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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Note

“Ummmm... happy 11 or full-on-freakout 11?” Yes. The answer is yes. All of that. Both

You want happy Chris? Here’s happy Chris!

CW: Some brief references to Chris’s time with Sir, implied alcohol use at the end. Look, this is real actual fluff and you can’t tell me it’s anything else.

Tagging Chris’s crew: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

The letter comes in the mail addressed to Christopher Stanton, but he’s too scared to open it. Instead he just puts it on the kitchen table and then stares at it, off and on, through the whole fucking day while Jake is gone at meetings and doing all the stuff that Nat used to do, only this is Jake’s house now so he does it all for himself.

Antoni went with him, and officially they don’t take in other rescues yet until everything is ready, so it’s just Chris bouncing around Jake’s house, restless and unsettled, unable to sit still or stop or think about any one thing, he can’t stop thinking about everything.

He’s not sure if it being a big letter is a good sign or a bad one, and he’s too scared to look. He moves from room to room trying to pretend he’s not sneaking glances at the letter every time he has to go back into the kitchen to grab cereal to pour himself a bowl, or makes a sandwich with some chips for lunch.

Or just gets extra glasses of water so that he has to look at it again.

Jake texts to say he’ll be home at four and Chris groans, forcing himself to go outside. Four o’clock is so long, so far away, and he can’t bear to open the letter before then. If he opens the letter and it says bad things, he’ll die. He knows it, he will just curl up on the floor and die.

Outside is a little better. Chris is a flash of blue hair and a swinging silicone feather pendant as he climbs the big tree in the backyard - it’s his favorite thing about the house and when they’d gone looking for houses, Chris had carefully written CLIMBING TREE - reading and writing came back, but reading came back first and is easier than forcing his hand to move in all the ways it used to know without thinking - on the list of pros about this one after they visited.

Each time his hands curl around a branch and his arms stretch, digging the rounded toe of his sneakers into the tiny spots that only he knows about and feeling the muscles of his thighs tense and push, he feels some of his restless energy dissipate, like the tree is soaking it up.

Somewhere in the tree’s rings, maybe, there will be a little bit of Chris’s energy written a hundred years from now. He has no idea how long trees live, he just likes the idea. He hums to himself once he’s up on the little wooden platform he built with Antoni and Jake to put up here, sitting with his legs crossed, tapping idly with hollow thumps on the wooden slats, listening to birds and squirrels and the breeze.

Somewhere nearby, a dog barks. Sirens, faint, and Chris closes his eyes. Cop car, ambulance, firetruck. Sometimes he can tell which siren is which. This one sounds like cop cars.

It’s been years and still Chris whispers, “They’re not coming here. They’re, they’re not coming here. They’re not for us.”

His name is Christopher Stanton now, and all his documents are faked but they look real enough, and they’re real to him. The inside of his left wrist is wiped clean, a bit of scarring all that’s left of the way they took his first name but they won’t take his name again.

Not this one, the one he picked for himself. They won’t take that name away.

He gets to keep this one.

He earned it.

He lets outside soothe his jangling nerves, his dancing mind. He doesn’t try to make himself still, but sways a little, back and forth, one hand tapping, the other gripping onto the feather to run fingertips in a constant motion over the ridges carved carefully into the silicone plastic.

He doesn’t try to think one thought but lets all of them crowd in, trains running on tracks that feel more natural than a single thought ever had. He can think about the way the veins of leaves look in the sunshine, lit from below when he holds them up, a tracery that Antoni draws again and again, murmuring something about what lives under the skin. He can think about that and still hear the squirrels and there’s a white one that lives in the other big tree, and a California scrub jay calls and calls and calls, soft sweet cheeping sounds, or maybe it’s two of them talking to each other.

He thinks of these things and he thinks of the envelope on the kitchen table and even if it’s bad, if they say no, he’ll be okay. He’ll stay here with Jake and Antoni and maybe he can be a shelter worker, too. He can learn to do those things, even if the letter says no.

He’s calmer, outside, with the blue sky above him and the green grass below, suspended on the platform in the tree, like he’s something that doesn’t belong in either place, but instead belongs in both.

If he had wings, Chris thinks, eyes closed to imagine, he’d want to have red-tailed hawk wings. Pretty and reddish - oh, but maybe no, maybe blue jay wings to match his hair. Except he read somewhere about how big wings would have to be to make a human body fly but wouldn’t people have to have hollow bones so they’d weigh less so the wings wouldn’t have to be so big.

There’s a story he reads online about a fairy with wings, curled against his back most of the time, sneaking through human places with a human person he loves. Chris grins at the memory, swaying lightly back and forth in the breeze, letting the cool of it touch his face.

He likes the story about the fairy and his human person. Both of them touched and broken until they didn’t want to be touched anymore.

Chris likes to be touched, but he understands the feeling.

Somehow the hours move away from him - time in his tree melds with time doing yoga on the grass, feeling it tickle his head during handstands, his hair a pool of blue against the green, the feather on his necklace nearly sliding off his head. He twists and bends and pulls his body into any shape it wants, reminding himself that there are ways to move your body that don’t require someone else to tell you what to do.

It’s been almost two years, he thinks, but that’s what they tell him in therapy, it takes years and years to stop hearing the training, feeling its gentle urging to fit himself back into the narrow mold of Sir’s perfect statue boy in the bed.

He won’t be that, anymore. Ever again.

He wears himself out with the moving, with a body in constant motion, until he’s coated in a thin film of sweat and his shirt sticks to his back and sweat trickles in drips down the back of his neck, catching in the blue hair and sticking it against skin, too.

This is the way to sweat, he thinks. Not the other way. This is the way he wants to move, and it’s his body to move however he wants to, forever and ever, from here on out.

By the time he’s showered and changed into a black T-shirt and ripped-up black jeans kind of like the ones Kauri wears sometimes when he comes by to visit, Chris feels calmer, and he keeps his eyes off the envelope as he drinks more water and goes to lie down on the couch and wait for four o’clock.

Four o’clock takes so so long to get here, but when he hears Jake’s car in the driveway, Chris pops up and all his nervous is back in full force. He’s pulling the feather on the cord back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as he meets Jake and Antoni at the door.

“It’s 4:13,” Chris says instead of hello. “You came home late.”

Jake laughs, unbothered, and pulls Chris into a tight hug. “Yeah, well. Blame an accident on Belladonna. Some fender bender took up both lanes and they had us going past on the shoulder.”

“It was very annoying,” Antoni said, moving into the kitchen, humming to himself at first, then coming to a stop.

Chris’s heart beats out of time, as he watches Antoni slowly pick the envelope up to look at it.

“Chrisha, what is this?” Antoni asks, confused. “Colinas Blancas University...” His voice trails off, and then he turns around, and Jake’s arms tighten around Chris as the two men realize at the same moment “But this is early! It is not supposed to come yet!”

“Do, do, do do do you think that’s, um, that’s bad?” Chris asks, voice small, uncertain. He taps on Jake’s side, a reminder, and Jake gives him a quick, breezy kiss to the hair before he pulls Chris into the kitchen with him.

“Nah, it doesn’t mean anything but that they got the letters out earlier than they thought,” Jake says, but his voice is strained. He’s nervous, too, and his arm around Chris’s shoulders is holding him tightly. “Did you open it yet?”

“No,” Antoni answers for Chris, turning it back and forth. “He has not. It is... has lots of paper in it. Is that good or bad?”

Jake doesn’t answer right away, just licks his lips and holds out his hand for Antoni to hand it over. He looks at the university’s logo and return address in the top corner, and then takes a deep breath. “Here, Chris. It’s your letter. You open it.”

The envelope paper is smooth and very white, bleached-bright, except for the deep maroon of the school’s logo. His own name is written in thin black text on the front. Christopher Stanton.

He bounces on his toes with the nerves that need expressing and have nowhere to go, tearing at the corner of the envelope where the adhesive isn’t strong and then ripping the top of the envelope open, ragged-edge tears. Somewhere in his mind, he hears a woman’s voice, light with humor. Too excited to take your time, baby? Well, nobody gets birthday presents for the wrapping paper, I guess.

There’s a flicker of pain, but he ignores it, doesn’t let it crowd him in. Things he doesn’t remember anymore aren’t going to take this moment from him.

He drops the envelope carelessly to the floor and for once neither of the older men says anything, they just watch Chris, heart in his throat, slowly open the letter up, unfolding pure white paper from inside.

“’Dear Christopher’,” Chris reads, his voice shaking, and he hears a sound from the side of him and thinks Jake is sniffing. “’D-Dear’... J-Jake-”

“Keep going,” Jake says, softly. Antoni leans in and Jake takes his hand with his free one, and the two of them look like the parents Chris might have had, once upon a time, but can’t remember.

“‘Dear Christopher,” He starts again, eyes skipping down to the next line. “‘It is... it is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the Colinas Blancas University cl-class of two-... two-thousand and...’“ He takes in a breath, and looks up, vision blurring over with the tears. “I got in.”

A smile widens across Jake’s face, and Antoni’s eyes are glittering, too.

“I got in.” Chris jerks in breaths, his heart rabbit-fast, and he starts bouncing on his toes, the excitement curling up from his feet and making its way into his pelvis and his stomach and his heart and his brain. “I got in, in, in in I got in, I got in it’s a yes I’m going to college!”

He pulls away from Jake, clutching onto the paper, scanning the rest of the letter but he doesn’t care, all that matters is the first sentence, the first words, the CONGRATULATIONS that blinks black from the bottom at him before the signature from the Director of Admissions.

Chris drops the letter, he can’t hold it anymore, and his hands start to move with the happy that he can’t keep in, he spins in a circle and taps on the wall and on himself, bouncing up and down on his toes, swinging his body forward and back because he has to get the happiness out and his body wants to move.

“I got in I got in I got in I got in I got in-”

Jake is breathing hard, like he just ran a race, wiping a hand over his face and turning to Antoni, sniffing back his own tears and Chris thinks that Jake is proud, he’s proud of him, he’s happy too, he and Antoni are so happy, too.

“He got in,” Jake says out loud to Antoni, who only grins back at him a rare wide smile that flashes slightly crooked teeth. “Fuck, he-... Christ, Antoni, he’s in!”

“Yes, I noticed, I heard you both,” Antoni teases, picking the letter up to scan it over himself, as if his face isn’t reddened, too, as if they aren’t all three of them nearly dancing with happiness at a thing that Chris had been so scared to even dream about.

“‘We are thrilled to welcome you to the Colinas Blancas community...’“ Antoni reads, but Chris barely hears him, spinning in a circle again, his leg bouncing even when he tries to stand still, finger-twist-tap-tap-tap against his own sides, the wall, Jake’s arm, anything within reach before his hands start shaking again.

Too much, too much happiness, he has to move to get it out, has to move.

“Congratulations, man,” Jake says, his voice thick in his throat. “I’m so fucking proud of you, you worked so hard for this.”

Chris looks up at him, blinking rapidly to try and wash the blur of tears, to focus Jake’s face, and when he blinks they find their way out and run down his face. Jake hugs him, strong arms tight around him, and he hugs back, but he can’t stop tapping even so, has to tap Jake’s skin, because he’s so happy and he tried so hard and it was terrifying and he got in.

“I’m going to, to, to to college, Jake,” Chris whispers, and feels Jake’s arms tighten around him. “I’m going to college. Like everybody else.”

Like a person.

“I knew they’d let you in,” Jake whispers against his ear. “Who could ever meet you and not want you around forever?”

Chris rests himself against Jake, like he has since he was brought thinner and terrified and wrapped in a blanket years ago, but he taps and he taps and the world is bright and the birds are singing outside the window and he’s worked so so so hard for the life they’re going to let him live.

“I got in.”

“Good.” Antoni pulls a bottle out of the freezer with a crooked half-smile, wiping at his eyes. “I think this deserves a toast.”

“He’s twenty,” Jake says, warningly. “We think.”

“And he got into college, Jascha,” Antoni replies with breezy good cheer. “Let the boy have a toast for celebration.”

Jake raises an eyebrow.

Antoni smiles serenely back.

Jake finally sighs and lets Chris go. “Fine. But just one.”

“Of course,” Antoni says, and winks at Chris. “Just one.”

Chris sits in the chair with his legs crossed in front of him, watching Antoni pour clear liquid into a glass, and he’s never felt any happiness like this before.

“You did it,” Jake says, sitting heavily down himself. “God. Fuck. You did it. I love you, man, I’m so proud of you.”

I love you.

Chris melts into three small words.

I love you.

“I love you, too,” He whispers, as Antoni pushes the glass at him across the table. “Both of you. Forever.”

Antoni pours two more glasses with a small bit of his best vodka, and then pushes one at Jake and holds one himself. “To our Chrisha,” He says, softly. “And going to college.”

“To Chris,” Jake says, firmly, lifting his glass in the air.

Chris echoes the motion, his heart is beating so fast and it’s such a good day and the world is wonderful to him.

“To, to, to college,” Chris says, and the three of them move their glasses towards each other.

Clink.

A cardinal calls outside the window.

#trauma recovery #recovering whumpee #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #antoni Sings Lullabies #pure unadulterated fluffiness here #all comfort no hurt #happy stuff #original fiction #stimming #happy stim #my sweet boy getting good things #trauma recovery whump #found family #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #because sometimes things just work out #okay

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preferredfanart · 5 years ago

Text

Anne discovers one of Gilbert’s secrets...

“Marilla, do we have any spare paper?” Anne asked as she searched for a writing implement to write down her most recent flight of fancy.

“Mm, we haven’t written anything in several days, go and check the left drawer of the desk,” Marilla replied as she kneaded the dough for the next day’s bread.

Anne found a pencil and made her way to the desk. Pulling open the drawer that Marilla had indicated, she did see some sheets of paper, but they either had something written on them or were solely for formal purposes. “There don’t seem to be any scraps,” she called back.

“Well, then, go over to Gilbert and Sebastian and see if they have any paper they can spare. But be back for dinner, it should be ready soon. ”

“Would it be all right if I walked?” Anne asked, “The weather has been lovely today.”

Marilla gave her a look, but relented. “So be it. But if your dinner is cold, don’t come and cry to me.”

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Anne replied, going to the door and pulling her coat off the hook.

---

When she arrived at the Blythe home, Anne straightened her hat and double-checked the neatness of her clothes, the actions having absolutely nothing to do with one particular occupant of the home. Absolutely nothing.

Knocking, she waited a few seconds before the door opened, Bash on the other side with Delphine in one arm, solemnly chewing on the strap of his suspender. Anne smiled brightly. “Hello, Bash.” She turned her smile on the baby. “Hello, Dellie.”

“Anne, what a lovely surprise,” Bash commented with a smile, “Come in, Gilbert is just working on dinner.”

Anne cautiously walked in and waited to the side of the door as Bash closed it. As he headed toward the kitchen, she followed, trying to casually rub her suddenly clammy hands on her skirt.

“Blythe, we have a guest,” Bash told the dark-haired boy rinsing lettuce in a bowl on the table. Gilbert looked up and a quick look of surprise came over his face.

“Anne. Hello,” he greeted her as Bash sat down to feed Delphine. He took the leaves he was rinsing out of the bowl and placed them on the cutting block. When he was finished, he reached for the towel on his shoulder to dry his hands. “What brings you to our doorstep?” he asked.

“I was wondering if you had any spare paper I could borrow? All the paper at Green Gables is accounted for.”

“I think we do,” he told her. He nodded in the general direction of the living room. “There should be some paper in the right drawer of the desk. Take as much as you need.”

“Thank you,” Anne said. She turned in the direction he’d nodded and walked through the doorway, but not before taking a quick glance at Gilbert’s hands as he started gently patting the lettuce dry.

When shuffling sounds started coming from the general direction of the desk, Gilbert suddenly froze, looking stricken. Bash looked up from feeding Delphine when he noticed the sudden stillness and Gilbert dashed from the room, heading in the same direction Anne had gone seconds before. Bash raised a brow, but then quickly recalled what ELSE was in that drawer. An amused grin crept its way across his face.

“Looks like the secret is out, eh Dellie?” he murmured to his daughter, a twinkle in his eye. The baby smiled her gummy little smile and laughed, waving her hands.

In the other room, Gilbert stopped in his tracks as he realized he was too late to stop Anne from discovering what was in that drawer. A flush crept up his face. Anne turned toward him, carefully holding a rectangular shape in her hands with familiar handwriting on the front--hers. Looking up, a confused expression drew her brows together with a hint of alarm.

“Gilbert?”

The young man swallowed hard, his gaze bouncing between Anne’s face and the envelope.

“It...the letter...” he searched his mind for the right words. He swallowed again. “Your letters...helped me through some rough times on the boat...when I was...a bit homesick...” he trailed off.

“They...did?” Anne asked hesitantly.

Gilbert nodded and cautiously approached her, trying to see any little hints as to how she felt about the revelation. When he stopped just out of arm’s reach, she looked up and he was taken aback by the slightest sheen of tears in her eyes. As he opened his mouth to ask her if she was all right, a joyful little smile lit up her face. He shut his mouth, slightly confused, but relieved that she wasn’t upset.

“I never imagined that my humble little letters could have such an impact,” she told him, a laugh in her voice. She looked down at the letter again, then offered it to him. “Thank you for telling me. I’m glad they brought you some solace.”

As he took the letter from her, Gilbert’s fingers brushed hers. Anne’s eyes widened, and with a little gasp, she quickly withdrew her hand. At the sound, Gilbert raised his eyes to her face, taking note of her slightly parted lips and nervous eyes. Refusing to let his mind wander to places it probably shouldn’t go, he determinedly pulled it away and focused on the situation at hand. His eyes fell back to the letter. Remembering just how important the letters had been to him on his journey away from home, an idea came to mind.

“No, thank you,” he said softly. He paused for a moment. “Anne, if...if I can get into the Sorbonne...would you write to me?”

“I...” Anne trailed off, feeling a strange pang in her chest at the mention of the distant university.

Gilbert raised hopeful eyes to her. “Please?”

Anne’s face relaxed slightly. How could she resist when he asked like that? She nodded. “I’ll write to you, Gilbert.”

A wide smile spread across his face and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you.”

The two stared at each other, ridiculous grins on their faces. Slowly, the grins faded as they realized how close they were. Neither seemed able to pull away.

“Blythe!” Bash shouted from the kitchen, breaking the spell, “A man can starve in the time it takes you to make a meal.”

Anne giggled. “I should go, Marilla told me to return quickly since dinner will be ready soon.”

“At least one of us will be fed!” Bash called. Delphine gave a squeal. “Make that two.”

Gilbert chuckled, put the letter on the desk and reached for the open drawer. Anne caught her breath as his arm brushed hers and she backed away a bit. He gave her a quick glance, but didn’t say anything. He pulled out a few sheets of paper and offered them to her. “Will this be enough?” he asked.

Anne nodded and quickly took the sheets. “Thank you,” she squeaked.

“I’ll get the door for you,” he told her, turning toward the front of the house. As he walked forward, Anne followed, hoping her face wasn’t as red as she thought it was. When he opened it, she quickly went through the doorway, but forced herself to stop on the threshold. She turned to him. “Good night, Gilbert,” she said with a nod and sped away.

“Good night, Anne,” he whispered softly as she disappeared into the growing darkness. When she was gone from his sight, he softly closed the door, went to the desk to put away the letter, and returned to the kitchen. He remained silent and thoughtful as he started working with the lettuce again, but a smile played around mouth.

“Planning more love letters?” Bash asked, a mischievous grin on his face. Gilbert threw a lettuce leaf at him, but the smile on his own face didn’t fade.

#AWAE #AWAE ff #AWAE fanfiction #Anne with an E #Shirbert #AWAE fanfic #drabble #oneshot #ficlet #spoilers?

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whorphydice · 5 years ago

Text

Hunger Has a Way With You

Haven’t gave anyone Ophelia content in a hot minute and i’m really proud of this one!

Eurydice was a hungry young girl

In her whole life there were two feelings that never left Eurydice. The first was the way the weather felt- constant feelings of discomfort. In the blistering heat there were only so many layers to take off. Only so much that you could do, sitting under a tree, with no access to a cold drink or a cool room to rest. In the freezing nights of winter, it was the opposite. Thin, torn leggings didn’t do much to warm her legs, an old ragged coat only did so much to protect from the biting snaps of the wind. She could use that skinny, cold body to obtain shelter at a cost she hated paying. Ain’t no lengths to which a girl won’t go to stay a live, she supposes, when strangers grope at her skin.

The other feeling was hunger. The dull, throbbing ache in her stomach that could bring her to her knees. A constant reminder that nothing she could get was going to be enough- nothing could satiate the nawing burn of starvation. An apple was a tease. Grapes were a cruel taunt to her body. She would never have enough. She would always go to bed at night with a burning ache for more. Eurydice, would always be hungry.

Until she went to Hadestown.

That was the first thing she noticed, the way down. It was not the smell of metal or the blinding lights. It was not the pulse of electricity that seemed to burn through the air. No. It was the absence of that familiar ache inside her. No need to eat, once you sign yourself into everlasting servitude. As she traded in her tattered negligee for a sturdy leather Uniform, she noticed the way it seemed to hang on her frame, robbing her of what little shape she had. Fitting, for the girl who’s fight was hunger, to be forever in the body of a malnourished child.

No. You did not need to eat in Hadestown. You could not starve to death if you were already living in hell.

Still. Fate seemed kind to her. Though she didn’t need it- food was there. Bread, small fruits, nuts. Nothing substantial, but to the starved woman it may as well have been a feast.

She attributed the tighter fit of her uniform to the indulgence in a meal.

It was not until months later, when Orpheus turned and reality set in, that she thanked her body for not letting her daughter starve, too.

You can have your principles, when you have a belly full

Her body had failed her. Time and time again. Her inability to fight her hunger, to fight her yearning, lead her here. All of her choices were led by hunger. Were lead by the will to survive, even if that meant she did not live. Loving Orpheus was the only thing her body had let her do that wasn’t out of sheer instinct to survive. Even then, hunger took her from him.

This was the only thing her body had ever given her.

Ophelia.

“I’ve got you, baby, i’m right here.” Words that had fallen from her lips endlessly in the past few months. Words that fell as she wrapped her daughter to her chest and held her there under leather overalls. Words that fell as she paces around her little apartment, trying to bring a living child peace in the land of death. Most commonly, they were said in moments like this.

In a shanty excuse for a bed, both arms clinging to the little girl. She would look at her brilliant hazel eyes as she nursed, revel in the feeling of her entire hand wrapped around a single finger. “I’m never gonna let anything bad happen to you, I promise.” She would often cry during these moments. Cry as she fed a little girl with her lover’s eyes. Her whole heart laying on her chest, it was like she was holding the universe to her skin.

Eurydice was never lost to the irony of it all. She starved to death, but here she was. The only way her daughter could survive was Eurydice. Funny, how she couldn’t save herself from starving to death but she was the only thing between Ophelia and that fate.

How was she supposed to let her go? To hand her over to Persephone, knowing she would never see her again?

“I love you, endlessly, always, forever, Ophelia.” Eurydice cooed, kissing her daughter’s fist as her eyes fluttered back and forth between sleep. “And i’m sorry. I’m so sorry for leaving you.” She would never know her, Ophelia wouldn’t. Ophelia wouldn’t remember these moments in a one room apartment, when she slept safer in her mother’s arms than she would be anywhere else in the world. Ophelia wouldn’t remember the way her mother smelled or the sound of her voice- but Eurydice would never forget those details about her daughter.

She never understood it- how someone could leave their baby. How they could bring a whole child into the universe before abandoning them to fate. Yet, she also didn’t understand sacrificing yourself. She didn’t understand how her mother starved to death, so Eurydice could have the extra bites. She didn’t understand how her mother could be so willing to die for her.

Now, as Ophelia buried her face against her collarbone and fell asleep, there was nothing she understood more. She would die for her, she would kill for her. And even, when the time came, she would say goodbye to her.

Hard Enough to Feed Yourself

“I don’t know what to do for her!” Orpheus broke. Voice cracking as tears fell steadily down his cheeks, still desperately pacing back and forth in a fruitless attempt to calm Ophelia. Ophelia, with her voice hoarse from screaming, hysterically wailing for hours at a time, and endless desperate please for the thing Orpheus could not give her. “Please, baby, i’m trying so hard..”

“Did you try feeding her again?” Hermes asks, bringing his hand to Orpheus’s shoulder. He gave a firm squeeze, trying to comfort the young man he had raised.

“She fights me every time...sometimes she’s too tired and she’ll drink it but.. It’s hard. She’s stubborn..” Orpheus bounces her a little, offering her a litany of warm words and kisses to try to settle her.

Persephone swirled the drink in her glass, forcing herself to look at Orpheus. This was almost as hard as it was to watch Eurydice scream for her as the train pulled away. Watching her sob on her knees on the platform knowing she will never see her child again. Watching this baby scream for her mother may have been even harder. “She’s hungry, yes, but she misses her Mama. Her mama was all she knew...her mama fed her, too. She’ll eat, but she misses her mama, Orpheus. And you can’t take that pain away.”

“I feel like i’m failing Eurydice all over...she was hungry, she starved because of me..now Ophelia’s starving and- it’s all my fault. If I had just trusted Eurydice she’d be here and she’d know what to do and-” Orpheus held Ophelia’s head to his shoulder, fingers tracing through her hair in a way that sent him back to Eurydice, her head against his chest, his deft fingers combing short waves. “I look at her and I’m watching Eurydice starve. I’m hearing her beg me to listen, to get food and firewood together, and i’m listening this time. I swear, i’m listening, and i’m failing her again. Eurydice trusted me to take care of her..she trusted me with our daughter and i’m failing them both.”

“You aren’t failing her-”

“Every night I can see her face. I see her face when I turned and when she realized I didn’t have faith in her- Imagine her face if she sees Ophelia again because I failed her. Our daughter is going to starve, and I can’t lose her, too.” Ophelia has settled for quiet sniffling, and tired, helpless whimpering into her father’s shoulder. Her little face rests on the top of his suspender, her short, shallow breaths are shaky into his neck. “I won’t. I won’t let her starve.” His hand runs over her tiny back, just thankful for whatever peace the infant has found briefly.

..Let alone somebody else.

The feeling of her skin against his was one she wanted to remember forever. To remember when this week of bliss ends and she’s sent to the underworld for the rest of eternity. To feel the tracing of his fingers along her spine, the way his calloused fingertips sent shivers through to the very core of her body. “Orpheus…” She whispers as her lips press to his, tangling their bare legs together, her hand coming to stoke his face gently. “Thank you.”

Orpheus kissed her finger tips, bringing his hand to rest on her face, too. His thumb strokes her cheek lazily in little circles, the feeling of her flushed face in his hands forever seared into his skin. “For what?”

“For loving our baby. For protecting her. You didn’t ask for her, but you loved her anyway.”

“Eurydice...Of course I love her, she’s all I have of you.” He glances back at the makeshift bed behind them, where Ophelia was sleeping for the time being. They’d shortly redress and bring her into their arms, holding her between them as if they could keep Eurydice here out of sheer love. “I’d give anything for her.” I’d do anything to keep you here.

“Then take care of yourself, too.” It was a question and a request both. She knew of his struggles in the name of their daughter. The things he went without for her. “She needs you to eat and be healthy...please.”

“I...If she’s willing to eat something, i’m not going to take any of it. In the beginning she cried for days and I was so scared she was going to starve, Eurydice. I couldn’t fail you like that.” He pulls her closer, resting her head in the crook of his neck, stroking her dark, short waves.

“She’s still fighting you, I can see it. Orpheus I just want to take her and take that pain away and feed her but- that’ll make it harder on you. But what I can do, is ask you to take care of you. My mama...she starved to death for me. Ophelia needs you, please..” Eurydice hiccups as she feels emotion building at the base of her throat. “I planted enough, to get you through to winter. Keep those plants alive, whatever you do, keep them alive and you will have enough. And I canned what we had- what you had- which is an extra. Please, Orpheus, please stay alive for her.”

“I will, I promise,”

“And Ophelia, she’ll forget about me and she’ll take the bottle and it’ll be okay and she won’t starve and-”

“She won’t ever forget about you, Eurydice, I won’t let her.”

“You let her forget if it keeps her alive, okay?” How was she supposed to say that she noticed it too? That her happy, beautiful girl was no larger than she was three months prior? That she put up a fight every time Orpheus offered her a bottle again and again.

Eurydice merely kissed his cheek, and offered a sad smile.

When she said goodbye to them at the platform she knew she would be seeing Ophelia again soon, when the starvation took Ophelia like it had her and her mother before her.

She never thought that the very thing she went to Hadestown to escape- the very thing that took her from Orpheus- would take her daughter, too.

But she wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I’ve got you baby, i’m right here.” They were words that brought more joy and comfort to Eurydice that night than maybe ever before. When she dressed her daughter for bed, and held her to her chest. Her daughter, pressed against her, wide hazel eyes locked with her brown ones, innocence and love that only a baby could have evident within them. “I’ve got you.”

Her short black slip of a dress was long since discarded, traded for an old summer tank top that dwarfed her frame.

Orpheus. Her newly official husband sat behind her, holding her back against his chest, his legs on either side of hers. He has his chin resting on her shoulder, staring down at their daughter in her arms.

There was comfort and excitement they couldn’t quite describe in this moment.

They were together. All three of them. For the first time and for forever.

Orpheus watches as Ophelia’s eyes flutter open and closed, full and resting for the first time in months. “I’ve never seen her sleep so well..”

“It’s hard to sleep when you’re hungry.” Eurydice points out, running her finger down Ophelia’s nose as the little girl fell asleep at her breast, her tiny hand still clutching to the hem of her shirt. “

“We’re gonna be just fine, aren’t we?” He mumbles into the skin of her neck, inhaling deeply to remember the scent of her freshly washed skin forever. Never again would he smell the soot of Hadestown, or feel the sharp curve of her bones against his. He would never hear her choke on the sediment coating her lungs when she breathed too deeply. He would get to revel in this- healthy, healing Eurydice, for the rest of his life.

“We’re all going to be just fine.”

#ophelia tag #hadestown fic #hadestown au #ophelia au #eurydice #orpheus #orphydice #orpheus and eurydice

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katekarnage7 · 5 years ago

Text

The Pill Chapter 3

It’s finally here! Sorry for the wait. You can also check this fic out on AO3.

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The area around him slowly shifted into focus. He stood on a small field of dandelions and buttercups that floated in a void filled with other islands. A tinge of blue tinted the area, clinging to it like a fog. A memory. All around him, he spotted countless other memories suspended in the blackened void. Some of these pieces held the interiors of taverns or the large expanse of a plain and some held gravel or dirt paths with grass growing by the sides. The most shocking thing, however, was the vast number and variety of colors. A veritable rainbow clung to the sky, shifting and changing in between each island of memory.

He crept forward, moving away from the field with the dandelions and buttercups, and to a bridge on the very end of that piece of land. The sturdy wooden bridge didn’t so much as shake as he walked across it. Unwisely, he cast a glance downwards and was met with more of the same blackened sky and tiny islands. Trying to hang onto his wavering sanity, he kept his gaze on the next island and could only admire the shifting colors.

This one held sharper clarity than the last. A small child with light brunette hair sat on a plush bed far too big for him. Tears slipped down the small boy’s face as he sat there, silent and so very alone, trying to read a book. His tears stained the pages, but he made no effort to wipe them away.

A chill ran down Geralt’s spine and a horrid, knotted feeling sat in his stomach. He moved on, leaving the small boy to read. The next island had a warm, joyous spark to it and was lit in a gorgeous yellow light. The same boy—a little older this time—sat with his back to a tree, plucking at a lute. His brunette hair had darkened and now fell around his face in long strands as he sat there, looking at his lute like it would answer the mysteries of the universe. He looked to be about ten or eleven years of age and yet, still, this air of wisdom no child should have hung around him.

The tune rang out, pure and clear in the air, filling the memory with joyous music—music you would want to hear for the rest of your life. He hummed along, the high tune bouncing over a range of chords. When he messed up a hand placement or played a chord wrong, he simply smiled and kept playing. Whilst Geralt knew nothing of music, he knew what joy looked like.

He continued on, even though his heart longed to stay with the boy, longed to sit next to him and just listen while the world passed them by. He couldn’t stop though. This promise to Jaskier was one he wouldn’t—couldn’t—break.

As soon as he stepped onto the next island, he froze. A deep cold settled into his bones as a gray sky descended on the memory. The same room from earlier came into focus. The large, plush bed with the soft looking blankets still stood in the middle of the room. He could only see half of it, like he was viewing a play and this was the set. The young boy stood in the middle of the room, desperately clutching his lute to his chest as a blackhaired woman managed to yank it from his hands. Her hands wrapped around the neck of the lute as her blue eyes glowed with cold anger.

“Please, Mother,” the boy cried. “It’s just a lute! It does no harm. Please.”

The woman clenched her jaw and crossed over to the roaring fireplace, lute in hand. She fixed her gaze onto the boy. “You haven’t time for music, Julian. Imagine what your father would say if he saw you with this filthy instrument instead of working on things of real importance.” Then, without another word, she tossed the lute into the flames.

The boy gasped, rushing forward but his mother caught his arm. “Let it burn. I’m only helping you, dear,” she said, her voice saccharine but unapologetic.

Tears slipped down the boy’s face as he slowly backed away and went to his shelf. He grabbed a book and sat on the bed, sniffling.

His mother patted his head in approval. “Good boy,” she said before taking her leave.

A rush of hot aggression poured through Geralt’s veins. Who would take away a child’s joy like that? Especially such a kind, warm child like Jaskier.

This life wasn’t one he would’ve imagined for the bard. Even though he’d mentioned he was a viscount, Geralt never really thought about the implications of that.

He hated himself for it.

He slowly tore his eyes away from the sight of his bard crying. The bard. Not his. He didn’t deserve him; especially not now. With haste, Geralt continued his travels through Jaskier’s memories. All of these moments were a part of Jaskier he had never seen. The part of him that shaped his personality and his views. He ached with the knowledge that he could have known all of this if he had just asked. He could’ve known about Jaskier’s torrid affair with music and how his parents didn’t approve. He could’ve known how the bard was always alone as a child and yet… yet he never asked.

What did that say about him?

Every memory he saw filled him with a sick guilt that knotted his stomach. The violation of Jaskier’s mind and privacy made him ache, but he had no other choice. He did his best to ignore every personal detail that he could in the memories. He decided he would ask Jaskier to tell him about those moments instead.

As he walked, he spotted something. No, many broken somethings. A memory that had millions of tiny little floating details unconnected to each other. A shattered memory. He ran toward it, his feet carrying him through Jaskier’s teenage years and all the way up to his eighteenth birthday. He paused when he spotted it: the tavern in Posada. It was the last whole island before everything dissolved into broken details.

Curiosity began to mix with that unease in his stomach, causing a flutter. He crept into the tavern and stumbled, his body being thrown into the memory full force. Jaskier was sitting at a table, nearly finished ale in hand. He took a swig then placed the tankard down and grabbed his lute. Geralt watched from afar as the bard took to singing, his voice filling the air as wonderfully as it had over twenty years ago.

Jaskier’s gaze flicked around as he sang, moving his hips a little to the rhythm. The effect could only be called mesmerizing. A yell rang out, low and agitated. The bard backed away as bread, amongst other things, flew at his face. “I’m glad I could just bring you all together like this!” the younger version of Jaskier said, gesturing vaguely as he put his lute away.

He knelt down, picking up what he could of the likely stale bread, and then… his gaze fell on something in the corner. Geralt’s heart leapt into his throat. Jaskier straightened up and moved forward, making a beeline for the corner, but… the memory fell away. The ground was broken and the corner of the tavern had been cut open. If the bard kept going, he would fall into nothingness.

Geralt rushed forward, his hand reaching for the back of the man’s doublet. When it should’ve made contact, his hand passed straight through Jaskier’s chest and he overbalanced. His foot caught the edge of the corner and before he could even cry out, he fell into the open void.

---

The ground rushed up to meet him and he hit it with a thud. “Fuck,” he mumbled as pain shot through his knees. He raised his head and was met with the outside of a gorgeous, stately building shining under a muted sun. Slowly, with nerves and adrenaline rushing through his veins, he got to his feet. Before his eyes, a scene appeared. A young boy with brown hair and blue eyes ran past him, being guided by a young girl with dark eyes and darker hair. The boy looked rugged, his hair growing far past the length Geralt would’ve expected and his common clothing stained with dirt. His hair was streaked with mud.

His eyes, however, carried the light of a person who was finally free. Geralt’s breath caught. That freedom. How long had it been since he’d seen it? How long since the mountain? It felt like a millenia, but… no. A year, maybe two.

His heart ached in his chest as he followed the boyish version of his bard into the building. Oxenfurt, he realized with a start as he set foot inside the grand entrance hall. His eyes scanned the large staircase before him and the many halls that led to a variety of rooms. Different versions of Jaskier echoed around the halls; screams of joy and laughter permeated the air. His bard sat on the stairs with that girl, singing softly and playing his lute to a tune of their own design.

“Without you.”

“I’m stronger.”

“You told me I was younger.”

“I’m no longer.”

“That I was filled with wonder. How wrong you were.”

The two grinned like the uninhibited children they were. Geralt smiled, an ache and a warmth coinciding in his heart. He continued on, through the various memories stained with different colors. A pull in his gut sent him walking towards an arched quartz doorway. He stepped through and into a massive library drenched in gray light. In a poofy armchair, his hair as foolish and wild as the day they met, his eyes as blue as ever, sat Jaskier. His Jaskier.

His eyes carried a small hint of old age. Really, his… the bard aged well. His fingers strummed the lute and yet, no sound came out. His lips moved noiselessly along to the tune. Eventually, came a discordant noise, like the scraping and wailing of a kikimora before you ended its life. The moment carried a distinct wrongness. Who played a lute in a library?

He stepped forward, but a hand caught his shoulder. He whirled around, his hand flying to his back, grasping for a non-existent blade. Then, he caught sight of two cornflower blue eyes, a soft smile, and brunette hair. For the second time since he stepped into that building, his breath caught. “Jaskier?” he asked, his voice a whisper next to the discordant notes of the lute behind him.

“Hello, Geralt,” Jaskier replied, his smile as easy, bright, and beautiful as the sun.

“Who are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m Jaskier. Well, Jaskier’s subconscious, in any case,” he said in a breezy tone. He turned away from Geralt and walked over to the bookshelf nearest to him and picked one out.

“You know who I am?” Geralt asked.

“Of course. It’s not easy to forget such a big presence. And, whoo, big you are.” Jaskier’s subconscious looked up and gave him a wink.

Geralt didn’t respond and looked the other—well, not quite man—up and down. He noticed the red doublet that had the idea of scales designed upon it. That flash of red haunted him.

“That’s not fair.”

No time to dwell on that now. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think, big man? I’m here to talk with you. Well, I suppose talk is a bit of an exaggeration. I’m here to weave together sentences and you’re here to listen,” Jaskier’s subconscious said, thumbing through the pages of his book.

“Then speak,” Geralt replied, keeping his gaze firmly fixed upon the strange visage of Jaskier before him.

Jaskier’s subconscious tsked. “Demanding, demanding. In any case, I’m here because you are. For the past six months, we’ve had mages in and out of here. They’ve been searching for me. Well, not me, per se. More for, you know, what I have in my possession.”

“Spit it out.” Geralt stepped closer to the subconscious, brow furrowed, and heart beating fast. A hopeful spark lit and fluttered in his stomach.

The subconscious chuckled. “Do you see all of these books?” he asked, holding up the book he had in his hands. Geralt looked around, his gaze flicking over the empty bookshelves. Only two, the two closest to them, were nearly full. They held around a hundred books each. Jaskier’s subconscious slid the book he held back onto the nearest shelf. “They’re memories. Each one holds a detailed summary of every single month of Jaskier’s life moment to moment. You could learn everything about how a person thinks, works, moves, breathes, and exists from these books. That’s why they must be protected. When the odd magic user comes into this head and roots through to find these books, well, let’s just say that I make sure they don’t find anything.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Oh, dear heart. You still don’t get it. He’s safe now. We trust you to retrieve his memories.”

“We?” Geralt asked. The absurdity of the entire situation nearly overwhelmed him.

“The body and brain, love. Now, come close. Don’t be shy; I don’t bite. Well, not usually.” Jaskier’s subconscious winked and beckoned him closer. Those blue eyes glowed inhumanly in the gloomy darkness of the library. That dissonant strumming of Jaskier’s lute continued on and on.

The subconscious took Geralt’s hand in his own and pressed it to his chest. A blinding blue light filled the room and the subconscious gasped. The bitter, tangy scent of desperation permeated Geralt’s senses. Then, all at once, the light faded and the smell disappeared. The subconscious panted, his breaths coming in deep gulps. “Ooh. That’s not very pleasant,” he mumbled. In his hands sat a small, thin book.

The subconscious pressed it into Geralt’s hands. The brown leather was scratched and damaged, showing signs of abuse. “What is it?” he asked, holding it as gently as he could. His large, brutish hands could easily destroy it. That’s what they were meant for, right? Destruction?

“These few memories are what I could salvage from the ruins.”

“How…” Geralt trailed off and swallowed, taking a deep breath before continuing, “How did you manage to save anything?” he asked as he examined the book. This tiny piece of leather and paper held the scraps of over half of Jaskier’s life. Don’t ruin this. Don’t you dare.

“Ah, yes, well, Yennefer’s spell was powerful. It should have destroyed everything, but… well, we all know how resilient love is. Even with dear old Jaskier, who falls in love every hour.”

Geralt’s breath disappeared from his lungs. He opened his mouth, but no words came forward and instead, a breathless sound escaped. Immediately, he bottled every emotion up and locked them away. His emotions shouldn’t be seen nor heard and yet… he ached with the realization that Jaskier, the obnoxious, foolish, kind, well-intentioned, womanizing idiot had fallen in love with a monster. Why did that have to be the love that lasted? Why couldn’t the bard have just fallen for a royal woman or a fellow bard and lived happily?

Love with a monster never ended well.

The fool did indeed fall in love every hour and he fell out of love just as fast. His affections should have died. Damned fool.

He breathed deeply. “I see.”

“Your sorceress should be able to restore his memories with that starting point. Oh, and Geralt? You’d best keep him safe. I won’t ask twice,” Jaskier’s subconscious said, an almost sad smile playing at his lips. “Good luck.”

Then, like dust in the wind, the subconscious disappeared. The dissonant lute playing got louder and Geralt glanced over at the younger version of the bard. His eyes held dark circles and his fingers deftly danced along the strings, forming different chords and new sounds.

Geralt let out a breath as his mind raced with all the new information. One particular revelation kept echoing around in his head, tearing into him and making butterflies swarm in his gut. A sickness crept up his throat as he slowly opened the small book.

A myriad of colors burst into existence, drowning out the old, gloomy library. Then, slowly, a scene formed around him; one he very much recognized. A campfire crackled before him and an inky sky filled with thousands of dots of light hung above him. Two men, one small and brunette, the other large and white-haired, were lying on the ground, curled on their sides and trying to get some rest. A bitterly cold wind rustled through the trees as a pang ripped through his chest.

His eyes landed on the hunched form of his bard. The blanket he had was far too thin and provided very little coverage from the harsh ice of the air.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Speak.”

He remembered that. That night had been just after a particularly difficult hunt. He had been told there would only be one drowner, maybe two, when in actuality, there were too many to count. A whole horde of the creatures. When he had thought it would barely be dangerous, he allowed Jaskier to come along. Then, when the horde attacked, Geralt didn’t see a way out for either of them. Especially not a soft human like his bard.

He thought they would both die before they could live out whatever horseshit destiny had planned for them. In a way, he supposed, that would’ve been a mercy. To take his last stand beside his friend—even though it had taken him so long to even grant the bard that title—would have been the best death he could have hoped for.

Jaskier’s voice, weak and shaky, broke his trance, “Melitele’s tits, it is fucking cold out here.” His teeth audibly chattered from where he laid, arms wrapped around himself tightly.

The younger version of Geralt sat straight up, jaw clenched. The irritation practically wafted off him. Geralt wanted to chuckle. He remembered exactly how he’d felt. That little bolt of anger at how underprepared Jaskier was—really, who packed only a thin blanket in the late fall?—drowned out by a wave of concern and worry over the little human he’d grown too fond of.

He could only watch as that version of himself grabbed his blanket, stood, and crossed over to the bard. He knelt beside Jaskier and tossed it on top of the small bundle of freezing limbs. “Next time, pack smarter,” the younger version of Geralt said, standing to go back to his patch of ground.

A hand shot up from the little bundle and grabbed a hold of the witcher’s pant leg. “I’m sorry,” Jaskier said and Geralt could remember with perfect clarity how those blue eyes had shone in the dying light of the campfire. A part of him ached to move closer, to catch sight of those eyes once more. He didn’t.

“Hmm,” his younger self grunted.

“I’ll bring a thicker blanket next time. I truly didn’t mean to inconvenience you, but it’s just so fucking frigid out here. I really don’t know how you stand it, Geralt,” Jaskier rambled. “Are you sure you don’t need it? Witchers must get cold. Or do they? Is Kaer Morhen harsh enough for you to get that used to the cold? Or would it be your… witcher-y blood keeping you warm?”

The memory version of Geralt rolled his eyes. That little fond feeling was no doubt growing in his chest, just as it had for the true Geralt all that time ago. “You talk too much, bard. You’ll get yourself killed one of these days.”

Jaskier sat up a little, an over the top huff escaping him. A little smile still danced on his lips. Seemingly, the bard was never too cold to abandon his typical dramatics. “I wouldn’t worry about that! I’ve got a big strong witcher to protect me,” he said, tugging on the young witcher’s pant leg again.

“I won’t always be around to save your arse when a cuckold corners you.”

“Oh, come on, Geralt. You’d never let your very best friend die. That would be rather bad form, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

Jaskier paused, a little crease forming between his brows. Oh, how Geralt ached to smooth it away. Not that his touch would be welcome. People generally didn’t like it when monsters came too close. “What?”

“Ask you.”

A moment of silence passed between the young pair before Jaskier burst out laughing. “And yet, here we are.”

“Hmm.” The similarity to their first banquet all of those years ago was not lost on him. They truly did have a recurring dynamic of sorts. A push and pull that played out the same, even after years, and still somehow left Geralt feeling warm, no matter how long it had been.

The moment broke when Jaskier shivered again, his fingers dropping away from the young witcher’s pant leg and diving back beneath the blankets. Geralt’s younger self looked down at the pitiful bard. His love of luxuries and weak constitution made camping out in rough conditions horrid for Jaskier and still, he did it. All for the love of music, he supposed.

A sigh escaped the young witcher’s lips and he dropped to the ground. “Jaskier,” he murmured, gently tapping on the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier turned to face him, his teeth still chattering just slightly. “Come here.”

Apprehension had sat like a crushing rock in Geralt’s chest back then. He remembered that horrible feeling of what if he pushes me away? What if he recoils at my touch?

After all, Geralt’s hands were made to break things. They were made to wield weapons and rip apart monsters, not gently cradle someone or even warm them up. When Jaskier didn’t immediately respond, he closed himself off again. He watched as the younger version of himself moved to stand before the bard grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “No,” Jaskier said. “Don’t you dare go anywhere, my dear witcher. You’re like a raging fire with that body heat, so you’d better stay right here, huh?”

Geralt remembered the warmth that spread in his gut and stood there, transfixed as the younger version of himself curled closer to Jaskier. His arms hesitantly wrapped around the small, fragile human. Jaskier made a soft sound and buried his face in Geralt’s chest, practically octopusing himself around the heat source.

Oh, how he had melted. His touch wasn’t harsh enough to scare the bard away. In fact, he wanted more of it. What human wanted more contact with a witcher? His hands were rough, unpracticed in the art of comfort and yet… Jaskier pulled his arms closer. The bard would always be a complete mystery to him. Geralt watched as the two descended into a peaceful sleep and the memory drifted away.

He wondered why he could just drift into these memories without seeing them from Jaskier’s perspective or even his own. He supposed it was as if the world was created by the memory and he could just… walk through it as one would the normal world. It hurt his head to think about the reality of what he was doing.

Slowly, the landscape of Jaskier’s mind shifted back into place. Yet instead of being met with the strange, discordant library, he stood on a grassy patch of land, similar to the one he had originally come in on. He spotted more bridges to more memories.

A part of him wished to explore more, to know more about the bard. The realization that he had never so much as asked why Jaskier became a bard instead of embracing his viscount title was a stark one. How could he have never asked? Having now seen the type of relationship Jaskier had with his parents though… well, everything clicked into place.

“Geralt!” a voice called, sounding muffled, as if being yelled over a great distance. He cast a look around, a little startled.

Slowly, the voice became clearer, and the solid ground beneath him disappeared. He barely had a second to register it, his heart fluttering in his chest as he began to fall through a void of darkness. Then, with a jolt that jarred him and sent him near crashing to the floor, he was put back in his normal body. His legs ached and carried the stiffness of having been standing for too long without moving.

Heavy breaths rang out from his right. Yennefer sat in a chair beside the bed, her hand on his wrist and beads of sweat rolling down her temple. Geralt opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, but before he could even get a word out, Yen began to speak, “Did you get what we need?”

Geralt nodded mutely.

“Details, Geralt. I need details.”

He took a deep, calming breath and tried to organize his thoughts. “Jaskier’s subconscious gave me a book. Told me it was a seed we could work with to restore his memories.”

Yennefer nodded. “Good. What did you do with it?”

“I opened it and it sent me into a memory,” he said, his gaze straying to Jaskier’s sleeping form. His face was so peaceful and beautiful in sleep. Relaxation looked good on the bard, he decided.

Yen stood with some effort and put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get his memories back for him. You did well, Geralt.”

“What do we do now?” Geralt asked, throwing Yen a grateful look. The shred of kindness she had given him soothed the burning pit of worry and stress in his stomach.

“It’ll be a slow process. We’ll have to go into his mind and dive deeper, extracting more memories. Now that we have a seed, we can build off of it and piece the memories back together. The good news is that we do have a chance of putting your bard’s memory back together with little issue,” Yennefer said, also glancing down at Jaskier’s sleeping form. “I imagine the real task will be repairing the damage to his emotional and mental state after this whole ordeal.”

A frown creased Geralt’s brow and a nagging, itching feeling of guilt rooted in the pit of his stomach. “Hmm.”

Yennefer’s hand slid down to Geralt’s bicep, her touch gentle. “You worry too much,” she said, then stepped away, letting her hand fall. With a half-covered up yawn, she swept out of the room and Geralt was left to stare down at his unconscious bard.

And so the days went on. Jaskier would wake to be fed and given water. He was always out of it though, never quite as present as Geralt wished. When the bard awoke, he smelled of the pungent, herbal mixture he was given to keep him asleep for their endeavors into his mind. Sometimes, he would look at Geralt with something akin to recognition in his eyes and Geralt’s heart leapt every time, hoping this would be the time he remembered their adventures. Yet… no.

Still, their strange pseudo relationship continued. He would lie with Jaskier and help him fall asleep, cradling him as gently as he could, knowing that his days of being able to touch and hold the bard were numbered. A sense of dread settled in his stomach at the thought of being so distant from Jaskier again. He wanted to stay by his side and while that thought should’ve sent him running the other direction, should’ve sent frigid fear through his veins, instead it only filled him with a fuzzy warmth.

Oh, was he in deep.

As the days continued, he delved into Jaskier’s mind further and further. They quickly realized that Yennefer couldn’t enter the bard’s mind. Whenever she tried, she was met with harsh resistance from the man in question. She said something about him rejecting her presence. Whatever that meant. Unfortunately, that led to Geralt being the only one able to piece together the shattered pieces of Jaskier’s memories.

It was tedious work, but he lost himself in the feeling of it. He allowed the memories to wash over him, bringing with them warmth and comfort. He did his best not to pry into anything he didn’t have to, trying to grant the bard at least that shred of privacy.

Seeing every moment of theirs like it was a play and watching as he told Jaskier to fuck off and to leave him alone… Well, it didn’t quite help the ache in his chest or the itching, fluttering, throbbing sensation in his gut.

To top it all off, whenever Jaskier stirred into the world of the waking, he got frightened at the drop of a hat. If a door ever slammed or a voice raised, he winced. Whenever Yennefer touched him while fixing his injuries, he shook violently. Geralt’s heart ached for the bard. His fear was understandable though. After being through so much trauma for months, how could one not experience lasting effects?

Before he knew it, the first snow of the winter had come and passed. Storms plagued the little cabin, drenching everything in a soft white, and still Jaskier stayed the same. The winter passed into early spring and updates on Nilfgaard’s progress came all too frequently. Apparently, the resistance was flagging without Yen or Geralt there, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to care. Not when Jaskier needed him.

Not going to Kaer Morhen in the winter was the strangest part. He always stayed in the mountains for the first snow and the harsh weather, yet there he was, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere tending to his ragtag family. Well, if you could call it a family.

One comatose bard, one guilt-driven witcher, one sorceress whose strength dwindled with each passing day, and a magical lost princess. What a mismatched group they were.

Yen’s magic was dwindling though, however much she tried to refute it. The amount of strength required to both heal Jaskier and to maintain a magical bond that kept Geralt in the bard’s mind on a daily basis would have most mages in a shallow grave after but a week.

And so the spring continued. With each passing day, Geralt could feel them getting closer to a breakthrough. He couldn’t see the full picture yet, but he would. He knew he would.

At the beginning of the second week of spring, Geralt slowly woke. His nose was buried in soft fabric as his eyes slowly fluttered open. The air warmed him without being stifling. He could’ve sat there all day if not for the pounding ache in his neck. With a groan, he properly sat up.

For the nth time, he had fallen asleep in a chair by Jaskier’s bedside. If he had stayed up late talking to the unconscious man, well, that was no one’s business but his. His gaze drifted to the man in question. His eyes still laid closed, his body still and his breathing steady. The cuts and bruises on his face had long since healed, making him seem painfully normal. As if normal could ever describe their situation.

He rolled his neck, hearing the little cracks and doing his best to rid himself of stiffness. Jaskier would wake soon; he always did in the mornings. Yennefer’s spell would wear off and Geralt would feed the bard, then let him succumb once more to Yen’s magic.

He got to his feet, rubbing his neck and stretching his limbs. The room around him felt far too quiet as he turned away from the bed, crossing over to the door. He paused before leaving. The absence of Jaskier’s melodic voice ripped into his chest and left an empty void there. He should’ve been used to it by now, considering how long he’d had to suffer through months of near silence. Even though Yen and Ciri spoke to him, he didn’t feel that calming warmth that used to spread through his body and leave him tingling. The sensation of living in a thrum of soft, kind noise had become his normal. The hypocrisy of missing something that he himself had thrown away made his hands curl into fists.

Then, a soft noise came from behind him. A stirring groan. “Geralt?” Jaskier murmured, his normally boyish voice rough and slurred from sleep.

“Rest, bard. I’ll be back with food,” he replied without turning around.

“What? No, I… Geralt, where in Melitele’s name are we?” Jaskier asked, seeming more awake.

Geralt froze, his feet rooted to the ground, uncomprehending. He whirled around to find Jaskier’s blue eyes already fixed on him. Geralt scanned the bard’s face, those eyes lit with a fiery recognition. The man in question began to speak again, “Gods, why I am so fucking stiff? I feel like I’ve gone eighty rounds with a rather vivacious young woman. Or a monster. Probably a monster. Shit, my head is pounding. What happened?”

Slowly, Geralt picked his jaw up off the floor and swallowed. “What do you remember?”

A little crease appeared on his brow. “Not much. It’s all sort of fuzzy and twisty,” Jaskier said, gesturing vaguely. “I remember walking in the streets, playing in rather harsh taverns, and booze. So much booze. Though, most of it was the cheap swill that rundown bars have to offer but still.” The bard’s gaze flicked down as he wrung his hands in his lap. “I remember the mountain and… Fuck. Nilfgaard. They found me, Geralt. I swear I did my best to stay hidden, but the bastards wouldn’t let me escape, and I-”

A laugh, so sudden and inexplicable that it even surprised the man himself, bubbled up and escaped Geralt’s mouth. It came out harsh and humorless, but the joy of hearing Jaskier—the true Jaskier—rant and ramble on outweighed any other emotion. A sudden urge to wrap the bard in his arms struck him. Fuck, if that didn’t scare the shit out of him.

“Oh, my misery is funny now, is it? Then again, I suppose it’s always been a little funny to you. Fucking witchers and their fucking… Why the fuck am I here, Geralt?” Jaskier spat, his jaw clenching and his eyes shining with a million unintelligible emotions.

Geralt’s mouth closed with an audible click of his teeth and his heart splintered. “It’s not. Funny, I mean.”

Jaskier huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Right. Please, Geralt. Just answer me.”

“Nilfgaard captured you. You were questioned until Yen and I saved you. You’ve been here recovering ever since.”

“Questioned, as in…?” Jaskier trailed off, his eyes locking onto Geralt’s own. They held the silence stare for a few moments, neither saying a word, until Geralt finally nodded. “Oh, fan-fucking-tastic. Hold on, where’s my lute? Can I even still play? Melitele’s tits, I’d better be able to.” Jaskier scrambled to pull his hands out from under the blankets. He inspected them for a few moments and bent them, hissing in pain. “Fuck. Oh, gods.”

“Yen said your fingers should heal eventually. As for your lute, we never found it,” Geralt said, desperately trying to keep the roughness out of his voice. He needed to be gentle and kind. He needed to be all the things witchers never should be and were never designed to be.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispered again, his voice ridden with grief. The moment descended into silence once more. This time, it lasted much longer.

With every passing second, his bard’s face reflected a new emotion. None that Geralt could decipher clearly, except for their vague scent in the air. Something heavy and sour, not dissimilar to fear, but closer to grief and something else sulfuric, like anger. Slowly, Jaskier’s features relaxed, realization pulling his mouth into a little ‘o’ shape. “I remember now. It’s still foggy and frankly, a right fucking mess, but I… I understand. How long have I been here, Geralt? How long—how long have I lost?” he whispered, his voice breaking half-way through.

Geralt turned his gaze to the floor, not daring to meet Jaskier’s eyes. “They held you for around six months. You’ve been here for three.”

Silence. Unbearable, overwhelming, crushing silence filled the room.

Then, a soft, broken sound tore out of Jaskier’s throat. “Nine months. Nine months. No wonder I’m so fucking stiff,” he said, laughing mirthlessly. Geralt chanced a glance at the bard. His eyes shone with unshed tears as another laugh without humor rang out. The sound was harsh. Far too harsh for the kind, gentle little bard he had come to know.

Jaskier shifted in bed, turning to throw his legs over the side. “Well, I should be off then. Places to go, people to see and all that. It’s spring, yes? Oxenfurt is positively lovely in the springtime,” he said.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“I wonder if Laina is still fluttering around down there. It would be a joy to see her again, assuming she managed to rid herself of that horrid fling of hers.” Jaskier pushed himself off the bed, standing on shaky legs.

“Jaskier.”

The bard began making his way over to the door and Geralt rushed to his feet. “Markus, I believe. Why are all the terrible ones named a variation of Mark? Marx, Markus. Must be a cursed name!”

“Jaskier!” Geralt caught Jaskier’s wrist. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re still weak.”

Jaskier whirled around, his blue eyes glinting with fiery rage. The display was nearly laughable, considering how the bard winced at the sudden movement. Nearly though. Jaskier ripped his wrist out of Geralt’s grip. “Oh, now you care? Just a little while ago it was Jaskier, fuck off and Jaskier, you’ve ruined my whole life. Now it’s oh, you have to stay? Of all the idotic, inane, positively ridiculous things I’ve heard in my forty years of life, this must take the everloving cake!”

“I didn’t mean it,” Geralt said, his voice pitched low, just barely above a whisper. “I was angry.”

Jaskier shook his head and backed away, moving closer to the door and putting considerable space between them. “You’re wrong, my dear witcher. Even if you think you didn’t mean it, some part of you did. I know you’ve had a hard life. One that would humble anyone to hear. The things you must’ve seen in all your years and the hardships you’ve endured are no small feat. I, however, fear I cannot keep up. We’ve danced this dance before, Geralt. It always leads to the same answer. I would follow you forever if you let me and we both know it’s true. Since we clearly don’t share the same feelings, do me this small mercy and let me leave,” he said, pulling his arms close to his thin frame. He no longer looked like the eighteen-year-old boy in that tavern in Posada. He now carried the air of a man well-traveled, even though his body had thinned considerably since their first meeting. Time had traced his face, showing his life in smile lines and little wrinkles.

“I can’t.” Geralt stepped forward, his hand reaching out into the empty space between them.

The bard froze, his gaze focusing in on that hand. “Why not?” he whispered.

“Because, I…” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, looking up at the human before him. The human who had come into his life like a tornado, tearing through what he knew and leaving him shaken. The human who had refused to let Geralt be ridiculed and, instead, stepped in when others threw obscenities at him. How could he let Jaskier go again?

His hand still floated in the air between them.

“Why not, Geralt? Why can’t I just leave? We can go our separate ways. Your reputation should be all but saved and polished up by now. You don’t need me,” Jaskier said, twisting the fabric of his cream undershirt between his fingers.

“Damn it, Jaskier. That’s not fucking true,” Geralt hissed, taking a step forward.

“Well, then, tell me what is! Honestly, Geralt, I don’t know what to think! I remember now that you were incredibly kind when I lost my memories and you… you took care of me, but you pushed me away before that. It’s fucking nonsensical!” Jaskier stepped into Geralt’s space, placing their faces mere inches away.

“You want the truth? Fine. The truth is that I do need you, because you’re fucking important to me!”

The pair fell silent. The only noise to be heard was their strained, heavy breathing. Then, slowly, like the rolling of thunder, Jaskier leaned in and captured Geralt’s lips. A surprised sound worked its way out of Geralt and the bard swallowed it up, pressing closer. After a moment, Geralt finally managed to get with the program. He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him impossibly closer. Jaskier melted into the embrace and flung his arms around the witcher’s neck.

They stayed like that for what felt like eons before they slowly broke away. The pair panted, still breathing each other’s air. He rested his forehead against Jaskier’s and tried to remember how to speak. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed, his voice soft.

“Oh, my dear,” Jaskier whispered, “I cannot stay mad at you. No matter how hard I try.”

“You know, I… I…”

“I know, beloved. You needn’t say it.” Jaskier caressed Geralt’s cheek, his touch feather light and gentle as could be. His hand continued further and tucked a stray lock of white hair behind his witcher’s ear. Geralt’s heart sped up to a nearly human rate.

Hesitantly, for fear of Jaskier’s reaction, he moved to close the space once more. This time, their kiss was deeper, filled with all the longing and love they’d hidden for years. Jaskier tangled his fingers in Geralt’s hair and Geralt tightened the arm around his bard’s waist. Electricity sparked between the two as a soft, needy sound left Jaskier’s lips.

A hot, tingly feeling washed over Geralt and he longed to pull the bard closer, to show him what they’d both been missing. His skin burned under his clothing and he relished in the feeling of Jaskier’s soft lips on his. Those talented hands explored Geralt’s back and shoulders, dancing over every inch of him the bard could reach.

Geralt’s own hands slipped lower and lower, running down Jaskier’s lower back. Another little sound erupted from Jaskier and, oh, the things Geralt wanted to do to his magnificent bard.

Then, the door swung open. “Geralt?”

He and Jaskier broke apart, their heads swinging nearly in unison to see the intruder. Yennefer stood there, her eyes a touch wider than normal. “Oh. I see he remembers you then?”

Geralt, still breathless, nodded.

“Finish sticking your tongues down each other’s throats then. Ciri wants to come in. She’s been worried sick.” And with that, Yen turned on her heel and hurried out the door.

Once she was gone, Jaskier laughed and let his forehead fall to rest on Geralt’s shoulder. “I see Yennefer’s still as lovely and eloquent as always,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by Geralt’s shirt.

“Hmm.” Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier’s neck and rubbed it with his thumb affectionately. “Ciri will be happy to see you.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose my… shell-shocked, memory-less self must’ve scared her. Poor girl.” Jaskier paused for a moment. “It must’ve scared you too, dear heart,” he said, rubbing Geralt’s back slowly.

“Only thing I was scared of was losing you,” Geralt responded, his voice soft and confessional.

Jaskier lifted his head, his eyes shining with emotion and met Geralt’s gaze. “Oh, you big old softie! Who says witchers don’t have feelings, huh?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and captured Jaskier’s lips again, if only to shut him up. Though, his teasing chatter had been missed, even if Geralt would never admit it.

Jaskier eventually broke away, his lips red and slick. Pride swelled in Geralt’s chest at giving the bard that purely debauched look. Without thinking, he raised a hand and ran a thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. A wide smile crossed the bard’s face as he took Geralt’s hand in his. “Unless you want your little lion cub to see some things that are far too inappropriate for her, we should probably save the more risque behavior for later and make a journey outside.”

Geralt huffed softly in amusement. It was impossible to keep that little bubble of fondness in his chest from expanding. Having Jaskier back—the real Jaskier—made his heart swell with joy. Whatever their new relationship was, he would take it. “I’m sure she’s seen worse. You remember how Eist and Calanthe were.”

Jaskier’s eyes danced with mirth as he shuddered with all the melodrama he could muster and groaned in disgust. “They were certainly affectionate.”

“I’m not sure if affectionate is the right word for it,” Geralt said.

Jaskier laughed and pure mirth danced in his eyes. “Poor Cirilla. How in Melitele’s name did she ever manage?”

“Just fine, I’m sure.” Without another word, Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek and allowed his lips to explore the bard’s jawline.

“You wicked, wicked man. Now that you have me, you just can’t get enough, can you?” Jaskier said, placing a hand on Geralt’s arm.

“Hmm.”

Gently, Jaskier pushed Geralt back just a little so they could lock eyes. The warmth of just a few seconds before had disappeared. “I, uh, Geralt. Whilst I’m glad that we’ve finally taken this new step in our blossoming relationship, there’s still so much we haven’t discussed. The mountain, Nilfgaard, my memories. All of it, really,” he said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“And we will. I promise, lark. Would you like to see Ciri now?”

Jaskier’s cheeks reddened beautifully at the nickname and he nodded. Together, they walked to the door and stepped out.

The bard’s recovery would be a long road filled with obstacles and doubts, but at least they would have each other. Even though Geralt didn’t know whether Jaskier would be able to play again or if he would ever truly recover from the trauma Nilfgaard inflicted, he knew he would always stay by Jaskier’s side.

Love was funny like that.

#the witcher #whoo #it's finally done!#the pill #geraskier #geralt z rivii #jaskier #gerlion #witcher fanfiction #my writing #jaskier whump

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evoedbd · 5 years ago

Text

What Could Have Been

Summery: Cali refuses to let Onyx suffer in silence, which leads to her discovering one of the greatest tragedies of Onyx's life. Warnings: Mentions of death. Miscarriage. Hinted Domestic Violence. I wrote this after listening to the song “Color of Your Eyes” by Smash into Pieces. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zhz1pqv5NM4.. it’s going to be heavier, even with the comforting factors. ************************** There were many things in the world that Cali never wanted to see again. The sheer amount of blood that spurted from a sliced artery, coming in waves that matched time with a dying heart. The contrast of plasma against a doctor’s gloves. The way that sterile white blankets turned different shades of red and pink as blood coagulated. The harshness of a digital green line, flat and blaring across the monitor. The sight of her front wheel over the edge of the cliff, supported only by her quick thinking and feet hooked into the guard rail. The way her bike bent as it bounced down the rock face, frame crumpling in on itself as if made of hollow paper and tape instead of alloy. Her father’s face, although it haunted her every dream and fantasy of childhood. The crinkle in the corner of his eye when he tried not to laugh at a young Cali’s antics. The daughter he had abandoned without even the kindness of a goodbye. The daughter he had given a number jotted down on the back of a torn receipt, as if it could make up for shattering a young girls heart and soul.

Now something else had made that list of things which had struck Cali to the core. That would scar her for life. Unlike the other points, this was not life changing. It was not the end of a life, or the cultivation of agony refined into a single trigger. It was not the low percentage circumstance, or even something that would shape Cali’s life. No, it was mundane in the grand scheme of things.

Onyx Wren was such a small woman. Light and lithe, barely brushing an even five foot. It was so easy to forget how small she was when she flew; when she flipped and smiled, taunting death as flames chasing her across a tightrope. She moved as if the meaning of fear was forgotten; as if mortality was a foreign concept. Now, it was all too easy to see. Adrenaline and amazement no longer provided the illusion of a goddess, leaving the trembling, ashen frame crumpled in the corner. Pale calves curled around the pinks of Onyx’s skirt, heels pressed to her rump, knees resting together to one side. Sequins twinkled on Onyx’s crookedly hanging shirt. Arms which seemed capable of carrying the weight of the world trembled, whereas the hands of an artist cradled what appeared to be a single photograph close to a pure heart. Clouds of agony held residence in the oceanic green eyes which usually held the warmth of spring. The glistening of rhinestone piercings beneath Onyx’s eye rivalled the gleam of silently falling tears, each taking the pigments of yellow, blue and lavender Onyx used to decorate her eyes. Occasionally, the darkness of eyeliner won out, laying paved lines of washed out greys against snowy skin.

“Onyx?” Cali called, unable to handle the stabbing in her own chest. Onyx was always so strong, the most cheerful of the troupe. She was always the one ensuring everyone ate; the one handing out hugs; the joy and endless optimism even when things became dire. She was the sweetheart of Sin, the one everyone adored for her endless optimism.

“Oh, Cali. I didn’t see you there, Sweetheart.” Onyx chirped; her voice nearly as flawless as her showstopper smile that could light up a room, could unite warring fans, and soothe the greed of Vegas gamblers. The smile of Envy, the Sweetheart of the Sin Troupe. The entertainer tilted her head, attempting to conceal her flaws behind her hair. Not even the curtain of sunlight, dipped in meadow green could distract Cali from Onyx’s eyes. Gleaming now, as bright as ever to any who didn’t know better. To those who could ignore the spiderweb fractures in the happiness projected.

“Is there something you need?”

“Onyx. Why didn’t you tell me you were sad?” Cali tried to broach the topic gently. Sad did not cover the moment of unguarded sorrow she had stumbled upon. No, what Cali had seen was beyond sorrow, or sadness. It was depression. Something so dark and shadowy that she wondered how Onyx had enough light to gift the world. How had she kept the illusion of carefree partying sunshine alive for so long? How had the mask not fallen?

“How did yo-”

“Pet names and smiles can’t hide it forever, Onyx. I care too much to ignore it.” Cali cut in, unwilling to allow Onyx any traction to deny her own emotions. Surprise danced across Onyx’s face, parting her delicate lips in way that exposed the clean edges of pristinely kept teeth.

“Oh.” Aside from that one little sound, Onyx gave no reaction. The moments stretched into uncomfortable silence, suspended on an invisible rope that tightened every second Cali didn’t approach.

Every step felt wrong. Tense. As if she were having to creep through an enchanted forest to capture a fairy on a moonless night. She found herself continuing to look beneath her washed out sneakers, half expecting to find a branch or bone in her path. Each step was quiet. No branches cracked, alerting the forest to her intrusion, nor did bones scatter and alert the reaper she sought to flee. No. The walk itself, for all the build-up in her mind, was quiet and swift. No eggshells. No earthquake. Chancing a glance down, Cali’s eyes fixed on the photograph within Onyx’s hand. Black, with a cone of grainy greys. Numbers in one corner. A date? Oh. There was the crack. It wasn’t the walk, but the destination. Cali didn’t care anymore. She tore the forest down, threw her bones beyond the Reaper to Death itself. Fuck it all. If anything in existence had an issue, Cali would gladly clobber them to death with a wrench. Nothing was stopping her closing the distance, dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around the startled woman in front of her.

“Fuck. Onyx, when? Why didn’t- how long? Wh-” Cali was painfully aware how awkwardly her words were coming out. Again, her instincts screamed FUCK IT. If moods had limbs, hers would be giving the double fingers to any god or devil within sight. She didn’t need medical training to know what Onyx was holding, or had been. Quick hands had come up to grasp Cali’s forearm, preventing the Chinese woman from crushing a delicate windpipe.

“It isn’t! It’s not... not anymore.”

... Oh. Fuck. That was worse than anything Cali could have anticipated. What could she even say to that? Med School had exposed Cali to so much. To joy as much as grief. She’d listened to doctors speak about delivering the news that a child had not made it, and at the time it had seemed so trivial. Yes, Cali had been able to identify it would cause a lot of pain, but she’d been blinded by her own woes, drowning in course work and too much caffeine to function. She’d never been able to conceive the magnitude, nor the vertigo of crushing reality. If only she’d listened, maybe those with more experience could kickstart her mind on the right path. Perhaps they’d travelled the right path to get through this. But, then again, she had never heard of ANY of them addressing their own personal loss.

“Onyx...” If a name could ever have expressed the storm of emotions, the way Cali uttered that name would be it. There were no words created to express her tone, yet it was one every doctor was familiar with. That hovering moment before everything came crashing down.

“Was it-“

“It was Dorren’s.” For the first time Onyx sounded as broken as she had appeared. No force in existence could have prevented Cali wrapping her arms around Onyx’s lithe waist, forearms protecting her exposed stomach as the Asian pulled the designer’s back into her chest. Onyx was so thin, even with her layers of defined muscle, not to mention cold. Cold enough to make Cali flinch at first contact, even with both their layers of clothing separating them. She didn’t dare speak again, no matter how many soothing words and half thought sentences danced across her tongue. Instead, Cali allowed her body to convey what words could not. The tightness of her embrace, arms protecting where a child would have grown, if not for tragedy. It was hollow, an echo of a gesture, but it was Cali’s. It was everything she could give to potential which was never given the chance to be realised.

“It was the same year he died. I was so scared. I mean, I was barely out of school, my career was ruined and... I was happy too. It was an accident, but they were ours. I loved them so much, even before I found out. But Dorren... he didn’t take it well.” Onyx eventually spoke.

“-Oh, I bet he didn’t.-” Cali silently raged. She had to bite down on her tongue to hold the words back. Everything she had heard and seen already suggested what kind of reaction Onyx’s dead lover would have had to a baby, and not a single one was the support and love Onyx deserved. Cali bit down on her tongue so hard she drew blood, yet only a small huff of pain escaped her. Onyx, distracted, seemed to take that as a sound of sympathy as she continued.

“He was so angry. Apparently, assassins can’t have children, so he thought I’d slept with someone else. Once we figured out because I wasn’t an assassin it was possible, he believed I hadn’t cheated. He was still distant for a while, then he upped my training. But that was ok, he loved me. He just wanted to make sure the baby would be safe.” Onyx continued, shrinking back into Cali’s chest a little. The Asian woman tightened her grip, grounding herself against every instinct. Her chest blazed, fuelled by her immediate suspicions.

“-Sure he fucking did. Because more blows to the body is exactly what a pregnant woman needs... prick!-” if her thoughts could have had teeth, Cali’s would have been bared. How... just how? Onyx was the most loyal sweetheart Cali had ever met in her life. To think that Onyx would cheat, that was like thinking every teacup would come to life and sing across the world. Actually, the teacup option was far more realistic.

“We were all exhausted. Yvette was close to finding the demon who hurt her. Wrath was seeing somebody. We all had our training upped. I’m not surprised nobody noticed-“

“The Troupe didn’t know!?” Cali couldn’t help but exclaim, her shout earning a flinch from Onyx. Almost immediately, Cali’s hand rubbed apologetically along Onyx’s side. It was unconscious, an effort to settle and sooth as Cali regained control of herself. She knew better than to react so volatile, but something about this felt so hideously wrong. She couldn’t help but picture Onyx. Young, pregnant, distanced from everyone as she was pushed to the brink by the man she was in love with. Not JUST the man she loved, but the father of her child. The man who was not only several years older, but magically chosen to lead the Sin Troupe. How? How could that man have thought any part of his behaviour was appropriate, let alone beneficial? How could anybody do something so punishing? It was so easy to forget Onyx was only 23. Now, that age was a red alert siren in Cali’s mind. 23 now. Then, she’d been even younger. Maybe too young to even legally drink. Fuck. That struck too close to the heart. Cali’s arms tightened once again; cradling Onyx close.

“Dorren didn’t want to distract them until we were sure it was viable. He didn’t even come when I went for my eight week check up. Then, with everything... it was too much for me to keep up with. I should have told him, but I wanted to make him proud. We were sparring -“ Onyx’s words continued registering somewhere in the distance, yet Cali’s active mind felt as if it imploded. She was consumed by white hot rage, something not even demons had ever truly drawn out of her before. Dorren had KICKED Onyx? A full on round house kick when he KNEW Onyx was exhausted AND pregnant! Cali was going to be sick. It churned in her gut, a thick strew that was burning through her stomach lining. Or was it her blood itself burning? Surely that would explain why her entire body was in literal pain for the rapid rise in temperature. Couldn’t Onyx feel it? Why wasn’t Onyx reacting? Surely, there was magic causing this. What else could be so potent that Cali felt she was about to feint, yet that she could sprints a marathon at the same time?

“He was so upset. He even rushed me to the hospital, but with the internal bleeding-”

Did Onyx not realise what she was saying? INTERNAL BLEEDING? From a single training accident? How hard had Dorren kicked her? How had he not realised she was exhausted? The following realisation actively made bile rise into Cali’s mouth. Bile she had to swallow, even as more came up into her nose. He had to have realised. He had to have known Onyx couldn’t block such a powerful kick at her prime, not without the Envy Assassin powers flooding her veins. He’d have seen she was exhausted; known she couldn’t have blocked... and he had struck her anyways.

“We agreed to just not tell the others, keep acting how we always did and address it when we had time. That was the same month everything went wrong. Wrath’s partner. The demon. Vinca murdering Dorren, becoming Pride.” Onyx had continued to speak, oblivious to what Cali was experiencing. The words didn’t stop, though they froze Cali’s entire world. So, he’d been fine to continue sleeping with Onyx after he practically murdered their child? Oh. No. Absolutely not. Fuck that. Fuck its cow. Fuck... just fuck it! What other words could Cali ever think to sum up just how WRONG this was? Suddenly, Vinca didn’t seem so outrageously evil. Had she known that Dorren had hurt her sister so badly, that he’d killed her niece or nephew? If Vinca had known any of this, then her murder of Dorren would make perfect sense. Heck, Cali would have been there cheering Vinca on, complete with the #TeamVinca t-shirts and pompoms.

“Then Ripley died, and I became Envy.” Onyx’s voice wavered. Cali couldn’t help but suck a breath in, hoping the burn of air would distract her from the crushing in her chest. Assassins couldn’t have children. By 23, Onyx had lost the chance of ever having biological children. The Wren line ended with her and Vinca. Cali would never get to walk through the door and see a mini Onyx chasing Ripley around. She’d never get to watch Onyx cuddling her child close, nor watch them panic on the first day of school. The world would never see another generation of smiles like the Wren twins. Never get to see Onyx captured in genetic history. Onyx had been given a singular chance at that joy, a chance her partner had deliberately, oh yes Cali had no doubt about that, torn from her with a vicious roundhouse kick.

“I mean, it’s probably for the best. I’d make a terrible mother.” Onyx tried to reason.

“-Lies!-” Cali’s mind snarled in return. She remained silent.

“Without Dorren, I’d never be able to keep up with a baby. Could you imagine a baby exposed to all this demon crap? With me as a mother? They’d stand no chance.” Onyx continued. Cali had never felt she could become the embodiment of disagreement until Onyx said that. She’d seem Onyx with Avi. The pint-sized goddess was practically born to interact with children and rescue puppies. Onyx had a glow about her when she played with Avi, or when she teamed up with him to flash the puppy dog eyes at Cal. Grumpy as that man was, he couldn’t combat that level of adorable. In Cali’s eyes, Onyx already played the role of a mother, a protector. Someone who not only nurtured but taught. Sunshine to the flowers. How could Onyx ever doubt herself? Just how far had Dorren dragged her down?

“Onyx... when did you take time to deal with this?” Cali voiced, keeping herself as outwardly calm as possible. Her rage was entirely justified, and it was going to come out in a tsunami the moment she was away from Onyx. Right now, though? Now, Onyx held more importance to her than her own anger.

“There wasn’t any time. Not wit-”

“Fuck that! Fuck it in all the wrong ways. Onyx, you lost six people in close succession! Nobody is expected to be fine after that, let alone continue saving the goddamn world! You deserve to have time to mourn. You need it. Forget everything else. If anyone says anything, they can fight me!” Cali declared, shaking her head to punctuate her denial.

“There she is. Our spunky bike mechanic.” Onyx laughed weakly. It was such a far cry from her usual birdsong laughter.

“I have killed a demon with a bike, a B-I-K-E, Onyx! I’m also a partially trained surgeon, close enough to a doctor.” Cali reminded Onyx in a faux enraged tone. Her legs came to wrap around Onyx’s waist, holding the small assassin down. If Cali’s body could have spoken, nobody could have doubted the message it was sending. Onyx, who time and time again gave so much of herself to protect others. Now, Cali silently begged for Onyx to take. Even if it was just once, she needed Onyx to take everything without putting others first. From the breath in her lungs to the warmth of her blood, every ounce of strength she had left in her own weary body. Most importantly, time. Precious time. Something not a single assassin seemed to have, or to value when applied to themselves. It was always full on intensity, chasing every threat down without ever pausing to consider themselves.

“And doctor’s orders are that you take time. Treatments include days of cuddles with friends, admitting you’re sad and crying if you need to. Exercise... carrying my fine ass around if you disagree with me!”

“I can flip a man almost double my body weight, Cali.” Onyx pointed out, allowing the photograph to flutter to the ground as her hands wrapped under Cali’s thighs. The chill of cold hands and the bite of bedazzled nails earned a loud, indignant squeal from Cali, yet the drop out surgeon fought to keep her composure.

“Fight me!” She boldly declared. When Onyx’s nails bit that little bit deeper, Cali’s brain caught up with her. She was practically challenging a superhero.

“Those aren’t doctor’s orders!” She yelped, barely restraining her laughter as Onyx found her feet.

“Fooled me, Sweetheart.” Onyx quipped, mask sliding into place. No, not quite a mask. Her tone wasn’t perfect, nor did she adopt the high energy she always presented the world. She was warm, but far from her usual definition of sunshine. Happier, but still burdened.

“Princess, get your ass to bed and let me snuggle! I will call Ripley!” Cali threatened, clinging to Onyx like a young Koala to its mother. The short assassin paused, looking over her shoulder with an expression of absolute betrayal.

“You wouldn’t...”

“I will call the literal bear! Don’t test me. I have an Asian mother! I am the mistress of guilting people into obedience and beating them with household objects!”

“Racist! Your mother is a sweetheart!”

“That’s what she wants you to believe!”

#voltage lovestruck #sin with me #Onyx Wren #onyx x mc #angst with a hopeful ending #implied domestic violence #stages of grief

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the-headbop-wraith · 4 years ago

Text

1_16 Sometimes There

Their task complete with the reclusive Silver Ghost, the Mystery Skulls move onward in search of a new mystery to solve. The group glides through the motions of normality, but how far from normality have they strayed? How far can a wire be pulled tight before the tension causes it to snap?

There was no way to return the mangled cigarette tin, but Vivi had made Arthur take them back to the Owen’s residence to give them a brief report of their encounter with the spirit of their relative. None of the events of that night were mentioned, and Viv had only made the family aware that Fritz had been remorseful about taking his life and was now in a better place. There was one decent picture of the few taken, and Vivi was not about to share the one of the noose hanging from the ceiling. The family seemed accepting of the stories about the Mystery Skulls encounter with Fritz, but it was tricky to tell with most people and their outlook on paranormal research.

It was unfairly early in the morning to be on the road, though in all honesty Lewis didn’t care. Throughout the night Arthur had been driving nonstop, and had only survived on a steady supply of energy drinks and pop rocks carefully rationed by Vivi. Vivi was convinced Arthur would suffer a heart attack if he didn’t slow down, and Lewis had considered the mien as an entertaining subject piece to dwell over along the hours of road time. As of the beginning of the trip Lewis had yet to volunteer to drive, but he was giving the matter some heavy consideration.

Lewis could perceive that the air was cool, maybe too cold for bare arms. The sunlight in the cloudless sky made a difference if it was possible to stay out of the shadows, and the unwelcome breeze. Lewis had opened the back doors of the van and lay in the sun absorbing the warmth through the incorporeal swarm that consisted of his shape. Arthur had parked away from the more populated side of the busy convenience shop, and truthfully Lewis didn’t give a damn at this time if someone became curious to his appearance. Most of him looked human, that was enough. What business did anyone have to bother him during his siesta? Lewis relocated his thoughts away from the persistent noise of traffic, engines constantly in motion of come and gone. Some of his solidity, his consciousness and his memories, prickled through his foremost awareness. He held no accurate relation to the description, but only knew the sensation gave him a swell of invigoration that would be essential later. Solid, present, existing. That’s what was important to him. Lewis needed that.

“Don’t catch the van to fire,” a sweet voice chimed.

Lewis slammed back into his current space of occupation and tilts himself up, nearly gliding through the floor of the van as a figure of blue came into his vision. He looked at his shoulders where the pink ember flames had suspended and bobbed under the guidance of his swaying form. Lewis waved the small orb away, before pressing his palms into the floor of the van and pulled himself up into a sitting position on the bumper.

“No harm done,” Lewis said. He looked at the large item of black leather Vivi carried over her arm. As if anticipating her future dialogue the heart on Lewis’ chest fluttered, as he inclined his brow behind the sunglasses. “Is that a leather jacket?”

Vivi nods, as she takes the coat by the shoulders and looks it over. “You’re gonna look like a dead greaser for a while, but that’s all they had in your size. And I thought it’d match your hands, that way you won’t look too odd. Maybe.” She flopped the jacket into Lewis’ arms, while he was distracted with the current state of his free floating palms and bleached bone knuckles. Lewis stood up and tussled the jacket over in his hands. “Try not to roast this off, K? You can go through walls, I think it’s safe to assume you can slip out of a coat like anyone else?”

Lewis noted that the coat was still much larger than he needed it, but even without it zipped up the tight leather hugged close to his sides and there was nothing that could be done about the ribs. “It’s fashionable,” Lewis says. “I love it.” Vivi straightened up the collars and patted the pockets over before zipping it up.

“Arthur’s not back yet?” she asked, as she turns to check around the open parking lot. A few travelers were out fueling their cars, and a group of kids followed a taller man into the front of the store. Of a blonde haired young man and a white and black dog, no sign thereof.

Lewis shuffled aside over the asphalt as Vivi pushed by to crawl into the vans back. As she rummaged around, Lewis fiddled with the locket beneath the thick black pocket of his jacket. The jacket looked awful zipped up as it was to his crisp white collar, but it looked twice as awkward if his suit was showing underneath. He made mental note to not let this go and maybe remedy it later, as if he had a choice.

“When did Arthur and Mystery become so close?” Lewis asked, in way to distract himself. He gave up on the locket for now, and peered into the vans interior as Vivi slid the ice chest out. The ice box was heavy with water so Lewis hefted it out and carried it to the side of the parking lot where the grass tore through the eroded concrete in desperate yellow clumps. “You were the one that found him.”

Vivi nodded, and bounced up to sit on one of the cement poles that bordered the road around the convenience mart. “I sometimes wonder myself,” she said, with a sigh. When was it exactly, she tried to recall but those memories were dim and painful. A crashing, whirling blur when the world was engulfed in dry brittle scabs, and so many tears dried into shoulders and bed sheets. She remember the smell of the hospital clearly, anesthetic and the tinge of rot. For a long time Vivi had accepted that the smell was saturated into Arthur’s soul, and no amount of washing would cleanse it off. Some days it was hard to get off to see him, and she made excuses not to visit. It was horrible of her. But she defended by convincing herself she didn’t know what to do, her presence was damaging to Arthur in some way. She thought Arthur had hated her for making him go into the cave.

Vivi coughed as she swallowed. “For a long time he was really low,” she said, her voice rasped. “I thought it was his arm, at least, that’s what the doctors always said. I believed them.” Vivi shrugged. She moved off the cement pole, as Lewis lifted the drained ice chest and shook the container to remove excess water as he began walking with her across the parking lot. “It’s was awful. For a while Mystery was gone, just disappeared.” Vivi wrapped her arms across her chest and shivered, her voice lowered. “I thought that’s what he meant. He would mumble in his sleep.” Lewis stood with Vivi beside the van, ice chest slumped in his arms. “He would say, ‘He’s gone Vi. He’s gone. I’m sorry, god I’m sorry.’ And I knew it was the delirium, he was upset I’d lost my dog. We left Mystery in the cave and he was dead, and Arthur was apologizing for killing my dog while he lay in a bed half dead, arm ripped off, brain drowned in cocktail of morphine and antidepressants. I was so fucking stupid.” Vivi lowered her head down into her sweater and knit her fingers deep into the fiber of her sweater.

Lewis set the ice box down on the asphalt and grabbed Vivi by her shoulders when she began to sway. “Easy, mi arandano,” Lewis hummed, and pulled her around to sit on the ice box. He knelt in front of her and kept his hands clasped to her shoulders. “Don’t tell me about it. I don’t need to know anymore if this is going to hurt you.”

“I wanna tell you,” Vivi murmured. She shut her eyes tightly and fought back the tears, but a few managed their freedom. “You and Arthur never want to talk about it, but I do. I need to. You weren’t there! So you never saw him go through that. I wasn’t even hardly there for him.” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the blue sleeve of her sweater. “I gave up on Mystery,” she said, voice cracking in her throat. “And I was giving up on Arthur. Each time I saw him, it seemed like I was losing more of him. I thought the less I visited him, the less he’d waste away. It’s stupid to think that, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Lewis said. His sunglasses slipped too low on his face but he didn’t bother to fix them. He instead rubbed her shoulders, edging small coils of warmth into her trembling arms.

“One day I was visiting Art,” Vivi said. She reached out and fumbled with the collar of Lewis’ new jacket, and snapped off one of the tags still dangling there. The jacket itself looked fine on him, but his collar…. “That’s after when they let him out of the hospital, he wasn’t on suicide watch anymore.” Vivi swallowed when the words leapt from her. “I was ready to start shoving food down his throat – he lost so much weight. Everyday. Everyday he,” Vivi paused as she dried more of her tears and wrestled her emotions under some semblance of control. “Then out of nowhere, it’s Mystery. I couldn’t believe it. Arthur too, he had this haunted weird twisted look in his eyes, but he didn’t move. I think if he had jumped out of bed at that point it would’ve killed him. But there’s Mystery, somehow, I don’t care. I don’t remember how to move and I don’t recognize him, and I can’t believe it’s him. And Mystery hardly gives us a look, he just goes over to Arthur’s bed and set this little damp fluffy thing on his lap.”

As Lewis ponders a moment, Vivi takes another breath and exhales a hot moist breath laced with sorrow and memories she didn’t need. She rubs at her eyes and set her arms over Lewis’ shoulders and leans on him. “A hamster,” Lewis says. He peers at Vivi, who is now very close to his face. “Galaham?”

Vivi nods and manages a faint smile. “We were horrified at first,” she admits. “I thought Mystery had mangled the poor thing, but Arthur gave the hamster a quick look over and concluded he must’ve been born that way. It was the most he’d spoken in weeks.”

Lewis tugs his lips into a tight smirk. “A bittersweet ending,” he muttered. “No wonder I couldn’t get him to bring Galahad with us.”

Vivi sniffles as she stands up from the ice box, and Lewis stands along with her. “I think too Lance needs the company. Helps him feel close to Art, in a way,” she said. “But it would be hard keeping track of two pets.” Vivi taps the ice chest with her foot, and Lewis moves to pick it up and resumes following her to the stores front. Vivi does her best to scrub away the shreds of her sorrow but the effort is futile, only time would aid in that matter. It amazed her how invaluable time was to them all now.

The store is divided into three sections, with the gift shop and convenient store at the forefront, a buffet to the right, and the bathrooms along with arcade section opposite to the side of the buffet. Vivi led the way to the cold drinks and began selecting the purchases – a bag of ice, chilled drinks, and some packaged sandwiches – all went into the ice box. While Lewis carried the ice box to the front, Vivi selected additional none chilled goods along the way.

“Are we still headed towards that cursed interstate in the mountains?” Lewis asked, as they moved along in line. Lewis hefted the ice box onto his shoulder and balanced it there. He noted the older woman in front of them gave him an incredulous glare before she moved forward, out of his way. “Not that I’m scared or anything, but it could be a huge waste of time.”

“You saw the open tab labeling out the weather report,” Vivi accused, glaring up at him. “Didn’t you?”

“I am sorry, I am done with ice for a while,” Lewis muttered. He was going to say more but stopped prolonging the conversations and thought a moment. It was more than just being bothered by the cold, he just didn’t want to be reminded. He couldn’t offer Vivi his concerns, but an icy road and the rumor of numerous accident did not appeal to him either.

“You don’t like to drive on the ice,” a voice said behind them. It was soft, but had sternness to it. Lewis and Vivi turned to a wide man in a plaid red shirt and frayed jeans. “That road has a bad reputation. A lot of accidents. People use it anyway, and don’t care. It cuts the distance between Knoxx and Ruben by half, but the out of Towner’s don’t know how to drive on those kinda roads.”

Vivi straightened up to the man’s tall stature and his verbal cautions. “We know,” she said. She moved forward with Lewis as the line shuffled along. “That’s the reason we’re headed over there. My group’s gonna explore around, see if there’s an unnatural reason why all those wrecks are caused.”

“Aw really?” asked the man, squinting.

“Yeah,” Lewis said. He turned away to set the ice chest on the counter and opened it up for the cashier, while Vivi dumped her foods and bags onto the glass counter top. “Not just faulty road construction. Paranormal means. Weird energy, optical illusion roads.” He shrugged, and tilts around to address the friendly face of the man. “Who knows, maybe there’s a vengeful ghost hanging around?” The larger man slapped a hand onto Lewis’ back, and Lewis nearly lost his sunglasses when he jerked under the playful pat.

“You’re ghost hunters then?” the man said, chuckling in his throat. “How’s that working for you?”

“We’ve had worse,” Lewis says. When Vivi collected the change, Lewis hurriedly packed up the ice box and moves aside to allow the friendly man on by.

“Hold up a second,” the man said. He set a bag of jerky and a water bottle on the counter, and asked for a tin of tobacco. “I know a place ‘round nearby you might want to look at. Unless you’re in a hurry.”

Vivi shared a look with Lewis as they pause by the newspaper rack beside the glass doors of the stores entrance. “Well,” Vivi said, doubtfully, “we don’t just check out random places because of local rumors. There kind of has to be a lot of attention….” She trailed off, as the man in plaid pockets his purchases stepped closer to her and Lewis. He ripped open the bag of jerky and offers Vivi a piece, which she takes because they haven’t stopped for lunch yet and this run saw that they picked up snacks to remedy this. Lewis waves off the food offer, and the man dumps out a piece of jerky into his large, rough palm.

“Well, I am sorry to hear that,” the man grumbled. “The people that own the place didn’t want a lot of publicity. They have their own reasons.” He nods. Lewis and Vivi move aside as people stroll by and out the sliding doors, a gust of cool air sweeps in at their backs. “But trust me, this place is haunted. Or something’s there, something evil.”

“Evil?” Vivi questions, frowning. “That’s a heavy claim. And they don’t want publication, help? Do the owners even believe their home could be haunted, or is it just a local rumor?”

The man nods, and chews a bit on his jerky piece. “They believe,” he says. “They just don’t want word to get out, because then they’d have ghost hunters like you people by the place, but I think they could use some help. See, I told them I’d never post about the incident, but I never said nothin’ about sending people their way. Just don’t tell them I sent you.” He takes a bite of the jerky and chews.

“We won’t,” Lewis confides. Meanwhile, Vivi stuffs the whole jerky piece in her mouth and struggles to chew it. “So, what’s this problem they have?” he asked, as Vivi nearly chokes.

The location given by the overly friendly man from the convenience mart left Lewis more than dubious, but Vivi had already made up her mind once they stepped out of the stores front. They alternated giving Arthur the acquired information as he drove the long road up among the thin growth of trees and sparse clumps of brush, the road among the foliage was not old or forgotten, but pristine and new. A few vehicles did pass the van as it chugged on its way up, winding around narrow roads among the mountains, and slipping into the low bobbing hills that ruled the terra firma.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Arthur asked, every few minutes as he peered through the amber windshield of the van. In the middle seat beside Arthur sat Vivi, laptop on her lap and a few tabs still open since the time they had departed the convenience mart. She held a sheet of paper with horrible handwriting on its white page, with lines and tiny writing to identify specific landmarks.

“Yep,” Vivi says, as she compares the ‘map’ to the bird eye views she had uploaded. “We should be reaching a… ah.” She set the laptop aside, by Mystery curled up in the passenger seat. “You put in a code to open the gate.”

“I know,” Arthur muttered, as he guides the vans window up beside the small keypad beside the road. A wall extended across the road, a short distance before them to either side of the thin tree growth, its décor sandy red brick. There was no way to drive around. “Did he give us a code?”

“One-three-nine-three-six-five-three,” Vivi answered. She heard the distinct chime of the code buttons as Arthur punched away, then a low buzz as the black steel gate between the red brick ahead of them swung open. “You doing okay back there, Lew?” Viv leaned up over her seat to check the darkened interior of the vans back. She swayed, gripping the seat at her side as Arthur applied gas and guides their transportation through the open gate.

“Fine,” the voice echoed, cutting over the interior of the metal walls. “Just peachy.” Vivi undid her seatbelt in order to turn around more comfortably and check on Lewis, who had lain down along the side of the vans wall facing the inner edge, his arms were wrapped tight over his jacket. His skull lay just in the inner side of his white collar and appeared positively inert from the angle Vivi was watching him from.

“We’re almost there,” Vivi said, as she slipped back into her seat. “If you plan to go in with us.”

There came a short beat. The van rolled along the smooth road between large homes built up and on miniature plateaus, with wild landscape and sparse cultivated foliage among the esteem neighborhood design. Each home was unique and bore similarities to rustic wood cabins with dark timber outer walls and spaces of grainy stone work.

Arthur winced when he picked up the soft movement in the back. “What was that address, again?” he asked, quick to cover up the sudden drop in his voice.

“Looks like it’s on the furthest side,” Vivi responds, again with the little ratty piece of paper in her hand. She looked up as Lewis peered over the bench seat. “Take this road here, and keep driving.” Vivi looked up at Lewis. “We’re you asleep?”

“Nope,” Lewis hummed. He slipped the sunglasses on and focused, assuring his nonphysical sense that he was maintaining his visible appearance under the jacket. Lewis leaned up over Arthur’s head to catch the sight of himself in the mirror before he settled back behind the seat and watched as they rolled through a bend in the road. “S’that the place?”

Vivi and Arthur muttered to each other, Vivi turned the paper around and pointed to the marks. “I think so,” she said, and looked up to the large home now rising into view. “Big house, huh?”

It wasn’t a house. It was a regal estate. A tall wall of red brick guarded the grounds, with a large black gate embedded in one side of the rocky wall. Down a ways from the larger gate, sat a smaller gate facing a semicircular sandstone driveway, situated off the main road that encircled the rest of the neighborhood; the guest entrance, most likely. Saplings dominated the yard, and a few of the larger trees had been left intact just beyond the main grounds of the modified landscape.

“Feels kind of like deja’vu,” Arthur said, as he leaned over the steering wheel. “Where should I park?” Vivi indicated to the side parking, beside the sandstone gate. Arthur kills the engine and leans back in his seat, as Vivi rummages around on the floorboard and collects her provision bag. “Maybe I should stick out here for once. In case the police show up.” He winced when Lewis flicked a finger at his good shoulder.

“C’mon,” Lewis encouraged. “If anything, they might tell us an interesting story.” Lewis ducked out of sight, and the harsh screech of the backdoors ignited as Lewis forced one door open. Arthur sighed, reminding himself to oil the gear if they ever got back. But he went along, and slipped out from the driver side door.

Once Vivi had roused Mystery and the van doors were locked, the group entered through the guest entrance in the smaller steel gate and moved up the long path to the front doors of the estate. The path was designed with large sections of rough dark stone, with gravel among the gaps. Vivi focused a bit on the sounds of their feet scraping over the gritty surface and Mystery claws tapping, the shuffle-scraping only ending when they reached the large entrance doors. To either side of the front patio, large pillars of wood rose up to the high ceiling of the underside of the patio. It took a few seconds for Vivi to find the doorbell hidden beside the doorframe, where Arthur indicated it.

“Have we thought about what we’re going to say?” Lewis asked.

Vivi shrugged, her rapid movement caused the items within her bag to crinkle. “We’ll just wing it. That’s a plan,” she said.

“A plan designed to fail,” Arthur muttered. He kept behind Lewis, before drifting to stand near Vivi and Mystery. He straightened up at Vivi’s motion, when the large front doors opened and a man revealed himself there in the threshold. An older man, with a red tinged hair and a mustache. He appeared in good health, lean but strong, a man of discipline or too much time on his hands. He peered at the group quizzically, before he spoke:

“If you’re here to sell something—”

“Oh no!” Vivi gasped, amused but not offended. “Ah… we heard you were having some… problems with an entity. A hostile spirit, or something unwanted in your home. If this is all false, let us know now and we’ll leave.” Vivi waved her hands with exaggeration, fearing the sudden denial that was working in the man’s visage. “But we’re a group dedicated to the paranormal, and we have methods for helping people deal with unwanted supernatural entities.” Her speech slowed down as she continued, gaping at the taller man as he stared her down. “We’re here to help and learn, we won’t bring unwanted attention to your home, and our services are free of charge. I assure you.”

Vivi stepped back into Arthur as the man pushed the door open all the way and leaned onto the rich wood frame. The interior of the home was large and reflected much of the pseudo natural details of the homes exterior. Soft beige tile floors, a long rug in the main hall, walls splotched with ‘artistic’ paint texture, and deep gray light fixtures adhered to the walls between doorways and along the upper walls.

“Who sent you?” the man asked. Somewhere beyond the hall a female voice called, but the words were cut off by the walls. “Just a moment Harriet,” the man called back.

“No one sent us,” Lewis said. “A guy from the city got wind we were ghost investigators, so he told us about your place if we were interested. He made it clear you didn’t want any attention brought your way, but he managed to catch us while we were leaving.” Lewis looked to Vivi, and Vivi pulled the corner of her mouth back into a sort of humorless smirk. The man looked down at the dog, as Vivi went on:

“We also do debunking,” she said. “Trying to understand if the activity in a home is paranormal, or can be explained by everyday occurrences. We don’t actually know yet if your home is haunted, but we’d like to find out if it’s true and maybe help? We also have contact information of the college we work and researching with, if you want to verify us.”

The man looks back to her, biting his upper lip as he ponders. Finally, he pushed away from the door and extends his hand. “Come in then. I’m Sanders by the way. Sanders McHiggin.” Sanders shakes hands with each member of the group as they give their names. He stops when Mystery steps up, reared on his back legs with a paw outstretched up to Sanders.

“That’s Mystery,” Vivi says, pointing to the dog. “He helps with our investigations.”

After shaking Mystery’s paw, Sanders shuts the doors and leads the group the main hall and into the foyer. Steps lead up to a balcony and to the higher floors, a chandelier dangles above the first landing of the stairs, and above sun windows allow the bright light of late noon to fall over the carpet of the floor stretched across the room. “I didn’t want any of this story to get out,” Sanders said, as he leads the group into another doorway off from the foyer. It was a living area with armchairs, a large table with a cloth over it mid center of the room and a chandelier hanging down. “It’s bad for business. Bad for publicity. You can assure me none of this is going to go public? I warn you now I’ll press charges, kids or not.”

“It’s part of our strict policy. It assures the protection of the rights of those involved with our investigations, whether it be you or your ‘guests,’” Vivi did air quotes, and folds her hands over in front of her waist. “What about some pictures? Can I take pictures, I use them to identify a presence that doesn’t want to be seen.” She was already grabbing for her bag, when she spied Sanders shaking his head.

“The architect of my home is revolutionary style,” said Sanders, still shaking his head with his mustache pulled into a grimace. “Please be respectful of my wishes.”

“I will,” Vivi sighed. Sanders gestured them to sit in the armchairs set around the table, and the group does. Mystery leaps up and squeezes in beside Vivi and she scoots over as he settles to lay down over her thighs. Mystery looks to Lewis, and Lewis tenses before he folds and moves to the chair beside Arthur. The short exchange is missed by Vivi as she rubbed Mystery’s head, before addressing Sanders seated across from her. “Can you describe the activity that’s been bothering you? Your family?”

Sanders slouched back in his chair, and gestured his open palm to Vivi. “Where do I start? I’m not exactly sure what warrants your interest?” he trailed off, and set his hand back upon the arm of his chair and rubbed his fingers on the velvety fabric. “I think it started with the noises.”

The recount took a little more than an hour. For the first thirty minutes a member of the family would come into the social room and check out the visitors of their father/husband. It was a wife and two teens, and a teen in progress. After Vivi had written down some of the preliminary activity (in one of her trusty beaten up notebooks), and requested if it was all right by Mr. McHiggin if he could show them around, describe the activity in detail in what areas where it occurred. Sander’s agreed and led the Mystery Skulls around his luxurious home. Most the sounds Sanders noted came from the walls or the floors above, where no one would be normally if the family was out.

“It gets creepy when you’re home alone,” Sander’s noted to Arthur, as they stood side by side as Lewis and Vivi inspected a ‘small’ closet. “The kids will be off doing their thing, and my wife has clubs and I’ll be home trying to read and those noises start up.”

The noises were scratching and a lot of banging, sometimes loud thudding.

“I used to call out people all the time,” Sanders went on. The group had located to one of the upper rooms, a family bar with popcorn machine on the counter behind the granite countertop and various sweet drinks and colorful bottles for punch martinis. The story with the room went that the McHiggin would be enjoying some together time, sometimes a few friends of the kids were brought over, and midway during activities an awful smell would fill the room. Horrible odors had become a theme after the sounds, and though the sounds were frightening and obnoxious on their own, the grotesque odor was more so. “They’d give me an entire list of possible causes, practically tear the house apart looking for the origins, and find nothing.”

A sink was behind the main bar, and Lewis had opened up the pantry beneath it to check the pipes. Everything was practically brand new but Sanders had made constant remark of how recent his home was and it shouldn’t be having these kind of problems. Sanders was stuck on traditional hauntings, Lewis noted. But that didn’t mean a newer home couldn’t be haunted.

“I know what sulfide smells like,” Sanders said. He watched as Arthur and Mystery poke around the side of the bar. “The house smelled like it for a while when the plumbing was first installed. Some homes are like that, and you just have to let it run out of the pipes. Eventually, it does.”

“Where does the smell usually come from?” Arthur inquires, as he peers down at a vent beside the bar. Mystery had leaned in low to sniff at the grate, but inside it Arthur shined his penlight he could see nothing, nothing save for the pristine silver metal.

“The bar,” Sanders answered. “That vent there. Once, a cat did get stuck in a vent during construction. And this happened in the winter time so we didn’t know about it until summer when it began to warm up. Yeah. It smelt worse than that.”

Mystery whined. That was really a terrible story. He nuzzled Arthur’s fingers as his companion gave his face a consoling stroke.

While Mr. McHiggin moved to address Vivi and more of her questions, Arthur stood up from behind the bar and called Lewis over. “The sediments in this area could make variations of odors in the pipes,” Arthur began, as Lewis stood behind the other side of the bar. “Even if they do have filters on water, the smell can still come up from the drains. It could be coming from the drains.”

“But it’s never come from the bathrooms,” Lewis reasoned. “And that should be where this smell comes from, right? It’d be kind of tricky if a selective cloud of smell just sort of wanders through the rooms.”

Arthur nodded. “You can get pockets of smell,” he said, insisting. “It depends on air currents and where the odor comes from.” He stumbled back when Mystery squeezed between his legs, to get around Arthur to Vivi and Mr. McHiggin. Arthur barked after the dog, cautioning Mystery to be more careful.

“We’ll wait and see,” Lewis said. “We can’t really judge this occurrence until we experience it, so it just remains an unconfirmed rumor.” Lewis turned back to the sink and turned the tap on, he peered down into the drain as the water swirled down into the little grate.

Next was a hall, where the family members had seen the creature. The apparition was described as a large wolf, as big as a bear at least, and the hall they currently stood within was not small but it had no trouble filling the sides with its shoulders. Sanders admitted he hadn’t seen it, so when his youngest son had emerged from his room, Sanders called him over to recount the incident.

“I don’t like to talk about it,” the youth, Alex admitted. He was a miniature version of his father, scrawnier with longer red hair settled over his ears and forehead. “It scared the piss out of me, and now at night I sleep with my brother. My dad doesn’t believe me.” He looked to McHiggin senior, and the older man laugher with an awkward cough.

“I never said that,” defends Sanders. “But your story was sensational, and you were hysterical that night.”

Vivi gave Arthur a side glance, then turned to Sanders. “Can we speak to your son a bit, alone?” Vivi asks. “If you’re comfortable with that?” She indicated senior and junior McHiggin with her fists, one hand held the notebook while the other clasped a pen.

With some reluctance, Mr. McHiggin left his son to recount the story. “I’ll be in the entertainment room,” Sanders said. He pat his son on the shoulder as he strolled to the end of the hall and vanished around the corner.

The incident occurred three weeks ago, give or take. It was a week night and Alex admitted he hadn’t been able to sleep, but Lewis suspected he may have been entertained by personal activities while the household was quiet. The hall was the youth’s wing of the estate and Alex did confirm that one room was for video games and movies, while another was for exercising. Each of his siblings had personal computers in their rooms.

Alex left his room that night to investigate some obnoxious sound. It was well past midnight, and Alex suspected his brother or sister was creating the ruckus and would alert their parents. For some reason the light in the hall didn’t work, which annoyed Alex more than alarmed, he wasn’t afraid of the dark but they had reoccurring problems with the electricity lately and every time they called a repairman out, the problem had resolved itself. In the meantime, the electrician would cut power to certain areas of the home, and that interfered with the internet.

“I came out of my room and turned to go down the hall,” Alex said, as he indicated the area of the hall he’d been facing. He shuddered and stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. Lewis stepped by, Mystery followed his footsteps as Lewis glanced over the walls and doors that had been fitted into the hall. “Light comes from the end of the hall, from the windows above the staircase. I couldn’t make it out, but I could see it was huge.” Alex’s eyes got big as he opened up his arms, pantomiming the size of the monster. “And its eyes glowed, and I could hear it breathing. I’m not making this up.”

Vivi quickly scratched down her notes and turned her attention back to the taller, young man. “We know you’re not,” she assured. “Did it rush at you, make any violent movements? Or did it just manifest and stand there.”

Arthur looked up from her notebook and swallowed. Huge fucking bear/wolf. He could hardly wait.

Alex concluded his account, explaining the thing was only scary but it felt malevolent and it had begun to move in his direction. Slowly. Alex had locked his door and shoved his bed up against the door and slept in his closet that night. Afterwards, Alex persisted to share the room with his older brother, Peter.

Peter didn’t believe the account, but sympathized with his brother’s fear and never turned him away when Alex came to his room early in the night. But Peter had nothing else to say to the Mystery skulls group and kept scarce from their investigations. Vivi suggested they find Mr. McHiggin and see what else he had for them.

Quite possibly the most intriguing bit of information regarding the whole haunting, was the pool that had been left in the beginning stages of construction. Mr. McHiggin explained that the pool was to be indoor and connected to the sun room of the estate and went into elaborate detail about the design of the pools large room and the shutters, and on and on. Lewis found the construction difficult to imagine in its current stage, as it was only a large hole in the soil with the excavated dirt piled back from the sight to allow further freedom for the workers to maneuver around. From the appearance of the large sand mounds and dried out roots that had been shoveled aside by the bulldozers, Lewis could estimate that it had been more than a month since progress of the pool had ceased.

Poor Vivi was left on the top soil with Mr. McHiggin, while Lewis, Arthur, and Mystery dropped down into the soft sandy bottom of the pit to look around. Walls built of two by fours and plywood had been nailed up to prevent the sides of the loose soil from caving in, and dried river trails decorated what sandy walls were exposed, etched down into sloping pit. Tarps had been hung up and some sandbags left around to protect what progress was made before the pool was abandoned altogether. Lewis thumbed the ratty pieces of a canvas wall as he checked the sediment behind walls for evidence of soil distortions, or missed artifacts that may had been overlooked during the excavation.

“Remember that one movie you and Vi made me watch?” Arthur asked. He kicked at the base of the earthy wall and watched the dirt sift down over the toe of his shoe. “The one where they lived in that house and started digging a pool, and it turns out—”

“What is with you and recounting all the horror movies you willingly watched with us?” Lewis muttered. He turned to Arthur and crossed his arms over the black jacket stretched over his chest. Arthur looked afflicted by the comment or the tone Lewis used, and turns away. Mystery scampered over to Arthur’s feet and paced around his knees, staring up at the blonde as Arthur adjusted his amber vest. “I was thinking the same thing,” Lewis said. He averted his gaze from Arthur and looked back to the tarp and the side of the pool behind it carved with the thin river lines. “About the pool. It falls in with renovations on a home? Or digging in sacred ground and disturbing the spirits resting there. The story that movie was based on was inspired by true events.” Lewis checked the tone of his voice, trying to keep its echo warm.

“Oh, yeah,” Arthur said. He moved to walk away, but Mystery had sprung up into his shins then darted away. Mystery did this odd lunge and retreat, panting and returning to Arthur and trotting around his companion with his doggy smile stretched wide over his snout. Arthur made no comment to the dog, and Lewis only glanced between the two as Mystery continued his playful antics. “The soil smells weird,” Arthur said. “I don’t know if you can pick it up, y’know…. Anyway, it does, if you didn’t notice. Like metal. The geography for the region didn’t mention anything about ore sediments.” Arthur’s voice shrank as he moved away, Mystery keeping pace with him as Arthur hiked past Lewis and up the slope of the pool, to the shallower section. Mr. McHiggin was still talking, but the conversation sounded nearer to their current subject of interest.

“Do you believe you’re group can remove this… thing?” Sanders asked. He stood a few feet from the edge of the pool, hand over his brow to shield from the strong rays of the sun falling over them.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Vivi said. She began flipping through the pages of the notebook, checking earlier notes she had taken of more specific paranormal activity. “If it turns out we lack the tools, then we can give you the number of our college and they can find someone to help. A priest or some demon hunter.”

“Demon hunter?” Sanders exclaimed.

Vivi nodded as she propped the notebook on her palm and wrote into one of the pages. “Mostly they go around blessing places, expunging hostile energy in homes – not as action packed as it sounds.”

“The name certainly sounds exciting,” said Sanders, with a smirk spreading under his mustache. “I hope you can do the job though, since you made the trip here. And….”

Vivi smirked and finished for him, “—And you can stay under the radar. Anonymity is taken very seriously.” Before Vivi could speak further, loud snarling and barks came from the pools pit. She and Sanders whirled to where Arthur stood, now atop the pools side where they stood. Arthur gave them a wide eyed look, he was taken by as much surprise as they were, and glimpsed over the side of the pool where Lewis and Mystery were. “What happened?” Vivi nearly screamed.

Lewis had his hands out and was standing back from Mystery, where the dog had planted his feet in the soil and turned his teeth to Lewis. Mystery was firmly set glaring at his companion, teeth bared and deep growls rolling in his chest. Sanders muttered something neither of the group managed to perceive, while Mystery snarled and glanced from Lewis to the edge of the pool where Arthur stood. When it was apparent Lewis had backed off, Mystery returned to the side of the pool, the lowest edge of the entire perimeter, and tried to leap up. Mystery’s claws caught the loose soil and the dog could haul his body up, but his weight coupled with the loose soil sent him tumbling back down.

“I don’t know,” Lewis said, his dark eyes wide behind the sunglasses. “I was trying to help him out. He’s never acted this way before, he—” Lewis’ sputtering dimmed as he recalled, a time when Mystery had behaved like this toward him. And the dog had turned and ran away.

Once again Mystery threw his body up as high as he could muster and clawed at the sandy edge and nearly fell backwards, had Arthur not lashed forward and taken Mystery by his chocolate paws. Mystery scrambled up to join his companions, and Arthur hauled Mystery the rest of the way, his metal hand gripping the red collar in the process of dragging the dog up.

The vacant expression that crossed Lewis’ face was not missed by Vivi. When Lewis met her eyes she had that same resolute determination locked on her face, the same glower she had that night when she placed herself between Lewis and Arthur. “Lew, dear. We’ll talk later.” Vivi cleared her throat and turned to the befuddled Mr. McHiggin and forced a grim smile. “I’m sorry about that. For some reason Mystery doesn’t like his new jacket. Real leather, very expensive. Dogs are weird like that.”

Mystery padded between Vivi and Arthur, he turned his snout up and gave a low groan in the back of his throat. I am Not shallow, don’t make me look bad in front of the client! He snuffed at the air and gave his hide a shake, before he plodded off to check some of the foundation work left half-finished around the pools edge.

Arthur remained squatted beside the pool watching the direction Mystery wandered off into, and waited as Vivi and Sanders began to step away back towards the plastic coated and partially demolished side of the estate. As Lewis glides up to stand beside Arthur, Arthur rose to his feet and leaned towards Lewis. “What’d you do?”

A low rasping shrill came from Lewis, deep in his chest if Arthur was to judge. Arthur took a wide step away as Lewis whirled his face to him, his skin dimming over the bleached skull beneath but the face maintained its solidity. Arthur would have been impressed, if Lewis eyes’ didn’t look so piercing through the shades. “I didn’t do anything.” It came as more of a hiss and whistle than a voice, and it took Arthur a moment to decode the sound as Lewis stormed off in Vivi’s direction, pink flames flickering at his heels.

Arthur let out a lungful of stale air he had been holding, and reached his flesh hand up to rub at his aching shoulder.

There were a few final bases to cover, before the group took leave of the McHiggin household for the remainder of the evening. They had ample time to go over supplies and discuss probable remedies and logical explanations for the activity in the house. Aside from third party accounts recounted by Sanders McHiggin, only Alex and his older sister Rachel McHiggin had seen the creature. Paranoia was a factor to consider, and any sum of oozing shadows mingled with the rancid odor, whatever its origins, could account for witnessing a ‘monster’ in a dark hall. During the time spent in the van preparing for the night, none of the Mystery Skulls members spoke much to each other, that didn’t reflect the current case of interest. Arthur provided logical insight, Lewis gave his opinions, and Vivi used the laptop to make notes and assemble a strategy based on their findings and reported experiences. Mystery had stayed outside the van and as far as Vivi knew, he had taken a walk around the estates grounds.

“Don’t go too far off,” Vivi had called after the dog, when he had padded off past the open driver side door in silence. Vivi stayed slumped in the front seat, her legs slung up over the backseat, which allowed the sun to hit the screen of the laptop on her chest at full force. Vivi couldn’t understand how Arthur managed to sleep in the front seat, but she knew it was the most soothing method he had come by to sleep soundly whenever they stopped to rest. “We’ll try some holy water,” she said, fingers tapping swiftly over the keys of the computer with rapid ticks. “And the iron letter openers. If it is some sort of fairy entity, iron should dissuade it if one of us gets in a bind. But Mr. McHiggin did say it was none violent. I dunno if he knew what he was talking about.”

“How about some salt?” Lewis asked. He took the two letter openers from a side cuvee in the wall of the van and looked at them in his hands. They didn’t bother him, which was a ligament concern he had had. “Just in case?”

Vivi nodded, though Lewis couldn’t see it. “Better safe than sorry,” she said. “Little salt never hurt no one. “Until we see this thing, I think that’ll be our best course. It doesn’t sound too complex though.”

Lewis moved to the back of the van where Arthur sat, jolted, when Lewis moved up behind him. Lewis handed over the makeshift knives, and Arthur stuffed one into the waist ban of his jeans and tucked the second one into a backpack. “Vi,” Lewis said, as he turned from Arthur. Lewis didn’t want to see Arthur’s pitying gaze, as he spun around to face the front of the van. Lewis pulled his sunglasses off and gazed at the top of Vivi’s blue head through the shaded interior of the van. “About earlier. I… uh, about Mystery.” Lewis stumbled over his words, and struggled to keep his gaze from slipping behind him, back to Arthur. The locket on Lewis chest quivered, and Lewis was unsure if he could say anything to bring to light of what had happened and maybe why. He looked up to where Vivi’s legs hung over the bench seat, one of her pale blue stockings had a thin rip along the side and some blackened smudges. “Try and hear me—”

“Lew.” Lewis sputtered, his face dimming and briefly the skull was fully visible for a moment – skin gone, neck vacant, before Lewis recovered. Vivi pulled herself up to sit backwards in the seat on her knees and faced him, the laptop was set aside. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. And I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” she said, raising her hand when Lewis was about to huff out more words. Vivi lowered her head behind the seat and rested her ear against the covering. She could picture that hurt look on Lewis face, his dark eye sockets and the pink glow of those ember eyes within. Vivi spoke into the seats back, “I just want you to know I trust you. So… take some time and think about what you need to tell me. I’ll listen. Whatever it is, I’ll listen to you first.” Her fingers gripped her skirt tightly, and she didn’t want to think of the worst. She didn’t want to think that Mystery hated Lewis, and she may never know why.

There was a small space of quiet. A soft clicking sound, some noise made by the metal of Arthur’s arm as he fumbled with the zipper of the backpack. Then a scuffling and the faint scrap of ‘feet’ pacing away. Viv sunk down on the driver seat a little more and debated on moving back or staying where she was. Where had Lewis gone to?

“Oh hey, how’s it going?” To the new voice, chipper and male, Vivi snapped her head up. She whipped her gaze to Arthur, still seated in the back of the van and staring at her with that same wide eyed gape.

“Hey,” Lewis said. He raised his head as he fixed his glasses. No sooner were his shades in place, did Arthur and Vivi come pouring out of the vans open doors. He looked from Vivi then turned Arthur’s way with no vocal response, just turned the edges of his mouth down. He introduced Vivi and Arthur with as little to no emotion as he could muster, then faced the man before him. “We have a gig here. You are?” He shook hands with the stranger.

“Trevor,” said the man. “Trevon, but I like Trevor better.” Trevor was casually dressed in white khakis, a white shirt, and his hair was platinum champagne or some wild bleached color of canary yellow. The long sleeves of his shirt came down his arms and the buttons of his long sleeves wrists were undone. “These guys lasso you into some bogus job? I’d get going while you’re ahead.” Trevor thumbed over his shoulder, back to his van on the opposite side of the large parking road. “Let’s say it isn’t safe here.”

“We know,” Vivi announced. She stepped towards Trevor and folded her arms behind her back as she peered up at him. “That’s why we’re here. I take it you heard the rumors too?”

Trevor laughs, he laughs like he was told this awful joke that he came up with and still hated it when people repeated it. “Unfortunately,” he wheezed, before he gained some control over his breathing. “My group was the first to experience the weirdness. In fact,” he gestured to the front of the home, beyond the Mystery Skulls van behind the group. “I was collaborating with the landscape group digging out for the pool. Sanders tell you all the spiffy additions he wanted? That guy, he knows what he wants.”

Vivi blinked. “You mean to tell me, when the pool was first being dug out?” she asked, nearly incredulous. Vivi stepped back as Lewis walked by, toward the open driver side door.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” answered Trevor. “Everything was fine when we started. The landscapers, when they first began to dig – I was just around to rework the electrics of the house, since my company was the one that wired the place. Nice house, but these big places don’t pay right enough, they only look good in a resume.” Trevor chuckled and rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. “Sorry. What was I saying?”

“The pool?” Arthur prompted. He leaned back against the van, behind Vivi’s shoulder. “We kind of got that the pool was sorta the source of the problems.” Arthur gestured with his metal arm, and he noted with some irritation that Trevor had noticed his prosthetic.

Trevor nodded and shifted his footing on the pavement. “Yes, we must’ve stirred something up. Or they did, I was just rewiring that one side of the house – did he show you that mess? Never mind.” Trevor shook his head. “Yeah. Took’em about a day and a half to get started, then everything went bad. While we were on that side we’d get this stink, like something old and dead- but he’s probably told you? Right. In the house too? Thought so.” Trevor mirrors the nods that Vivi and Arthur give. “Then we start seeing shadows. A big animal, furry and sort of scabbed. We never actually see it, but we catch a glimpse of it moving around, and always when we get a face full of that reek. Ughh… I’ve had my share of bad rot, but that is something else.”

“In broad daylight?” Vivi asked, surprised. Mr. McHiggin stated that workers that came by to check the homes reoccurring problems had seen it inside, during the work hours of the day, but she hadn’t thought people had seen it outside the walls of the home during the day. Probably this activity was caused by intruders interfering with its territory.

“I don’t know,” Trevor said, and shrugged. “The other guys, working on the pool, they left. Took off. Then it was my crew, and whatever gullible spleen McHiggin could drag out to his place to keep working on that damn pool. Pardon my French. Anyway, none of them last long. They get wind of that hell beast, see it, and take off. Even my guys refused to come out here, so I would just come out solo to do the work and finish up what I can until McHiggin can find someone else to make progress on the pool.” He took a step back, as if the mansion had given him a stern look for spewing such slander. “Now I don’t hardly come out. Not after what happened.” He jammed his hands into his pants pockets and maneuvered around, walking away from Vivi and Arthur. “If you’re wise, you won’t stick around either.”

“What happened to you?” Vivi asked, twisting around to follow Trevor’s stroll. “Can you… talk about it?”

Trevor paused in front of the van, a few yards from the entrance of the gate to the McHiggin estate. He glanced towards the path to the large front doors, then back to Vivi and Arthur now waiting and watching curiously beside the grill of the van. He sighed, and took a half step to them. “I was working late one day, my last day,” he whispered, and moved in closer as Vivi tilts her head towards him.

Twilight, early fall when the days were still long enough but growing shorter by the weeks that ran by on the many busy, blurred days. Trevor stood in the quiet of the orange sun as he twisted wires and capped the raw ends with the bright bobs, then tucked the tidy ends back into the open breaker box in the wall. He had to put in long hours alone at the McHiggin estate, if he wanted to keep his workers and the other jobs around the city. It was too much work for one person but he had no choice, he could only curse under his breath and maintain his minimal focus on rewiring the outlets along the wall and avoid burning his palms too badly.

The plastic pinned over the ruined walls, torn out to make ready for the extension of the home and the one day completed indoor pool, crinkle in the soft breeze. It was spooky, with the location being as isolated in the way these big houses were up in the exclusive neighbors away from the ruffians and common folk. Trevor was a city boy and he didn’t like visiting the woods, but he supposed people liked this sort of thing if they could afford it. The novelty of independence.

He began coughing when he got a nose full of that stink. A thick salty fog that hovered around his head, and swelled down into the back of his throat. “Oh god,” Trevor gagged, as he released the wall panel and let it fall. He shoved his gritty palms over his nose and turned around, his eyes searched around as he tried to constrict his breathing. Where was it coming from? The air was so still, it couldn’t be a carcass. It had to be the plumbing.

At his back, towards the side of the pools many shoveled hills, he heard a low scratching. Not a scratching he realized as he listened, but a throaty snarl. Trevor turns, expecting some stray dog or a wolf, he does not expect the monster that is poised between the mounds of earth. He tried to make a sound, he chokes out a soft moan, but he could not raise his voice to save his life. The big thing, the hell beast, began towards the petrified mortal.

Arthur stared at the bandage wrapped around Trevor’s lower arm. It was fresh gauze wrapped tightly with metal pins in place to secure the cover, the faint tinge of red had seeped along the side.

��I didn’t think I was going to live,” Trevor says, as he pulls his sleeve back over the medical wrapping. “I blacked out by the door I think. Hadn’t made it inside. Dunno what made it release me, I must’ve had an angel watching over me that day.” Trevor gave a lop sided grin. “One of their kids found me later, near nightfall. My clothing was torn up but only my arm was maimed. Big paws prints, like some sort of bear. They called animal control, and the whole circus came out but nothing was ever found.” He turned away from the silent stares of Arthur and Vivi, and he moved past the front of the van and towards the large gate. “I wouldn’t stay here,” he says, over his shoulder. “As soon as my business is done, I am gone.” Trevor entered the gate onto the sandstone walkway and exited their sight.

Once Vivi was certain Trevor was beyond earshot, Vivi says to Arthur, “So, it is hostile.” Arthur moved away, returning to the back of the van. Vivi followed. “Wish Mr. McHiggin had warned us.”

Arthur shrugged as he moved beside the open doors. In the driver seat sat Lewis and when Arthur raised his gaze he caught the eyes peering over the sunglasses staring into the rearview mirror. Arthur stalled and gave a weak little wave. Lewis was silent. “You know how he is,” Arthur said. Vivi climbed up into the vans back and went for her bag, where Arthur had previously been sitting and stocking supplies. “‘I want no negative publicity, this’ll ruin me,’” Arthur grumbled, imitating a voice too deep for his meekness. “He has a hard time finding lunatics to finish his pool.” He nearly chortled. He rapped the metal digits of his hand on the vans bumper, and peered up at Vivi as he tapped out a shallow tune. “Who can blame him? The rumors are bad.”

“Still, for our safety,” Vivi said. She snagged her backpack and shoved it down over Arthur’s hand, to silence his sounds. Arthur gave her a mischievous grin as he snatched his arm away and hid it behind his back. Vivi turns from him as she pulls the straps of the backpack over her shoulders, and crouched on the short plush of the vans carpeted back. “I can’t believe he’s still living here if the things dangerous.”

Lewis leans around in the driver’s seat, and braces his arm over the chairs back. “It’s not like he could just uproot his family,” Lewis reasons. “The guy might be loaded, but he’s sort of tied to the house. Besides, he didn’t even believe that kid, Alex.”

“It still seems like—” Vivi cut off there, and smiled thinly Lewis’ way. “Are we ready then?”

Lewis tilts his head down and makes a motion with his hand, dubious. “Sólo dar la orden, arándano,” he rumbled. “We’re at your beck and call.”

Vivi shuffles closer to Lewis on her knees and sets her hand upon his bleached knuckles splayed loosely on the backside of the bench seat. “You are such a charmer, Lew.” When Lewis’ expression fluttered, eyes dimming behind the dark purple shades, Vivi tore away and bounced out the back of the van. “I’m STILL pissed at you, though!”

Arthur staggered back as Vivi flew by, and was nearly smacked in the chest by a rogue knee. Arthur twisted his eyes back to Lewis, who had taken on a bright sheen of fuchsia as spirits flames sprout around the black collar of his jacket. A crackling mist and embers flicker from Lewis neck, and the space behind the sunglasses blaze against the dusk sun still gleaming through the windows. Arthur sprang up in place and backpedaled from the doors, before a flash of flames swiped at the ceiling of the van. Arthur swore Lewis was breathing fire. There was fire at his lips and in his throat when he shrieked something unintelligible, by Arthur’s impression the sound hadn’t even come out of Lewis, it leapt from the scratchy static of the radio as the van lurched into temporary life.

Vivi waited on the other side of the van casually, as Lewis had his moment. She let her hand rest on Arthur’s bad shoulder when he joined her, and they waited in silence that followed; for the last of the sun to shrink out of sight and replace the cinnamon coated sky with violets and blues, as a multitude of glittering stars began to prick into existence above them in the dark blanket cast by the sky.

It wasn’t long after that Lewis found the nerve (or strength) to lock up the van and offer an apology to Vivi. The apology had no definition, no origin, it was just an apology Lewis felt Vivi had warranted, and for the time she accepted it. It was a temporary fix, but it was a start.

#msa #mystery skulls animated #mystery skulls fanfic #msa fanfic #mystery skulls #mystery skulls fanfiction #msa fanfiction #msa mystery #msa vivi #msa lewis #msa arthur #fanfiction

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years ago

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Jigsaw // Red: Part One

Valhalla

A/N: Picking up right where we left off with Blue (which you can find on the Billy Russo page of my masterlist). Billy’s on the run and needs to find a place to hide out while he comes up with a plan.

Warnings: character death

Word Count: 3,730

Left. He hit the sidewalk and immediately turned, shifting himself sideways to disappear down the alley. Go, go, go. Legs turning over with perfect form, he ran between the buildings, a blur of red brick on one side, pale gray concrete on the other. The sound of his breathing drowned out everything but the voice in his head telling him where to turn. Right. Coming through to the next street, he spun, socked feet splashing through a puddle of condensation from the A.C. unit in the window above. Alley, now. A trash bag lay across the opening of the narrow space. Jump it. Right leg extended, he vaulted over the garbage heap, springing off his coiled left calf and landing in stride, continuing to run without missing a beat. An aluminum chain link fence greeted him at the end of the alley, and he quickly calculated the necessary motion to climb it. Wait! Back pressed against the grime covered wall, he held his breath in the shadows as two police cruisers flew by, sirens wailing. He counted to ten, waiting to see if any more were in pursuit. He could hear more sirens joining in from other parts of the city, but for now the way was clear. Go, up and over. Securing the folder inside his zipped sweatshirt, he jumped and gripped the fence with both hands, fingers curling through the wire diamonds. He pulled himself up with ease, throwing one leg and then the other over the top and landing hard on the soles of his feet.

Keep fuckin’ going. Listening to the commanding voice in his head, Billy immediately took off running again. His lungs were on fire and he had a cramp in his gut but just like in an active warzone, he knew that he couldn’t rest until he’d reached the checkpoint. Not that he had one in mind when he broke free, but as he scaled the fence he realized that his legs were taking him to a specific location- an abandoned warehouse in Red Hook. Of course. He coughed, wheezing slightly as he pushed himself to follow his feet as fast as he could. Of course that’s where I’m goin’. He reverted back to auto pilot, following the commands to make turns and slip through alleys, allowing his thoughts to traverse the labyrinth in his brain like a mouse in a maze, desperate for the cheese. With a wince and a jerk of his head, a memory tumbled to the frontlines as he got closer to his destination.

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

‘S’just an idea I had,” Billy shrugged and shoved his burger haphazardly into his mouth, filling it with food so he’d have an excuse not to elaborate too much. You watched him from across the retro red table, tapping your thumbnail against the grooved aluminum edge.

“It’s a great idea, Billy,” you’d said encouragingly, French fry suspended over your plate, a dollop of ketchup plopping off the end of it.

He chewed around a small smile, keeping his eyes on you as he reached for the pebbled plastic soda glass in front of him. He swallowed the bite he’d taken and chased it down with a few loud slurps of his drink before setting what was left of his lunch back on his plate. “I dunno about great,” he said with a minute shift of his shoulders. “Still got a lot of work to do. Gonna need investors and warehouse space and-“

You stopped tapping at the aluminum trim and stretched your hand across the small two top booth to grip his, giving a light squeeze. “Yeah,” you said with a nod. “Yeah, you got a lot of work to do. But the idea is a good one, and a lot of good people will benefit from it.”

She gets it. He cleared his throat and sniffed, nose wrinkling up. “Yeah, I mean… just thinkin’ about guys like me’n Frankie. Guys that gave decades of their lives to the military. Guys that need to have somethin’ to fall back on when they get home… what kinda jobs are gonna hire 38 year olds with no experience, ya know?” He was talking mainly about Frank, but he wasn’t far behind his friend in terms of age or the things he was willing to risk as that number went up.“Give ‘em a chance to use the skills they have instead’a tryin’ to scramble to fit in to some 9-5…” Let ‘em be with guys who understand…

“So what do you have to do then, Billy? How do you make this happen?” You’d pushed your plate aside to give him your full attention, one hand still linked with his over the scarlet and silver boomerang patterned laminate.

He’d hesitated to tell you about his idea of starting his own private security company, because saying it out loud meant that it was real. Telling you about it was essentially sealing a promise to himself...and to you, that he’d make it work, and he wasn’t sure that he could. But the way that you asked those questions, with nothing but clarity and belief in your tone, the way your hand never left his, it made him feel like maybe it wasn’t so crazy. Maybe I can. “Well, I gotta figure out how much I need to get started. Equipment, endorsements, facilities,” He ticked those off on the fingers of his free hand before his tongue came out to lick his lips. “I...actually, I looked into this one warehouse in Brooklyn already. Not that I’m expectin’ it to still be available when I’m ready to pull the trigger but… I wanted to look into the numbers.”

“Will you show it to me?” The excitement on your face pulled his cheeks up slowly, almost making him laugh.

“What?” He shook his head looking down at your hands. “Nah, you don’t wanna,” he looked back up to find that you hadn’t so much as blinked. “I only got two days left, you wanna waste one of ‘em in a dirty old building?” But even as he tried to talk you out of it, Billy realized that he did want to take you there.

The server came over then, coffee pot in one hand and stress written all over her tired face despite the fact that there were only three other occupied tables in the joint. “Get you two anything else?” The way she asked the question dictated what she hoped the answer would be.

Without missing a beat you turned to respond to the woman. “Nope, we’ll take the-” she dropped the puffy black check presenter on the table where it clapped together with a soft thud. “-check, thanks!” You pulled your hand from Billy’s and let him inspect the bill before he dug his wallet out, tucking some cash behind the curled thermal paper and then placing it on top of the dented silver napkin holder.

When he had returned his wallet to the back pocket of his dark jeans, you tilted your head and cocked one eyebrow. “What?” He asked, to which you’d only changed the angle of your chin. “Really?” Your smirk answered and he felt a swelling in his chest at your stubborn faith in him. “You’re serious.” That one wasn’t a question.

You stood from the booth and wrapped your scarf around your neck before slipping your arms into the sleeves of your jacket. Billy did the same, following your lead. When you’d both donned your outerwear, you pulled your hair up and over the thick cable knit loops of your neck covering and bounced up on the balls of your feet to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I am, Russo.” Motioning toward the door and lacing your fingers with his, you licked your candy apple lips. “Lead the way, Billy.”

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

His breathing picked up, uneven and ragged, fingers shaking as they clutched the rusty gate, swinging it open. The chase was over and his body reacted accordingly, heightened senses returning to normal levels, the adrenaline slowly draining from his blood. The greedy gulps of air he was taking would make him sick. He knew that, but there was nothing he could do. His survival instincts got him as far as they needed to before vanishing into the abyss, leaving him alone. Closing the gate behind him, Billy staggered through the fenced in loading dock of the abandoned warehouse, shoeless feet tripping on the cracks in the pavement where stubborn weeds were pushing through the concrete. Broken glass littered the ground as he got closer to the building, an entire pane having fallen from the third story, nothing but a few jagged spears remaining in the window frame.

The crunching, crashing sound of glass shattering echoed in his ears, forcing a wince and a pitiful hissing sound that was a mixture of pain and fear. Tearing his eyes from the fragments, he gripped the top of his head and shook it hard, jogging the sound and the visions that came with it from his mind. The blare of a bus horn from a few blocks away brought him back to the moment. Chest heaving, Billy gripped the folder that he’d tucked under his sweatshirt, confirming for the tenth time since his escape that he hadn’t lost it. What little relief was left for him trickled through his body as he finally reached the door and found it unlocked.

Tugging the handle he pulled it open, flakes of rust falling from the hinges as they creaked and screeched their disuse. The bottom of the door dragged over the concrete, scraping a crescent shape into the ground. He stumbled inside and yanked the door shut behind him, giving three hard pulls to close the stubborn portal. He kept moving, using the sunlight that filtered in through the thick, clouded windows to seek out the staircase on the near side of the vast and empty space. It had been over a year since he’d last been there, but he was confident that the steps hadn’t decayed past the point of use. Testing his weight on the bottom few he saw that he was right. He gripped the oxidized rails, the peeling metal rough against his palms as he climbed to the second floor, footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space.

This wasn’t Anvil’s home, but it might have been, almost was. There was more graffiti than there was the last time he’d set foot inside, depleted spray paint cans littering the ground and coming into view as he took the last few steps. The word Valhalla was scrawled across the bricks in the loft, accented with flames and shadows, a few broken, lumpy chairs and mattresses spread beneath the mural. The room had clearly been used as some kind of illegal den for drugs or other illicit activity, and simply hadn’t been cleaned out when the inhabitants had been dispatched. A rat scurried out from under one of the dilapidated pieces of furniture and found refuge inside of a potato chip bag in the corner. Billy stood before the painted wall. Valhalla. What a crock of shit. He recalled the way that he and his brothers in arms had often compared themselves to the Vikings, to the Gods of War, talking about valor and the glory that was waiting for them back home. There’s no glory left, no good death for me. He tore his eyes from the lettering and sank down onto one of the badly torn couches, a broken sound coming from his throat as he pulled the folder from where it was tucked beneath the zipper of his sweatshirt, letting it fall to the ripped cushion beside him, his head falling to hang between his hands.

Outside, the clouds shifted in the sky letting hazy afternoon light find its way through the damaged windows. It created a spotlight effect that drew his gaze to a hastily sprayed “X” on the floor in the center of the room, the splotchy ruby red paint scuffed from where careless boot soles had stepped over it. His mouth fell open, an incredulous breath bursting forth as he dragged his palms over the close cropped hair on top of his head, fingers curling around the helix of his ears and memory hurtling back to the last time that he’d been in that building.

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

You reached the door before he did, both hands gripping the chunky steel door handle, eagerly trying to tug it open but struggling to do so. He watched your shoulders hunch up as you tried to pull harder before you turned to look back at him. The excitement on your face would have been more suited to opening the door to a luxury suite in a gilded mansion than a rundown old paint factory with more broken panes of glass on the floor than existed in the window frames, but he knew it was there and it was real. Because she loves me. That simple, overwhelming thought was the hardest thing he’d ever wrapped his head around. He shook his head as his lips parted, one side quirking upwards involuntarily. “Easy there killer, lemme do that.” Billy reached passed you and grabbed the handle, a flush of warmth flooding his veins as you leaned back into his chest, your fingers falling away from the door as he gave a hard pull to pry it open, the bottom scraping the ground. “Still can’t believe this is what you wanna-“

You turned quickly and pressed two fingers, skin chilled from the early spring air, against his lips to silence him. “Believe it. This is where I wanna be. Nowhere else. Now,” You winked at him and turned back towards the darkened entry that he’d just wrenched opened. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Russo, but you were going to take me on the tour of your new facility, were you not?” You started to take a step through the door when his arms quickly circled around your waist, stopping you. They flexed, tightening his hold and forcing a bubbly laugh to spill from your soul.

“Yeah,” he brought his lips to your ear, pressing them to the flesh behind it. “Right this way, ma’am.” He unwound his arms and took your hand, carefully leading you into the building. The heavy door swung shut with a thud and you jumped slightly. “I got ya,” he said, squeezing your hand as the metallic sound of the door echoed throughout the cavernous space. You squeezed back and threw a smile in his direction.

Late afternoon light was streaming in through the remaining glass panels, showing off an iron staircase that lead to a lofted office area, and behind it an enormous room with concrete flooring. “So down here we’d build this out for training purposes,” he motioned to the space with the hand that wasn’t holding yours. “Put up walls, build rooms for guys to run tactical drills in. S’enough square footage to run two teams through drills at once.” He cleared his throat and nodded. “I uh, I looked into that, too.”

He’d looked into more than he let on at the diner, already researching contractors that might be willing to work with a US Marine vet when it came to budget. He watched you take in the room, blinking slowly in the dim light, breathing quietly in the musty air. “It’s perfect, Billy.”

He shrugged but allowed his cheek to twitch up towards his eye in a one sided grin. “It’s not. But it doesn’t haveta be. Just has to be big.”

You dislodged your hand from his to explore the space some more, wandering between the support poles that ran from cracked floor to vaulted ceiling. Swinging around one of them, your hair fell like a curtain over your face and you pushed it back. “Well it’s definitely big. So check that off the list.” You came back towards him as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “What else?”

“Well,” his eyes darted to the staircase, yours following until they came back to meet. “Up there is where the offices would be.” Tongue flicking out to lick his lips and teeth flashing behind them, he said, “Where my office would be.”

Your grin turned mischievous. “Oh yeah?” He nodded. “Just up those stairs?” Another nod. “Well this I gotta see,” you said, taking off in the direction of the loft.

“Hang on, wait,” he shot his arm out, catching you by the wrist and wrapping his fingers around it. “Lemme… I dunno if the stairs are…” you let him go ahead of you, testing his weight on the rickety staircase. Satisfied with their structural integrity, he looked back at you. “Okay, c’mon up.” He gave you his hand again and you took it, the familiar weight of it grounding him.

The top floor boasted an exposed brick wall to the right and a huge half circle window high up near the ceiling to the left, long narrow windows running down beneath it. A series of smaller offices overlooking the first floor could be seen down a short hall. A few stray papers and paint cans were strewn about, and a pigeon cooed as it fluttered from rafter to rafter over your heads. You spun in a slow 360 degrees, directly in the center of the beam of light filtering in through the lead glass semi-circle. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is perfect. “So what do you think?”

“I think your desk should go right over there,” you pointed out a spot in the middle of the large brick wall. “You close this off,” you moved your arms to indicate the area around where his phantom desk stood. “Your secretary can sit-“ you looked over your shoulder at him, devilish grin climbing your lips to change the color of your eyes to a darker shade. “She’s not gonna like me, I can tell. But she can sit over there,” again you moved your arms to indicate where walls would be. “Outside your office. More privacy that way.” You’d come back to stand in front of him, slipping your arms beneath his and pressing yourself tightly against him.

Billy looked down through his lashes at you as you reached up to fix a stray lock of his hair that had fallen in front of his eye, tucking it back in order before trailing your fingertips down the stubble on his face. “S’not what I-“

“I know.” You gripped the back of his neck and flexed your fingers. “I know that’s not what you were asking. You wanna know what I think, Billy?”

His hands came up to either side of your face then, eyes searching yours. “Yours is the only opinion that matters,” he said. “So yeah, I wanna know what you think.”

You looked around the space again, hand dropping from behind him as his fell away from your cheeks. Finding what you were looking for, you smiled and took a few steps into the corner, bending down to pick up an aluminum can with a bright red plastic top. You shook it like a maraca, the liquid inside sloshing around to tell you that it wasn’t empty. Popping the top off, you walked over towards the area you’d cordoned off for his office, finger resting atop the depressor.

“What are you…” his sentence fell apart as you stooped down and sprayed a big “x” on the ground, dropping the can and letting it clatter by your feet.

“There,” you said, wiping your hands together and then brushing them off on your jeans. “X marks the spot, Billy. That’s what I think. I think now you have two things to come home to, lieutenant.”

He shook his head and moved closer to you. “That’s not even… ‘course I’m coming home to you, that’s not-”

“Yeah, you better.” You stood on the wet X, not caring about getting paint on your shoes. “But this? This place, this goal? I think there’s no way in Hell you don’t make this happen, Billy.”

He reached for you then, pulling you off the X and into his body, wrapping you up as tightly as he could. “X marks the spot,” he said, lips covering yours, glad that this was how you’d ended up spending the rest of the day.

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

He stooped down to run his fingers over what was left of the red mark, the patterns from the soles of your shoes faintly visible in the splotchy paint. She should be here. She should be here and she’s not. Tears pooled in his eyes and spilled fat and heavy onto the floor as rage roiled in his blood. Frank did this. Frank and… and Madani. He stood then, shuffling back over to the folder in the couch. There’s gotta be… He knew needed to get their attention. Gotta be some way to flush ‘em out, to…

He flipped through the file, the photos of the two of you from the park socking him hard. Military records, session notes, accomplishments, crimes, details from every aspect of his life typed out neatly in 12 point double spaced font. One name caught his eye as he turned the pages, one name that he’d only ever shared with three people in his adult life: Frank, Madani, and you.

“So what do you have to do then, Billy? How do you make this happen?”

Your voice filled his ears then, and he knew what he had to do to make Frank take notice.

Thoroughly exhausted from the events of the day, from the pieces he’d put into place and the staggering realizations he’d come to, Billy took the photo from the folder and fell into the broken couch. Outside, the sun had started setting, darkness slowly swallowing the world and ending the day. They took her from me. Slow, shaky breaths puffed through his nostrils as he crossed his arms over his chest, aching to hold you one more time. They took her from me and they’re gonna pay.

Though it felt like his anguish would keep him from sleep, his eyes slipped closed and he drifted off, holding your picture and repeating an address over and over, like counting sheep; an address he couldn’t believe he remembered after all these years.

They’re all gonna pay.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @lexxierave @songforhema @thesumofmychoices @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget @obscurilicious @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @nananananananananananabatman

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#jigsaw #jigsaw // red #valhalla #billy russo #billy russo x you #billy russo x reader #the punisher #the punisher au #frank castle #dinah madani #they're all gonna pay

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cherrytart-ffxiv · 6 years ago

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reikai - part one.

I had grabbed his hand. I know that I did. I had pressed Caius’ gloved hand into mine, wrapped my fingers around it... and then my hand sank through his. My body turned to vapor. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t grasp him after that. There was fear in his eyes. What had I looked like? It felt like I was flickering, like my body was static before it became ghostly. And then, the next thing I knew, my navel was being tugged at again. There was a rush of wind around my head, and I was so tightly compressed by whatever vacuum was sucking me in that I couldn’t even scream. It felt like my lungs and ribs might collapse.

When I was spit back out, I gasped for air, falling onto all fours. It was then, as my head hung low, that I noticed that I was suspended on nothing. A howl of fear ripped out of my throat, and I stumbled back, scrambled, my eyes wide as I frantically looked around the pitch black that threatened to swallow me whole.

Legs shaking, I forced myself to stand. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. All day long, I had felt aether sick. How long had this place been trying to drag me into it? I stood in the vastness, the emptiness, waiting to feel... too cold, or too hot, but it was then that I realized I felt nothing at all. I was numb. I had to ask myself if I was dead. My hand slid up my chest only to find my rapidly beating heart, and I exhaled. Despite feeling no chill, the air I expelled created a white stream from my lips like I was standing in the middle of Coerthas. I hate the place, but it would have been a far sight more welcome than... whatever void I was currently standing in.

I don’t know what compelled me to walk through it. Standing there, though, was nothing short of unbearable. As my feet touched against the black, however... it lit up. What had once been nothing turned into the shape of my bare feet, glowing a pale blue light, so pale that it might have actually been white. I basked in the glow, my walking turning quickly into running in an attempt to light up the world, to see something, anything. It felt like there was no air. Was there no air? My heart was beating, but my lungs were not expanding. I didn’t need to draw breath. Drawing breath was a luxury, a habit. My lungs did not fill. There was nothing for them to fill with.

“Hello?” My cry was desperate, maybe, but I had to try. “Hello! Please, is anything... is anyone there? Hello?!”

It hit me, then.

I was not speaking Common.

The words were not altogether foreign, but this was not the tongue I had been raised speaking... was it? No, I was speaking a Far Eastern dialect. Hingan. My breath would have caught in my throat if there was anything breath to catch, if I hadn’t exhaled it all before. The words were foreign. I am far from fluent in Hingan, but in this world, apparently I... was. I am.

I say am, because I have not been able to escape it yet.

I am still wandering this endless expanse. Ten hours have passed, if time is even relevant to this realm. It seems unlikely. My legs haven’t grown tired, despite walking the entire time. There is what feels like a never-ending trail of my own glowing footsteps behind me, and the only thing that’s tired is my voice from calling out, begging for anything other than me and the lights to appear. Ten hours of darkness. I should be used to this. Alfie’s trained me for this kind of isolation, hasn’t he? This is different. This is not a small closet I can’t move through. No-- it seems as though I can move as much as I want. It seems like I have to keep moving. Any time I try to stop, the blackness starts creeping up on me, like it’ll envelop me and consume me.

“Please...” I call out, tiredly. “Please... There has to be someone else. Where am I? Please...”

For the first time since arriving here, in this place I do not know, there is a chill sent directly up my spine. What felt like a numb world sudden becomes freezing, and despite my better judgement, I stop dead in my tracks. Up ahead of me, there are lights. They bounce, like someone is skipping while holding a lantern glowing blue light. Who knew that skipping could feel so very threatening? I start to shrink back, but there is no back. I hit a wall.

“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no. Let me turn around. Let me out! Let me OUT!”

“No out!” the skipping creatures chime brightly. “No out! The lost daughter has finally come! She’s come, she’s come, she’s come!”

Their voices are tiny, nasal, shrill. I reach for my knife, only to remember I don’t have it. I’d run to Caius in barely more than my smallclothes, desperate to see him as the whole world started to feel wrong. If I had gotten to him sooner... would it have stopped this? Would I be here anyway? Or would he have been dragged along with me? The last option makes me shudder. No; Caius shouldn’t be here. It isn’t safe for him. I don’t know how I know this, but I do.

“I’m not... I’m not anything or anyone’s lost daughter,” I manage, pressed against the wall. The bouncing figures come closer, and I grimace. They are grotesque. Horns protrude from their heads of flowing, greasy black hair, and it looks as though they’re wearing masks that have been shattered and twisted, disfiguring them. They barely come up to my hips, the two of them, shaking their lanterns in my direction as they loom closer.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!” they practically shriek. “You are lost, daughter! Daughter! Daughter! We will help you, we will bring you home! Take our hands, yes, grab our hands and we will bring you back to where you belong!”

“Where am I now?” I am surprised that my voice doesn’t shake. The two little figures look at each other and cackle again.

“Reikai!” they cry in joyous unison. “You are in the other side with us, daughter! Daughter! Daughter! There is no leaving this place! No leaving Reikai once you are here! Hahaha!”

Reikai. Reikai. The other side? Fuck. Shit. Damn it. What the fuck. This has to be a dream. Wake UP, Audrey. Wake up right this fucking minute!

One of the strange little creatures slams their lantern against the wall behind me, and I flinch, jumping away. A cold, almost slimy hand seizes my wrist, and I fight back. I do. I fight back hard, but my strength is no match for these... things. This is not my world. This isn’t my world.

“We have been waiting for you!” one says brightly, holding my wrist as it drags me down the... what? Path? Alley?

“Waiting so very long!” the other chips in, turning its disconcerting face up to me with an unnatural tilt of its head. “Nineteen years you have been gone, daughter! Daughter! Daughter! The woman with the brown hair and the protections over her heart tried to steal you away from us, but she is gone now! Now you are not protected away from your friends. We are your friends, daughter! Daughter! Daughter! Do not be afraid... we want to make you right. We want to make you better.”

“Please, let go of me,” I plead. “Let me go. Let me go home--”

“You are home!” they cackle in unison. “There is no other home now!”

“Please!” I cry, straining against their unnaturally strong grips. They suddenly turn on me, hissing, and I collapse onto my back as they release me. My eyes widen, my hands tremble, at the sight before me.

They are growing. They are swelling. The strange rags they were dressed in are splitting, revealing skin that is cracked and burned. It glows the same blue as their strange lanterns, and their gaping maws open, revealing long and wicked fangs as long as my legs the bigger they grow. I can’t even scream. The chill in my bones feels like it’s frozen me to the side.

“No,” I whisper. Hands are rising from beneath the path we had created with our footsteps, and again, I hear the whispers. The whispers from the forest. The creatures with the lanterns are bearing down on me, and I hear their necks cracking and creaking as they snap to the side, smiling wickedly as they lean down with their mouths open wide. The deathly cold hands hold onto my ankles, pin my arms by my sides, and this time, I do scream.

“Help! Please! T-The... the daughter! The daughter begs for your help!” What a ridiculous request, right? Who was I even screaming to?

Suddenly, there is a flash of light. The creatures hiss again, and the whispers turn to howls, the hands jerking away from my limbs. The lanterns shatter at my feet, and I gasp, watching as what looks like ghosts fly up into the sky, screeching all the way. Halfway up, though, they turn abruptly, and the lantern-toting creatures let out unholy shrieks as the spirits descend upon them. I watch in wide-eyed horror as the small spirits - the yokai? - start to rend the flesh from the creatures’ bones, ripping it with teeth and nails I could not see. I only knew because of the marks left in the cracked and burned skin.

“Rrrrun,” a voice practically purrs in my ear. “Keep running, daughter, lost daughter, lost child. Go and go and go. Stop for no one. On your feet, on your feet! Go! You will not be here long-- they are coming to get you!”

I need no further encouragement, and the ominous warning - promise? - only makes me get to my feet faster. I manage to choke out a thank you - to what, I do not know - and then I am sprinting willingly back into the darkness. The sounds of crunching bone and tearing flesh are echoing in my ears, echoing as I run as whatever it was had directed me to.

Who was coming to get me? More little things that turn into big things ready to eat me whole? Good things? Was there someone coming to pull me from this hell? I want to keep going, but there’s now an ache in my side. My legs are cramping. I collapse onto all fours once I’m sure I can no longer hear the sounds of the creatures with the blue lanterns being devoured, panting, sweat beading along my arms and forehead.

There is more light beneath my hands. No-- there is glass. I blink back tears, leaning back on my heels. Beneath the glass, I see Caius. I see his dark hair. He’s smoking a cigarette. Night has fallen. I pound on the glass, screaming his name. But the scene changes. Now, I see Sparrow, in her cottage. She’s working on... something. I don’t know what.

Sparrow. Sparrow. She can get me out. I know she can get me out. Please--!

The glass disappears, and I actually scream, pounding my fists against the ground. The marks leave the ground - this is a generous word - glowing that same eerie blue. White eyes appear in front of me, blinking slowly. I can’t even find it in myself to scream with fear. And they don’t... seem malevolent. They look like those of a cat’s, curious... almost sad.

“Patience, Yuna,” a voice rumbles, deep and masculine. “...you will not be stuck here forever. Up. Keep moving. Your loved ones are not at risk of being sucked in this world. You must keep going. You must.”

“Yuna?” I sputter, and the eyes blink slowly again.

“There will be time for explanations later, child. There are yokai here who will hunt you. There are others who will help you. Do not trust the ones who smile. Now go. Don’t turn back until you see me again. I will be watching. I promise.”

And then, the eyes are gone. What? What was going on? Yokai who will hunt me... well, that’s certainly been confirmed. Yokai who will help me... I suppose that has been confirmed, too. Trembling from head to toe, I stand.

I keep running.

(( @benes-diction and @sparrow-ffxiv for mentions, if brief! ))

#cw body horror #the red door plot #writing #ffxiv rp #ff14 rp #SPOOPY?#i hope so #ffxiv stories

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thetypewriterimproviser · 6 years ago

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Believe [Jack Kline x OC]

My first original post on tumblr. This is exciting and terrifying at the same time. This has been hanging around in my ‘Writing’ folder for a few months and figured I should do something about it. I guess it was meant to be a oneshot, but it would be so easy to make it a more-than-one-shot.

It’s been a little while since I’ve had reliable WiFi to watch SPN on Netflix, so this is going to be pretty canon-divergent. Deal with it.

Title : Believe Pairing : Jack Kline x fem!OC Warnings : Nothing to bad, mentions of some serious homophobia and the death of a family member, some OOCness maybe Summary : Jack meets a girl while out for a walk. Basically some agnsty fluff I own nothing but my OC. Please be nice to me.

“Can I go outside?”

The question broke through the silence of the bunker.

It was late afternoon and it had been quiet all day. No one dared to do more than turn a page in a book or type on a laptop; none of the men wanted to jinx or break the calm that had settled over the unconventional home.

The question asked by the young Jack Kline had been the first words spoken in hours.

“Uh, yeah, Jack.” It was Sam Winchester who answered. “Go ahead.”

Grinning at the hunter’s words, the half-angel leapt to his feet and pulled on his jacket.

“Hey—Stay close,” the older Winchester called as Jack ascended the metal stairs to the door.

“I will, Dean,” Jack assured with a nod of his head. “I just want to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.”

Sam and Dean made soft grunts to indicate they heard the Nephilim, but they had already gone back to their respective quiet activities; Sam was reading a book (he was working his way through the series Game of Thrones was based on) and Dean was doing something on a laptop.

Once outside the bunker, Jack took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs rather than the stale air of the bunker. After looking around, contemplating in which direction to walk, he set off to the wooded area just across the dirt road the Impala roared down when the hunters came and went.

During his short life, Jack realized it was normal for one to spend time by themselves. Dean worked on his beloved Baby, Sam read fiction books, and Castiel left for short periods of time, side-stepping questions about where he had been. Jack read all the time, and he didn’t know anything about cars, so he opted for a Castiel-like approach; going off somewhere.

Like he told Sam he would, Jack stayed relatively close to the bunker, taking great care not to get lost. Every now and then, he reminded himself that he could simply pop back into the bunker with the powers that came along with his grace, but after some thought, the Nephilim chose the human way. He also chose not to think about his grace, aside from the errant thought. After spending so much time trying to gain more control over the power within him in the recent months, Jack wanted to take a break.

All I’ve done is give myself headaches and bloody noses and moved a pencil a few feet. Jack shoved his fists in his pockets and kicked a pine cone as the thought came across his mind.

Jack chose to focus on the trees and environment around him; with his heightened senses, he could see the small droplets of water on the leaves and suspended between pine needles. His feet made soft crunching sounds on the ground, and he found the sound oddly satisfying, almost calming. Now and then, the chatter of a squirrel or the song of a bird rang clear in his ears, causing Jack to stop walking and try to find the animal from which the sound came. The tiny creatures amazed him; they were so small, so breakable, yet the species continued to survive for millions or years of years.

While he listened to the song of a plump bird with an orange breast, Jack heard the sound of tires screeching to a halt on gravel in the distance. It was soon followed by the slam of a vehicle door. The bird flew away when the slam echoed through the woods, bouncing off trees in a way Jack found very distracting.

When Jack heard the footsteps stamping through the trees, his first impression was that the footsteps sounded angry. The angry footsteps began walking in the general direction of the half-angel, so he made a slight turn so his own path didn’t cross that of the angry footsteps.

It wasn’t until Jack stopped to watch a mother rabbit and her small brood under a tree that he noticed the angry footsteps were quite close. It wasn’t hard for his sharp eyes to make out the shape of the person stomping through the woods. They had their hands in fists at their side, shaking with absolute rage. His curiosity was piqued, but Jack hesitated in following—Sometimes people wanted to be alone, and, as Dean put it, Jack could be annoying at times.

He hadn’t even taken a step before a particular sound hit his ears; a sob. The angry footsteps belonged to a person who was crying. The sadness in that sob seemed to contradict the anger expressed in their cadence. Jack took a couple steps towards the sobbing, angry-footed person out of sympathy and curiosity, debating if he should approach them.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the calm.

Jack flinched in surprise at the sound. He quickly jogged towards the sound, questions flashing through his mind. Where they hurt? Was someone attaching them?

When he broke into a clearing, he took in the sight before him in a matter of seconds.

An octagonal sort of building, which was little more than a floor and roof held up with slim pieces of wood, a low railing was along the floor, and led into the railings of the three small steps. The owner of the angry footsteps was a girl. She looked about the same age as Jack’s body, but was much smaller—more petite. Her little hands where in tight fists, shaking at her sides as she leaned forward slightly as another scream ripped out of her throat.

When she stopped to take a ragged inhale, Jack spoke.

“Why are you screaming?”

The innocent question made the girl jump around and let out a short, high-pitched shriek. She looked at Jack with a tear-stained, confused face as she clutched her hands to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said earnestly, ducking his head slightly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The girl sniffed loudly, shaking her head. Her hands, no longer clutched to her chest, raked her hair back from her face, as the strands were getting stuck to her wet cheeks. “No, no it’s ok…I just wasn’t expecting anybody to be out here.”

Jack nodded at the explanation. “Why were you screaming?”

She let out a laugh that didn’t sound all that happy, and harshly wiped the tears from her face with the cuffs of her sweater. “I…I’ve had a very hard day, and-and I just had to scream. Let it all out, you know?”

The brunet boy simply tilted his head slightly to one side and furrowed his brows in confusion. “Did screaming help?”

The girl laughed again, but it sounded a little more genuine than the previous one. “I dunno…Kinda, I guess…Sure didn’t make me feel worse.”

There was a pause.

“I-I’m Harlow,” the girl said, moving to sit on the steps of the funny little building. She gave a tight-lipped smile that she tried to portray as genuine, but it made her look like she was in pain.

Jack realized he was supposed to say his name, now. “I’m Jack.”

Harlow had her elbow on her knee, and her chin on her hand. She sighed heavily. “What’er you doin’ way out here, Jack?”

Remaining where he stood at the edge of the trees, the Nephilim answered honestly. “I’m out for a walk, I wanted some fresh air. What about you?”

Curiously, Harlow didn’t answer Jack’s question. Instead, she looked around at the worn wooden building. “You know, my dad built this gazebo.”

“What’s a gazebo?” Jack asked innocently. The confused, disbelieving look on the girl’s face made him shift on his feet. “I…had a very sheltered upbringing.”

Sam had said something similar to a waitress while Jack was in awe of the honey-comb pattern in his waffle, having never had or seen one before.

Harlow seemed to accept the answer with a slight nod and gestured to the octagonal building behind her. “This is a gazebo…Well, it’s a very run down gazebo…My dad built it for his wedding to my mom—They got married way out here with just a priest, themselves, and a handful of close friends.”

Jack nodded, and slowly approached the gazebo. He raised a hand to touch one of the railings. It was covered in chipped varnish that flaked off at his touch, and at least two decades of dirt made a film over it. The railings on seven sides of the gazebo were held up by intricately carved flowers, spirals and spokes.

“This is a beautiful creation,” Jack commented. He found it amazing that the trees around Harlow and him could be turned into the small building—a gazebo—with human hands. “Your father is very talented.”

“Yeah, he really was.” Harlow’s voice was soft with emotion, but slightly raspy from her crying and screaming. She looked over her shoulder at the floor of the gazebo. She dragged her fingers through the dirt on the smooth floor, making pattern of wavy lines. “He’s gone now.”

Jack’s heart filled with sympathy once again. He took a step so he stood next to Harlow as she sat on the worn wooden steps. “My mother’s gone, too. She’s in Heaven now.”

“I’m sorry,” Harlow croaked out, coughing once and clearing her throat after. Jack could feel the honesty and warmth from her words, and it made him feel oddly safe. Her voice was smoother the next time she spoke. “How old were you?”

A conversation with Dean and Castiel came to Jack’s mind. They told him that he shouldn’t say some things to ‘normal’ people, his actual age being one of them. Because Jack didn’t want to outrightly lie to people, Dean told him about ‘half-truths.’ “She died when I was born.”

“Oh…I’m sorry.” Harlow was just as sincere as before, looking up at Jack with wide brown eyes. The color reminded Jack of whisky. When he held her gaze, Harlow’s cheeks turned pink and she looked down at her skirt. No longer holding each other’s gaze, the half-angel took the opportunity to look at Harlow more carefully.

She was a small human; shorter and slimmer than Jack was. Her hair was a deep, dark brown—almost black—and hung far past her shoulder blades in a natural way. There were some pins stuck in the thick waves, and Jack could smell something vaguely chemical from her hair; Harlow apparently wanted to tame her brunette mane with product and pins. He had an inkling that it would look much nicer if she had left it in its natural state. She was dressed quite formally in a black skirt, a white collared shirt under a black sweater, sheer black tights, and black shoes that were probably once shiny, but stomping through the woods had made them less so.

Harlow looked up at Jack again.

He had been caught staring, felt an uncomfortable heat creek up is cheeks, and he pursed his lips whist trying to smile. While Harlow’s irises were a warm whisky brown, her eyes were red and puffy. He recalled the sobs he heard earlier. “Why were you crying?”

She looked down at her hands, picking at the pale purple varnish on her fingernails. Harlow’s gaze flickered to Jack, and a smile tugged at her lips briefly. She sniffled. “You can sit down, you know. Don’t have to stand around like scarecrow.”

Although he didn’t completely understand what he meant, Jack sat on the steps next to the human girl. He was significantly taller than Harlow even while sitting; the top of her head was level with his shoulder.

Neither spoke as Jack settled on the squeaky step and the silence continued for a while after. He supposed that she would speak when she was ready, so he admired the woods while he waited.

“I came here from my brother’s funeral,” Harlow said, seeming to answer Jack’s question. She began picking at her nail polish more aggressively. “We were really close…He was my best friend, really. I’m having a hard time trying to imagine my life without him.”

“I’m sorry.” Jack parroted the words she’d said earlier, but with the same sympathy and earnestness she had.

Harlow let out a gross sniffle, wiped her nose and mouth with her sleeve and shrugged. “He’s with our dad now, I guess…Better him be there with him than here with our mom.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked, both curious and confused by her words. Even if Harlow’s brother was in Heaven, how was it preferable to remaining living?

“My mom is very religious, and Beau, my brother, was gay,” Harlow mumbled, glancing to Jack, who still had a confused look on his face. She managed a small smile of amusement and let out a chuckle. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about being sheltered, were you?”

Jack’s cheeks turned pink, and he looked at his lap with a closed lipped, embarrassed smile.

“Beau was homosexual. He liked boys, not girls. Romantic-liking, you know?” Harlow explained briefly, then trailed off. She sighed heavily. “Beau liked boys and not girls like my mom said he should…He liked boys, and my mom just hated him for it.”

Jack nodded slowly as he absorbed and processed the information. “What does your mother’s religious beliefs have to do with her hating your brother for being gay?”

“Oh, I am not the right person to ask about that.” Harlow had a wry, bright smile on her face. “I’m an atheist.”

She preemptively answered the question she just knew Jack would ask. “I don’t believe in it—Religion, I mean. None of them. I don’t think there’s any higher power out there with some master plan for everyone.”

Before he could stop himself, Jack blurted out a question. “What about angels?”

Harlow shrugged. “I believe in what I can see, and I’ve never seen a guy in a white robe with a halo and fluffy wings.”

Jack remained quiet. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Harlow’s words; she didn’t believe in half of him. But, she also didn’t know she didn’t believe in half of him. As far as she was concerned, Jack was as human as she was. Suddenly, the Nephilim had an illuminating thought. With her, he could be human. They could have a human, uncomplicated, natural friendship. No angels or demons, no angel blades—It was very hard for Jack not to smile at the idea; a normal friendship.

The human girl had nearly removed all the nail polish on her right hand, so she turned to her tights, beginning to pick at the thin strands. Quickly, there was a large run over the left knee. “She said it was good he was dead.”

The half-angel’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“At Beau’s wake…People get up and say all sorts of nice things, you know? Well, everyone had great things to say about him. He was really smart, played football in school, and he volunteered at the animal shelter on the weekends. His football coach talked, most of his teachers, the guy who oversaw his volunteer hours at the shelter, all of his friends—Everyone was crying because he—Beau was so good and he’s gone.” Harlow sniffled, and roughly wiped her hands over her face. “Then dear old mom stood at the podium, and in front of everybody—There had to be a hundred people crammed into that room—She-She says she’s glad Beau is dead and-and now he can’t embarrass our family anymore and that the Devil was whispering in his ear and that he’s-he’s burning in Hell and-and she’s happy about it!”

Jack could only watch helplessly as the human girl dissolve into tears.

Suddenly, the Nephilim felt something rub against his grace. Curious, Jack reached out carefully, and he nearly gasped at what he felt.

He was feeling Harlow’s soul.

Because of the grace he possessed from his angelic side, Jack had the ability to feel people’s souls. He couldn’t naturally feel anything, but because he was tuned into humans in a way that angels were not, if he focused hard enough, or a person was feeling hard enough, flickers of the soul would peek out and his grace could feel it. He spent a lot of time with Sam and Dean, so feeling flickers of their ragged, resilient energy was common for Jack.

That was nothing like Harlow’s soul.

Harlow’s soul was bright; Jack swore it was illuminating her eyes from within her. Her soul was bright, kind, and warm. When his grace brushed up against the aura of Harlow’s soul, he felt like he’d just drank a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day; it warmed him from the inside. Seeing someone with such a pure soul expressing such utter sadness broke his heart. This wasn’t a flicker like Jack had felt before, this was like Harlow’s soul was exploding from her petite body and his grace was just standing in the way.

“Can I hug you?”

Still crying, Harlow looked at him. She was a bit surprised, but nodded slowly. She turned a bit to face Jack and leaned her body towards his until her forehead was resting on his shoulder. Jack wrapped both arms around Harlow, carful not to squeeze too hard. She didn’t wrap her arms around him in return like he expected. He was about to let her go, but the comfort and thankfulness that bled through her soul and into Jack’s grace prompted him to hang on. He moved his thumb up and down over Harlow’s sweater-clad arm. He’d seen couples embrace on TV in a similar way; he copied them farther by gently resting his chin on the crown of the human girl’s head. Harlow eventually embraced him back, her hands coming to rest on his sides, under his jacket. The heat from her palm seeped through the white t-shirt he wore.

As if the universe knew what needed to happen, when Harlow’s hand touched Jack, only a thin layer of cotton between them, the Nephilim felt her soul more intensely than anything he’d ever experienced. It was like her hand touched his grace, not him, and the contact made Jack shiver in an unfamiliar way. He hugged Harlow closer in response, his eyes closing and brows furrowing as the feeling consumed him. The power he struggled to contain and control was calm. He no longer felt like a glass bottle struggling to keep the cork from bursting out the neck, or that there was an inner battle raging inside him with each side urging him to make a good or bad choice. He felt at peace. Harlow’s soul felt warm in comparison to the comfortable temperature of his grace, and he couldn’t recall a moment he felt so normal.

After some time, became used to the feeling and Jack felt like he needed to say something. “I’m sorry what your mother said made you cry.”

The human let out a teary laugh. “You’re a special guy, Jack. Anyone ever tell you that before?”

He nodded in response, his chin moving against her hair. “They have, yes.”

That made Harlow laugh even more, genuine laughter. She leaned back and again wiped her face with her cuff. “I’m sorry to just…To unload all this on you. If you’re walking through the woods alone, you must be going through your own stuff.”

Jack’s brows furrowed as he thought. “I’m not really supposed to tell people about it.”

“I get it,” Harlow sighed softly, very aware that although Jack had dropped one arm, his other remained over her shoulders. She scooted closer to him; the sun we setting and the temperature was dropping, and Jack absolutely radiated warmth. “According to my mom, I’m not supposed to tell anybody that Beau is gay. But it’s not like he kept it a secret, most people knew anyway.”

“If you’re not supposed to talk about it, why’d you tell me?” Jack asked curiously. “If my father told me not to talk about something, I wouldn’t.”

“No, no I get it,” Harlow mumbled, playing with the run in her tights. It spanned her knee and up her thigh. “But sometimes things are just too…They’re just too heavy and you just gotta tell someone.”

Jack nodded, his thumb still moving slowly against Harlow’s shoulder.

“Given all that…I gotta ask that you don’t tell anybody about what I told you.” She seemed ashamed that she had to ask that of him.

“I won’t,” Jack assured her, a closed lipped smile on his face.

Harlow smiled, this time it was playful. “Pinky promise?”

Looking between her face, and the hand held towards him with a pinky finger, with the remains of the light purple varnish around her cuticle, extended from a closed fist. “What’s a pinky promise?”

Harlow smiled softly at his naiveite. “It’s like…It’s like a stronger promise. Just wrap your pinky around mine.”

The Nephilim put his hand out in the same position as Harlow’s and curled his little finger around hers. Jack glanced at her for approval, which was given by way of Harlow’s gentle smile and nodding head. She shook their interlocked fingers once, then let his go. “Congratulations, Jack. You just took part in your first pinky promise.”

Jack responded by grinning wide, making Harlow smile as well. She eventually blushed and ducked her head. “You know, I probably should’a left a while ago…I should technically be at the stupid buffet planned after the wake.”

“Why didn’t you go earlier, then?”

The human girl looked away shyly. “I dunno…I like talking with you…Makes me feel happy, and I’m not happy very often.”

Jack’s grin turned into a softer smile; he was honored Harlow felt that way, but when she said she wasn’t happy very often, his concern grew. He watched Harlow tuck her hair behind her ear; Jack saw four earrings in the revealed ear. Two small gold stars, a small dark blue stone, and at the top curve of her ear, was a small gold hoop. “I’m happy I can make you feel happy.”

Harlow looked Jack in the eye. Her whisky irises were still swimming in red, but were brighter than before. “Good.”

It was quiet for some time after that, both Jack and Harlow feeling comfortable in each other’s silence as they sat on the gazebo steps. The sun was just a sliver on the horizon now, but neither felt the urge to leave right away.

The human was the one to break the silence. “I really should go now.”

“I should return home as well,” Jack admitted.

After taking a second to compose herself, Harlow got up. She let out a little disgruntled sound that Jack found very amusing as she inspected her tights. He stood as well and watched as she took her phone and car keys from the gazebo floor.

“Can I see you again?” Jack asked, smiling hopefully at the human girl.

She shyly smiled back and bit her bottom lip so she didn’t smile. The boy looked like a puppy, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands at his sides, eyes shining and brown hair flopping over his eyes. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that…What’s your number?”

Jack stopped his puppy-like antics, and looked from Harlow with his confused, slightly tilted face. “What number?”

Harlow laughed a little, ducking her head. “You phone number, Jack.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding in understanding. “I don’t have a phone.”

The human girl smiled wider and nodded after a moment of thought. “That actually doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“Can we meet here again? At your gazebo?” Jack looked hopefully to Harlow, and there was no way she was going to find the willpower to deny the sweet boy.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Great! Can you come back tomorrow?” Jack was grinning once again and radiating hope. “Same time?”

Harlow nodded, her cheeks pink, and spoke softly. “Yeah…See ‘ya tomorrow, Jack.”

“See you tomorrow Harlow!” Jack responded enthusiastically.

The Nephilim stood by the gazebo, waving briefly, as the human girl walked away. He stood there until he couldn’t see Harlow’s dark brown hair through the trees anymore. A few minutes later, a vehicle door opened and closed. Jack let out a sigh as the sound of an engine and tires on gravel faded into the distance.

“Hey kid,” Dean greeted, hardly looking up from the book open before him. “How was your walk?”

“Very nice,” Jack answered, trying to suppress his smile. “I’m going on another one tomorrow.”

Worth continuing?

#jack kline #jack kline x oc #fem!oc #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #SPN #team free will 2.0 #alex calvert #supernatural one shot #jack kline oneshot #nephilim #slight jack kline x oc #jack kline fluff #jack kline x reader

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onthemeander · 6 years ago

Photo

A thousand thanks to Psionicsnow for the prompt. It was fun to write such a soft and subtle story. Very sweet and innocent.

Interested in getting your prompt written? Check me out!

Fresh Cut Grass

Everything hurt. Every organ, muscle, bones, joints, cell, and atom felt like it was smothered in gasoline and set ablaze in a tire fire. Her soul was cracked and broken and shattered and she couldn’t scavenge a single iota of energy to try and collect the shards. Instead, her tears carried them away on a wave of sadness rolling down her cheeks. All of it was let loose, laying across the floors and couch of her apartment as she cried.

Moose laid on her legs, pinning them with his warm wrinkly body while watching her with his watery eyes. She clutched the couch cushion to her chest, curling up as tight as possible without kicking her poor basset hound from his perch. Her eyes were burning and swollen as the tears pooled into a large stain across the cushion. Her sobbing was raw, a baser aching sound from her vocal cords that rang in her ears. The silence of her apartment making every sound amplified.

Suddenly, there was a solid knock at her front door. The sound was paired with a taut but gentle voice calling out her name. Moose sat up, ears perked towards the door, tail wagging and starting to pant in excitement. She heard her neighbor insert his copy of her apartment key into the lock. Tentatively the door opened, just enough for her blonde headed attractive neighbor to pop in. His light blue eyes widened as he slipped in through the threshold. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Steve. I’m… sorry. Please-“ She gasped out, trying to wave him away while rolling to her side, Pressing her face into the back for her couch. She pressed in as close as possible to he back cushions to quiet her sobs. Her door lock clicked into place, his sneakers squeaked as he quickly crossed her wood floors in only four steps. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell the light was dimming around her as his shadow came over her.

The scent of fresh cut grass, leather and musk wafted off of him. It changed the air altogether, making the stale stagnant sadness that clung all of them be washed into a soothing balm. The combination was so comforting that she started to breathe deeply for the first time since she started crying. The iron grip around her lungs slightly loosen, the sudden freedom set its muscles on fire requiring more cooling air to ease the ache.

A large calloused hand was soothing placed atop the crown of her head. A large warm wight that grounded her racing mind. Her head was manipulated, picked up just long enough for the sound of shuffling to happen. After several seconds, he had placed a rather warm and firm pillow under her head. The smell of grass was stronger now but the pillow felt weird. It was just a bit too stiff like there was a firm structure deep within its batting. Confused, she opens one of her eyes just long enough to realize that her pillow was his lap.

Even with the surprise, she couldn’t stop the tears, forced to close them again as another fit of hiccups broke out. Steve just sat there, still and calm, silently running his broad fingers through her tresses. Her hands, which had been cushioning her head, now gripped large chunks of his old t-shirt between her fingers. Time was suspended as they sat there.

Slowly she felt just enough energy come back to here where she could actually form words. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just…” her voice made a disgustingly wet gurgling noise, cut off by a full body sob. She was sure there were large tear stains cross his right pant leg. Steve said nothing, just rubbed circles into her scalp and random shapes into her back. Moose wined either upset by everything or simply hungry.

She was slowly coming down from the terrifying height of her crying. It felt like it took an eternity and all it shoved into a single second. Everything that was wavy and faded began to come back into focus as the tears slowed. her breathing haltingly leveled out allowing her own lungs to reach her nose, no longer having to be shoved through her mouth.

His sweatpants-clad thighs were burningly sturdy under her temple, as a set of rolled electric blankets, soothing the pulsing ache that had made its home there. Though he was dressed from the gym he was freshly washed, smelling of citrus, herbs and earthy woods. Like he took his run through a springtime forest, dashing through citrus trees, sage bushes and the fresh waters of some nirvanic stream. “Do you want to talk about it?” She could feel his stomach expands against the back of her head as he spoke. A sturdy constant rhythm she could align her own erratic sobbing gasps too.

She couldn’t, not right now, maybe when things were not as raw. “No. I’m sorry but not really.” Moose whined at their feet, his stubby wrinkly front feet prompting him up against the cushion seat. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, refusing to look anywhere other than the pattern of the sun streaming through the window panes.

Steve remained quiet, supporting her in so many ways, simply breathing and being there. Stroking random shapes into her scalp with his broad callous fingers, his short nails feeling hypnotically heavenly against her pulsing headache.

Her sleeve was already covered in snot, which made her stomach cramp in embarrassment. Steve either didn’t notice or care as I magically materialized a tissue for her to use. “You must think I am ridiculous.”

“No,” His voice sounding so strong and clear, “we all have our times when we need to let everything go.” He kept handing her tissues not one complaining as her nose loudly honked as she blew it. Finally, the last tears rolled down her check.

Giving one last bone achingly deep sigh she rolled onto her back looking up at his handsome face. His hair was wet, starting to curl in the summer humidity. The light bounced softly off his jawline, freshly shaved and washed. Every bid the perfect all-American man that he was partially famous for. She probably looked a mess next to this Adonis yet the look in his eyes was one of pure reverence.

“Okay, I’m good. I’m sorry but I’m fine,” She said, proud of herself for only sniffing once. He had a soft closed mouth smile for her. “So why did you come over Steve? Did you need something?” Finally getting the energy she sat up, head slightly throbbing at the movement. Moose hopped down, woofing slightly in discontent at being forced to leave his perch. Steve let her sit up but kept close by, constantly keeping contact between them.

“Uhhh… No,” His face became a little ruddy, “actually I heard you from my apartment and was concerned.” She flinched at that, pulling into a tight ball, embarrassed and unable to keep touching him. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I’m sorry you had to come over like that.” He, however, seemed to have other ideas. With a gentle insistence, having her lean against his chest, tucking her head under his jaw. Moose was wagging his tail excitedly looking up at them as she had her head protectively tucked into the neck of the super soldier.

“No, No, it’s okay.” He comforted, voice rumbling so close to her ears. Everything was so close and homey. “I want to make sure you are okay. I want to be there for you when you need someone.” His cologne was centralized right above his collar bone, a buttery warm spiced musk that she could stop from greedily inhaling.

They sat there, simply breathing within each other’s space. The air was heated and electric, sparking all of her nerve endings just being in that place. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into the warmth, which was better than any blanket. She was content, ready to milk the moment and etch the memory into her mind permanently. Just below her palm, she could feel the bold beating of Steve’s heart.

Gently he urged her to turn to look directly at him. His eyes were positively sparkling, the color of a pair of Blue Morpho Butterfly wings with the sun streaming through. Every edge around him was softened, a far cry from the hardened edges sculpted into every soldier and hero’s being. “I care about you, you are special to me.”

“I… I umm… I… same?” Oh god, her heart was shoved so tight in throat she wasn’t able to even phrase a response. I’m sorry just started to pour out of her mouth, her skin burning surely as hot and red as a chili pepper. Steve’s eyebrows rose in an almost comically high pose as he held in a soft laugh. His teeth were white and perfectly aligned, putting Arlington to shame, as he lost out to the urge not to chuckle. His cheeks were red as well, flushed and glowing with so much life.

“May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice husky in it’s whispered tone. Her words were caged like a wild pacing tiger in her throat. She just leaned in, hoping that was yes enough. His hands were enormous, cupping her cheek, and tickling the sensitive skin behind her ear. His aftershave clinging to his freshly shaved face, deep smoky burning that warmed her like the comforting feeling of the first summer campfire with family.

His lips were as bold and gentlemanly as the rest of him. Every touch of their chaste lips was treated like a soft and sacred act. A sentiment left from a bygone era, something to be cherished. He took no advances, treating kissing, not like a lead up to the main event but the main event itself.

The fresh cut grass smell filled every one of her inhales. Sparking memories of rolling down hills as a kid and jumping through sprinklers as they watered lawns. It mixed with the minty taste in her mouth leaving her energized and joyous. She ran her fingers up his arm, tucking them just under the cuff of his t-shirt, feeling the curve of his bulging biceps. He wrapped his large arms around her waist, resting them comfortably just above her hips.

The kisses became shorter, less afraid of them ending all together they simply basked at the moment. They shared soft giggles and gasps between kisses, all the joy, and excitement had to come out in any way possible. There were little moments of teeth clashing together, noses smooshing into each other and complete misses that resulted in lips on chins that made everything even more perfect and real. Movies kisses were so sterile, they didn’t prepare you for the true joy of the little mess ups that made it even more exciting.

Pulling away slowly they relaxed in each other’s space. They were breathing each other’s air and enjoying the look of each other’s flushed face. Steve’s hands stroked along her flanks, tickling ever so slightly. His lips were swollen and pink, becoming even redder as he chewed on it. He seemed almost nervous. All she could do was watch as those perfectly white straight teeth peeked out from his lush lips. Looking up she noticed his cornflower colored eyes pinning her with a determined stare.

“Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?” His voice, usually so bold was reduced to a tender whisper. Her breath caught in her throat, the thudding in her chest increased. He cupped her hands between his own, they almost disappear beneath the wide expanse of his palms. Her cheeks ached with the sudden strain of how wide her smile was. Tears threaten to fall again, but the pain was thankfully not accompanying it this time.

“Yes.”

#marvel #fic commission #captain america #steve rodgers x reader #fanfiction community

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empressofrizalia · 6 years ago

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Mahou Sensei MSPA-tan! Chapter 2: The Kids of Class 413

[Cross posted on AO3. Also, an important note: Alterra Academy standard uniforms are in the popular preppy style most private schools on Earth have. Tops consist of a long sleeve white button-down shirt and a black blazer with the school logo on the left chest side. Troll students have their signs parallel to the logo on the other side. Ties come in candy red for human students while troll students have theirs in whatever blood color they have. Bottoms are either deep grey skirts for girls, or trousers for boys. Socks must be either white or black with tasteful leather shoes. Dress code rules may not be as strict as they are in other academies, but there will be consequences if the uniform gets so modified that it stops being recognizable.]

You twist the knob and push the door open. The sounds of babbling and activity die out in an instant at the sounds of squeaking door hinges take over. You make a careful step past the threshold, unaware of the forty pairs of eyes staring at you or the mischievous giggles directed at you.

As you open the door a little wider to allow the rest of your body to go further, you hear a faint clatter from above that jolts you on alert. The giggles stop and the kids’ amused expressions turn into surprise. You look up to see a chalkboard eraser hovering just a couple of inches away from your head. Ah, the classic chalk duster trap—the ever popular age-old school prank that no one seems to tire of. You fondly regard it as you remember your SUIT days until you realize that the eraser was still suspended in the air above you. You tilt your head slightly just enough to see the bewildered faces of your students staring. Crapbaskets! You must have used majyyk to keep it from landing on you without realizing it. This doesn’t look good. The most fundamental rule of majyyk was that it was forbidden to reveal it in the presence of anyone who isn’t another mage.

You pull the majyyk back and let the eraser fall. However, you were so concentrated on it that you made a momentary oversight of keeping your gaze up on it. As a result, the dusty board writing correction implement lands square on your face and bouncing off to the floor, chalk dust landing delicately on the surface of your wide open eyeballs.

Holy shit! It stings!!

Your hear a loud chorus of laughter as your hands went to your face on reflex to try and get rid of the dust. “My goodness!” You hear Ms. Maryam’s voice through the din.

You manage to wipe most of the chalk dust from your face and make a tentative step forward and trip over an invisible wire. The next thing you know, something falls onto your head with a loud clang and you’re sent tumbling across the floor. Stopping only after hitting the teacher’s desk at the center of the class front. The laughter grows louder. This must be what Ms. Maryam meant when she told you to be careful. You haven’t even done anything, yet here you are on the floor with some metallic object obscuring your head and face filthy with chalk dust. You must be quite a sight right now. How utterly humiliating. You try your best to blink away your tears; you can’t afford to show any kind of weakness, not in front of your students.

A moment later, the metallic object gets lifted off your head. You look up expecting to see Ms. Maryam, but it was someone else instead.

“Are you alright?” A troll girl with a jade colored streak in her long silky black hair asks you with a genuine concern on her face. She kind of reminds you of a mom. “Oh, you’re just a wriggler.”

You hear more laughing, though this time the rest of the class didn’t join. Strange enough, one of the jokers’ laughter sounded a lot like a series of LOLs—like the internet slang.

Your savior turns to the source of the laughter with righteous anger burning in her eyes on your behalf. “Seriously, Kuprum? Folykl? Of all the pranks you two could come up with—a bucket? In class? Really?!”

“Lololol!” A troll boy with four jagged horns and a pair of fuschia goggles strapped over his strange yellow and purple eyes laughs. “Like how were we supposed to know it ain’t some other shitty adult coming in?” His wide smile shows off a set of saw-like teeth.

“Yeah…” says a troll girl with long greasy terribly unkempt hair and two pairs of horns like Kuprum, only hers jag outward instead of inward like his. She’s sitting awfully close to him. “What’s done. . . is done. . .” Her voice sounds ragged. Not the tired kind of ragged, but rather the weak and sick kind of ragged. “Don’t… get your. . . undies. . . in a twist, Bronya. . . That was. . . funny… as hell. . .”

Your savior, now known as Bronya, started to full on berate the prankster duo. While she got busy, another troll kid, a boy wearing a pair of sunglasses and horns like deer antlers, goes to help you get back on your feet.

“Sorry about that,” he says in a cool rather aloof manner. “A lot of these asshats don’t really have anything better to do with their time.”

“Shut up, Dammek! You were in on it a lot of the time!” says a heavyset troll girl sitting next to a long-haired boy with three pointy horns and a mustard yellow coat in lieu of the school blazer. Her figure is impressively muscular, so much that the sleeves that were supposed to conceal her big buff arms were nonexistent; most likely torn off. “This whole schoolfeeder pranking was your idea to begin with!”

“Anyway…” Dammek ignores her. “Think of it as a rite of passage. Of course, none of the schoolfeeders last very long once we’re done with them. Not even the troll adults could handle us.” He says it like it’s some kind of proud accomplishment.

“The trolls here are a bunch of weaklings, including the highbloods,” a girl with curvy notched horns and three eyes agrees while inspecting her nails. “It’s shameful, really. They wouldn’t last one second if this was Alternia.”

“They’d be taken to the culling fields for a little R and R, lol,” says Kuprum. Rest and relaxation? That doesn’t sound so bad.

“Rampage and rending,” he clarifies. You stand corrected.

“Especially that weirdo with the nubby horns and his lame ass talk about equality and shit.” A few other trolls in the class turn to give him the stink eye. “Lololol! So fucking longwinded about it, too. Like, he never shuts up once he got going. He’s as bad as Galekh, but preachier.” A boy with short curly hair, glasses, and Christmas tree-shaped horns scowled and opened his mouth to object, only to be held back by a tired-looking girl with a mug. “Lol! He’s so full of bullshit, I can’t even—Hrk!”

Kuprum gets cut off abruptly and you see Dammek had taken a tight hold of his uniform necktie and began to choke him with it. You stand around in shock. Dammek had gone from your side to choking his classmate in a blink of an eye.

“Take that back, you asshole,” he says, voice dangerously low. But Kuprum was too busy trying not to die to make a proper reply. Next to him, Folykl is trying to separate the two boys as she cussed out at Dammek, but failing due to her measly strength. Another troll with a pair of simple curved horns grabs hold of Dammek from behind to pull him away. No one else tries to get between them. Some seem content, amused even, at watching them try to go for each other’s throat. Others just preferred not to get involved. Bronya has long since retreated to the side. The look on her face tells you that she wants to stop them, but unsure at how to approach.

This is definitely not how you imagined your first class was going to go. You have to stop them. As the teacher, it’s one of your duties to stop your students from killing each other. You take a step and reach out to try and mediate between the two aggressive young trolls.

“Wrigglers, please! This is not the time for fighting!” Ms. Maryam’s cry beats you to the punch. The class grows silent and still at the sight of the adult jadeblood standing in front of the class. She sighed and rubs her temples, trying to soothe away a growing headache. “Please return to your seats at once. Honestly, this is not the way to greet your new schoolfeeder.”

The class lets out a collective “Huh?” then started looking back and forth between her and you.

“So, um…” A girl with wide horns reaching horns that looked like a cow’s and a twig in her mouth raises a hand. “Ms. Maryam, does this mean ya’ll be schoolfeedin’ us from now on?”

“Oh, no,” Ms. Maryam replies. “I’m only here as an escort. Your real schoolfeeder is right here.”

All eyes follow as the only adult in the room gestures to the only human. When you realize all the attention has shifted towards you, you bat away the remaining chalk dust that clung to your hair and clothes before flashing them a friendly smile and wave. Some of the kids grimace at the sight of your filthy face.

Ms. Maryam smiles at you. “Please introduce yourself to the class.” You nod and take your place at the front and center. You tell them your full name and that from today onwards, you’ll be teaching at this school. You’ll be only here for three terms, but it’s nice to meet everyone.

There was a pregnant pause as they all just stared at you after you finished your introductions. All the while you notice that the classroom had a tier-style seating similar to that of an auditorium or a lecture hall where the seats start off from the ground and go higher like a set of stairs. You silently counted five tier rows, split at the middle by a narrow set of actual stairs with two more additional sets at either side for ease of access. Each row comfortably accommodates four troll kids each.

Oh, man. Just look at all those obvious dress code violations. They’re not even trying to be subtle about it. Or maybe they just don’t care.

You consider maybe handing out demerits or detention slips for violating the school standard dress code, but scrap that plan quickly. Doing so wouldn’t endear you much to your students especially since your botched first impression. Ms. Maryam stands a little bit behind you, ready to intervene in case things start going south.

“Hmm hmm…” You hear a faint titter. “Hmhmhmhmhmhmmhmmhwahahahahaah!!” The tittering grew louder until it turned into a full blown laugh.

“Oh how funny this is. How very droll,” said a three-eyed girl in mirthful mockery. “That human is going to be schoolfeeding us?”

“The other human schoolfeeders barely lasted longer than the adult troll schoolfeeders did,” says the boy with the flashlight horns, one arm on the desk, the other supporting his chin in a daydreaming pose. “It’s kinda sad, really. I would have loved to get to know them a little better. Humans are so fascinating and exotic.” He gives you another flirty wink while he gets weird looks from all adjacent classmates. You nearly blanch.

“Hey! How old are you? You don’t look as old as the other schoolfeeders,” asks a shorter troll boy whose fluffy hair obscured his eyes and seems to be holding a hotdog sandwich. Doesn’t this little guy know that eating in class is a no-no?

You answer his question anyway, being mindful to give your age both in years and sweeps. And to make up for your lousy entrance, you also mentioned your university level knowledge in your subject. Nothing like a little bragging ought to nurse your bruised ego, and maybe to make you look a little less lame than usual.

“So you’re in a similar age as us and are officially qualified to professionally teach a class,” a boy with product-infused hair swooping over one side of his face says as he examined you with a scrutinizing gaze from his seat. “I must say, that’s rather impressive, even on Alternia. Though it’s also pretty obvious that the higher-ups of this schoolfeeding facility are getting desperate and running out of ideas.”

“Kinda makes you wonder if this is all for real,” says a girl with hooked horns and dyed blue hair with an undercut, leaning back on her seat with her boot-clad feet on the desk.

“I assure you that Mx. Reader’s credentials are all valid,” says Ms. Maryam. “Remember, they may be the same age as you, but you must treat them with proper respect as an authority figure, understand?” The class answered her with a chorus of varying but unenthusiastic agreement.

“Alright, now that you’re acquainted, I believe it’s time for class.” The adult jade troll turned to you. “You can take it from here, Mx. Reader.” Oh, okay… She turns and exits the room. Great, now you’re all alone and at the mercy of forty unpredictable alien kids.

You nervously make your way behind the teacher’s desk and set and open textbook upon it. You put on your best professional face. You will not be laughed at again; you’ve got to take this seriously. You tell the class to turn to a specific page of their textbooks and go up to the chalkboard to write something. However, it seems that there has been a bit of an oversight on your part.

You’re too short to reach the top of the board.

Your blush as you hear giggles from behind. You don’t blame them—standing on your tiptoes and stretching your arm up in a useless effort must look really funny. But then, out of nowhere, you feel your stomach clench and your feet leave the ground. You go up and up until you make it to the appropriate height you had been aiming for. This isn’t your doing at all. You’d know if you used majyyk to float, but in the few seconds of that moment, it felt like you just stepped into a strong breeze.

You turn your head slightly and take a glance back at the class. You notice flashes of cyan and blue coming from the troll boy with the coat, which turned out to be coming from his eyes. He’s holding up one hand and you could see his fingertips emit similar colored sparks. You realize that this must be the work of psionics. You’ve learned that some trolls, particularly the ones in the burgundy and gold caste, have powerful psychic powers. Now that you think about it, maybe you’re not the only peculiar one in this school after all.

He notices you looking at him and he gives you a thumbs up with his other hand while smiling. You thank him silently and move on with the lesson. Your heart feels lighter at how easy things are going. The troll kids are nice to you so far. Maybe it has something to do with your age like Ms. Maryam said.

However, as with all good things, your revelry comes to an end when pain strikes the back of your head and you start to fall. You cry out, but quickly catch yourself with a quick floatation spell and make a soft landing back on the floor. You look around and back to the class and at the goldblood kid who catches your gaze and shakes his head in adamant denial. By the looks of it, he is just as surprised as you are and it broke his concentration on you which caused your fall. You turn back around to the board, deciding it was for the best to just keep going like nothing happened. . . until it happens again… twice.

You’re hit with such force that your forehead slams on the chalkboard. The giggles resumed. You step away, rubbing your aching forehead.

“Is there something wrong, teacher?” You hear Bronya ask. You tell her that there are things that keep flying at you. She immediately casts an admonishing look at Kuprum and Folykl, who quickly catch on.

“Don’t… look at us…” says Folykl.

“We already did our share of pranks,” Kuprum follows.

Bronya turns away, begrudgingly deeming them honest. She then leans forward on her seat to look at someone at the far end of her row. “Cirava, did you use your psionics against the schoolfeeder?”

Yet another goldblood troll looks her way with a half-lidded neon green eye at the mention of her name. They had short messy hair that stuck out at different directions. Like the other goldbloods, they had four horns—two of which go straight up and curve a little outward near the top and ended in two pointy prongs. A triangular eyepatch hides and injury in their other eye if the prominent gold veins on that side of their face are to be referenced.

They speak in a relaxed almost sleepy tone. “Nah, my dude. My psionics haven’t worked right since I took out my eye.” You look at them, utterly mortified. How and why would anyone mutilate themselves like that was beyond you.

“I see,” Bronya says in understanding. She then turns around to ask the last remaining psionic kid. The short stocky one sitting next to her wasn’t one despite being also goldblooded, guess not all of them can have super cool powers. “Well, Azdaja?”

Azdaja began shaking his head once more. “I didn’t do it. I was helping, remember?”

Bronya furrowed her brow. “Then who did?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Hey! Leave him alone,” the buff-bodied girl next to him shouted. “Daja didn’t do shit wrong! Calm your rumble spheres, fussyfangs!” Bronya turned away with a huff.

“It’s probably Dammek,” said the girl with the dyed hair. “He’s sorta paranoid so he tends to go around testing people.” Dammek glared her way, upset at being downright outed. “He’s was mostly the reason we had gone through several schoolfeeders befo—Ack!” An unknown projectile hits the side of her head and makes her flinch. She glares back at him, baring her sharp teeth.

“You wanna go, Elwurd?” he asks.

You start to get nervous. You’re really not keen on having another fight in your class. And Ms. Maryam isn’t around this time to help you out.

Ding… dong… dong… ding…

Whew! Saved by the bell. Thank gog. You’re not sure how you would have done should things got out of hand.

You check your watch for the time. It’s high noon, which means it’s lunchtime! The kids get up from their seats and start heading for the door as you gather your things from the teacher’s desk.

You notice something on the floor next to your foot. You bend down and pick it up out of curiosity and look at it closely. It was white with brushes of gray and felt rubbery to the touch. It��s an eraser, or a chunk of an eraser broken off from a larger whole. You think back to several minutes ago, put two and two together and grimace. This tiny thing almost gave you a concussion.

“Hello there~” You hear a suave voice coming from nearby. You turn and see one the flashlight-horned troll boy standing in front of you. You wonder if he needs something.

“I can’t help but realize that you might be all alone during this midday meal hour,” he said, sidling up to you and getting a little too close for comfort. “Have you been given a tour of our fine schoolfeeding facility yet? If not, then I’m more than happy to volunteer. I’ve been around for a while and I know every hidden cranny. I can show them to you if you want, and perhaps get to know each other while we’re at it?” Oh gog, this is just like your Japanese animes—except it’s real and not as romantically exciting as you thought it would be!

“Move aside, Troll Romeo!” Flirtyboy let out a grunt when he was shoved away from you. Thank goodness for that.

“Hey teach, you wanna have lunch with us?” Elwurd presence replaces Romeo’s (is that even his real name?) albeit at a more acceptable distance. “I bet you still got no clue where the nutrition block is in this place. Why don’t you come with me and Cirava and we’ll show you?” Cirava waves at you from their spot a foot away.

You take a moment to ponder on her offer. There wasn’t much time for a grand tour when you and Mr. Vantas stepped out of the airport and quickly got marched to your class. You nod. It would be nice to have company. Fortunately, you needn’t worry about any kind of stigma associated with anything beyond the acceptable student-teacher relationship. You may be the teacher, but it doesn’t take away the fact that you and your students are all about the same age.

Elwurd beams. “Cool! Let’s go.” The two troll girls walk with you on both your sides like a pair of bodyguards. Boy, this day just keeps getting better. The day wasn't over yet and you're already making friends with your students. Was it because your'e a teacher? Ah, who cares? You're happy!

You go ahead and take the first to step out of the classroom.

“Ah, Reader! There you are.” You hear Mr. Vantas’ voice call out to you, and sure enough, there he is coming at you down the hall. And he isn’t alone—there’s another adult troll behind him. She was a lady like Ms. Maryam, though younger and a has a little wild look on her. Her hair was long and a little messy, though you could clearly make out her horns that look like cat ears. Her casual business attire has mostly olive colors.

“Welp, it looks like there some important schoolfeeder biz about to go down,” says Elwurd. “Looks like we’re gonna have to cancel our lunch date. Maybe next time.” She gives you finger-guns and a wink before leaving.

“Later!” Cirava bids, following behind Elwurd. You wave them goodbye.

“Reader, would you care to join us for lunch?” Mr. Vantas asks as he and his friend stop to talk to you. “I know you’re young, but we’re still colleagues. Also, Dolorosa insisted that we invite you along in case you have any questions.”

Dolo—who?”

“Oh, sorry. I meant Ms. Maryam.” Isn’t her name ‘Porrim’?

“It’s more of a title. Like mine is ‘Signless’. It’s… a weird troll thing…” Right.

“Wow, is this the wriggler teacher mew told me about?” asks the lady troll, gaping at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, they are,” Mr. Vantas replies. “Also, maybe if you—”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeee! Mew’re so cute!” The lady troll cried while hugging the life out you with your face pressing on to her chest. Did she just use cat puns?

Mr. Vantas gives her a dry look that goes unnoticed. “I can’t believe a tiny kitten like you is a teacher in our school! Oh-em-gee!” Several students lingering the hall watch with amusement as she goes on to pinching and squishing your cheeks in her alien hands like a lump of toy slime.

Uhh…

“Meulin, please stop. You’re embarrassing them,” Mr. Vantas admonishes her. She pouts a little, but does as he says. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes to you on her behalf. You tell him you’re fine. Hopefully the slight swelling of your abused cheeks would go down in time for your next class. And yes, joining them for lunch sounds like a swell idea. You could ask for pointers in teaching.

“That great! Shall we go then?” You nod and take your place between the two adults like you had with Elwurd and Cirava.

Being the big school Alterra Academy is, there’s no doubt that their facilities like the cafeteria would also be big. Though to you, it isn’t such a big deal. The dining hall at SUIT was just as big. The difference between that and the academy cafteria is the contemporary design versus the old ancient castle look. There are kitchen installations lined along two ends of the facility and some stalls that serve all kinds of food, including Alternian fare. You and your colleagues go and order some food and head to the Staff Lounge where all the other teachers and some other members of the school staff congregate on their breaks to escape from the kids and relax for at least an hour everyday.

“It looks like you’re getting along with Class 413,” Mr. Vantas says after sitting down on a cushy chair. Meulin, or Ms. Leijon the Literary Arts teacher as she introduced herself, sat on another next to him. “How was your first class? Was there any trouble?” You have half a mind to tell him all that happened, but you also didn’t want to come off as whining. So you tell him that it was a success and everyone was so well behaved and nice.

“Whoa, really?” he asks. “That’s new. All the other teachers who tried to handle that class usually ran out crying or furious around the first quarter of class time. I even tried, but…”

Ms. Leijon beside him giggles. “He ended up unleashing a vast expletive at the class after half an hour. It was so loud, some teachers poked their heads out of their classrooms to see what was going on--myself included. After that, he walked out and lamented to Dolorosa what he did.”

“Don’t tell him that, Meulin. The last thing I want is to have Reader get a bad impression of me.” S he stuck her tongue out at him in a playful manner. “I still can’t believe I lost my patience so easily. Perhaps my time at the flogging jut has changed me.” His expression turns somber. Ms. Leijon takes one of his hands in hers and give it a gentle reassuring squeeze. Flogging? Was he involved with shady characters who he got on the bad side of?

“No, nothing like that,” Mr. Vantas says. “Though to the Alternian ruling class, I might as well have. Not that it mattered much since I shouldn’t have lived in the first place.”

How come?

Mr. Vantas looks at you square in the eye. “As you may or may not know, the planet Alternia is ruled by the hemospectrum. Those in the warm end scrounge whatever they can to live by while being under the cruel thumb of the blueblood nobility. Though in every generation of trolls laid by the Mother Grub, there’d be outliers—mutants—who don’t belong anywhere in the hemospectrum. I was one such mutant.”

You raise an eyebrow and your eyes dart back and forth between him and Ms. Leijon. Other than the obvious differences between them due to their genders, you don’t really see anything different about Mr. Vantas… unless, he’s got some weird appendage hiding under his clothes.

“I can tell you’re skeptical, and I don’t blame you,” he continues. “Most mutations are often visible like an extra pair of eyes, or limbs, or whatever else that’s atypical of a certain caste. Any troll grub who hatch with such mutations are often culled to keep the gene pool pure. Though there are cases, such as in goldbloods, where mutations are given a free pass as they are deemed useful by the regime. In my case, however, the mutation is in my blood.”

Why? What’s wrong with his blood? Does he have a disease?

Mr. Vantas gave a low chuckle at your assumptions. “No, it has more to do with the color. You see, rather than a deep rust as dictated by the hemospectrum, my blood is a bright crimson like you humans have. Since it was outside the hemospectrum, it marked me as a mutant and therefore have to be culled. It was only through the kindness of the Dolorosa, my jadeblood mother, that my life was spared. However, in doing so, she had to leave the brooding caverns in order to properly care for me. From then on, we lived as nomads—never staying in any place for too long to avoid the risk getting my blood discovered and culled for it by the highbloods. But as I grew older, I became more aware of the cruel and unjust way of life for lowbloods. I thought to myself, there has to be a better way to live—where all would care for one another regardless of blood. Soon, I began having vision of such a life, and started to spread the word. Before long, I gained followers.”

You nodd in understanding as you listen to him relay his life story to you. So it turns out that the Dolorosa, who is Ms. Maryam, adopted and raised Mr. Vantas who grew up to become some kind of activist.

Though his story was compelling, you have a feeling that it wouldn’t have a happy ending.

“And of course, as with all good things in Alternia, it never meant to last or make a difference. To make an already long story short, word got to the highbloods about my ‘radical’ ideals and deemed it a threat to the system, thus I got captured. I was sentenced to death both as a mutant and a rebel, then tied me up on the flogging jut with burning shackles. I was continuously beaten until my so-called heretical blood was let for all to see. As I faded into unconsciousness, my final thought was that it was finally the end for me; I’d die without having realized my dream. However, after what felt like eons, I found myself waking surrounded by friends and family. I thought I had truly died, but the stinging pain of my wounds told me otherwise. Later, I found out that one of my distant followers started a riot that allowed for our escape from the empire in a stolen battleship.”

At that point, a familiar motherly voice decided to chime in to add her bit. “Finding your planet was something that happened by chance,” she says. “We didn’t know where we were going. All that mattered was to get away from the reaches of the Empire as quickly as possible. There were a few hundred of us cramped in a battleship flying through space. By the time we found Earth, we have exhausted most of our rations.” You look up to see Ms. Maryam standing behind your chair. “Once we realized that the blue and green planet ahead of us was capable of sustaining life, we immediately went full speed ahead and soon crashed. Many of us perished, but thanks to the helpful efforts of a certain human, many were also saved. And the rest, as you humans say, is history.”

Okay, the story did have a happy ending after all. Though you were so preoccupied by the story that you didn’t realize when Ms. Maryam arrived. How long has she been there?

“Just enough to hear Kankri tell you about the aftermath of his failed execution,” she replies, moving to take a seat next to you.

“What took mew so long, Dolorosa? Lunch period is halfway over,” asks Ms. Leijon.

Ms. Maryam gave a little sigh. “Well, I went to invite a certain someone to join us while we get properly acquainted with our new teacher,” she looks at you, “but he seemed to be too absorbed in his work to move. He didn’t seem to be interested on meeting them either, so I let him be. It’s quite a shame.”

Welp, that can’t be helped. You know better than to assume that everyone would be excited or curious enough to see a kid teacher. All that’s left to do is enjoy your now cold lunch with your new colleagues.

“Oh, right. I almost forgot,” Mr. Vantas says while he and Ms. Leijon open up theirs. “Say, while we’re at it, how about you tell us more about how your first class went.”

And so you spent the rest of the hour relishing the company of your fellow educators.

EXTRA

ALTERRA ACADEMY CLASS 413 ROSTER

(SPEAKING ROLES ONLY/NO PARTICULAR ORDER)

Student numbers are in accordance to Troll Call order of introduction + Dammek and Xefros

Name: Bronya Ursama

Student #: 32

Blood Color: Jade

Sign: Virus

Extra-curricular/s: Grubsitters Club, Class President (?)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: None

~oOo~

Name: Folykl Darane

Student #: 13

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemittarius

Extra-curricular/s: Pranksters’ Gambit Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Unbuttoned blazer, nonexistent tie, pants rather than skirt, lacking presence of appropriate footwear

Note: Never separate from Kuprum

~oOo~

Name: Kuprum Maxlol

Student #: 14

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemnius

Extra-curricular/s: Prankster’s Gambit Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Unbuttoned blazer, Loose tie, messy untucked shirt

Note: Never separate from Folykl

~oOo~

Name: Dammek ??????

Student #: 1

Blood Color: Bronze

Sign: Taurcer

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Middle School Rock Band (Grubbles)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Inappropriate eyewear

~oOo~

Name: Konyyle Okimaw

Student #: 36

Blood Color: Olive

Sign: Lepia

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra MMA Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Torn off sleeves on both blazer and shirt

~oOo~

Name: Ardata Carmia

Student #: 27

Blood Color: Cerulean

Sign: [Blocked by smudge on page]

Extra-curricular/s: Audio Visual Club, Social Media Streamers Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Cape over uniform

~oOo~

Name: Skylla Koriga

Student #: 12

Blood Color: Bronze

Sign: Taurist

Extra-curricular/s: Agriculture Research Society

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Cowboy boots

~oOo~

Name: Zebruh Codakk

Student #: 34

Blood Color: Indigo

Sign: Sagimino

Extra-curricular/s: Strolling Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Bow tie in place of standard tie, blazer tied around waist, shirt sleeves rolled to elbows

Note: In case of emergency, call the Academy Security Hotline.

~oOo~

Name: Tagora Gorjek

Student #: 26

Blood Color: Teal

Sign: Liga

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Future Business Leaders, Class Treasurer

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Pinstripe pants

Note: If he tries to offer something, politely decline even if in dire need.

~oOo~

Name: ?????? Elwurd

Student #: 21

Blood Color: Cerulean

Sign: Scornius

Extra-curricular/s: Strolling Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Skinny jeans and combat boots under skirt

~oOo~

Name: Cirava Hermod

Student #: 25

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemrius

Extra-curricular/s: Vaporwave Appreciation Society

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Disheveled ‘not even trying’ look, gray leggings, inappropriate footwear

~oOo~

Name: Azdaja Knelax

Student #: 35

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemra

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Anime Afficionados Association (A4)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Mustard yellow overcoat in lieu of school blazer

~oOo~

Name: Diemen Xicali

Student #: 11

Blood Color: Burgundy

Sign: Arrius

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Gastronauts

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: None

ALTERRA ACADEMY FACULTY & STAFF DOSSIER

Name: Meulin “The Disciple” Leijon

Age: 15 solar sweeps/33 years

Blood Color: Olive

Occupation: Signless’ most devoted follower/girlfriend, Academy Literature Teacher

Notes:

-Gratuitous cat puns

-Likes to ship even as an adult

-Furiously studies and compares human and troll literature

#fanfic #hiveswap #friendsim #mspa reader #negima au #troll call #ancestors #beta guardians

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