#like oh empty glass ? owo i’ll fill it back up !

[bibleofficial]

punya told me that i’m referred to as a ‘one way map’ bc i’ll get everyone there, but someone else needs to take me back [bc i’d have progressively gotten to drunk to get home]

[selfships-in-spanish]

*sneaks on in to eat the food in ur fridge* in the mafia Au Ona probably would easily become a leverage target for other groups or ganga who wanna fuck with Hank and his fam. OwO ooo i wonder how many would end up dead if Ona went missing and the boys went absolutely batshit to get her back.

Anon you’re more than welcome to raid my fridge. I think there’s some gazpacho and tortilla de patatas leftovers :D

BUT ANON OH MY GOD. OKAY. THIS TURNED INTO AN ALMOST 4K WORD SNIPPET. HOLY SHIT OKAY. I’m sorry I took so long! But I really wanted to write this right (at least as right as I can) and give you something to wait until I finish the celebration drawing. I’m swamped with work and I was itching to work on this instead, but :_) duty calls first.

ENJOY!

Warnings: there will be blood and some violent details. As expected of a mafia crime-lord son when he goes berserk.

Connor’s keys fell to the polished wood floor with a deafening thud.

Everything was in its place. The cushions of the sofa where they left them the night before, the blanket that Richard neatly folded on Ona’s spot, Connor’s books on the coffee table, the big bouquet of flowers they brought home to her two days ago in their beautiful vase.

Everything was in its place, sans the note on the living room table.

Richard was eerie still, knuckles white.

“She’s a pretty one, we will have fun.”

Connor wanted to shred the note into pieces. He wanted to scream, he wanted to kick the chair and flip the table in utter rage. Instead, he sat down on the nearest chair and held his head in his hands, messing up his perfectly styled hair. He failed in keeping her safe, he failed spectacularly, and the guilt and shame of it was consuming him.

Richard sat down on the opposite chair, his fists trembling. Connor knew that sometimes Richard would have one of his episodes and go berserk, the trembling of his hands was telltale. He will spare no mercy for those who took their precious sunshine away. Good. That’s what they needed now.

Still, how did this happen? How could they have swept her right under their noses? Connor made sure everything was under his control, that not a single detail escaped him, and yet they got her. He could feel the anxiety clawing at his insides, the dread of what they would do to her if both him and Richard didn’t find her on time.

They had to do something, act fast. Connor needed to think clearly.

“We have to call Father.” Richard’s voice was glacial. It would seem calm to anyone listening, but Connor knew the cold fury brewing in it. But he was right. Father had to know.

Connor stood up and tucked the note in his inside pocket, bending down to pick the fallen keys.

“Get the car, I’ll call him on our way.”

Richard followed Connor, closing the door with the upmost care, as if he didn’t want to disturb their flat anymore than it already had been. Connor locked the door and trailed behind his brother, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He took off his leather glove and unlocked it, quickly tapping on Hank’s number. While Richard disappeared into the garage, Connor waited by the door. He heard the dial tone two times before the gruffy voice of Hank spoke. 

“Yes?”

“They have her.”

“What?” Connor heard Hank’s armchair creak under his weight as he sat up. “Ona? Who has her? Who is they?”

“I don’t know yet, but she’s not home and they left a note.”

“Dear God.” Connor could hear Hank’s voice being momentarily muffled by the dragging of his hand over his face. “Come home, we cannot waste time.”

As Hank spoke, Richard appeared accompanied with the roar of the engine. 

“On our way.” Connor hanged up. 

                                                   ——————

“It wasn’t the russians or the triads. Alessandro made a few calls, not them either.” Hank rubbed his temples. “The Manfreds are informed of this as well, they are giving us tech support. Markus is currently on the guest room with all the equipment, North is getting intel.”

“The Manfreds are trustworthy, but how can you be so sure the others aren’t lying?” Connor was pacing on Hank’s office, frown deepening. 

“They aren’t that stupid. If they lie to my face, they know I can crumble everything they have built with a snap of my fingers.”

“Still…” Connor sighed.

“Besides, I went to Alessandro’s daughter wedding. You know how this man values that kind of things.”

“Father has a point. That man follows the code.” Richard piped in, leaning on the massive bookshelves behind Hank’s chair. 

“Then, who?” Connor’s frustration only grew. The note stared at him, mocking him for not being able to solve this. 

The phone rang, startling the three of them. Hank picked it up. His face blanched. 

Richard stood straighter, having a very bad feeling about this. Hank put the call on speaker.

“She is such a pretty little bird, isn’t she?” The voice belonged to a male. Smooth, snobby. New. “Feisty too. She put up quite the fight.”

Connor’s blood froze, but he could feel the pure, unadulterated rage inside him about to spill. Richard’s hand twitched, the trembling from earlier returning.

“It seems you’re new in town.” Hank spoke before Connor exploded. They had to maintain a cool head about this. “And I get a feeling it’s quite useless to ask you where do you have her, am I right?”

“Correct! Two of two!” They could feel the nauseating grin coating every syllable. 

“Then why don’t we all cut the crap and you tell us what is it that you want?”

“Oh, Mister Anderson. I want many things, you see.” The voice chuckled briefly. “Money, power, control. You know, the usual. But there’s something I desire the most right now, and it is to see the King dethroned. Time for new blood to step in, right?”

“Some big words for someone who has no manners and hasn’t even presented themselves.” Connor intervened. Hank gave him a look, pleading for him to not lose it.

“Oh! If isn’t this the prince. Which one, though? Connor? Richard? But oh yes, my bad. You may call us RA9.”

Richard’s knuckles were white, jaw clenched, and an overall hostile posture. This man was mocking them all while they got her locked in someplace. 

“Well, as pleasant as this conversation has been, I must go attend other important matters. You’ll have some news soon. Farewell!”

The sound of the ended call dial filled the room. Hank stood up and went to the liquor cabinet, pouring a significant amount on a glass. He offered some, but only Connor took on his offer. Hank’s phone vibrated on his pocket. He took it out and read the message, brows raising. 

“The good news is that Markus got the location of the call.”

“Where is it?” Richard’s growl didn’t take Hank by surprise. His eyes were filled with a burning determination. 

“Somewhere near the docks, Markus is still working on the exact point, but we have a start.” Hank heard Richard let out a frustrated grunt, turning his back and stomping out of the office. He looked at Connor, taking a sip of his glass. “Better go with him before he hurts himself.”

Connor nodded, knowing how destructive he could get when frustrated and angry. Like a rabid dog yanking on its leash. Connor finished his drink in one go, grimacing at the burning sensation down his throat. It was oddly comforting.

“Don’t do anything stupid you too, son.” Hank’s voice had a softer note.

“I know, father. We won’t.” a sad smile briefly touched his lips as he turned around and left the office, going after Richard who was either in his room or the gym.

                                                  ——————

As Connor expected, he found his brother on the gym furiously beating a punching bag. His lips were curled on a snarl, white teeth visible, as drops of sweat ran down his face and body. With a final roar, he delivered the last punch that surely would break a rib or two. Richard held the punching bag, panting and not looking at his brother. Connor walked to a nearby bench, sitting down and resting his arms on his legs. He noticed the red smearing on Richard’s knuckles. 

“You know Ona wouldn’t like to see that.” He pointed at Richard’s hands.

Richard turned around, sorrow all across his face. Connor felt a pang in his heart and stood up, walking to his side. He took out a handkerchief and gently pressed it against the fresh wounds. 

“I know I’m not her, but I won’t leave you bleeding.” 

This gesture reminded them both of when they were children. Connor used to clean Richard’s wounds after a fight with another kid, and make him feel better later when he found him silently crying on one of his favourite hiding places.

“We will find her, Rich.” Connor’s voice was a whisper, but it felt loud in the empty gym.

“I will not rest until not even their ashes remain.” Richard was already thinking which tactical gear would he use, what knives to take with him that will help him cut them down like pigs. 

Both brothers sat down on the bench Connor previously sat down. Richard rubbed his temples, sighing wetly.

“I’m afraid, Connor.” Connor knew how hard it was for Richard to express himself, to open up about his emotions and communicate them, even to his own brother, so he let him speak. “I’m afraid that she’s hurt and crying and alone, and… and frightened, too.”

“I know, Rich.” he felt the same dread too, the never-ending feel of desperation.

“What… what if after we rescue her, she doesn’t want to be around us anymore?” Richard looked at his brother, uneasiness all over his face. “What if she… she leaves. I would let her, I would do anything for her and I would never, ever, keep her where she doesn’t want to be. But…”

“I know. I’ve been thinking about it too. I also don’t want to be… lost.” They both knew what it meant. They were never alone, having each other and also Hank and Cole, but she felt like that missing piece inside them, like a fog clearing after so much time of uncertainness. “But Ona is strong, Ona knows, she’s not stupid, and she stayed by our side after all. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt.”

Richard sighed, knowing Connor was right. Their sunshine was a strong-willed one and would not falter.

“C’mon Rich, let’s get that cleaned up and try to do something useful.”

Richard followed Connor out of the gym, determined to find the cockroaches nest and squash them all.

                                                  ——————

The news came in the shape of a package on their doorstep.

Upon seeing its contents, Richard teared apart his bedroom. He flipped chairs, tables, smashed whatever object he had closer before heading to the gym where the punching bag surely had to be replaced. Connor was barking orders, calling all his contacts everywhere to gather more information.

Hank still felt his stomach turn at the sight of a piece of cloth, one of Ona’s favourite blouses, with blood on it and attached with another note.

“She screams in such a beautiful way, doesn’t she?”

The mere idea of her being hurt and bleeding made his own blood boil. At this rate he was going to join Richard in punching people and he really hadn’t done that in years. But he would be damned if he didn’t.

It was in the middle of lunch that Hank got another call. It was from Alessandro himself, telling Hank to meet him at the usual café they went when the two of then wanted to discuss important matters in a comfortable place; Alessandro owned the business and they had the best coffee Hank had the pleasure of drinking.

“Hank! Amico mio, how are you?” Alessandro offered his hand, patting Hank’s back when he took it. 

“As good as one can be when your soon to be daughter-in-law gets kidnapped.” 

Alessandro grimaced. 

“I’m so sorry, Hank. I truly am. Please come with me. Also you said soon? When is the wedding?” Alessandro guided them into a secluded booth, away from people and coffee on its way. 

Hank sat down with a sigh. 

“They haven’t asked her yet. The boys have been planning and preparing for the perfect moment to do so.” Hank chuckled, thanking the waiter for the coffee. “You should have seen them, I never saw those two more insecure in their entire lives. But…” Hank stared down at his cup, frowning. “I’m afraid of what will happen if we don’t find her in time.”

“Hank, mio vecchio amico, I’m happy to have the information I managed to gather, then.” Alessandro leaned in, a small smile tugging his lips. Hank mirrored him. 

“So?”

                                                  ——————

Amanda was involved.

Hank was beyond enraged.

That wretched, foul woman turned a blind eye when this new organisation did something, even enabling and encouraging to hit weak spots of the other crime families, and of course warning them when there would be police raids.

She was so secretive about it, careful of not being followed… but Alessandro’s men where sharp. Anyone would know that something was off if you saw Mayor Stern in the slums, as she called them privately, and speaking in hushed tones. They took photos and notes of those encounters, and now Hank had enough evidence to blast off that harpy. He also had a lead on where to start knocking doors.

They were getting closer.

The third time ‘RA9’ contacted them was through another telephone call. Markus was already working on pinpointing the exact location of the call, as their men already checked the docks and effectively found activity in them. They were dodgy fuckers with insanely good defences, but Markus’ abilities with computers were beyond excellency.

It was hard for Markus to listen to this call in particular, feeling sick at the sound of the poor girl’s pained whimpers and shouts to leave her the fuck alone, but he couldn’t imagine what the Andersons must be going through. They had to endure the constant mocking, the jabs, their most beloved person in the world being tortured with God knows what methods.

He really hoped the Andersons would make them pay for this.

                                                  ——————

Richard’s clothes were already covered in blood. He wiped clean his favorite knife on the sleeve of his newest victim, a sneer on his face. Connor was behind him, his gun already missing some bullets. They could hear shouts coming from the next room, the other one on their right being filled by North’s gun going off with her best men following her. Josh was tending those who were injured, making sure there weren’t any more losses. Hank was patiently waiting until the whole place was completely wiped out. It was better to leave the boys with this, to take out the frustration they had of this last week on the men who caused it. Hank had only one request, and it was that they left the mastermind behind this organisation in his hands. He left Cole with Simon, knowing the gentle and soft man was in fact one of the best assassins he ever saw, besides his own son Richard. Hank knew his youngest son was safe in his care.

Bullets passed over their heads and both brothers ducked behind a rusty maritime container. They shared a look and nodded at each other. Connor fired some bullets to distract their shooters, while Richard effectively sneaked around until he had a clear line to throw his knife. Their attacker went down with a wet, gurgling sound. Richard retrieved his knife after he disposed of the poor fool’s comrade who came to his aid, while Connor commanded his men to clean the place and follow them.

They went through doors and rooms, taking down whoever stood in their path, until they heard her.

She was shouting for them, screaming their names so they could know which way to go. She kept going on until her voice was muffled. Both brothers wasted no time. They followed the source of her voice as if they were being called by a siren. 

The door to Ona’s cell was kicked open with the dead body of the goon guarding it falling with it. Everyone inside went still. Ona was on the floor, lip bloody and cheek bruised after biting the hand of the man who tried to make her shut up and the consequential blow she received for it. Her wrists were tied behind her tightly, knees scratched and her shoes missing. Her gaze was on the dark corridor outside, her hope increasing.

A silhouette appeared on the threshold, then a twin one joined it. Ona’s heart beat faster, knowing what this double effect meant. Richard stepped in first, oddly calm, but Ona knew he was calculating the most effective way to dispose of all the captors. The moment his eyes fell on her battered form, the moment that fake calmness transformed into rage. Connor must have seen her too, because the sound of Connor’s gun cocking set them all in motion.

The first one to approach them was met with a bullet on the exact center of his forehead, falling down in a bodily thump. Connor shot the other two on the right corner, first on the knee then on the head. He rejoiced on the pained shouts before their deaths. Richard took care of the left side, sprinting to grab the hand and arm of the closest one who was aiming at them. The guard shot to the ceiling, dust falling on their heads, until Richard twisted the gun out of his hand and broke his arm next. He kicked the goon’s guts with his knee, turning him around so Richard could wrap his arms around his throat and promptly break his neck with a sickening crack.

Surprisingly enough, one of the goons managed to jump on Connor’s back, trying to choke him as Richard did with his fallen comrade. Connor rarely got physical, but he could hold his own ground. Walking backwards, Connor threw himself to the wall, trying to shake the other man’s grip on him. He was succeeding, but the fool was persistent. The guard next to Ona sprung into action, but his plans on aiding his comrade were thwarted by Ona, making him trip on her leg. It fell down with a curse, spitting all kinds of insults aimed at the girl. Richard took that opportunity to headlock his next victim, who managed to hit him with a broken pipe, immobilise them and take his last knife and throw it to Connor’s adversary. Connor wasted no time and shot his last bullet to the organisation’s soldier on the floor, right through his head. With the last of them, Richard bodily threw the soldier on the floor and immobilised him, proceeding into a flurry of crunching punches. He took out his anger, his fear, his distress, everything out on him. He kept hitting until the man stopped moving.

Everything was silent sans Richard’s hard panting. 

Connor walked over Ona and knelt in front of her. He lifted a trembling hand, thinking for a moment that this was just a dream and that he would wake up with a bittersweet taste on his tongue. He stopped inches before her skin, almost afraid, but Ona’s teary eyes and his whispered name made him take a deep, wet breath. Connor gently touched her cheek, thumb caressing her, and he felt all the pent up anger and adrenaline leave him. Without thinking it twice he wrapped her into his arms, embracing her tightly in them. They heard Richard get up, his steps coming closer. Ona felt his hand softly hold her wrists in place, and with a few tugs Richard cut the rope, freeing her arms. 

Ona immediately wrapped her arms around Connor, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Richard knelt next to them, joining the hug, and Ona began sobbing while gripping the front of his blood-soaked shirt. When they managed to calm down a bit, Connor took his phone out and called Hank. Richard made Ona put her arms around his neck as he stood up, holding her in his arms bridal style. While Connor was busy with the call, Richard kissed her head.

Hank picked up at the first ring.

“We have her.” Connor could hear Hank mutter all kind of praises to the Lord.

“Is she okay?”

“I want Josh to take a look at her, but nothing broken at first glance.” Connor looked back at Richard and Ona, how gently he was holding her. He felt a sense of calmness he hadn’t felt for a week. “She’s safe.”

“Good. Bring her home, boys.”

                                                  ——————

In the end, RA9 had vanished into thin air. But he left behind enough manila folders that incriminated Mayor Amanda Stern with all the criminal activities she was implicit. And with a note, of course.

“Lesson learned, I guess. One cannot defeat a King when said King is truly an Emperor. Accept my humble apologies with this little gift I left behind.”

In the following weeks, Hank was gathering everything he could, checking all the papers and photographs. He wanted solid proof so he could take Amanda down once and for all. It was personal vengeance since he knew this was because of his sons, but he would fight her back even if it was the last thing he did.

He looked out of his office windows in the mansion, a beautiful sunny day outside the garden. Hank spotted the lovebirds walking down to the swing seat gazebo under the oak tree, a tea already waiting for them on the table in front of it accompanied with sweets and pastries. They must have exchanged some words as Ona laughed and shrieked when Richard picked her up and carried her all the way to the swing seat, losing a shoe on the way. Connor picked it up and with his best impression of Prince Charming, he knelt right in front of her feet and put the shoe back on her foot.

Hank smiled, already knowing the answer to the question both brothers were going to ask her.

[littlewritingrabbit]

ur already busy with the previous prompt but can i politely ask for steubenceau,12? owo (guess who)

The day when someone says ‘owo’ and it isn’t you is the day I will be most confused, mademoiselle!

In any case, here is your… stubenceau? stuponceau? pierron? I don’t know, the possibilities are endless :) I’m sorry it took so long! It’s supposed to take place after Adventure, when whoever wrote von Steuben the Ancient Greek poem (that Pierre pickpocketed) breaks up with him…

Singing in the Storm

Pierre du Ponceau reasoned that there were three types of drunkenness. The first kind was the gentlemanly sort, jollier and louder than one’s usual self, probably slightly pinker in the face as well, but generally still respectable. The second was the melancholy sort of drunk, when one mused in a poetic slur about their lot in life and let their limbs sprawl around on the furniture. The third was the sort that raced through cities in the dead of night and relieved itself in public fountains… not that he had ever seen that, of course.

Tonight, he thought, he would place the Baron in the second category.

Pierre had spent all day in the sort of secretarial quiet that came over the house when the Baron von Steuben was out, making ready for their upcoming journey to America. There were reference letters to compile, as well as translate, and once he had finished with this, there was an excursion to the library to be had. He had his sights set on the Abbe Raynal’s History of the European Colonies, which would be indispensable in learning about the New World they were travelling to. Unfortunately, it was on the very top shelf at the end of the row, so some climbing was required before he could sign it out and carry it home under his coat. The evening seemed to teeter on the edge of a storm, the winds darting down alleyways like they were unsure whether they were allowed and the rain falling periodically and then stopping itself just as quickly. When he returned home, his hair well-ruffled by the wind, Pierre drew himself a bath.

Humming pleasantly, he dragged the tub out from under the Baron’s bed, through the parlor, and into the kitchen, where he set about filling every conceivable vessel with water to boil. Not long after, once the top one-third of the room was full of steam, he emptied everything into the tub on the kitchen floor, closed the door, and hopped in.

“Sing hey, you storm, for I am free,Come back another day,Sing hey, you storm, I’ve left the sea,And I am on my way,A girl she waits, a girl she waits,And not a storm will harm,This singer, hey, I’m on my wayToward my lover’s arms.”

You had to hand it to sailors, he reasoned, that they certainly know how to write a tune. Perhaps it was the constant music of water they were obliged to listen to, or the need to say rude things about pretty ladies that had to be disguised in song form, but whatever the case, he had picked up several such tunes as a child on the isle of Re, and they were all very pretty to sing.

Pierre floated comfortably until the water cooled, and then he washed and dried himself off. He was on his way back through the parlor, wrapped in a towel and leaving damp footprints behind him, when a voice called from the divan -

“Well sung, my dear du Ponceau.”

He squinted. Truth be told, he’d left his spectacles in his room and was planning on leaving them there until obliged to read something, so the form on the divan wasn’t particularly distinct, but he knew it well enough.

“Monsieur le Baron,” he smiled, adjusting the towel, “How was your day?”

“It was well enough, in the regard that I am alive and breathing, but in all other ways, sub-par,” said the Baron bluntly. “Wine?”

“I’ll have a little,” said Pierre, staring in the direction of a blurry wine glass that was held out to him. He took a sip, both hands keeping the towel upright. “Thank you!”

The young secretary retreated to his room and clambered into a shirt, trousers, and yes, he included spectacles. On a second thought he stopped to pilfer a banyan of the Baron’s from the hall closet, simply because it was comfortable and far too large.

Once Pierre re-entered the parlor however, he realized that something was still wrong. Von Steuben was seated on the divan, taking up only half (as Azor was curled on the other half) and he was pinker even than usual. He had emptied the glass of wine and was filling another, looking decidedly unhappy. Beside him sat a letter.

Pierre hopped onto the armrest, and looked over the Baron’s shoulder at the letter. It was in German but he could have sworn there was also some Ancient Greek before von Steuben folded it. “Not your business,” he said gruffly.

“I don’t know, it might be,” Pierre mused, wrapping the banyan over himself, “If something is making my dear Baron so unhappy, shouldn’t I try to improve the situation?”

“It’s over with,” von Steuben took another gulp of wine with a sigh, “Nothing can be done now. He’s been re-assigned a new command.”

“Who?” Pierre felt it his right to be nosy if he was going to have to spend the night with the Baron in such a state of melancholy. In any case, he had his suspicions. He wedged his feet in between the cushions. “Was it the one who wrote you that poem?”

Von Steuben took another drink, and sighed another sigh. “Always young and good-looking fellows,” he muttered, close enough to an affirmative reply, “Always leaving me behind to run off on their adventures. Soldiers grow up and leave the army, settle down… I don’t think I could.”

“No one requires that,” said Pierre, reasonably. “We are going to America after all.”

“But what happens after?” the Baron stared into the fireplace instead of looking him in the eye. He’s probably worried that he’ll look less commanding, thought Pierre. “What happens when there are no more wars to fight, and they say: go home Baron. Find yourself a house and do what the civilians do… I don’t know… raise chickens? Eat breakfast? Read the paper and take a stroll? And when they expect me to marry a lady, or at least marry her fortune, what happens when I… when I just cannot do that?”

Pierre didn’t have an answer. The rain beat against the window in the quiet.

“And in the meantime, he’s written that he’s been re-assigned a new command, some other province, he didn’t give an address. He says he’s finished with writing me poetry, he’s marrying a lady… Pierre?” he turned around, his eyes a little unfocussed and his face creased with worry, “Do you think he writes her poetry instead now?”

“Whether or not he does,” Pierre reasoned, “He’s a batard to write you so harshly. I’ll tell you what - we shall go to America, and we shall have an adventure of our own, and he’ll read in the papers of all the glory you’ve earned and think oh how I ought to have stayed with my dear Baron.”

Von Steuben drained the wine and nodded in agreement, and then continued nodding, until his chin nodded onto his chest and he closed his eyes. The letter slipped out of his hand and onto the floor, but even on his way to retrieve some blankets, Pierre didn’t pick it up.

He draped one blanket over the Baron, moved Azor over, and curled up on the opposite end of the divan with the other. “Goodnight, my dear Baron,” he whispered, “I will not go running off on adventures without you.” He gathered the blankets higher and sang softly -

“Sing hey, you storm, for I am free,Come back another day,Sing hey, you storm, I’ve left the sea,And I am on my way,A lad he waits, a lad he waits,And not a storm will harm,This singer, hey, I’m on my wayToward my lover’s arms.”

The Baron von Steuben, despite his melancholy drunkenness, had the decency to continue pretending to be asleep.

[zakamore1]

before i do some D&D for today I wanna take up @chapelseed‘s dare and post the first chapter of my book. It’s not great, and not fully proofread but I feel like sharing it owo

so without further ado, chapter one of Inner Sin

Inner Sin

Book 1

Original Sin

Chapter 1

Nightmares

As usual, the subway was an overcrowded mess. Bodies pushed up against each other hanging onto flimsy metal bands while the few and lucky people got their seat off to the side, many of them filling the seats around them with whatever useless junk they dragged with them. Chris Mattews was one such lucky person, having gotten on at such a remote station in the city and at such an ungodly hour that it was empty by the time he'd gotten on. He couldn't complain either, he'd hate to be one of the drones of people around him standing in silent anger, especially with what little sleep he had gotten the night before. Where he was was comfortable for him.

So much so it wasn't surprising he'd drift off…

The crowded train was gone from view. In its place Chris was left in an endless expanse of black, the floor seeming to ripple with each careful step he took.

“Hello?” He called out, his voice echoing around from every direction. On and on the only sound he heard was his own and the only thing he could see was black.

The voice he heard started to turn from his own, sounding distorted and scratchy. The rippling of the ground stopped coming from Chris’ steps, they were coming from in front of him.

Hellohellohellohellohhhhheeeeeeelllllllll

“Ooooooo? Chris, anyone home in there?” Chris was stirred awake by the person next to him, moving the brown bangs of his long messy hair out from his eyes. Ricky was ready to snap in his face again as he had been for the past few minutes, giving a cocky grin to his friend as he came to.

“‘Ey there we go! Up and at em Chris boy, we're almost at our stop.” Ricky’s voice bled with his Brooklyn origins. “You still jet lagged or somethin’?”

“Uh yeah… guess so.” Chris said as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, grabbing his bag and joining his friend standing. “Honestly ever since I got back I've been having bad dreams.”

“No kiddin’? Sure you don't need to see ol’ Rouge then?” Ricky snickered, reaching into his pocket to show the top of a bag. “Or maybe more medicinal help~?”

“Fuck off Ricky,” Chris’ voice turned stern, a ding and muffled voice over the train’s sound system announcing they were at their stop. “I'm not buying your crap.” He then quickly followed along with the crowd of people exiting the train, leaving his friend to roll his eyes.

“Pfft, stick.”

Chris imagined his high school was like just about every other one; old, poorly funded, and filled with people he didn't know or care about. His only focus towards anyone in the school was limited to the people of his class, all of which were scattered around the room chatting away as he entered.

“Good lord Micheal!” Screamed out the short blonde girl, Brianna, to her much taller peer. “Can you not keep it in your pants for one night? I can barely hear my own thoughts with all that noise from your apartment!”

“So sorry Bri, but I just couldn't help myself!” Micheal chuckled to his neighbor, waving her off. “Besides, if you couldn't sleep you could have always joi-”

“God no!! Keep you and your little… sexcapades outta my life.” She huffed, taking her seat at the front of the class. As she sat she was joined by her desk neighbor, Chris, turning to him now. “Honestly, can you believe him? Why do people fall for him?”

“Couldn't tell you,” Chris shrugged, leaning onto his desk with his head in his hands. “I've just learned to tune his room out at this point.”

Brianna shook her head in annoyance, leaving Chris to listen in on the rest of his classmates.

“‘Ey how you doing there Jenna? Enjoyed yourself last night, I hear from a buddy you got some good stuff.” He heard Ricky say, most likely near the back of the class talking up to Jenna, who was more than likely already high off her mind and blankly staring off into space next to Alex.

“Shut up Ricky…” she said, a groan coming from her. “It's from my doctor not your creep friends…”

“‘Ey who said I'm not friends with doctors? Heheheh!”

Chris let the snickering voice of Ricky fill his head as he slowly felt himself drift back off into sleep…

Once again Chris was back in the dark void he was in before, the floor he was on before now a pitch black liquid that reached his knees. All around him he could hear the same laugh that brought him back here, reverberating from all around this void.

“This is a weird ass dream…” Chris said to himself, his own voice drowned out by the laughter. Looking down at his legs he could see the ripples in the water once again coming from somewhere in front of him. But he wasn't prepared for what was there.

Emerging from the liquid was a mass of black gunk, writhing and shaking to and fro as it grew. The mass began to slender up into a long form, the top pushing forward towards Chris. From the very top popped open two, large, glowing yellow eyes, the slitted irises pointing down on Chris. The two shared a silent staring contest for a time before an elongated row of jagged, yellow teeth grew across the “face” of this mass, forming a smile. The jagged mouth opened to follow along with the laughter echoing through the room, the sound becoming distorted and corrupted as it synced up with the noise.

HeheheHEHeheHehEHEheheHEHEHEhEheH

“Mr. Mattews!!” Was the words yelled down at Chris that woke him from his unconscious state. Looking up Chris was met by the scrutinizing stare of his teacher, Mr. Amuny, his brow furrowed in clear annoyance.

“So nice of you to join us from your current trip to dreamland.” He said, chuckling coming from some of his classmates. “I'm amazed you were able to take another one so soon after your trip to Israel, it must have been quite expensive.” His voice was laced with sarcasm and annoyance.

“Sorry sir…” Chris sheepishly said as he stood up in his seat, trying to be as awake as possible.

“As you should be,” Mr. Amuny said, looking down at Chris before taking his seat at his own desk. “Now then, seeing how Mr. Mattews missed the beginning of class, and it's a half day, I'll just pass back your reports.” At the sound of such an assignment, Chris silently panicked, knowing full well he missed it entirely.

“Brianna Kingsly!” The Indian man called out into the class, said person giddily skipping up to the front desk. “Your report on the current political standing and its needed improvements was an intriguing read. An A+ for you.” He announced, handing Brianna a folder.

“Thank you Mr. Amuny! I just want to help our country obviously~.” Brianna said as she snatched the folder, her words drowning with sweetness and pride.

“Mr. Safrete!” Amuny called once again, the person coming up being the portly Horton Safrete, still eating his bagel from the morning. “While I'm not a nutritionist or very knowledgeable in how genetics and weight are connected, I applauded you for your work. B-.”

“Thanks professor.” Horton said between chews. “Put a lotta work into it, I appreciate it.”

“Neid!!” Calling out another name and bringing forth the skiny demeanor of Alex Neid shuffling up to the front desk. “I must say I'm a little surprised by how close your work was in comparison to Ms. Kingsly’s on politics. C.”

“T-thank you Mr. Amuny…” Alex shyly told their teacher, shuffling back to the end of the room. Mr. Amuny’s eyes soon narrowed down onto Chris, filling the young man’s heart with dread.

“Let me guess Mr. Mattews,” he spoke even though he knew the answer. “You don't have the report I told you about before you left?”

“I um…” Chris started to say, trying to come up with some excuse for himself. Luckily for him it seemed his talkitive friends had his back on this.

“Prof. Amuny,” Micheal’s smooth talking voice came. “If I may, wouldn't it make much more sense for our dear Chris to write about his experience abroad?”

“Yeah! I'd think it'd be an awesome read.” Ricky butted in.

“Probably better than most of ours…” was faintly picked up from the back coming from Jenna.

“Shut up!!” Roared Amuny, slamming his fist on the table and shocking the group of students to attention. A disgruntled sigh escaped the older man as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I commend you all for coming to the aid of your peer, but that doesn't mean I'm changing your grades.” Brianna gave a slight snort at that, smirking. “But as well… I agree with your thoughts. Very well Mr. Mattews…” his gaze returned to Chris and the bearded smile he was given creeped Chris to his core. “Fifty pages on your experience in Israel on my desk tomorrow.”

Chris felt his heart sink at such a task, staring up at his teacher. “H-how am I suppose to do that?!”

“Not my problem Mattews. Here's hoping you got enough sleep in class.” Once Amuny finished that sentence the school bell rang, the trampling sound of students leaving beginning to pick up. “Well it seems you're all free for today, we'll be continuing our lesson on reptiles tomorrow, make sure to bone up on the chapter on snakes.” Amuny’s words practically fell on deaf ears as his students had begun to leave.

“Not you Mattews.” Chris heard, stopping dead in his tracks from packing, once again looking up at Mr. Amuny. “Seeing how you missed so much class, including today, I thought it might be worth while to give you a crash course.” Once again the older man’s grin was terrifying, Chris’ only comfort being the hand placed on his shoulder.

“Good luck…” Jenna tiredly said, yawning and adjusting her glasses before taking her hand and leaving. Horton and Ricky at the door gave a silent prayer while Micheal drew a cross over his chest.

‘Oh boy…’ Chris thought to himself, gulping.

Three hours. Three grueling hours of a constant bombardment of information, and if Chris even started to drift off he was smacked back awake. Needless to say this wasn't exactly how Chris thought his first day back would be like.

“I don't want to hear another god damn thing about reptiles ever again.” Chris groaned as he walked down the street. It was the dead of night at this point, and for a street in New York it was rather empty, but that's how Chris preferred it. He hoped it'd be this easy and less crowded on his whole trip home as frankly he just wanted to write his report and sleep for a thousand years.

Suddenly though Chris felt a… pain in the back of his head. It was sharp and quick at first but it struck him again as he moved forward, stumbling on his feet and falling against an alleyway garbage bin. “Oww… fuck…” Chris groaned, rubbing his still stinging head.

“What was that?” Chris went as dead silent as possible, covering his mouth to quiet his breathing. The voice he'd heard was rough and wet, like a saw moving through water. And it sounded close. Peaking over the edge of the bin gave Chris a sight that nearly made him vomit.

Standing in the far side of the alley under the flickering light of a lamp was a tall figure, standing well over Chris’ own six feet in height, hunched over scanning the area with bright, piercing red eyes. Its body looked humanoid, but parts were seemingly stretched, patches of whatever clothing it had being torn open by a series of jagged spikes that seemed to cover itself, two massive ones having sprouted from its arms reaching the ground. Its mouth held a row of long, sharp teeth that were very clearly covered in blood and gore, the source of which was undoubtedly the ripped apart body that it was hunched over.

Holding back his scream and vomit, Chris slowly pulled away from viewing the sight, hoping he wasn't seen himself. He needed to run, to hide, call the police, the god damn army. He needed help, now.

Another sharp pain dug through Chris’ head, having to bite back his urge to scream in agony but unable to keep his leg from jerking out in pain.

*clinck-kongalongalong*

A discarded can was right in his foot’s path and was now scattered across the alley, loudly skipping across the ground. Chris didn't even have time to panic, he got up as fast as he could and made a run for it.

But he didn't get far.

“I thought I heard something~.” Chris felt the hood of his jacket get grabbed as his body was lifted with it, getting a glimpse of the monstrosity he had saw just a moment ago up close. It was only a glimpse because he was thrown backwards across the alley, soaring through the air before slamming against the wall. Chris could feel a rib crack, blood filling his mouth as he tried to stand but couldn't, his legs were paralyzed from fear. He spat out a glob of blood and noticed he was next to the mangled, half eaten corpse he had seen before, but couldn't bring himself to throw up as he looked to see the monster in front of him. “I thought I was going to be done tonight, but I guess you're just in time for dessert!!”

The creature cackled and laughed as it brought its mass spike up ready to strike Chris. This was it for him. Only one thought was left in his head.

“Help.”

Help

Help

Helphelpgelphelphelphhhheeeelllpppppp

“Ok.”