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elldell1204 · 4 years ago

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Hair Me Out - Spencer Reid x Reader

Y/N wears her hair in many different styles, and her boyfriend, Spencer, seems to appreciate each one in different ways.

A/N: So, I just wanted to add, I try to make my ‘reader’ as ambiguous as possible, that way you can identify with them more. However, I struggled with this one, as I am a white female with straight hair and not much knowledge of (though deep appreciation and love for) natural or curly hair, seeing as I have little to no experience. Therefore, I have tried making this as inclusive as possible but I’m sorry if at any point seems too specific and you can’t put yourself into the story. Feel free to call me out on anything you aren’t comfortable with!

Warnings: Slight sexual themes, swearing, normal Criminal minds stuff (let me know if I missed anything)

wc - 3,217

Dutch Braids -

You and Spencer had just gotten off from work about an hour ago after a gruelling day with an equally stressful case. Which is why as soon as you were both showered, dressed in the comfiest clothes you could find and waiting for the takeout to arrive, you were both sprawled out on the couch in front of a movie, having no energy left to talk, let alone move when there was a knock at the door. Seeing as you were the one with less of the other person’s body parts draped across you, you got up and answered while Spencer didn’t move an inch. You couldn’t blame him; the poor boy was exhausted.

Around twenty minutes later, you’d both eaten, leaving your plates on the coffee table in front of you with the mental promise to wash them later, and were back to snuggling into each other, getting as close as you possibly could to soothe each other after the day you had. Your head was tucked neatly into Spencer’s chest, your knees drawn up to near your chin in the foetal position, making yourself as small as possible. Spencer was the opposite; spread like a starfish with his arm around your back and his head rested against the back of the couch.

If someone were to ask you what the movie was about, you wouldn’t have a clue where to start. Truth is, you felt like you were stuck in-between both the lands of sleep and consciousness, due to wanting to spend some time with your boyfriend (despite him being your work partner for the best part of sixteen hours) but also wanting to sleep for three days. In attempt to make yourself just a little bit more awake, you started trying to focus on different things around you. First it was the quote on the front of the main character’s t-shirt, then it was the Metro you could faintly hear as the last train of the night rattled by, then it was Spencer’s finger tracing up and down one of your braids that you’d done quickly after your shower.

“Spence?” You murmured the first words spoken in practically an hour.

“Hmm?” He hummed in response, his half-lidded eyes shifting to your face that you had lifted to face him.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” His voice was merely a whisper, and if you weren’t listening for it, the only way you’d know he was speaking was from the vibration of his chest.

You gestured to your hair with your finger, and only when he realised did he stop what he was doing and chuckle lightly and dreamily.

“Oh, sorry, I’m not sure, it just feels soft, I guess. I’ll stop.”

“No, no, it’s okay, you can keep going.” You smiled at him, mustering up the energy to lean up and press a sweet kiss to his lips before retracting back to your previous position.

Ponytail -

To say you were having a bad day was an understatement. You usually like to try and stay as positive as you could be when chasing a serial, paedophilic murderer, but there’s only so many deep breaths and coffee breaks you can take before you really start to get pissed off. Not only had you been stuck in hot and sticky Texas for near a week, but you had also been put into single rooms at the hotel you were staying at. Now, not to sound ungrateful (because you very much are of the fact that you at least have a roof over your head), but only having one single bed to a room means that you can’t snuggle with Spencer after a long day, and these were proving to be very long days.

And to add to the problem, Hotch was constantly on edge since the start of the case, with the victims looking a hell of a lot like Jack, and when you were the closest person to him on that first day when his tensions finally boiled over, you had been the one in the firing line of his rage. Which you can take. You knew he didn’t mean it, and if he had to take his frustrations out on someone for a few days so he could do his job with a clearer head, you were happy to be the target.

But now after a particularly rough six days, your patience was wearing thin, and everyone on the team could see it, which is why they offered you and Spencer any jobs they were assigned that would get them out of the stifling police precinct. And you knew they had good intentions, but even that was starting to annoy you.

So now you were sat at the table in the conference room, a pen between your teeth as your eyes frantically search over the evidence you have piled in front of you, desperate for the answers to this case to fly off the page and hit you smack dab in the forehead so you could just go home and have a fight with a pillow or something, anything to destress.

You heard the footsteps coming from the doorway, but you refused to turn around. If it was Hotch, you swear to god you might actually lose your job with what you were thinking of doing if he was short with you one more time. If it was Morgan ready to hand you a first-class ticket to visit the slightly wrinkly and very smelly coroner again, you might actually flip the table.

“Hey, Y/N.” Spencer greeted you warmly, sitting on the table to your right as your eyes slowly lifted to meet his. No, not Spencer. Hold it together, Y/N, hold in your rage, he’s done nothing wrong. “Oh, I haven’t seen you with your hair tied back in a while. I like it.”

Such a sweet statement, and yet it broke you. You could see in his face the moment your eyes lit aflame with anger, and you couldn’t miss the harsh swallow he took to brace himself for your fury.

“Well, Dr Reid, let me teach you a lesson, shall I? 3 reasons. One, it is way more practical for kicking someone’s ass, and right now, I would love nothing more than catching the sleazy son-of-a-bitch who is deriving pleasure from this,” You gesture violently to the crime scene photos splayed out in front of you before continuing to spit your venom. “And beating the living shit out of him until he’s crying out for his mommy. Two, do you know how many officers have tried to flirt up a storm with me in the past week? Way too many to count on one fucking hand! One even went so far as to try stroking my hair like a goddamn cat, and so to avoid that situation, I have put it in a ponytail, because if anything of that nature happens again, I won’t hesitate to break someone’s arm. And three, I usually have it down because most men think you’re dumber when you play with your hair, or I can play seductive to get what I want without a warrant fifty percent of the time. But seeing as we have absolutely nobody on the suspect list right now, and the sheer fury I possess at this moment, I don’t foresee the possibility of me needing to be either of those things, do you?”

Your lungs were heaving once you were done, and poor Spencer looked like you just told him you were a Russian spy sent to kill him. Your eyes were locked onto each other’s, and when you came back to reality from your rant, you recognised the softness and love in his that you were grateful for every day. Granted, they were a little masked by fear right now, but you’d admired him often enough to be able to spot even the faintest hint of your favourite emotions.

You let out a deep sigh, signalling you were back to your normal self as much as you could be right then, before dropping your head into your hands to rub your eyes with the heel of your palms.

It was then you felt the unmistakeable warmth of Spencer’s hand rubbing soothing patterns on your back as you gathered yourself together, bringing tears to your eyes as you opened them once more to face him.

“Oh, Spencer,” You whispered, grabbing his hands tightly with yours, lifting them to your lips and pressing sweet kisses to his knuckles. “I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve that at all.”

“It’s okay, my love.”

“No, it’s really not. I never should have raised my voice at you, especially when it’s not your fault at all that I’m frustrated.”

“Y/N, I understand.” He smiled at you, a small and sympathetic one, but it calmed you nonetheless as he stood, pulling you up from the chair to wrap his arms tightly around you. You gripped onto him like he might run away if you didn’t, breathing in the warm scent that is so unmistakeably Spencer. Your vision was now cloudy with the tears that so desperately wanted to spill, but you were adamant you wouldn’t give the local cops the satisfaction of seeing you with wet cheeks. Luckily, Spencer knows you better than anyone.

“There’s a park a few minutes’ walk from here with a small duck pond. Would you like some fresh air?”

You nodded frantically against his neck as you finally let go, allowing him to lead you out of the precinct, hand in hand, his thumb running softly over yours as you walked.

“I don’t deserve you.” You mumbled, leaning in closer to him as you carried on down the path.

“Nonsense,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “We deserve each other. Just remind me not to get on your bad side; I like having both of my arms functional.”

Bed Head -

A blaring alarm at 6am has to be up there with one of the most annoying things on the planet, and I work with Derek Morgan. You let out a groan, your arm floundering around to find the source of the wretched noise. Groaning in defeat of not being able to do it with your eyes closed, you cracked one open, locating your phone, and finding sweet relief in the snooze button. A very overexaggerated yawn left your lips as you attempted to stretch your arms over your head in an effort to wake up, only to find one immobilised in the grasp of your boyfriend.

You took advantage the rare opportunity of waking up before Mr Alarm Clock himself (also known as Dr Spencer Reid) by allowing yourself a few minutes to admire his form in the golden sliver of sunlight escaping the outside world through the gap in the curtains. It was only when your alarm went off again after the five-minute snooze timer did you try to wake him up.

“Spence, baby, time to wake up.” You whisper, attempting to gently coax him from his slumber. When that didn’t work, you laced your fingers through his mousy-brown curls, scratching lightly at his scalp, just how he likes. Only then did you receive a response in the form of a muffled groan into his pillow.

“C’mon, my love. We need to get ready for work.” You spoke softly, pressing a delicate kiss to his forehead.

You chuckled lightly, wrapping your arms around his torso as your legs entwined. “Okay, my sleepy darling. But only five.”

“Mmm, five more minutes.” He mumbled, nestling his face into your hair as he pulls you closer than you thought possible.

Safe to say you took breakfast to go, just so you could bask in each other’s embraced for a little longer than five minutes.

Post-Sex Hair -

You climbed from his lap gently, unsure if your legs could hold yourself up as you panted heavily. Practically throwing yourself down beside Spencer on the bed, he took the opportunity to grab your hand, lacing your fingers with his as you laid your head on his chest. You were both still a little dreamlike in your post-orgasmic haze, and when Spencer began to press kiss after kiss into your hair, you didn’t hesitate to enjoy them.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered into your hair, punctuating his statement with a final kiss for good measure.

You looked up from your position, shifting slightly so you were face to face, and scrunched up your nose. “Really? Even with sweaty sex hair?”

He chuckled, and you followed with a giggle of your own as he leant over to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. “Especially with sweaty sex hair.” He whispered with a joking edge to his voice, his lips brushing with yours.

“Well, I’m pretty sure the team wouldn’t love my sweaty sex hair, so I better hop in the shower.” You smiled, kissing him quickly once more before climbing out of the bed and walking towards the bathroom, a sway to your hips.

As you reached the door, you turned to shoot a smirk over your shoulder at the blissed-out boy behind you. “Oh, are you not joining me?”

You swear you’d never seen the boy move as fast as when he clambered from the bed and chased you into the bathroom.

Straightened -

There was something about going undercover that equally excited you and creeped you out. Especially tonight, when you were having to go under in a club to catch a guy who was killing adulterous wives. You were the closest person in the team to his type, so it was a no-brainer to choose you, really. Didn’t mean you were happy with it, and it seemed that Spencer wasn’t either, if his clenched jaw was anything to go by.

Well, you were going to do it no matter what, so why not get yourself dressed up and try to bring some joy back to a less than ideal situation? That is why you were stood in the locker room of a precinct on the west coast in a red crushed velvet minidress with black heels, a fake wedding ring and straightened hair, and you couldn’t lie, you were totally feeling yourself.

“Woah, Y/N, you look…amazing.” You heard Spencer say as he entered the room.

You turned your head and smiled at him, feeling a little flustered as his eyes trailed over your form. You attempted to push your dress further down your thighs as he walked to you, his hands encircling your waist from behind and his head perched on your shoulder.

“It’s not too much is it?” You mumbled, looking down at yourself to do a final once over.

You felt his fingers under your chin, lifting your head to look him in the eyes through the mirror, ones filled with love and a hint of desire that set your skin aflame. He brushed your hair aside from your neck to trail kisses down the side of your throat, eliciting a breathy sigh from your lips.

“No, Y/N, you look badass.”

You giggled at the word that seemed so foreign coming from Spencer, but that was soon muffled when he spun you around by his hands on your hips and his lips hungrily met yours. Your lips moved against each other’s, his tongue coming to swipe at your bottom lip in a request for entrance. You granted it, and soon you felt your back collide with the cool metal of the lockers. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt as you explored his mouth with your tongue, relishing in the taste of him. You laced a hand up into his hair as you felt a hand that he had at your waist moving to your ass, gripping it roughly, causing you to moan into his mouth.

“Reid? Y/L/N? You two lovebirds ready?” You heard Morgan mock from the doorway and you both immediately jumped apart like some sort of invisible wall had shot up between you.

Looking around to see that Morgan wasn’t in your eyeline, given that the lockers luckily blocked you two from his view. But not from earshot, seeing as you could quite clearly hear his hearty chuckles as his footsteps got quieter and quieter.

You looked up at Spencer, his hair dishevelled and his tie askew, a look of both embarrassment and amusement at being caught making out like two horny teenagers adorned his face. A grin broke out on your lips, which he mirrored, and soon you were both laughing hysterically as you sorted yourselves out in the tiny little mirror on the wall, attempting to make it look like you weren’t a few seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off, before re-joining the team in the conference room.

Messy Bun -

Ugh, cold and flu season. You swear you never make it through it unscathed. And it seems as if your battle was commencing today. You woke up feeling dreadful; runny nose, scratchy throat, constant sneezing, and red-rimmed eyes. Attractive.

There was no question in having to call in sick, so after throwing your hair up in the messiest of messy buns and locating the snuggest blanket, you dialled the number. You could practically hear the wince from Hotch when you started having a sneezing fit down the phone. Now you weren’t sure if you could look the man in the eye when you went back.

Once that torture was over and done with, you were feeling sorry for yourself and decided on a warm cup of tea and a dose of shitty daytime television. You were halfway through some over-enthusiastic talk show when you heard a knock at your door. Refusing to leave the blanket behind that you’d burrito’d yourself in, you shuffled over to the door.

You didn’t expect a very sympathetic looking Spencer on the other side of the door, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a welcomed sight.

“Hey.” You croaked out.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” You gave him a look that said it all, and he chuckled lightly. He lifted the bag he had in his hand. “I brought the best cure I could think of; chicken noodle soup.”

“I don’t want to get you sick, Spencer.” You whined, wanting nothing more than to curl up into his side but holding onto your selfless and rational thoughts by a mere thread.

You smiled at that, stepping aside to let him in. He passed you and went and got comfortable on your couch, grabbing a fork on the way. When you met him in the living room, he was ready and waiting for you with his arms open for you to snuggle into.

“Don’t worry about me. Now come on, your soup is getting cold.” He smiled, making grabby hands at you.

You made your way over, sinking into his embrace as he passed you the container and your fork. After a few mouthfuls and several minutes of listening to his steady breaths and thumps of his heart, you were feeling much better.

“Thank you.” You mumbled once you were finished and had placed your empty container on the coffee table in front of you, nuzzling further into Spencer’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now sleep, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Didn’t have to tell you twice.

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breaking-shadows · 4 years ago

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Breaking Shadows

Chapter 2

The angel left promising he would return soon. He left me alone, with my grandmother very much alive and her soul intact.

I looked at the cuckoo clock mounted on the wall. It had been intricately carved to tell the story of Hansel and Gretel. Creepy, for a witch. The devious children who ate a witch out of house and home and then murdered her for all her generosity.

The hands read nearly four-fifteen.

I imagined sinking into the soft mattress of my bed and curling up in the duvet, but if that happened, I’d be there for the duration. I fell asleep on the sofa, wrapped in a dressing gown, to the low hum of the TV.

The light of breaking dawn woke me before half six.

“Officers attended the scene in Cullfield, a suburb of New York City...”

I peeled open an eyelid. The TV continued to play to itself, showing American-looking police standing by a strip of bright yellow tape.

“...the whole town was found massacred in what eyewitnesses have described as a bloodbath.”

Bolting upright, I grappled for the remote to turn the volume up, heart hammering against my ribcage.

“Police have appealed for witnesses and urge neighbouring towns to be vigilant. We’ll have more on this breaking story as the information comes through. Now, here’s the news wherever you are.” The opening credits rolled for the local news.

Footsteps sounded on the floorboards above. Gran was up. She must be feeling better. I switched off the TV and raced upstairs.

“Gran!” I called. “Gran!”

I caught her leaving my room, eyes puffy and red-ringed, skin grey. The soft grey curls framing her face were wild. She gave a gasp, sucking the air from the room and fell back against the door.

My feet stalled on the top step. “Are you okay?”

Her mouth bobbed struggling to form words that wouldn’t come.

“Gran?”

“Oh my – Riley!” she crossed the few steps between us and wrapped me in her arms, the scent of lavender triggering a dormant headache. One of her hands went to my hair, pulling my head towards her shoulder. Over and over she whispered my name.

Then she pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length. Withered hands cupped my face, her thumbs making downward strokes with her thumbs. She laughed through her tears.

“What did you want me for?”

“Are we not going to talk about this?”

Gran released my face to wipe her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffing away the tears as though they’d never been. “There’s nothing to talk about, Riley. I’m tired, I must not have recovered as much as I’d thought.”

I wanted to tell her she’d be fine, that the illness wouldn’t be rearing its ugly head again, but then she’d want to know why. Even I wasn’t proud about how I’d gone about it, but seeing Gran like this again, well enough to be on her feet or nearly tumbling from them… I’d made the right choice.

“Once more then, what did you want me for?”

What did I want her for? “The news. On the news, there’s something about a massacre in a town on the outskirts of New York. From the sounds of it, it seems like the whole town. I didn’t know if it merited checking out. It could be a coven.”

Gran looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. I have a meeting with our coven this morning, I will raise it, contact other covens there. Even if it wasn’t a coven, something like that may require investigation. Can you remember the name of the place?”

“No, I can’t. But it must be all over the news.”

A weak smile crossed Gran’s face, the one she gave me when I wasn’t being helpful.

“Do you need me to come?”

“Ha! Don’t think you’re getting out of your studies that easily. Talking about school, unless you get a move on, you’re going to be late.”

“Fine. Am I still okay to go out tonight?”

Gran cupped my face in her hands. “Of course, of course. Go Riley, and live.”

I took a swig from the bottle in my hand, grimacing at the bitter taste. The shaped glass knocked against my teeth. Something had been off with Gran. Yes, she’d been ill, so ill I’d made a deal with a servant of death to save her soul. But still –

“God Riley. You’re quiet. You’re here now, you might as well enjoy it.” Kat knelt on the blanket beside me.

I could smell it as soon as Kat sat down, the stench of stale smoke burning my nostrils. “Please tell me you haven’t been smoking,” I coughed, wafting the fumes away with my hand.

“Of course, I haven’t,” she said before diving into her bag. She plucked out a shocking pink aerosol can and sprayed it all over herself with a few squirts in the air for good measure. “Simon insists he won’t stop though, so until Channing Tatum becomes available, I’m sticking with him. Anyway, back to you, what’s up?”

I balanced the almost full bottle in the grass, the contents settling uneasily in my stomach. Once again, it would be easier to tell the truth. Although confessing to be a witch would throw up more questions than answers for Kat, and Gran would surely kill me for divulging our secrets.

“I told you earlier I was tired, I didn’t sleep well.” Striking a deal with an angel in the early hours of the morning proved to be more time-consuming that I’d originally planned.

“You’re seventeen,” Kat yawned. “You should be able to stay up all night and not feel its effects. But if you’re feeling shit, why don’t we find something to put a smile on your face? Where’s Will?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him for a while. The last time I did, he was fighting his way to the front of the crowd.” I bobbed my head towards the fifty-deep crowd who were dancing and swaying in ways unsuited to the heavy metal band rocking it out on stage.

Kat had spent weeks talking about this clandestine festival. She’d had to sneak out under the hooked nose of her strict mother, and I felt guilty for spoiling it. Now, with my ears ringing because of the constant din, I wished I’d stuck to the lie I’d tried after lunch. My boyfriend had barely looked at me, never mind spent any time with me, and I found myself disturbed by fleeting thoughts of the angel in Will’s absence.

Smoke gathered, seeping into my pores choking my lungs. Makeshift fire pits sprang up everywhere in the clearing in the middle of Derwent Woods. Uneasiness prickled my skin. As a water witch, fire put me on edge, and probably affected me more than any of the nemocanes in attendance. Nemocanes were non-witches, those without power.

“Do you want to go find him?” Kat tilted her head and fluttered her fake eyelashes.

I’d known her long enough to know she wasn’t asking and before I knew it, Kat had pulled me to my feet. “Come on, let’s see if we can get Will to put a smile on your face. If anyone can, I’m sure it’s him.”

We delved deeper through the crowd, ducking, and weaving through twisting bodies and flailing arms, some of which smacked me straight in the face. The stench was almost unbearable, cheap perfume, the musty smell of beer all mixed in with sweat and smoke.

“I can’t see them, can you?”

“They’ve got to be here somewhere,” said Kat. She craned her neck to scan the crowd. “Tell you what, if you go to the right, I’ll go this way, and we’ll send the other a text if we find them. Okay? Great.”

“Kat, wait!” But the mass of bodies had already swallowed my friend, bottles of alcohol raised in the air, the crowd singing as loud as their voices would let them.

Fighting my way in the direction Kat told me to go, I was confronted by one unfamiliar face after another. They swam before my eyes and merged into one continuous blur. Heat rose in my face. Sweat coated my forehead, droplets running down the length of my neck. I tugged at the stiff collar of my denim jacket, but the more I did, the more it closed around my neck like a vice.

More limbs struck.

The fire was overwhelming.

I fought for air.

My hand raced around my neck in a frantic motion. The contents of dancing bottles dripped down onto my hair and face. Gran would think I’d drank a brewery.

I forced my way to the back of the crowd, pushing through people as though they were water and I was desperate for the shore. Breaking out into the open, I inhaled as much fresh air as I could, letting the space subdue the rising panic within.

The constant roar of the band was the only reminder of where I was and the only thing stopping me from falling to my knees and making a spectacle of myself before most of the year twelve and thirteens.

A glint of white flashed through the trees ahead.

Then another.

My blood turned to stone.

Then a hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I spun, blood throbbing.

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere.”

I looked back towards the treeline.

“You okay? Riley?” Kat’s voice was muffled and far away. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m not sure I haven’t,” I mumbled.

“What? Doesn’t matter. Come on, I’ve found the boys.” Grabbing hold of my wrist, Kat pulled me through the crowd where I couldn’t help but look back.

Ghosts – a definite possibility and harmless in most cases. Demon – more likely and more deadly. I looked around at all those gathered. Shit, so many. It would be a bloodbath.

“Here they are,” Kat thrust me forward.

Will and Simon had worked their way right to the front. Lyrics flew from their mouths delivered out of tune between swigs of beer. As soon as Will’s eyes found mine, he stumbled to me with a lopsided grin on his handsome face. I felt a pang in my stomach as another face popped into my head.

Mentally, I told it to piss off.

“W-w-where have you been?” he slurred. His hands were all over my back, moving lower and lower. Will leaned in read to place a kiss on my lips. Reaching back, I stopped his hands travelling further but welcomed the kiss I’d waited all night for.

Despite tasting that wretched alcohol, my heart leapt. Worries of dangers lurking beyond the trees evaporated. I’d probably imagined it anyway. Reaching up, I ran my hand through his short dirty-blond hair.

“We need more time together,” he said, lips pressing against my ear. “Alone.”

I tensed. The meaning was as clear as ringing bells and set in my insides like concrete. I plastered a smile on my face. After all, it was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Having pined for him for the last four years with not one sign I was even on his radar, I was determined to make the most of being his.

Somewhere, screams pierced the deafening music.

“What was that?” Will asked, pulling away.

I ignored him. With my body as still as stone, I looked to see what had caused panic to roll through the crowd. People fled in all directions, frantic limbs flying. I’d stood still long enough to feel the loss of Will’s body heat and watch him leave to join the dispersing group.

Nausea surged when I realised they were running away from the treeline where I thought I’d glimpsed something other.

Shit.

The music cut off and a loud crash sounded as the musicians abandoned their instruments.

“Will? Kat? I spun on the spot desperately trying to find my friends. I battled against the onslaught of bodies, the only one going towards what made everyone else flee.

The screaming was terrible. It punctured my mind until I couldn’t think straight. A tall blur of blond hair and white t-shirt barged my shoulder and knocked me to the ground, not bothering to stop. I hissed at the sharp pain in my hands. Lifting them from the grassy field, thick blood trickled from a jagged wound across my palm. The fragmented remains of a glass bottle lay hidden in the glass coated in my blood. Black in the moonlight, the droplets slid down my hand and into the grass.

Shadows emerged from the trees, the stark darkness of the woods bleeding into the clearing. They moved in quick, sharp jerks barely touching the ground with their stick-like limbs. The only creatures I had ever seen scurry like that were spiders.

Demons. But what kind, I didn’t know, had never encountered them in any of my witch studies. My pulse drummed in my ears as all other sounds died. They drew closer, the pale white of their skin stretching over thin, sharp bones like a translucent film. Two pointed pincers bulged out of the side of their head and around the front of their faces. Fire danced in their feline-like eyes.

The only one left in the clearing, I pushed myself back onto my feet. Only me and a dozen of these things. I grimaced at the throbbing in my hand, and took calculated steps towards the demons, taking care not to trip over the abandoned debris strewn over the grass.

There were seconds left before they reached me. Would flooding the clearing work? Should I send out a jet of water to blast them back? Quick. Decide.

“Are you going to make a half-arsed attempt to get away or just let them kill you?”

I whirled on the familiar voice to find the angel standing there. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving you.”

The untamed black hair grazed his shoulders. He held my gaze steady and sure, his lips slightly parted. Something registered on his face and a darkness bloomed in his widening eyes burning with such intensity that the night sky with all its stars and wonders paled in comparison.

I blinked the image of him away and clicked my tongue. “Save yourself.” With that, I sent three demons skittling with a low jet of water.

“There’s too many of them, we’ll never make it. Come on,” Rafe reached back and grabbed my wrist to pull me with him.

Not that I wanted to admit it, but he was right. We barrelled across the grass heading for the stage. My much shorter legs struggled to keep up with his longer strides. Even in frantic escape mode, Rafe moved with grace while all my energy was spent trying to stay upright.

He glanced over his shoulder. “They’re gaining on us. Hurry!”

“Can’t you sprout your wings and fly us out of here?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I’ll explain if we survive this.”

I groaned as he increased his speed dragging me with him, my thighs and calves burning.

“I need to get to the coven.”

Each penetrating stab reverberated across the ground, and the closer they got, the more their screeched pierced my ear drums. Rafe stopped when we reached a black and silver motorcycle propped up by a short leg at the side of the stage.

“Hop on,” he said, throwing his leg over. With a kick of his boot, the leg flicked up and the engine roared into life. He looked at me once more. “What are you waiting for?”

“There isn’t a helmet,” I hesitated.

Dark amusement flickered in his eyes. “Seriously? We’re getting chased by demons who I know want to kill us and you’re worried about where the helmet is.”

I could have explained. I could have told him why the sheer thought of getting on that bike was giving me palpitations and shortening my breath. But I didn’t.

“Safety first,” was all I said.

“Get on the bike, Riley.”

I stopped myself throwing up. “If we die now, I’m betting it’s down to a lack of safety equipment and not shiny demons with excellent cheekbones.” I hitched up my long skirt and jumped on. At first, I didn’t know where to place my hands and settled on the thin strip of leather between us.

“Here,” he reached round, grabbed both my hands, and pulled them around his waist. My injured hang stung. My chest crashed into the solid wall of his back.

“I need you to hold on,” he shouted over the noise of the engine.

Gripping tighter, I brushed the contours of his stomach muscles. Heat bloomed on my cheeks and I was thankful he couldn’t see the fire in my face.

We sped away and the creatures gave chase.

“Head for Valestone,” I called. “We’ll be safe there.”

Rafe drove straight into the forest. I wondered if he hoped the trees would act as an obstacle to slow the creatures down. Derwent Forest was thick and known for the dense canopy capable of blocking most rays. Especially now, as midnight fast approached, everywhere was black except for the small distance illuminated by the bike’s headlamp and the smouldering fires left in the clearing.

“Do you know what those things are?”

“Arachna demons. Half human and half spider. All of them female.”

“They can’t be.”

“Female or demons? Hang on!” he steered left, avoiding a row of tree trunks. The bike weaved in and out of trees effortlessly navigating root laden paths as though he’d driven this way a thousand times.

Daring to look back, my loose hair lashed my face like gilded whips. Somehow, my faux daisy headband stayed in place. A good thing for Rafe because if it flew off, I’d make him go back for it. Demons be damned.

“They’re getting closer!”

“They can’t move that quick. These are new ones emerging from the undergrowth.”

My head snapped back to him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“None of this is about making you feel better,” he called back, swerving again.

We hit an emerging root. My hands wrapped tighter around him to stop myself from falling off, but he jumped the bike and landed them back on the ground on the other side.

“You okay back there?”

“Yes,” I said into the rushing wind. It whistled as it sailed by my ear.

A volcano of dirt and greenery erupted ahead. Rafe jammed on the brakes and skidded, landing at an angle. Two white pincers grappled out of the ground. He paused for a beat before flying off in the direction we faced.

“Not much further now,” he called back.

In the distance, the shadows of the forest faded paling to navy blue and lighter still as we neared the edge of the forest. I felt easier knowing we would soon be out. I’d have to wake my grandmother and summon the coven to deal with the demons – Arachna, Rafe called them. How strange I’d never heard of them before.

We broke out of the boundary of the forest and slammed into the village. The closed lichgate of our village’s Norman church lay ahead, the church on our right, silhouetted against the sky. The interior was nothing more than an illusion created for any tourists making their way to Valestone or visitors from nearby towns. Witches in our coven could see through the magic veil like it was a splash of oil in a puddle.

I gave a little yelp as Rafe spun the bike, landing parallel to the forest with the church behind us. He twisted the key and the noise died.

“Well that’s something new,” he stared up at the sky, scanning across the span of the village.

Following his gaze, I smiled, knowing what had piqued his interest. “It’s a protection dome for the coven. Powered by the High Witch.” When I spoke, my head felt like it was submerged in water, my words muffled, and ears blocked.

And still the creatures came, their skin shining like a pearl in the moonlight.

“Here they come.”

One creature placed a pincer across the boundary marked by a row of uniform trees. As soon as they did, electric flashes surged up the offending limb until it covered the whole demon. It crackled, steam rising high before its body went limp and slumped to the ground, lifeless. Two other demons scurried up to the dead body, trying to nudge it alive with a pincer but when it didn’t move, they retreated in a hurry taking the whole horde with them.

“Nothing that intends harm can enter.”

“Impressive. I might need a word with your High Witch.”

I dismounted; my attention fixed on the smouldering mass of flesh. “I’m not so sure about that,” I said absently. “A servant of death seeking her out about a protection dome might freak her out.”

“Point taken.”

I turned to smile at Rafe. “Nice bike.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and threw his leg over the motorcycle to stand next to me.

“Yeah, it’s not mine. Some idiot left it next to the stage with keys in the ignition. An idiot I’m very grateful to, but I’m just going to leave it here. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes. I’m going to wake my grandmother with the wonderful news that half of the neighbouring town have witnessed and were nearly eaten by demons. Some possibly eaten if I don’t get a move on.” I studied the gash across my palm, flecks of dried blood formed a boundary around the open wound.

“Are you hurt?”

I snatched it away, hiding it by my side. “Just a little scratch.”

“Show me.”

“I said it’s fine.”

Rafe sighed and held an upturned hand. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation in my mind and before I knew it, he was cradling my hand in his almost reverently as he ran a calloused finger tip down my palm.

My breath bated. He smelled of soap. Clean, like rolling in freshly washed linen. I couldn’t look at his face.

“When you get home, I want you to properly clean the wound.”

“My Gran will have a poultice of witch hazel leaves and bark. She’ll sort it.” I would have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“And I’ll come back tomorrow to heal it when I have my powers back.”

My head snapped up. “What do you mean? Is that why you couldn’t fly? Have you lost your powers?”

“So many questions, little witch.”

I cocked my head to one side silently demanding answers.

“Angels are given a day off, if you will, every ten thousand souls they collect. Today is mine, but you live the day as a mortal. No powers, no wings.”

“You had a day off and you decided to creep around a teenage party? Not that you look much older than we do…”

At that, Rafe chucked. “Get going, or someone is going to find themselves at the mercy of an Arachna demon.”

“I need my hand back.”

A hint of colour stained his cheeks, but he dropped my hand as though the contact burned him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Rafe nodded in reply.

I kicked my legs into gear. I made it to the end of the lane before the urge to look back became too much. He should’ve gone, but he was still there, lounging against the stolen bike, watching.

It took everything I had to move away.

Chapter 1

#breaking shadows #wip #mywip #young adult #witches #ANGELOFDEATH #rafe #riley

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mythologyfolklore · 5 years ago

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Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 08

Chapter 8: Sickbed visits

Three years.

That was how long Ares remained in the Akesian Sleep.

Since he was unconscious, he was fed nectar and ambrosia through infusions.

He was so weak and his divine aura so diminished, that the healing deities had to pour additional healing essence into the water twice a week for over a year.

It wasn't uncommon, that one of them, mostly Apollon and Asklepios, collapsed from exhaustion.

Even after Ares' state had improved enough to end the regular supply of extra healing magic, Apollon was completely drained (Asklepios was more used to working hard as a healer, thus took it better).

“It'll take years for my healing energy to regenerate, but I'll be fine”, he assured his worried twin sister, although Artemis wasn't convinced at all.

“You'll definitely be more fine than Ares, when he wakes up and realises that he'll need decades of rehab to get back in shape”, Asklepios commented.

The three chuckled at the thought; the war god would be so pissed, but he'd have to suck it up.

One morning Asklepios' daughter Panakeia (All-Cure) came to check on the patient and found, that the Sleep was coming to an end: Ares would wake up soon.

She beamed and went to inform the other gods.

A few hours later he was out of the pool, had been salved and dressed into a hospital gown and was sleeping in the recovery room.

It was another two days, until he actually woke up; the Akesian Sleep always took a while to seep out and he had been in it for so long.

Apollon was the one, who witnessed his older half-brother waking up.

First it was a slight twitch of the eyelids. They slowly opened and soon Ares was blinking and glancing around disorientated.

Apollon waited until the other's red eyes focussed on him, before he spoke: “Good morning, Ares. Welcome back in the land of the living.”

“Where am I …?”

“You're in sickbay. In the recovery room to be exact. We pulled you out of the Akesian Sleep a few days ago.”

The war god seemed to need a bit to let it sink in.

“How long was I asleep?”, he finally breathed out, his voice too hoarse from disuse.

“Three years”, Apollon answered with a frown.

“Holy shit.”

“Yup.”

There were a few minutes of awkward silence, before Apollon finally asked: “How are you feeling now?”

“Kinda hungover.”

The younger god chuckled: “Yes, the Akesian Sleep does that to you.”

“An' really weak.”

“That's no wonder, after what you have gone through. Do you want something to drink or eat?”

“M-hm. Some water …”

Apollon handed him a jug of water from the night stand.

But when Ares took it, he frowned. “Why is it so heavy?”

The god of light hesitated, but answered: “That's probably your lack of muscle mass. You haven't been training in more than four years, so of course they deteriorated. Take a look at your hands and arms.”

Ares did and his face twisted with disgust at how frail and skinny he was.

“Lemme guess: I'll need years of rehab?”

“You'll need years of rehab.”

“Shit.”

Apollon tried to conceal his pity, knowing the other didn't want it. “Just drink your water. I'll let the others know, that you're awake.”

Ares was surprised at how many people came to visit him.

Just a few minutes after Apollon had left, the war god heard a commotion outside.

But then Apollon's voice called out: “Not so fast! He's just woken up, is still in a fragile state and he needs quiet! I will not let you all pester him at once! Only two at a time and that's final!”

I'll show you fragile!, Ares thought sourly, but he still was grateful. He really was in no condition to deal with everyone's chattering, questions … and their pity.

Then Apollon let the first pair in.

Aphrodite pushed Hephaistos' chair next to her lover's bed.

“Hey there”, the latter greeted his older brother. “How are you feeling?”

“Eh”, Ares muttered, “Kinda shitty. How 'bout you two?”

“We've been better”, Aphrodite told him. “We … we've been worried sick about you. Three years in a coma, damn the Fates!”

Ares took a closer look at her and saw that her eyes were a bit puffy. She was wearing make-up and something told him, that it was to conceal wrinkles of sorrow.

Hephaistos too looked a bit drained, and … was that a strand of grey hair?

“You have aged.”

“We know”, Hephaistos replied, “But that's nothing Hebe can't fix. We just didn't want to go to her, before you'd wake up.”

Ares grinned wryly: “Well, I'm sure you two look better than I do. Be real with me, guys; how nasty do I look?”

“You look horrid”, Aphrodite said honestly.

“Not much better than I did, when I got thrown off Olympos, I reckon”, Hephaistos commented.

Ares snorted: “Probably not. Anyway, how are the kids?”

“They're fine”, Aphrodite assured him. “But they miss you. And Eros is sad, because you couldn't be there on his birthday last week.”

Ares smiled fondly. “Tell the kids I love them, hm?”

Aphrodite reciprocated the smile. “I will. And they love you too. You know that, right?”

He chuckled hoarsely: “Sure do.”

I'm a lucky bastard in that regard, I really am.

Suddenly Hephaistos bent forward and took his brother's hand.

“How is the voice in your head?”, he asked earnestly.

Ares closed his eyes and allowed himself to dive into his mind.

Hey! Are you there?

No, Ares, I'm on a field trip to the Garden of the Hesperides!, came the sarcastic response.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “He's fine. Back to being an old bitch already.”

Who are you calling an old bitch?!

Aphrodite and Hephaistos chuckled in amusement and both squeezed his hands.

The rest of the sickbed visit was spent in a silent serenity, that less than a century earlier would have been impossible.

Hermes and Dionysos came together (unsurprisingly).

Their visit wasn't as tranquil, but a lot more entertaining in that these two had a lot of funny stories to share with their older brother.

Sadly Apollon soon kicked them out, saying that they were too loud.

Uncle Poseidon and aunt Demeter kept their visits short, but that was fine, because Ares wasn't particularly close to either.

“What time of the year is it anyway?”, he asked.

Demeter told him, that it was winter. “But Sephy and Hades called, they're coming for a visit too.”

“Neat”, the war god replied, “I kinda miss them.”

“They miss you too”, his aunt replied.

A moment of silence followed.

Then Poseidon spoke: “You know, we were really terrified, when we saw you in that state – and even more so, when we took a look at the chains.”

“How cursed were they?”, the war god inquired.

“Pure evil”, the sea god answered sombrely. “And your parents and us recognised them – the chains that once bound the Kyklopes and Hekatonkheires.”

Ares' eyes widened.

Of course he had heard of them; Zeus had told him all about the beginning of the Titanomakhia, when he was small – when they had still been half-way on speaking terms, of course. Zeus had mentioned the chains, but Ares had assumed it was to make the Titanes look more evil. So they had been real?!

“We don't know, how the Aloiadai got hold of them”, Poseidon continued, “But don't worry, the chains are no more. One of the Protogenoi obliterated them.”

Ares nodded. “Good.”

“The Aloiadai are gone too. Athena and Artemis took them out.”

“Even better.”

Artemis came alone.

“'Sup, psycho”, she greeted him.

Ares grinned. “'Sup, spoiled brat.”

She laughed, but quickly settled down and cleared her throat.

“Ahem, fun aside. How are you feeling, considering the circumstances?”

He shrugged weakly. “Could be better.”

“You nearly died.”

“I know.”

She refilled his jug with water and he took it gratefully.

After taking a few swigs, he set it down on the night table.

“I heard you and Daddy's Owl took them out?”

“Yes, but stop calling Athena Daddy's Owl.”

“Not in a million years.”

Artemis rolled her eyes. “You know what, forget about that. If it's any comfort to you, their death was slow and painful. And Eris helped us too, sowed strife and that junk.”

Ares grinned: “It is a comfort. Thank you, Basileis¹.”

Her eyes widened, as he used that epithet.

He had never called her that before – normally, if he didn't call her by her name, he called her “Lêtôis”�� or, if he felt spiteful, “bastard child” to rub her illegitimate birth into her face.

For some reason she couldn't help but shrug and grin broadly.

“No problem, Andreiphontês³.”

When Athena came to see her half-brother, she had in mind, what she wanted to say.

But she was also aware, that Ares would probably ruin her plans, like the chaotic neutral he was. Artemis had already warned her, that he was back at calling her “Daddy's Owl” again, so she didn't expect any good conduct from the brutish god.

The sight caused her a light nausea.

Lying in bed, still skin and bones and deathly pale, he looked disgustingly frail.

But he seemed as perceptive as ever; he took one look at her face and his red eyes narrowed.

“Spare me your pity, Daddy's Owl”, he growled throatily.

“I would, but it's hard not to pity you; you look truly wretched”, she retorted coolly.

He snorted: “So I've been told. Then again, more than a year in captivity and torture and three in a coma don't exactly make one prettier.”

She took a deep breath to remain calm.

“I heard that I'm obliged to you”, he went on, “I can't claim that this pleases me.”

“I know.”

He sighed frustratedly: “Thanking Artemis was much easier. Then again, I don't hate her as much as I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual. And frankly, I hope I will never be obliged to you. The last thing I want is for you to help me out of a precarious situation, when I can't do it myself for some reason.”

The response was a faltering, wheezing laugh – eerily similar to a death rattle.

She frowned: “You sound like you're dying from pneumonia. Are you sure your lungs are completely healed?”

“Well, with my luck, they might still be damaged. Or my voice and throat are just that hoarse from disuse. Anyway, Daddy's Owl-”

“Will you ever stop calling me that?!”

He grinned lopsidedly: “Sure, on the day you're not Zeus' 'little Owl-Eye' anymore.”

“… You know, a simple 'No' would have sufficed, you fucking arsehole.”

He mock-gasped: “What is this I hear? Is Zeus' favourite losing her composure?”

Refusing to dignify that, she turned away and spoke icily: “You better recover quickly, because I can't wait to kick your sorry behind again.”

Ares laughed again: “Actually, I might just train harder and one day I'll be better than-”

Suddenly he stopped short.

“Wait … wait, are you – Owl, are you crying?!”

“Bullshit”, she muttered and blinked furiously, before turning back to him.

Ares was sitting up – albeit with some effort – and looking completely bewildered.

“Hey, come on, don't cry. I'm sorry! I didn't think you were that upset about-”

“I'm not crying, you twit!”

“Yes, you are! Ya know, there are paper tissues on the night table-”

Ares gasped in surprise, as she grabbed his face. Her eyes were blazing with fury.

“What the Tartaros were you thinking?!”, she hissed, “Taking on two opponents twice your size, while you were still having that cough, you … you stupid fuck! You dumbass!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know”, he muttered, “But next time I'll be better prepared …”

“Shut the Tartaros up, you moron!”

She slapped him, only to hug him immediately afterwards.

Ares tensed up at first, but then she felt his hand gingerly pat her back.

“Shhhh. Hey, come on. I'll be fine. Give it a few years of rehab and we'll be back at each other's throat.”

Athena chuckled wryly: “Good. I have a lot of pent-up aggression.”

“Ditto! An' just you wait, Daddy's Owl! I'll train harder than before and one day I will surpass you!”

She snorted: “Keep dreaming, Thêritas⁴. I will always be the better one.”

“You keep telling yourself that, you arrogant owl!”, Ares cackled. “I will get you off that crazy high pedestal of yours, you'll see!”

But all of the sudden he stopped laughing and his face grew suspicious. “Wait … look at me.”

One piercing gaze later, Ares' red eyes darkened with realisation.

“Eris has told you everything.”

Athena, knowing what he meant, nodded. “She has.”

“You haven't told anyone.”

“No. I promised her not to.”

“Good. Hey, lemme propose a deal to ya.”

Athena's interest was piqued. “Oh? What is it?”

“You'll continue keeping quiet about it. I won't tell anyone about your breakdown.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You're driving a hard bargain, brother.”

He smirked: “That I do.”

“… Alright. It's a deal.”

“And this better not change anything between us.”

“Absolutely not. You're the last person I'd give special treatment to, Ares.”

“Good. Let's shake on it.”

With faces like thunder they shook on it.

A few visits later, he was feeling incredibly tired and really just wanted to sleep.

So he couldn't help but groan, when Apollon told him that another couple was waiting.

“Yes, I know you're tired and I told them you need rest, but they insist and I can hardly turn them away”, the blond explained awkwardly.

“Never mind”, the war god muttered. “Let's get this over with.”

“Right”, Apollon nodded and went into the other room.

Ares was … actually caught by surprise, when his half-brother returned with his parents.

They sat down by his bedside.

Awkward silence settled in, none of the three knowing what to say.

Until eventually Ares said: “Hey.”

To his dismay Hera broke down and cried into his covered stomach.

Zeus sighed and stroked her back.

Hating to see his mother cry, Ares placed his hand onto hers.

“You idiot!”, Hera sobbed, “You complete and utter dumbass! Taking on two Gigantes by yourself, while you had a cold no less! What were you thinking?!”

“That's a good question”, Zeus agreed sternly, “Ares, what were you thinking?”

Ares almost laughed, but held it in. “I was just sick of it. Those two bastards harassing everyone. And no one was doing anything.”

Then he frowned at them reproachfully. “Why did it take you so long to go and look for me? Would you even have done something, if the mortal who found me hadn't told you where I was? I know we're estranged, but this is bullshit.”

“You're doing us wrong”, Zeus replied, “It's true, it took us four months to realise, that you had been kidnapped – but we never stopped looking for you once we did.”

Ares lifted a brow. “Where did you think I was? Didn't you notice it was suddenly much quieter?”

Zeus chuckled: “It's never quiet here. But to answer your question, we thought you were in Thrace. It wasn't until Helios told us what had happened, that we learned the truth. But he couldn't say where you were, because the Aloiadai took you to some place the sunlight doesn't touch.”

“… Why would I go to Thrace in such a situation?”

Hera looked up and glared tearfully. “How should we know? It's not like you ever let us know, what really goes on inside your head!”

That was true. Ares always said, what was on his mind right now, but he never let anyone see, what was beneath. His bluntness and honesty were superficial.

The war god closed his eyes and heaved another sigh.

“I'm sorry”, he murmured. “I … I didn't mean to make you all worry. I didn't even think you actually care.”

“Well, you're wrong!”, Zeus and Hera snapped in unison – blinked, stared at each other and snickered like the old couple they were.

Ares was so happy about this rare moment of harmony between his parents, that he bit back his “Would've been nice to hear that as a kid”-comment.

Zeus cleared his throat and his face grew stern. “My son, promise us to never do this again. We very nearly lost you. Had you died, we never would have forgiven ourselves.”

After what he had been through, that was an easy promise to make.

“I promise and … can you say that again?”

The King of the Gods tilted his head. “'Had you died, we never would have forgiven ourselves'?”

“No, the first thing.”

Catching on, Zeus smiled.

“My son.”

---

1) Basileis: Princess, Royal (one of Artemis' epithets, since she's the daughter of Zeus - Ares is basically acknowledging, that his half-sister is not another one of his father's "love children") 2) Lêtois: Daughter of Leto 3) Andreiphontês: Men-Destroyer (one of Ares' epithets) 4) Thêritas: Brutish/Beastly One

#Greek Mythology #apollon #asklepios #artemis #aphrodite #hephaistos #dionysos #hermes #demeter #poseidon #athena #hera #zeus

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swiss-cheeze · 6 years ago

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Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater || part 3 || Tommy Lee

Warnings: uhh, drinking, swearing, sex

A/N: this is the LAST installation of Cheater Cheater, I hope you like this three part mini fic thing!

Part 1: https://snitchthewitch.tumblr.com/post/184823306925/cheater-cheater-pumpkin-eater-tommy-lee-x

Part 2: https://snitchthewitch.tumblr.com/post/185406896095/cheater-cheater-pumpkin-eater-part-2-tommy

———

(Y/n) looked around and realized how uncomfortable she actually was in a setting like this, all dolled up and posh, she would rather a crowded bar filled with cigarette smoke and good beers, good friends and shitty perverts that she could knock out, the girl smirked at some earlier memories of doing that many a time before. However, (Y/n)’s thoughts where cut short as a voice brought her back to reality, a voice she hadn’t heard in almost 3 years.

“You look rather uncomfortable in this environment, if I knew it was you I would’ve taken you to a bar instead of this place” Tommy said.

---

Sighing through her nose (Y/n) closed her eyes as her finger ran around the top of her wine glass, “and if I knew it was you I would have boarded my room for a week” the girl said bitterly.

“I see you still hate me” Tommy said, the man sat down next to (Y/n) who quickly scooted far away from the man, a hurt look over taking his features.

“I recall you where the one who cheated” (Y/n) said, staring at her wine glass before taking a mouthful.

“Look (Y/n), I’m sorry for what happened back then-“

“No you’re not” (Y/n) cut Tommy off quickly, the boy shut up immediately seeing as there where steak knives in easy reach, “you cheated on me for three quarters of the tour, you had a girl suck you off while on the phone to me while you had the other girl pull the goddam phone cord out from the fucking phone!” (Y/n) said exasperated, her elbows staying on the table but her hands making the story as her gaze stayed on the tablecloth wide eyed.

“When did you get told that?” Tommy whispered in disbelief, the band had been acting weird with him when the pair first parted ways and almost no one talked to him besides a few words from Mick. It came to the drummer that (Y/n) was like a little sister to all of them, the reason why they didn’t talk to him after the breakup.

“Vince told me, Nikki gave me a call and Mick came over for a chat” (Y/n) said softly, “they aren’t stupid Tommy”, that name had not been uttered from your mouth in almost three years, “they told me everything they should have about Heather”

“Heather…” Tommy whispered looking at the piece of table cloth her was fiddling with.

“Nikki told me you broke up” (Y/n) whispered softly, “I’m sorry” the girl muttered.

“Don’t apologise, I just think she was the one that got away” Tommy said before clearing his throat, “but, I want a fresh start” the drummer said happily, (Y/n)’s gaze turned up to look at the drummer and fuck his eyes still looked heavenly. (Y/n) was about to say something before Charles came back over.

“Are we ready ma’am?” Charles asked as he took out his notepad and pen, (Y/n)’s gaze turned to Tommy as Charles’ eyes flitted between the pair.

“No, actually he would like the cheque please” (Y/n) said, “This isn’t exactly a place neither of us fit into” the girl said as she started to gather her things, Charles gave (Y/n) a sly smile under his moustache and nodded.

“If you would so kindly follow me I’ll get you on your way” Charles said before leading the pair to the register. Tommy pulled out his wallet.

“Did you get told I was paying or?” Tommy asked with a sly grin.

“Yes I was actually, that’s the only reason I got the most expensive wine I liked that I only had a glass and a half off before your rock star ass showed up” (Y/n) retorted.

“Still as feisty as ever” Tommy said as he paid for the bill, “I like it”, (Y/n) sighed and rolled her eyes. The girl thanked Charles with a kind smile as Tommy linked his arm with hers and started walking to the exit.

“Well seeing as it’s only nine why don’t we go to a locally crowded bar filled with sweaty bodies, cigarette smoke and beers” (Y/n) said with a cocky grin. The girl really hadn’t realised how much she had missed Tommy’s touch, his smell and even just his overall persona and aura he gave out. Like an excited puppy.

“I would very much love that” Tommy said with a grin.

---

A bucket of chips and seven drinks between the pair, (Y/n) and Tommy where finally talking about the past.

“I really didn’t mean to baby girl” Tommy said, (Y/n) cringed at the nickname as Tommy held her hand, “I was so fucked up back then, with touring and Nikki and everything else…” Tommy drawled out.

“You really can’t come up with an excuse can you?” (Y/n) said with a sour look on her face, “you cheated on me for months! And you didn’t tell me, I had to hear it from Vince who had to defend himself from me almost punching him!” the girl said aggressively, “GOD,” she wretched her hand from Tommy’s grip and got up quickly, “here I thought I could give you a second chance! You looked so nice in a suit, you sounded so nice when my friend described you but you’re just as sick and twisted as you were back then!” (Y/n) exclaimed, the girl quickly walked to the exit with Tommy in tow.

“Don’t do this again (Y/n)!” Tommy yelled, immediately regretting his words the minute they left his mouth. Rain was pouring from the sky as (Y/n) walked down the sidewalk, from Tommy’s sentence the girl swerved around to look back at the drummer with a glare.

“ME!? I DID THIS AGAIN?!” she yelled over the rain as she held up a shivering finger to Tommy’s face, the pair were already drenched through.

“I didn’t mean-“

“I DIDN’T MEAN, I DIDN’T MEAN, AND WHAT THE HELL DIDN’T YOU MEAN TOMMY, HUH!?” (Y/n) cut off the drummer, she was sick of his shit back then and is still sick of it to this day; the girl turned around and started walking away again, that was before a hand grabbed her wrist, twirled her around and pinned her to an alleyway wall, “What the HELL?!”

“LISTEN TO ME” Tommy yelled over the rain, (Y/n) shut her mouth at his tone, “I didn’t mean to not love you the way I was meant to” Tommy said, a sudden rush of…something, overcame (Y/n) at the man’s words, “I treated you like real shit, the dirt under my shoe and the wheel of a tour bus. You deserved so much better than me but I was young and OH so dumb, I still technically am but that isn’t the point” (Y/n)’s lip quirked, “you’re a princess, fuck, a QUEEN in my eyes; and you still are, every day I would try and contact you but you ended up changing your phone, then moving houses to the fucking country and I knew I would never be able to see you. It broke my heart to see you wielding a wooden goddamn spoon than I was that day; except when it was my mum who was wielding the spoon,” Tommy added making (Y/n) smile, “I wanted to leave that kitchen because I knew there was knives in the room, I had never been more scared of someone then that day, you were so calm and your words almost sounded rehearsed and the fact that they did told me how much pain and hurt and anguish I really put you through. You slapped me and everything fell numb, you left and I laid on those tiles for a good hour before I really realised what had happened, I went to our-my, room and all of your clothes where gone. You didn’t know it then but I had an engagement ring hiding in that room” Tommy said softly electing a soft intake of breath from (Y/n), “I was starting to plan everything when shit went to the fan, I still have that ring (Y/n), to this day I have kept it for the day I saw you again, for the day you could forgive me and give me a second chance at a life with you, a family with you, a dog and kid, or two! Or three or however many you wanted!” Tommy said with a laugh, the laugh was contagious because (Y/n) found herself giggling along with the drummer, “I made songs dedicated to you but I never produced them or got Vince to sing them, hell I never even played a simple beat to them because you weren’t there to fill in the place I needed to MAKE the beat” Tommy looked defeated but he kept talking, (Y/n) brought her hand up to the man’s cheek and cupped it softly, “I didn’t want to chase after you because it wasn’t right, I needed to wait and see what would happen” Tommy said softly. (Y/n) gave a watery smile and sniffled softly.

“I went to the country, I didn’t listen to anything by you guys, I didn’t read the tabloids or papers, I wouldn’t utter your name or the band or anything; but right now I want to scream your name at the top of my lungs” (Y/n) said with a smile.

“Are you meaning the dirty way love?” Tommy asked slyly with a cocky grin, (Y/n) shoved the man with a laugh.

“TWAT!” (Y/n) said with a laugh.

“Come on bird, my house is closer than yours I’d bet” Tommy said, “let’s get you warm” the boy said, he slung an arm around the girls shoulder as (Y/n) did the same with his waist and the pair walked (quickly) in the rain to Tommy’s house.

---

(Y/n) smiled softly as Tommy let the girl into his house, the man immediately turned on the heaters, and a small hum of appreciation came from the girl behind him as she took in the front room decorations; a show of how much money the drummer has as well as how homely it felt walking in.

“I-it’s a little messy” Tommy said tight-lipped as he grabbed some strewn around clothes and beer bottles and started throwing them into other places of the house.

“You were always someone messy” (Y/n) said with a small chuckle making Tommy give a small grin to her direction.

“Shut it you” Tommy mumbled softly with a grin. (Y/n) put her hands up in defence as she sat down on the couch and made herself at home.

“Beer or wine?” Tommy asked as he opened one of the fridges in the room.

“Beer would be lovely” (Y/n) replied as she flicked on the telly as Tommy came back and handed her a cold long neck, the girl took it gratefully as she positioned it at the coffee table and hit the bottle cap off with the ledge.

“Wow, never knew you could do that” Tommy said as he used a cap opener and placed the cap along with (Y/n)’s.

“College frat parties do come in handy for later in life sometimes” (Y/n) said as she held up her bottle slightly and took a sip with a grin.

“If that’s what you say then yeah” Tommy replied as he too took a mouthful of his drink, (Y/n) fiddled with the TV remote for a little while before landing on MTV and Don’t Go Away Mad was soon playing around the room.

“This is you guys?” (Y/n) asked, she hadn’t heard or seen anything of the Crüe in almost three years, “you guys aren’t doing too badly” the girl said absently with a shrug.

“Yeah well, we’re only just cruising by I guess, we’re about to go on tour” Tommy said, “Nikki is up to his hips in drugs, Heather left, Mick’s back has gotten worse…” Tommy paused and played with a loose string on the couch, “we’re a little bit of a mess right now, but you’re the only thing I can see clearly” Tommy grinned slyly.

“You flatter me Tommy, you really do” (Y/n) said with a small smile, mumbling the lyrics to ‘I can see clearly now the rain is gone’.

“How are you going at home?” Tommy asked (Y/n) as he turned to look at the girl and took a swig from his beer.

“Oh, fine, hanging out. Nothing exciting happens if that’s what you’re asking” she took a swig of the beer, “haven’t had a guy in a while” (Y/n) said absently, “you?”

“Well, Heather” Tommy said with a shrug, “then your friend set us up” Tommy said with a small blush and childlike giggle, “remember that time when we set fire to Nikkis hotel room?” Tommy asked with a large grin, (Y/n) let out a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah I remember that, Doc kicked our asses because of it. The bill wasn’t even that big but he still held a grudge against us for like three weeks” (Y/n) said with a laugh, the laugh was rather contagious as Tommy followed through and chuckled slightly as well before a semi awkward silence overcame the pair.

“You said you hadn’t had a guy in a while” Tommy questioned as he gave (Y/n) a curious look, “what do you mean by that?” the boy took a swig from his beer again.

“E-ever since you and I broke up I haven’t really…been with anyone. I’ve tried but they never worked more than a month or so” (Y/n) said with a shrug, “a few hook-ups here and there but they were really bad” the girl said as her face contorted into something akin to disgust and uncomfortableness.

“Well, if it means anything, I haven’t had any good sex either” Tommy said with an awkward smile, “Heather wasn’t really-“

“Tommy, dude. I do NOT want to know your sex life” (Y/n) said with a large laugh, “it can most definitely not be any worse than mine”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Tommy asked with a laugh.

“What! Nothing! Pretend I said nothing” (Y/n) said with a fit of giggles.

“No tell me!” Tommy pleaded as he sat up in anticipation.

“No! Nope!” (Y/n) said, the boy huffed softly as he put down his beer.

“I’ll do something you really don’t like unless you tell me” Tommy said, the girl put down her drink too and cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that tough guy?” (Y/n) asked cockily.

“This!” Tommy pounced on the girl and quickly pinned her before tickling her sides, the girl screeched and writhed beneath Tommy with laughter.

“NO T-TOMMY ST-AH-STOP!” (Y/n) yelled as she tried to swat Tommy’s hands away as well as using her legs and feet.

“Tell me!” the boy yelled through (Y/n)’s laughter.

“FINE FINE! ILL TELL!” (Y/n) said, Tommy stopped his antics but still stayed on top of the girl, officially pinning her to the couch as she regained her breath for a moment, “cum” she finally said through laboured breaths, “they haven’t made me cum. I usually had to go home just to relieve myself for it” to say Tommy looked surprised was a little bit of an understatement.

“You mean to tell me, you haven’t had a proper orgasm in somewhat of three years?” Tommy asked.

“Yep. All by me, my fingers and my toys” (Y/n) said as her breathing finally evened out and she looked up at the boy atop of her. Looking into Tommy hazy brown eyes and back at her own reflection (Y/n) saw the glimmer of what the pair where both thinking, the boy’s hazel eyes became glazed over as his hand came up and cupped the girl’s cheek.

“You know…” Tommy paused, “I could…help you” the boy said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “like I used to” he added making the girl beneath him grin, the alcohol still buzzing slightly in her system.

“Yeah?” (Y/n) asked with a cocked eyebrow, “then what’s stopping you?” the girl questioned Tommy who only grinned before quickly leaning down and smashing his lips against (Y/n)’s, the girl beneath him let out a soft moan as her hands came up and tangled themselves in Tommy’s hair and pulling him by his neck to get closer. Tommy’s hands drifted down the front of (Y/n)’s dress, giving a gratuitous squeeze to her breasts before going under the hem of the long skirt before the girl started pushing Tommy away.

“You okay? Did I overstep?” Tommy quickly asked, (Y/n) only snorted softly as she stood up and started to take off her shoes.

“Clothes. Now” (Y/n) said, Tommy was up on his feet taking his jacket and shirt off quicker then he could smash a television set and hotel room. (Y/n) turned around, “unzip me?” the girl asked, Tommy’s breath hitched as he stood in his dress pants.

“That’s probably the most beautiful and sexy thing I’ve ever heard anyone say” the boy said as he stepped closer, the cold tips of his fingers briefly touched the girls bare shoulders before quickly heading to the zip and dragging it down. Tommy left small kisses from (Y/n)’s shoulder to the connection of her neck and shoulder before biting down softly and sucking, giving a nice purple bruise, a soft whine came from the girl in front of him before the dress fell to the floor and pooled at her painted toes in a pool of deep satin red. (Y/n) turned around and wrapped her arms around Tommy’s neck, quickly bringing him down to her lips again as she moved the boy backwards, as the kiss got more and more heated (Y/n) brought her hands down and started undoing Tommy’s belt as the boys hands went to her back and started undoing her bra. Tommy’s pants where quickly dropped as well as (Y/n)’s bra, both articles of clothing discarded amongst the rest on the floor, the boys hands quickly went to (Y/n)’s breast, giving a good squeeze before he was suddenly pushed back onto the couch, the girl quickly followed through and straddled Tommy as he quickly went back to his previous actions. The boys hand came up to her right nipple and started playing and tugging while his mouth worked with (Y/n)’s left hardened nipple; delicate moans and whines came from (Y/n) above Tommy as her hips instinctively ground against Tommy’s, a deep growl came from the boy under her as his hips came up into hers. Tommy switched breasts as his unoccupied hand went down and started rubbing circles over (Y/n) pantie clad clit.

“So wet for me already princess?” Tommy mumbled against her breast, he gave the nipple a good tug with his teeth before the boy went to sucking marks into (Y/n) neck, the girls moans grew louder as her hips stuttered against Tommy’s hand. (Y/n)’s hand quickly found their way to Tommy’s hair and then his shoulders before travelling south and landing on Tommy’s crotch, quickly going under his boxers and playing with the head of Tommy’s penis; a loud groan came from the boy as her hand started moving against him, his hips stuttering as his fingers continued on (Y/n)’s clit and nipple. Soft moans and groans came from both (Y/n) and Tommy as they kept up their antics on each other.

“F-fuck, e-enough of this” (Y/n) panted softly as she tried to take down Tommy’s underwear, “just fuck me already” the girl whined softly. Tommy nods quickly as he takes his hand away from (Y/n)’s front as the pair discard their final article of clothing before resuming their previous positions.

“Condom?” Tommy asked as he looked to the girl above him panting softly as (Y/n) started to line the boy up to her entrance.

“I’m clean and on the pill” the girl said looking to Tommy with laboured breathing, “you?”

“Clean, yeah yeah clean” Tommy said with a nod; it wasn’t a lie, he was clean. He technically got a check-up only three weeks prior; who would’ve thought he’d be in this situation three weeks ago?

“Good” (Y/n) said, the girls voice brought Tommy back from his thoughts as she slowly sat down and started to sink down on him; a low moan came from both participants as the girl bottomed herself out and sat for a moment to get used to Tommy’s size. The boys hands came to rest softly at (Y/n)’s waist and lower back as her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she started bouncing, soft grunts and whimpers came from the pair.

“F-feel so fucking g-good baby girl” Tommy said softly as he kissed along the junction of (Y/n)’s neck as the boy leant his head back and watched himself move in and out of the girl above him. Tits bouncing, hair bouncing and skin slapping was something that suited the girl above Tommy as one of his hands travelled down and started toying with (Y/n)’s clit, the girls mouth opened in a lovely O shape as their hips collided together. “Gonna cum pretty girl?” Tommy asked breathlessly.

“S-so close” (Y/n) whimpered softly, Tommy’s hips started to stutter and the pair’s thrusting started to get sloppy.

“Oh F-FUCK PRINCESS!” Tommy groaned out loudly, his hips stilled as he came inside (Y/n), his fingers continued toying with her clit as her orgasm washed over her too. (Y/n) slumped over Tommy as her hips stuttered slightly from the intense climax she had just had as well as trying to milk as much of it as she could. Tommy kissed along (Y/n)’s neck softly as the girl caught her breath and licked her dry lips as she faced the junction.

“That was…” (Y/n) started after a few moments.

“Spectacular?” Tommy asked with a grin and chuckle, the vibrations of Tommy made (Y/n) laugh softly too.

“Something akin to that; yeah” the girl responded, Tommy pushed (Y/n)’s shoulder slightly to make the girl look at him; the girl leaned back on her thighs slightly, a look of slight discomfort entered her face at the feeling of Tommy softening inside of her.

“Come back” Tommy said to the girl softly, “I miss you so much, I was so fucking bad when you left, I searched everywhere to find you and apologies and try to win you back but you had left. And even the day after you did leave I went to everyone, Vince, Nikki, Mick and even Doc; I knew you were with Vince because that was always the first place you would ever go when you weren’t okay but Vinny told me you didn’t want to see me and all of that shit. I stopped drumming for a solid few months, I locked myself in the house and refused to go into the bedroom, everything still had your beautiful scent and I could still see you walking around the house and into the kitchen. The boys had to-“ Tommy was cut off with a harsh and passionate kiss from (Y/n), her arms wrapped tightly around the boys neck as his wrapped around her waist, pulling her in and close to his chest. The kiss only lasted a few seconds before the pair separated and pressed their foreheads together.

“You cheat on me, you get a blow job from a random girl that isn’t me, you even so much as kiss another girl without asking me for permission for a music video; I WILL cut your penis off and I WILL skip town twice as much as I did before and you will NEVER find me again” (Y/n) said defensively making Tommy laugh a genuine laugh.

“I promise I won’t doll, I don’t like making mistakes twice” Tommy said with a large grin, “let me take you out on a proper date”

“Where to?” (Y/n) asked with a smile.

“Movies? Park? Crowded bar? Wherever you want to go sweetheart” Tommy said sweetly, a smile spread across (Y/n)’s face.

“Sounds like a plan, Drummer” (Y/n) said, she pecked Tommy’s lips briefly, “let’s start by you taking me to bed and letting me friggen sleep yeah?” the girl asked with a small laugh, the laugh was contagious because Tommy laughed softly too.

“Consider it done princess” Tommy said, the boy helped (Y/n) off of him and a calm silence came over the couple as Tommy put his underwear back on before picking (Y/n) up bridal style (causing her to giggle softly) and walking her to the master bedroom where he dressed the girl in a clean pair of his boxers and one of his shirts before placing her softly on the bed, “I’m glad I’ve got you back” Tommy said softly as he got in the bed next to the girl, she looked at Tommy apprehensively, “I don’t ever want to lose you again”

“Three years and you’ve gone soft” (Y/n) said a little sleepily with a small smile making Tommy laugh softly as he faced the girl, the pair got comfortable and cuddled close together as Tommy kissed (Y/n)’s forehead.

“Only for you my love” Tommy whispered softly and sweetly.

———

TAGLIST:

(Only for this mini series)

@tephi101 || @kingbouji3 || @crazysaladchopshop ||

((If your name is crossed out tumblr isn’t letting me tag you))

#colson baker #machine gun kelly #motley crue #tommy lee #nikki sixx #the dirt #mick mars #vince neil #tommy lee x reader #the dirt!tommy lee x reader #colson baker aka machine gun kelly #colson baker x reader #the dirt netflix movie #netflix

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darlingpetao3 · 8 years ago

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For Asgard (Chapter 12/?)

Day 30

That's it, you've had it!

If you have to stay put in this room any longer you're going to seriously lose your shit. You've already read all the books this place has to offer, which wasn't a lot to begin with, and they were your best form of escape from here. Now the only things keeping you from tearing your hair out are your small routine walks around the compound and the sporadic, always unpredictable visits from Loki (which, as a joke, you said sometimes made you feel like a mistress).

You can't think of any other way to keep your sanity, so today when Loki comes to see you, you decide to ask him something that's been on your mind for awhile now.

“Loki, I have to ask you a favour.”

“You know I would do anything for you. What is it, my dear?”

“I was wondering...” you begin. He nods, urging your forthcoming request. “Would it be possible to join you in the training? I am so bored and alone and if I have to spend any more time than I need to in this room, I think I'm going explode.”

“I am not sure-”

“Please. Please ask the Other? I need to do something. I'm desperate, here.” Loki sighs in contemplation.

“It pains me to see you so. I will request such on your behalf. But I make no promises on the outcome.”

“Oh thank you, Loki. I don't even have to join in on the scheming portion of it all because I know you think it's unsafe,” you add hastily. “Just, maybe the combat training, is that what he calls it? You know, some physical activity? So I don't waste away and can keep up with you in, well, whatever you're planning on doing?” You can't help but ramble like a fool. After a month of basically doing nothing, the prospect of even physical activity sounds wonderful to you. He leans in for a kiss and hums a small chuckle against your lips.

“I love it when you get excited.”

Well, that just excited you more.

“Oh really?” you say playfully, then give him a peck back.

“Mmm, yes. And I love it when you are so absorbed in a book that you cannot even hear me enter the room.” He now rolls you back onto your bed and runs a hand up your body. A shiver ripples through you.

“And I love it when my name falls from your lips.”

You let out a ragged breath. His hands explore the shape of your (still, unfortunately) clothed body while his mouth is working all kinds of breathtaking, heart-stopping things against yours.

“Loki,” you say.

“Yes, that's right, my darling. Say my name.”

“No, umm, Loki. Stop.”

He pulls back from you looking confused, almost certainly wondering why you asked him to stop doing these magical things to you when you were clearly enjoying it. He follows the flick of your eyes. A guard resembling the same race as the Other stands a few steps within your room. It's time for him to leave again. An annoyed Loki addresses the guard, “I do believe, sir, you have been cursed with atrocious timing.”

Day 35

You never thought you would be this happy to be sweating like a pig.

It's your second day of combat training in the large battle room you had first spotted Loki in almost a month ago. Frankly, you're shocked the Other even agreed to this idea. You had figured he had something against Midgardians or women (or both), but here you were and glad of it.

At first, after receiving the go ahead, you thought you would be training with Loki, but you were sorely mistaken. It was clear the Other still considered you a distraction, no matter what Loki told him otherwise. Instead, your instructor was your pink skinned lady in waiting.

And damn did she have moves.

Yesterday, in particular, was a disaster. A third of the training was hand to hand combat. Pinky, as you called her, amazed you with sheer agility and power behind her fists. Another third consisted of you facing off with her, both using thick wooden staffs. Oh, the blisters! Ow, your sides from getting hit! While you may not be the worst fighter in the history of the universe, there was always room for improvement. The final third of it all was nothing but pure running. You kept having to remind yourself that you signed up for this, but man was it better than pacing your room all day.

Like hell you were going to be Loki's weak link in all of this. You were hell-bent on sticking it to the Other and proving you were one not to be messed with.

Day 97

Nothing but training. Nothing but fighting. Offensive. Defensive. You give it your all every time, every day in your practices. Your dedication is beginning to show in the skills you now possess. As of recently, you have been able to overtake your teacher, Pinky (who still refuses to speak much), not only with just the bow staff you'd been practicing with but also various other weapons.

But if you were being honest, your favourite weapons were your fists.

Hand to hand combat training had been rough going in the beginning, you won't lie. Currently, however, it was a different story. You packed your punches with a resounding energy and precision. That alone proved you were, without a doubt, a force to be reckoned with. A lot of said energy came from a spot in your mind that was starting to grow bigger, to breed annoyance and anger. It feels like you'll never leave this place. You've been here so long, just waiting, and for quite some time now you haven't seen Loki once. Not in passing, not for a visit, and your times together had begun to get rather steamier each time, too (even though you would get interrupted just as things were progressing nicely). You had noticed a change in Loki each visit before his sudden disappearance. He seemed increasingly... fierce. His confidence was through the roof (even more so, that is). He was more passionate.

And sexy.

But for the last several weeks he hasn't been to see you. He's nowhere to be found.

He wouldn't leave you, right?

Don't think like that, you scold yourself. He wouldn't leave me.

Presently, you are laying on your bed in your chambers that you've come to know so well, exhausted from today's earlier training session. Looking to relieve a little extra built up tension, you guide your hand below the waistband of your training shorts. You and Loki had yet to do the deed, although having gotten close a couple times before his appearances were scarce. Lately, all you've had was your hand and an image in your head. Well, images.

Eyes closed you tease yourself with your fingers, squirming in pleasure, pretending they're his.

“Ahh, Loki,” you breathe out.

Then you hear the sound of lips smacking.

“Yes, my darling?”

Startled, your eyes open wide and your whole self bolts upright. You think you must look like a deer caught in headlights right about now. There he stands at the side of your bed, with an expression blended of delighted surprise and arousal. How did you not hear him come in? Were you too caught up in your fantasies that you blocked out all surrounding sounds? Or was this a sneak tactic Loki had learned in training?

Though none of that really seemed to matter. The fact was that the man who you almost thought had disappeared on you, was watching you with your hand down your pants thinking of him!

“Loki!” your voice hitting an embarrassed decibel. “How- Wha-”

“Would you like some help with that?”

The only thing your body will let you do in this moment is nod. He moves onto the bed and straddles your legs, which are feeling incredibly weak and wobbly. Loki lays you back, your head meeting and sinking into the plush pillow under you. His kisses are fervent and it's driving you mad with lust. Your hands lead a mind of their own as they attempt to shed his garments, fumbling. Loki must sense the urgency in the air, as he helps speed up the process. Then he attends to every wretched piece of your clothes and throws them on the ground, as they have no business here.

Time freezes when he drinks in the sight of your now naked body. And you definitely noticed his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“Valhalla above, you are gorgeous,” he says as if nothing truer had ever been spoken.

His bare chest hovers just above you, radiating heat and you lift your head up to taste him again. You breathe shakily against his lips. A few of his raven-black strands fall and tickle the sides of your face. It's glorious. You feel like you're going to need to hold on for dear life and your hand meets his bicep, now much more impressive due to his training. He lingers for a few seconds over your breasts before giving them careful and due attention with his mouth, tongue twirling, teeth pinching. You cannot contain your moans, and that's quite alright because they seem to add fuel to Loki's growing beastly intent.

Loki slides further down your body until only his smirking face can be seen between your legs. You know where you want him to go next, and you know he knows. But because it's Loki, he's going to take his sweet, agonizing time. Grabbing a hold of your thigh, he plants more needy kisses heading up and up and up...

“Loki, please,” you whine. “Just take me now.”

Had you blinked, you would have missed the flash in his eyes when they met yours. The flash that sends him into a carnal spiral.

Readily and obediently, Loki unclothes his impressive, erect member from his black leather trousers and enters you with a tight heat burning inside you. A gasp escapes you followed by a heavy, unsteady exhale. Your hands slide down his ass, pushing his trousers further down his body. He repeatedly thrusts into you at a steady pace after you have grown accustomed to his great length, and oh dear god above you. His noises fill your ears and only serve to heighten your arousal.

“I'm almost there,” you say raggedly, surprised at yourself for even being able to form words of any kind at this point.

“Come for me, darling,” he commands and continues to grind himself into you, but at a quicker rate, hungrier. Wilder. It's there in his eyes.

Then screams. Yells of passion. White light, and finally, release.

The only sounds that remain in your chambers are those of panting. You let out a breath and officially forget how to speak.

“I- That- Just- Ahh.”

“You have taken the words straight from my mouth, darling.” You laugh. His eyes have softened now, no longer holding that untamed look in them. He has calmed, and so you nestle yourself into him.

“When will we ever leave?” Loki is quiet for a moment.

“I am... not certain.” Another pause between you.

'You've changed a bit, you know?”

“I know,” he admits. “I had to change, slightly. For him.”

“How is this going to go down on Earth?” you ask, looking up at him. He plays with your hair. “I know you can't tell me anything, but can you please tell me we're going to be fine?”

“Let me tell you something now because I love you and you deserve to know some truth. The things I may do, the things I will do on Midgard, will be to benefit the both of us. My actions may be dangerous and sometimes you may even question my logic and my sanity. But I promise always, always to keep you safe from harm. Even though I have come to realize you are already wickedly skillful in your own right.”

His words both comfort and keep you on edge at the same time. Loki does seem the sort to be unpredictable, especially as of late. You wonder what kind of actions he's capable of committing in the near future, but you try to repress such a thought. For now.

“You haven't even seen half of how badass I am now,” you mention with mirth. “I can disarm Pinky and have her on the ground in front of me yelling for mercy. Yelling, Loki! Pinky!”

Loki looks proud. You've come a long way, both of you. And the fact that you've stayed with him thus far through everything? It must mean the worlds to him. You know it's the case for yourself. He repositions himself onto his elbow.

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

“You could always show me,” you say invitingly.

Part 13

Tag List: @gerardwayisapotato , @theloneavenger1995, @magellan-88

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andrewsfic · 5 years ago

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The Ranger

This was my first proper “original setting” piece of fiction. Now, yes, “the real world but supernatural creatures do exist” is an extremely common trope. This was absolutely drawing on things like Ben Aaranovic’s “rivers of london” series, and Wynonna Earp.

The story was inspired by a discussion with a friend about how “Park Ranger” is probably a job that sounded a lot cooler than the reality.

“This is KZA2, KZA2, Help us, help us…..”

That was the call the ranger station had heard over the radio. Everyone knew KZA2, The little cabin in the forest out near Big Peak, the imaginatively named mountain that loomed to the north west. The three chaps that lived up there kept themselves to themselves mostly, but weren't unfriendly, unlike a lot of the little enclaves like that in the vast wilderness the rangers had responsibility for. Tended to be if you disappeared to live in a cabin up in the forests, far away from the society, it’s because you wanted to be left well alone. It had taken almost an hour to get up there. Reyas and Sgt. Brownell in the truck, while Ranger (2nd class) Sarah Martin had taken the Quad. What met her was a scene of horror.

The first two where both in the main cabin. The smaller man, she thought his name was Ryan, had been evicerated. He was lying face up, innards spilling from the gash across his belly. The second was in the corner. She’d only known the big guy as “Lofty”. They found him in the corner, curled up in the fetal position, hands to his throat, body stiff with rigor mortis. She couldn’t get the smell out of her nostrils, even now. None of it was new, it does not take long as a ranger to come across some nasty accidents, and wounded or dead animals where such a regular part of the job they were almost unremarkable, especially down in the more touristy, and so car heavy, areas down south. But something about that smell of still cooling blood, shit and piss had stuck with her. And no amount of fresh mountain air was clearing it. They’d found the last of the men, Stefan, by following the two sets of bloody footprints. One set human, one not. They both lead to the small outbuilding next to the big antenna. Obviously where they kept the radio set. His hand still held the radio mic. It had been severed at the wrist. The cable had also been severed. Sarah had always found him the best of the three. Lofty and Ryan had always been a little more withdrawn, while Stefan had always greeted her with a smile any time her duties had taken her up that way, or the men swung by the ranger station on their occasional trip into the local town. Stefan hadn’t gone down without a fight either. The bloody knife a few feet away from his limp body made that clear. “He did them” said Reyas, surveying the scene. “Then topped himself”. “Don’t be fucking stupid” Sarah snapped. “He clearly was the one who called for help” she pointed at the radio. “And what about those wolf prints” she swung her arm to point out of the doorway “they didn’t come from nowhere” “And then the wolf went out here” This came from Brownell, outside the hut. “Jumped out that window” Reyas followed Sarah as they exited and walked round the back. Brownell was stood looking at the treeline a couple of hundred meters away. “Looks like there’s a blood trail” he said grimly. “Ranger Martin. You’re the better tracker of the three of us, see what you can see. Reyas, get in the truck, I want you to get on the long range set, we need a team up from the main base ASAP” “What about you Sarge?” “I’m going to wait here, keep the scavengers off, otherwise those three will be gone by morning. Martin you join me when you get back”

Sarah trudged back to the quad bike, grabbed her bag from the back, and picked up the rifle from the front. The City PD officers had laughed at it last time she went down to their range for official requalification. Then she’d fired the first shot, and they’d realised that while it wasn’t as modern as their issued assault rifles, the lever action’s .45-70 government cartridge packed rather more punch than they were carrying. She racked the action, set the safety, and topped the magazine tube up with an extra cartridge from the loops on the leather cuff around the stock. If the six big soft-points didn’t stop a threat, nothing would. Shouldering her pack, and holding the rifle, she headed back to the radio hut. The big truck chugged into life behind her as Reyas started his journey back to the station. She nodded at Sgt Brownell. “If I’m not back in two hours, send help.” “Keep safe ranger” Glancing down at the blood trail, she made her way to the treeline, and then into the forest. Walking into the trees was like walking into a different world. Suddenly it was dark. The overhead foliage blotted out the sunlight, leaving a spooky twilight world of tree trunks, fallen branches and a spongy layer of fallen needles coating the floor. The fallen needles also seemed to deaden the sound, making what little sound there was seem muffled and distant. And snaking through it was a steady line of blood drops. Usually on the floor, although here and there was a patch on the side of a tree. Some about two and a half feet off the ground. That meant it was unusually large, for a wolf.

After around half a mile, the blood trail lead to a pool of blood on the ground, next to an especially large tree. Sarah crouched to look closer. The disturbed needles, a couple of freshly broken twigs to the left, suggested something big had curled up there. Probably to lick its wounds, she thought.

“so why did you move on?” she murmured.

She dipped her right index finger into the pool. Still warm. Very warm.

A further trail of blood lead west, no longer heading uphill, but instead following the contours of the slope. Sarah moved slower now. The blood drops where closer together, as if whatever was bleeding was moving slower now. She adjusted her grip on the rifle. Whatever it was probably would catch wind of her soon. And that made it dangerous. The blood trail continued to a small hollow that formed a clearing. That’s where she found the wolf. It was slumped in the base of the hollow, in the warm spot the sunlight formed. The gash in it’s front flank was still bleeding freely, matting the fur around it, and pooling in the needles below. Other than that, at first glance it was quite handsome, even for a wolf, with sleek grey fur, powerful legs, and a well proportioned head. Closer inspection revealed the further blood matting the fur around its feet, and it’s muzzle. Which forced Sarah's mind back to what she had seen in the cabin, now so far away. The wolf raised its head as she moved to the edge of the treeline. It’s growl revealed a set of very sharp teeth, but seemed rather weak, considering the size of the beast. But that didn’t change what she needed to do. She shouldered the rifle. Normally she’d attempt a heart shot, it was less messy and highly effective at putting wounded animals out of their misery quickly. But her angle was awkward, and having seen what the wolf had done to Lofty, Ryan and Stefan, she didn’t want to give it a chance to find a last reserve of energy to get her while she repositioned for a better shot. She aimed for it’s head. BOOM A single shot rang out through the forest. A cloud of birds few up from a nearby set of trees, and a hole appeared in the wolfs head, right between its eyes. Blood and brain matter sprayed onto the ground behind it. The wolf slumped like a puppet with its strings cut. Sarah breathed out, and looked around. She never enjoyed putting animals down. Even if it was a regular part of the job. She looked back down at the body. And wretched. The body was changing. It was like the fur was retracting back into the skin. And the skin was stretching in some places, while it seemed to contract in others. Meanwhile, every single bone seemed to break, reform, and then reset themselves. When she looked up again, the body lying there was very clearly not the body of a wolf, but the body of a human man. Face down. With a hole in the back of his head.

A loudly snapping twig brought her out of her confusion. She pivoted to face the noise, raising her rifle again. A wolf stepped out from the treeline, looking straight at her. It cocked it’s head to one side. Then.. just like the corpse had, it changed. This time she was ready for it, but even so, Sarah could feel the bile rising in her throat. The man that stood before her was tall, well muscled, and extremely naked. Not that he seemed self conscious about the fact. He held his hands up. “Don’t shoot” his voice had an odd, bark like quality. He shook his head, and coughed. “Please”. Now his voice was more human. Less gruff. Sarah lowered the rifle, although it remained in her shoulder. “What the fuck is going on” she demanded. “You are the ranger, and you don’t know?” “What?” The man gestured at her “The ranger.” “I’m a ranger, yes. That’s not helping” “I suppose they don’t tell you anymore, do they.”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN!?” The man sighed. “They call us skinwalkers. Or Werewolves. Your choice. This scumbag went rogue. You saw the results.” “And you where hunting him?” “He broke the law. Killed people. We can’t let that stand” “This isn’t real” Sarah shook her head. “I must have hit my head or something” The man shook his head “Fraid not. Although we hear that a lot” “So you’re real?” “Yes” “And you can turn into wolves” “Yes” “And...” The man held up his hand cutting her short. “You should talk to your chief. He still knows the old ways” “Chief Hanlon” The man nodded. “Tell him Skunk’s son says hi. He’ll know what it means. And now, you should go” “And what do I do about this?” she motioned at the body. “I can’t take him back with me, they’re expecting a wolf. I’ll be branded a murderer”. “Leave him” “And tell my bosses what?” The man shrugged. “You caught up, shot him, then the rest of the pack turned up. You got driven off, but made it out.” “And what will you do with the body” “Don’t worry. By the time anyone else gets here, he’ll be long gone.” Two more wolves padded out of the treeline. “Now, you should go, your friends will start to worry” Sarah turned and started walking. Her head spinning. A few days later, at the main station: “Chief Hanlon. Could I have a private word sir?” The old chief nodded and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. Sarah closed the door and took the seat. “How can I help you Ranger?” he asked. “Sir, There was someone else in those woods that day. They told me to tell you that Skunk’s son says Hi. They said you’d know what that means?” Chief Hanlon leaned back in his chair, stroking his mustache. “Well I’m damned. There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time” “Sir, who is Skunk?” The chief chuckled. “Ranger Martin, I am about to be told secrets about things that officially do not exist. Stories which date back to the early days of the Ranger service, and even before. You don’t talk about this to anyone else, unless you are the one sitting in this chair, understand?” “Yes sir” “Good. Now let me tell you about my old mate skunk, the skinwalker…..”

#Fic #fiction #Original setting

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davidaolson · 6 years ago

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This fifth sun, the sun of movement, illuminated the Toltecs and illuminates the Aztecs. It has claws and feeds on human hearts. ~Aztec Theology

Dead Hearts Walking

We are a steady stream pushing ourselves up the steep stairs one by one. They walk without difficulty. I am winded by the exertion, gasp for oxygen in the thin air. With step 248, we reach the summit of the Temple of the Sun, the largest pyramid in the Americas. Each of my companions, a devotee has a cleanly sliced, horizontal hole in their chests just left of center, slicing through the nipple region. The ghosts walking the street do not have the hole. Only those ascending the pyramid do. There must have been a ghost priest near the base performing the ritual.

In their right hands, each holds a beating heart, their own beating heart dripping phantom blood. The drops are low luminance red. They contain too much pigment to be transparent, not enough to be opaque. Translucent blood, translucent as the mixed-blood people inhabiting a society happy to push them to the margins. Out of sight. Out of mind. Translucent. Preferred invisible.

They search for the Sun Stone to offer their hearts, a sacrifice to propitiate the starving Aztec Gods, drinkers of human blood. Once the gods’ thirst is satiated, they will reward the people and resurrect the lost empire and the Aztec will reign again.

But the sacred Stone is missing. It was stolen by Spanish invaders for its gold inlay then thrown in a worthless heap until it was rediscovered and placed behind bars in a museum. Why behind bars? The scientists have heard the stories. They know power lives within and blood will set it free. They fear the power, fear losing their own exalted place in society. So, the people are kept at bay lest they sprinkle their own claret juice and resurrect the ancient gods.

The original thieves failed to comprehend the sacred stone’s significance. Without it, connection to the Gods is severed. The passage from life to resurrection and final death blocked. The sacrifice cannot be made, neither resurrection for the empire nor final passage for the people is attainable. As this realization sets in, that they are trapped in the between world, my companions let loose a howl accompanied by a torrent of tears.

They cram still gasping hearts back into emaciated chests. Heads droop low, unshoed feet drag on sharp rocks. They descend the steps leaving a trail of ghost blood. Some stumble. Others, distraught, hoping for final death and freedom from the curse, jump from the top of the 216 foot Sun Pyramid bouncing off the sides, rolling over the angled walls, come to rest at the pyramid base mangled, crushed. Death eludes them, still. They remain bound to the misery infecting the empire when their leaders turned their backs on Lord Sun instead prostrating before the furry-faced man on the great white horse they believed to be a God incarnate. But Cortés was merely a killer, an invading demon.

With bodies broken, spirits crushed, they rejoin their brothers and sisters walking Avenida del Muerto, the Way of the Dead, the main road connecting the pyramids in Teotihuacán. The wanderers slowly fall into a procession, a line of spirits walking, single file along the Avenue of the dead from the Sun to the Moon to the distant Pyramid of the Feathered Serpent and back to the Sun Temple where they again pull their hearts from their chests and trudge up the 248 steps hoping, in vain, to end their purgatory. The Church came to bring heaven to the Americas but condemned the natives to perpetual perdition.

Sun Temple

Moon Temple

Avenue of the Dead

The line of spirits is endless with multitudes streaming toward the ancient city. They cover the land, a thick blanket of locusts, on their way to join the procession. Even the dead harbor misplaced hope in Gods.

My wife, and I suspect the other tourists, cannot see the ghosts, are not aware of the shadow people wandering in the crowds who slide through the living as light pierces a pane of crystal glass.

Are the locals aware? Probably. The ancient blood runs through their veins so I believe they have genetic knowledge. I hear the vendors speaking to each other but not in Spanish. My guess, it is Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs. If their knowledge of the language lives, I’m sure they know of these shadow people, can see the shadow people. I would like to ask them but believe, even if we could speak a common language, they would not reveal ancient secrets to an outsiderf, especially a gringo.

When I visited almost two years ago, I did not see the shadow people. But that was before I met Grandfather, a spirit, a ghost. An ancient who is as old as the Americas themselves, possibly older. I encountered him twice within a year, both times in New Mexico at distinct locations connected by a common theme. Petroglyphs made by some of the earliest aboriginals in what is now known as the Americas.

The first time I also met and had a conversation with a Rattlesnake spirit. Between those encounters, I met and received a message from the Tukó spirit in the Philippines. Three extra-worldly experiences in one year are enough to put anyone off their nut. All things considered, I am not surprised to be walking with shadow beings at Teotihuacán, archaeological ruins of what was a major city in the Aztecan empire. Nor do I harbor any fear.

Grandfather passed a vision into my head through touch when we met in Albuquerque foretelling of an upcoming encounter. I am in Old México for a break from the cold Chicago winter and, if Grandfather was real, as I believe him to be, to meet my next teacher, Puma. In the vision, though, Los Muertos talked to me. I have tried conversing with these shadows but they act like I don’t exist. Are they aware of me?

Ah well, I know where Puma lives in these ruins. I saw the mural on my previous visit and that is where we are headed next. My only problem, how do I get rid of my wife and away from the crowds. In all my previous spirit encounters, I was alone. It seems to be a prerequisite. No witnesses. No one to validate my experiences. No one to assure me I don’t wander in and out of schizophrenia.

Miztli (Puma)

Miztli (Puma) Miural

We stop to admire the Puma mural which is a short bit along the avenue on the way to the Temple of the Moon. It is tawny with absurdly long claws. Red waves in the background make it look like it’s walking on water.

I need to be rid of the wife. Time for my sob story.

“The mother-freaker Sun Temple was tall. The rise between those steps is long. I thought the Aztec were littler people like five and a half feet tall. How did they manage those steps? And the steepness is scary. I was worried I would take a tumble on the way down. I bet a few of ’em were accidentally sacrificed to the gods just from falling while trying to get to the top. You are smaller than them. You must be tired from the climb up and down.”

“Nope. I’m ok. I’m feeling good. The altitude isn’t bothering me at all.”

“Really? You are definitely better fit than me.” Shameless schmoozing. “I guess the personal trainer is paying off. I should probably find one too because I’m feeling a bit winded and my cough is tickling at the back of my throat up…”

“…and you want to rest for a bit so I should just go ahead?”

“Ummm…”

“Can’t you come up with a different lie? You told me almost the exact same story a few weeks ago in New Mexico. Practically a duplicate word for word except for the added trainer part. Trying to play to my ego, are you?”

Sheepishly “Ok. I’m feeling a strong need to be solo for a short time. It is the only way I can connect with the spiri…er…the landscape. I don’t want you to feel I am abandoning you.”

“Listen. I’m an introvert. I understand the soul’s drive for alone time to rejuvenate. And, please, no more of this spirit seeing vision shit. If you are going to create a magical realism story cool. I like reading your stuff. Just quit pretending it’s real.”

“Sorry…” not sorry. Did my hypocrisy show through in my intonation? Probably for her next words were, “I’m going to the moon temple. Meet me there when you are ready.” And she walked away without waiting for my response angry footsteps pounding the trodden grass.

It is going to take some mighty fast talking to smooth this over but that’s a problem for later. In the meantime, I need to learn from Puma. I would kneel but the ground is pebbly and my knees are wretched. Prostrating is out with so many people milling about. So I whisper using the few Nahuatl words I learned specifically for this occasion. I hope Puma can hear my prayer over the din.

Miztli (Puma), achtontli (ancestor) icniuhtli (friend). I call you friend knowing very well we may be distant brothers of a common ancestor in a blessed cihtli (grandmother). I saw you in a vision gifted to be my…by our…our Grandfather. I am here because Grandfather foretold you would reveal a cochitlehua, a seeing dream showing my next destiny.

No acknowledgment.

Do not fear me, I am not tlacatecolotl, an afternoon owl bringing evil to either you or the ghosts wandering this ancient city. I seek your toltecal, your wisdom that I may understand the huitzitzilin, the hummingbird journey leading me from flower to flower.

Miztli still appears not to hear me. It remains stoically perched on the wall not flexing any of it’s taught, tawny amber muscles. Nor do I sense it recognizes my presence. If it had, a bridge should form connecting our spirits, enabling communication.

I turn around to think and discover I am surrounded by a semicircle of ghost people with me at the locus. They stand, quiet, focused in my direction. I cannot tell if they are actually looking at me because their eyes are vacant, gray orbs. I slide a few steps to my left, they shift left. I return the three steps to the right, they follow again.

On the pyramid climb, they were oblivious to my presence. If not oblivious then consciously chose to ignore me. Now, they are definitely focused on me. Was hearing their own language the impetus for the change?

“Miztli,” I say testing my hypothesis. They lean closer, the ancient language a magnet pulling them toward me. The words must have pierced the wall between the living and the wandering dead diverting them from their mourner’s path toward me.

“¿Tlen?” I say which translates as what. I need to know what they want from me. Perhaps, they have insight and can help bridge me into Puma’s world.

In unison, they respond, “Meztli.”

Using my thumb, I point over my shoulder toward the Puma mural hoping it is not a rude gesture in their Aztec culture. I ask, “¿Miztli?”. I’m too fearful to point with pursed lips which would require turning my back on the phantoms, the growing legion of phantoms. I sense an uneasiness in the crowd. Again they say in booming unison, “Meztli.” This time looking left and pointing with pursed lips to the North.

It is then I realize my mistake. I thought they had said miztli which means puma but they actually said meztli meaning moon. They are directing me to the Moon Pyramid.

“¿Does Miztli spirit reside at the temple of Meztli?” I don’t expect an answer. A response presupposes people who died hundreds of year ago can understand my English. I pause for a brief eternity allowing ample space for them to speak. No response.

I turn right, begin walking toward the Moon Temple hoping it is where I will find miztli but expecting bubkus, nada, nothing. The phantoms follow close behind. I glance back for one last look at the mural. Puma has vanished from the painting. There is a hole where the wavy red lines were behind the painting. Shit. I missed my chance.

I turn back to the ghosts who have resumed their eternal march. I jump in front of them and wave my arms. The walk around me, through me on their never-ending procession that will eventually route them to the top of the Sun Temple and another attempt to resurrect the old gods, their dispossessed lives. Instead, they exist in an eternal hell. Their purpose had been to distract me so Puma could make an escape. I am disturbed. Why did Miztli choose to avoid me?

Head hanging, I drag my feet to the Moon skirting the ubiquitous vendors selling trinket and blankets and jaguar whistles and graven images. Can they see the ghosts? Do they care?

The steps up the Moon Temple are equally steep as the Sun. These, though, end at a platform less than halfway up the pyramid. Access to the top is prohibited, blocked by a weak fence I could easily circumvent. But the ascent is tricky, the steps crumbled, crumbling. An ascent carries the twin possibilities of success and sacrifice in equal measures. My goat days are long behind me. I opt to play it safe.

I return to the lip of the platform, sit, stare south along the very straight Avenue of the Dead toward the unseeable Temple of the Feathered Serpent. The Aztec were astounding engineers. The most distant temple It is hidden behind polluted air. Beyond that is a mountain range. Further still all of Central and South America with many more ruins to explore before I jump from the physical world to the spirit world. Hopefully, not too soon though.

The tourist count, high when we arrived, is continually increasing. As expected when visiting famous sites during vacation time between Christmas and New Years. Too many people for my liking. The avenue is packed with the colorful living and gray, translucent dead. Is there really a difference between life and death? So often, life feels like hell.

In the midst of the chaos, I spy the tawny rippling muscles and twitching tail of Miztli. Is Puma out for a stroll or a hunt? It looks toward me, at me. Not having the animals sharp vision, I cannot tell if it is looking with disinterestedness or disdain. My soul tells me it’s probably indifference. I’m living. It is spirit. What can I possibly offer a demigod?

My wife sits next to me, “I see you made it.” The angry edge is mostly gone from her voice.

“Yup.”

“You look hot. Your face is pink. Here, drink some water so you stay hydrated. We better get you a hat on the way out.”

I drink, wishing it was colder, wishing it was an elixir that would allow me to exist permanently and simultaneously in both worlds instead of spirit visions occurring haphazardly. Is it haphazard? Grandfather must have some plan, some rationale for bringing me to his side. I wish I knew what it was.

I feel a need to speak, to bridge the gap I created. “This is a great view, I would love to have seen it in its heyday when the pyramids were pristine and all these structures in mint condition. I’m sure it was amazing.”

“Did you find what you were looking for at the Puma grotto?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Even if it includes spirits and phantoms?”

“I want truth not figments of your imagination. Save that for your stories.”

“Ok. No. I did not find what I wanted at the grotto. I learned nothing. Maybe, I was supposed to learn nothing.”

“That’s good. Are you about ready to go?”

“Sure. I am feeling a bit lightheaded. The sun is getting to me. It is exasperated by the low humidity. I can hear the moisture being sucked from my body through my pores. I need to get a Coke on the way out. The sugar will do me some good.”

“Are you ready to go now or do you need more rest?”

“I’m ready. Say goodbye Gracie.”

“Gracie?”

“Tag line from an old TV show. Let’s find our driver and get back to Mexico City.”

Cholula

A few days later, we shift ourselves from México City to Puebla via an easy two-hour, first class bus ride. The one drawback, the movie on the overhead screens is in Spanish. My Spanish, other than impolite words, is elementary and that is being generous. I’m unable to understand most of the movie. This lack of Spanish speaking is a deficiency I need to rectify since there are still many Central and South American countries I plan on visiting.

México felt modern. Not as modern as Chicago but still contemporary. Puebla is more old school with great colors on the buildings. The Zocalo is a cozy park surrounded by shops, restaurants, with the focal point a gorgeous cathedral. It feels like an old European town. I could see myself retiring here spending the mornings sipping tea and writing. The evenings would be more difficult because the restaurants lack variety.

For this second half of our trip, we have prearranged a local to guide us, a friend of a Chicago friend. They are a mother and daughter pair. The mother speaks more English than we do Spanish still our ability to communicate with her is limited. The daughter, a teenager, is a self-taught English speaker. She has a strong grasp of the language and is virtually accent-free. This is the first time she’s conversed in English. My wife and I are stunned.

Our first stop, the great pyramid of Cholula, is a touch shorter than the Sun Temple making it the 2nd tallest in the Americas. Most of Cholula is unexcavated. By volume, Cholula is larger than any of the taller Egyptian pyramids. Which begs the question. Which is bigger? Is it the greater height or the greater volume?

When I used to fish, some of my fishing buddies determined bigger by length. I was a weight guy believing a heavier fish would feed more people therefor it was the bigger. We never did reach an agreement. Maybe, if I caught the longer fish I would have shifted to their perspective. I never did catch the largest fish so it was a moot point. The one time I was close, the fish, a four-footer, spit the lure out right at the boat and winked at me as it dove into the darkness.

The side of the pyramid on which we arrive appears to be nothing more than a hill. We can’t see it yet but there is a tiny little church on top desecrating the sacred pyramid. That is bad but the story gets worse. We walk around to the opposite side. Vendors are hawking dried grasshoppers, a local delicacy sold by the bucket full. I am unable to suppress my squeamishness long enough for a sample. Next time, I tell myself knowing very well there is unlikely to be a next time. There are few foods I won’t knowingly try. Insects and balut top that list. My try new food tactic is to have the people I’m with order their favorites for my meal and not tell me what I ate until after I’ve finished. It’s a great way to stretch my palette.

The Aztec were master Engineers creating their cities without the aid of computers or machinery. I expect the pyramid to have sides parallel with the cardinal directions like the sun and moon temples. This is not the case. It isn’t until reaching the top I come up with a logical, to me, rationale. The pyramid is built askance for spiritual purposes. Parallel to one side there is a volcano and another mountain peak. In concert, they are key figures in a local creation story.

The Yellow Church

The ascent is a paved walkway, an ascending road absent steps. I don’t know if it is the original fixed up or a modern addition. The angle of ascent is not insignificant, the pain in my thighs a minor irritation, the 7,000-foot altitude plays a part. We stop twice to catch our breath. I am reminded of the uphill ascent to Parvati temple in Pune India. Both feel similar in distance and inclination.

Stairway to Yellow Church

Yellow Church

At the top sits a small church. I am appalled but not surprised. It was the Spanish invaders’ practice to deprive the indigenous their freedoms and their lives. They also did their best to annihilate their chosen afterlife. This is the underlying reason for the ghosts wandering the Avenue of the Dead at Teotihuacan.

The Aztec were born into a belief system, a system annihilated by the invaders preventing the Aztec from completing their prescribed birth, death, afterlife cycle. They lived and died but were unable to transition from death to final afterlife thus are stuck in a limbo world and will remain trapped until their rituals can be performed. The Spanish tried to supplant the Aztec system with Christianity but the new system is a cycle outside the original. Unless an individual Aztec freely chose to convert, they remained bound under the auspices of the original system.

The Catholic Church, represented by the conquistadors, condemned millions to suffer eternally or until the Stone is returned to the sun temple and the legions adrift can finally crush their own hearts on that altar and be released into the eternal afterlife.

The yellow church perched on the top of the pyramid is named the Shrine of Our Lady of Remedies. It was built by indigenous slaves to transition them from paganism to Christianity. Repurposing religious sites was a common blasphemy conducted by the church patriarchy in their quest to save the savages. Yet another parallel between Catholicism and the ISIS bastards destroying ancient sites. The Catholic Church was the ISIS of the invaded new world.

Upon completion, including gilding the interior with stolen Aztec gold, the natives were forbidden from entering the church. They were allowed to attend mass from the outside looking in through the small church doors but not cross the threshold and sit beneath the roof. Even conversion, an act said to cleanse them in god’s eyes, was not a key allowing them entrance. The spiritual soul saved, physical soul pissed on. WHy? They were not white and not Spanish. Blatant discrimination reflects the Church’s true character. What they truly needed saving from was the invading Church and the depraved Christians.

The Underworld

On our way to the walk-up side of the Great Pyramid, we pass a ticket booth granting access to the soul of the pyramid. The line was long so we opted to bypass for the fee free jaunt to the top. One of our hosts, seeing the steepness of the climb, offered to return and buy tickets so we could enter on the flip trip. Having always wondered what lies beneath these behemoths, we agreed. An added bonus, there are excavated sections of the exterior complex only accessible with the tickets.

Stairway in Cholula Pyramid

The world beneath is spider-webbed with narrow passages. The openings take the form of a gravestone, straight sides with an angled top coming to a point at the peak. The best I can describe is the shadow cast by a short, squat pencil with the tip worn down.

The electric lighting is yellowish casting a jaundiced glow on the brick and mortar walls. Are they adobe? I’m not sure. The construction reminds me of adobe huts and the ruins left by the Anasazi. Rocks slathered with mud hardening sufficiently to endure the ages. I imagine the ancients scurrying the passageways carrying torches, atra, fire flickering on a long stick casting eerie shadows. I look for but do not see any signs of fire soot. Was it cleaned by the excavators? Rinsed away by floods?

My head barely clears the top. A head bobble would have me scraping the sides so I do my best to keep my noggin steady. No quick turns. The narrowness makes it not possible to walk two abreast. Squeezing past someone is impossible without body contact. The Aztec were littler people and would have little difficulty navigating the tunnels.

I feel walled in, claustrophobic. I imagine horrors, tunnels collapsing trapping us in blackness slowly suffocating in the dwindling oxygen. A rush of water slowly filling until we drown. I enjoy exploring the tunnels while simultaneously fighting the urge to flee into the sunlight and blessed open space. Every fiber of my being is at war with the dilemma made worse because I have no idea how long it will take to traverse the maze and emerge on the other side.

I have a strong preference for deserts over forests. Forests are beautiful and awe inspiring but sight lines are limited. In deserts, I can see forever in every direction. I feel free, not trapped by a thousand wooded fence poles. The solid walls in the pyramid depths are infinitely scarier than the densest, deepest forest.

We have no map. There are no mile markers displaying distance covered, distance remaining. I do my best to stuff my growing panic as I used to stuff my emotions. Hopefully, stuffing my panic with have a happier ending instead of exploding when my emotions erupted.

We pass side tunnels. Some on the same level, others descending all blocked by steel gates. Some are lit. Most are pitch. They are obviously still under excavation. One descending into the depths, step by step, has a shallow puddle pool a couple of feet down. Coins are visible in the still pool.

Are the coins an offering to the gods? A superstitious act to dispense good luck? Probably both. The folly of humanity never ceases to amaze me. It was at one such side tunnel that I pull over and let my companions pass. I am much bigger and was probably blocking their view. I also hope, having them in front of me, will add perspective reducing my burgeoning panic to a manageable whimper. And, it will provide moments to study architecture without worrying about holding the others up.

During an extended lollygag, I trace a faint outline, faint like it was scrubbed away by repeated flooding. I can’t really tell what was there because the many gaps force me to fill in the blanks with my imagination but there is a resemblance to the Puma at Teotihuacan. Can it be? Or is it wishful thinking? My own folly. I am still confused about why the encounter with Puma turned sour before a connection was bridged.

I’ve lost track of my companions. There is a turn ahead they must have already passed. I am alone. Alone in this constricted space with thinning air making it hard to breathe. My panic simmers with dainty, little, baby bubbles hiding the churning below. It’s not a raging boil, yet. I need to get out. I need to be free now. My feet move independently, rapidly.

I come to an ascending passageway on my right. There is no gate blocking the way. At the top, there is the glow of light. It’s around a bend so I can’t tell if the tunnel leads to the exterior but the natural looking light is a draw I can’t pass up.

The Up Tunnel

I’m in. No choice, really. The light is a salve to my fear, an elixir to quench my thirst for sun. I begin the upward climb gradually stooping over because the space between the steps and the ceiling is shrinking. Shortly, I am crawling on hands and knees and another phobia kicks in. I am terrified of getting wedged in a tight space in a cave. The next level phobia is getting wedged while scuba diving in caves with my oxygen running out.

I hear voices ahead. The light is bright. The end must be near. The final stretch, what appears to be the final stretch, of the tunnel requires belly crawling. I start and stop. Sweat coats my body, has soaked through my shirt. I can’t muster the courage to continue. I must abandon this route and return to the original. I start inching backward irritated I didn’t have enough courage to fight my irrational fears. My toes splash in a puddle. Oh shit! I’m kneeling in a thin layer of water, a layer slowly rising. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Progress or perish. Going back is not an option.

I reach my arms forward narrowing my body as much as possible wishing I had paid better attention to my weight. The bulging belly adds to the challenge. My fingers feel only slick wall, no finger holes to pull through. I can’t begin to guess how long the passage is. I use my toes to push myself forward, literally, inch by terrifying inch. Every fiber in my being screams in horror. I’m going to die.

The water continues rising forcing me to nose breathe. Mouth breaths would contain more water than air. The water makes the rock slick and toeholds difficult. I concentrate, force them down so the rubber on my shoes can push forward and create propulsion. The one benefit of the water is it acts as a lubricant making forward movement easier. I move a couple of feet when I feel a lip to grasp. The water reaches my nose just as I break through into a chamber.

To shaken to think, I find a rock and sit trying to settle my nerves. No luck. I must move. The chamber is a largish junction between two tunnels. I’m able to stand with a few inches of head clearance same as the original tunnel. My arms, outstretched, reach neither wall. I am disoriented. My internal compass cannot calibrate. Which tunnel do I take?

Holy shit, I realize I can see. There’s light from a burning torch propped in a wall notch. How did this get here? There are no footsteps on the soft ground. I pull it off the wall and step first into one tunnel then the other. I hear nothing but my breathing and a light trickle of water. Do I go with the flow or against the flow? I’ve always been an against the flow kind of guy. No need to deliberate. Water flows downhill. I want to ascend to the surface. I go against the flow.

I turn two bends and see a hole of light in the distance. I pick up my pace, drop the flaming torch, and am nearly running when I break out of the tunnel. I enter a light so forcefully bright, it knocks me flat on my back. I roll over to avoid the searing brightness. The ground is parched, cracked into a mosaic most chunks big as my hand. I pull myself up to my knees. Stunted corn with shriveled yellow-brown stalks extends for as far as I can see. Must be in the middle of a drought.

There is chanting behind me. I whirl around and discover I am kneeling before a stone structure of meticulously inlaid stonework, a man-made puzzle of stunning symmetry. The stones are much smaller than the rocks composing the pyramid but the workmanship is identical. It stands 2ish feet high. Three steps take one to the flat top. It appears to be a miniature of the great pyramid.

The chanting is from a lone priest standing on top. His eyes are dark as teak. They were all pupil and no iris or dilated to consume the pupil. Almost as if he is without a human soul.

He’s wearing a headdress of pheasant tail feathers. Some are natural, light brown bands separated by smaller, dark brown, almost black bands. Others are dyed red, green, and blue. They extend from is head outward similar to a peacock flashing feathers in a mating ritual. There’s an amulet around his neck. I can’t make it out clearly. He’s in an animal skin loincloth. It looks like the hide of a jaguar. The same hide is banded around his ankles to mid-calf. Leather sandals protect his feet.

Miztli with Blue Eyes

Behind him, a golden puma the gold of prairie grasses at sunrise is locked in a cage and pacing nonstop. The cage is built of wood, looks flimsy. Why doesn’t the puma push through the slats? It must have enough strength. It screams occasionally, a raspy scream sounding like the gates of hell have opened and a female demon is being skinned alive while simultaneously roasting on an open flame. Pumas eyes are pale blue, a warm blue with yellow trim and they are fixed on me, fixated on me. They never leave me even when screaming and exposing large canines.

In his right hand, the Priest holds a knife, a long knife of blackest obsidian glinting the sun hanging high in the cloudless, cerulean sky. He stands severe, eyes raised, arms outstretched to the heavens. Is the stone structure on which he stands an altar? If so, where’s the warrior for the sacrifice?

Footsteps approach from behind the patter of lots of footsteps. The priest lowers eyes and arms, looks into the distance over my shoulder. He is sweating yet the air is cool.

Is it the king’s army coming to sacrifice him for failing to summon rain from the gods? A priest unable to persuade the gods to give the gift of rain is not much use for an agrarian society. Perhaps he will be forced to cut his own heart from his chest? Will a priest finally get his comeuppance? It’s high time they paid for their sins.

I have an issue with priests and the organizations perpetuating the defective of the lot. By defectives, I mean those like the pedophile priests so long protected and hidden by the Catholic Church. As if wearing a white clerical collar automatically exempts them from paying for their horrendous crimes. They are men in places of authority and must be held to a higher standard than the laity because of their widespread influence. Instead, the Church chose, still chooses, to ignore the trauma of the children and move the bastard priests to places they could unleash more terror unchecked. Unconscionable. No…EVIL!

It’s not soldiers but common folk, men, women, and children in farmers clothing, little more than loincloths on all. Most are barefooted, a few wear sandals made of what appears to be corn husks. They gather on either side of me, behind me, drop to their knees in reverence when they stop. Some prostrate themselves. They chant, Tlaloc, in unison. Tlaloc, literally he who makes things sprout, is the Aztec rain god. They are petitioning Tlaloc for quiyahuitl, rain.

The priest has pulled on a mask with large round eyes and long fangs. He has become Tlaloc. My answer to who will be sacrificed is soon answered as a family, a husband, wife, and boy child about 5 years old walk to the altar. The family must watch the warrior be sacrificed up close? It seems unusually cruel not to mention traumatic to one so young.

Of course, I view this ancient ritual with modern eyes. My society is individualistic. We are an I society. The rights of the individual are paramount superseding the needs of the group. Others are collective. The needs of society trump the needs of the individual. Rules promote selflessness and sacrificing one to better the all. I have read, it was an honor to be the first warrior sacrificed to the gods by the priests. Who am I to judge how they choose to live.

The father grabs the boys hands, the mother his feet. They pick him up, pull on his limbs until he is parallel, lay him on his back holding tightly so movement from his struggles is minimized. I am horrified to see the priest kneel and raise the knife. The chanting grows louder. Tlaloc, TLALOC, TLALOC. The voices become a frenzy. TLAAAAALOOOOC!

I scream “Noooo” with all the volume I can muster. Either they cannot hear me or I am drowned out by the chanting. I look toward Puma. It is still fixed on me. Why can it see me but these people can’t? I try to stand and run to stop the madness but can’t move. My knees are rooted to the ground, tendrils extend from me into the cracks in the soil.

The priest drops the knife into the child’s chest. TLAAAAALOOOOC! He wiggles it around deftly, then reaches in and pulls out the heart.TLAAAAALOOOOC! He raises it toward the heavens and squeezes. Blood spurts from the severed arteries. TLAAAAALOOOOC! When the blood stops dripping, he takes a bite opening the chambers and turns it over ensuring the last drops of blood are bled. In my disgust, I cannot tell if the priest ate the part he bit off or spit it out. TLAAAAALOOOOC! The priest reaches behind, picks up an axe and lops off the child’s head in one blow. TLAAAAALOOOOC! The parents move the corpse to the side of the altar. They place the opening where the head hangs over the edge allowing the spilling blood to feed the earth. TLAAAAALOOOOC!

My stomach constricts. I feel the acid taste of vomit swelling in my throat. I heave but nothing comes out. I heave and heave. Nothing. I’m forced to swallow the vile liquid stuck in my throat.

Three additional sacrifices are offered in the same manner. One more boy and two petite girls. Are they small because the drought is long and food is scarce? All have been in the 5 to 10 year old range. The crowd has grown quiet. I wonder, is the carnage finished? I hope it is. I pray it is.

Everyone, the people, the priest looks my way. No. They are looking next to me at a family, couple and an infant, kneeling beside me. They stand up. Oh god, No! The infant is a ginger, a redhead with light, almost white skin. I am surprised. I didn’t know gingers existed in the Aztec universe. The mother places the child against her chest, the smiling cherub peers at me over the shoulder.

Holy Fuck! The infant is the spitting image of my childhood photos down to the cornflower, blue eyes. It looks exactly like me. Wait…No, no, NO! It doesn’t just look like me. It IS me. I am an Aztec infant about to be sacrificed. I don’t want to die. Hold on. Hold on! This can’t be me. I’m alive now. If I was killed, I couldn’t be alive. But Grandfather did say I had blood ties in the ancient New World. Could this be an ancestor? He also said I have many destinies. Could he be one of my manifestations? Is it a he or a she? too young to tell. Or did Grandfather say I have had many destinies? Or was the conversation about destinies past and future? I can’t recall.

The infant is outstretched on the altar. The parents are stoic. Are they drugged? Why aren’t they in agony? I would be fighting tooth and claw to prevent the pending insanity. Why aren’t they crying? How can they let this mad priest sacrifice their child to some mythological being and actually believe it will bring rain? This is fucked up. They are all brainwashed. I try to get up and stop the madness but the roots I have set won’t break free.

The instant the knife hits the child, I feel a stabbing pain in my chest like I am also being sliced open. I grab at the point of pain. My hand is instantly covered in warm pulsing blood. The priest pulls out the heart. I collapse to the ground, sense a void in my chest. He raises the organ to the heavens and the cloudless sky opens releasing a deluge. Rain from a cloudless sky?

The people leap to their feet, arms reaching to the skies shouting quiyahuitl, rain, and, Tlaloc, Tlaloc, Tlaloc. Puma pushes against the cage. The slats bulge. A loud thunderclap echoes, the slats splinter. Puma squeezes through. Miztli is free. The priest raises the ax and severs the infant’s head. Not even Christ had to suffer such an indignity.

The ground is too hard to absorb the water. The deluge becomes a flood, a land river. a mile wide and inches deep. My vision fades to a tunnel, a shrinking tunnel. I can’t move. My body rises with the swelling water, floats with the stream. What happened to my roots? A shadow hovers over me. Teeth grip my neck with just enough force to control my movement while not breaking the skin. I am being pulled. Am I going to be eaten? My vision goes black.

The River Cave

I come to consciousness in a cave. No idea how long I’ve been unconscious. My legs lay in a shallow rivulet. I sweep my mouth. No gold coin. I’m not dead. This is not the river Styx or maybe it is and Charon is waiting in the wings for death to complete its task then ferry me across.

“No, David. You are not dead.”

A voice? Who is talking to me? I look around. There is only Puma and me. It must be Puma that’s talking. I should be surprised but am not. I’ve experienced enough mysteries in the spirit world in the past year or so, an ancient ghost Grandfather, a talking Rattlesnake, a talking Gecko. And who knows how many spirits I failed to recognize. I seriously doubt anything can surprise me anymore. I don’t want to be rude here. “What shall I call you?”

“You may call me Puma or Cougar or Miztli whichever. You don’t really need to call me anything. We can easily communicate with our spirit minds. Words are unnecessary.” Puma is sitting stoically exuding the regal air of royalty.

“Spirit mind? I have a spirit mind? That means I am a spirit? Doesn’t that mean I am dead?”

“You have died many times. In this moment, you are alive. I can’t speak for future moments.”

“Alive in the earthly sense?”

“Yes, alive in the earthly sense. You are a living human being.”

“If it is all the same with you, I prefer we talk with words. I don’t want you wandering inside my mind. Hell, I get uncomfortable wandering inside my mind. I wouldn’t want to put that suffering on you.”

“As you wish. I will stay out of your mind. I, however, may revert to spirit mind. I have trouble correctly pronouncing words in your language. Thoughts are easier because they live outside the restricted confines of language.”

I stand up, move to higher ground, shake the water off my hiking boots. I’m feeling chilled in the cave’s coolness. The water exacerbates the chill. “That’s fine by me. Are you the same Miztli I saw at Teotihuacán?”

“That I am.”

I pat my chest. There is no blood. No wet blood. No crunchy dried blood. No evidence I bled at all. I feel the rhythmic beating of my heart. “Why did you not talk to me then? I tried. You purposely avoided me.”

Puma’s long wheat gold tail flicks in time with our conversation.

“It was neither the time nor the place. The Wanderers abhor sharing their spirit world with Europeans. If I had communicated with you, they would have raised a ruckus. There’s no need to inflame their agony. Five hundred years trying and failing to move to the afterlife has a way of deepening a grudge. They hold a might big grudge against your kind.”

“I wasn’t them. I had no part in the armageddon inflicted on the Aztec empire.”

“In the eyes of the Wanderers, all of you are guilty, all of you carry the spilt blood of the Aztec in your wretched souls. If they had the ability, they would wage a holy war against you not stopping until every white in your world suffered a similar living hell, forever shut outside the door to your heaven.”

“Grandfather said my bloodline runs through the original inhabitants of the Americas. I am one of them.”

“You are and you are not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You will understand in good time. If not during your visit with me then during another of your destinies.”

“So, I have more destinies?”

“That was an assumption on my part. I am not a future seer like Grandfather.”

“Where are we?”

“We are in the Great Temple of Cholula.”

“I feared so. But, don’t you mean Great Pyramid?”

“To us, it is and always has been a temple. It is only you outsiders that call our temple a pyramid.”

“Why here? I don’t like being stuck in small places.”

“Had I left you outside, in your condition, you would have drowned.”

“Ya, but this is all imaginary existence.” Why can’t he comprehend simple logic? Is he a lesser spirit than Grandfather?

“If you died out there, you would also be dead in what you call ‘real life’ as well. Death does not distinguish between layers of existence. It merely collects.”

“What do you mean, my condition?”

“You were exiting consciousness. You and ancient baby you…”

“Shit! That was me? I thought it looked like. I didn’t think it actually was me.” Why did I lie? There’s no need. I saw into it’s…my…soul. I knew we were one.

“Yes. The two of you, all of the previous yous, current you, and future yous are interconnected by a diaphanous web. What happens in previous lives impacts the next life. And what happens in future lives ripples back altering past lives which, in turn, affects every future life. Neither the future nor the past is set in stone. The further events are separated the less the energy the ripple has to impart change. The distant ends are highly viscous, change is minimal but not null. Your current life is the locus with extremely low viscosity. Think of current you as flowing water history adjusting course with every experience.”

“And when the baby died?”

“When baby you died the two loci were dangerously close. Both were highly fluid. Baby you’s death was flowing into current you’s existence. You felt the pain in your chest. You were moving into unconsciousness and would have died with baby you. If not, then current you would have asphyxiated in the water. I intervened. By pulling you away, I separated the loci allowing both to assume their own destinies. By pulling current you to higher ground and this chamber, I prayed you would not drown before regaining consciousness before the rising waters also filled this chamber.”

“Prayed?”

“As I said, I don’t see into the future like Grandfather. I am here at his behest. His hand has helped guide you since the beginning.”

“Beginning? Beginning of what?”

“The beginning of the beginning. Grandfather is an original.”

“You mean a god?”

“Not a god. An intermediary between the gods and creation.”

“You said before the rising waters also filled this chamber?”

“Yes, the deluge started when baby you died is the storm to end all storms. It is unleashing more water than this land has seen in the combined past twenty-three years.”

“Let’s get out of here!”

“Not possible. The rising waters have already blocked the exits.”

“Then we are going to drown?”

“Not necessarily. Grandfather said, when the time is right, a way will appear. I trust the ancient’s wisdom.”

“So we wait?”

“Yes. We wait. There are no other options.”

Fixated on the conversation, I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings. The water is now calf deep. Miztli leaps to a higher ledge with an elegance a prima ballerina could never muster. The tail still slowly flicking from side to side, a metronome keeping time. Time for what?

Conversation exhausted, for now, we dwell in silence. I hear the burble of water flowing over submerged rocks, the plink, plunk of water falling from the ceiling into the pool that is quickly swelling. I am now knee deep. I look for an escape route. There is one low tunnel mostly filled with water, an inlet filling our chamber. Probably the one Miztli dragged me through. I realize there are no lamps on the wall, no overhead holes for outside light to filter in. I wonder out loud, “How the hell am I able to see? And why am I seeing everything in monochrome?”

“David, I am allowing you to see through my eyes. I figured your fear would spiral out of control if you could only see blackness.”

“Very true. Drowning while stuck in a cave is, like, my ultimate nightmare, so, thank you.”

“What is the light cloud I see around you?”

“When you see in color you see the physical person. Monochromatic vision allows one to also perceive a soul. A light cloud indicates a kind aura. A dark gray is the other end of the kind evil spectrum.”

The inflow from the tunnel increases in pressure. The water rises faster. It moves from knee deep to chest deep in a matter of minutes. Puma leaps to the last visible ledge, one so close to the ceiling he or she must move into a crouched pounce position to fit. The tail flicks noticeably faster. His tension is also increasing.

“Miztli, are you male or female?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I am male and female and third gender.”

I would purse the line further but the water has risen to my chin. I tippy toe and angle my head up for the last space of air. Miztli is getting wet too. Half his body is submerged. What to do? What to do? There’s nothing I can do. I’m losing balance in the rising water, I lean against the wall to steady myself. It feels flimsy. I push harder. It flexes ever so slightly. Another, more forceful push, a stone gives way and falls through. The water flows through knocking other stones loose. The hole widens.

“This is our escape,” Miztli says. “When this wall crumbles we will be caught in the torrent. Grab onto my tail with both hands and don’t let go. Let go and you will end.”

“What about you? You could drown, too.”

“I’m spirit. I’ll be ok. I’m not so sure about you. You better grab onto my tail now. The wall will collapse momentarily.”

I grab onto Miztli’s tail. It is softer than I expect and smaller in diameter. Holding onto it is difficult. It begins slipping. I loop it around in a circle tight enough to fit my hands. Miztli screams. Too late to redo my grip. The wall collapses and we are sucked through into a vortex. For one of the few times in my life, I am going with the flow.

Underground River

We are helpless in the rushing torrent. I cannot see, cannot control my body. I reassert my death grip on Miztli’s tail holding as if my life depends upon it because it does. Hopefully, the tail won’t break leaving me careening and bouncing my head off any submerged rocks or the rock walls. We twist and turn with the bends in the frigid river.

I am unsure if Miztli is directing us or has submitted to River intelligence taking us where we are supposed…are destined…to go. Which of my destiny lines are we traveling? Is it my line or Miztli’s line? Could this be an overlap of destinies? Are we on parallel destinies? If so, how long until we separate? I hope it is not until this crazy underground river journey comes to a peaceful end and I can lay under a warm sun to dry off.

Oomph! Damn rocks! I crash into and bounce off another something. Thankfully, most collisions are with surfaces softer than rock. Does that mean we have passed the boundaries of the pyramid? I want to open my eyes but worry the debris hitting my face will slice open my eyeballs. Unforgiving surfaces slam into me causing pain winces. I almost lose my tenuous grip on the tail. Is this what it feels like to go over a waterfall in a barrel? So far, none of the surfaces have felt sharp enough to pierce my flesh. But, I am so disoriented, so pumped with adrenaline I might not feel a gash, might not feel a severed limb.

We have been under for minutes? Longer? I can’t determine the duration. Time has lost meaning. How am I still conscious? I can’t have been under too long. My lungs are not burning from lack of oxygen. Then again, in this messed up between world, oxygen may be irrelevant. Am I spirit? Am I live? Am I Memorex?

The water grows warmer. Tropical. Red shadows play on my eyelids. Why aren’t we stopping? We’re not even slowing down. This would be a fun slip and slide if I were not so terrified. The water cools again, becomes uncomfortably chilly. Darkness embraces me. We slow down. There is smooth gravel beneath me, rocks worn by incessant water polishing their souls. Puma drags me onto a pebbly shore.

“David. You can open your eyes now and let go of my tail.”

I drop the tail. My hands are numb, legs wobbly. I ache all over from the rough and tumble ride. “Ok.” I open my eyes. I think I open my eyes. It’s black as pitch. “I can’t see anything.”

“Ah, yes. Human eyes. I will again allow you to see through mine.”

I pull myself to a sitting position, allow my vision to focus. “I…I can see now. I don’t think I will ever grow used to this monochromatic sight. It’s good for photography when I can adjust for colors but, real life, there aren’t any adjustment knobs. Where are we?”

“We are in a large cave system made by the river running at our feet.”

I smell a whisper of fresh air on the dank odor of the cave. The exit mustn’t be too far ahead. We are on a sandbar, no, a pebble bar. I stand, marveling at the great expanse of the cave’s interior. There are stalactites hanging from the ceiling, stalagmites growing from the floor. There are pillars where the two met. This must be an ancient cave. I cross an ankle-deep rivulet. The flowing water deposits tiny stones in my boots which work their way to the inner sole. I gingerly walk to a ledge along the wall, take a seat, and shake out my boots. There is something familiar about this cave. An undercurrent of fragrance I recognize. But from where?

Yum Kaax, the Maize God

It is then I see the Mayan fetish carved into the cave wall, the one my wife and I saw on our first trip to Belize. I wonder, is it Yum Kaax, the Maize god? We were in the jungle on a tubing trip inside a river caving system. It was the terminus of our route. The place we ate our lunch before the inner tube float back to the cave entryway. The guide told us the history of the fetish, how some Mayans sacrificed their firstborn under the belief their fecundity would soar resulting in the births of many additional children. Sacrifice the one for the many. If we waited here long enough, there was bound to be a tour group and I would be rescued. Did I need to be rescued? Are we really in the cave?

“Miztli, where are we?”

“We are in Yucatan.”

“Yucatan as in southern México?”

“In my world, there is no delineation by country. There is only mother Earth. To orient you, we are in the land you call Belize.”

A hear voices heading our way, voices and the splish splash of a paddle dipping in water. The rocks bounce sound carrying it quickly in these caves. I listen closely to the words. They are not Spanish or any other language I recognize.

“Miztli, what language are those people speaking?”

“They are speaking K’iche’, one of the Mayan languages.”

“Do you speak k’iche’?”

“As I told you, I am spirit. I have no need of language.”

I think I may have asked Miztli the wrong question. It is not where that is important. “Miztli, when are we?”

“We are in the time before the invasion of the Americas.”

“Is this before or after the sacrifices outside Cholula?”

“It is hard to say. Time in the spirit world is nonlinear. Before and after are irrelevant concepts. We exist at all points in time. I can’t accurately say if we are before or after Cholula. To me, they are the same time.”

I can see a halo from a torch bouncing off the cave walls and ceiling. The rhythmical splish splash of the oar grows louder, the voices clearer. Correction. The voice clearer. Only one person is speaking. The voice sings a repetition of sounds as if…as if…chanting?

A shallow dugout canoe paddled by a man slides onto the gently sloping sand and pebble shore. They are all standing in the canoe. How do they maintain balance with such ease? The chanter, who would turn out to be a priest, has a dark aura and stands in the front, the paddler, in the middle, and the woman in the rear both emit mid tone auras. I guess they, like most, beings are a mixture of good and bad.

The priest wears a plumed headdress of orange feathers standing in a half moon, vertical halo. Green feathers extended backward reminding me of a high knotted ponytail. He carries a staff. The top is carved into an animal, a demented jaguar or some other totem fetish I can’t figure out. A gold and turquoise pendant attached to what looks to be a deer hide lanyard hangs around his neck resting in the middle of his chest. It is exquisitely blue and polished to a sheen.

The priest exists first followed by the man and the woman who first bends down to gather a bundle. Food, I hope but, based on my Cholula experience, fear otherwise. The evidence confirming my fears was soon plain. The bundle was surrounded by an aura so light it appeared white. There was an innocent in the mix.

The woman is wearing a just past the knee length white skirt with a deeply notches circling the hem. The notches stop just before a horizontal golden band. Red lines crosshatch the dress forming a diamond pattern. He is in a white kilt with a red band just below the waist.

All three have strong Mayan noses, Roman in profile, tattoos. They are short by Western standards. The priest has raven’s whiskers tattooed on his face. The men are around five and a half feet, the woman under five. When they speak, they reveal teeth filed to points. It looks like two rows of jagged mountains with the peaks touching. Even in the torchlight, the whiteness is astounding.

The priest builds a fire. They must have brought the wood in the boat for there is no timber in the cave. The woman places the bundle on the natural rock shelf. There are corn stalks, ears of corn, and a baby, a very young baby. She picks him up. When she turns toward the fire, I realize he, too looks like me. I assume also a ginger but can’t tell in this colorblind state. Not again! But it may not even be me. I need to know so I inch closer. They are oblivious to my presence. I move closer yet for a better look. The torch throws a nimbus around the baby’s head. Shit! It is the spitting image of me. I twirl toward Miztli.

“Yes, David. This firstborn is you.”

“Firstborn? Wasn’t I also a first born in Cholula?”

“You have always been a firstborn, David.”

Another sacrifice? To what fucked up purpose? Absurd attempts to bend the gods wills to human wills? Assinine attempts to appease omnipotent deities? Are they to brainwashed to comprehend with omnipotence comes anything the god’s want? There is no need to trade a current life for rain or the potential for future children. Madness, all this, madness. Is ancient baby me nothing more than an oblation to appease a hungry god? Were my sacrificed lives atonements for the sins of others? None of this is right nor makes any logical sense. Religion and sensibility? Antonyms. Mutually exclusive concepts people hold in their heads denying the impossibility of coexistence.

“How many times, Miztli? How many lives have been a child sacrifice?”

“These two you’ve seen. A few more I can see scattered through your many past human manifestations.”

“Why me? Why was I chosen for sacrifice?”

“For reasons, I don’t know for sure. One possiblitity, you always return to life as a ginger. In this land, in all lands, you are an anomaly, a blue eye ginger in an ocean of brown eye ravens. So it has been with gingers through the ages. The people either fear or revere the extremely different. Albinos suffer the same curse. The fearful sacrifice because they are worried, the oddity, if allowed to exist, will bring bad luck upon the people. Better to destroy than risk potential suffering. The reverent trade the choicest diamond for a promise of future blessings.”

The chanting increases in pitch and cadence. I don’t want to look but can’t keep my eyes from watching. The burning fire emits a lovely scent reminding me of countless glorious evenings sitting around a campfire seeing flame reflections in smiling eyes moist from laughter. This may ruin fires for me forever. The priest walks in a circle around the couple waving a censer burning what smells like sweet sage. I have not seen sage in Belize. It must be a trade good from Northern peoples.

“What is the priest saying?”

“The priest is calling on the gods to accept a blood and burnt offering of a first born and return many child blessings on the couple that their line may not disappear from Earth.”

“Craziness!”

“Who can know the minds of the creator gods? What you are witnessing is a corn people’s belief. When an ear of corn dies, the seeds are scattered resulting in many more plants and a bountiful next harvest.”

“I…the baby me…is not corn.”

“No, but life is life is life.”

“What does that mean?”

“Only the gods can create life. All lives are valuable in the gods’ eyes. All lives exist to feed on and be food. In the end, it is simply a circle.”

“There’s no purpose in this insanity.”

“You are blessed with luck.”

“How is it lucky to be sacrificed as an infant?”

“Not all souls find another vessel to inhabit. Many are stuck between. To use your concept, a soul purgatory. You have, so far, been spared the non-existence existence. You have always found a suitable vessel to carry you through the four life cycles described by Grandfather.”

“I remember. He said I was in the fourth cycle, the final cycle before liberation.”

“Few, relative to the population, progress as far as you have. Many get stuck in one cycle for eternity never learning enough to shift. By being sacrificed pure, your soul was given a choice for the next vessel.”

“A choice?”

“Yes, a choice. Those who die after the age when they understand right from wrong must atone for their sins, pay for their crimes against creation.”

“A kind of Karma?”

“Yes. The baby you being sacrificed chose the Aztec vessel sacrificed at Cholula. Both were sacrificed why still sinless allowing the choice of positive energy vessel making phase shifts more likely. The positives have greater knowledge and shift the phases more easily.”

“So, I was sacrificed in Belize followed by Cholula.”

“Time is nonlinear, sometimes circular, frequently erratic. It is just as likely you were sacrificed first in Cholula then Belize. In circular time, you were sacrificed in Cholula before and after Belize and in Belize before and after Cholula. In spirit time, both sacrifices occurred simultaneously.”

“Crazy!”

“Only crazy because you exist in physical life. When you finally finish the fourth phase, transcend to spirit, and exist at every point in time, it will make sense.”

“So I will transcend?”

Miztli smiles, whiskers twitch, says nothing.

“¿Miztli?”

“It is my understanding, you are on your way, that it is one of your possible destinies. Remember, only being a present, past seer, I can’ know for sure. But, Grandfather has given you special attention so I expect you will achieve spirit existence. Or Grandfather likes playing games meaning there is a distinct possibility you are stuck.”

“What is the stuck between, soul purgatory you mentioned?”

“All in good time, David.”

“Is not all time good, Miztli?”

“Yes.”

“Then now is a good a time as any so tell…aah!” A hot pain sears into my chest cavity.

The priest places the heart on top of the Mayan fetish then throws the still twitching corpse into the fire. My eyes burn as if touched by habanero oil. My skin sizzles. Puma grabs me and drags me into the river separating the life ripples between me and baby me from interfering with each other.

The water is thick, tastes of blood. Why couldn’t it be wine? I can’t breathe. Struggling, I grab Miztli by the nape to steady myself, find a way to the surface. A great surge as if a dam has burst slams into us breaking my hold on Miztli. I am thrown about like a rag doll, tumbling head over heels. Blackness engulfs me. I fear my premonitions, my reoccurring dreams that I’m fishing in still waters with my dad, have come true and I am dead again.

Isla de las Muñecas (Island of the Dolls)

After another long body numbing journey rendering me completely disoriented, I surge upward until I’m thrown clear of the waters and crash back down onto a muddy embankment. I lay still dappled by the sun filtering through verdant leaves in what appears to be a jungle. But where exactly am I? And what has happened to Miztli? I scan the area.

There are paths radiating from the pool. They are all too narrow to have been made by humans, probably the natural outcome of small animals sneaking in for water under cover of night. I pick the one lined with the most colorful flowers to explore. I’m thankful for the return of color vision for I love being bedazzled by colors. But wish I still had the ability to detect a person’s aura. I don’t know who I will encounter wherever I am. Knowing if they are bent toward good or evil would be helpful in choosing to trust or flee.

The foliage is canopied 3 feet over the trail. Too low for me without crawling. I force my way through suffering the slapping of tree branches and small cuts on my legs, face, and arms. The sound of scampering feet is in front of me. They stop then start when I get near moving off a short distance. The leaves prevent me from seeing what type of animal I’m spooking. Strange that it would not just flee far, far away. I fight the attacking branches for another fifteen sweaty minutes before breaking into a clearing nearly devoid of leaves. I drop to my knees and plant my head on the cool ground. Oh, that feels good. But it smells musty.

When the coolness of earth seeps into me, I right myself to a kneeling position which doesn’t last long because my knees ache when deeply bent. It’s painful to raise myself from a squat. I grab a thin tree using it to pull myself into a standing position. When fully erect, I’m staring directly into the face of a weathered, plastic doll. It’s naked, bald, pink, and blue-eyed. The left leg is broken off at the knee leaving jagged plastic exposed.

I jump back. There are more. A black hair rag doll above, another plastic doll, headless lower on the tree. I whirl around almost falling in the process. There are dolls in all the trees. Some are tied, others nailed, still, others wedged between branches. Naked dolls. Clothed dolls. A spiderman doll. A construction worker doll. Stuffed animals, too. I want to run but every which way is blocked by this army of grungey dolls.

Doll Island

“Where the HELL am I?” I scream.

“David, you are at one of the Islas de las muñecas.”

“Miztli? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t I see you?”

“We are outside the spirit realm. I’m only visible in the spirit realm.”

“This is real? This is sickening? How is it you can talk? Can you and see me?”

“I can see you.”

“What is this muñecas place?”

“Remember when I told you, you were lucky to find vessels so quickly?”

“Yes.”

“This island is filled with the souls not so lucky as you. This is their purgatory.”

“Purgatory as in the intermediate state after physical death where souls await expiatory purification?” I find it enjoyable showing off my school smarts.

“No. That is another case of organized religion usurping a spiritual state and applying their own irrelevant concepts in an erroneous attempt to explain.”

“Then, please explain it to me.”

“The beings you see here…”

“Beings…you mean they are not dolls?”

“Yes and no. The beings you see here are awaiting suitable conditions for their next birth.”

“This feels like an island of misfit toys.”

“Most are societal misfits. This island is populated primarily with those who committed evil in their previous lives. The vessels they have tried to enter rejected them. Those with a positive aura quickly find a new vessel. The evil must wait.”

“So, the vessels are not simply births yet to be?”

“Correct. Both the vessel and the soul are spirits. They combine to be a new being in birth. Each can reject the other. Vessels look for souls with a pure aura that will, hopefully, enable them to maintain their physical integrity outside senseless violence. Souls are less finicky. They prefer one of the few vessels likely to be born to a life of leisure but will settle for significantly less. You see, it is the soul that determines the goodness or badness of the birthed being. So, a bad soul will choose a substandard vessel with the ultimate goal of achieving power and wealth by whatever means it takes.”

“Freaky!”

“Some of the souls on this isla have, over time, deeply meditated on their ways and migrated away from evil toward goodness so there are some with lighter auras. They are few for a jaguar almost never changes their spots. They are more likely to combine with a vessel. Of course, some revert back to evil so the vessels are leary and play it safe. Some of the souls have dwelt here for ages.”

“Is Cortés here?”

“Yes, along with many of the marauding invaders.”

“And the dolls?”

“The dolls are put up by the locals to trap evil. The souls see the dolls then, thinking they are available vessels, crawl inside and wait for rebirth. If they were not waiting in the vessels they would scour the countrysides looking for a living vessel to steal. There are rare instances when stealing is possible.”

“There does not seem to be enough dolls on the island to hold the world’s evil.”

“This is one of many doll islands in México. Still, you are correct, there are not enough. Evil continually leaks into the physical world. If it’s not leaking then new evil is generating. The nefarious activities of humanity are never-ending. Just when we think America is on a positive path, racists of all colors ooze from their slime committing heinous acts.”

“Yes. I do live in a corrupt world.”

“Do not think you are immune. Every time you look the other way, every time you don’t speak up when you see a person being shamed, you are complicit in creating space for evil to flourish. You are part of the problem, David.”

Ok. This was getting uncomfortable. I knew I wasn’t perfect but am not in the mood to have it thrown in my face. Come to think of it, there’s never a time when I like my foibles given voice. I need to smoothly change the topic. “How do the locals know to put up the dolls?”

“In days long past, there were powerful empaths with insights into the spirit world. They placed straw dolls to fool the souls. There are very few powerful empaths living today but the custom has become deeply rooted and the locals continue the tradition believing the dolls have the power to trap ghosts. The souls are not actually trapped, just fooled into believing birth is imminent. They don’t leave for fear they won’t find another vessel willing to accept them.”

“Why do all souls congregate here?”

“They do not. It’s common practice to put dolls out in yards, on verandas, in windows to catch the ghosts. When they believe one has been caught, the dolls are brought here because souls are unable to cross the water.”

“That’s a silly superstition.”

“No. It is true. The souls are incompatible with water. Once here or any of the islas, they are stuck until they encounter a vessel or hitch a ride on a living empath.”

“I guess, I can’t see the auras because I’m not an empath?”

“Almost correct. You are weak in your empathic abilities, still, stronger than most.”

“Hmmm…you’ve had me in spirit realms twice today. Why can’t you help me see these?”

“I can.”

“But you won’t.”

“This place is laden with evil. Seeing strong evil even in aura form has a way of damaging the human psyche. I’m not sure you have strength enough to protect yourself.”

“I want to try. If I feel any discomfort whatsoever I’ll shut my eyes and you can disconnect from me.”

“I warn you, the damage inflicted can come quick.”

“You will be inside my head. You can use your attuned spirit to protect me.”

“Ok. As you wish. Close our eyes.”

“Close them? But I want to see.”

“Once I have bridged our minds, you may open them. It is easier if you’re not distracted.”

“Gotcha, boss.” I close my eyes and wait one minute, two minutes. I feel nothing. Was Miztli messing with me?

“No, I am not. Open them slowly and remember, if anything feels out of place, slam them shut.”

I open them a sliver but am unable to make out anything beyond the blur of my eyelashes. Fuck it. I open them wide. Color is gone. That’s still a freaky feeling. The dolls have auras. All of them are deep black, black so black all light is absorbed. It feels like my energy is being siphoned out of my body. I become light-headed. I grab onto a tree to keep from falling and close my eyes until balance is restored.”

“Are you ok, David?”

“Um…sure…I’m ok.”

“I reopen my eyes and look around.” They black auras seem to be energized, little sparks light them up. The dolls start moving. “Miztli, the dolls…”

“What about the dolls?”

“They…they are moving.”

“They’re moving. How are they moving?”

“They all turn their heads, the ones that have heads, the ones with eyes are staring at me. I’m getting scared.”

“David, quickly close your eyes.”

I try to shut them but they are stuck like they are propped open with little sticks as in the old cartoons. “I can’t. I CAN’T”

“I’m disengaging from you. Hold on a moment. There. We are separate again.”

I feel a pop like when a wine cork is freed from the bottle. “Um…I can see color and I can see the auras. How can I see both? I thought you said that was not possible.”

Miztli paces frantically keeping himself between me and the closest dolls. “I said it was only possible for very strong empaths. This is not good. Worse. This is bad. You must be stronger than I believed possible.”

“Miztli, the dolls are climbing down from the trees. A couple are hobbling. One without legs is crawling. They are coming toward me!” A zombie apocalypse of dolls is coming for me. Are the flesh eaters? Are they soul eaters? What happens to a soul eaten by evil zombie dolls? Would I too become evil? Would I be stuck on this island until finding a suitable vessel?

Escape

“Listen closely. There must be more to your spirit than I am able to sense. Whatever it is, it has disturbed the souls. They, in turn, have animated the dolls. The only explanation is they see you as a way off this island.”

“Shit!”

“When I tell you, you need to run as fast as possible back to the pool through which we entered. Don’t look back. Don’t stop no matter what you hear or feel. You got that?”

“Y…yes.”

“Dive into the pool and swim down the throat as far as possible. You will come to a lip. Swim horizontally beneath the island until you are past the edge. Then swim upward angled away from the island. You will pop up in the waterways of Xochimilco. There are many boats traveling the canals. One of them will surely take you in.”

“What about you? I can’t leave you behind.”

“I will keep the dolls from following you. I’m spirit not physical. They can’t hurt me. I’ll be ok.”

I run back along the path I took to the clearing. It is easier this time with the branches I broke on the way in. Still, running is a challenge. Roooaarrrr. Miztli is screaming. Is it pain or a diversion. I want to go back and help but She said not to. There are black auras in my peripheral vision. They are coming. How fast can they move? Roooaarrrr. I can’t wait to find out and run faster and longer than I have since my soccer playing days. When I think I can’t take another step the forest clears.

I’m at the pond. My hiking boots won’t do for swimming. I squat and fumble finger the laces until I can kick the boots off. I hate to lose these. The plants are rustling. I consider removing my pants but half nakedness will be hard to explain to anyone rescuing me. The pond is not wide, about my body length. I dove in shallow water as a kid and hit bottom. I was lucky not to break my neck. I dive in. No resistance. I’m in the throat. I should be safe now but can’t be sure. The adrenaline is in high gear driving me into the dark depths.

I cannot see. Navigation requires reaching out to the wall and feeling for the lip. I’m not a strong swimmer. I don’t know how long I can hold out. The wall ends. I turn left and kick like a mad man probing the top with my fingers searching for the end. The bottom of the island is not smooth like the throat through which I descended. Something sharp slices into a finger. I pray its only exposed tree roots and not a colony of snaggle tooth critters with a hankering for warm flesh. I use quick slaps with my knuckles to test if I’m still under the island. The first time, I hit nothing I angle 45 degrees and shoot for the surface.

My lungs are burning. I need oxygen. How much further? Is it possible to die without sucking in lungs full of water? If I don’t breathe will I pass out then float to the surface? No. I will probably inhale and drown. My mind starts fading. I kick frantically, pump my arms doing my best to claw my way to the surface. I break through and suck in fresh air too fast. My mind sees black spots. After that, things get hazy.

I vaguely remember someone calling, “Señor! Señor! ¿Necesitas ayuda?”

I think ayuda means help. “Sí. Sí.” I respond. I am pulled into a colorful boat and throw up before passing out.

Cholula Pyramid

“David.” The voice sounds muffled as if my ears are under water. But, I’m dry. I’m laying on my back on a very hard, uneven surface. The horizon is dimming to red. I don’t smell any water.

Sunset From Cholula Pyramid

Cholula Pyramid Stairs

“What are you doing in there, David? That area is off limits. Didn’t you see the fence?”

I pull myself to a sitting position. Look around. I’m outside Cholula. Cholula? And I’m on the mini-pyramid where the kids…where young David and the kids…were sacrificed to bring rain. How did I get here?

“David. You need to get out of there. It’s off limits. Get out before security throws you out and we all have to leave. I want to see the rest of the temple grounds.

“Uh…Ok.” My boots are next to me. I pull them on, lace ’em up, tie ’em snug. It’s much easier when terror is not running through the fingers. I hop off the pyramid, walk over to my wife and our friends.

“How did you get out here ahead of us? I didn’t see you pass us in the tunnel.”

“I took a different way, the uphill tunnel we saw.” A half-truth. To tell her the whole truth would be received as a full lie. To tell her I had another spirit world experience would do nothing more than raise her ire. I was able to talk her out of an MRI last time. The thought of being in one of those machines is scary. I doubt I could talk her out of it again. She thinks I have cancer.

“But that was gated.”

“The gate wasn’t locked so I took a side excursion.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She’s not good at hiding her feelings. I can see the annoyance in her knitted brow. We are with friends so nothing will be discussed now. She smiles and we continue our excursion.

What’s Next?

The trip did not end here. We visited another Pyramid, spent time walking the Puebla Zocalo. It’s a beautiful, relaxed city. But there was not a sign of Miztli anywhere.

Puebla Street

Puebla Cathedral

Door

Doors

Street: Cinco de Mayo

Yellow Building

Me Against a Wall in Puebla

Puebla Street

Cross On Pyramid Mound

Pyramid

Pyramide

View from Pyramid

View Up Pyramid

Pyramid & Clouds

Pyramid Stairway

Excavated Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Cinco de Mayo Square

I spent those last days lost. My last experiences in the spirit world concluded with a foretelling of a next step in my destiny of destinies. When I first met, Grandfather in New Mexico, he foretold of a trip to the Philippines. There I met Tukó who informed me I was on a vision quest. When I returned to New Mexico, Grandfather foretold the vision quest would continue with a trip to New Mexico where I would meet Puma. Puma, though, told me nothing about my future. True, he said he was a past seer, not a future seer so would not have the future sight. So, I wonder, is this the end of my vision quest?

“Rooaar.”

Puma & Pirámides in Old México This fifth sun, the sun of movement, illuminated the Toltecs and illuminates the Aztecs. It has claws and feeds on human hearts.

#Aztec #Maya #Puma #sacrifice

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