie that worried Brian. He was about to launch into his solo, when he heard the scream.

And his whole world stopped.

Freddie slipped, the toe of his boot catching on the narrow edge of the stage, and fell a good ten feet into the crowd below. And Deaky, being closest to him at the time, had seen it happen.

Deaky’s was the scream Brian had heard, not Freddie’s, but it was no matter. Brian had launched himself to the edge of the stage, his guitar forgotten, peering over to try and find his friend.

Freddie lay twisted on the dirty floor of the club, his all-white ensemble a stark contrast to the black space. A small circle of people had opened up around him, their hands clutched to their chests in horror. Roadies and stage managers rushed to his aid, hesitant to touch him but needing to do something to help, only not knowing what. Distantly, someone called out for an ambulance.

Brian sat there frozen, until he wasn’t. His legs were moving, pounding down the stairs followed closely by John and Roger who kept muttering something about how he had to be ok, he just had to be ok. Someone was cursing. Brian couldn’t hear above the blood roaring in his ears, and all he could see was that image burned onto his brain of Freddie lying there like a broken marionette doll and him feeling powerless…so powerless to do anything.

There were people…so many people. The club was still so crowded and now curious onlookers had pressed in, hoping to get a peek at what was happening with Freddie. “Out of my way!” Brian screamed, “Move!” He outright shoved a few people as he, Roger and John scrambled to get to Freddie.

The last person cleared their path, and Brian fell on his knees beside him. There was blood coming from a deep wound on his head, and he wasn’t moving. “Oh, God,” Brian said, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. Brian looked at Ratty, Freddie’s trusted assistant, his face twisted in anguish. “When is the ambulance coming?!”

“It should be any time now. The roads are washed out. Fuck!” Ratty was close to Freddie and was just as worried as any of them.

Roger leaned in, gently touching Freddie’s twisted leg. “Freddie…Freddie wake up chap.” Behind them, Deaky stood back, chewing his thumbnail. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Brian, what do we do?” Roger looked at Brian rather helplessly. He had always been the one to fix everything. The one they all turned to when they needed answers.

Brian let the tears flow freely as he gently stroked Freddie’s cheek. It was starting to bruise; he must’ve hit it against the floor when he fell.

Brian moved so he could cradle Freddie’s head in his lap. What would he do if Freddie never woke up? How would he go on? Something painful twisted in his chest, almost like his heart was crumbling into tiny shards, stealing his breath.

Gathering himself, he began singing to him softly, tears strangling his voice. “You never heard my song before the music was too loud…But now I think you hear me well for now we both know how…” He stopped to run a hand through Freddie’s raven locks, trying to ignore the blood he found there.

“Do you hear me Freddie?” He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Do you know how?”

He felt the small moan rather than heard it, then Freddie stirred in his arms. Freddie frowned, then winced, and Roger and Deaky began murmuring grateful thanks.

Freddie blinked up at him. “Hurts,” he whispered.

Brian was openly crying now, but he was also smiling. He had never cried tears of joy, but this must be what it felt like.

“I know my love,” he said soothingly. “I know it does. But we’re going to get you better. That’s all that matters.”

Freddie looked up at him with awe. “Did you…did you kiss me?”

Brian flushed. He could deny it, but he wouldn’t. The things he wanted for himself had been there all along, he had just been too blind to see it. “Yeah,” he said. “Is that ok?”

Freddie smiled as much as he could, being in so much pain. “More than ok. I’ve loved you for the longest time, Bri.”

Brian clasped Freddie’s hand tightly, a smile brightening his face. He could hear sirens in the distance, getting closer by the second. He pressed a gentle kiss to Freddie’s lips, feeling him soften against him. “You’re going to be ok,” he said against him. “We both are.”

-0-0-0-

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wykart · 5 years

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Does it Matter? (It’s Klaus)

Part 2 of Fifty-one years (and one day) later (read on ao3)

Summary: The truth comes out, and Klaus must come to grips with the fact that his entire life of happiness with Dave was taken away by his own brother.

Chapter 3: The planets in a rose (chpt. 1 | 2)

“It’s time to embrace who you are, who you’ve been all along.”

2 days, 7 hours

“I feel like an idiot.” He was sat cross-legged in the middle of Vanya’s living room. He’d cleared away the couch and coffee table to the outskirts of the room, clearing a space for himself, his ouija board, and a couple of expired scented candles he’d found underneath his bed back at the academy.

“Just give it a try, Klaus,” Ben encouraged. He was siting by the window, watching the sun set over the dusky cityscape below. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Klaus groaned. “That’s such a dumb thing to say, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re just sitting in the middle of an apartment with your eyes closed, don’t be superstitious.”

“I’m literally holding a Séance right now,” he chuckled, “can’t get much more superstitious than this.” Ben shrugged and went back to staring out the window. Vanya’s house was small, scarcely decorated, and her wardrobe didn’t contain a single item of a shade that Klaus would qualify as a colour. He’d raided her fridge and made himself a meal of a peanut butter and dried noodle sandwich. He tried to sprinkle on the chicken flavour sashay as well but Ben wouldn’t stop yelling at him that it was a bad idea. Ben was usually right about that sort of thing, and most of Klaus’ ideas were pretty bad.

He wasn’t sure exactly how this was going to go down, seeing as he’d never tried to fully explore his connection with the dead, not since the days when his father had tried to force him into it. Back then, Klaus had been indifferent, eager to discover his power, but scared of what he might find there. He looked down at the ouija by his feet. Though it certainly looked the part of a Séance, he was pretty sure the board and the candles were more of an aesthetic touch than a practical asset. “Ok then spirits,” he shook his head, slapping his face and trying to clear his thoughts, “come at me.”

...

“Ugh, I’m so bored,” he groaned, “come on Dave!”

“It’s been seven minutes,” Ben muttered, sun now barely peeking over the lowest buildings on the horizon.

He shuffled to his feet. “Goddammit, I need a drink-“

“Hey, no you don’t,” Ben jumped down from his windowsill perch. “Come on, don’t be pathetic.”

“Oh come on, Ben!” He whined, sitting back down on the floor with a pout on his face. “Pathetic’s all I’m good for.”

“I know you’re only half joking. Don’t let them get to you,” why did he always have to see right through to the truth of what Klaus was feeling? Probably something to do with them being stuck together whenever Klaus was even remotely sober. “The best way to show them you’re worth their time is to get clean, let yourself actually think for the first time in years, then you can tell them the truth about what Five did.”

He shook his head, “no, I don’t care, I just want to see Dave.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m not doing this for them.”

“Well, good, do it then. Concentrate. I believe in you, Klaus.” The two exchanged a smile, and Klaus closed his eyes again, furrowing his brow in concentration.

…

2 days, 6 hours

They began as shapes in his peripheral, faint whispers in his head. He tried to sift through them, with increasing urgency, searching for some echo of the one he loved. Nothing yet. The stronger, more desperate things would claw their way forth first. They were the ones who died in pain, in anger, stewing in regret and loose ends, gone without warning – and those how didn’t realise they were gone at all. It had been so long since Klaus had actively sought after his power, and he’d never done it for himself, it had always been for his Dad, a desperate attempt to please him, always in vain.

Any time he truly allowed himself to focus, to relax, they always found their way to him. He was the bridge between two worlds, an anchor point to cling to, to use to claw back to a world of certainty and light. He didn’t know where they came from, darkness, purgatory, heaven or hell. Somewhere that consciousness didn’t exist the way it did here. Somewhere that tore away their humanity and their memories a shred at the time as the world forgot them, as they forgot themselves and became twisted, morbid creatures.

There was a woman standing by the fridge, head hanging on by a thread. He repressed the urge to gag, watching the strings of flesh swinging loose. A man, body purple swollen with gout, pale, forcing out strangled breaths that he no longer needed to take. It didn’t take long for them to burrow their way inside his head. The darkness behind his eyes was soon occupied by faces, grasping fingers, open mouths, hungry eyes. Whispers turned to voices, and voices turned to screams. Wild, incomprehensible pain, cries for vengeance, for justice, pleads for help, crying, whining, wheezing, whiling away at his sanity one word at a time. He whimpered, and he could barely make out the strains of Ben’s voice through the din.

“Klaus, stay strong, I’m here,” he’d repeat it, whenever he saw Klaus struggling, “I’m here.”

“I can’t do it, I can’t –”

“I’m here.”

Maybe that’s all it took, knowing he wasn’t alone – that and the hope that sustained him. He tried to picture his face in his mind, his smile, his voice. Dave. The candlelight did little to guide the way, the board did little to bring order to the communion. It was chaos. Klaus had opened the gate and the evils where flocking to him. They couldn’t help it, the temptation was too strong, to be heard, to be seen, to be real again.

“I’m here.”

…

2 days, 3 hours

He was back there again. The walls rose around him, dark stone brick, damp and cold. The black wrought-iron gate outside shuddered and clanged sharp metal in the wind, and moonlight shone through the prison-slit windows carved into the stone. He was suffocating. They were everywhere. He could feel them crawling under his skin, down his throat, through his veins. His eyes bulged, stinging and bloodshot, forced open – because if he closed them, he knew he’d only see them – white, glazed fish-eyes, rotting flesh hanging off their skulls.

Klaus, help me/kill them/they did this/why, why, why/it hurts, why does it hurt?/how do you see? What’s wrong with your eyes?

“Dad!” He screamed, even though he knew he wouldn’t come. He tried to press his knees up further into his chest, anything to make himself smaller, insignificant in the dark. “Let me out!” His voice was already hoarse, and his screams dragged against his ragged throat like a razor blade. He could taste blood in his mouth. “Dad!”

What are you?/you’re not dead, not alive, what is it?/I need to get back/he’s not coming back for you/you’ll be trapped here forever/don’t cry/you’ll be here in the dark/What are you?

He clawed at the sides of his head, palms pressed to the ear drums, hard against the eyes until he saw golden spots, nails digging into his arms, bitting down on his hand until he tasted blood, anything to feel. I’m not like you, I don’t belong here, I’m real, I’m alive, I’m alive. How many times had it been now? This night had been dragging on forever, a part of him trapped here, left behind over twenty years ago, never quite the same, never quite whole.

“Please,” his voice was barely a whisper, “let me out, let me go,”

“Klaus?” He looked around for the source of the voice, not from inside him, but from someone else. He struggled to his knees, grazed and battered below his school shorts. “come back to me, okay?” Ben. Two decades of memories flooded back, because no matter how small it had been, a part of him had escaped this place, it had gone on living. Every night spent here, a sliver of glass chipped away, a spool unravelled just an inch, a little bit every time. His breathing came hot and fast as he dragged himself back to the surface.

“Are you okay?” The walls crumbled away. White plaster, dim candlelight, dull carpet beneath him. Ben was looking down, face stitched with concern. “You went there again, to the graveyard.” It wasn’t a question. Klaus looked down at himself, no uniform, he reminded himself, just his old boxers and the ouija board by his feet. He was huddled in the far corner of the room, knees pressed up to his chest, hands quivering. A hundred pairs of eyes looked on, and a thousand more watched from the shadows beyond. He shivered, nodding. He reached a hand up towards Ben for a moment, desperate for any reminder of what was real. “You can stop, if you want,” Ben said, staring down at him with same pitiful expression. Why, why did they all look at him like that? “Get some sleep, try again tomorrow.” Klaus scowled, dropping his hand down to the floor. He closed his eyes and re-submerged, back into the icy water, he couldn’t give up now.

…

2 days

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t make out the voice of his consciousness amongst the raging choir. They weren’t just noises anymore, they were something greater, infiltrating his very thoughts, merging with them, twisting them. Never before had he let himself fall so far into this second world inside himself – he’d always been so scared that he’d never find his way back again – but now he had nothing left to lose. He kept on reaching, down and down, searching for him. There was no sense to any of it; the voices were faceless and the faces were voiceless, all disembodied and coming apart. He wouldn’t find Dave like this, it wasn’t some sort of expedition, it was an attack, and he couldn’t fight it anymore. He was terrified, most of all of what he would find. Dave, dead for fifty years, deformed and hollowed by the nothingness, a shadow of who he’d been, no thoughts, no memories, dark eyes, screaming. What if he was too far gone? What if he didn’t even recognise himself anymore, let alone Klaus – and worse, what if he did, and he knew that the only reason he was dead was because Klaus was too selfish to leave well enough alone.

His hold on them relaxed, and he felt himself pulled back into semi-consciousness. His eyes opened to a stretch of carpet, a throbbing headache, spinning vision. He must have collapsed onto the floor at some point. He spluttered, struggling for breath as if he’d just wrenched himself from the sea, lungs full of water. It was quiet, for a moment, but Klaus could still feel them there, subdued, but never really gone. He dragged himself up to a sitting position. His arms stung with fresh, shallow scratches, skin under his nails. The dog tags pressed cold against his heaving chest. He held them tightly as he looked around. The candles were extinguished, and the sky outside was dark. Ben was nowhere to be seen.

There was a figure standing in the far corner of the room, just outside the faint ring of light produced by the single flickering bulb overhead. The dark inched closer, converging inwards. He realised that the sky outside wasn’t just dark, it was empty. The figure edged into the shrinking circle of light, exuding dark and cold. A child; grey skin, dark hair, shivering. Klaus.

“H-how are you here?” Klaus mumbled, but the boy didn’t seem to hear. His eyes were wide and brimming with terror. The cheeks were swollen, hot, welted red and streaked with a tapestry of tears, fresh on dry. Blood was matted under the hair, violet wounds and blooming bruises - Klaus could feel it all on his skin, bubbling, past memories floating up and up. Both of them, old and young, reached out a shaking hand, desperate - the old, tattooed and wracked with shivers from withdrawal, and the young, blue and muddied from the mausoleum floor. Far too often, this was how Klaus felt on the inside, and it was certainly how his siblings still saw him – just a broken child.

Another flash, a bright electric burst that shot through him like lightning. The boy was different now, no more tears, no more mud and blood and sweat. The blue academy uniform hung crisp and smart. Pale skin, dead eyes. The boy grinned, and Klaus shuddered, dragging himself across the carpet. He couldn’t explain the longing he felt, the need to keep on pushing, almost there, almost whole. All the while, the darkness kept on creeping in, from the sky outside to the building itself, emptiness eating it all away. The silence inside was eerie – was this what it felt like when there was only one voice inside your head? The boy kept on staring, indifferent, and was that - pity. That same fucking pity. He couldn’t escape that look, even inside his own head, self pity and loathing and disgust.

The floor beneath him was swallowed up by the dark, nothing but endless black beneath, above, anywhere. He fell at the feet of the child, sobbing, grasping for that other life; before Five left, before Ben died, before he left the academy and tumbled down into disrepair. Where did all those years go? And all those years that could have been, if Five hadn’t...

“Where is he,” he murmured, he hadn’t wanted any of this. He just wanted to see Dave again.

“You’re pathetic,” the boy said, looking past him as Klaus grovelled at his feet. I know, I know. “All your life you’ve been scared of your abilities. If you’d just let go of your fear, give yourself up, you could be capable of so much more.”

“You sound like Dad,” he muttered, and when he looked up, it was Reginald standing there. Twisted frown, cold eyes, monocle pressed beneath his knotted, disapproving brow. The boy stepped out from behind him, the boy Reginald had always wished Klaus would be. Under his thumb, his instrument.

“You are my greatest disappointment, Number Four,” that title, he had a name, but they were never children to him, they were weapons.

“You’re not really here,” he mumbled, looking down. He felt like a kid again, eyes trained on his shoes as his father lectured him in the hall outside his office.

“And neither are you,” the boy again. “You’ve never really been here, you’ve been empty for so long, carrying around this shell of yourself like dead weight. All this time trying to forget what it felt like when your power used to be so great, lurking just out of reach. You’ve buried it, under drugs and sadness and self pity, it’s time to find it again.”

“Please, I just want to see Dave, I –”

Stunted, fretful, morbid/you’ve never cared about us/he’s right, you should leave/oh, he’s definitely high/shit’s crazy, I know/I did you a favour/haven’t even scratched the surface of your true potential/does it matter, it’s Klaus/you’re pathetic/my greatest disappointment –

“SHUT UP!” He screamed. The spirits in the graveyard, his brothers and sisters, all of them sounded the same. The scream ripped through his throat, sent his head reeling, ears ringing. He felt that darkness again, that pull from beyond his vision, the feeling he’d been running from since he was a kid. When he opened his eyes, they were gone. The darkness was empty, finally, empty. He wondered if he’d finally burrowed so deep that he’d never be the same again, that he’d never wake up. It was so much worse than the voices, it was just him, his thoughts, his feelings, bouncing around in the hollowness and growing, growing...

“Ben!” He cried, but even he wasn’t here. Klaus was alone. He pulled himself to his feet, walking on nothing. A small shadow rose from the ground beneath, solidifying, muffled cries breaking into the silence. It was him, the boy, cowering in the corner of the mausoleum. He looked around, eyes searching the dark, unseeing. “Hey,” Klaus said, softly, approaching him, “hey, it’s okay.” Tears stung Klaus’ cheeks, but they weren’t his, echoes of the past. “It’ll be over soon,” he crouched down in front of the child, his breathing still rapid, only a flicker of recognition in the eyes. “You can go home now.” Klaus blinked, and the boy was gone. He stood up, craning his neck, searching the never-ending darkness. What was he feeling – peace? He could breath in deep for the first time, hear his own thoughts ring true. Only one voice remained. It wasn’t chaotic, wasn’t fighting for his attention over a mass of others, it was unified, singular, beckoning. You’ve been dancing on the precipice between this world and the other for so long, looking down, terrified. It’s time to jump. It’s time to fall.

Voice of the voiceless, make us whole.

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banditthewriter · 6 years

Text

Steal Into The Night - Billy Russo - 4

The final part! I just want to say thanks for telling me to continue this. I had a lot of fun with this one! And I feel like there might be more to the story, but I don’t know if I’ll write more. We shall see.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

***** There was a knock at your door and you groaned as you rolled over, pulling a pillow over your head. It came again and you sat up, throwing the pillow in the direction of your bedroom door. "Better be aliens in the sky again," you grumbled as you got out of bed. You rubbed your eyes as you made your way through your living room and to the door. "Really big, murderous aliens." You leaned against the door and peered through the peep hole. What you saw had the bonus of jolting you awake immediately. How in the hell did Russo find you? This apartment wasn’t listed under your real name. You stepped back and looked over to the little side table next to your door. You kept a gun there but you weren't a fan of guns. And it was just Russo. It was also not even four in the morning so you grabbed the gun before you unlocked the door. You left the latch on so when you opened the door, it only came open a few inches. "What are you doing here?" "That is not the warm welcome I was expecting," he said as he smirked at you. "Gonna let me in? It's awful cold in this hallway." You stared at him but there was something in his eyes, something in the way he was holding himself, that had you nodding and stepping back to unlatch the door. When you opened it this time, it was just long enough for him to step in before you shut and locked the door once more. "You said you wanted to see if that third time wasn't just coincidence," he said as he looked around at your belongings. "Can't say it's coincidence this time." "No, you actively sought me out at four in the morning. Not coincidence, just fucking creepy. What are you doing here?" Billy turned to face you and you could clearly see there was a stiffness to his shoulders. His eyes caught the gun in your hand and he smiled; an actual smile this time. "Did you grab that before or after you knew it was me?" At your lack of response, Billy sighed and rotated his neck a few times. "I need somewhere to lay low for a day or so. I'm kind of faking my death to lure someone out of hiding." That... was a lot of information to process at ass o’clock in the morning. You rubbed your forehead with your gun-free hand and tried to ignore the headache that was brewing. "I feel like there will be some serious ramifications from faking your death," you said as you moved past him and into the kitchen. "Legal ramifications, if nothing else." "I'm not going big with it. Just staying off the grid while my guys pass the news to some of the seedier members of the cities underbelly. The guy I'm waiting for will let his guard down and I can take him out." He was looking at some of the photos on your wall, pictures you had taken from your travels. You felt exposed in a way that you weren't used to. Kissing him was one thing; having him in your home felt more intimate. "So you need a place to lay low? If only you knew the head of a security firm that probably has plenty of safe houses," you said mockingly as you turned to the counter. You placed the gun down to start a pot of coffee. It felt like a coffee kind of night. "This guy used to work for me so he knows our techniques. I needed to go somewhere he would never know about." And you didn't exist. Not really. You nodded your acceptance of that and walked over to where you kept your mugs. After a moment’s hesitation, you went ahead and grabbed a second one. "And how do I know this isn't some convoluted plan to get me alone?" Billy shook his head and reached up, unzipping his jacket. He was wearing a bullet proof vest and you could see where multiple slugs had been dug out of his chest. "Think I'd let myself get shot just so that you'd sleep with me?" The coffee pot had made just enough for two mugs so you poured them out. You offered one mug to him, gesturing at the fridge and counter in case he wanted milk or sugar. He simply blew on it and took a sip, raising an eyebrow when you did the same. "Few days, right?" At his nod, you sighed and looked at the clock on the stove. Just after four now. "Step out of line and you won't have to play dead." His smirk grew and he gave you a nod. You started to walk by but turned at the last minute to grab the gun. You used it to gesture at the couch and then at a door at the other end of the apartment. "There's a half bathroom in there that you can use. Extra pillows and blankets in the chest. My room is down that hall and if you step foot in it, I'll use this," you said as you held the gun up. "Agreeable?" "Very," he said as he leaned against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, drinking his coffee slowly. "You won't even notice I'm here." You highly doubted that, but you didn't say it. Instead you turned and headed towards your bedroom. Coffee or not, you'd be able to get a few more hours of sleep before you had to be up. "I do have to wonder," he said as you were almost free. You glanced at him and he smiled before he continued. "Would me getting shot make you sleep with me? Cause I'm willing to take the chance if you are." You cocked your head to the side and held the gun up, pointing it at him but your finger nowhere near the trigger. "Not gonna happen," you said as you turned back to your room. "Sweetheart, the next time you point a gun at me, you better be ready to use it." With a roll of your eyes, you shut your door behind you. After a few seconds when he started to move around in the kitchen, you locked the door as well. Couldn't hurt, you thought as you walked back to your bed. ------ The next morning when you stepped into the living room, you saw Billy on the couch with an arm thrown over his face. The bullet proof vest was on the floor; a gun and knife were side by side on the coffee table. You shook your head and started towards the kitchen. You had barely taken more than a few steps when the sound of an impact made you freeze. Stuck into the plaster about three inches away from your nose was the knife that had just been on the coffee table. "What the fuck Billy?!" You turned to look at him. He was standing, obviously on alert, and you could actually see some of the tension releasing when he realized where he was. "Sorry about that," he said as he went back to attention, his arms falling to his sides. "Habits are hard to break." "Habits? You could have killed me," you said as you pulled the knife from the wall and pointed it at him. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have."

For some reason that actually comforted you. You continued into the kitchen, putting the knife on the table before you moved over to the coffee maker. You started a new pot, glancing over your shoulder to watch Billy as he straightened up the pillows and blankets on the couch. "You want some of this?" You held up the coffee pot so that he would know what you were talking about. "Sure," he replied before he slipped out of the living room and to the bathroom. Later, after you showered and were dressed for the day, you grabbed your files from a safe you had under the floorboards in your closet and headed back into the rest of the apartment. Billy was on the couch on his phone. You bypassed him and went to the little table you had to stand in for your dining room, spreading the files out so that you could look over them. This wasn't the hardest job you'd had; that job was sitting on your couch. No, this was just going to be an interesting one to say the least. Your fingers drummed on the table while you looked over the blueprints of the location. "What's this," Billy asked as he tapped a finger against the building. You hadn't even heard him come up. "Rosedale Gentleman's Club," you said distractedly as you flipped through the files for something else. "My new mark runs it. I've got to get in and do a walk through so that I can see exactly where I need to go when I sneak in." "It's a gentleman's club," Billy said pointedly. "How do you plan on going in?" "The same way most women do," you said with a shrug. Wouldn't be the first time you danced for men as a distraction. Billy nodded and tapped on the blueprint once more. "I can send in a guy with a hidden camera. They aren't noticable; it's how I got Rawlins to confess to his crimes in the video that I sent to the police." You looked up at him curiously because you hadn't heard about that. "So he actually killed himself to keep from going to jail?" "No, I killed him," he said with a grin, "but it definitely helped sell the story that he killed himself." You nodded and looked down at the files on the table. With a sigh, you pushed your chair back and started to stand up when his voice halted you. "Is that okay with you?" That made you pause before you continued into the kitchen. "Doesn't really matter what I think," you said as you put your coffee mug up. You thought about pouring more but you decided not to. When you turned to face Billy, you were surprised to see him at your back.

Seriously he moved too silently for someone so tall. "Let me rephrase that. Does it bother you? Are you scared of me?" He seemed like he wanted to know. It was a very strange revelation. You cocked your head to the side as you met his eyes, gauging by the look in his eye how this conversation was going to go. "Doesn't bother me. I'm a thief so my moral compass doesn't exactly point north." Billy's hands came to rest on your hips and you licked your lips, enjoying the closeness a great deal. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt and brushed the soft skin of your hip. "Where does that compass of yours point?" Was it hot in here? You were certain you had turned the air on that morning when you woke up. His eyes were intent on your face, dark and demanding, and you could feel your heart speeding in your chest. His touch was setting a fire inside of you. You wanted to laugh at the memory of you leaving his apartment that afternoon when he paid you. You knew that it would end up like this. Took longer than you had assumed. "Fuck it," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hard kiss. Billy laughed against your lips, lifting you up and placing you on the counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist once more, a feeling that was immediately familiar. One of his hands moved up to cup the back of your head, angling you into the kiss so that he could easily slide his tongue against yours. Shivers ran through you and your grip tightened in his hair, listening to him groan against your lips at the feeling. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, smiling at you as he did so. "Wanna take this party somewhere horizontal?" A laugh bubbled up in your chest and you pushed him back hard enough that he stumbled. He looked cautious at first but when all you did was hop off of the counter and start towards your bedroom, the grin came back quickly. He was right behind you, his laughter sending a shiver down your spine. "We're cut from the same cloth, you and I," he said as his hands came to your hips, halting your steps and pulling you backwards against him. "This was always going to be how this ended up." You turned in his hold and kissed him hard, biting down on his bottom lip as you pulled back. "Don't think of it is an end," you whispered as you started to lead him towards your room once more. "I'm pretty sure it's just the beginning."

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#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #my writing

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thefandomlesbian · 6 years

Note

Not sure if you’re still taking prompts but if you are or if you want to write this down the road: Coven canon divergent pre seven wonders prompt where Misty doesn’t leave the academy and ends up being the one to save Cordelia from the axe man.

Read on AO3 for best experience!

“When I stood with you against the storm

And I tried once again

Well, I said, ‘I'd like to leave you

With something warm.’” -Stevie Nicks, “The Nightmare”

...

“I thought you were looking for your tribe.”

Misty raised an eyebrow at Zoe’s sharp quip. Zoe had a point, alright--she had spent years looking for someone else like her, for someone who understood. She found them, the witches. But, as she swept them with her gaze, she knew they were not hers to keep. How could they be? Misty had fled the only life she had ever known to escape death. Zoe had found her twice, now, both times seeking help for a formerly dead person. She could smell the magic on the woman she had recovered and buried. These witches apparently couldn’t manage to stop getting each other killed. She preferred herself alone and alive to dead with friends.

After all, even Stevie needed to leave her tribe for awhile when it all got to be too much. A strong witch had a solo career. “I was. And I am.” Zoe pursed her lips in confusion. “This ain’t it. I got bad vibes.” Something evil exhaled from the house, something dark and cruel and vindictive and all the things Misty actively sought to avoid. Her intuition had never led her astray before. Her grandmother had told her always to trust herself, and she did. The house had eyes in its walls. “Real bad. There’s something foul in this house.” If I stay here, it’s gonna kill me. It’s gonna take the last breath in my body. I ain’t having it.

Zoe and Queenie exchanged a glance. Neither of them attempted to contradict her. They knew the truth. “We need to stay with Madison,” Queenie said. “You sure you got everything you want? You can take a shower or something.”

Misty had done worse things than hitchhike in her life. “Shower’s tempting,” she agreed. “Then I’ll be outta your hair.” Part of her wondered if she ought to move somewhere that the coven couldn’t find her. Nah. They’ll probably need somebody else brought back to life before long.

Where the other witches went, Misty didn’t know; she kept her bag of things on the floor in the bathroom alongside the change of clothes Zoe had given her. They weren’t her style, but they would get her back to the swamp. She didn’t have the liberty to have a style, now, she supposed, being officially homeless without electricity or running water. The warm water from the shower was a novelty she hadn’t known in over a month, and stepping out from under it into the steam of the room filled her with yearning. Misty loved her life in the forest, but she missed twenty-first century hygiene.

She donned the T-shirt and stained hoodie Zoe had given her and swept her hair out of the hood. The sweatpants fit loosely. She pulled the string taut and slipped back into her boots. Emerging from the bathroom, she glanced left and right in search of the other girls, wherever they had gone with Madison. She didn’t see them. But a shriek pierced the air.

Heart leaping into her throat, Misty grabbed her napsack and headed toward the stairs. “Hell, no.” A shower was not worth dying over, but she knew how to get the hell out of dodge before anybody knew any different. The darkness of the house wrapped around her and consumed her, threatening to swallow her whole. She wanted nothing to do with the darkness here or any of the people it already had in its clutches.

The scream echoed again, a woman’s wailing voice, followed by a man’s distinct, grizzled laugher. Misty’s drumming footsteps on the stairs halted at that sound. She’s with a man. Sucking her lower lip, she hesitated. The other girls dashed down the hallway to Cordelia’s room. The woman screamed again. “Cordelia!” Misty’s heart couldn’t take the sound of a damsel in distress. “It’s locked!”

Misty ran to them, her napsack tossed on her shoulder. “The hell do you mean, it’s locked? You’re witches!” Zoe and Queenie continued to jiggle the door handle uselessly, like the weathered lock would break if they kept trying. They ignored her.

“It’s the axe man.”

“You released him?”

Neither of them acknowledged what Misty had said. “I said I would! I lied!”

The bundle of witches raced away. Cordelia belted out another scream. From within the room, the sound of clattering furniture and shattering glass burst. Misty turned on her instinct to follow the girls. “Now dance,” growled a dark voice from within the room. All of the hair on the back of Misty’s neck stood up--pure evil exhaled from the man. I’ve gotta help her.

Taking a step back, Misty dropped her napsack on the floor and kicked upward with all of her strength. The door handle snapped off, but it was still stuck in the frame, rattling as she slammed against it with her shoulder. The old house was not made to cave under slight pressure. “Alohomora!” she screamed at the door. She hoped it would work. It didn’t. “Oh, fuck this.” Circling back, Misty gave herself room for a running start. Another scream burst from the room. “I’m coming!” She charged at the door. Leaping off of the floor, she plunged with both heels into the side of the door. It buckled. She slid into the room on her side, a baseball player aiming for home. “Get away from her!”

The man swung on her. “About time I get a little bit of attention up in here.” He swung a shiny axe in one hand. Misty leapt to her feet. She grabbed a chair and held it up. “You’re not the one who knows me, are you?” The man’s black aura breathed off of his skin like smoke. “You’re not the one who owes me.” He wielded his axe at her. “So you’re just in the way.”

Misty held up the chair and caught the axe in its legs, knocking it back but not out of his hand. “Don’t you touch her!” Everything her father had ever taught her about physical combat came back to haunt her now. Daddy never said my opponent would have an axe and I would have a wooden chair. She charged him with the legs of the chair pointed at him, a bull with its horns prepared to gore the unsuspecting passenger of its field. It brought her closer to Cordelia. She had heard the name in passing from the other witches, but for the first time, she saw the face of the headmistress. Mutilated pink skin crossed her face. Marbled blue eyes peeked out at Misty where acid had stripped all of the pigment from her irises. She’s blind. “Are you okay?”

Buffering lips and a trembling chin met her question. “Who are you?”

Oh. Right. Misty had entirely forgotten that Zoe had brought her here as a secret. She held up the chair as the axe man swung at her again. She hurled the chair at him to deflect his axe. It whooshed through his solid body. “What the fuck is up with this guy?” The chair landed on the other side of him, broken on the floor. The man smirked at her with his salt and pepper hair, looking all too coy for his own good. Misty backed up in front of the table beneath which Cordelia hid--the man had cornered her and left her nowhere to run, nowhere to escape.

Cordelia whimpered audibly. “He’s a ghost! He’s dead!” she blubbered. I’m gonna die in here. The notion had struck Misty when she first entered the house. These walls had power she knew not, and it was a dark power. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a ceramic vase from the table and wielded it like a glass beer bottle by the neck. If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna do it protecting a woman.

He swung the axe. She moved sideways and allowed the blade to plunge into the wall. The moment of it burying into the wood gave him just enough pause for her to smash the vase over his head. At the sound of the exploding vase, Cordelia cried out, shrinking back under the table. He staggered back, cursing. “You can’t hurt me, witch! Your fight is futile!”

“Don’t mean I ain’t gonna give it my best shot.” Misty seized another vase off of the table. The brandished axe caught it and smashed it.

He reached for the last one and smashed it with a dark chuckle, holding contact with her eyes. “You out of ideas now, little girl?” His eyes were deep pools of hatred and filth. Misty held out her hand. A fire poker whistled toward her from across the room. It landed in the palm of her hand. “Oh, that’s new for you!” Yeah, it is. Misty fenced at him like she held a sword in her hand instead of a piece of flimsy metal. “Little spitfire, are you? I can have some fun with this!”

The tip of the fire poker caught on the blade of his axe. Misty glared at his hand as she snatched back against him. His fingers pried open against his will. She flung the axe across the room. It smashed against the wall and landed on the floor. “Ha!”

The axe man’s brawny hand closed around the fire poker. He dragged her close to him and tossed the weapon away. She staggered, unbalanced, and he took the opportunity to grab her by the hood of the sweatshirt Zoe had given her. She whirled. A cold hand closed around her throat. “Uh--” Both of her hands floundered at his, pulling desperately at him as he hoisted her up by her neck. Her feet left the ground. Her throat closed. She couldn’t make a sound except for the deep slurp noises twisting from her body.

The sniveling voice of the woman rose up as she crawled out from under the table. “Don’t hurt her! I’m the one you want!” Misty’s wide eyes darted away from the man’s face to Cordelia’s, her lips slightly parted. I’m fighting for her. Her tunnel vision gradually grew darker. Cordelia, a woman she didn’t know, was willing to sacrifice herself--just as Misty had done by running in here. I’m saving her.

Warmth moved through the axe man’s arm. Blood coursed through his veins once again. Something, some spell, had made him corporeal and mortal once more. Misty’s parted lips opened a little wider. Magic stirred hot and heavy within her abdomen and twisted up through her chest. Her jaw dropped. It touched the top of his fist. Flames bellowed out of Misty’s mouth. At the first flash of heat, he dropped her. Misty dropped to the floor, choking and gagging and gasping. Soft hands sweet as honeycomb patted around her body as she caught her breath.

The stench of smoke filled the room. The axe man, his clothing on fire, staggered across Cordelia’s bed. He howled, an animal in pain. The magic which had made him corporeal had given him mortality. He rolled across the floor. The curtains caught fire, as well; the flames leapt from one to the other. “Are you okay?” Cordelia’s voice was ragged.

Misty staggered to her feet. The smoke clouded around her. She held an arm over her mouth. “C’mon.” Blots of blackness in her vision dizzied her. “Get on my back--Hold onto me.” The heat from the flames and the soot exhaling from the flickering lights of orange stung her eyes. Cordelia grappled with her shoulders. Misty slipped her arms under the legs of the nearly naked woman and ducked her head as she ran through the flames. The fire caught onto the bottoms of her sweatpants. She stomped it out and pretended her skin didn’t itch. On her back, Cordelia buried her face into Misty’s hair. Misty ran toward the staircase. With each step, Cordelia jostled on her back. Overhead, the sound of splintering wood and spreading fire pursued them like a lion on its prey. “Which way is out?”

Bare arms wrapped around Misty’s neck, clinging desperately to her as she felt herself slipping. Misty tightened her hold on her. “Misty,” Cordelia breathed to her ear. I didn’t tell her my name. “It’s--to the right--” Cordelia’s shorts rode up where her legs wrapped around Misty’s middle. Misty grasped her bare thighs. She followed Cordelia’s directions, bowing her head downward to avoid the stinging blackness of the smoke encroaching around her. The flavor of soot on her tongue was a familiar scalding by now, something she revisited in her nightmares.

The front door gaped ajar, pouring smoke into the starry sky. Misty jogged through the door frame. The cold night air swept her up into its arms. The moon itself reached for her, its daughter, and cradled her in its yellow light. She staggered down the steps and stumbled through the grass, almost losing her footing but managing to remain upright. Her arms and back ached with the strain of carrying Cordelia.

The lights in the greenhouse guided her toward the building, outside which the other witches loitered. “You made it!” The cluster of witches approached. Misty leaned back and released Cordelia, letting her place her bare feet on the dewy earth. “How’d you get out? Are you okay?”

Kyle, rocking himself and moaning, danced around Misty with his arms extending and retracting and extended again. “I’m alright, Kyle--I’m alright--” The zombie-like man still insisted on giving her a hug in his strong arms, which Misty reciprocated with a grimace. He smelled like sweat. “Hey, now, no need for tears… Nobody’s hurt.”

“Does anyone have a cigarette?”

Cordelia’s hand closed around Misty’s bicep. “Madison?” she asked in a soft voice. Goosebumps coursed up and down her arms and legs. The cold night air had done no favors for her. She folded her other arm across her chest. “Where have you been? Who is this?” She shivered.

Misty shed the long sweatshirt Zoe had given her and handed it to Cordelia. “Here.” She pulled it over Cordelia’s head for her and guided her arms through the sleeves. “Don’t worry about Kyle. He’s a friend--long as you don’t expose him to none of your valuables. He’s a ouragan, but he means well.” A few hours ago, she never would have guessed she would find herself speaking in Kyle’s defense, but now, much as she was angry with him for destroying her few cherished objects, she couldn’t imagine leaving Kyle to be homeless.

The night wind blew her hair back out of her face as she turned back to look at the academy as it leapt into flames. I think I made all of them homeless. “Fiona will fix it,” Cordelia told her, grasping Misty’s arm still. She pulled the hem of the sweatshirt down over her lower body, trying to cover more of her exposed skin. “Fiona will know what to do.”

“Fiona isn’t answering her phone,” Queenie snapped.

“We’ve got to hide Madison before she shows up,” Zoe said. “She’s safer that way.”

“What about Kyle?” Nan asked. “Fiona won’t let him stay.”

“What about Kyle?” Madison demanded. “You all don’t seriously think Fiona is going to be able to put the house back together? We’re all fucked. Royally fucked. Fiona is going to run away, like she always has, and we’re going to be sleeping on the streets.” She lifted a cigarette to her lips and blew a thin stream of smoke from between them. Coughing brokenly, she appraised Misty through narrowed eyes. “I think you should’ve left me wherever the fuck I was.”

Misty crossed her arms and placed a hand on top of Cordelia’s. She didn’t have anything to say. This wasn’t her fight. “You were dead?” Cordelia extended her other hand to Madison.

Madison hesitated, glancing back at Zoe. “Do it.” All pairs of eyes landed on Madison. “She’ll See what happened to you. So we can keep it from happening again.” See. It was unfamiliar to Misty, the concept, but Cordelia had touched her and learned her name--and her powers. She knew Misty had brought Madison back to life. What else did she know? What else had she Seen?

It was a question she wanted to ask, but as Madison’s palm touched Cordelia’s, the blind woman gave a soft gasp. Her marbled eyes rolled backward, the scarred tissue over them twitching. Her hand tightened its grip on Misty’s arm, as if holding onto her for support, and when Madison withdrew, Cordelia swayed. Misty tried to steady her. “Fiona can’t know that you are here.” Her fingers dug into Misty’s upper arm. “Fiona is willing to kill to keep her powers. To keep the Supremacy. Which means she could see any one of you as a threat or a target. She feels safe as long as she believes Madison is dead.”

Madison arched an eyebrow. “So you just expect me to play possum indefinitely?”

“Fiona killed you once,” Zoe said. “She might try to do it again.”

“Who’s gonna stop her from killing another one of us?” Queenie asked.

They all exchanged glances before they looked at Misty. Misty shuffled her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. “No offense or anything, but… y’all got a problem of killing each other.” A little problem. Misty’s mouth curled downward at the corners. “I don’t want no part of it. They played burn the witch back home. I’m not coming here to get killed by my own kind.”

Zoe’s eyes were earnest. Goddammit. Misty tried to look away from her. “But you’ll help us, won’t you? If one of us gets hurt? Once we identify the next Supreme, we’ll be able to bring Fiona down, and it’ll be safe again. For all of us.” Misty looked at Cordelia. The pretty face of the older woman was all too close to hers. Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed hard as Cordelia squeezed her upper arm. Oh, shucks. These women were the first people of her kind she had ever met. She couldn’t just abandon them. I can’t just abandon Cordelia. She had worked to save Cordelia’s life, risking her own in the process. Who was she if she ran away now? “Please, Misty?”

The sound of sirens pierced the air. Misty flinched. She shrugged out of Cordelia’s grasp. “I gotta go.” She could not be here when the police and firefighters showed up. The large, beautiful house would draw media attention, and she couldn’t risk her face appearing on the television, nor could she risk the odds of someone recognizing her and placing her face. The flashing red and blue lights reflected on the houses down the street, around the corner. Misty ducked her head and dashed away.

“Misty!” The first call of her name didn’t slow her. She threw herself into the thin copse of trees which served as a fence between the burning house and the rest of the neighborhood. “Misty, come back!” Hurling herself down into the ravine, she slid down the slope and landed in the mushy pit in its bottom. “Misty, wait!” Cordelia lost her footing at the ravine--how she had made it this far, Misty wasn’t sure--and tumbled down the slope.

Both of her hands closed around Misty’s wrists. Heart thundering in her chest, Misty resisted the urge to jerk away from her. She wouldn’t do that to Cordelia. “I ain’t going back.” Over the hill, the sound of men’s voices echoed. Footsteps crackled through the leaves in the thin copse of trees. The back of Misty’s teeth rattled with magic. “Hold onto me,” she said to Cordelia for the second time tonight. Cordelia threw her arms around Misty’s neck. The vibrations within her soul dragged them inward, through a vacuum, and with a loud crack, they crashed between the corn stalks of Misty’s garden.

The soft soil clung to her clothing. Misty stood, both of her hands on Cordelia’s waist. “You can transmute.” Cordelia held her at arm’s length. In the silvery moonlight filtering through the canopy of swamp trees, she looked no different than anyone else. The trees blocked the cold breeze, but a mist rose off of the water and chilled the air. “Where are we?”

Cordelia’s tangled hair hung around her face. Her tense muscles quivered beneath Misty’s touch. Misty reached around her to pull up the hood over her ears. “My home.” The trees creaked around them. The forest moaned with all of its secret life. The cicadas and crickets hummed in synchronization. The night birds performed their own song, special for Cordelia. Cordelia shivered again. “Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.” It wasn’t much warmer inside the shack, but Misty had blankets, and the walls deflected the wind. Cordelia held onto her arm. “It’s okay. I won’t let you fall.”

The shack was in the same condition they had left it--the broken tapes on the floor, the cold water in the metal basin stagnant where she had bathed Kyle. “Here.” She helped Cordelia sit on the bed and wrapped her up in some blankets. Taking woolly socks, she put them on Cordelia’s dirty feet one by one. In the darkness of the shack, she, too, was almost blind. She blinked up to Cordelia from below, looking at her silhouette. On the nightstand, a couple unlit candles rested. I’ve been going through matches like a little kid through cake. But she had burned the axe man. She knew she had done it--she had set the house aflame. Can I do it again?

“Try it.” She still held Cordelia’s feet in her lap. With the encouragement, Misty licked her lips and blinked back toward the candles. What had she done the first time? She had needed to protect Cordelia. She had needed to protect herself. Her hands trembled a little. A tiny flame flashed onto the wick of the candle. “Good job.” Misty stood to take the candle and light the rest of the room, the bare wicks all around the building which she used in the middle of the night. She had had a lantern, but it had broken, and she didn’t have any extra batteries for her flashlight, which she worked to preserve in case of an emergency. “What else can you do?”

“Hm?” Misty put the candle on the nightstand. “I fix dead things. That’s it.” She sat beside Cordelia on the bed. Cordelia scooted over to make room for her on the small mattress. Misty brushed the back of her hand against Cordelia’s absently.

To her surprise, Cordelia wrapped up their fingers together. “But you can start fires.” Misty shrugged. That was a new thing. “And move things.” That was a new thing, too. “And transmute.” She had done that when she met Zoe, but she hadn’t controlled it deliberately. “You’re an incredibly powerful witch, Misty.”

“Aw, nah, I bet tons of y’all are good at all that stuff.”

Cordelia’s eyebrows quirked, and she shook her head. “We’re not. It’s uncommon for a witch to exhibit more than one power. Maybe two in a time of crisis, but--you’ve performed four of the seven wonders.” Misty didn’t know what she meant. She didn’t ask. She hadn’t been so close to another woman in so long; she was busy drinking in Cordelia’s scent as she lay beside her on the bed. “The seven wonders are the test a witch must pass in order to rise to Supreme.”

Eyes widening, Misty shook her head. “Uh-uh. I don’t like this. I ain’t here to be nobody’s leader.” Cordelia folded their fingers together. Her skin was soft and smooth as flower petals. Misty swallowed hard. “I told you, Miss Cordelia. I don’t want any part of this. This ain’t my fight. And it ain’t got to be yours, either.”

Cordelia wasn’t shivering anymore. “Becoming the Supreme isn’t a choice… You can’t escape it by not wanting it.”

“You ain’t dragging me into this mess.” Cordelia opened her mouth, but Misty cut her off before she could speak, her heart thundering in her own ears. “Listen. I helped Zoe with Kyle. And I helped her with Madison. And I helped you--”

“You got into my room when no one else could. How did you do that?”

“I kicked the door down like a muggle.”

Silence followed, but a smile cracked across Cordelia’s face, and she began to laugh. Misty chuckled along with her, fluffing up the pillows to provide them for her. She knew nothing about her shack was comfortable for a city dweller, but she wanted to treat Cordelia the best that she could. “You saved me,” Cordelia whispered, and she put her cheek on the pillow as Misty put it down. She faced her in the dim light. Outside, the wind assailed the shack, whipping and howling, but Misty’s whole body felt like fire now coursed through her veins. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”

A quiet laugh tittered out of Misty. “Nah, don’t be silly. My grandma always told me there was nothing better for a damsel in distress than a dyke with an attitude.” Cordelia’s marbled blue eyes widened, and Misty realized a moment too late that her thoughts had crawled out onto her tongue. Blushing furiously, she hastened to amend her words. “You would’ve done the same--you did. You told him to let me go.”

A hand landed on her hot face. She flinched; she expected to be slapped. But Cordelia’s touch brought her no pain. “It scared me,” Cordelia admitted, “to think that someone could die for me because I’m not strong enough to protect myself… not anymore.” She mapped out Misty’s face with her hands. “I couldn’t live with myself if someone was hurt because of me.”

Misty smiled into Cordelia’s palm. She liked having her face touched. It was intimate. She hadn’t known something so sweet in longer than she could remember. “I just kept thinking that, if he killed me, at least I went down trying to protect a pretty lady.” In the dim candlelight, pink flushed across Cordelia’s cheeks, and Misty grinned at her success. “My daddy taught me how to rip a guy’s nuts off… but I never figured I’d need to fight an axe-wielding ghost. That was new. Hopefully won’t ever need to do it again.”

Stray fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Cordelia pursed her lips. “Have you been out here ever since…?” She drifted off, and Misty nodded into her hand. “Alone?”

Misty shrugged. “Yeah. Safer that way.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t light the match.” Misty tried to forget what gasoline tasted like. She tried to forget what ash tasted like. The flames at the house were a stark reminder of the night she wanted, more than anything, to forget. To forget the pain, the absolute agony, of thrashing until all of the nerve endings in her body were dead and the heat of the flames had charred her lungs and melted her skin, until she finally gave way to death only to find herself dragged back into the shell of her corpse once again--to forget was all she wanted.

Cordelia shook her head. A quiver passed through her. Misty wondered how much of it she had Seen. Some things are supposed to be mine alone. “My job,” Cordelia said, “is to find witches and bring them to the academy to protect them. So they can learn who they are and how to control their powers.” Misty adjusted the blankets around Cordelia’s shoulders, trying to bring her warmth, but she knew she had done no good when a single tear slid down Cordelia’s cheek. She caught it on the pad of her thumb and wiped it away. “I was looking for you. Desperately. I knew where you were, the general location, but--I was too late.” She closed her eyes. As she did, more tears fell down her cheeks. Misty dabbed them away with her fingertips. “I lost you when it was my duty to protect you. And I am so, so sorry.”

Misty reached to hug Cordelia, wrapping her up tight and squeezing her. “Nah, Miss Cordelia… It ain’t your fault. You can’t hold the whole world on your shoulders, you know, chere.” Cordelia buried her face in her hair. Misty had lost count of how many times it had happened now--maybe just twice, maybe many more--but she adored it every time. She adored how Cordelia’s caramel-colored hair fell just so on her shoulders and how the movement exposed the freckled skin of her neck. She bowed her face down and pressed a kiss to the junction between Cordelia’s neck and shoulder. She’s so beautiful…

In her arms, Cordelia stiffened a little. Misty stiffened in turn, wondering if she had overstepped her bounds, but Cordelia whispered to her ear, “Thank you…” She swept Misty’s hair out of the way and kissed her neck in return. “I’m so glad you found us.”

Cordelia did not carry the same aura as the house or even the rest of the coven. Cordelia was different, warmer, more genuine, kinder. “I’m glad, too.” She combed her hand through Cordelia’s tangled hair. “Especially if nobody else was gonna bust you outta that room with the scary ghost guy.” Cordelia laughed into her neck. Misty closed her eyes and leaned down to kiss Cordelia’s neck again.

Warm hands caught her by the shoulders and pushed her away before her lips connected to her skin. Cordelia held her there, their faces inches apart. “Do it properly.” Cordelia’s lips puckered with uncertainty. Misty bowed forward and planted a tender, chaste kiss onto her mouth. A quiver passed through Cordelia’s body as they connected. Electricity pulled them together and held them fast, wrapping around them, through them.

Their magical signatures intertwined. Cordelia’s mouth opened, and Misty’s tongue wriggled inside. She grabbed Cordelia by the hips, squeezing the fat there. “Mm…” She moaned the soft sound into Cordelia’s mouth. This is crazy. I barely know her. Cordelia’s hands both dug their fingers into Misty’s hair and cradled her face there. Oh, god, I barely know her, and I love her already. Misty knew she had a heart made of cotton--it was soft and got shredded easily--but this caught her by surprise. She felt something for Cordelia she had never felt before. She supposed that she couldn’t risk her life for a woman without coming out the other side in love with her. “Sorry,” she mumbled into Cordelia’s lips. The kiss broke. “I promise I’m not really as weird as the inside of my head sounds.”

Cordelia laughed. “It’s okay.” She leaned forward and kissed Misty again. “I like you. I like you a lot.” Misty rolled onto her back and pulled Cordelia on top of her. Cordelia lay down on top of her. Her laugh was musical. “I shouldn’t feel this good. I just almost died in a house fire.”

Misty brushed Cordelia’s beautiful hair behind her ear. “You didn’t almost die. I wouldn’t have let that happen.” Cordelia kissed her hard. She tasted like smoke, wisping away from her in the blink of an eye, so Misty held on tighter, afraid Cordelia would try to disappear. The flame in the pit of her stomach licked downward. A knee landed between her legs and stayed there. Misty sucked in a tight gasp of air. “Cordelia--” The blind witch straddled her thigh. Misty gulped. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Misty was in no position to deny Cordelia anything. She had lived these last few weeks the loneliest she had ever been. But Cordelia was a normal woman--and, Misty had assumed until about three minutes ago, a straight woman. “I’m not… I’ve never been… I don’t want you to be…”

Quieting her with another soft kiss, Cordelia pulled back when her buffering lips had stilled. “I want this.” She shivered. “You saved my life. I want this to be here, with you.” Misty touched her face. Cordelia’s blind eyes blinked at the stimulus. “It’s the first time, since…” Cordelia swallowed hard.

Misty kissed her. “I understand.” She sat up and took the hem of the sweatshirt, lifting it off of Cordelia’s body and tossing it to the floor. Placing her bare hands on Cordelia’s warm, soft middle, she waited patiently for Cordelia to roam her torso with shaking fingers. “Take your time.” She played with the fabric of Cordelia’s black bra while Cordelia’s hands roamed the top of her T-shirt. Misty wore no bra. Through the thin fabric of the T-shirt, her nipples hardened into Cordelia’s palms.

Careful hands hooked in the bottom hem of her T-shirt and lifted it upward. Misty moved her arms and wriggled out of the shirt. She wiggled to free herself from the sweatpants, too; Zoe hadn’t given her any panties, so without the two garments, she was bare and prepared for Cordelia. Little twitches of uncertainty passed through Cordelia’s wrists, like she expected Misty’s skin to burn her at any moment. Misty waited patiently. Cordelia’s nose and mouth met the underside of her jaw and kissed there, dragging her lips along her pulse point and down her throat to her collarbones. Her hands followed the planes of Misty’s back to her shoulders. Misty lay down on her back to expose herself for Cordelia.

Both hands cupped her small breasts. She kissed the hollow of Misty’s throat. Then, she hesitated. “It’s alright.” Misty brushed Cordelia’s hair out of her face. “You can touch me--I got naked for a reason.”

A furious blush, much like that of a shamed teenager’s, crossed Cordelia’s face. “I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat. Her hands on Misty’s breasts were still. “I’ve never done this with a woman before.” Misty shuffled on the mattress. “Will you show me?”

“Of course, chere.” With gentle hands, Misty guided Cordelia to roll over onto her back and pushed her onto the pillows. “Relax.” Shaking hands found her hair and tangled there. “That’s right. You want me to stop, you give my hair a good snatch, okay? I’ll knock it off lickety split, whatever I’m doing.” She pressed her lips right to Cordelia’s pulse point. A shaking sound emerged from her. Misty stroked her hands upward and cupped Cordelia’s chest in her hands, rolling her rough thumbs over the other woman’s tender nipples. A sharp breath hitched in Cordelia’s chest. Misty gave her a tender squeeze before she slithered down her body. She landed on Cordelia’s breasts with lips planting sloppy kisses down her sternum.

Misty didn’t waste any time with teasing Cordelia, who quivered and flinched underneath her without anything extra. Her soft lips wrapped around nipple. She suckled gently upon her breast. A thin choking sound emerged from Cordelia’s throat. “That’s so… soft.” Her breath whistled in and out of her. Misty blew a cold stream of air across her wet nipple. It perked up, little bumps appearing all the way around it with creases, as well. She wriggled. Misty chuckled as she settled down in front of the other breast.

Misty took no liberties with Cordelia’s body. She didn’t want to mark Cordelia as hers; they had made no such promises yet. She didn’t dig in her teeth, and she left no bruises. Using only her lips, she teased the underside of one of Cordelia’s breasts, and then she moved down her abdomen, peppering kisses here and there. She planted a kiss on her navel. Hooking her fingers into Cordelia’s shorts, she peeled them off of her body and tossed them away.

The delicious smell of woman rose up to her. Misty kissed the inside of Cordelia’s thigh. Her skin was fuzzy there, above the knee where she didn’t try to shave. Her vulva had tiny cuts and tufts of stubble from where clumsy, blind hands had tried to shave it. Misty waited for some confirmation. Cordelia spread her legs and tugged her by her hair downward, her hips gesticulating vaguely for some kind of relief.

Burying her face into Cordelia’s moist vulva, Misty opened her mouth and made a thick, “Ahm,” sound in the back of her throat. Cordelia laughed aloud, relieving some of the nervous tension inside of her. She wriggled and moaned under Misty’s mouth. With the flat of her tongue, Misty stroked upward over Cordelia’s swollen clitoris. She trembled. Her thighs framed Misty’s face. “Mm…” Misty drew back just long enough to lick her lips before she dove into it again.

“Oh--Misty--” Cordelia arched her back. Her hips refused to still on the mattress. Her hands in Misty’s hair wanted to tighten up. She released her locks and grappled with her own breasts instead, a much safer location for them. “I--Oh, god…”

The sight of Cordelia’s hands on her breast stirred the fire for Misty. Watching her pleasure herself with her nipples pinched between her fingertips--that was a new drug, an addictive substance. As Cordelia’s clitoris grew firmer, more erect, Misty left it. Her lover cried out in frustration. Misty’s tongue slipped into her vagina, raking out all of the sour lubrication and dragging it up to her clitoris. “I can’t--Oh, god…” Cordelia’s vagina tightened visibly. Misty slipped her middle finger into her. “Oh!” It fit with ease. She curled it to stroke the sensitive, thick patch of nerves inside of her. “More--” As you wish. Misty hesitated before she curled a second finger into Cordelia. She’s only done this with men. She’s used to more. She provided the answer to her demand.

Cordelia’s hips lifted off of the bed into Misty’s mouth. “Yes!” Misty slid her fingers out and pushed them back in, massaging the insides of her vagina. “Yes!” Cordelia’s voice echoed in the small building, and undoubtedly in the trees surrounding, but there was no one to hear but the deer and the birds and the insects. “F-Faster!”

With the tip of her tongue, Misty worked faster at teasing the bulb of her clitoris, following the crus on either side back up to the sensitive nub. Cordelia almost thrashed with the intensity of her feelings. Her vagina contracted around Misty’s fingers. “Mmm!” The first flickering of her walls was like Morse code flitting back to her fingertips. Misty counted the number of squeezes. By the fifth, Cordelia’s thigh and stomach muscles began to relax, and Misty could slip her fingers free. She lingered to lick up all of the acidic fluid Cordelia had produced. Cordelia twitched, sensitive from her forceful orgasm.

Misty slid back up beside her and nuzzled her cheek with the tip of her nose. Cordelia turned her face and kissed Misty on the mouth. Her lower jaw chattered. “That was… That was really good…” She hiccuped. Misty brushed her hands across her pretty face. “Do you--Do you want me to--I might not know--”

Shushing her, Misty took one of her hands. “Just use your hands. Okay?” Cordelia’s arm shivered, but she nodded. Misty placed Cordelia’s hand on top of her bushy pubic mound, the ungroomed hair there growing wild and unruly. She guided Cordelia’s fingers to touch her just as she would touch herself. “Right there…” Misty’s leg muscles tightened as Cordelia’s finger found her clitoris and, with a featherlight touch, trailed up and down it, following the muscle structures and then going back to the bulb. Lying like that, beside Cordelia, face to face, she could taste the other woman’s breath on her tongue.

Cordelia kissed her. Misty wrapped an arm around Cordelia’s neck, holding her close. Cordelia’s mouth opened, leaving room for Misty’s tongue to wriggle inside, and she sucked on the intruding muscle with a thick purr building in the back of her throat. The sound of Cordelia’s sweet sound made all of the hair on the back of Misty’s neck stand up. She was crazy about this woman. She didn’t know how or why, but she wanted nothing more than to protect Cordelia for as long as she lived, with every breath in her body. Had she gone too long without human contact or affection? Or was it something else entirely?

“Sh…” Misty wondered if she was thinking too loudly as Cordelia shushed her. Nose burrowing into Misty’s hair, she inhaled deeply. Misty relished in each gentle touch Cordelia placed on her roughened, weatherworn body. The single finger Cordelia used on Misty’s clitoris moved a little faster. “Do you want more?”

Misty shook her head as she spread her legs. “N-No…” Speaking in complete words was a challenge. She had to work to clear her mind from the overwhelming pleasure crawling up her abdomen and down into her trembling thighs. “Ugh… Cordelia…” Her back wiggled. Her hips turned upward, toward Cordelia’s hand. “This is enough--” The twitching finger moved harder, faster. Misty’s breath hitched. It fanned heavier across Cordelia’s face. Heavy breaths met her in turn. “Ack!”

It had been so long since a woman had touched her like this, she had almost forgotten what it was like to taste another woman’s breath in the back of her throat, an intruder walking into her house and taking a seat on her couch. She never wanted Cordelia to get off of her couch. Spreading her legs further apart, she gazed at Cordelia’s beautiful face in the dim candlelight. Her marbled blue eyes reflected the yellow flames in strange patterns, not like the glossy surface to a regular person’s eyes. God, she’s so beautiful. Misty tangled her hands in her hair, pressing her face against Cordelia’s.

Eyelashes against her skin, Cordelia’s eyes flickered closed. Misty peppered kisses across the mutilated pink skin. Cordelia nuzzled upward into her sweet, gentle touches. Her finger moved faster across Misty’s clitoris. “Mm…” Closing her eyes, Misty tensed. She could feel the peak of her orgasm drawing nearer. Cordelia hooked her legs into Misty’s and held them apart. “Oh, fuck--” Misty’s hips began to move back and forth in a seesaw rhythm, driven by the strain teasing all over her body. “I’m--I’m really close,” she gasped to Cordelia, eyes flickering. “It’s right--right there--”

Her body began to tighten. The muscles in her lower back contracted and held fast. Her clitoris twitched. The full force of her orgasm washed over her, exploding stars behind her eyes as tingling rushed from her vagina down her trembling legs and up her spine. “Ugh… Mm…” She drew out a long, growling moan for Cordelia as the orgasm pushed through her.

The finger slipped downward from Misty’s clitoris toward the vestibule of her vagina. Misty tensed--she didn’t want to be penetrated, especially not now, after she had just fallen from the precipice of an orgasm and been left with all of her hypersensitive nerves. But Cordelia didn’t attempt to penetrate her. She scooped up the lubricant Misty had produced. Then, with a bright red face, she stuck her finger into her mouth. Misty chuckled, and she leaned forward to kiss her. “Thank you, chere.”

“Can we stay here?” Cordelia asked in a bare whisper. Blue eyes darted to her, confused by her question. “I know--I know we need to go back, but…”

Misty cupped her cheek in her hand. How desperately she wanted to say yes, to agree that Cordelia could stay out here with her. But the swamp was no place for a city person. How many days would Cordelia go before she was unhappy without a shower? Without warm food? Without cooked meat? “I’m taking you home tomorrow. Them girls need you. They look up to you, even if they don’t realize it. Somebody’s gotta protect them from Fiona.”

“I’ve never even been able to protect myself from Fiona.” Cordelia leaned into Misty’s hand. “Come with me,” she begged. “We need you. You may be the next Supreme--You may be the only one who can stop Fiona.”

Misty was not a fan of the whole Supreme business. She knew she had walked through that house and suffered from the overwhelming notion that she would die there. But Cordelia wanted her. How could she say no? “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, darling… I just want you to be safe.” Holding Cordelia in her arms, she wondered if she had ever guarded something so precious before in her life. She didn’t think so. She had found her tribe. It was Cordelia.

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upthenorthmountain · 7 years

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Second Chances

It’s Charis’s birthday! And this feels a little like cheating, because most of this was written already, I just reformatted it and added an extra bit and here it is. I originally sent this to Charis in pieces, last summer, and I hope she likes it just as much now it’s a proper story.

Rated T for a small amount of Language

Second Chances

The receptionist barely glanced at him before waving him into a seat. Kristoff put his briefcase on his knees and tried not to drum his fingers on it. He didn't even, especially, need this job; the one he had was fine, but this would be a step up. It was worth a punt, anyway. After a few minutes the door into the main office opened and a woman came through with a clipboard. She didn't look up, but rummaged in the papers while keeping the door open with her foot. "Hang on," she said, "Just a sec - okay. Kristoff Bjorgman!"

Then she did a double-take so extreme it was almost comical, let the door slam behind her, and looked up. Kristoff stood and met her eye. "Hi," he said. "Anna."

-----

He’d recognised her as soon as she opened the door. It had been so long, but she was still the same. Same long red hair trying to escape the clip holding it up. Same big blue eyes that showed her every emotion. Same petite figure, though now it was more mature, more womanly.

For a moment they both just stared. Then Anna shook herself and said "Oh my goodness, Kristoff! I didn't read the names before I came through, I'm just bringing people through, I'm not doing the interviewing or anything, Karen would do it but she's poorly - gosh, it's been so long! How are you?" "I'm good, I'm really good. It's great to see you." Another long moment, then Anna shook herself again. "Well, we'd better go in - sorry - I'm not trying to make you late - oh, fudge -" now she realised that the door had shut behind her and was fishing an ID card on a lanyard out of the front of her blouse. "This way," she said once she'd managed to get the door open. "Follow meeee - and through here. OK. Paul," she said to the man in the office, who was now standing with hand extended. "This is Kristoff Bjorgman, Kris this is Paul Bunce, the IT Director. OK!" She beamed at them, then remembered she was supposed to leave, and backed out, hissing "Good luck!" at Kristoff as she went.

-----

Anna Rendell. He hadn't even known she was in the country, though there was no reason why she wouldn't have been. Fancy running into her today, and on the way into a job interview; life was weird. It must be - could it be ten years? Yes, almost. Anna Rendell. Fuck.

He'd been nineteen. He'd left school with no real plan in mind, and ended up doing various jobs until he'd gone back to college at twenty. That summer he'd been a gardener at the posh girls’ school just outside town, and spent most of it mowing lawns and trimming hedges.

The place had been mostly deserted over the summer; it was a boarding school but most of the girls were at home for the long holiday. A few remained, however, and one of them was Anna, who had recently turned eighteen and was staying at the school until she left for university abroad in the autumn.

He'd noticed her before, always with a crowd of friends, and in her uniform she'd looked younger. Come the end of term she switched to jeans or a sundress, her hair down, and with no one else to talk to she chatted to all the staff and helped with any job going. No one at the school seemed to care where she went or what time she got back.

One long hot afternoon, while he was attempting to tame the edges of the nature garden behind the science labs, she brought him a cold drink and sat with him in the shade as he drank it. He remembers the heat, the bees buzzing in the wildflowers, the way each one of her toenails was painted a different colour (‘I couldn't decide,’ she said lazily when he pointed it out).

He'd wanted to kiss her but he hadn't dared, then after she left he'd spent the rest of the afternoon kicking himself for not making a move. But when he got back to the gardeners’ shed to put away his tools, he found her waiting for him.

Memory was a funny thing. When he looked back at it, that summer was just sunshine, Anna's smile and the taste of her lips, listening to her talk while she made daisy chains, the scent of cut grass. If there was rain he's forgotten it, let it fade to a drum on the roof of his car, parked in the lane behind the school. Distant thunder as he kissed her goodnight outside her dormitory, lingering in the dusk. But summer doesn't last forever.

-----

The problem with having a magical summer romance at eighteen was that it was impossible not to hold it up as the standard against which all future men should be judged. Over the years it had become a running joke with Anna’s friends - “Kristoff would never treat me like this.” “Kristoff would never do that.” Part of her had almost forgotten that he was a real person, a grown man out in the world living his life.

He probably had all sorts of bad qualities and annoying habits that just hadn't had time to make themselves known. Anna herself felt like a completely different person to the girl she'd been then, carefree and young and falling in love for the first time. She had Harry now, anyway. He was the most important thing.

Kristoff would never have cheated on her, though. He would never have slept with her then stopped answering her texts, or so she told herself. He would certainly have never broken up with her at the sight of a positive pregnancy test. Maybe she needed him, as that fantasy of the perfect man, while all the others let her down.

But of all the places she'd expected to run into him now she was back in town, in a suit interviewing for the systems analyst position was not one of them. She'd sneaked a look at his CV once she was back at her desk; he'd gone back to college, his work history since then was exemplary. He’d done well for himself, and that made her happy. That was how she explained her happiness, anyway.

-----

Afterwards Kristoff couldn't even remember how the interview went, though he didn't think he stuffed it up too much. The interviewer was pleasant, Kristoff managed to answer all the questions, then he was ushered out and back through reception. He didn't see Anna on the way out.

There was one thing he was glad rarely came up in job interviews - his biggest regret. “I never had sex with Anna Rendell” wasn’t exactly interview-friendly, but it was the honest answer. He hadn’t, and all the reasons he’d had at the time now seemed ridiculous. Maybe then it would all have ended up differently. Maybe then, his last memory of her would be a sweet, happy one, rather than the mess it had turned into. Or maybe not.

The job as gardener didn't pay much but it came with the use of a tiny cottage on the edge of the grounds. In early September, two days before Anna was to leave for her expensive private university in Paris, she had turned up on his doorstep at 9pm and persuaded him to go out with her to sit on the hill and watch the stars come out.

He’d known the date of her departure for weeks. They hadn’t talked about it. What good would it do? Nothing could be changed. When she wasn’t there, Kristoff would tell himself it was just a bit of fun, anyway, nothing serious, that he’d miss her for a little while and then he’d get over it. When she was there, he tried not to think about it at all.

So he’d gone with Anna, up to their favourite place on the hill - only a few minutes away, but outside the school grounds and well away from where anyone might come walking. Anna had a blanket, which she laid out so they could sit and talk, or rather sit and kiss.

When did the stars come out? He didn’t know, because all he was looking at was Anna, all he was thinking about was her lips on his, the scent of the skin behind her ear, the softness of her skin. She pulled him down to lie next to her, and pressed up against him, and ran her hands over his neck and shoulders.

And then she had produced a condom out of her bag, and told him she was ready and she wanted him to be her first. And he’d refused.

-----

He was angry with her, he knows that now. He was angry with her for leaving, but he knew he shouldn’t be, so he felt guilty, and that made him angrier. He couldn’t ask her not to go. He couldn’t go with her. All he could do was lose her.

And maybe he felt that he was being the mature one, the sensible one. Noble. What rubbish. Or, maybe he was scared of not being able to give her the magical night she wanted, though even if it had been awkward and fumbling it would still have been better than what actually happened.

Anna hadn’t believed his refusal at first. She’d been puzzled, then she’d been annoyed, then finally she’d been upset. And he hadn’t known what to say, what he could say, because the only words he could think of were don’t go and he couldn’t say that, he had no right to say that.

She’d cried, and she’d left, and he hadn't sought her out before she'd left the country, mainly out of embarrassment. Two days of cowardice had led to ten years of regrets.

-----

hi Kristoff! I'm sorry if this is super creepy but I got your number from your CV, I hope you don't mind and please don't tell my boss, I just wondered if you wanted to get a coffee or something some time just to catch up??

That would be great. :) at the weekend?

10am Saturday ok? Meet me outside the Costa on the high st x

-----

Anna arrived a couple of minutes after Kristoff did. She was pushing a pushchair with a little blond toddler in it, and when she said “Hi!” her expression was defensive.

“Hi,” Kristoff said. “It’s good to see you. Who’s your friend?”

“This is my little boy. Harry. He’s nearly two. Is it okay if we go for a walk down to the swings instead of getting coffee? He’s having one of those days where he doesn’t like to sit still.”

“I wonder where he gets that from. No problem.”

They set off towards the park. Harry started trying to undo the straps on the pushchair, then saying “Mumma. Mumma. Mumma,” over and over with increasing volume.

“He wants to get out,” Anna said. “He likes to walk but he’s pretty slow.”

“Are we in a hurry?”

“I guess not.” Anna knelt down by the pushchair and unclipped the little boy; he popped straight out of his seat and started striding confidently off into the distance.

“Before you ask,” Anna said once Harry had been retrieved, “his dad’s not around. He’s never met him, actually. He dumped me when I said I was keeping the baby.”

“Wow. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re fine just us, aren’t we, H?” She squeezed Harry’s hand and he looked up at her and grinned.

“How long have you been back in Arundel?” Kristoff asked her.

“A couple of months. I stayed in France a couple of years after I graduated, then moved to London for a job, then after I broke up with Harry’s dad I moved in with my sister for a bit, she’s in London. She’s a lawyer. Then, I don’t know. Arundel still felt like home, you know? I liked growing up here, I wanted Harry to have that. So I got the HR job. It’s only a couple of days a week but I thought I could cope with that, I hadn’t worked since before his nibs was born.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before now.”

“Why, do you hang around the Children’s Centre much? I hope not,” Anna said, and laughed. “Oh,” she said. “I haven’t asked about you, how rude! Are you married, do you have any children?”

“No and no. I’m single. Had a couple of girlfriends, didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry. What made you go into IT?”

They’d reached the park. Kristoff couldn’t remember exactly where the playground was, but Harry clearly knew, and pulled his mother along by one hand, while she tried to steer the pushchair with the other. Kristoff helped her with the gate.

“After you left,” he said, “I couldn’t stick working at the school any more. I don’t know. So I quit and ended up temping in an office, and I found out I was good with the computers, so the next September I went back to college. And here I am.”

“Good for you.”

Kristoff shrugged. “Had to get a proper job some time.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the systems analyst job.”

“I didn’t?”

“No, I - oh, fudge. No. Sorry. They didn’t tell people yet.” She sighed. “I am terrible at working in HR.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t think I would, where I am is fine. Just thought I’d give it a go.”

“I’m glad you did,” Anna said, smiling at him.

They reached the playground and Anna parked the pushchair just off the path.

“You know,” she said as she watched Harry scramble up the steps of the little slide, “We never actually broke up, did we? I realised that. So I’m sorry, but I did cheat on you a bit in Paris. And after that.”

She said it quite calmly, even cheerfully.

“To be fair,” Kristoff said, “I haven’t been completely faithful, either.”

Anna laughed. “I’m glad, that would have been pretty lonely. Actually, come to think of it, did we ever get together? Like, officially, have the boyfriend/girlfriend talk?”

“I think we just started kissing a lot.”

“Yeah, that’s how I remember it. Oh, no, wait, darling -”

She caught Harry by the hood of his coat just as he reached the gate through to the duck pond, which had been left ajar. “We’ll feed the ducks another day, okay? Do you want to go on the swings?”

“Swings!”

“Okay, poppet, come on,” and she bore him off.

“I’m sorry,” she said once Harry was safely trapped in the baby swing kicking his little legs, “for springing him on you like that. I just, didn’t know how to say it.”

“It’s fine, Anna.”

“And I’d’ve had to bring him anyway, of course.”

“Neither of us has been frozen for ten years. I own more than one suit and a briefcase, you’re a mum, life has kept happening because that’s what life does.”

“True.” She gave the swing another big push and Harry squealed.

“And I’m the one who should be sorry,” Kristoff said.

“What for?”

“For - back then. How it all ended.”

Anna shrugged. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Where, at a private girls’ school in the middle of nowhere, did you get a condom?”

Anna laughed. “The school nurse gave me some. When she saw me hanging around with you. She said, you’re eighteen and I can’t stop you doing what you like but if you get pregnant it’ll look bad for the school. And I was glad because it was something I was worrying about but I didn’t think I could ask her. Not that it mattered in the end.”

“You know,” Kristoff said, “I thought I was being so mature and respectful, turning you down, but I wasn’t. I was being a massive fu- flipping idiot. I have spent YEARS kicking myself over it.”

Anna looked him up and down. “So when did you?” she said.

“When did I what?”

“You know. Lose the old V-plates.”

“Oh - second year of college. I had a girlfriend who was studying to be a teacher.”

“How wholesome.”

“I guess.”

Anna pushed the swing. “I’m admiring how you’re not asking me,” she said.

“Maybe I was just assuming it was some sophisticated Frenchman -”

Anna laughed again. “No, actually. Another foreign student. American. American guys are so forward, you know? It can be a bit - disarming. Anyway, then he broke up with me, so.” She hesitated. “I’d rather it had been you,” she said.

“Same.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Anna giving the swing a half-hearted push every now and again. Then she looked at him and said, “God, this is so weird just to be standing here talking to you! As if you were, like, a real person.”

Kristoff had to laugh at that, even though he knew exactly what she meant. “Look at us,” he said, “Both real people who have spent ten years having lives and experiences.”

“I know, right? So weird. Were you in love with me?” she added, idly.

“Oh, hopelessly.”

“That’s what I thought.” She grinned at him.

Kristoff took a deep breath. “Are you seeing anyone? At the moment?”

“I have been single,” Anna said calmly, “Ever since Mr Anna-I-Don’t-Think-I’m-Ready-For-This took to his heels, never to be seen again.”

“Never?”

“Nope. When I moved I wrote to him, to let him know where we were, but I didn’t get a reply. Maybe he’d moved, I don’t know. And obviously I wrote when Harry was born, but he didn’t reply to that, either. Well, maybe it’s better he stay away altogether, I don’t know.”

Harry had got bored with swinging and was trying to climb out of the seat while it was still in motion. Anna stopped it and he clung to her as she lifted him out.

“I’ve never understood men like that,” Kristoff said. Anna shrugged. She tried to put Harry down but he wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her on the cheek. “Mummy loves you,” she told him, kissing the top of his head, “And Mummy’s going to bring you up to respect women! Yes she is!”

“Anyway,” she said, turning back to Kristoff, “Weren’t you about to ask me out?”

“I - yes? Is that bad?”

Anna tilted her head to one side, moving Harry to her hip. “As long as you’re not just trying to make up for - past regrets.”

“No, of course not. Look, I know we’ve both changed a lot since then, but -”

“But?”

“- you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And I didn’t think I’d get a second chance to tell you even that much.”

Anna bit her lip over a smile. “You never used to say things like that.”

“Just used to think them, then.”

She looked away, still trying not to smile, and put down her squirming son. “Alright. Yes. Okay. Oh, no, wait -” and she was chasing after Harry across the park.

#kristanna #karis-the-fangirl #modern au #second chances

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royal-writer · 6 years

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SLAMS THIS DOWN WITH FORCE- I am a goddang dumbass addicted to this beautiful otp and I will cry and scream about it all i want thank you.

I’m absolutely positive this is an accurate representation of how Essatha’s thoughts are going to grow from little embers to an inferno and that is very important and all you need to know kay bye-

It was a metric beat. Drumming, drumming; the same four fingernails tapping along the table and then her elbow. Bouncing her leg, jiggling her foot, shifting in her seat with unsettled energy. The very same measure; a crescendo never increasing nor coming to a pause.

Restless. She told herself it was because she despised the wait. Pretty little lies, with her fingers nagging and tangling around the shorter strands of dark black hair framing her face. The fibs she could weave to herself and try to make believe them to be true.

No one else was impatient. Their smiles bright, their laughter loud. Their heads were in the clouds; drinking in the attention and the recognition. Half-hazard as some of them appeared; with tears in their clothes, scuffed shoes, bruises and scrapes.

Compared to those around, none of them looked like they belonged. From all appearances, these people had money to spare. Owning more beautiful and elegant houses than the last; larger gardens, and pristine family lines all over the region than most of the noisy bastards had come from. They were stunning people with luxurious lives and outstanding wealth. Bigger, fancier heirlooms and grand tales with decades of the same name traversing through generations.

Essätha wanted to help them, and be on her way. So easily everyone seemed distracted by the small talk, the teas, the cakes. The gesture was polite and unexpected, but the wait was agonizing. Take on their small-winded requests, accept their gracious pay, and go; that was her motto.

It had nothing to do with her abhorrence watching the women swarm Amon.

The sour pit in her stomach was merely a reflex from their gag-worthy polite charm and mannerisms. People simply weren’t this sickeningly nice without reason.

She watched with restless annoyance as the women leaned in close. Hair like spun gold, bright green eye and perfect lips. Another with skin dark and rich like chocolate with mesmerizing brown eyes. A red-head there, another blonde there. They stood so balanced, so perfectly precarious on their toes. Laughs so merry and cheerful. Dainty, lady-like, precious little angels, poised and proper.

One reached across to place a hand against Amon’s shoulder as she laughed, speaking in a rush of delighted enthusiasm.

Essätha snorted out of her nose as she looked away. It was such an obvious move. Physical contact, the lowered lashes, the pouty lips. They giggled at just about everything it seemed; even if what Essie heard wasn’t anything funny when she could overhear them past the other chatter. One would play with their hair, another nibble their lip or cast a glance to Amon’s mouth hungrily.

They might be gentlewomen, but they weren’t stupid. They knew what they were doing. Flirting so obviously; so naked and shameless. Every move they used was part of the book Essie crafted. Gullible people could be so easily influenced by such small things.

Gullible people, and those wanting to be sought after. Desired. Jumping on the nearest connection where molecules caught and sparked lightning.

She tried to catch the eye of another member of the traveling band of misfits she journeyed with, but they all seem too occupied. Her distress going unnoticed, she went back to staring across the room.

Did he have to smile like that at them? Sexy and charming; the slightest upturn on the corner of his mouth that occasionally split into a grin as he chuckle from whatever hilarious thing these women were saying. He was only encouraging their actions.

Maybe he wanted to motivate and encourage them though. The thought had Essätha’s skin crawling.

Why wouldn’t he, though? They were perfectly lovely looking women. Quite pretty in fact; Essätha could easily see herself trying to tease her way under a few skirts over there. Even if they were only a one-night stand; a simple fling.

It shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t grate at her nerves; drive a stake through her heart.

It had to be their bad acting. That… That was the only explanation. Maybe she should go over and teach them a lesson. There were more subtle ways to try gaining a man’s favor; or more obvious.

No, this wasn’t her place. She quickly turned the idea away with a fearful unease in her chest. Something she’d never felt before going obliviously unnoticed. She never stepped down from a challenge; never second-guessed her prey. When the thought was there, so was the intent. And she would hunt until her answer was obvious; until they were clearly through and over with the thought of her or she had them wrapped around her finger and begging for more.

Doing that to Amon… It felt wrong.

Like a trick, the same game and cards she used against everyone else. He should have a classy courting; far more genuine, far more soft.

Maybe that was the problem, she mused. Maybe it was their lack of understanding. They didn’t reach for what was beneath his physical appearances. They didn’t try complimenting his ideas, didn’t remark on how intelligent he was. None of them bothered to nudge him gently and watch the way his eyes lit up at the playful contact. None of them said a word on how hard he worked; how brave he was, the fact he listened with such calm as he took in their words.

They didn’t notice the way he’d answer with such careful honesty to every question and remark. His thoughtfulness, his wit, his stunning smile. The safety of being so close beside him; the way he stood confident, strong, knowing himself. His eyes so dark you got lost in them, his respectful consideration, his good heart.

Gods, such a beautiful heart. Her eyes went half-lidded with fondness as she rested her chin on her hand, propping her elbow up on the counter. They didn’t have a clue. Not the foggiest knowledge of how gentle he truly was. You could search high and low across the land, and as far as she was concerned, there was no better candidate than Amon for the title.

He was a bit battered; a bit bruised, but it didn’t break him in his spirit. Willingly holding out a hand even when things came back around to bite him. Taking the blow when he could have easily let it land on another. Again and again, placing everything he was on the line; his body, his will, his mind and his heart if for just a moment to be someone’s savior. Even when the word was something he would shrug off or laugh at; something he didn’t see in himself.

It made her smile falter just a bit as she watched him. Seeing not the women leaning on him, but him alone. A polite smile, but a closed expression. Keeping them at a metaphorical distance.

How could he not see what she saw in him? A hero, a protector; guardian to all the unfortunate souls stuck between a rock and hard place. No amount of his own misfortune kept him from stopping himself in being the champion of all the lost and lonely souls. Hurting faces looking for direction.

How many lives had he changed without a second thought? How many more would he continue to change? And long past his memory of them, how many looked back on their lives and found gratefulness that this Lord of Briarton had existed and lent them his time and kindness?

Her own fondness and adoration left her scattered for some time. Long enough that, without her knowing, time had slipped by like water over the falls. Someone was suddenly shaking her shoulder, and she perked up with groggy confusion.

“Are you ready to go, Essätha?” a glowing purple boy sang.

“Oh-” she breathed, her face warm. “Yes, I’m uh- I’ve been ready we can- let’s go, Ilamin.”

With a puzzled expression, the angelic boy looked down at her and then in the direction she had been fawning in. Spotting the women surrounding Amon, and Abernathy politely intruding to try getting the nobleman’s attention.

“Were you watching those women?” Ilamin asked with innocent curiosity. “They’re very pretty.”

“I-I guess,” she fumbled awkwardly, standing up to smother her hands self-consciously over her shirt as she tucked it under her pants.

This only made Ilamin look further confused. He didn’t pressure her. Almost thoughtfully, his gaze moving between her and the groupie surrounding Amon as well as the man himself. Playing a game of math in his head to try adding up the missing pieces.

The duo trailed along with the other’s as they were escorted to the grand stairwell that lead down from the gallery to the primary doors. Already a butler had situated themselves at the front door, ready to open it when they approached.

“It was so lovely meeting you all,” a women chimed; one Essätha recognized having been flirting with Amon. “If there’s any further questions we can answer, don’t hesitate to return. We’ll be waiting with bated breath for your victory!”

As she finished, the lady looked directly to Amon in a clear hope to catch his gaze. His eyes however, were turned away from her. She seemed disheartened by this; wringing her hands in front of her chest.

“Yes, do be careful.”

“Absolutely charming to meet your acquaintance.”

“A real pleasure.”

“Thank you for offering your assistance; you’re all so brave!”

As the long-winded farewells and well-wishes followed after them, the group made their way down the set of stairs. Most turned back to offer a wave and a few polite words of gratefulness and warmth. Essätha however made some haste to be the first out of the doors. This place far too stuffy and wedging an uncomfortable feeling in her heart. The bitter taste on her tongue an unpleasant after effect.

A short path extended before them to the entry of the estate. Lined with flowers and perfectly shaped shrubs, it ended at a small already open gate. Nothing too over the top there. Whether these people were foolish to not have better security or were doing in the opposite in giving an inviting appearance to their home to travelers, it was hard to say.

One by one, the others and their jabbering passed Essätha by. Her footsteps lingered in a different realm with her thoughts. Lagging behind slowly as they walked out onto the sidewalk until she was walking nearly identical in pace with Amon himself.

“Quite the group of admirers you have.”

Her phrasing seemed to catch the Illiad heir off guard. He jumped a little, releasing a quiet grunt in response as a hand went up to muse his hair. It had grown a bit long, Essie noted. It seemed to bother him how some of the strands now were boldly trying to lay over his eyes.

“Sorry if I sounded- I mean it was just an observation-”

“They were a chatty bunch,” he admitted, cutting her off. “Hard not to notice.”

Essätha gave a breathy, humiliated laugh.

When she passed him a glance as her giggles rolled to a close, she caught his eyes upon her. Warm and soft. His mouth tugged up into a smile, causing her heart rate to jump alarmingly fast.

“I’m shocked one of them didn’t try throwing you their knickers,” Essie teased.

Amon gave a choked sound at that. His smile broadening with amusement, a slight shake of his head.

“I wasn’t interested in any of their knickers, I assure you,” he snickered faintly. “I had other things on my mind.”

Business over pleasure, she guessed. But he was much too polite to turn away their questions and their kindness.

The slight twinkle in his eyes only seemed to grow brighter the longer their eyes stayed connected. The genuine beauty of his smile, as real and authentic as the sun above, robbing her of breath.

“Next time, you might not want to smile so much,” she blurted out suddenly, dragging her eyes away. “You’ll give the wrong impression.”

Like right now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could only just see his smile falter and drop away. He reached out for her hand, but she was faster. Her pace quickening in speed and stride, she out-stepped his reach by hairs.

“Essätha, wait.”

The way he pleaded her voice, just barely above a whisper, had her moving faster. Overpassing Rava and Ilamin, and then Cackle, Adela, and Abernathy. Sulhadur and Penimra each gave her a regarding glance as she made her way to the front stiffly, almost jogging.

Maybe those women didn’t see the hauntingly gorgeous things inside of him, but she did. And she knew better than to touch it with her filthy stained hands even if she wanted to. To touch him was to commit an unjust sin. The one and only she couldn’t tolerate of herself. He was far too precious and good to be handled by someone who was always on the run. Feet hardly rooting themselves to the ground, eyes always wandering to the sky. Unable to sit still.

He might care, but that was all it was. His kindness, his gentleness, his forgiving nature. He didn’t want her. Nobody wanted her. She didn’t even want herself.

She knew what she was and what she was capable of. The pain in the eyes of so many disappointed faces. The blankness in those who didn’t make it. The ones who sneered and scorned her; damned and judged her. Every glance of disgust, of sorrow, of hunger. Beauty and beast all in one.

Besides, they were from two different planes of existence. It would never last.

Her arm grabbed at the shoulder of her bag, dragging it up so the weight didn’t lag her steps. Skipping along the cobblestone in a fashion that resembled none of her inner turmoil.

Such sweet fictitious novels she could craft. But they were a safer place than the path her heart wished to follow, and that would have to do.

#the sin box is my home now #eci artz #Essie rw #amon illiad #essamon ship

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shardy-seca · 5 years

Text

Eaten with Envy? Or—

A drowned girl frowned on the mound,

she wanted, lamented, quite famished on the thought

that she wished for a dream, a nevermore dream:

To be the holder of all elders when she was older.

When she was 11, she evened her feeble demise

and paired out hardened bricks with sticky glue:

It was crueling, grueling, much grieving was made

but she soon escaped from the eating dirt.

12 rang on the clock as she flocked on the golden rock,

she met someone lovely, a flaming scowling beau:

but no, she was poor, not alluring nor enticing

so she watched her flame alight another candle.

13, the number of thirst, curse, and a burst of horse:

she worked on mares with care, flair, all in fair

but a witch was bewitched on twitching her life:

she lived with a throat that could never be parched.

14, mixing with the flour that soared in the sky:

due to raggedy unluckily twist of events,

lone flour was her lore behind the screaming core

that sat in her empty bloated stomach.

15—wow! She still lived, the stubborn lift,

everyday was sailing gold on to the lucky ones

but her, oh her! nothing, no one, not even a dust

came to her quivering mouth of misery.

16, the mix of picks, ticks, and weak wicks;

t'was finally time to rise to 17, 18, and faithful 19,

she burned the churning oven and turned over

her useless organs to sought some second-hand life.

Ah, 20! Now on the ship to sail onto destiny

She lead a mess of lesser people beneath her;

but deep in her heart, her empty dusty chambers

she suffered the most, and the gods knew this too—

BANG! went the waves on the wooden whale:

the crowd was scared, whimpering, hiding,

fueling her anger, fear, mistrust, and most of all doubt;

It was time, was she the holder of all elders?

She took a deep deep breath full of empty reassurance,

gulped water that smoothed down her dry throat,

now or never, now or never, she told, thought;

this was her destiny, fate, she worked hard;

she wasn't gonna let this all go to waste!

the holder of all elders was she

or so as she saw, dreamt.

was that true? was it?

no, no, yes, yes;

it was, WAS!

tick tock, tick tock: according to the written oracle:

only the holder of elders could stop disasters

such as this damning storm right now.

the question was, the question is

after all the sufferings, after

all those walls and stones

that withering flour:

was she, she was—

was she worth?

She looked around wildly, heard all the made up voices

That taunted her, she was taunting her own self—

Are you the one? Or do you only think so?

Back out, back out now! Go back, go

Back to eating flour and thirsting,

Thirsting after that fire—

Letting go of faith

And letting fate.

"NO! No, no, no! This is what I'm worth for, this, this, this!

I cannot let go, or else I'll fall to the cliffs and bubble:

I've been dead a long time ago, my only chance

Is this moment, this achievement, this honor

To live once again, I cannot, I say, I cannot

CANNOT die AGAIN! Please, oh gods!

This is all I wish for, a vial of life."

Shouts, screams, real pain, filled her ringing ears;

The people outside, the crowd, the children;

They were asking for help, help, help, help—

But her pride, oh, her pride and her eyes,

Pride blinded her to the rotten blood,

Of the innocent, that she thought—

Thought was her own shed blood! That crazy woman!

"Call me names but my whole life led up to this!"

And what for? To prove yourself!? That is—

"Petty!? Well, you can't say that, you

DON'T have the right to!"

The pleads go harder than the drums up the mountains,

It's your choice, your fight, what do you propose?

Make or break, there's no inbetween or or OR

They may be, just give up and run—

Run and start anew again? Run the stable again?

Get CURSED again!? Have my soul harvested!?

Can't you see, can't you see, this is my SEA!

The door opens, the storm's calling like a siren

deep down... you know you weren't—

She stands on the very tip of the broken ship.

The thunders of Thor are raging down on the oceans of Poseidon.

Greek, Norse, whatever mythology, she's got it all mixed ip anyways

Now's not the time for correction, direction, or any sort of apologies

NOW's the time to—

But before she could sing out, she falls on her back, scrambles on to the deck, and someone pushes her PUSHES HER towards the ocean, and she is drowning drowning again

The drowned girl—

feeble demise—

bricks with sticky glue—

flour, flour, flour, flour—

drowning but can't drink—

forevermore parched throat—

fire, fire, fire, fire—

golden rock? golden rock, golden!—

The fire she sought stole her ashes.

The waves halted, stopped, remained in calmness, and she cuaght a glimpse of someone raising their hands.

It was the charming stun, the snarky fellow,

The one she admired from afar.

He BECAME the holder of all elders.

No, no, impossible! No—

He WAS the destined one, the gods had already chosen

He was BLESSED, he was FATED, he was THE HERO

and she was nothing.

And as she struggled to keep afloat, just a little hope

Hope that someone could see her, save her—

Nothing, no one, not even a dust

Came to her rescue.

The ship soon went away, went to somewhere unknown.

She didn't bother to know where it was, hidden.

All she knew was she was tired, so drained.

The pain she felt burned her emotions.

Now she felt nothing but the water.

The water around her face.

Around her tiny chin.

Around her cheeks.

Around her nose.

And eyes.

The drowned girl never frowned again.

—Eaten with Guilt?

#poets corner #poets on tumblr #sadness #envy #pride #poems #spilled poems #poemsworld

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closevein · 7 years

Text

When she’d come at him, accusations sharp like knives and words ricocheting around the room like bullets, he’d kicked her away with a sarcastic shrug and simple words --

It’s a dangerous world.

And she’d said he didn’t know the difference between right and wrong - ha! Right and wrong, like abandoning herself to let the Heathers shape her into some kind of fucked up puppet for them to manipulate to do their bidding. Right and wrong, like snapping off window locks and breaking into houses. Right and wrong, like leading Martha Dunstock into the jaws of the cave and kicking her off the edge and into the darkness. Right and wrong, like letting the world keep on turning when the two of them alone have the power to turn it on its head.

No, he knows plenty about right and wrong. The only difference, as had thus been proven with a slammed door and a quiet ‘I love you’ crushed beneath her heels, was that he was the only one who knew. Who really knew.

So he takes to Moby Dick.

As for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.

The pen scratches over parchment, it’s red far too akin to the flesh of strawberries to resemble the kind of blood that something in the center of his chest beckons to call forth. How ironic it is that the final straw had been borne out of rebellion for his father. Even moreso, rebellion for the remoteness called for across the pages. Remoteness like a life on the road, only touching down in places long enough for it to hurt when he’s ultimately uprooted. It’s funny, actually - he calls an act like shooting the ceiling and raining down plaster a rebellion, but he’d been dragged across so many states that all he can feel now, looking back on memories and the people who occupied them, is numbness. All of his insides, frozen over and saturated with the unnatural sugars of a slushie.

Veronica would never survive, detached from humanity like that. She’s tangled herself in with the mess of it, fallen in love so blindly that even recognition of its flaws could not provoke her into action. Out in the sea, there’d be no place to pick on outsiders, no social hierarchy to pressure others into frizzing their hair and purging their stomachs and sharpen their smiles into something cold and cruel. ( How could she do this to him?? How could she abandon him like this?? How could she leave him to do this alone, on his own?? Something about this feels familiar. )

It’s a strange thing to know, that he’d come to Sherwood, Ohio thinking he’d crushed every fragment of a desire to connect, and had then fallen in love.

His knuckles are white around the book when he hands it to Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer.

The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents’ beds, unerringly I rush!

There’s no stopping him! His bones burn like battery acid, his whole mouth is raw like he’d sucked the enamel right from his teeth. His heart is a war drum. It’s time!

-- Knock knock! ”

The words burst from his mouth like a flashbang. He’s overflowing with gasoline, everything burning to the touch, and somehow, it doesn’t hurt. He’s untouchable. He’s on cloud 9. And, perhaps the most important of them all -- He’s enlightened with sacrilege. Hot glue moves thick and viscous like magma, burning and burning and consuming and burning with every inch of flesh it coats, rising up the inner throat. Can’t breathe. Doesn’t need to. It’s time! Sin has dissolved out of existence, its matter evaporating - it doesn’t matter, it won’t need to after today.

( Jason Dean isn’t making any sense. )

-- Sorry to come in through the window. Dreadful etiquette, I know. ”

He’s on the top of the world, carefree and confident enough to wrestle a joke in his speech, with tight lips.. He’s high on oxygen and blood flow and the way his knuckles crack when he hoists himself into her room. It’s similar imagery, only so many weeks ago, he’d been on the receiving side. But she’s not in her bed like the image in his head constructs.There’ll be no fucking now - no gifted virginity between crushing kisses and grins and rushed reassurance that, yes, god, hell yes, was he okay with what was going on. She tells him to get out of her house, but that’s not what he hears. All he hears is where the sound comes from. He hears how unsure she seems, as though she can’t make up her mind about whether or not she really hates him, like she’d made it seem before. But he doesn’t have time to think about that. Just his plan - just the future. He’ll make her understand, he knows he can do it. When he smiles like this, his laugh lines look like paper cuts.

It seems so childish. But that’s fine! It’s okay! She’ll come out. Or she’ll be dragged. He’d told her already once - to make an omelette...yadda yadda.

-- All is forgiven, baby. Come on out and get dressed - you’re my date for the pep rally tonight. ”

Because of course she didn’t mean it. With the break up - no, they’re meant to be. The two of them, forever - or at least as long as they last, ridding the world of the shitheads who tear down others to elevate themselves. Two fireworks, lit, fuses intertwined until the second they go up in a shower of flame and sparks and heat. She’s saying something, but he can’t really hear - her words don’t reach him completely, just bounce off his consciousness as he pushes forward, fingers hurriedly fumbling around in pockets. He has to show her!

TOGETHER.

Words are in his head and they mix in their way down to his mouth. Everything scrambled - but it’s okay! He’ll explain. He has to go through it all, so she can see it from his perspective. So she can feel it like he felt it when she chucked him out like he was trash. Like he was nothing. Like she’d stepped into the home they’d built together and just went and blew herself up like nothing mattered and like all the work they’d put into surviving was for naught and like she never even really loved him. For that, she should be dead she should have killed herself or he should have drug her to hell himself because who does that to a person? Who can abandon them like that? Who can treat someone so lost and afraid and cold and broken like that? Like they never really knew him? You? Knew you? Is that who she really is? BUT! BUT BUT! She did know him. From the second they met she’d seen him past all the papery skin and the hurt and the distance and sought him out. She did, he had to believe that he’s here and she’s just through the door just playing a little game and she’ll be so impressed to learn that it hit him like a flash - WHAT IF HIGH SCHOOL WENT AWAY INSTEAD? “ Those assholes are the key!! They’re keeping you away from me!! ” Somewhere along the line it stopped being about being the bigger person. Somewhere it stopped being about the nameless kids with forgettable faces in dozens of hallways across the country, shoved into lockets and spat on like they were dirt. Somewhere it stopped being about the morality, and fighting for a victory for once, and showing the asshole’s who’s boss. Somewhere, they stopped being people. Somewhere, they were just the thing keeping him from her. They made her blind, messed up her mind.

-- But I can set you free !! ”

But I love you! He’d pled, voice like the tinkling of broken glass when it makes its impact with the floor. And all she’d done was look at him like he was...crazy. Even worse - like he was some monster, and she was afraid of him. Afraid of what he’d done. And he’d let himself believe she was different from all the people who deserve to die. She left him and that thought alone had been enough to make him fall apart. With nowhere else to turn, no one to go to, he’d punched the wall - yelling like he does now, lungs quivering with the effort and aching with how fast the exhales come ( BAM! BAM! BAM! ).

Talk about a killer heartbreak.

-- Then I found you changed my heart and set loose all that truthful shit inside! And so I built a bomb - tonight our school is Vietnam! Let’s guarantee they’ll never see their senior prom!”

Maybe prom night, maybe dancing. She’d worried so much about the little things, never the big picture. Even so, he wishes he could see her eyes now, a palm pressing to the smooth wood of the closet door, words rapid-fire rattling against the surface as he twists the handle, desperate, needy to see her, to make sure he’s convincing her of the truth. She’s scared, and it’s okay, he used to be that way, but that doesn’t matter - that doesn’t matter as long as she’s there. As long as she can hold him at the end of the day.

We, the students of Westerburg High, will die. Our burned bodies may finally get through to you - your society churns out slaves and blanks. No thanks. Signed, the students of Westerburg High. Goodbye.

Well, that’s not quite Moby Dick. But it’s close enough.

She can’t leave him like this. He won’t let her. What they’ve started - it’s real. Not when so much soil has been unearthed to bury bodies. Not when they’ve come so far and sacrificed. He can’t do it by himself - he won’t march into their own perfectly crafted sanctuary alone. He’s been alone too long. Far too long.

-- I was meant to be yours! We were meant to be one! I can’t make this alone! Finish what we’ve begun! You were meant to be mine! I am all that you need!”

He’d been through ten high schools. They start to get blurry. But this one - this one had been crystal clear, every moment of it. Every second he’d spent building his walls was crushed as soon as he’d seen the way she looked at him, right there in the beginning. Like he was hope - a revolution on wheels, skidding into a city that had no idea what was coming. She’d saved him more than she’ll ever know, saved him from himself when he’d been so sick of the strangers, so sick of the road, so sick of a dad who can somehow manage to keep grinning and sipping at his beer when he smacks around his flesh and blood.

That voice in his head telling him he’d be better off dead seemed to sound a lot like Big Bud Dean, those days.

-- You carved open my heart!”

Don’t open a vein, Jason Dean.

-- Can’t just leave me to bleed!”

He loves her.

-- VERONICA! Open the - ”

Gentler.

-- Open the door, please!”

Frustration.

-- Veronica! Open the door!”

Pleading. He loves her.

-- Veronica, can we not fight anymore please? Can we not fight anymore?”

Why won’t she open? She’s supposed to understand now. He’s explained it all. Why isn’t she saying anything?

-- Veronica, sure, you’re scared, I’ve been there. I can set you free!”

Together.

-- Veronica, don’t make me come in there! I’m gonna count to three!”

There’s an awful feeling in his gut. Like he’s treading water, but his stomach keeps on sinking lower and lower, drowning, disappearing into the dark depths below.

-- One...two...FUCK IT!”

And the rest of his body drops past the floorboards to join his stomach. Swaying before him - no. No, he can’t. He can’t look, and yet, he can’t tear his eyes away. The world spins around him too quickly and all at once, and he staggers against the doorframe, before the ground comes rushing up to meet trembling knees. The impact is solid, but he doesn’t feel it. He still can’t look away, she --

She doesn’t look peaceful.

If their love is god, will she still be able to go to heaven? Can a place like that even exist when cruelty lives so potently sharp and heavy in every human being?

He’s crying before the shock even completely ebbs. The moisture cascades in droves down the curve of his cheeks, tracing down his jaw and dribbling heavily off his chin. Just moments ago, she’d been alive. She’d done this to escape him - looking at him like a monster. Maybe he is. Maybe this entire thing is fucked beyond his understanding. Maybe what he’s doing is wrong, and Heather, Kurt, and Ram didn’t really deserve this - because she sure as hell didn’t. She did it anyway. She left him. Twice, in just a handful of hours. He’ll never hold her again - not like he had before. He’ll never be able to cup that soft cheek, brush away tears or feel the dimples that are created beneath his palm when she smiles. Never see the warmth reach her eyes again.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

No.

There’s no time to mourn. No time to grieve for what’s been done, no chances to second-guess himself. If this is a war, like he’d said before, then this is by far it’s first casualty. He’ll have time for all of those emotions later - now, someone is heading up the stairs. Someone who will...take care of her. Like he couldn’t. Can’t.

Legs are still unsteady when he scrambles to his feet again, giving a hard swallow and stealing one last lingering glance at her, before vanishing once again out of the window and into the cold, unforgiving afternoon.

#text #┼ || VANISH FROM SIGHT ( ooc ) **#reactionary to SOME OTHER BULLSHIT I READ #THE OTHER DAY #drabbles tag tba.

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setoangel01-fanfiction · 7 years

Text

Speculation

Crazy - Chapter 24 (Previous Chapters)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: Raphael tries to rationalize April's behavior with horrifying…or maybe hope-filled results.

Fanfiction.net

A03

Raphael sat silent; the springs protesting his weight had not so much as squeaked since he plopped himself of the couch after hanging up on Donatello more than three hours ago.

His mind aflutter with things he dared not want to encounter.

Confusion…

Questions.

Wondering just where the hell had he'd gone wrong?!

Raphael swore to the highest power that there had to be something between him and April. A friendship that had been nurtured and growing rapidly over the past two years; a hopeless infatuation he had been cast under its spell for far too long. Ever since learning her name or getting a glimpse into those endlessly blue eyes or grasping her dainty hand for the first time. How April didn't even flinch the second her soft, warm flesh touched his cool hardened scales.

It was as if he wasn't a freak to her - that the horrid creature he saw in the mirror every fucking day was not what she seen whenever she openly looked at him.

That moment he saw her over Splinter, trying her hardest to move that chunk of rock off his master - Raphael had saw her differently. Where he'd once been so angry at this human seeing them and all their horrid appearances - it all faded to dust with April O'Neil. A breathtakingly beautiful woman who was more curious than afraid; more daring than prejudiced, more loving than hating. Someone who looked beyond what they were on the outside when he doubted anyone could ever do such a thing.

All his life, he distrusted humans. Believing if they were ever caught, they'd be tortured, experimented on before being killed, dissected, stuffed, and put on display for all of humanity to mock and gawk at - cold, lifeless glass eyes staring back at their horrified faces for the rest of eternity.

Yet that's not how it went…

Those rare times he had to reveal himself to people to save them; recalled mostly prostitutes, druggies, and the severely intoxicated as the only ones to had seen him (not including Casey and the few members of the NYPD of course). Some would scream or run, others would just marvel, and even the choice few tried to approach but Raphael rarely stayed in those situations. Swiftly scaling buildings with great ease to get out of their line of sight and hope they drummed up their experience as a strange dream, trick of the eye, or side-effect of their drug of choice. Wake up the next morning and just accost it to some strange dream or nightmare…at least he hoped.

Raphael wasn't sure what to expect when April took that picture of them atop that building that night. Hadn't the faintest idea what to expect when he grabbed her with a kurisagi chain and pulled her screaming form toward them. The second she gained her bearings, Mikey introduced himself and April promptly fainted - that, he expected. What he didn't expect was the outright calm she was upon awakening minutes later; looking each of them in the eyes…warm cornflower blue eyes meeting his as if it was nothing when no human ever dared meet his golden gaze before.

In an instant, he knew something was different about her.

April O'Neil was so unlike those few humans he encountered before. Calm, level-headed, and respectful while greeting his master; speaking softly and listening intently.

Raphael's once-impenetrable heart didn't stand a fucking chance...

During their mission to save Splinter, there were moments she latched onto his arm, slipped by his side and wasn't afraid to lean against him. More as if she was searching for shelter and damn, did he ever want to protect her. So fragile, dainty, and beautiful - like a damsel in distress hat needed rescuing but one thing was for sure, April proved she could hold her own. Recalling that moment on the rooftop - no fear in those eyes as she bellowed at Shredder, effectively distracting the tin can from further attack. How nearly two years later, without any hesitation, she'd broken into the New York police station and was willing to go to prison to set them free…

How afraid he had been in that moment. Meeting her eyes and how easily he read them; she wanted him to go - to be the one to protect him for a change… In that moment, one overcome by fear and anxiety of the future, one thing was painfully clear - he was helplessly in love with April O'Neil and had been for quite some time.

Over the course of their strange friendship the past two years, it was bound to happen. All they'd been through with Shredder, Karai, Kraang, Bebop, Rocksteady, Baxter Stockman, and even Casey Jones - all this time, Raphael really believed April was feeling something too.

Trying to rationalize the fact that the brunette sought him out; took time out of her busy schedule to grace him with her presence on numerous occasions. So easily she talked to him about serious matters or nothing in particular. The barest hints of her fingertips gliding over his thick reptilian skin without prompting; touching him without prompt - as if she wanted to. The multiple times she embraced him; fingers gently probing into his side as she rested her head and unbelievably soft breasts upon his plastron, her hair tickling the sensitive grooves. Multiple nights they watched movies at her place - how halfway during, almost like clockwork, April would rest her head on his bicep; curling her body closer to him and allowing him to revel in her incredible warmth…

…and that kiss…

A night not too long ago still so vivid in his mind. The brunette gently pulling his face toward her and how others would gasp and flinch at such a horrid sight - she smiled. Her eyes slipping closed before she closed the distance and pressed her petal soft lips upon his rugged cheek. For that fraction of a second, it was as if something that had at once seemed so unfathomable to him - so unreachable…was finally in grasp.

The possibility of this beautiful human who'd stolen his heart so long ago…might, just maybe…possibly love him back…

Raphael's normally pessimistic side came out in these moments.

How unrealistic all of it was - how kind April was to others and touchy with more than him. Sure, she may have found him good company and they had been friends for so long. Friends hug, lean on each other, and good friends even kiss each others cheeks occasionally if television shows were at all accurate about human interactions. It could have been just wishful thinking or his own desperate infatuations with her to create these scenarios and amplify them to make it more than it is…for really, how could someone like April love anyone like him?

It dawned on him now.

Donnie's words of April's location, her lying to him about returning, and the fact she had been alone with Casey all night doing God knows what hit him square in the gut. How all of the moments he had with her prior - the ones he treasured in his mind and heart; hoping to look back at them as beautiful foreshadowing of possibly him being with her…all of those moments…

…could have really meant absolutely nothing to her…

To consider the fact it took him until this very moment where he'd finally comprehended that April had indeed spent the night at Casey's to figure it all out.

Perhaps he was the idiot in this all along.

Reluctantly watching the ease in which Casey and April communicated only after half a year of knowing of each other's existence. The look on her face and sparkle in her eyes when she first saw the masked, hockey-stick wielding detective...

Raphael wasn't stupid - he saw the way Casey looked at her and vice versa - the attraction that was almost immediate between them - as intensely nauseating as it was. Yet, even he would even admit (under threat of death only) that Casey was semi-attractive for a human. Just another physically fit pretty boy with a fancy muscle car, annoyingly charming personality, and perfect white teeth - what girl wouldn't at least notice him?

…Raphael just figured April was different…

That she appreciated personality and loyalty to physical appearances…why else would she have spent time with him anyway if that wasn't true?

At first, the thought caused him some comfort. Especially since April and Casey's initial first weeks after meeting, she stopped seeing him regularly when they were spending almost every other day together. It was initially troubling to see April and Casey's relationship happen almost immediately as Raphael tried to swallow back his growing feelings for the beautiful brunette. He didn't worry long for April started calling him more; going to the lair and seeking him out. Their easy friendship kicking right back up where it left off and all of a sudden, those fears of her and Casey started drifting but never fully went away…for good reason.

Raphael let out a deep breath, the soda perched in his hand long since warm as he took a swig of it; the bubbles burning his esophagus all the way down. Crushing the now empty can in his hand until it remained nothing more than a small ball of aluminum didn't satisfy him like usual. Mind far too adrift with very real fears and anxieties that plagued him; how little he saw of Casey but how April mentioned him all the time. The hours she spent with him Raphael knew nothing about…

The one he dreaded most was realizing…

…he was right all along.

Perhaps there was more to it than met the eye. How April was probably well aware of his dislike for Casey and so she kept whatever relationship they had a secret from him in fear he'd explode and hurt him in some facet. April's kindness toward him and wanting to protect him emotionally could also be a factor. Maybe they'd already been dating; perhaps they were already together but the only reason she kept hanging out with him was out of some sort of pity. Seeing how cooped up he was in the lair if their shared texts were any indication of his mindset.

…maybe that's all he was to her…

A friend she spent time with out of some weird sense of obligation to keep him in line. To ease his anger issues for everyone knew what a calming effect she had over him. That maybe all this time, she never wanted any part of this. Only kept in contact because he was cleaner and better company than his overbearing brothers. That April saw him more as a part of her family; a brother or cousin she liked to hang with but nothing more…Yet, why the hell would she go so out of her way to spend so much time with him, buy his favorite snacks, and rent his favorite types of movies? He sure as hell didn't go that far for his brothers so why the hell would she?

Raphael took a deep sigh; shoulders deflating as it left his system.

…Maybe he was just over-analyzing this entire situation. Sure, he may be paranoid and pessimistic but it felt easier to be that way rather than optimistic about the circumstances.

Yet another side of him stopped in his tracks.

Thought about Donnie's words before he hung up on him what already felt like a lifetime ago. More reasonable explanations flitting about his troubled mind and perhaps…it was a simple misunderstanding like Don was trying to tell him.

Other scenarios he hadn't yet considered.

It could have been as simple as Casey taking a puck to the nuts and needed to be taken the hospital. April, being way to fucking nice for her own good, probably stayed to make sure he was okay; her phone dying during the time and she had no way of contacting him to say she wouldn't be home. The very thought had a partial smirk lifting his lips and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to make more sense than anything had thus far. Maybe Donnie was right…ya know, like always and he was being spastic and unreasonable…again, like usual.

Reminding himself that this was April - the incredibly beautiful, loyal girl he'd known for two years. The one who never let him down before and went above and beyond the call of duty during her time in helping them take out the crime in the city. An irreplaceable ally and constant companion who had never judged them. The same one who he watched movies with, shared popcorn, and spent so any nights getting lost in her eyes and contagious laughter. Woman who touched him and curled up next to him; smiling and looking at him as if he wasn't a six foot tall freak of nature. Looking at him as if he was valuable, loved, and a wonderful friend in her eyes…it was all the same April whom he was still waiting for to come home.

So…maybe this was all just a big misunderstanding.

That any time now, she would waltz in the door, smile, apologize for her absence; explain that Casey got hurt or injured as an excuse for her absence. That he'd gotten hit with a puck and hopefully even lost a few of his perfect teeth and had to spend the night in emergency dental surgery. In Raphael's opinion, it would serve the pretty boy right…

A sudden burst of hope filled his chest; craning his stiff neck up to realize the sun had since fallen from the sky. What used to be a bright sunny morning last time he checked was now trickling into early winter evening…and April was still gone.

Swallowing back a lump of anxiety, Raphael stood to his feet to resume his frantic pacing when a sudden sound of a key pushing and turning in the lock filled his ears.

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moiraineswife · 8 years

Note

>> Apocalypse!Au Nessian. (but only if you aren't being overwhelmed with a sea of requests...You're awesome!)

I do indeed have a sea of requests but you may have any flavour of Nessian you want, Nicole, yes you may. Okay. Let me see what I can do...

Apocalypse!AU Nessian: So I’m unoriginal and fall easily into tropes so this is indeed going down the zombie path but...I’m twisting the origins a bit to make it fit canon more. (This got kind of...half headcanony/half drabbley? I would like everyone to know that I have no idea what I’m doing or wtf this is. You are so patient. )

Nesta was right.

When the walls tumbled down and the drums of war beat once more the mortal queens abandoned them. Further twisted by the Cauldron’s influence they took their ships, their wealth, their estates and abandoned their people in Prythian. They argued that it was for the greater good. Better to lose these few than all of their realms. Nesta still cursed their names and swore damnation upon them.

She and Cassian were in the mortal realm together when the world ended.

Nesta had volunteered to liaise with the human realm on behalf of the Night Court and its allies. No. Nesta had demanded to liaise with the human realm. She wouldn’t forget where she had come from, what she had once been, what she had left behind. She would remember them. And she would fight for them.

Cassian went with her. He needed something to do, something to stop him from going out of his mind at the loss of his wings and commanding an aerial force was out of the question. He laid the groundwork of their strategy, discussed tactics with Rhys, helped him appoint the best replacements then went elsewhere to make himself useful. Because he was not going to sit back and let other people fight this war while he did nothing but ‘recover’ from the amputation. He needed purpose. And he had a promise to keep.

Neither of them could know what was happening a world away. The Wall had fallen long ago when Hybern’s troops had invaded and most of Prythian was an active war-zone. Communication was different and the plan that ruined everything was hasty, barely thought out. In an act of desperation words that should have been forgotten centuries ago were whispered in the heartbeats before devastation; two halves were once again made whole; and what she had hoped would be salvation had resulted in the destruction of all things instead.

The world ended and it made the war seem trivial. Boundaries were shattered. Uniforms and standards meant nothing. Hybern, or Prythian, Night Court or Spring Court, or Winter made no difference. In the face of what Feyre Cursemaker, Herald of Death, Princess of Carrion, unleashed upon them all.

All that mattered was whether you were alive or whether you were dead.

Feyre called for help. The dead answered. The dead rose. The dead sought to bring the peace of their own oblivion to the shattered, war-torn living world. She had summoned them but she couldn’t control them, couldn’t return them and the recently lost victims of this war were dragged back to fight again in an army of their own this time.

Cassian and Nesta had gone to the human world to help, to protect, to fulfil promises they had made to themselves and each other - to protect those who could not protect themselves. When the world ended that meant everyone. They tried, tried to organise, tried to help, tried to protect, but it soon became clear that this was beyond their ability to change - not even with Cassian’s burning gold heart or Nesta’s fiery steel will. All they could do was survive.

They began the long fight to return home. To find their families, their homes, their places in this broken world and see what remained of them. They’re stranded, isolated, alone, in a confused part of the world whose people never asked for any of this but are dying in droves for it with no way of contacting those they love and nothing to help them survive what should have been a simple, two day trip which has turned into a nightmare.

All they have is each other. That’s enough.

Humans, Cassian learns as he experiences this among them, are good at surviving. Surviving against all odds. Surviving in the face of things he would expect to destroy them, frail and mortal as they are. Surviving at any cost. He had thought the High Fae brutal and cut-throat. He had thought that, in all his years, in Illyrian war camps, on battlefields where thousands were slaughtered with a whisper of thought and a flicker of magic, through the bloody, tangled years of politics - assassinations, alliances and betrayals that he understood the will to survive, to thrive, to conquer. When the world ends in the mortal realms Cassian realises he knew nothing of it at all and that he and Nesta may well be in the most dangerous place in all of Prythian.

Trust becomes a far rarer and more valuable commodity than gold or jewels ever were and it’s in short supply in this raw, broken new world of theirs. Cassian and Nesta both soon realise that the only people they truly trust are each other, no-one else. Especially themselves.

Cassian teaches Nesta how to survive the way he learned how. (though he does admit she was doing a very good job herself) But wit and cunning and logic only get them so far now - they both sleep a lot better knowing she can correctly hold a knife and duck a punch. He shows her the things that were a mystery to her in the cabin - things that Feyre seemed to find so easy. He shows her how to start fire, how to track game- and other, more sinister things- how to hunt, how to fight, how to kill. The lessons that kept him alive all those years ago in those camps where they abandoned him - a bastard child without a home or a name or a family who gave a damn if he lived or died. he teaches her how to accept the parts of herself that seem so monstrous - because he was told he was filled with killing power but learned how to shape it into shields. She can too.

Nesta teaches Cassian how to survive the way she learned how. She teaches him how to live with himself when he feels like he’s failed everyone he loved - that he’s only destined to do nothing but fail them - as she felt. She teaches him how to survive when everything he had, everything he was, everything that felt real and right and made him him is taken from him - as it was taken from her. She teaches him that there is more to life than a pair of wings - the expectations others place upon you because of what you are. She was only a child when she lost everything, her mother, her life, her future, even herself, but she clawed her way out of that pit and found her purpose, found herself. He can too.

They drag each other kicking and screaming and stumbling through this mess because I am not losing you now, not after everything, don’t you dare die on me. Along the way they teach each other to live again as well - something they’d stopped doing that day in Hybern when he lost his wings and she lost her humanity and they both lost themselves. Ironic, they consider later, that neither of them were reborn until the world ended - that they too were dead and climbed out of their graves along with the others.

They learn how to laugh again, how to find meaning in the small moments, how to cherish the memories that are glazed with the sheen of tears of hysteria that line Nesta eyes, echoing with the boom of Cassian’s laughter. They learn how to feel again, how to open themselves up and hand another their broken hearts. They learn that when despair closes in the kiss of a lover can banish it. They learn that when death threatens the sound of their name upon another’s lips is sometimes all that’s needed to save lives and heal scars.

They learn the other’s taste and feel and scent and what it’s truly like to be joined as one a night when rain batters against the cave they’ve settled in on the border between courts and can no longer resist the song that hums in their blood and whispers mates to their hearts. They had been afraid, so afraid, of what it might be like to forge such an unbreakable bond only to feel it shatter in this fragile, perilous world that they’re slowly starting to call theirs. They learn that night that some things are worth the risk.

They already knew that some things were worth dying for - to protect, to save, to preserve. They learn that some things are worth living for too. That this is worth living for. That they would rather have one moment of this even if it’s snuffed out like a candle before a hurricane the next day than to never know what it is to be mated, to be joined, to belong. That the moment of life they snatch in one another’s arms is worth it all. If death thinks to take them now they’re joined it would be wiser to run.

As mates, as one, they learn how to hope, how to love, how to dream again. They live through death.

In the aftermath, when they look at one another, both knows that if they had been alone they would not have survived. If they had been with any other they would not have survived. But together....Together they made it. Together they survived. Together they lived.

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doomedandstoned · 3 years

Text

Discarded Self Cooks Up a Simmering Stew of Dread in Foreboding Debut LP

~By Billy Goate~

Album Art by Thahir M

Flooding forth with misery and hate comes the first album from Discarded Self... Created during a time of personal isolation, the album ranges from tales of the macabre to introspective trips into self-loathing and personal degradation that dredge up terrible memories of the past to drown in personal regret. There is no hope for the future here.

Thus speaks the introduction to this self-titled debut from DISCARDED SELF, the brainchild of one Jarret Beach. Nestled on the border of Alberta and Saskatchewan in the small city of Lloydminster, Jarret has been jamming on bass with Ashes of Yggdrasil and fronting Destroy My Brains on vocals and guitar since at least 2014. It was the pandemic that drove him inward and inspired him to write this harrowing opus -- an album that erupts with pitch black sentiment, exploring unhappiness, hardship, and distress through several different lenses.

"I Smell Pipes" sets the record in motion with devilish growls over a searing guitar lead. The song becomes increasingly emotional with dissonant harmonies. Whether intentional or not, the drums sound muted, giving it a dank, low-fi feel throughout. The emphasis seems solidly on the riffage, which is all fine by me, though some listeners may wish for a more spacious approach. For full effect, turn those speakers up high!

"Orbitoclast" follows next with a strumming opening and jarring amp feedback. When the vocals join, it's a sludge moshfest ala Iron Monkey and Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean. The guitar is clear, dark, and menacing, and it contrasts with the harsh singing effectively. There are burts of frenetic grinding, with fevered drumming from Joaden Paluck (Destroy My Brains, Wrought) joining Jarret's fire and brimstone riffing. The song ends with clip addressing depression and the danger of suicide, from some old training video in a rather clinical tone.

"Push The Knife" is the longest track of the album, opening with death-soaked drumming (this time with Brett Steward from Ashes of Yggdrasil on the skins) and solemn doom chords that become increasingly animated, finally spilling over in a torrent of blackened tremeloes. The instruments pause long enough for Jarret to proclaim, "I'm barely being held together...fuck this life." The lyrics contemplate the misery of one's existence and the utter despair of realizing: I could really end it all. Having been there, I can identify with practically every word of this song. Also, I'm picking up on a Buzzov*en vibe here, with Jarret's raspy, metallic vocals drawing us into the hardship of the subject quite well. It's as though the pain of depression has gradually worn away at his person, transforming him into this savage beast before us. The sonic mix on this track does a decent job of accommodating the swirling array of death, doom, and black metal styles without sounding too thin and distant.

"On The Unlevel" is another 10-minute monster, with death-obsessed lyrics (this time, it seems, from the perspective of the oppressor). It takes on the mess of politics and policing, though at times I had trouble distinguishing between rage against the system and actually taking revenge on one's enemies. In some sections, I'm reminded of Eyehategod and their propensity for simple, melodic guitar motifs. The drums are especially pronounced here, a collaboration with Daden Paluk (Destroy My Brains). About 7-minutes in, a solitary bass announces the fiery coda, which grinds down on the words "This is what you get, greedy piece of shit." There are some maniacal screams mingling in the backdrop that made me think of a human being who's finally snapped and will no longer be trodden over.

"I'm Weak" is my favorite of the record, beginning as it does with those grim downward steps, followed by irradiated crooning grungy milling. The song is about living with guilt, shame, anxiety, and self-loathing while in isolation. For many of us, nothing felt more like solitary confinement than those unending weeks in lockdown, which forced some to come face to face with what they hated most about themselves. "I'm not well, in my cell, in my tomb, crying for doom" Jarret sings. A headbanger for damned sure.

"Cultist of the Pentagram" wisely picks up the pace with a tonal shift from self-pity towards an imagined deity from some dark dimensions, perhaps Cacus of Roman Mythology ("I am your Caco god"), who was said to be the fire-breathing son of Vulcan -- and a giant at that (eventually taken down by Hercules). Regardless of the cultist's identity, it is a most interesting lyrical theme and I found myself easily pulled into the narrative. Musically, this pure sludgey, grindcore!

"Abused (e)Motionless" turns our attention to the victim of treachery, attempting to see the word through their eyes. An interesting mix of circular, grinding guitar and drums, with slow, doomy progressions, and venomous vocals (which remain omnipresent throughout).

Finally, we arrive at the conclusion of this stormy, angst-filled journey. "Dance Upon The Dead" established a gentle arpeggiated acoustic theme, which is frequently interrupted by a crashing guitar and drum combos, until vocals join in with their usual corrosive fashion. This time, we're dealing with a true doomer, full of mordant chords and deep, emphatic bass notes. Jaden is up once again for drumming duties and executes his role with taste and tact. The song develops with increasing variation and intensity as it goes along. I thought of Grief as I listened, a band that also traffics in fierce, hot-blooded, sludgey doom action.

No doubt, Discarded Self is an enormous work and may be taken in doses on first spin. It will mean even more to the suffering, as I can imagine it being quite a cathartic listen for those who feel trapped, maligned, and in dire straits. Overall, a welcome entry from a prolific and highly motivated artist who does an admirable job collaborating with his drumming compadres. I can only imagine the beast that Discarded Self will become when the Lockdown is lifted for good and public performances become a viable option in Canada and places beyond.

Give ear...

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

An Interview with Discarded Self

By Billy Goate

How would you describe the vocal approach to the songs on this record?

After recording the guitars and bass to a programmed click track, I soon realized the song arrangements had some real potential to be something aggressive and memorable so I went for my first run of lyrics on a song. I wrote the lyrics for the song "I'm Weak" before I even had any drums (which is something I almost never do) and I wanted to record them since I was really feeling the flow and ideas I had for delivery, but it was too late at night and everyone in my house was asleep. So I decided to do a little practice vocal run in a quiet voice. When I do metal vocals in a quiet voice for practicing and stuff, I use kind of an evil Satyricon-Dopethrone black metal kind of voice. It's easier on my throat than my normal hardcore Destroy My Brains full blast screaming, and it helps me lay down my ideas without any type of voice damage.

You collaborated with a number of drummers on this release. How did you work in tandem with them during the Great Lockdown of 2020 and what impact did it have on the final outcome of your tracks?

After I recorded my idea, I sent the track to the drummer of the track Rob, and he said he really dug it. I told him those weren't the real vocals and I would do the real ones in a day or two after I practiced them a bunch and got my delivery down. But when the time came to lay it all down, I had the practice voice stuck in my head and when I tried to lay down my normal vocals, it sounded weird because I was already used to the way the black metal style vocals sounded. So I decided to give what was once my quiet practicing voice a try, and record the full song in that style. It blew me away when I was all done, so I decided to change up my idea and use this vocal style for the whole album. I really like it.

Talk about the artwork. It's a tremendous piece! Really stands out.

After that it was time to go on the hunt for some artwork. Almost as soon as I started looking, an artist I follow, Thahir M, put up a piece called "Monster Hunt" and I immediately knew that was the artwork I needed to represent the project. A very powerful giant demon with dragons flying above almost like a World War II photograph with the fighter planes littering the sky. It took me about a second and a half to rapidly fire him an offer on the art before someone else snatched it. That is where the album art came from. I actually used this art as inspiration while I was recording almost all of the vocals on this album. As I recorded them I would stare at the image of the art and try to imagine I was a demon soldier in that army. I already had the lyrics memorized, so I didn't need to read them as I recorded them.

I'd venture to guess that a lot of us assume one-man bands are just wunderkinds, you know, born with all this multi-instrumental talent. Were there areas you found particularly challenging for you as you sought to bring your vision to life?

I am not a drummer. I suck real bad, and I probably won't ever practice enough to ever record anything so I needed some drummers. I had this idea of using all of the best metal drummers in my city, and it would kind of help bring the scene together a little bit. 3 of the drummers I wanted to get, I was already in bands with, so that was easy, and the last drummer was a guy with some serious skills and creative talent, plus he had his own drum recording setup.

I ended up getting all the guys I wanted on the project which were, Jadan of Destroy My Brains, Rob the drummer of Ashes of Yggdrasil, Brett the lead guitarist of Ashes of Yggdrasil (who also plays drums), and BJ from the band Dahlmers Realm. I couldn't really be more happy about it. So every time I would finish my guitars on a track I would send them off to the guys with a click, and let them stew on ideas. Slowly the ideas came in and we got them all recorded. I was really impressed with what the guys came up with and we worked and tweaked the ideas until they all felt perfect.

It sounds like a very meticulous process!

Almost every time I got the final drums and guitars all together I would stay up for days with almost no sleep writing lyrics furiously, and perfecting my delivery for the songs. The last song Dance Upon the Dead, I actually stayed awake for about 30hrs, writing and recording. I even blew my voice out real bad, but I have a real stupid and bad habit of fighting through it and I finished the song with a pretty buggered up voice. (it just adds to the torment).

What's the benefit to writing metal as an independent musician-composer, compared with being in a band?

The best part of this project was I did it all in my studio at home, and I didn't have to change any of my mixing ideas because other band members did not like it (not that that is a bad thing having extra input or anything). So this album turned out 100% how I wanted it to sound. I went with a less is more approach, and didn't really do a lot of processing on the instruments to get the sounds I ended up with.

You initially were sharing songs as you created them. What kind of response did you get from your tracks early on?

As I completed songs, I would release them on Bandcamp and YouTube, and I set a goal to have one completed every two weeks until the release date I set, which was Jan 15th, I believe. The day I released "Orbitoclast," is where everything changed and I started receiving a ton of positive feedback. "Orbitoclast" was only the second song released, so I was really getting excited to pump this project out.

I was only about two or three weeks away from my release date when I was contacted by Piers Andersen from Cvlt Legion, and he said he is starting a record label called Sarcophagus Recordings and he asked if I wanted to be his first band. I didn't even need to think about it, because I knew he was a part of Cvlt Legion and those guys promote bands at a ridiculous rate, so I went for it. He wasted no time and he had me pull all my material down from Bandcamp and YouTube, so he could properly promote the album. We changed the date to April 30th, and he went to work promoting the album. He is good, he's had me on more sites and pages than I even knew existed, and we've even done a pile of interviews which I enjoy doing.

What did you learn from diving headfirst into such an ambitious first record?

All and all, this project taught me a lot, and I do believe I have further evolved my songwriting and recording techniques for the better, so it was a real good experience, and I've also learned more about the promotional side of music which is really important if you want anyone to hear your stuff. I hope everyone enjoys this album, and you can expect to hear another album from this project in the future as I'm already at six rhythm sections written for another album.

Let's close by getting into the specific breakdown of the album's songs.

1. I Smell Pipes

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The opening track of the album is actually written about a close friend I used to have when I was younger. It is describing a short chapter of his life, which in turn was the end of his life. He was a good friend but became a fiending drug addict "I Smell Pipes" was actually a quote he used to say when he would arrive at a party, and it signaled for all of the other crackhead/jib users to go into a room a light up rock and crystal all night. What started off as what he called fun recreational drug use, turned into full on lying, cheating, stealing, robbing, rock bottom living on the streets drug use. He passed away with a needle in his arm banging speedballs.

I wrote the song with more fun style riffs, because that was the last thing I remember about him before he disappeared and wound up succumbing to his chemical addictions. He used to be a fun guy. Hard drugs are no joke, there are only two ways it will go for you, if you want to live that kind of life. The lucky ones go to jail and sober up. The unlucky ones die, or live a long time as a worthless drug fiend. If you are having trouble with addictions, talk to someone and seek help. The alternative is more than most likely going to be a coffin. I wrote this song with a heavy heart, and it was really hard to record the lyrics.

2. Orbitoclast

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The song "Orbitoclast" is a collection of riffs and vocal ideas I actually started this project with. It starts off slow, but gets straight down to it with a thrashy section that has shredding vocals bleeding all over it. For those that aren’t aware, an orbitoclast is the instrument that is hammered into a person’s brain, when they were the poor individual who received a lobotomy in the late '40s early '50s. The song is of course about the horrifying practice of lobotomy, but has an extra hidden meaning. It’s a metaphor for giving your trust to someone who doesn’t have your best interests in mind, and only their own personal interest, with no concern of who they damage along the way.

3. Push The Knife

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

"Push The Knife" is a slow moving look into the mind of someone who is sick with depression and touches on the topics of suicide/blood sacrifice. How it feels like you don’t want to exist in society, and you want to disappear and be forgotten. The song was originally titled "Staple", and is essentially about barely holding your life together like a “bent staple with one arm” as the lyrics suggest. The song takes a horrible turn as the protagonist of the story performs a blood sacrifice of themselves in an attempt to become a demon, and seek revenge upon the whole world who has wronged them throughout their life, joining Satan's and executing revenge upon the world. This song features Ashes Of Yggdrasil’s lead guitarist Brett on the drums, and backup vocals as well.

4. On The Unlevel

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

This song is my hate-fueled message to the government and other forces of oppression and control. I wrote this whole album in 2020, and being the naturally rebellious person that I am, the government control, restrictions, and lockdowns are not anything I ever pictured happening in my life and the damage they have caused to our society is mindblowing. If you feel the same as me, I strongly suggest looking up the lyrics to this song to understand the anger seething from within me when I was writing this. "On The Unlevel" is an attack against oppression, control, racism, division, and lies. Things can’t continue like this, and everyone needs to work together to repair all of the damage, and seriously think about the crucial changes that need to be made in our world if we are ever going to see it the same way it was, or better than it was. This is a true rebellion song of 2020.

5. I’m Weak

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

"I’m Weak" is an ode to all those who are born into this world as a person with crippling disabilities, mental health problems, or sub-par lesser functioning beings, that are unable to accomplish anything in life, and the feelings that are often associated with that, which are often followed by self doubt, self loathing, low personal esteem, drug abuse and suicide. "I’m Weak" is a tribute to a close friend who lived with all of the above named issues, and is no longer a part of this plane of existence. They will remain unnamed. This song embodies what the band name Discarded Self is all about.

6. Cultist Of The Pentagram

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

The track "Cultist Of The Pentagram" is about those who follow the rebel and master Satan, and their efforts to complete Satan’s work, in destroying God and his followers. This song is a complete assault on the world’s organized religions, and their slaughters and atrocities committed against their fellow men, women and children of earth, in the name of their so-called God. The true liar and evil presence that plagues our realm we exist in.

7. Abused (e)Motionless

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

This song was another personal and painful song to write. It is about the many forms of abuse from a loved or trusted person. The damage and trauma caused is generally irreversible, unforgettable, and leads to all sorts of problems throughout the person who was abused. It is a deep look into the person’s mind, and how fucked up they can become from it. If you or someone you know is being abused, be brave and get out of that situation. Reach out, someone will be there to help.

8. Dance Upon The Dead

Discarded Self by Discarded Self

I’ve been watching a lot of serial killer movies for I don’t know, the last 25 years. (laughs) I used those types of films for the inspiration of this song. This song was written from the perspective of a husband or father of a victim of a serial killer. It is clearly a revenge song, and describes the hate and rage that would be felt by the families of the victims. It’s a disgusting dive into that reality, and ends in a way that quenches the thirst of pure revenge.

9. Upside Down (Fistula cover)

Upside Down (Fistula cover) by Discorded Self

I wanted to pay tribute to a band I love and admire, so I recorded a cover of Fistula’s song "Upside Down." Almost every single time I’m hanging with friends I always make them listen to Fistula. Almost everyone I know now knows about them, so that’s really awesome. That also must mean I drink a lot! (laughs) The original song "Upside Down" is a real simple one, so I wanted to really spice it up and added a few things, yet kept it the same, and my drummer Jadan, who is also a big Fistula fan, does a two and half minute drum solo at the end of the track. If you are reading this, and you haven’t heard of Fistula. Do yourself a favour and just turn my Discarded Self album off and check them out. You are going to get simply destroyed!

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