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imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

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The Englishman JACK - CHAP 3

< Chap 2 | Chap 3 Cocks And Guns | Chap 4 >

Summary: Jack finds himself in a crossfire between friends, foes and silent admirers.

Author’s note: To the handful of people reading this: I hope you’ll enjoy this one! Have a good weekend my lovelies. ❤️

Word count: 5.105 (18 min. read)

Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, extortion, WWII PTSD, (gun) violence, mobsters

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Cocks and Guns

The woolen uniform itched and Jack was eager for the night shift to be over. With sweat running down his back, he peered into the darkness that surrounded the makeshift war camp. Everything seemed so calm and quiet; it was near strange to think that a few miles from here the Germans lurked. The enemy.

A few months ago he had seen their faces for the first time, the mood grim in the dead land between bloody trenches. It had rained for weeks on end and Jack could have sworn it had been God himself crying for the travesty that was this war. In that moment he had also wondered if these Germans before him truly wanted to fight. He, for one, surely didn’t. He felt the same dread he saw in them. Cheekbones fallen in, eyes wide.

That day the battlefield had remained calm. And not many days later Jack was reassigned, one general impressed with his good eye for detail and sharp mind. It was why he now was here, belly flat on the earth as he peered out into the distance, eyes sharp and back soaking wet with sweat. Behind him he could hear the occasional male voice or thump of sturdy boots. But before him the land was unreadable. All scraggly bushes, haunting tree shapes and the song of hidden cicadas. Jack felt the sound irked him, even though he couldn’t quite explain to himself why. The creatures were perfectly harmless and he had learned that the locals were terribly fond of them.

At first this new job hadn’t seemed so bad. They got more rest than in the trenches, and the men seemed a tad more cheerful. On the odd occasion they had even slept in real beds, made music, met women. And these women, French women, were utterly divine. Jack had never been outside of English territory, so he was near shocked to find how very different the French were from his usual English birds. In a hash he thought that maybe, if ever he’d get out of here, he’d marry one of those pretty brown eyed mademoiselles. Start a life here in the rural lands that usually harvested wine. What a life that would be. Besides, it wasn’t like he missed England all that much. Especially not when that same England sent him out to fight like this.

Scratching at some sweat that was drying on his jaw, he lost focus for just half a second. And though the cicadas continued to sing and the stars to shine, Jack knew something was amiss straight away. The male voices were no longer solely behind him. They were before him. Hushed and part of the darkness that stared back. Had he imagined it? Swallowing harshly he focused on the black lines of branches and bushes. With the wind quiet, any movement would indicate unfriendly visitors. But none moved. None sighed. Indeed, perhaps he had just imagined it. With a coded click of the tongue he signalled the other scout whom lay a few meters up ahead.

The man shot up disturbed, helmet crooked on his head, followed by a thump of lead hitting flesh. Jack’s heart was racing in an instant, eyes noting his dead fellow scout, shortly followed by then a blitz of stars in the bushes. Bullets were being fired and even ducking low he could swear he would be hit. That this would be it. That he would...

Gasping, Jack shot up from the bed. A sheen of sweat stuck to his brow and it took a good few moments before he realised he was no longer in France. The room surrounding him was dark, but he recognised it well enough. He was at the Maniari’s, having just awoken from a bad dream. Sighing, he let himself fall back on the comfortable mattress. Even years after the war, he was haunted by his days in the army. And he felt it only got worse when he was alone, the cold sheets a cocoon that trapped him in the most frightening of memories. Staring out at the ceiling he waited for his heartbeat to calm and breath to steady. But that was not going to happen.

Gunshots fired in the night outside. And before he even realised it himself, Jack had thrown himself off the bed and onto the floor, arms tiger crawling up to the window sill, eyes peering over the edge. The window was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool nightly Tuscan air to relieve the heat after a sunny day. That same heat still remained in the stone ledge he pressed his cheek into, bewildered eyes finding the cause of all this ruckus: Augusto and his men.

Down on the patio on the far end of the house there stood a group of swaggering, loud men. Thick cigar smoke curled up in the air and from the way they had to steady their every move, it was obvious they were well into their cups. In total there were four, faces hard to discern in the low moonlight. It didn’t however refrain the men from clearing their identities with loud laughter and booming voices. With a shotgun in hand, Augusto stood at the front, a cigar hanging over his lip as he looked over his shoulder, hinting at the other men to watch.

‘Watch and learn!’ He growled, body starting to jerk as he cleared a few shots in the dark. Jack noticed that he wasn’t just shooting at nothing; from a tree hung a white ribbon that stood out just enough for even the drunk men to see. Not knowing whether Augusto hit anything at all, Jack flinched as the men started to cheer even more loudly.

Next up was one of the more slender looking men. Perhaps one of the bodyguards. Holding a handgun he outstretched an arm, aim more pure than that of Augusto. With a Hollywood-esque exaggeration he blew the heat from the gun’s barrel, laughing as one of the other men clapped his back.

Like this the nightly banter outside continued. It felt like hours upon hours, and though Jack had forced himself to lay back down in bed, he could no longer catch any sleep. Staring out at the ceiling he watched and waited, and dozed and mulled on thoughts that mixed reality and dream until finally he saw the first rays of sun crawl over the wooden beams above him. The sheer lace curtains drew pretty patterns there, reminding him of his first acid trip. How relieving that moment had been after months of struggling to deal with his post traumatic shock disorder.

You’ve got it bad boy, Lucia had whispered, brushing away his hair when he would wake bathing in sweat.

She was gone now.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself off the bed, head feeling dazed. He hoped that this wouldn’t occur every night, but something told him that he shouldn’t keep his hopes up. This family was mad and he knew it. Stretching himself out, hands above his head, he cracked a few joints before returning to the window sill, eyes finding that a butler had moved out to the bullet shell covered terrace on his left. The man was placing a whole collection of glasses, half finished liquor bottles and crowded ash trays onto a larger tray, face stern and focused.

Then Jack realised there was another person up and about. Just beneath his window, seated at the long end of a table, chair covered in a black and white striped cotton, sat the only daughter of the Maniari’s. Bunny. She was all dressed up to the nines, hair neatly coiffed and body clad in a blue knee length dress.

From his position, Jack could see everything perfectly. The way her cigarette smudged with lipstick, the way her eyes sometimes moved to the butler who was cleaning up the mess on the other terrace. And he also noted that her fashion magazine was a bit peculiar; either they had started to include an accounting segment, or Bunny dear was holding a secret. The pages looked off. Reaching a little further, Jack tried to figure out what it was she was hiding, but that move betrayed him. The window creaked and with a hurried scowl Bunny looked up, hand closing her magazine.

‘Good morning,’ Jack chimed, smiling warmly. Bunny sucked on her cigarette and stared up at Jack. A moment passed.

‘If you say so.’ She sighed, pressing the half-finished cigarette into a glass ashtray before walking back inside.

Jack contemplated how he had wronged her, but as his eyes wandered over the curves of the misty hills, his mind bleaked. In the far distance, behind the neatly kept gardens, he could see the vineyards, stretching for miles. Most of it owned by the Maniaris, small houses dotted over the landscape, all rented by locals or used by family members. Today was the day he would meet some of them. He wondered if they would be just as mad.

‘Too expensive.’ The old nan flared an aggravated hand in the direction of the suit clad man who had come to gather the rent. Her eyes spoke poison, but also intrigue when she noted Jack. For a short moment her trembling jaw quieted, wrinkly features studying the unknown man before her.

‘YOU, you do something about it!’ Her finger directed back at Big. ‘The protection is shit! Last week one of my goats was shot and look at what you do. NOTHING. No-thing. You scum! You..-’

One of the men pushed Jack outside of the small cottage and closed the door, leaving Jack alone. The sun was starting to sink down and with a quick check on his peculiar sundial watch he noted the time. 4.30, just about. And violence..? He listened and heard the muffled whines of the woman inside. Yes. Biting his tongue he started his way to the end of the small garden that stretched around the cottage. Vegetables were growing in long rows of green. Cabbages, leaks and the like; nothing spectacular. But he also noted feet. Or feet marks to be exact. Dragging in the mud and too large to fit the small woman that lived here, alone. Had she had a visitor? Clicking his tongue he turned heel, hearing the front door re-open, men pouring out.

‘Fucking nuthouse.’ One of the bodyguards muttered, lips glueing to a cigarette that was lit with a bloodied hand. Jack noted that too, but said nothing. It was not why he was here.

‘Found some footsteps over there.’ Jack nodded, and the men looked up.

‘So?’

‘Male. Large male. Old, most likely, or wounded. Hard to see through the red stain of this darn mud.’ Jack pointed at the garden and two of the men stepped in, one of them taking notes and photographs of the measurements and findings. They nearly looked professional - were it not for them to be stinking like a brown pub in the wind.

‘Unlikely to be Alfi.’ Big stepped forward, still distrusting of Jack. Luigi hadn’t come along, though he had offered; it was Jack who had refused. At first the idea of having Luigi with him seemed pleasing, but seeing Luigi’s slightly particular behaviour yesterday made him rethink. Perhaps it was better to find the brother’s motivations and relations one by one; in the end they both had been in Paris at the time of Lucia’s demise.

So far though, the young Maniari mostly just seemed like a spoiled brat, who, unfortunately, wasn’t all that clever. Big scowled at Jack, who smiled a fair laugh.

‘Alfonso can’t get hurt, you say?’

‘It can’t be him because why the fuck would he be in some old hag’s shitty garden? He’d come home if that’d be the case. Pfft.’ Big shook his head in disbelief and regarded one of the men who had walked to a nearby tree to take a leak, hand brushing down the pee on his pants before he let out a relieved sigh.

‘Fwoa. You just keep on pissing from that stuff.’ He laughed.

Big smirked. ‘That’s what you do. Drink like a god? Piss like a god.’

The rest of the men laughed, but Jack didn’t. He turned around, watching the distrustful woman who peaked at him through the lacy veil of her curtains. Perhaps he’d return to her later.

The sun was sinking fast, but apparently there was one more job to be done. After a short stop at the villa, a small garrison of three sleek cars drove up the ruby red roads. At the front was Augusto’s car, a silver Mercedes, it’s lacquer shining in the last drops of honey hued sunlight. In the far back was the brandless black beast that carried Jack and four square shouldered men. These men were new to Jack, and for a moment Jack wondered if he was brought along so Augusto could keep an eye on him. Of course he had hoped that he would have been just allowed to lumber around alone, but reality was different. In reality even family friends had to join in on the dirty work. Whatever the dirty work would be right now.

After a short drive the cars halted before a small winery, long rows of vines weaving in patterns behind the tall cypresses that stood at either side of the muddy road. The sun was close to disappearing now, leaving long and tall shadows at the men’s feet. The Maniari crew had nine men in total, which seemed excessive for a visit. But then again; perhaps it wasn’t enough. Jack noticed how they all kept a hand close to the insides of their jackets, buttons undone. He was no fool. There were weapons held disguised, ready to be used at will.

Turning on his heel, Augusto was surrounded by his trusty bodyguard number One - a surprisingly small and slender man - and the four jarheads.

‘No words English. Just watch. I need your eyes alone. No funny business.’

Jack nodded, not sure what was about to happen. With confident strides the men walked up to the near abandoned looking winery, an old tractor parked near the door. The yard was muddy, leaving hundreds of tracks of cars, feet and what looked to be dog paws.

‘Nando!!’ Augusto called at a man who stepped out of the front door. The leather faced man was obviously not eager to see Augusto, eyes skittish and hand holding onto the door knob.

‘Good eve.’ Nando watched the many men that surrounded Augusto, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t want no trouble sir.’

‘Then there won’t be any trouble.’ Augusto smiled broadly - too broadly, his cheeks drawing menacing shadows in the light of the sinking sun. ‘Just business talk.’

‘Right now? I was just about to eat sup--’

One of Augusto’s men pushed Nando back inside, pushing through the narrow hallway until all men were indoors. It was there where yet more visitors were found. More tough looking men in suits, hands staying nervously close to their pockets.

Jack barely got a chance at properly looking at these other men before the situation escalated. Augusto voice boomed with some insult about ‘crooked investors’ and then all hell broke loose. Or, so it seemed. Being pushed back against the opposing wall of the narrow hallway, Jack lost track of movements. Men were rushing back and forth, commands being yelled. The house was too small and it didn’t help that Jack had hurt his head, his vision swimming.

It was seconds later when the calm returned. Jack found himself leaning into the wall. On the ground in the small living room red stains leaked into the carpet. And watching Augusto, he saw those same red stains on his blouse. Had the mobster been wounded? Gasping in horror, Jack blinked, memories flooding him.

RUN JACK. RUN! Harry’s bloody teeth gulped the words, eyes wide.

The memory faded.

Hold! Hold! Hold for the king! Rain clattered on poorly made helmets, the dark night icy cold. Are you soldiers? Or are you weak? Right there the enemy awaits us, but we are ready. Squadron 2, line 4. Get ready to climb!

Jack felt sick, feet stumbling. The whole hallway seemed to tilt a few degrees, like he were on a ship filled with cute picture frames and handmade doilies.

‘Let’s get outta here.’ Big pushed Jack back out of the door, the rest of the men following.

‘What a fucking mess.’ Augusto growled. He didn’t sound as wounded as he seemed. Jack inhaled sharply, the evening air biting into his lungs. Panic and trauma washed over him and he had to try his best to stay afoot. Around him the other men walked out, reminding him of the soldiers in the trenches. The same mud that slipped beneath his unsteady feet had been there in France. Day in day out. Everything had been so wet, all the freaking time. At some point he hadn’t even known anymore whether it was the rain, blood or both. With blinking eyes Jack focused on his shoes, red splatters climbing up his leather shoes. He knew he wasn’t in France. He knew he wasn’t hurt - yet. And yet the ache in his heart seemed to seep in every corner of his limbs, turning his usually sharp mind to muddle.

‘Such a waste of wine.’ Augusto clicked his teeth. ‘And to you.’ He reared his head and looked at the man who looked at him through the small doorway. Jack didn’t know the man, but he seemed like a boos of sorts. His smug face raised a challenging chin, but said nothing.

‘Shame on your pitiful blood.’ Augusto spat on the ground. ‘This was once my father’s land. And now what?! Look at this! The moment some poor man comes up and tries to rebuild it, you take it from him.’

Jack frowned. Before him he saw the same Augusto that had beaten his daughter and threatened his family with the worst of repercussions. And yet that same man now wanted to protect this poor winemaker. Really? It almost seemed absurd.

‘There’s much waste, old friend. But this? I see potential. You see flaws. You hold onto the old. I embrace..the new!’ The smug looking man laughed. ‘And you see, Nando here.’ He turned and squeezed the terrified looking farmer into the door frame. ‘Has become a very, very good friend of mine. Haven’t you Nando? Hmm?’

The poor man swallowed and nodded quickly. ‘Y-yes sir.’

‘No no. We’re friends. Call me Gio, please.’

‘Yes..Gio.’ The man nodded, terror clear in his eyes.

Augusto sighed dramatically. ‘Well, dear Gio, you ruined my shirt!’

‘Oh curse you old friend. Buy yourself a new one. And kiss your wife for me, will you!’

‘Watch your words!’ Augusto wanted to step in and all men were back to grabbing for their pockets, but Big was there to hush his father.

‘Father, let us deal with this another--’

‘Another time? Would you look at that smug bastard with his..’ Augusto waved his hand in the air with disgust, his pretentiously friendly tone gone.

Gio laughed and waved, his skin lighting up with the last rays of sunshine. ‘Let us have proper wine soon my friend. We’ll discuss business, like the old days!’

Augusto spat on the ground and shot one last poisonous glance at the boisterous man in the doorway. It was obvious the two had a history. And Augusto was pulling the short end of the string tonight. With dragging feet he let himself be guided back to the cars. Even now Jack wasn’t quite sure why they had come with so many. Was it to show off? Or had they really been ready for a war? Still feeling a little wheezy, he walked to the last car and got in, his body soon squeezed in the middle of the bench between the two large men.

‘You’re hurt!’ Luigi exclaimed. With hasted feet he worked his way through the men who had started to scatter in the large hallway. Some went to the lounge for a drink, others to their quarters for sleep. None were rueful enough to deal with their boss Augusto right now.

The man groaned. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Oh why look at you father.’ Luigi tutted, peeling at the winesoaked blouse of his father. His father swatted his hand away.

Luigi hesitated. ‘Ehh.. I must warn you, father.’ Luigi licked his thin lip. ‘Mom has one of her...moments.’

Augusto turned heel, eyes wild. ‘She..what? Why didn’t you do something?!’

Luigi shrugged in defeat and pointed outside. In a flurry of curse words his father ran out, feet thundering on the loud marble floor.

‘You alright?’ Luigi stepped in next to Jack. The other men had dispersed, leaving the two men standing here alone.

Jack nodded quietly. France still ringed in his ears. Or perhaps it was a mild concussion. Either way he could do with some rest and a meal.

‘Quite a day it was.’

‘Indeed. I heard Mrs. Tuscesi got another beating. What a woman. What. A. Woman.’

Jack nodded, allowing Luigi to guide him up the stairs like he had yesterday. Again that fleshy warm hand found his lower back, but Jack didn’t object. Stepping in turn with Luigi, he told his friend about the little situation with Gio. Luigi sighed.

‘My papa never learns.’

They halted amidst the stairs, where a window gave a lookout over the shadowy gardens. Little torch lights cast a mysterious hue over the greens, where the signora danced, a little 3-legged dog by her side. Meanwhile Augusto was storming through the long lane between sky high cypresses, right at her.

‘Didn’t know you had a dog.’ Jack said. He didn’t want to question what was the matter with Luigi’s mother - it seemed a touchy subject, especially now he was living here with the Maniari’s. For a moment they watched as she waved her expressive arms in the air, before throwing a shoe for the dog toe catch. It hobbled awkwardly on its three tiny stilts.

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi corrected, then returned his warm hand to Jack’s back. Jack again, didn’t object and followed as they continued their way up the stairs. This time Luigi got a little further before he halted amidst the hallway, feet quiet on the stone floor.

Jack smiled, knowing exactly what Luigi wished to ask. It seemed near inappropriate, but in a way Jack could use some friendly company at the moment. Besides, he still needed to find out what Luigi’s true motivation was in life. He had changed so much since last they met in person. Not only had he grown in size, also his manners had changed. The Luigi he had met in Paris was not quite the man before him. That Luigi had been an oversized boy who liked to play. This was a man who made the game.

Turning on his heel, Jack looked over his shoulder. With a single nod the affirmation was given; join me. And so Luigi joined.

With most of the men gone on their nightly mission, the house was left quiet. Bunny peaked through her cracked bedroom door. On either side of the hallway the lights were dimly lit. But no guards were there to keep watch. No brothers were there to call onto her. All she could hear was her mother on the phone and her brother’s record player downstairs. From the looks of it both were preoccupied and so Bunny took her chance, feet slipping out of the door frame.

The heavy creak of her door made her flinch. Fuck. Holding tight onto the door knob she waited. Perhaps there soon would be footsteps, guns cocking, knuckles cracking. But no, there was nobody here.

Continuing her quiet pitter patter, Bunny made her way to one of the doors on the right. Not far from here her mother was babbling into the phone. Or worse yet; crying into the phone. Bunny again halted her steps.

‘But I need you! I..I need you!’

Her mother sounded positively desperate. But then again, so were all women who lived in this household. Her mother would drink herself to death. Bunny would run herself to death. Pick your poison, they say, right?

Gritting her teeth, Bunny turned her attention to one of the doors on her right. It’s where Alfonso’s study was located. A bunch of mystery rooms that she had rarely been allowed to visit. And the attraction to visit became even stronger when Alfi disappeared. The brother’s had looked inside for a bit, but decided there were no clues worth mentioning to the Englishman. All seemed as it should be, they said.

But Bunny didn’t believe it could be that easy. Alfi always had been a weird brother. Being the oldest of the bunch, he had always felt terribly important with his books and administrational work and numbers. He had always been the precise one, the easily ignited one. One thing out of place would send him into fury, and so it was here where Bunny decided to do some of her own research. Here in his study. Where all her brothers seemed too busy with their gun fights and extortion, Bunny knew that it was unlikely to be just a regular kidnapping. There had to be clues. There just had to be.

With a click of the door knob she opened the study room. And it was exactly what she expected to find. A simple desk set amidst ceiling high bookshelves filled with administration and books. It was kept so orderly it was hard to think this may just be the start of a crime scene. But Bunny had read books herself, too. Agatha Christie had taught her one thing: death is in the details. And patterns are always there. The only difference was that this was no oriental train or desolate island, but home. The home she had lived in with people that could very well star in one of Christie’s books. For they were characters, each and every one of them.

Behind her, Bunny could still hear her mother’s wails, followed by a sharp click of the door. Was her mother going out? Oh no. Oh shit. Quickly closing the door behind her, Bunny pressed her ear against the door, listening to the footsteps in the hallway. It was definitely her mother, and from the way her heels tapped the floor in an uneven rhythm, it was clear that she was drunk. Not that this was such a surprise; each time her mother suffered a setback, she’d fall back into the dirty old habit of binge drinking.

‘Zazoooo. BABYYY where are you sweetieeee.’ Her mother’s shrill voice called as she clambered down the stairs, footsteps fading.

Zazoo hadn’t been able to climb the stairs ever since the incident. A shooting incident. And though all said it had been the Luchesse’s, or perhaps even Gio himself, Bunny knew better. She always knew better. And she was sure that it had been one of the family who had shot the dog’s leg during one of the many drinking fests. One night the dog had four legs, the next just three.

Poor dog.

Turning back around, Bunny let out a sigh. Again her eyes fell on the many small details around her. Having learned from her mystery books, she tried to find clues. The burned candles, the disturbed dust on the shelves, the…Hmm. She walked to one of the shelves that had obviously been disturbed quite recently. With a tug she pulled out some of the folders that were tucked tightly together. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for, the numbers all unfamiliar. But there were names here too. Many names, though unfamiliar in most cases. Only the Luchesse named immediately rung a bell, but then the numbers didn’t clarify much either.

Flitting through the pages, Bunny let her eyes slide over the neatly noted numbers. Prices, codes, phone numbers. They could be anything. Continuing her research, her eyes stopped on one page. A blood stain had poured into the thin paper, dark red, though also still slightly slimy. An unusual type of blood stain when at best you’d suspect a paper cut.

Noises in the hallway made her turn on her heel again. More people. Male. Fuck. Hurrying to get the folder closed and back on the shelf, Bunny nearly let it slip from her hands. Her heart was thundering and fingers slippery. She knew that if she was caught red handed now, this would be last day she ever saw daylight. Her father would not have this. He didn’t like unsubordinate little women. He wanted them meek and mild, not curious and self established.

Rushing towards the door, Bunny already tried to find excuses to tell. Perhaps she had heard a faint noise and since she couldn’t find the guards, went to see for it herself. Perhaps she thought she heard Alfi. Perhaps she..

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi’s chuckle reverberated up the stairwell. Bunny sighed and relaxed a little. Luigi didn’t give a crap about these administrational books. He cared more about appearances, self pampering and other slightly dubious male activities. Pressing her ear back against the door she listened, but no further words came. It were two pairs of feet, moving in the same direction. Towards the Englishman’s room, or hers. Oh no. Oh no! You can’t be saying they were looking for her!

Making sure the footsteps were far enough away, Bunny unclicked the door and rushed into the hallway. The men were gone. Though their voices returned, chuckling through Jack’s door.

Bunny knew at that moment that she would be better off if she just went back to her room. She was putting her nose in things she didn’t understand. In things she wasn’t supposed to understand.

‘Oh Jack!’ Luigi exclaimed, followed by a bit of laughter. Bunny quietly moved in closer, ears peaking to pick up the sounds. But no more sounds came.

Then Bunny made another mistake. She watched. Women weren’t supposed to see these things. But here she was, bending over and peeking in through the keyhole. Inside the well-lit room stood the two men. Jackets removed, embracing. But it wasn’t the type of embrace she knew. This was..different. Long lasting. Luigi’s hands were on the Englishman’s buttocks. And it lasted too long. This was..this was. Bunny watched in shock and awe through the tiny keyhole. And then Jack’s blue eyes found hers.

Fuck.

Chap 4 >

General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry as jack #the englishman jack #mobster mystery fic #original story #multichap

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awkwardlittlepringle · 5 years ago

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Queer ‘n Crazy

Hello fellow Fanders! This is kinda my first sanders sides fanfiction, and my first fanfic on Tumblr! The layout will most probably change over the course of this, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. 😊

Ships : Analogical, background Royality.

Blurb thing : To say Virgil Black hasn’t had the easiest life would be an understatement. Considering all he’s been through, it’s no surprise that he has a few mental illnesses. But that doesn’t mean he appreciates being thrown into some government experiment, even if he does have a gorgeous roommate.

THIS WILL CONTAIN MENTIONS OF AN ABUSIVE HOUSEHOLD, MENTAL ILLNESSES INCLUDING DEPRESSION, ANXIETY AND BI-POLAR DISORDER, AND SUICIDE/SUICIDAL THOUGHTS. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE SUBJECTS, I WOULD ADVISE YOU NOT TO READ THIS. There will be trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter, so stay safe, buddies!

Next Chapter

................

Virgil Grant sighed as Set It Off began to play over his headphones. Wincing, he lifted his hand up to brush the side of his face, where a patch of his skin was flaming red. Judging by the stinging, it was definitely going to bruise. Not that Virgil wasn't used to bruises, he'd had his fair share. And not just from testosterone fueled jerks, either.

Despite the music blasting in his ears, Virgil heard a faint shout of " Hey faggot!" come from the neighbors garden. He kept his eyes on his shoes as he walked, too tired to bother dealing with the snide-comments made by the neighbors kids. While he knew he was safe, he couldn't help his heart from picking up the pace.

The comment was usually associated with a fist to the face.

He dragged himself up his doorsteps, shoulders sagging. Humming along to Hourglass, he reached into his coat pocket for the small key that would permit him entry into the brick house in front of him. A few moments later he unlocked the door to his foster parent's home. Comforting cinnamon-scented warmth enveloped him, a welcomed change from the strangely chilly air outside.

"Janice?" His voice rung through the empty corridor as he made his way down. Despite the fact he was wearing a coat and his hoodie, Virgil shivered at the heavy silence that seemed to have set over the house. "Virgil? We're in the living room, honey." Virgil made a beeline for the door, for a distraction from his troubled thoughts. He moment he stepped through the doorway, he was attacked by a swirl of auburn hair and green shawls. Virgil grinned as he returned his foster mother's hug.

"Virgil! How was school?" She drew away, before gasping. "What happened to your face?"

Virgil frowned, before bringing his hand up to touch the still stinging bruise on his left cheek. "Oh. It's nothing." "Was it those boys again?" asked her husband Mike from his spot on the couch. Virgil nodded. "Yeah. It's no big deal though, they got detention from Mrs Black afterward."

"Still, Virgil. Are you sure you don't want us to complain?" Virgil broke himself out of his foster mum's grasp before heading to the kitchen in the corner of the open-plan room.

"Yeah, I'm sure. The teachers know already, it won't make much of a difference." He started as he caught sight of the silent figure sitting on the couch opposite his parents. Fuck, a warning maybe?

"Virgil!" reprimanded Janice. "What?" he replied still staring at the man. "Language!" He'd said that out loud? "Sorry. Um, who are you?" he said, the question coming off harsher than he intended. "No problem, Virgil. My name is Steven, I'm a social worker. I'm friends with Jess?" The name of the old social worker brought a small smile onto the pale teen's face.

"How is she?" "She's fine." said the man, smiling. "If you wouldn't mind sitting down, we have something to talk about." Virgil shot an alarmed look at his parents, panic bubbling up in his chest. They weren't getting rid of him, were they? Sure he'd only been in two foster homes, but he really, really, liked this one. Sure, school wasn't the easiest, but it still worked!

"Virgil, it's nothing bad. We promise." said Janice smiling. The teen glanced at her skeptically, chewing on his bottom lip. Still, he followed her into the center of the room.

The social worker watched this exchange with interest, directing his attention to Virgil in particular. Once Virgil had taken off his coat, leaving him in his hoodie, the conversation began.

"So you are Virgil, correct?" Virgil blinked. "Yes...?" "And you suffer from depressive anxiety and PTSD?" The names of his disorders put a sour taste in Virgil's mouth. He nodded. "How have you been coping with those lately?" Virgil shrugged. He was liking this less and less by the second. "Um..." "Virgil, darling, please answer the question." To be honest, that made Virgil want to answer it less.

"Uh, the PTSD's okay...?" He looked at his foster father, who nodded encouragingly. "Um, my therapist says I need to try trust people more... The anxiety's alright too, no big issues really." Steven hummed, flipping through a familiar yellow file.

"I spoke to your psychiatrist-" Shit. "He says that he's had to give you a new type on anxiety medication?" "Yeah." "Why is that?" Why? What type of stupid question is that? "Because the old one wasn't working." mumbled Virgil, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"Any particular reason?" "I dunno! Because it wasn't, okay?" he snapped. "Virgil, calm down-" "I can't." said the teen through gritted teeth, wishing desperately that he could flip up his hood. Steven looking at him concerned. "My apologies, Virgil. I did not mean to overstep my boundaries." Virgil felt quite sure Steven was aware of what he'd been doing. "S'fine."

"Alright, down to business then." That wasn't business?

"Virgil, I do not mean to say I know you more than you do, but it is clear that your mental health has not been the best as of late. Staying with the Wilson's has improved it, certainly, but you might need a bit of extra help." Extra help? What, are they sending me to a nuthouse or something?

"For the past few years, a certain social experiment has been under way. Well, not exactly an experiment, but-" "Virgil, there's this school. We think it can help." Virgil felt like a shard of ice had pierced his chest.

"A-a school? So what, you're going to ship me off to some school for crazy people?" Virgil felt his hands clamp into fists as he stared around at the adults in the room. Mike looked away, uncomfortable, while Janice took his arm.

"Honey, no! We have no intention of shipping you off. But Steven's been talking to us about it, and we think it can help!" "So you're sending me to a nuthouse."

"Virgil, hear me out. Yes, it is a school for people, primarily adolescents with mental health issues. But in no way is it a nuthouse! Think of it more like a rehabilitation center. It teaches young people how to deal with their mental illnesses in real world situations. Kind of like Hogwarts."

Virgil looked at his foster parents, wide eyed. They couldn't actually be considering this, could they?

"Virgil, just give it a try. It could be good for you, you know. Just one term. If you don't like it, you can come right back. It'll be a chance to start over!" "I think I've had plenty of chances to start over." said Virgil, his tone suddenly cold.

"Virgil," he turned to face Steven. "The concept of the school is hard to convey, but everybody who's been sent there in the past few years have all come out better. Most enjoyed it, actually. I now it sounds dodgy, but it works. And it improves the mental state of almost everyone who goes through their system.

"I'm sure you'll have more than a few doubts about this, but it will help you. I say this with absolute certainty. I have to leave now, but take this." He reached into his carrier bag and pulled out a green zip-up folder. "It's information on the school. It can explain more than I can. Janice and Mike already have a copy, but unless you agree to it, we won't take any further steps." Steven flashed him a reassuring smile.

"If you do wish to enroll, however, contact details are in the book. It would be appreciated if you could send your verdict to the school before Monday." Steven stood up, snapping shut the manilla folder in his hand.

"Until next time, Virgil. Mr and Mrs Wilson." A nod of acknowledgement later, and Steven was walking out, accompanied by Janice.

Virgil turned to Mike, who gestured to the folder in his hand.

"Go on, son. Janice and I have already read it." Virgil looked down at the folder, unzipping it quickly. Sure, he liked where he was now, but a change in schools would be appreciated. It's not like he enjoys being beaten to pulp daily.

Virgil scanned through a small booklet titled Queren Institute of Mental Health. Virgil could understand Steven's comparison of it to Hogwarts. The school was comprised of five sections. Not houses, but different categories of mental illness. It seemed that these categories shared dormitories and had similar schedules.

It didn't seem that bad.

Janice walked into the living room and locked eyes with her husband. She walked over to Virgil cautiously, as if trying not to startle him. After sitting herself down, she broke the silence.

"So, what do you think, Virgil?" The purple-clad teen's eyes flickered up to meet Janice's, and he made a nonchalant motion with his head.

"It's okay." he said. "Seems kind of odd, though." "Steven described it as a community," began Janice. "You would go about with normal lessons from nine 'till two, and then you would go for a therapy session. The rest of the day is yours, apart from one elective." By this point Virgil couldn't say he wasn't interested.

"I'll think about it."

Both his foster parent's faces broke into large smiles.

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dannyd0levito · 4 years ago

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September 26, 2020

I’m not sure why, but I find myself not being able to look directly outside through the window. It’s blue and grey, and quite gorgeous as the world wakes up. I’ve been awake since 5:12 a.m. myself. I’m reading a book I don’t remember the name of, but it inspires me to type out my feelings as I find my eyes blurring and my chest get tight. My throat has been dry and caught the entire time I read it.

It’s a story of a 17-year-old girl who has had a bad run in with someone named Fucking Frank, coping with the loss of her friend, Ellis, who attempted suicide and didn’t die, but lost enough oxygen to her brain to essentially be a vegetable. She was homeless, her father and dog dead at some point and her mother physically abusive, and she was raped. She tries to escape everything by cutting so deeply with broken mason jar glass in an attempt to end the buzzing and pain but ends up in a hospital and is later transferred to an all-girl nut house. Now, she’s staying at a friend’s studio home, which is really a done-up garage, and struggles to find a sense of normal.

I found myself relating to it a little too much all at once. It reminds me of my time at Heritage Oaks off Auburn Boulevard in Citrus Heights. I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I think I was living in Orangevale in Sarah’s studio-home at the time. I think Charlie and I weren’t technically together at the time because I remember a guy in the loony bin taking an interest in me, which now that I think of it, might have been the first and only time in my life a person took interest in me first. I often forget about it, though, because everyone was crazy in that place. He gave me his number before I was discharged at the end of my two weeks and told me the day he was going to be released. I waited in the parking lot for him that day, but never saw him walk out. I haven’t heard from or seen him again.

A couple months later, the crazy festered more and I tried to find him since he wasn’t answering calls or texts, no acknowledgment of the voicemail I had left. I found his name on the Internet associated with a pizza place in Chico. I remember calling them, the woman who answered sounding very skeptical and confused, but promising to pass on the message that Dani was calling for him. I don’t even remember his name. It’s stalkerish and creepy to do that, now that I look back on it. But I didn’t know this at the time and had no ill-intent. I just wanted to connect to someone who seemed to like me and see me, even when I was at my lowest point. I figured if someone could like me in there, then they could like me for who I really was.

But I was wrong once again.

I’m tearing up as I write this, but it’s not sadness. I don’t know what it is exactly. Something deeper, more like grief and depression and hopelessness. A loss of some kind. Innocence, maybe?

Everything hurts in me right now and feels dark. The void is opening back up for some reason. I was getting so good at bottling my emotions – I envision a mason jar – and sucking it back into some hidden away part of me, but that fucking book opened it all back up.

I’m relating to that 17-year-old girl somehow, but she was worse off than me. Sure, I attempted suicide that landed me in the nuthouse years ago. I don’t remember how old I was at the time. I think old enough to drink, maybe. Maybe it was 2015.

I would’ve been 21 at the time, turning 22 July of that year, but I had been drinking and doing drugs long before then.

I started smoking pot heavily after I started working at KFC when I was 16. I was vehemently against alcohol until I met Charlie. I was against it because of my mom.

I don’t know why I clung to that relationship like I did. I don’t even remember who he was anymore. But that happens with all of my exes. At some point, I think I’m so enshrouded in a cloud of dissociation, I never really see them for who they are. They become an extension of myself that I project onto. And I don’t really know who’s fault that is. I’ve been told I’ve gaslit others and had it done to me in return by soon-to-be ex-husband. But I don’t really know if I believe the latter.

I think I paint myself in a better light so someone will pity me at the very least. Making myself the victim and manipulating others to feel bad can be easy. But I really try not to. I’ve just heard that I do that. I don’t consciously do it, I just talk about how I’ve felt and what has happened to me in the past, and I talk about it casually because I know that despite how fucked up it sounds, I brought it all onto myself. Therefore: do not feel bad for me. Shit sucks wall-to-wall, but I know it was of my own curation and I’m at fault.

I think about how alone my dad is. He has his friends and has always been very charismatic, but he has also been very manipulative emotionally. I never could get a full read on him. Sometimes, he seems quite jovial and polite and nice, like he’s really turning a corner and opening up. Then the more time I spent with him, the real him came out incrementally. If it happened all at once, he’d scare people away. But to normalize it slowly over time traps a person and they don’t realize it until years later what has been done. I think that’s why Marie left him without any warning and won’t go back.

I’m like him in my own eyes. I don’t have an identity; if someone were to ask me who I am, I wouldn’t know how to answer. I’m a person, but I struggle with assigning even a gender to myself. I’m a biological woman, but I don’t feel like one. It’s not gender dysphoria because I don’t feel like a man, either. But something a little further down the road. I don’t feel like a woman because I don’t feel like a person at all. At best, I can describe my experience up to this point as watching the world through a lens, like a movie that I’m witnessing.

I dissociate so often that I can’t remember most of my past and don’t even know when it’s happening. Others around me can’t pin-point when it occurs either. I’m really good at switching on auto-pilot. I’m existing at this point, not thriving or living. I’m usually okay with this.

Occasionally, the cracks deepen and the emotions seep out a little. Like this morning. I think it’s been about a decade since I’ve written my emotions down like this. As a kid, I had tons of journals and treated them as the friend I never had: something to keep all my secrets.

I still don’t have friends. The closest I have to this is Jerry. Everyone else is an acquaintance. But I don’t even view Jerry as a friend, or really a person. But I don’t say this out of spite or hatred, or anything malevolent. I think it’s just due to my morphing him as part of my weird way of viewing life through a gaussian blur filter. I know he’s a living, breathing individual and yet somehow, I see him as just another extension of myself. I’m still not sure how to explain it, but he’s not real to me anymore.

Once upon a time, he was. Something happened to me between now and then, though. I fought hard for him from mid-2018 through about September of 2019. He really drew me to him, someone who could understand how bleak life really is for some of us and all the depth of pain a person can experience without being able to fully comprehend. Broken to broken, blind leading the blind.

It was a mistake I now see. But not a regretful mistake. Just a natural one, like with everyone else in my past. Tom was a mistake. Charlie was a mistake. And every other man and boy before him depending on what age I was.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve come apart like I am this morning. I guess I needed to at some point or I’d lash out again. It was cyclical for a couple years, my emotions. Despite how fucking terrible I felt every waking moment and wanted to end the pain, I could count on it. But I’ve been empty since maybe February of this year. Jerry screamed at me and something inside me snapped. It’s not his fault, I incite anger in others and goad them. But something in breaking him broke me, I think. I’ve been an empty vessel ever since. It’s pleasant not feeling most of the time, but when I do, it’s like I’m crying over the deceased and I don’t know why.

I’ve been hurting a lot lately. I’m upset I can’t remember the good times from exes. Not for any reason in particular other than taking personal inventory of how my brain works. I remember some times from Tom, like us going to the San Francisco zoo for his birthday in 2016 so he could see the bears since they’re his favorite. I remember having a good day and I even have photos saved from that day, but I don’t remember emotionally. It doesn’t feel like that day even existed. I often daydream about being saved by someone and that memory holds the same sensation.

Now he’s divorcing me. I don’t exactly remember where things went wrong, but I know it’s because of me. It was before 2018 when I started to get frustrated with us. He was calm and very nice, but also very cold. I know I got to see a part of him he didn’t allow anyone else to see, something reserved for significant others, and yet we couldn’t speak each other’s love language. His was touch, mine was thinking. He picked the wrong damaged person. My ability to love through touch has been skewed through rape, molestation, and sexual assault before him. Then, the same things happened while I was with him. Once from a man posing as a Lyft driver in 2018 when we had a fight at Pre-Flite on Kati’s birthday. Once in early 2019 when a “friend” from Bakersfield came all the way up to see me under the guise of missing me from high school and as an opportunity to catch up; he instead sodomized me in his hotel then left right after, but not before I offered to buy him dinner. He was antsy the whole time and during dinner, he took a pretend call saying his girls got hurt and he had to drive all the way back home. I tried to make it work logically in my mind, saying that this happens, it’s okay, he didn’t do what I think he just did. But I never heard from him again. Then Tom did it. I don’t think he meant to do it, but I can’t answer that honestly anymore. He had pent up sexual frustration and unfortunately, my experience with the men in my life included that in the form of rape. I know not all men are bad, and I know it’s my fault for picking people like this. But it still hurts. Right after I moved out, summer of 2019 when we separated, we got drunk at Burning Barrell. I was too much to drive, so he took me back to his place where I promptly blacked out. A few hours later I woke up undressed but not remembering how that happened. I was disoriented because I didn’t remember the drive home and it terrified me for a moment as I didn’t recognize his room already, though it was maybe only a month after I moved out. I panicked and put two-and-two together, feeling violated by my own husband and his sad confusion as he apologized. I know he didn’t mean it. I think. But I wailed and sobbed and felt robbed all the same.

I’m the most stable I’ve ever been as of this year. I lost almost 50 pounds, cleared my skin, and stopped drinking and doing drugs, which were primarily weed and cocaine. And yet, I feel the emptiest I’ve ever felt. I think I’m technically in a relationship with Jerry and I say so because I think he believes that, but we’re not in my mind. I don’t know who he is and I’ve closed away most of who I am because he would scream at it. I hide behind dark humor and anger towards outside sources that don’t matter, like the anti-maskers and the Black Lives Matter protesters, and I live in a world where I’m white but I’m also not entirely, but I’m afraid to feel the way I do because to not support something that I can’t make the emotional space for makes me the evil one.

I can’t help it. I don’t care about police brutality. I don’t care about the conservative agenda and how Trump is admitting to dictatorship if he loses the election. I don’t even care about myself, so how can one expect me to support things outside of what affects me directly?

I have to go back to feeling nothing shortly. Today is Steph’s birthday. I have to collect my innards and mush them back into place and paint my face into something acceptable because to be anything else but cheerful would be selfish. This is not a day for me; that day comes once a year and passes as quickly as it arrives because I don’t emotionally celebrate it. Sometimes, people around me do, but I surely don’t. Every year I get closer to 30, I feel more and more disillusioned and like a failure.

I told myself if I were alive by 30, I’m ending it. I think I still hold that promise to myself. Except I’ve attempted suicide several times now and it hasn’t worked out yet. I’m not afraid of eternal death and don’t believe in any sort of afterlife, but I’m afraid of the pain, then fucking it up, then ending up worse off than I was before – paralyzed, a brainless zombie with no consciousness like those who experience hypoxia, and being unable to finish the job.

#depression grief emptiness cananyonehearme mentalillness rape sexualassault molestation abuse dissociation mentalhealth rage

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hiyo-silver · 6 years ago

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Chapter one: Act I - Marionette

Summary: Richie gets distracted on the way to give a letter to the post office for his father.

AO3

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @starboystan @rachi0964 @shewasthewind @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose1122 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopreddie @peachywyatt

Richie whistles an upbeat tune to himself, a bounce in his step, swinging his arms in front and back of himself, seeing a woman walking and clicking his tongue and giving her finger guns, his awkward eight year old of flirting.

He hops over a crack in the sidewalk, can't break good ole Mags' back can I? he thinks to himself with a grin. He kicks a pebble far in front of himself, running to keep up with it just to kick it again.

Really, he's supposed to be doing something important, walking a letter to the post for his father, but his chaotic brain can't seem to let him focus and he's made about four detours on this walk. So far he's; caught a frog and named him Jerry and released him into a nearby pond, picked at least a dozen dandelions in worry that his wish would come true only if he made it twelve times, realized he set the letter on a bench back by the pond, and finally, he'd been distracted by a girl on the sidewalk with impeccable yo-yo skills that 100% rival his own.

He steps dramatically over another crack, shaking his hand up and down next to himself, needing to keep his body going. He finally sees town more in sight, almost jumping for joy as the post office comes into his line of vision. I've made it!

He skips the rest of the way to the red brick building, standing tall despite Derry always having the same one. He sucks in a breath at the thought of the name of his town, that sweet Derry-air, he grins to himself.

He opens the door with the sweet jingle of the bell. He steps up to the counter with a buck-toothed grin and eyes full of mischief. "Oy! Excuuuuse me, mister, I believe I give this to you?" He asks, tilting his glasses down on his nose as he passes the envelope over the counter.

The man turns from sorting mail to meet Richie's eyes, enlarged and almost bug-like behind his glasses, "Outgoing?" The man asks, not affected in the least by Richie's behavior anymore, a long time worker here, and the day can't come soon enough when he gets to retire.

"Outgoing!" Richie exclaims back, swinging his arm with a snap, "Ah, Jim, you always get me," he grins, giving him the same flirty finger guns he'd given the woman earlier just for the laughs, mostly only on his end.

Jim only nods, taking the letter, "Have a nice day, young man," he says, tilting down his own glasses to Richie in acknowledgement of him.

Richie grins, miming tipping an imaginary hat to the familiar man, turning on his heel to challenge himself to a race out the door, the jingle of the bell only a distant sound as he's already several paces down the sidewalk by the time the door slowly starts to close against the air pressure.

Jim sighs, plopping into his old leather chair, rubbing between his eyebrows, not knowing Richie's first name, but he does know that the kid is a walking headache.

The soles of Richie's worn sneakers smack against the pavement with a clap that satisfies him, eventually slowing down to a walk. He may be energetic, but it says nothing of him being in shape in any way. He huffs and puffs on his walk from then on. He runs his hand through his matted curls to get them off his forehead for a moment, the sun beating on the dark strands and leaving him sweating.

He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, making him look anxious and uncomfortable. He's not though, just hyperactive. People have told him he's bound to end up in a nuthouse one day, and he tells them he'll end up ruling the place, perfect place to practice my comedy! he'd say to them.

He slows to a stop in front of the park, looking up at the wrought iron arch, Derry Park, it reads to him after he shoves his glasses further up his nose. Promised dad I'd go straight there and straight back- already ruined the first part. Nothing to lose, he tells himself, allotting himself twenty minutes, though he doesn't wear a watch and he'd never know.

Really, the park is more of a square, the playground is an entirely separate deal, the park is where adults walk around on their phones and teens clasp hands for the first time, and it often wasn't very interesting but something today drew Richie in anyways.

He sees a man dancing yarn woven dogs on strings, muttering soft sounds as he does. He's just another man that people threaten to send to the nuthouse, but to Richie, he's the coolest man to ever exist. He approaches, watching how each leg is controlled by a separate string and deciding that he's definitely not coordinated to do that. But giving something life and a character, now that's something he'd like to do, for he already does in his everyday speaking. He himself is his greatest character split into many others.

"So- how'd'ya get into this business?" Richie asks the man, a slight lisp escaping from his buck tooth grin as he speaks with a lower confidence than he usually does, nothing but his own voice making it's way into the question.

"Bought the puppets," the man shrugs lamely, and Richie realizes that he doesn't even seem interested in a career that he could consider his dream. Entertaining people.

"Can I uh- y'know- give it a try?" He asks, cocking his head to the side innocently at his question. He puts out only one hand, only trusting himself with one at a time.

The man shrugs again, placing the damp-with-sweat wooden cross that holds the puppet up until Richie's palm, not realizing that he may be changing this young man's life forever.

Richie takes the form in his hand, dancing it around until he figures out how to get the dog into it's hind legs, bouncing it back and forth on the back legs, "Hello! I'm Mr. Dog, hehehe," he says in a high and airy voice, laughing to himself after, handing it back to the owner, "Thanks for letting me try, the strings may not be my thing," he admits, having to crouch down and untwist the strings a bit.

The man gives him a professional seeming nod, patting Richie's shoulder, "Good luck, kiddo," he says, forcing a genuine looking smile.

Richie nods back, walking studiously back home, his brain soaring with his plans for the future. He doesn't realize that it's past six as the summer sun stays in the sky. Talk through a puppet- yeah. Make money that way- yeah, the thoughts run through his head faster than a cheetah after it's prey.

He arrives home, leaning the gnome back to spy the spare key, unlocking it before replacing it, something he's finally made a habit of. He walks in, slipping his muddy sneakers off, "Ho-ome!" He yells.

Maggie immediately comes shuffling in, putting her hands on his cheeks and kissing his head, "You're late! I was working sick!" She scolds, too soft and worried to be intimidating.

Richie sighs, removing his mom's hands from his face, "Mom! I'm alright! I'm not like- seven anymore!" He argues, cracking a bit of a smile in attempt to soothe her nerves.

Maggie sighs, "Dinner's ready, it's about to be on the table, go wash up," she softens, patting his head awkwardly in her own way of affection.

Richie mopes off to the bathroom, running his hands under the sink, never the type he'd call a germ freak who would scrub under his fingernails, but a little dirt never hurt anyone. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, he thinks, ready to flip around and go off to the dining room.

He moseys his way to the table, plopping into his chair with a sigh, it's always been his, proven by the gum right under where his hands can reach under the seat, a reminder of why he's no longer allowed to chew gum, that and his horrible overbite.

"Food?" He asks, before Maggie comes up behind him and places his bowl from over his shoulder, the green bowl he usually insists on using, filled with mac n cheese. His mom knows his taste. She's not sure what else he likes, all she knows is that she can please him this way.

"My favorite!" Richie exclaims, picking up his fork excitedly to dig in.

His father's eyes lock with his, his pupils meeting Richie's exactly. "So, how was the trip to the post office?" He asks, his father may be a dentist but he can always feign the aura of a lawyer, but only for a few moments. "Have fun at the park?" He adds, cracking a smile before Richie can bubble with guilty anxiety.

Richie smiles back, "It was nice," he sighs, "I know what I want to be when I grow up," he says with a proud nod, not elaborating before going back to shoveling food down his throat, letting the thoughts keep to himself.

#it stephen king #it stephen king fanfic #it fanfic #it book #it novel #it movie #it movie 2017 #it 2017 #it 2019 #it1990 #my fics #it richie #it richie tozier #richie tozier #maggie tozier #wentworth tozier

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nonbinary-weirdo · 6 years ago

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Grell and Will helping at each others homework. "Will, these bloody finals are going to send me to a nuthouse."

"Its simple mathimatics, here, let me demonstrate." Will drew the math for Grell in a more practical way that he could understand and within minutes, Grells cracking codes.

"See?" Will chuckles "You could do it."

Grell hits his shoulder "Eh you taught me well, mr sexy b average."

Will rubbed his shoulder but helped clean up their books into bags. "Now you have nothing to fear during these exams coming. And we have free time to have a walk. If you're up to it."

Grell took his hand.

"I'd love to, dear."

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mabelmadnessss-blog · 8 years ago

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Impulse 20 - I’m cold

Impulse 19 - Deals change

All of Joker's henchmen drew their guns immediately and pointed it at the hooded figure now coming into view. Without hesitation, the Joker paced around the table, coming to stand directly face to face with the man.

The Joker lent forward and sniffed the air in a mocking like manner. "Do I smell a rat or a bat?" He asked.

"Neither." The dark figure answered, pulling off his hood. As soon as Harley saw the man underneath, she gasped.

J turned to look at her, then back at the man standing before them. "Crane." He growled, "Come to play with the big boys? I thought you were locked up in the Nuthouse?" Joker laughed, rolling his head back.

"Like you Joker...I had my means of escape." Crane said. His eyes suddenly darted towards Harley as he licked his lips. "She's a real beauty."

"You leave her out of this. Your problems with me, not her." J snapped. Moving to Crane's line of vision, causing him to break his eye contact with Harley.

"Oh J, did you really think I'd let you steal my toxin and use this dumb bitch to find my lab? You’re more insane than I thought." Crane moved forward. He gave a subtle gesture at Sam to grab Harley. Sam nodded and moved closer to her, but she was too busy watching the confrontation unfold in front of her eyes to notice. But thankfully for her Will did. He cocked his gun back within seconds and aimed it at Sam's head.

"One more move.. I dare you." He barked, tightening his grip. Suddenly the sound of another gun being drawn back was heard. Will turned his head sharply to see Adam pointing his own gun to the direction of his head.

Joker peeled his eyes away from Crane and narrowed them at Adam. "You double crossing little shit." He growled, drawing his own weapon to point at Adam.

Now there was a stand off, Will pointing a gun at Sam; Sam within arms reach of Harley, Adam pointing his gun at Will, and Joker holding his weapon at Adam. Crane took this opportunity of distraction to pull out his own firearm. He aimed it at Joker's head, cocking it back gently. Crane took a deep breath before raising his aim slightly. And before anyone could react. He pulled the trigger.

Harley flinched and closed her eyes as the shot rang out. She pinched her eyes shut tight, hoping that this was all just some horrible nightmare, that she’d wake up wrapped in the Joker’s arms. But she was soon snapped out of her silent prayer when she heard a body slump to the ground.

Please not J, please not J. She chanted. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she opened her eyes to see J still standing, without a scratch on his body. Her eyes scanned the room for the victim of the gunshot and then they suddenly stopped. Will was lying on the ground with a bullet in-between his eyes. Blood oozing out of the wound to paint the floor red.

"No!" She shouted. Shooting up out of her seat, Harley and ran towards Will. No one stopped her as she looked over his lifeless body and stroked his blood soaked hair out of his face. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto his stone, cold body. "Will." She whispered breathlessly.

Focusing in on the situation at hand, Adam lunged at Harley. Wasting no time, he pulled her away from Will's body, grabbing her wrists and pinning her against the wall harshly.

"Get off me!" Harley yelled, struggling under his grip. The Joker turned his attention to her, his heart raced at the sight of another man's hands touching her body, her skin. He growled and aimed his gun back at Crane.

"Get your ape’s hands off my things Crane." He snarled.

"Sorry I can't do that...I promised Sam he could have the bitch, and I never go back on my word." Crane walked around the Joker and over to Harley. Adam released her and pushed her forward. Stumbling, she now stood in front of Crane, completely at his mercy. As he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, she whimpered. His cold, calculating hands wiped her tears away and applied pressure against her bruised face.

"Touch her again and I swear to god I will kill you." Joker barked, his eyes suddenly darkened a few shades. He walked closer to them, not taking his eyes off his girl.

Noticing, Adam raised his gun in preparation for a firefight. "You're outnumbered Joker, your men aren't coming to save your sorry ass. It just the four of us..."

"Three." Joker retorted, pivoting on the balls of his feet he shot Adam without hesitation. Too quickly for him to react.

Crane's face snapped round to Joker's, still holding Harley firmly in his grip.

"Now we're even." J held his gun firmly, giving a reassuring wink to Harley. She smiled back, taking this as a signal to reach for her own gun. While Crane was distracted by drawing his own weapon, Harley slid her right arm down to the thigh, feeling for the holster. Carefully pulling up the dress fabric, she grasped the gun and ripped it out, aiming it directly at Crane. "Drop the gun Crane." Harley spoke firmly, pressing the barrel into the back of his head.

"Sam control your bitch." Crane chuckled.

"Harley please...put the gun down. That abusive, manipulative, disgusting clown isn't worth your life." Sam snapped, treading forward.

"Yes he is!" Harley yelled, her grip tightened on the gun that little bit more. She could just about see Joker's face over Crane's shoulder, and when her eyes met his, he smiled.

"Harley I don't know what he's said or done to you, but he's lying if he says he cares about you." Sam said, reaching his arm out. "Can't you see? You of all people should know that what you're feeling is just Stockho-"

"It's not Stockholm syndrome! I know my own mind! The only liar here is you! I ain't your girlfriend and I never will be, you’re a sick creep who can't take no for an answer. A delusional fuck that creates sick fantasies, because in reality you know I'd never be with a man like you." Harley’s head shot towards him, as her eyes glazed over in pure anger.

The Joker saw a glimpse of her cloudy eyes and laughed. "That’s my girl." Despite the situation, he was proud. This was just the push she needed.

Sam stood for a moment, completely lost for words. His fists began to shake in fury. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own gun aiming at Harley.

"Can we please stop with the fucking stand offs? It’s getting real boring." Joker remarked. He pulled his aim down to Sam's leg and quickly released a bullet. With a cry, Sam fell to the ground, howling in pain as he clutched his left knee.

"Fuck." Crane cursed. Now realising that he was outnumbered, Crane turned sharply, pushing Harley to the floor and running for the door.

The Joker growled under his breath, ignoring Crane’s attempt of escape, he rushed towards Harley. "Are you okay baby?" He grabbed her face harshly and searched her eyes for any sign of fear. She nodded with a slight smile. He grinned back, helping her to her feet. J held her to his chest, stroking her hair back soothingly. "You did Daddy proud."

"I'm sorry we argued J. I'm sorry I disobeyed you, if anything had happened I'd-" Harley said, lifting her head up to meet his gaze. And when the Joker looked back into her bright blue orbs, he couldn’t help himself. He had to kiss her. Cupping her jaw in his hands, he pulled her lips to his, taking her mouth hotly. Full of passion, fear and anger.

Sam, who was still crying out in pain on the floor. Lifted his head up slightly, his vision grew hazy but he could still make out a distinctive shape of a gun on the floor. It was Joker's gun, the one he gave to Harley. ‘Now who's laughing.’ He reached out for the gun and raised it at the blur of two lovers entwined before his eyes.

Suddenly the sound of a bullet ripped through the air, cutting through it like a butter knife. Both the Joker and Harley looked at each other when the sound erupted. Fear and shock both riddled in their blue eyes.

"J..." Harley whispered. Her voice shook as a single tear rolled down her cheek. The Joker’s eyes grew wide at the realisation, and before he could react, she slipped out of his arms and crumbled to the ground.

"Harley?! Harley?!" Joker yelled, falling to his knees in front of her. Harley’s eyes struggled to focus as his face appeared in her line of vision. J quickly wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her up into his lap. He scanned her body, seeing blood appear from her left shoulder. “Damnit.” He cursed. There was no exit wound, meaning that the bullet was still inside of her.

"J...it hurts...I can’t feel my arm..." She barely whispered, her pupils so desperately trying to focus on his face.

"Shh...it’s just a scratch baby." He said firmly. Harley's eyes fluttered in response to his words. In fear that she’d close them, he smacked his right palm roughly with her cheek. "Just keep looking at me Harls. Don't close your eyes. Do as Daddy says and keep them open."

"I'll try." She muttered, pinching them shut before opening them wider than before.

Smiling down at her, the Joker took her in his arms and stood gently, trying not to hurt her further. J looked around the room for Sam but by this time he had crawled away like the coward he is.

"Is this it?" She asked, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. “Am I going to die?”

"No, no we just need to get you home and get that bullet outta ya’." He snapped. “Stop being such a drama queen.”

Despite the pain she smiled at his words. "Home sounds good..."

The Joker ignored her and pushed open the door in front of him. He rushed down the stairs, with all the speed he possessed. "MOVE!" He shouted as he pushed past the clubbers, bouncers and businessmen.

The Joker dashed for the front door, narrowing his eyes at his purple Lamborghini. "Talk to me Harley, talk to me." He urged, noticing how silent she’d been.

“I hurt, it hurts…” She whimpered, allowing more tears to splash from her lash line.

“No, tell me something else, don’t focus on that.” He demanded angrily.

Even in excruciating pain, Harley could never disobey him. "Look at that moon." She whispered, glancing up at the silver disc, casting its glow onto her bloodstained skin. If she was going to die tonight, to her it would be perfect. Under the moon and the stars in the arms of her lover. She wouldn't of wanted it any other way.

"KEYS!" Joker suddenly shouted at the Valet which stood guard by his car. He snatched them off the boy and gently placed Harley in the passenger seat. Her arms fell from his neck limply. He cursed again and placed them on her lap securely. While her head rolled to the side, he slapped it lightly, trying to keep her awake. “Stay awake Harley! Look at me!”

"I'm cold." She muttered, her lips barely moving. Joker nodded and quickly slipped of his jacket and placed it over her. The warm of this double breasted, tailor made jacket encased her freezing form. She took a deep staggering breath, inhaling the musky cologne the had embedded itself into the fabric.

Not wasting too much time the Joker hopped into the driver's seat and sped down the streets of Gotham. He glanced at Harley's weak form every so often, and he could see that she was trying to fight the world of unconsciousness.

When they finally reached the hideout, he turned off the ignition and lept out of the car. He picked up her weak, weightless body and burst through the door and rushed straight to the kitchen. He supported her in one arm while his other completely cleared the table worktop, letting everything fall and clatter onto the ground. Hearing her whimper gently, he placed laid her down on top of the marble surface and ran to the kitchen draw. He pulled out a small but sharp knife, a small dish towel and the emergency first aid kit.

"Harley?" J urged, returning to her. He cupped her face softly and ran his thumb across her jaw. "Baby, this might hurt a bit. So you need to bite down on this." He rolled up the tea towel and placed it in her mouth firmly. She nodded weakly and gazed at him through water filled eyes.

The Joker gently rolled Harley onto her side to access the wound, it was small but the blood was still running out of her. He dabbed the wound with antiseptic, but when he did, her body tensed. She clamped her teeth around the towel and screamed into the cloth.

"Hold on, nearly done." He lied, reassuring her. Without further hesitation he quickly stuck the knife into the open flesh, digging around for the bullet. Harley's high pitched screams were muffled by the towel, but her body suddenly began to shake violently, hot tears continued to stream down her face.

"Hold still." He tried to steady her body with his left hand, while the other guided the knife back into her skin. Finally, he found some resistance against the blade. He tapped it with the tip of the knife and he knew instantly that it was the bullet that was wedged in her body. Now all he needed to do is to get right angle to pick it out. Taking a growling breath, he moved the blade and let it gentle edge the bullet to the surface. He grabbed some tweezers from the first aid kit and pulled it out slowly, trying not to cause any more damage.

"Got the little bastard." He snarled and threw the bullet into the sink. Harley's body relaxed slightly when she heard the metal clink against the marble surface. The Joker instantly clean up the area and applied a padded bandage. He rolled Harley back over and his chest tightened at the sight of her. Harley’s face was wet with tears, her hair sticking to her cheeks stubbornly. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow.

J pulled the hair out of her face and removed the cloth from her mouth, her jaw relaxed but her lips were still slightly open. He picked up her now unconscious body from the table and walked towards the stairs, holding her tightly. He pushed open their bedroom door with his back and placed her on the bed gently.

After placing her down carefully, he climbed in next to her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. “I’m so proud of you baby.” Joker purred, tracing his fingers down her arm.

Harley stirred at his touch, using what little energy she had left, she tried to roll over and face him. But this was a mistake, she cried out in agony as a sharp pain shot through her entire body.

"No, don't move Harley." He said. Kissing her cheek, Joker moved closer, snaking his arms around her small frame, he gently pulled her closer until his chest was flush against her back.

A moment of silence settled before Harley moved her head to his direction. With her eyes still closed, she opened her mouth and whispered. "I love you."

#my writing #the joker #fan fiction #Harley quinn #jxhq #mad love #fics #jared leto joker #joker and harley quinn #Suicide Squad

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meirenarts-blog · 6 years ago

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Looney bin2 This was actually the first thing I drew while admitted. ... #cartoon #cartoons #cartoonist #cartoonists #cartoonart #cartoonarts #cartoonartwork #cartoondrawing #cartooncharacter #cartoonartist #gothiccartoon #pastelgothart #pastelgoth #psychward #looneybin #nuthouse #depression #greyscale #grayscale #sketch #sketchart #sketchartist #meirenarts https://www.instagram.com/p/BnIJYEPAgSA/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1l3rb05dhgx08

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midwesttiltking-blog · 8 years ago

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18- Most Beautiful Plague

This is not a direct continuation but the next part following Garrett’s story from what a posted last week. I tried out a different writing technique in this one to show what two characters are going through at the same time. Tell me how you feel about it

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Kevin stood in the backyard admiring his new blade. They had received the supplies from Paul. Kevin and Matt both wore bullet proof vests. Inside the shoulders of Kevin had attached a cape. A black flag with a spray painted fist overtop of a heart. Along with the vests they had received a whole arsenal of guns and grenades and Paul sent a sword specially crafted for Kevin. He held it up to the sunlight, unlike the katana he preferred this was a straight blade. The metal was long and narrow a shimmering silver. The cross hilt resembled golden wings with a brilliant Ruby in the center. Along the the edge of the blade a beautifully elegant engraving read ‘The light within darkness. The voice of the silent’. Kevin lowered the blade pointing it toward Matt “What should I name it?”

Matt Shrugged “I don't know swords are just tools I never consider naming mine”

“The Pig Slayer?”

“Nah, that makes it sound like a prison shank”

“Hmmmmmm” Kevin flourished the blade then jumped swinging the blade upward.

“You aren’t going to name it the falchion”

“How did you know that is what I was thinking?!”

“It’s not a god damned falchion!”

Garrett wandered the streets of Lansing. The city wasn’t anything like the ones him and Matt had liberated. There were no bodies laying around. There were no broken buildings. The city looked perfectly preserved and completely empty. From time to time Garrett would duck into buildings to avoid drones and armored vehicles which patrolled the street. Garrett looked through buildings around the city trying to find anyone or anything that may lead him to Klint.

“Where the hell is he” Garrett punched through a window. He immediately heard the sound of an armored vehicle approaching the building he was in. He dove behind the counter holding his breath. After a few moments he heard the vehicle pull away and he walked back out onto the streets.

“Luna” Kevin grinned waiting for Matt’s snide response.

“You are going to name your sword after her? Risky, what if you guys break up?”

“Not gunna happen”

“What if a pirate swoops in and steals her from you” Matt drew his blade and approached Kevin.

“I’ll take down your whole fleet to get her back! I’ve seen the way you look at her when you guys practice in the mornings! I’ve seen her blush at your comments. I’ll have your head Pirate King”

Moon laughed hearing Kevin’s declaration as she slide open the door to the back yard.

Kevin turned to look at her but before he could say anything Matt knocked his sword out of the way and placed his blade at Kevin’s throat “You will do no such thing you haughty peasant. You will never reach the princess because you are weak.”

Moon jumped from the porch drawing her blade and clashing with Matt “This princess doesn’t need saving” She clashed blades with Matt a few times before kicking him away.

Kevin ran to her side and knelled, crossing his blade over his heart “m’lady please give me the honor of slaying knave in your stead”

Moon sighed as she put her blade away “You are right he is too lowly for the likes of me. Do your best servant and you will be rewarded properly when we reach the homeland”.

Garrett looked down at the phone Kevin had given him. The battery was still alive. He opened the contacts for a moment, then shut the screen off and continued on. Getting hungry Garrett decided to look for something to eat. To his surprise the Nuthouse was lit up as if still operational. He slowly approached the building, from the outside he could see figures moving around inside. Once he got to the doors he saw they were humans, his muscles relaxed as he pulled the door open. The waitress seated him and took his order “Double whiskey coke and the biggest burger you have on your menu, and an order of wings” Garrett sat calmly eating, the TV’s replayed an old UFC fight, Garrett watched mentally critiquing their techniques and considering adding some of the moves to his arsenal. A waiter approached the table “ Are you enjoying your meal Garrett?”

“How’d you know who I am?”

The waiter grabbed Garrett and began to lift him up. Garrett grabbed his fork stabbing it into the waiter's arm, the fork went down an inch and stopped. No blood came out from the stabbed wound as Garrett pulled the fork back. “Calm down Garrett”

“What the fuck?!”

“I’m glad to see how much energy you still have, you truly are a great friend. This was one of my favorite places, so I got it operating as soon as I could. Eventually the whole city will be like this.”

Garrett struggled to break free from the waiters grip. Eventually wiggling his arm loose he punched the waiter in the face, causing his assailant's neck to snap back and cables became exposed. Garrett shook his hand in pain after the hit and picked up the knife tackling the robot to the ground. “You are strong. You will be more valuable as an undead than erased” The robot raised a finger against Garrett’s skin. With his other arm it pressed Garrett’s shoulder forward. Using his free arm Garrett sawed away at the exposed cables. Before he could finish the robot off the machine punctured his skin. He did not react to the pain as he dragged the knife across the robot’s throat cutting loose the cables.

Kevin stood up, he and Matt tapped the edges of their blades together and started their battle. Kevin tried to wield the sword with only one hand at first but found his speed had dropped significantly. Once Kevin switched over Matt struggled to hold his defense against Kevin's heavy strikes. He amped up his footwork to compensate aiming to wear Kevin out before looking to strike. Kevin chased him around the yard swinging wildly. Matt blocked a strike and lead Kevin’s blade to the ground. Kevin attempted to pull it out of the dirt but before he could the basket hilt from Matt’s blade impacted his chest. He flew back wards his chest heaving trying to catch his breath. Moon walked down and put her arms around Matt.

“They will be here soon don’t worry” The waitress now speaking to him. Garrett stood up testing the mobility of his left arm. The injury was surprisingly shallow not affecting his ability to move very much. He grabbed a chair and ran at the waitress “You’ll lead a better life, you should thank me”. The chair smashed against the robot knocking it to the ground. He lifted the greeter's podium and dropped it on the robot’s head. “You’ll get to be with her again.” Now the voice came from the bartender.

Garrett jumped over the bar putting his hands on the robot’s throat “When I find you Klint. I going to put my hands on your throat like this and I’m going to hold you there for as long as you can handle it, and just before you pass out i'm going to squeeze every inch of your will to live out of your fucking body. Hearing the bones in your neck crack will sound like angels singing to me”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that Garrett” He snapped the robot's neck bringing an end to the conversation.

“Looks like you are too weak, just like the Pirate King said. I guess I'll spend my days making sweet sweet love to him” Moon ran her hand along Matt’s cheek

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Kevin ran towards Matt hammering his blade down. Matt barely able to block fell backward to the ground. Putting his left hand to the back of his blade he sustained the next strike. Spit flew from Kevin’s mouth, his teeth grit as he continued the attack. “You! Won’t! Take! Her! From! ME!” Matt rolled to the side kicking out Kevin’s right leg. As Kevin fell to the ground he drew his secondary blade blocking a slash aimed at his chest. He swung with Luna stopping just before hitting Matt’s shoulder. “I DID IT!” Kevin stood up and pointed his sword to the sky “Luna is a powerhouse!”

Garrett walked behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey he opened it and poured some onto his wound then took a swig. He tore of some part of the shirt the robo-bartender was wearing and tied it around his arm. He winced as he struggled to tie off his bloody shoulder, the pain began to set in. He pulled the cellphone out again. Fiddling with it for a few moments having trouble moving his hand steady to navigate the menu’s. He got to the contacts and scrolled down to a name “Jack Leader Of The Rebellion.”

Matt got to his feet and bowed “It was an honor fighting you, may we both learn and grow from this battle”

“Ah all cordial in a lost but no mercy in a victory huh? I see how you are!” Kevin sheathed his blade and patted Matt on the back, “Well let’s go see how Darrin is doing with the battle training huh?”

They made their way toward the old elementary school Kevin swung his arms excessively looking up to the sky as he walked. Moon ruffled his hair to get his attention “you know you’ve gotten pretty strong since we’ve started this adventure.”

He shrugged “really you think so?”

“Yeah, you were exchanging blows with Garrett, now you beat Matt in a duel”

“You helped” Matt muttered from the back.

She tilted her head back to Matt over her shoulder “Barely, he beat you fair and square”. Pulling herself back to Kevin she continued “It’s pretty incredible when you think about it, not like Darrin or I have gotten that much better”

Kevin smiled at her “Well if you believe in yourself you can do anything” Matt and Moon sighed in unison.

“Row row fight the power” Kevin’s phone began to ring. The screen read “The God of War”. Kevin froze in his tracks as he answered the phone.

“Hey bro, what’s up”

“Hey Kevin… I think I fucked up.

“Look man, you don’t have to apologize”

“Nah, I think I’m done. He’s got patrol cars, robots all over the city, don’t trust any humans you see”

“What do you mean your done”

“I’m feeling weak. I don’t think I can fight anymore”

“Don’t give up Garrett, were coming to get you rig-”

“No. Don’t, don’t risk your life for me, This is where it ends for me. I’m so sorry”

“Don’t talk to me like that Garrett. Y-y-ou are s-s-s-still breathing it isn’t over!”

“I saw you there. I saw all of us together, and I just couldn’t shake this feeling, that it’s never gunna be the same ever again. Those good old days are never coming back. I’ll never see her again, I’ll never be able to smile the way you do”

“I never wanted you to go Garrett. I didn’t want this! I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s not your fault Kevin. Just make sure when you see him. You remember what he did to me, what he did to your other friends. Don’t let him talk you out of your convictions.”

“When I have kids, I going to tell them you killed a million zombies in the final battle and saved everyone”

“Heh, at least somebody will remember me fondly”

“Garrett. No matter our differences, I always fucking loved you.”

“Love you to bro”

Kevin hung up his phone and wiped away a few tears, not responding to the questions Matt and moon fired at him.

Garrett stood up facing a horde of zombies. He whipped the phone into the crowd knocking a few over. He vaulted over the bar and flew first first into the fray. His first hit knocking a zombie's head clear off. Another one grabbed his wounded arm. Turning his wrist he grabbed the zombies arm as well and pulled backward ripping the zombies arm off as it fell to the ground. The next bit his open arm the monster’s teeth failing to pierce his skin. With the zombie still clamped he bashed his forearm against a column the Zombies skull separated at the jaw the bottom half collapsing to the ground while the top rolled forward off of his arm. He kicked a chair up into a few zombies. Rushed forward he tackled them to the ground the chair separating him from the rotting flesh. His fist continuously pounded down smashing the flesh bags into paste. Garrett felt a pinch on his calf turning to see the now armless zombie attempting to feast on him. He turned back putting both hands on the zombies skull he pushed inward until the skull shattered. Another zombie bit his shoulder. Its teeth reaching his open wound. He flipped onto his back his shoulder smashing the zombie into the floor. Flipping up to his feet he looked on seeing the hoard was still fighting to get into the bar. He swung his arms in a wide stance sending zombies flying every direction. He pushed one zombie against the wall. Forcefully ramming his fist into the undead. He ripped out a rib bone. Using the bone he pierced the zombie straight through the forehead and pulled it out. Using the bone as a dagger he stabbed into the next one's throat it, it caught on some tended and he pulled again losing the head from the body. His breath began to fail him as he fought back the hoard. Eventually one was able to knock him over. His sight began to fade as he swung out randomly. Finally he opened his fist. From the back of his waistband he pulled out the pistol Darrin had given him. He put it to his head and pulled the trigger. He felt no heat, heard no bang. The gun was empty. Garrett laughed as he let it fall to the floor. “I’m sorry Ericka. I’m so useless.”

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