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castleoikawa · 3 years

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‧₊◜ # breath

↳ ❝ i am so incredibly sorry that i fell in love with you, it was never my intention. ❞

—description you had never meant to fall in love with the king, his fiery temper and cold demeanor would turn anyone away. yet, the childhood memories seemed to stay with you both.

—pairing king katsuki bakugou x castle stable girl reader

—warnings aged up characters, swearing, angst, fluff

—word count 3k

—authors note my first request! i hope that you enjoy this! :D

masterlist | unedited

Your job was rather boring. You would attend the stables, slaving away to maintain the horses for each of the king and his court. Your day would consist of constant heat, moving, and cleaning up only to start again right after.

You seemed to always be moving. You would be on a horse, gliding through the acres of land; or you would be feeding them, grooming them, cleaning their hooves and applying new horseshoes.

Yet, everything seemed to freeze whenever King Katsuki Bakugou would be in your presence. Everything would be in utter standstill. Everything except the beating of your heart that ricocheted against your ribs.

He was an excellent rider; he had to be, being King and all.

While you were a child, Katsuki would sneak into the stables at dusk and steal them for midnight rides. You lived at a small cottage next to the stables, a small shack made of wood and stone behind the castle. So you always noticed when he would appear in the late morning hours with winded hair and flushed cheeks.

Those were the fleeting moments in which you witnessed the true him.

It continued into the preteen years as well. When his parents would tell him to rest in his bedroom, he would run to the stables and steal his gorgeous black horse named Hades and disappear into the night.

You would watch from your window, eyes gazing at the royalty as if he were a rare bird that you were afraid of scaring off.

“You stare a lot.” He caught you once. He was walking back towards the castle, between the stables and your home. You only blinked in response, pretending that you were invisible.

A small interaction that lead to more.

During the day, Katsuki would pretend to be uninterested and unaware of you.

When he would arrive with his parents, the King and Queen, for their midday rides throughout the week, Katsuki would stand with his back straight and hair brushed. He did not even look like the kid you knew, primed and pampered and perfect for his royal status.

He would ride his horse alongside his parents through the trails and gardens.

Yet, at night, he was free.

Katsuki indirectly invited you a copious amount of times to ride with him. He would never say it, but he would motion for you to join or say, “Don’t just stare like you normally do, Stable Girl.”

And you joined. Who were you to deny the request of the prince?

Your horse was much slower than his. He slowed down to match your speed, it was an endearing thing that you knew he did. Though he complained nonetheless, strings of “You are so slow!” and “You must be an idiot to enjoy riding like this.”

When you rode your palomino horse alongside Hades, it was as if you were riding next to the night sky itself. The only indicator that he was still with you was his light hair.

That was a routine for a majority of your childhood. Berated and ignored during the day, and free riders at night.

“The sun is rising.” You warned him one particular night.

The two of you were in the stables, just putting the horses in and petting their noses.

“Let it rise.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. “What are my parents going to do? Fire me?”

It was one time that you genuinely thought that he was handsome. At the age of fourteen, he was confident and bright. And as the sun rose, the golden hue reflected off of his skin as if he owned the sun itself.

“Mom, why does that girl have shit on her?” Katsuki once asked the Queen directly in front of you. The two of you were around the age of seven, perhaps eight.

The Queen only rolled her eyes. “Because that’s what her job is, stupid boy. She works in cleaning up the horse shit.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Katsuki said. You felt anger boil in your chest.

“Continue to use words like that and it will be one of your chores.” The Queen threatened.

He was one of power and authority. Katuski Bakugou was one of strict rules and temper tantrums that left the castle in fear. Because he was to be feared, he could flick his wrist and you would lose your head.

Those moments of childhood were far forgotten. A lost prince replaced by a king.

You should be pissed at the king. For years, you had been a secret. A nightly visitor that shared secrets under the moon. It was as if none of that had happened.

But you knew that he had more responsibilities than some girl who worked in his horse stables. He was to rule his kingdom, marry a wealthy girl from another kingdom to merge powers, and live his life of royalty.

You were to attend to the horses.

“That’s my horse.” Katsuki’s voice echoed through the stables, deep and loud against the near silence.

You realized that it was his horse that you were cleaning. You were too focused on your work to notice.

With the trimmer in your hand, you wiped the mud onto your pants. “If you plan to ride her, it’ll be a couple more minutes. I’m replacing the horseshoes right now.”

“You will make the king wait?” He inquired.

You leaned on the wall from inside of the stable. “I will.”

There was a moment of silence. He stood with his back straight and crown sitting atop his light hair, hands clasped behind his back. His cruel handsomeness peered at you in the afternoon sun.

You knew that you should not talk to him that way, and request instead of demand. You knew that he was debating on whether to hang or burn you for disrespecting him.

But instead, he said, “Carry on then. I will wait.”

You watched him for a couple of extra seconds before returning to your work. He said nothing else as he watched and waited.

He was to be married soon.

There was a three day festival both in the castle and along the streets. The princess is from another kingdom across the lake, and would bring a great deal of trading and business.

The arranged marriage meant that there would be a grand wedding in which everyone may attend, along with a week long festival after. Parties among parties.

And you were still hard at work.

When your parents passed, you were left with the remains with only yourself. An empty house and your single friend was no longer a friend.

You could not help the feeling in the pit of your stomach. One of jealousy and hope all at once.

“What are you doing here?” You looked outside, as if you were being followed and needed to confirm that no one else was around.

Katsuki Bakugou stood at your doorstep in casual clothes and a familiar look in his ruby eyes.

“You will come riding with me.”

“I will, will I?” You sighed. “Katsu-- King Bakugou. I suggest you go back to your castle. You have a princess to love.”

“It was not a request.”

He stepped back, expecting you to follow. You did.

“You did not answer my question, My Lord.” You said as you entered the stables. “What are you doing here?”

“Can you not be a complete idiot for just a second?” He barked, turning to you. “We are going for a ride. Like we used to.”

“I did not think you remembered.” You confessed, not fazed by his anger. He was always like that.

“How would I forget?” Katsuki turned to take his horse. “It was a majority of our childhood, was it not?”

“Didn’t seem like it.” You mumbled, mainly to yourself.

If he heard, he did not acknowledge it.

“Get your horse. Let’s go to the trails.”

You treaded slowly behind him, hesitant and nervous. Perhaps he was planning to kill you for your disrespect. He hadn’t said a word.

“King Bakugou...”

“Katsuki.” He stopped. He looked over at you. “You should know better than that.”

“We are not children any longer.” You said.

“That’s obvious.” His voice was impatient. “But we are in private. You can call me by my name.”

“That is the issue here.” You sat on your horse beside him, glancing at the open field. “We should not be in private.”

When there was no reply, you stole a glance at him. He was absolutely regal despite being in casual clothes. Black shirt and cloth pants almost blending into his horse. His light hair and ruby eyes seem to glow, matching the golden circular crown on his head.

He did not look as he usually did.

“The sun is rising.” His eyes were on the horizon, the darkness being covered in light.

You smiled. For the first time in a long time, you smiled. You thought that you caught a rise in the corners of his lips as well.

“Let it rise.” You said.

And he did smile, a full smile that you hadn’t witnessed since a child.

You knew at once that you were in love. It crushed into your chest as if it were beaten into you. It had always been love. In love with the king, in love with someone to be married, and in love with faded memories.

He came back at nights again. The saying was correct, history repeats itself.

You would run through the trails and the garden and end at the field, one that overlooked a hill of flowers. It was the same flower field you would end up as children.

“Run with me!” Katsuki would cheer, snatching your hand and bringing you into the flowers. Stubby child legs and chubby cheeks.

You would giggle and follow him as you always did, struggling to catch up to the fiery boy. The flowers would bend beneath your feet but neither of you cared.

Cold night winds hit your faces, the mixture of that and laughing leaving you both out of breath and with reddened cheeks.

It seemed like lifetimes ago.

You went to one party. One.

You dressed in the one dress you had, your mother’s dress. She wore it to every formal event that you could remember.

The castle was absolutely stunning, pristine whites and clean floors. Even in your dress and heels, you felt underdressed. You were sure that you smelled of stables and dirt.

“You were not there last night.” A voice said from behind you.

You were talking to one of the cooks, both of you laughing and exchanging jokes about working in the castle. You couldn’t remember the last time you had social interaction this much. It was enlightening.

King Katsuki Bakugou looked more stunning than you could imagine. A red cloak with fur around his shoulders, white and black fitted suit, hair styled to hold his crown in perfection. Rings decorated his fingers and earrings ran along his ears.

He excused the cook from the conversation, leaving the two of you alone in the corner.

“You will draw attention, talking to me in public.” You told him.

He scoffed. “It’s my party. I will draw attention if I speak to anyone.” He paused. “You look different, I almost did not recognize you.”

“It’s because you only ever see me in my work clothes or my pajamas.” You semi joked.

When someone walked by, Katsuki’s voice grew louder. “You don’t smell like shit this time, either. I wonder if you made that dress or found it.”

“Hm.” You glared. “Very performative. Must be easy to keep up the scary King act, huh?”

“You’re being rather informal to me today, especially for someone in public.” He said, but his tone was warning.

“Were you not the one who visits me at night and asks me to be informal?” You asked. “That was embarrassing, what you just did.”

“Oh, suck it up. It can’t be worse than what you do on the daily.” Katsuki’s eyes flicked to yours.

“I would rather clean up horse shit for hours than be berated in front of the castle workers.” You told him, stepping around him to meet with some of the maids.

You ignored the King for days.

It was a rather stupid plan, him being of his position. But you were both petty and angry with him.

For someone who knew you since you were a child, for someone who met you every day, and for someone who you knew to be warm and not cold... he really did have two faces.

“Open this door.” He ordered, voice casting throughout your house from outside of the door.

You flung the door open. “Go by yourself.”

“She lives.” Katsuki didn’t even have his crown on this time, just a shirt and clothes pants. “Come. You’re being stubborn.”

“I’d rather not.” You moved to close the door.

“It is as if you want to piss me off and fire you.”

“Go on and fire me then.” You threatened. “Try to find someone else who would take care of your precious horse as I have. Or meet you in the night as I have. Or...”

Something shut you up. A pressure against your lips forced them closed.

It took you a moment to realize that he was kissing you. Katsuki Bakugou, the King, was kissing you.

You kissed him back.

Falling into patterns, it would seem, was your specialty.

The nightly rides turned into kisses and smiles. The two of you would ride only to stop and end in the grass.

You thought of his wife, of his title. You thought of your job, your title. You thought of everything. Yet every thought would cease when he would grab your face and place a kiss to your lips.

You hated it.

Every time you met in public, he would act as if he knew nothing of you.

One particular morning, he arrived with the newly appointed Queen. His wife.

“It is disgusting here, Katsu.” She complained, lifting her dress to avoid the mud that littered the ground.

“You said that you wanted to learn to ride.” Katsuki said. “I told you to wear pants.”

He turned to you, not looking you in the eye as you brushed your horse.

“Is Maple available to ride?”

Maple. His mother’s old horse, a perfect chocolate brown and very calm.

“She is, and she’s freshly clean.” You said. Your mind flashed with memories of his lips on yours only hours ago. “Maple and Hades, My Lord?”

“Yes.”

You helped them lead the horses out of the stables and watched as he helped his wife onto the horse. She struggled but eventually managed to balance.

“The girl who works in your stables,” She said, though you were right next to her. Like you weren’t a person. “She’s a bit gross, yes?”

“Eh. I’m sure she’s used to it.” Katsuki shrugged.

“I couldn’t imagine living in such conditions.”

There was no defense, no “I’ve been coming through here every day for so long I hadn’t noticed”, nothing but a simple, “Let’s ride. We don’t want to be here all day.”

“These meetings need to end.” You told him. You were at the field, sitting on your separated horses and taking in the silence. “You are the King. You needn’t visit a girl who works in your castle.”

“You’re different.”

“How so?” You offered. “I work in your castle. It is not my job to kiss you, or...”

“Shut up for—”

“I need to say what I need to say.” Your voice was soft. “And I believe that...”

“ —just a moment.” He cut you off. “You are different. You always have been.”

“Is that why you only ever meet me in the dead of night?” You asked. “Or berate me during the day? I am not stopping these meetings and this friendship just to save your reputation in case we get caught. I am stopping them because I cannot take your constant changes.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He rose his voice. He jumped off of his horse only to pace in front. “You simply don’t get it. Of course you wouldn’t.”

“You’re the King, Katsuki.” You said from above him. “I get that you have to—”

“Do the years not mean anything to you?”

“Do they mean anything to you?” You asked. “For years, you didn’t speak to me. Didn’t visit or see me as a person. For years I waited around and wondered about our friendship. And you come back and interrupt it now only to repeat the same things.”

“You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“And you’re a coward.” You spit. “You create false memories with me every single day.”

Katsuki went silent, looking up at you before mounting his horse again.

“I did not mean for this to happen.” He spoke in a single breath. He did not look at you. “I am so incredibly sorry that I fell in love with you, it was never my intention.”

He disappeared back into the trees, as he always did.

please do not copy, repost, or steal anything created and posted by me © castleoikawa 2021

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sams-sass · 4 years

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Always

Summary: You and Sam realize something on a case when you make a bold decision.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Language, mutual pining, fluff

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It all started with a ghoul. A dirty, disgusting, and hungry ghoul. This gross scavenger made you rethink everything about your life. Everything you thought you knew about your heart was about to take a turn that you could have never expected.

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You were on the computer in the library, your shoulders hunched and eyes squinted in concentration. You took a long sip of coffee and tilted your head to the side.

“Hey.” Dean said, walking into the library. His hair was spiked in different directions and he was wearing his robe.

“Hey, I think I found something.” You said, blinking up at him.

“Finally, I gotta get out of this damn bunker.” Dean leaned over your left shoulder. He smelt like coffee, stale whiskey, and mint toothpaste.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t know what it is though, I’m not even sure if it’s a case.” You turned your head to look at his face that was about five inches from yours.

“Well, if it’s not, it will still be a reason to get out for a bit.” He slapped the table slightly and smiled down at you before walking into his room, passing Sam in the hallway.

“Hey.” Sam greeted his brother.

“Hey, go talk to Y/N, she thinks she’s got a case. I’m going to go pack.” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam walked out into the library and saw you sitting at the library table. You were moving your head and grabbing your shoulder. This always happened. You always concentrated too hard and scrunched your shoulders around your ears for hours. Your shoulders were sore for days afterward and it never failed to make Sam giggle. He ran his fingers through his hair and walked over to you, placing a hand on your back. Sam thought of you as one of his best friends. Someone he could talk to about anything. Who he could always rely on. You looked up and smiled at him. Sam didn’t understand the way his stomach flipped at the sight of your smile, there were times when he was almost halted by you. You were his friend, but he was a man and you were striking. He just chalked it up to loneliness and the fact that no one could deny your beauty.

“Found us a case, I think. I gotta get out of this freaking bunker.” You swung your head back, looking directly into Sam’s eyes and stopped in your tracks. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest and you tried to laugh it off, too much coffee. Sam was your best friend. He was someone you could always count on, no matter the situation. However, you were a woman and he was a freaking god so it was hard to ignore that from time to time. You licked your lips and cleared your throat, running your fingers over your hair. Calm down, Y/N, its just Sam. Get it together.

“Where?” He leaned down and just like his brother looked over your shoulder at the computer. He smelled like orange peel, spices, and the earth. Your eyes closed at the warm and familiar smell surrounding you. He smells so good. STOP. God, I need to get laid.

“Iowa.” You pointed to a section of the article that seemed off to you. “People are going missing for a few days and them appearing again as if nothing happened. They seem to live their normal life and then they disappear again, odd right?” You put your elbow on the table and leaned your head on your hand.

“Definitely odd, could be something.” Sam nodded and placed his hand on your back again, looking down at you. His skin is so warm…QUIT IT.

“I’m gonna go pack.” You stood up kind of abruptly and walked toward your room, your brow furrowed in confusion. Your face felt warm and your breathing was quick in your chest. You shook your head and got to work packing your bag.

Fifteen minuets later you all climbed into the impala and took off. The heat from the sun was pouring into the backseat and you felt sweat sitting on your lower back. You sat up and removed your jacket, rolling your head around from your sore shoulders. Sam caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to watch you take your jacket off. You reached up and moved your hair out of your face before leaning back against the seat. Sam had seen you in stages of undress before, you were hunters and things happen. Sometimes clothes needed to be stripped in order to fix wounds or press against others wounds. Something felt different here, he had never felt pulled to you like his was now. God, she’s fucking perfect. Nope, don’t entertain that thought. Sam turned back in his seat and pulled lightly on his collar, suddenly feeling constricted in his clothes. You leaned your elbows on the seat and poked your head between the two of them, telling Dean that you were hungry. Sam caught your sent in his nose, his eyes closing and his heart racing. If she smells that good, I wonder what she tastes like. NO. STOP. She’s your friend, quit being weird.

The three of you arrived at the town and began to canvas the people who were reported missing. You were all sitting in the impala again on a stake out. You were in the backseat, propped against the door. Your feet tapping to the soft music Dean was playing. You yawned and moved your sore shoulders again, inching towards the window. You saw movement and hit the seat lightly, getting the boys attention. They both looked and saw him in the house. The guy you had been watching, Eric, walked out the front door and headed on foot towards the town. You all got out of the impala and went to the trunk. Grabbing guns, knives, holy water. Everything really. Armed and ready you all followed him through town. He snuck into the graveyard on the other side of town, looking over his shoulder the whole time. Dean went in first with you and Sam closely behind him. Eric walked into one of the old mausoleums, as he walked in you noticed blood on his hand. The three of you all exchanged a look and leaned against the walls, looking in through the small windows. Eric’s footsteps echoed throughout the cement tomb. He grabbed the casket laying in the open, as if it was just placed there. He opened it with ease. Inside lay…Eric. Your eyebrows knitted together on your forehead and you glanced back at Sam. He looked at you with the same confusion on his face. His eyes really have so many colors in them…Jesus Y/N, focus! His eyes shifted from yours to behind you and widened. His arms circled your waist and he pulled you into him as he fell to the ground. You were now sitting in his lap on the cold dirt. His body was so firm and warm, wrapping you into him like your favorite blanket. Dean was next to him, crouched and waiting.

“What happened?” You whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear your heart beating out of your chest.

“Someone else is here.” Dean whispered back, his fingers splaying against the cold concrete of the tomb. Sam moved slightly and it took everything in you not to press your body harder against his. What is happening? This is Sam for christ sake. Salad eating, nerdy, book loving Sam. This tension was building and it was really starting to distract you.

Having you against him like that was too much for Sam, he couldn’t handle the way you were making him feel. Your warm and soft body pressed against his was like adding fuel to an already burning fire. When you landed on him all he could do was go completely stiff against you. The smell of your hair. The feeling of your breath on his skin. The way you melted into him. You are on a case, Sam, start using your brain. But my god does she feel good. I could lose myself in her.

“There’s two of them. Whatever they are.” Dean was the only one still paying attention to the case. He stood up taller and chanced another look in the mausoleum. His face turned to one of disgust and he crouched back down next to you.

“What?” You and Sam said at the same time.

“Ghouls, they are having dinner right now.” Dean scrunched his face and shook his head, trying to get the image out.

“Gross.” You agreed with Dean.

“Alright, you guys take Eric. I’ll follow the other one.” Dean instructed, flicking his head. You all stood and followed them after they were done…eating. Eric surprised you and Sam by walking into the woods. You followed him, frequently exchanging looks of confusion. He went into a small and worn down shack after about a mile. You and Sam crouched down against the side of the house and listened closely. You wanted to see if this was a trap or not. You pressed your ear to the side of the house and closed your eyes, listening for anything suspicious. Hearing just footsteps and seeing a flashlight through the window you and Sam decided to go in, guns ready. You moved together towards the door and watched each other as you moved. You entered the house and Eric, or the ghoul pretending to be Eric, turned around with a wide grin. He charged at you and Sam, fists flying and guns blazing. He took a hard swing at you. You fell to the ground, your head hitting the rotting wood with force. Sam landed a gut punch to his left side. You gathered yourself to your feet and staggered slightly, gaining your balance. You aimed your gun and found Sam’s eyes in the darkness. He nodded and grabbed the ghoul, throwing him down so you could shoot. Bullet straight to the heart. He went down quick. Sam helped you move the body into a closet and that’s when you heard the knocking.

“Police, open up!” A man screamed from right outside the door. Trapped. Sam kicked the ghouls foot in and closed the door, turning towards you.

“Run.” He said, practically pushing you. You weren’t going to let him take all the blame for this. You acted completely on instinct then. You reached forward and unbuttoned Sam’s shirt before reaching up and messing up his hair. Then you reached down and unbuttoned your own shirt. Sam was staring at you with wide and confused eyes, trying to keep his eyes off your unbuttoned shirt. You heard the door bang in its frame. They were kicking it down to get inside. Now or never, Y/N. You grabbed Sam’s collar and pulled him towards you. You pressed your lips against his as the banging against the door got louder.

Your lips hit his and the warmth quickly spread throughout Sam, his blood running hotter in his veins. The world dropped from around him and all he could feel, taste, smell, or see was you. His fingers ran through your hair, twisting some strands between his fingers. In that moment he knew. He knew you were the only thing he could ever want. You were the only thing he was going to crave for the rest of his life. You were like the rays of sun shining through the branches of a tree on a warm spring day. Welcoming, warm, fresh, and peaceful. You were like the lyrics to his favorite song. Learned and known, but holding a special place in his heart. She tastes better than I thought she would. Sam’s arms lifted you to him, bringing you as close as you could possibly be.

The door slammed open, hitting the wall. Lights flashed on you and Sam.

“Freeze!” They screamed, their voices deep and authoritarian. You and Sam broke apart. Your hair a mess, your lips puffy and red as your heart pounded in your chest. Your breath was coming in large and heavy, your chest rising and falling quickly. You tried to focus back on reality. Sam let you down and put his hands up. The cops looked at both of you and then exchanged glances with each other. They lowered their weapons and held in their smiles.

“Sorry.” You spoke, your voice was breathy and low.

“Alright, get outta here.” The cop said, waving his hand out the door. You and Sam made your way back into the woods while you buttoned up your shirt. “Go find somewhere else to fool around.”

The two of you took off, walking quickly and then into full out running. Sam called Dean and he had the impala waiting at the edge of the woods for you to jump into. You and Sam quickly got into the car with heavy breaths and beating hearts, Dean took off quickly.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“I think the ghoul tried to set us up by calling the cops.” Sam said, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“How did you get away?” Dean asked, his face one of confusion.

“We uh, we hid the body so there was no reason for them to look into it any further.” Sam said quickly, his eyes watching Dean’s reaction.

“Really? Huh.” Was all Dean said back. He leaned forward and turned the music up, hitting the gas peddle harder. The car ride was quiet and tense. You could feel the waves coming off of Sam as you looked at the back of his head. He barely moved the entire car ride. You knew you should feel exhausted, but your heart and mind were racing too fast. That kiss was more than you could have ever thought. It was hot and passionate. Full of emotions and lust. There was no denying it: you couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted him. Wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything in your life. His hands on your skin were like waves crashing on a shoreline. He felt like wind whispering through the trees on a crisp fall day. Awakening something buried deep inside you. As soon as your lips had touched his, you knew. You knew he was going to be the one thing you put above all else. I’m in love with him, always have been.

You made it back to the bunker around 2am. You all filed into your rooms, with closed doors and shut off lights. You were laying in bed, willing sleep to take you in its peaceful embrace. There was nothing. You couldn’t stop thinking about Sam, pining for him in the stillness of night. You rolled over and let out a long and defeated sigh. You decided to stop fighting it and got up. You pulled on a flannel that you stole from Sam about a year ago now and played with the fabric between your fingers. You closed your eyes and smiled to yourself, feeling him all around you. You left your room, making your way through the quiet halls of the bunker. The library was always a place you found calming and serene. You found your favorite book and began to read.

Sam couldn’t sleep, his mind was too busy with thoughts of you. The way you felt against him. Your warm and intoxicating scent. How it had filled him completely. He wanted to sleep, could feel the ache in his bones, but he couldn’t stop you from dancing through his mind. It was here in the bed that he realized how he had felt about you all these years. You were his. Everything about you filled everything in him. He realized now that he didn’t just want to spend the peaceful times with you. You were his peace. You were his happiness. His heart rate quickened at his realization. I’m in love with her, always have been. Sam moved from his bed and wandered into the cold halls of the bunker. He knew the library was your safe place. A place you felt peace and tranquility. That’s where he found you. His heart stopped at the sight of you. He let out a breath and licked his lips, his eyes never leaving you. You were laying on top of the table on your stomach. Your arms bent and resting on your elbows, your head in your hands. You were wearing one of Sam’s shirts and a par of socks. Your knees were bent, putting your feet in the air, swaying back and forth slightly. Your eyes scanned the pages of a book. He wondered if you thought about him. God, she’s absolutely amazing.

“Hey.” His voice broke the silence. You looked up from your book and swallowed thickly. Your stomach flipped in your abdomen and you thought your heart was going to pump out of your chest.

“Hey.” You practically whispered back. Your voice felt caught in your throat.

“So, I have been thinking a lot about that kiss.” He said, his feet bringing him closer to you. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. What the hell am I going to do now? Just talk, Y/N, just say anything.

“What about it?” Your body moved into a sitting position on the table, your legs folding under you. Sam watched you move and felt himself stiffen. What the hell do I say back to that? Should I ask her why she did it or should I just tell her I liked it? Shit. Shit. Shit. Ok, moment of truth.

“Well, about how much I liked it.” Sam said, his body pressing against the table. His eyes were staring into yours with a look you had never seen before. Oh, I am in for it now. I am going to die right here on this table. No, I am going to answer him. Wait. What did he say again? Crap. Do something, Y/N! Just kiss him.

That’s exactly what you did. For the second time that night you pulled him to you. Your lips pressing against his. His hands ran over your skin, grabbing and squeezing at your soft flesh. He grabbed your hips and yanked you to the edge of the table. His hips moving between yours as his hands ran over your back. You moaned into his mouth and opened for him, letting his tongue explore you. Kissing him was like that drop on a roller coaster. There was that feeling of nervous energy as you hit the highest point and then the total euphoria as you fell, picking up speed as you went. Sam couldn’t stop, you were like an 80 degree day in February; unexpected and exciting. Your skin on his was sending a fire through his blood. He couldn’t control how you made him feel. The two of you together were tidal wave, crashing through his mind and making him forget everything he knew.

I love her so fucking much.

I love him so much, holy shit. Its like he was made for me.

There was no stopping the two of you. You conquered together, always by each other’s sides. You were his and he was yours, completely. He was there on the nights where it seemed like all lights had gone out and hope was fading. You were there on the days of calm, when the world was still. You celebrated together and fell hard together, experiencing life as one. You were in love and had always been.

Tags: @watermelonlipstick @virtualheaderssupernaturalnerd @wnchetrs @lukawats

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years

Text

'Confrontation' : New chapter for "Always for the greater cause..." is out !

Chapter Summary: The end of the mission put Bell in a wounded state after getting shot at her right shoulder, worries are made from some as a confrontation with someone needs to be done for Stitch...

To read it on AO3, click here!

Taglist: @snowgoldwaylon , @clxudtea , @efingart

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26th February 1981, 22h45

Freya 'Wraith' Helvig, Ex-NIS, Perseus

In a car, on her way to the extraction point, 5 km north of Colorado Springs

The moment when I heard through the radios the alarm of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex and told the two to escape, I had to shut off the communications between us as I was forced to leave the shack, the US Army having sent some patrols around the base and having killed one of those before I left the place to go join the extraction point where Stitch & Jackal were waiting for them & me.

Having nothing to hear in my ear from their side was giving me chills and fears: what if they can't escape? What if she dies while Naga lives? Not only I was scared about her but also that we were going to lose our only chance to get the upper hand on having Greenlight in our hands, she was our only chance to succeed. For me, she was important to live for many reasons that I couldn't explain but...I just can't bring myself to say that we're fearing losing her.

It was unneeded stress I was giving to myself on the drive to the extraction point but it was going up, trying to stay calm on my seat as my hands were firmly holding the steering wheel as if I wanted to break it in half with them, the anxiety rising inside of me and it wasn't normal for me to feel that...it wasn't normal. When I engaged myself on the dirt road that was leading to the back of an old abandoned gas station, scare took over me when I only saw Stitch & Jackal, waiting near a car alone without any signs of Bell & Naga.

"Where are they?" I directly started as I stopped the car near them, not letting Stitch speak first, him going to open his lips to talk.

"I thought that you will be the one to told us that," He protested, shrugging at me while I was unbuckling my seatbelt, my window already opened before I came here. "You're the one that led the communications, not us," He added.

"I lost that when an armed patrol found the shack I was hiding in," I exclaimed, getting my left hand on the door to open it, grabbing my AMP-63 on the seat at my right before going out of the car. "Got them good but since, I had to left to get here, they were sending reinforcements," I continued, stepping outside as I put the AMP-63 inside my jacket, keeping it with me.

"When was the last thing you heard from them before you lost contact?" Stitch asked me.

"The base's alarm went off, I just told them to run, and then, nothing more," I replied, my eyes looking at the radio equipment that was on the backseat through the windows of the car. "I heard them talking about something linking Aldrich to the Numbers program," I revealed, trying to figure out at this moment what I heard exactly.

"Aldrich & the numbers program?" Stitch mumbled, crossing his arms as he was looking at Jackal, leaned against the car with a pair of binoculars in his hands. "Why would Aldrich be linked to that?"

"Do you really think I have the answer?" I told him as I was in the same feeling as him, trying to understand that whole situation. "Something is off with Aldrich by hearing this,"

"Always been like a typical American," Jackal spoke up, looking at me and seeing his eyes through his red mask. "Hiding things from us, that's their specialty, right?" He said, gesturing that coming from our CIA insider, it should be normal to see that.

"Not with him," Stitch muttered, shaking his head as he was focused on looking at the horizon before I see him narrow his eyes towards it. "Seems that the army is mobilizing, here's a lonely APC coming," He pointed out to us, Jackal getting to look with his binoculars as I was seeing a desert camouflaged American APC coming on the main road and near the gas station.

"That's...that's Naga!" Jackal said in a surprised voice, prompting me to walk to him and ask for his binoculars that he gladly accept to give me after I had to friendly nudge him for that.

"Yes, he's the one driving," I confirmed, a little smile coming on my face before it disappeared very quickly. "Wait, where's Bell? He's looking alone," I demanded even if my question weren't going to be answered by those two as the APC was arriving at the gas station, filled with bullet holes and one of the wheels having a bullet in it. It arrived rapidly near the gas pumps, almost hitting them this close that it could have blown up the place.

"Finally," That was Naga's not sounding so good voice when he opened the hatch at the top of his spot in the APC. "It's about time, I've got a wounded at the back," He revealed, my eyes going wide at hearing this.

"Shit, Bell!" I whispered, walking to reach the back door of the APC, followed by Stitch & Jackal, and thanks to some help from them, I opened the door.

What I saw sent a vision of horror in front of me: Bell was laying down on the metal bench of the right side of the APC, small drops of blood slowly falling on the floor of the APC, having formed a little pool on it as the blood was coming from her right hand and by seeing it, I immediately jumped inside the APC to check Bell, having already been badly bandaged but her eyes were closed.

"She's got a pulse," I declared after putting my fingers on the side of her neck, feeling her heartbeat perfectly but slowly, she was still looking bad in shape.

"I managed to make a stop to a hidden spot to do my best to heal her," Naga admitted as he arrived near Stitch & Jackal behind them. "I did my best with what I got but to fully have her recover, she needs more things, the bullet still in her shoulder," He added, making me look at the bandages on Bell's right shoulder, not looking great at its sight.

"We need to get her back quickly to the safe house," I exclaimed, moving my hands below her to get up from the bench.

"Yes but now, I want to see Aldrich," Naga told us, taking out some files from his jacket and handing them to Stitch. "That fucker lied to us about some important details," He affirmed, me getting out of the APC, holding Bell in my arms as Jackal helped me to get out while Stitch was looking at the files.

"He was involved with the program..." Stitch lowered the first file he was holding in his left hand, not even taking care of the second that he immediately put along with his body slides. "Wraith, you're taking Bell to the safe house, Jackal & Naga, you're with me to check with Aldrich," He ordered, walking behind me as I was going to put Bell on the front passenger seat of the car I'm using.

"And what about the APC?" Jackal asked.

"Do you think I give a fuck about that thing? Let it here," Stitch replied to him in a harsh voice while I was carefully opening the right door of the car with my free hands. "We don't need that and besides....yeah, we don't need that," He repeated two times.

"It's okay, Bell," I whispered to her, making sure to get the seatbelt around her once she was on the passenger seat, keeping her head still before closing the door to get to the other side and drive away from here, back to the safe house.

"Wraith, take the Greenlight file with you, I want to confront Aldrich with the other one with his name on it," Stitch spoke up, getting in front of me to give me the green file with the big 'GREENLIGHT' in red on it and I took it in my hands.

"Let's get this fucker," Naga proclaimed as he moved to reach the other car with Jackal as Stitch followed them, leaving me to get inside on the driver's seat, installing myself well before starting the engine and drive away first from the place, Bell next to me unconscious.

The more I was having my eyes on her, the more I was panicking that she could never open her eyes again, she wasn't properly healed by Naga as the two didn't bring any medkits with them and bandages weren't going to be enough, she was still having a bullet inside of her and the only place we could do that was at the safe house. No one wanted to face her death, not after the success she bring to us with the West-Berlin mission.

She wasn't going to die here in that car while I was staying focused and going faster on the roads to reach our place, her file could matter in minutes, my heart beating faster than before as I was now seeing her, head against the closed window, her eyes fully closed and her face going pale, I needed to be faster with the car if I didn't want to lose our chances to succeed...I was even speaking up to her, saying that everything will be okay and that she couldn't lose hope...everything to keep her still.

After 5 long interminable minutes, I managed to arrive in front of the safehouse, pulling the car right next to the place destined for it before getting out of the car with the file that Stitch gave me inside my red jacket, and then, taking Bell inside my arms to walk towards the garage door of the place.

"Open up, it's Wraith!" I shouted to get myself heard from either Bellamy, Knight, or both of them at the same time, adding three knocks on the garage door. "Open up, dammit!" I yelled again, making my knocks louder than before, and finally, someone reacted by opening the door, seeing Bellamy at the controls panel.

"Shit, what happened?" He asked me.

"At your guess, you're blind or something?" I narrowed my eyes at him, stepping inside the safe house, still carrying Bell's unconscious body in my arms. "Get the infirmary ready, I need to heal her now," I ordered, gesturing with my head at the door near Stitch's desk and just behind the dashboard.

"Understood," Bellamy complied, walking rapidly to reach the door before me, getting it opened before stepping inside to get the lights on and the surgical table ready. "Who tried to heal her? Naga?" He guessed, nodding to him as I put carefully Bell on the table.

"Yes, enough to stop the bleeding but not enough if she wants to live," I replied, removing my hands from Bell after I was done, moving as Bellamy was gathering the necessary tools for me. "I'm healing her and I'll give her the needed dose before putting her on her bed, you prepared the doses for that?"

"Of course, got them ready in here," He responded, pointing for me, the big white closet with a window on its door, with inside of the doses we need to give her daily. "She had her doses for breakfast, noon, and during the dinner,"

"Good," I exclaimed before I looked at Bell, making a sign to Bellamy to remove the bandages from her right shoulder and when he removed them, I could see the bad shapes of her outfit, all bloodied on that part, a bullet hole with blood coming out. "Okay, let's save her," I whispered before starting to move towards the right shoulder...

"Don't worry, Bell, I'll get you out of here,"

-----------------------------------

26th February 1981, 23h07

Vikhor 'Stitch' Kuzmin, Perseus

In a car with "Jackal" & "Naga" for a meeting with Robert Aldrich, 20 km north of Colorado Springs

Once that Wraith left the extraction point to carry Bell back to the safe house and save her, I had to pull a call to Aldrich after the revelations that I saw & learned from Naga, seeing Aldrich's name as the supervisor of the 'numbers program' that managed to fall into the CIA hands just by what I saw on the file but the man himself needed to give us the answers that we're looking for, why did he lie to us about his involvement in that program when the subject was discussed?

Hopefully, I was the one driving the car to get to the meeting point that Aldrich told us, far away from Colorado Springs: first because I was knowing my way around thanks to Aldrich indications of the exact place we're meeting but also because I couldn't let Naga and his anger drive us, knowing that he could make an accident even with us inside the car, Jackal on the backseat and staying calm along with me, not the same thing for Naga.

I'm staying all calm during the drive as Naga was saying profanity against Aldrich before he stops saying it loudly to whisper it between his lips when we were getting closer, the place was looking like an old warehouse and the first thing I saw was Aldrich, smoking under the light near a door to get inside the building and when I stopped the car, Naga didn't take the time that he was already out.

Even if I knew what he was going to do, I didn't stop him, neither did Jackal, stepping out of the car with him with normals means as Naga walked towards Aldrich who threw his cigarette at his feet, Naga having his hands full clenched before he landed a big punch with his right hand on Aldrich's left part of his face, the punch pulling him back against the wall along with Naga's hands putting it on his own too.

"You knew that the CIA was into the Numbers program and didn't tell us!" Naga said, full angry as he was holding Aldrich against the wall with his left arm, his right hand ready for another punch. "What else are you hiding?" He asked. "Maybe I can knock the truth out of you!" He added before the click of a gun was heard...coming from Aldrich.

"You might want to rethink that, Naga," Aldrich advised him in a good & normal voice, Naga looking down to see an M1911 pointed right at his stomach, with Aldrich's finger ready to pull the trigger, causing myself to step in.

"Everybody stand down," I ordered, still near the car before closing my door as Jackal was already near Naga who stepped back as I told them. "That little pissing match isn't going to help us catch Adler," I affirmed, starting to walk towards their direction.

"Why you didn't tell us that you were involved in this?" Jackal spoke up, moving a bit in front of Aldrich and pointing his finger at him.

"He needed us to clean up his mess," Naga suggested, spreading his arms at Jackal, reminding us of the same thing he told us during the drive. "The snake's been lying to us all along," He added, turning around to face Aldrich, who passed his hand below his nose, seeing the bleeding from his nose before pulling his gun back behind him.

"It's not a lie, it's an omission of fact," Aldrich defended him, standing still to us away from the wall.

"That's what you like to do best, isn't it, Aldrich?" Jackal demanded with his muffled voice through his mask. "Manipulate people, tell them your own version of the truth," He continued, giving what Aldrich does the best...lying, cheating, stealing, manipulating...CIA's dirty work...

"There is no truth, only who you choose to believe," Aldrich protested while I was staying silent for the moment, watching the three argue until we can get to the subject. "Stitch knows all about that, don't you, Vikhor?" He exclaimed, hearing my first name making me move to get into the matter now.

"The Numbers Program, what is it doing in the CIA's hands? Tell us everything," I ordered in a clear voice, wanting to know like Naga & Jackal, the truth from him.

"Back in '63, the CIA were hearing rumors about a sleeper agent program that Dragovich created," Aldrich started, everyone staying silent to let him talk, passing his left hand below his nose again. "Langley was convinced that if the rumors were true, they would be facing a lot of problems," He continued, his hands moving along his black jacket to remove the blood of his hands. "So, they decided to launch a secret operation to find that program and steal it, the ultimate plan for them to get the upper hand on the soviets,"

"And what's interesting in it?" Naga demanded, crossing his arms.

"In 1968, Russell Adler became the one supervising his secret operation after his success during the 'Fracture Jaw' mission, knowing of his capacities of making things done," Aldrich replied, his eyes drifting towards me, knowing my hatred for the man. "He became obsessed with having the program in his hands, thinking of using it against the Russian leadership and the soviet population," He added, eyes back on Naga who were still having his hands clenched. "He found it but he's trying to upgrade it for better efficiency against the Reds, more physiological damage, less damage to the infrastructure,"

"Thousands getting to fight against their own and you're talking about fucking infrastructures," Naga rolled his eyes around at this but we all know well that we ain't the one who can't object about the necessity of this

"How's that civilized?" Jackal moved in, putting Naga a bit aside from him. "We're maybe doing this to that...Bell but to thousands of people, that's fucked up," He admitted.

"How long have you been of the CIA having taken over the program?" I asked Aldrich, looking at him with a serious glare that could directly kill him on the spot.

"Well...Adler managed to find it in the old gulag at Vorkuta, been abandoned since that riot in the 60s at the beginning of January," Aldrich responded, looking down at his feet. "I suspected him to be the one to have done it but couldn't confirm it until you brought back those intels from West Berlin," He added, his eyes back at me, his voice getting a bit higher.

"So, there's the old Dragovich program in the CIA hands, and if Adler uses it..." I started, taking two steps towards Aldrich without fully approaching him. "Perseus would be discovered and will become global enemy number one," I resumed, giving Aldrich a serious look.

"We wouldn't have this problem if you have done your job better and killed Adler back in Rebirth Island in 1968," Aldrich said in a raised voice against me and I could have punched him myself from that but I stayed calm as Naga started to move before I stopped him, moving my right hand on his chest, making him stop instantly.

"Careful, Aldrich," I said. "Next time, I might not stop Naga," I warned Aldrich who simply look at us with a determined look as the subject was finally clear for us: Adler has his hands on the Numbers Program while we're trying to have ours on Greenlight. "I'll see you tomorrow at the safe house, we're leaving," I proclaimed, been done in here as I got my hand off Naga, gesturing at him & Jackal to leave.

It's without any words that we go back to the car, Aldrich staying at his spot under the light as we installed ourselves back inside the car, Naga looking rather calm than before and taking back the places we used, and then, I drove off the place with them to get back to the safehouse, a part of the mystery having been discovered and the things we didn't want to hear...been heard, unfortunately...Adler & the Numbers Program...

He will see, one day, what's hell on Earth is...like I did...

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cw #call of duty cold war #cod #cod bell #call of duty #black ops cold war #freya wraith helvig #vikhor stitch kuzmin #fem!bell

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alchemization · 3 years

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“Stretch your legs, Silas.”

Her words still echo in his mind; an open invitation to do what he so often wished he could on any other given day. Yet, it seems as though today was meant to be that day. From the princely comfort of his bed did he rise, scarcely clothed in loose fitting pants and an even more loose nightshirt. The fickle violet flames that denoted Akamoth’s coherency lit up with his awakening, and thus did the apothecary’s compatriot float from its pillow. A scarce whisper was let loose unto the air, breaking the silence that Silas otherwise found comfort in. He sighed, immediately in fact, for it was far too early to endure the moaning and groaning of his friend.

“You have prepared your things, all of them in fact. It is strange, there is much you must carry... How do you plan to do it? Where will we... Ahhh.” Akamoth’s words ebbed away into his realization, that same breath returning once more to lend life to his words again. “You are going to go see her, aren’t you?” The companion questioned, though it seemed more hypothetical than anything else, Akamoth already knew the answer.

A proper rub was given to Silas’ eyes by his own hands, removing any remnants of crust that still encroached upon his vision. With the creaking of the bed left in his wake, he rose and ventured over to the trio of hangers that kept his suit away from everything else in the room. Piece by spotless piece was it adorned, as he replied in earnest to Akamoth. “I am going to see many things, it is not just her. I will likely see the friend we just made last night there, or perhaps we shall make new ones. Why do you fixate upon her and her alone?”

“Because you fixate upon her and her alone, you fool.” Akamoth gloatingly replied, drifting over to the nearby window to peer outside at all those that still patrolled the streets. It was a pitiful sight as they all scrambled to face a threat, one that they should’ve already knew was coming. So easily were Stormwind’s walls infiltrated by the undead, and still they did not close any of the gates leading to the city. It was mind boggling to Akamoth, that much was clear when he scoffed and ventured away before he could be seen.

Silas did not deem Akamoth’s words worthy of a response, as the last piece of his ensemble was placed upon him; his overcoat. A myriad of pockets housed many an important piece that made up the entirety of the apothecary’s utility, he had no intentions to go anywhere without it. In the passing moments of silence that now harbored between them, he did at least mull over Akamoth’s words. He had, by no means, fixated upon her, but business was business, it was only natural that they’d run into one another if they both haunted the same grounds.

Nevertheless, today was the day that he’d travel to Kestramere, to provide aid to those that would have need of him. Be it with potions or otherwise. And as he ventured outside, he realized he’d have to make multiple trips from his room to the horse that he had waiting for him outside. When at last all of his belongings were prepared, and the horse was assuredly not overburdened, he mounted the creature and set out against the warnings of numerous argent crusaders.

Seconds turned to minute, and minutes turned to hours as he made his way through the forest of Elwynn, nary a single soul deeming it fit to question or approach him. Everyone was keeping to themselves now, prioritizing their own safety over any semblance of do-goodery. Even the bandits that often roamed around were quelled, holed up in their shacks of filth and deplorability as they wait for their moment to strike like fleas on a hound’s back.

Trekking into the cursed forest of Duskwood, he wasn’t far away from the Grand Hamlet now known as Darkshire, and it was there that he’d be given a moment of rest surely. Unfortunately for him, such an option would not be something he’d be faced with. The undead that were already present here in the forest were only whipped into a maddened frenzy, in the wake of what had happened. Those that still sought to control the hordes that now roamed from their old haunts, they too were scattered throughout the land, biding their time, harvesting the fresh corpses of anyone that made the mistake of straying too far.

The horse that Silas rode upon began to fret, huffing louder as it neared on the brink of a whinny. Something was upsetting the beast, thus his violet eyes scanned the nearby tree line for anything that might descend upon the unsuspecting lone traveler upon the road; him. When at first a single set of eyes were spotted staring back at him, complete with an unholy glow, he thought that it would be easily dispatched. The reality that dawned upon him came when the strips of sinew hung from their jagged, bloodied maws. A plethora of freshly turned ghouls were now present, teeming just over the small ridge. Up ahead, he spotted the remnants of a caravan, one that was likely meant to bring relief and supplies to those in Darkshire. It was a terrible fate, and it was now one that vexed him.

“Both of you, be ready. We cannot afford to show ourselves yet, we are too close to the border and to the town. Someone will definitely come to help us if we stay, and there are too many to simply hold back as we wait for such.” Silas instructed.

“So you’re going to run.” Akamoth astutely chastised, but remained concealed.

“We’re going to make our way to Kestramere, either with or without this pack chasing us down. If we can get to Kestramere, we can deal with them as we see fit. Any witnesses can be handled accordingly, and if it is not until we see the gates and guardsmen themselves, then so be it. I will not become fodder for the hungering tide this day. I refuse.” Silas replied, his tone holding a semblance of urgency as he snapped his instructions towards Akamoth, and the other entity that still traveled with the two of them.

Off of the beaten path did Silas go, his steed galloping through the trees as the horrible, hideous cries of the living dead chased after him. Their speed wasn’t something to underestimated, and their heckling gargles attracted the attention of others that sought their next meal. More and more of them had begun to chase after the horse itself, Silas was merely just an appetizer to the true course. Thus it was away from Darkshire, and any semblance of civilization that they were led.

Trees blurred past him like reeds of grass to an arrow, steering his horse clear of any terrain too dangerous to go over. He could ear the roar of blood rushing through his ears as his heart pumped with adrenaline, and his breathing grew heavy. “Behind you!” Akamoth hissed, keeping Silas aware of any creature that got too close for their own good.

Backwards did his right hand swing, his head turning just briefly to locate the ghoul that was hounding upon their heels, dirt kicking up into its face from the hooves of the horse that dug into the ground to gain traction. An incantation was spoken aloud, there was no time for secrecy here, nor in this moment. “Nyx vos-internum expul!” A jettison of black magic coalesced shot forth like a miasma at the ghoul, and did nothing outright, but a moment later is when its body violently convulsed. Ribs cracking and decaying organs bursting as it fell to the ground, the entirety of his form becoming twisted and malformed as a virulent curse ate away from the inside out.

There was no time, they would catch up to him eventually, his horse could not run forever. They were close though, Kestramere would not be much farther and it was there that he could obtain the help that he needed. He just had to hold out a bit longer, but already had his horse begun to protest, head shaking in retaliation of the reins that sought to direct the steed. Each breath that the creature sputtered was heavy, heavier than it should’ve been, and it was then that he knew that the beast might not complete the journey.

There it was though, Kestramere, and the guards out front that saw the rapidly approaching rider and the combined force of two packs of ghouls chasing after him, being led directly towards Kestramere. Curses were sputtered and some variation of an alarm was sounded, be it a bell or something else, the guards themselves were brought to bear, and downwards did their pikes prepare themselves to defend Kestramere after the stranger got inside.

With the arrival of their weapons though, Silas’ horse skidded to a halt, or at least attempted to, and with its overworked condition, it was unable to keep itself upright any further and promptly tumbled to the ground. Thus it was into the dirt that the apothecary was cast, mud clinging to his side as he pushed himself up and out of the dirt. Horror struck his face as he looked down at the filth upon him, the sheer audacity that the earth itself had to stain his clothes; HIS CLOTHES. The amethyst gaze lifted to the guards, a piercing glow illuminating his eyes as his attention turned unto the mob of ghouls that were about to descend upon him.

“Vio-igni’axi expul eradi!”

None truly know what happened then, as the two guards that were the lone witnesses refused to speak to anyone about what truly transpired. Though the report they gave to those that would have the authority to know would be told thus: “Whatever it did, whatever -he- did, it wasn’t natural. People shouldn’t be able to do that, they just shouldn’t. He said he was just an apothecary, and that he was here to help, but... But how can help us? Like he helped those ghouls? No... No! Please, I don’t want to be stationed at the gate anymore. Put me on the wall, put me on the latrine, I don’t care, please... Just... And then the words- those words he spoke after it happened. It has shaken my faith, my belief in what I’m doing.. He said - No, -they- said... The voices... There were three voices.”

“Take me to Annalise.” “Take me to Annalise.” “Take me to Annalise.”

( Mentions: @annaliseharlowe )

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retroateez · 4 years

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Prophecy - Chapter Four

okay i’m gonna leave it here for now and post the other four chapters i have in the drafts when i get home from work,,, hope u enjoy!! (pls let me know if u do)

Prophecy Masterlist

wc; 2532

He strolled through the woods calmly, as he did almost everyday. The route was so familiar to him that he could walk the grassy path with his eyes closed. Not that he would do that, of course. It would be foolish, leaving oneself so vulnerable in the open. The tide splashed angrily against the sand a handful of metres away. He sighed deeply; the recent storm had wrecked the forest surrounding his secluded home. He just hoped the natural resources he needed hadn't been destroyed by those dangerous winds. Above him, the usual canopy of green had almost all disappeared, torn away by the harsh hands of the rain. He wrinkled his nose at being so exposed to the sunlight.

Eventually he passed through the alley of trees and stepped out onto the grey beach. Despite the sun, the sand was not glittering as it usually would. The waters were murky, disgruntled from the rage of the storm. His walnut coloured eyes sparkled softly as he surveyed his surroundings. His hair, soft and daffodil hued sat both messily and neat in gentle curls. It parted in the middle, allowing his piercing eyes to glare at people he didn't like.

Which was almost everybody.

Living alone on the outskirts of the most powerful kingdom sounded better than it actually was. He preferred to be alone, that way he could do his work without being distracted. But being a mage was exhausting work, and having someone cook his dinner when he was exhausted would be quite nice. Nevertheless, the magician was disliked purely out of fear. He was powerful. All mages were.

Living inside the kingdom was too risky for both himself and the citizens of the kingdom, so the king gave him a sizable amount of land roughly a mile away from the kingdom walls. He couldn't complain really. The mage's land consisted of mainly woods, which backed out directly onto the coastline. Luckily for him it was dense in herbs and creatures he needed for his work, so it worked out well for him in the end.

That's exactly what he was doing this gloomy morning. The sun was there, but barely. Hidden behind the clouds, clearly the sun was in no mood today. The ocean wasn't particularly happy either, like it had been drinking ale for 3 days straight and was currently trying not to explode from the hangover.

The mage had no idea what that was like.

Squinting at the sand, he began his search. He hated this part of being a mage. Skills in magic often required a basic knowledge in alchemy, and collecting the ingredients was the bane of his existence. Unfortunately for him, the only local source of this particular substance could only be harvested from sand mandrakes. The most annoying little bastards he had ever had the displeasure of coming across. Typical mandrakes were easy enough to come across, as if you accidentally stepped on one during a stroll in the woods they would scream bloody murder and possibly attempt to poison you.

But these ones would bury themselves underneath the sand and wait to attack you on purpose. He hated them.

No, he loathed them.

However, he really did need that specific ingredient, so he took a deep breath, pushed his golden hair back and prepared himself.

Yet, what he discovered on the beach was not what he needed, nor what he had expected.

A body lay, face-down, flat out just beyond the reach of the tide. He could tell by the darkness of the clothing that the person was soaked to the bone. Whether or not they were alive was a different matter, though. He sighed and approached the body cautiously, in case it was some kind of dead-alive, drowned hybrid-thing that would try and bite him when he got a little too close.

"Hello?" he called out quietly. "Are you dead?"

No answer.

"Excuse me," he tried again. "are you sunbathing?"

He rolled the body over so they were laying on their back. The mage inspected the body with his eyes and internally groaned.

Great. A human. A woman too.

He had nothing against women, but it meant that he couldn't just leave her on the beach. It he had found a random man, he probably would have done exactly that. But he was a polite mage, he had manners.

He also didn't want to be charged with murder if the guard patrol found a dead woman close to the mage's home. Most authorities would use anything to throw a magic wielder in jail. The only reason he was able to walk free was that he helped the king at his request. The king had a fascination for magic. The mage felt rather uncomfortable knowing that was the only reason he was alive, but he supposed it was better than being dead.

With a groan, he scooped the woman up into his arms.

"Talk about dead weight, holy shit"

He huffed as he began his hike back to his shack. As he walked, he glanced down at the unconscious figure he was carrying.

Her hair was wild, as if she had been dragged through an entire thicket of bushes a minimum of one hundred times. Her skin was covered in dirt, dried sand and honestly only god knows what else. He could feel her breathing shallowly, so that was a relief. At least now he wouldn't be responsible for her death.

Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks and cursed.

"Fuck sake!" He shot an angry glare at the woman he was carrying. "I didn't get the fucking mandrakes!"

-----

A warm, soothing scent washes over you, and you crack your eyes open the tiniest bit. First, you notice the pounding inside your skull, reasonating like a drum in a huge, empty hall, the bass bouncing off every wall. It's a dull ache but it's there. Your sight is still blurred from sleep, but above you, you can make out something vaguely wooden. Most likely a roof.

A roof?

You're inside?

Forgetting all your pain, you bolt upright, panicked.

"Where am I?" you blurt aloud.

Surveying your surroundings, you realise you're most definitely inside somebodies house. Despite having never been here before, it has a very welcoming feel to it. A lit brick hearth was directly opposite you, exuding a comfortable warmth as the wood inside it crackled. The room you were in was fairly large, with a single window and arrays of plants adorning every surface and crawling up the walls. The room smelt earthy and fresh too, like the roots of the flowers and emerald leaves made up part of the structure of the house itself. You wouldn't be surprised if it did.

Slowly, you pull yourself up off the bed and pace over to the window. The round, oak table just below it is cluttered with petals, pencils and other various objects you couldn't even attempt to identify. Multiple pots line the windowsill, each one filled with flowers the shade of bumblebees. You run your fingers gently over the honey coloured petals, gasping quietly when they radiate a yellow shine onto your hand.

"Ficaria verna," a deep voice startles you from the threshold of the door. "pretty, aren't they?"

You nod silently in response, staring at him blankly.

"Celandine?" He tries again, approaching both you and the flowers carefully. Again, you have zero idea what he was talking about.

With a sharp sigh, he plucks one of the flowers from the cluster of plants and holds it gently underneath your chin. You couldn't see it, but you assume the skin grazing the little yellow bud was glowing gold.

"Buttercups," he murmurs. "if they shine under your chin, that means you like butter"

You nod meekly, deciding that pretending to know what this mysterious man is talking about is the best course of action. Instead, your confused brain has other plans.

"Who are you?" you burst out. "Why am I here?"

His hand falls from your face, discarding the buttercup onto the table and turning back to you with a sour scowl.

"Is that any way to address somebody who just saved your life?" He snaps at you.

"I-" He moves closer to you, forcing you to back up.

"Is that any way to address somebody who welcomed you into his house? Completely ruining his plans for the day?"

You stand frozen, back pressed against the tough wood of the wall. Why was he suddenly being cold towards you? Naturally you wouldn't expect a stranger to be warm and welcoming off the bat but inititally he had seemed quite friendly. Did you annoy him by not knowing about plants? You didn't want to be rude but the average human being didn't possess an extensive knowledge about multitudes of vegetation.

"Human being?" he mused playfully. Your eyebrows shoot up in shock.

Did you say that out loud?

He stares down at you for what seems like millenia, his sandy hair falling forward the slightest bit as he towers over you. His silence is daunting and honestly, you have no idea what to do except just stand there. After all, you're a guest in this unknown person's house. And he did save your life, so the least you could do was just be quiet.

He reclines abruptly and sticks his large, calloused hand out to shake your own. You reciprocate the greeting shyly, your much smaller hand completely engulfed in his. Much like how the ocean totally swallowed you up.

"I'm Yeosang," he smiles. "I found you knocked out on the beach this morning. Any idea how you got there?"

"The storm," you explain. "I got caught in the middle of it and it threw me about like a ragdoll"

Yeosang steps away from you, leaving his bedroom into the main room of his shack and prompting you to follow him with a nod of his head.

The central room to the house is breathtakingly beautiful. Circular in shape, a collosal maple trunk stands proudly in the center, supporting the rest of the building like a pillar. Surrounded by open space and natural light, you have a hard time believing that you hadn't stepped into another dimension. The body of the trunk run straight up through the middle of the room, leaving you wondering where both the base and peak of the maple actually were.

The sunlight filters through the windows and also beams down between the branches of viridescent leaves above you, making you feel like you were in a fairytale. You half expected a fawn to come barrelling through, tripping over his spindly little legs but still determined nonetheless.

Still stood in the threshold of the bedroom, you stand statue-like, gaping at the view.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Yeosang smirks, stirring a pot which sat above a crimson brick stove over to your right. "It requires a lot of maintanance but it's worth it."

"It's so beautiful... It doesn't look real!"

Yeosang ladles the liquid from the pot into some bowls, and walks to the opposite side of the giant maple trunk. He places your bowl on a small, rickety looking table then he sits down in an equally rickety looking chair on the other side.

You politely sit down and eye your meal. You don't want to be picky but... it doesn't look very appetising.

"What-what exactly is this?" You ask in the kindest way possible.

He raises an eyebrow at you from across the table, and you pray to the heavens you haven't royally pissed him off. In a panic, you attempt to change the subject.

"How do you keep everything from burning in here? It's literally all wood! And there's no way it can be so naturally beaut-"

"Magic." Yeosang cuts you off, his voice cold and hard. "I didn't have to bring you back here, you know. I could've left you on the beach to die. I know the mandrakes get hungry quickly this time of year"

You gulp, his gaze on you now dark and polar opposite to the welcoming demeanor he had before.

"But I helped you anyway," he continued. "Better I found you anyway than the Ateez guards, they probably would've killed you right there on the sand."

Is he really this mad over a bowl of (what looks like) soup?

"I'm sorry!" You argue back. You don't really care who this Yeosang thinks he is right now. You have no home, literally nothing to your name and he's being a dick for no reason? This isn't fair.

"I'm sorry for inconvieniencing you by washing up on that beach. Maybe you should've let me die! I don't know who you are or why you're getting angry with me so if you're quite finished, I'd like to leave!"

You glare at each other angrily over the table. The both of you stay silent for a few moments, until Yeosang suddenly starts spooning soup into his mouth. You look at him incredulously; what is with this guys mood?

Deciding to play along and also knowing that if you did leave, you'd have nowhere to go, you also begin sipping the bubbling soup. You discover it is actually very delicious, and now you feel like a fool for insulting both the food and the confusing blonde man who you technically were indebted to now.

"I don't expect anything in return for saving your life," he says matter-of-factly. "I can see that you possess nothing of value to me on your person. However I may be willing to help you out, on a few conditions"

He lays his spoon back in the bowl and folds his arms, leaning back into his chair and waiting for your reply.

"And what are these conditions?" You ask, continuing to eat.

"You help me out when I need it, and I'll let you stay with me. Because you evidently are not from around here, and frankly, going up to the Ateez territory looking like that wouldn't do you any favours"

Offended, you look down at your mud-caked clothes, stiff from being soaked and drying awkwardly on your body. You realise too your hair is a complete wreck, sticking up in so many directions a compass would have a hard time figuring it out. It's matted and clumped together and you already know it'll be painful to fix. So maybe Yeosang does have a point, albeit a rude one.

You ponder his invitation, glancing around his stunning, fairy-tale home. Really, you have no reason to decline; you have no home, no job, and it could be an opportunity for you to start fresh, forget about your past as a lonely thief on the streets.

"Okay," you nod, peering straight into Yeosang's icy blue eyes. "I do what you ask, you let me stay."

He nods back, satisfied.

You finish the remainder of your soup (pottage, he tells you) and you turn to him as he washes the bowls.

"What now?"

He turns to you with a grin, one you haven't seen from him yet and it fills you with dread immediately.

"Fancy a trip to the beach?"

He was definitely going to kill you.

Chapter Five

#ateez #ateez au #medieval!ateez #hongjoong #yeosang #yunho #seonghwa #wooyoung #san #jongho #mingi #im whipped for this yeosang help #i rlly love him

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izanyas · 4 years

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A pov of an omega in wwx’s burial mounds.

i know i said 400 words but just pretend this is 400 words and not 2k

When he still lived within the house of his ancestors, He Xiwang had heard of the forsaken omega of Yiling. The teacher who came once every few days to teach him and the lone other inhabitant of the place informed them, with pinched and pale lips, of the one called Wei Wuxian; he warned them, in words heavy with disgust, that one day the Yiling Patriarch would come fetch them if ever they strayed out of path. Come and take their bodies and their souls.

Be obedient, she would say. Be righteous, or he shall come for you.

But when the Yiling Patriarch did come—when the red oakwood door split in two in the dark of the night, and cool and fresh-smelling air invaded the stuffy space of the shack for the first time since the teacher had last come—He Xiwang had not done anything reprehensible.

“No,” moaned He Xiwang’s housemate as talismans burned over the debris of the door; “Oh, why us, why this!” she cried.

Through the smoke came the silhouette of a tall man; and he stood before them, looking them in the eye and speaking plainly—“My name is Wei Wuxian. I’ve come to offer you a choice.”

He did not cover his nose with a fan or a hand, as their teacher oft did, for He Xiwang was told his scent had become overbearing in the years since his maturity. He stared at the cowering form of He Xiwang’s housemate and then into He Xiwang’s eyes; and the Yiling Patriarch’s eyes were a clear grey, He Xiwang realized; and he was not a man grown wearing a demon’s horns, but a young one, handsome and agreeably-voiced. As young as He Xiwang himself, in fact.

He came not with darkness behind him, but starlight. Sweet and kind starlight pricking the velvet-black sky that He Xiwang saw in full for the first time.

The night and day of travel that He Xiwang spent with guilt and fright burning down in his throat were the longest he ever was in Wei Wuxian’s company. They had left as soon as He Xiwang had nodded his assent, without a word addressed to the other omega of the house who had weeped and weeped until they were too far to hear her. Wei Wuxian never spoke to him then outside of necessity—“Here,” he would murmur as he handed He Xiwang food and bitter-tasting tea to hide his scent; or, “Sleep now, the road will be long tomorrow,” said with eyes averted as he sat by the entrance of a cave they had picked for shelter. His solid back cast a long shadow overground.

He Xiwang wondered, faintly, if Wei Wuxian intended to sleep. But he was too shy and frightened to ask, and too tired as well after the hours of riding. His back and thighs burned with fatigue. He slept over the ground as if cuddled into the sheets of his bed, and when he woke as the sun set, Wei Wuxian had not moved.

Wei Wuxian rose. He folded the cover which He Xiwang had slept in, handed him food again, smothered the small fire he had built for tea.

In the Burial Mounds of Yiling, He Xiwang found not an army of starved corpses, but a village. He found the sharp-scented Wen Qing who introduced herself as omega and put him to work with a stern-faced seamstress. He saw an old woman play with a child in the gentle spring sun, and flowers budding on trees only now recalling how to grow them.

“Can we not leave?” he asked one day after weeks had gone by.

Life here was not unpleasant. The other omega were kind, even Luo Fanghua who said nary a word to anyone. The alpha of the Wen sect kept far from him, although they smiled to him whenever he looked their way, as if they knew very well the embarrassment that being seen by them meant to him. But He Xiwang had long imaged himself free; he had yearned for travel, for the sight of mountains and rivers as he saw them while coming here on horseback, for the sea, even, which he had read about in books.

“Of course,” said Grandmother. Luo Fanghua had only looked at him in mild disdain. “See with maiden Wen, she will provide you with moonless tea. Although A-Yuan will be sad to see you go.”

He Xiwang had to admit that the young Wen Yuan was a cheerful and adorable child, and that he did not mind at all seeing him run around and bothering everyone’s habits. Even now, he napped in Grandmother’s lap, his little face scrunched cutely.

“Whose child is he?” he had asked after the first day. And Grandmother had stroked the sleeping child’s brow in silence with her lips stretched sadly, and Luo Fanghua had put food before He Xiwang with more strength than necessary, and replied, “No one’s.”

“Why do you want to leave?” Luo Fanghua asked sharply.

He Xiwang stilled with his hands in the water.

He was dyeing fabrics with her. She, too, had blue stains over her wrists and forearms, and was sweating a bit under the bright daylight. Luo Fanghua walked with a limp and an ever-creased brow, but she was intimidating. He Xiwang often regretted accepting to share the house she did.

He was more beautiful than her. In fact he was more beautiful than any of them here, he knew, save for one man whose name he did not know, and who slept every night in one of the oldest houses. His marriage prospects had been great when he lived within his sect. If he were to leave now and roam the world, he could find a love like in the stories. He could be accepted again.

Emboldened by the thought of finally sharing the frustration he felt, he told her, “I did not think I was trading one prison for another when I came here. But all of you act like you cannot leave either. You do not even trade yourself with the merchants in the village, maiden Luo.”

Luo Fanghua looked at him as though he were filth beneath her foot. Her lips thinned and whitened, and she squared her skinny shoulders and rose to all of her tall height.

Grandmother laughed suddenly. She called, “Young master, you’re back,” and Luo Fanghua bowed the neck again immediately.

He Xiwang turned to look where Grandmother was looking—Wei Wuxian was approaching, looking more exhausted than the last time He Xiwang had seen him, his black robes stained with dirt from his journey. Behind him, a frightened-looking girl was being led away by Wen Qing.

Wei Wuxian nodded to He Xiwang quickly, to Luo Fanghua as well. He seemed to hesitate when he saw Grandmother and A-Yuan—he greeted her in a soft voice so as not to wake the child, and made as if to leave again, his pale face rendered paler somehow.

“Young master,” Grandmother said before he could. Wei Wuxian’s back tensed. “Little master He says he wishes to leave us.”

He Xiwang blushed harshly, almost spluttering, looking between the old woman and Wei Wuxian in sudden fear. Wei Wuxian did not grow angry, however. He faced He Xiwang with no surprise on his lips or in his eyes—which were a familiar pale grey, He Xiwang thought amidst the embarrassment.

“Do you?” Wei Wuxian asked him directly.

They were the first words he had addressed He Xiwang since breaking down that redwood door and standing, silently, as He Xiwang looked at the stars and cried.

“I—I simply wondered if, if that was a possibility,” He Xiwang stuttered. He had to bite down on the title of master which tried to leave his lips—Wei Wuxian was no master of his. No one was, not anymore. “Of course, if—I mean—I am grateful, I wouldn’t want you to think—”

But his words lost themselves and knocked into each other uselessly. He could feel the weight of Luo Fanghua’s gaze by his side, mocking, judging. She had no need of words to carry over her opinion of him.

Wei Wuxian did not interrupt him. He waited till He Xiwang finally ceased trying to make sense of his own words and looked at the ground between them, his face all hot with blood.

“If you want to leave, you can come with me. Wen Qing will be done showing maiden Yu to her home soon, we can brew the drugs for you and help you pack your things.”

He Xiwang’s heart beat wildly.

Wei Wuxian’s voice—from what little he knew of it—did not sound angered or disappointed. He wore no ill feelings on his sharp face either when He Xiwang looked up, only that same tangible neutrality. Only that look of strength that had made He Xiwang follow him into the night, and that same breadth in his shoulders which had allowed him to sleep through the guilt.

“No need to trouble yourself, young master,” said Grandmother, making Wei Wuxian look at her. “Truly, you are too kind, always insisting to help by yourself.”

“I hardly do anything. You’re the master of this place, Grandmother.”

Grandmother tutted. She frowned at Wei Wuxian, falsely chiding him. “If maiden Wen could hear you, she would have words for you about this, pretending she doesn’t have us all walking to her every order!”

Grandmother laughed at her own words. Several of the omega who had approached when they saw Wei Wuxian stop in his track to converse with them hid giggles behind their hands and sleeves. Luo Fanghua looked at the ground, her mouth twitching, and Wei Wuxian—

Wei Wuxian smiled.

His face loosened suddenly. Tension ebbed out of his brow and chin, and the sternness of him vanished at all once—he had dimples, He Xiwang realized, little creases of skin around his mouth that looked as though a smile were always meant to fit there. He felt the fear in his own chest eke out and be replaced by warmth; and as Wei Wuxian looked at him again with that smile, younger and healthier somehow, He Xiwang wondered distantly that anyone could have looked at him and called him a devil.

It left almost as quick as it had come: Wei Wuxian’s mouth thinned again amidst the still-breathed looks given to him, once more become distant and inscrutable. He Xiwang blinked; sunlight seemed to have dimmed.

“You’re busy now,” Wei Wuxian said to him. “But come see me or Wen Qing when you’re done.”

With great effort, He Xiwang opened his mouth. “I was only thinking of it, I… I haven’t made a decision.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. He turned his back to them, saying, “Take your time, young master He.”

Then he left in direction of his cave, out of which he hardly stepped when he was here and not roaming the lands for omega to free. He Xiwang stared at his back dazedly.

He heard more giggles around him, amused and light-hearted. His head snapped aside to the group: many of them were giving him sly, sympathetic looks or nodding to themselves, and Grandmother was smiling to herself, patting A-Yuan’s head. The child smiled in his sleep. The smooth skin of his cheeks dipped into creases as he did.

“You too, little master He, mmh,” Grandmother said contentedly.

Luo Fanghua plunged her hands back into the dye with more strength than necessary. Her face was red.

#mdzs #fic: and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow #tumblr fic #i'll include this in the next interlude tbh this was a good prompt #anon #answered

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theparanormalperiodical · 4 years

Text

The Conjuring (2013) True Story, And The 13 American Haunted Houses You Need To Know About

It’s been a busy week for haunted houses. And no, I’m not just talking about the popular Halloween activity.

Our favourite festivities often occur in mocked up haunted houses filled with sheets draped in a ghostly shape, ‘actors’ making their afterlife debut as various frightful creatures, and a fistful of sweets at the end of the night.

But it seems America’s obsession with the haunted house is about to take a much more cinematic - and realistic - turn.

Only recently did Ghost Hunting pro, Zak Bagans, continue his documented foray into the paranormal by filming a Halloween special in possibly one of the most haunted houses in the world:

The Perron Family Farmhouse in Rhode Island.

But it wasn’t necessarily the paranormal activity he claimed to have captured that intrigues me - it is what happened after filming ceased.

Following the visit, he claimed he faced 3 weeks of physical illness:

“It took everything out of me. My body isn't functioning right...haunted by something I believe is very ancient.”

The activity he captured features as the first time cameras have been permitted access to the 300 year old property in 15 years - but the haunting of the Perron family has by no means been ignored by popular culture.

One of the most striking horror films in recent years - The Conjuring - is based on the real life investigation conducted by paranormal dream-team Ed and Lorraine Warren.

So, when Zak Bagans followed in their footsteps, it catapulted the haunting back to our TV screens and presented more recent insight into this ever-still-haunted-house.

The activity captured by Bagans included a black mass blocking a window of the house, among other events that will be included in the documentary, of course.

The haunted house obsession don’t stop here, I’m afraid.

The creative minds behind the original film have only in recent days laid claim to a similarly infamous haunted house - the Lalaurie Mansion. They seek to create a similar cinematic feature to that presented in The Conjuring.

But it got me thinking: what was the true story behind The Conjuring?

And are there any other haunted houses in America that feature such #iconic hauntings?

So, in today’s edition of The Paranormal Periodical, I’m going to recap The Conjuring, compare the film to the actual real-life investigation, and take a good ol’ American road trip to the other haunted houses on offer - including the Lalaurie Mansion.

Let’s get spooky!

Here’s A Recap Of The Conjuring

I’m not going to waste my time and recite the complete plot of The Conjuring universe. That will take two days, a bottle of gin, and a therapy session.

Regardless, the original film ties together many of the strands of the total universe, providing the cinematic circle that the horror genre is so famed for.

Basics, a famalam move into a farmhouse. And everything is hunky-dory - until the first morning.

All the clocks have stopped at 3am, and the dog dies.

No, it’s not a good start.

Oh, and the dad finds a bordered up cellar which in all his wisdom he decides to open up again because it’s not like this is a horror film, right?

*Winks at camera*

And the creepy weird child finds an even creepier weird doll by the creepy weird tree which scars the cover photo used for the film!

Couple nights later, and supernatural shizz ensues, but this time spirits are telling the children that they want to kill their family, trapping the mother in the cellar, and physically attacking the living residents.

Following this they decide to be actual intelligent horror movie characters (OMG), and source help from renowned demonologists Ed and Lorraine Warren.

The demonologists investigate, and come to the simple conclusion that their house will need an exorcism.

But first, they need the Catholic Church to give them the thumbs up.

Having slipped into the Vatican’s DMs, they start reading up on the house, only to discover a twisted tale that torments the Perron family.

They trace the house to a woman named Bathsheba Sherman, a satanist/witch/general-demony-thing who is believed to be related to a witch in Salem. Having sacrificed her week old baby to the devil, she hung herself on the tree that figures so prominently in the film.

Oh, and she died at 3am.

But briefly before hanging herself, she cursed all those who would take her land. That explains the high number of murders, suicides and drownings scattered across the land she once owned.

To gather evidence prior to the exorcism, the Warrens and crew in tow (along with a sarky police officer) set up a variety of bells, cameras and other ways to capture evidence of the paranormal.

But when most of the famalam are out for ice cream, Carolyn ends up being fully possessed after Bathsheba vomits blood into her mouth.

I mean, I’d prefer the ice cream.

Paranormal things ensue featuring the past inhabitants who were possessed by Bathsheba.

Carolyn then takes two kids back to the house while in full-possessed-mode, and attempts to kill them in the cellar. She is stopped just in the nick of time (wow, how convenient) and the Warrens then decide that ‘yeah let’s not wait for a priest, let’s exorcise this biatch right meow’.

They then use a combination of sentimental reflection and the extremity of an exorcism to lift Bathsheba’s curse.

There we have it - the cinematic version of events!

Question is: how close is this to the actual events that took place?

The answer: uncomfortably close.

The Real Story Of The Perron Family Farmhouse

It was early January 1971 when the Perron family moved into their 14 room crib. And their new year was about to come in with a bang.

Carolyn, the mother, and Roger, the father, noticed only small things at first.

Maybe the broom would go missing when she wanted to sweep the kitchen floor, or maybe it would move from place to place? Or perhaps something would sound as if it was scraping against the kettle when nothing was there? And sometimes small piles of dirt would be found on the kitchen floor after it was clean...

Yet aside from the domestic-demonic issues, their five daughters witnessed activity that was a smidge more supernatural.

Spirits would be seen around the house, and often were harmless.

However, some were not so forgiving.

Angry spirits were a feature of this farmhouse.

This activity mirrors the beginning of the film, perhaps on a more minimalist level - but a minor difference does strike with the following event:

It’s Carolyn that researches the history of the house, not the Warrens.

But what she discovered sticks close to the basis of the film.

She discovered that the house had been in the same family for no less than 8 generations. Many of them has died in a frightful number of horrible circumstances, from drowning, to murders, to the occasional suicide.

And a woman named Bathsheba features in the history of the actual house.

Bathsheba Sherman lived on the Perron’s property all the way back in the mid 19th century, and she was rumoured to be a satanist.

Among these rumours was one that claimed she was involved in the death of a neighbour’s child; there was even evidence of this!

From here the Perrons determined that the violent spirit was that of Bathsheba.

“Whoever the spirit was, she perceived herself to be mistress of the house and she resented the competition my mother posed for that position.” - Andrea Perron

It’s here that the close resemblance with the film intensifies.

Yay.

The film makes out that Bathsheba is attacking/attempting to possess the mother, Carolyn, in order to kill her children as a sacrifice for the devil.

It is then revealed in the film that Bathsheba possessed all mothers that lived at the property to mirror these actions.

Could this have been the real Bathsheba’s aim?

Other reflections of the true story include the nature of the hauntings.

Take the basement - the heating which was based in the basement would mysteriously fail, causing Roger to face the Perron’s fear of the basement, and venture down their to fix it.

And when Roger would come up from the basement, a rotting-smell would follow him up the stairs.

The same smells would move around the house. And their beds? They would rise up of the floor.

I mean, it’s just 0 to 100, isn’t it?

The final event that directly appears in the film is the possession of Carolyn Perron.

The Perrons stayed shacked up in this house for no less than 10 - yes, 10 - years, and the Warrens made many a visit. One of which involved a seance.

During the seance, Carolyn became possessed, speaking in tongues and rising up from the ground in her chair.

This features as a prominent scene in the film, but here ends the ‘based on a true story tagline’.

The Warrens did not perform an exorcism in the actual story, but claimed it must be performed by Catholic priests.

‘Based on a true story’ is a trope mocked by horror fans and horror haters alike, but this film clearly takes direct inspiration from the Warrens and their investigation.

And that is fucking terrifying.

Are The Any Other Haunted Houses In America?

Yep. So many.

There’s no doubt that the haunted house is one of the most common tropes featured in horror films. And as The Conjuring is the ultimate flick for this topic, it’s likely that it took inspiration from the other landmarks pinned into the Land of The Free.

Let’s take a guided tour, then!

We start with a tale only too similar to the Perron family farmhouse.

No seriously, it’s terrible.

The Bell Witch Farm, nestled in humble Tennessee bears an uncomfortable resemblance to the story of Bathsheba: a woman named Kate Batts in the early 19th century believed that a neighbour had cheated her out of land.

And so, lying on her deathbed, she swore she would haunt him forever!

She kept her promise.

The Bell family often noted physical attacks from supernatural beings, heard chains being dragged across the floor and noises in their walls

They even saw strange looking animals on their farm, such as a dog with a rabbit’s head. This is a satanic image which is often played upon in horror films.

We continue our road trip with a haunted house that too has featured on the screen, but this time, it’s the TV - it’s the LaLaurie House in New Orleans.

Sounds familiar? You’ve probably seen it on American Horror Story.

The story goes that this house belonged to Madame Delphine LaLaurie, a notorious serial killer who took pleasure in torturing and killing the slaves she kept from 1831 to 1834.

It was only when a fire struck the house in 1834 that the torture chamber was revealed.

When the authorities arrived, the slaves were found in all manner of ghastly positions:

One slave had her limbs broken in a manner that made her look like a crab.

Another had a hole drilled in their head and a wooden spoon sticking out of it (it is believed the brains were being stirred at the pleasure of the Madame of the house).

And another had their skin peeled off their back, revealing the bones and muscles underneath.

There are many more tales of the circumstances the slaves were found in, but I think we’ve heard enough...

When the reality behind the house was revealed, a mob of local citizens destroyed the residence, leaving only the walls intact.

The house has been closed off to the public since 1932, but in 2007 none other than the meme of Hollywood himself purchased it: Nicholas Cage.

Yet the actor was not the only thing in residence at the LaLaurie mansion. Thanks to its past, shouts, moans, weeping and ghostly faces have been seen and heard coming from the house.

Even negative vibes is a common claim of visitors, as is hearing footsteps across the house.

A seance has been conducted at the house, and the medium immediately claimed that sadness and heavy emotion settled on her. She also claimed that the slaves who were tortured and murdered there had passed on, and no longer resided at the house.

Clearly, this house has a lot going on. And it’s this haunting that is next to be projected onto the silver screen.

That’s right: the creative minds behind The Conjuring have snapped up a new haunted house, and are developing a brand spanking new horror franchise based on the worst kept secret of Louisiana!

In fact, they are hoping to reside in that mansion to write the screenplay and shoot the film.

Next up, we have the Sallie House.

It is claimed that a botched Appendectomy once occurred here, and the victim - a little girl - is what stirs the supernatural seen in this house.

The paranormal activity was reported by a small family that moved there back in the 1990s, and the intense attacks and torments were believed to come from this little girl named Sallie.

And the supernatural is off the charts.

I’m talking full bodied apparitions, EVPs echoing the voices of men, women and children, flying objects, items moving and turning up somewhere else...

And if that wasn’t enough, scratching at the walls, loud thumps of phantom furniture, and strong smells all feature within the haunting of this house.

Those that have gone onto investigate this has been touched by the paranormal themselves: burns, scratches, cuts - these physical attacks are common here.

Many a medium have also attempted to understand the house, including Peter James who worked on the Queen Mary, one of the most famous haunted buildings in the world.

It has actually been deduced that the attacks centre on men; it is claimed that the surgery on Sallie was done by a male doctor in 1905, and she never forgave him, attacking all men who enter the house in vengeance.

We now turn to the Villisca Axe Murder House.

No points for guessing what happened here...

Back in 1912, a family of six was bludgeoned to death with an axe. Each family member had severe wounds to the head, and one of the young daughters was found with a defensive injury on her arm and half-naked, suggesting attempted rape or assault.

The crime to this day has been left unsolved.

And the house? Empty.

No running water, and no electricity - apart from the odd paranormal fanatic who pays a hefty price to spend the night.

After the investigation, it was concluded that the killer waited in the attic with a cigarette until it was the time to strike.

And it was Josiah - the patriarch of the family - who met the worst fate. The attacker used the blade on him, leaving him with wounds in this face so severe that they couldn’t find his eyes!

The rest of the family were bludgeoned with the blunt end of the axe.

The house was restored in 1994, but it was prior to this that the main paranormal activity has been cited.

Former tenants have seen a man with an axe at the end of their bed who moves across the room in the dead of the night.

They have even been seen running out of the house screaming by the neighbours!

The tenants have also come back to their house to see their belongings strewn across the floor, and one has even felt a wrist on his hand which forced a knife into his hand.

And they wouldn’t be the first person to be attacked in the house; one paranormal investigator stayed overnight to investigate the goings on, and had stabbed himself by morning.

EVPs have also been used to document the hauntings, often recording references to the murders themselves. Sounds of an axe swinging, references to the six that were found dead, and even the name ‘Andy’ in reference to the murderer cropped up, informing this as a key haunted house.

We now park up at the House of Death.

And its name is deserved.

Brimming with 22 ghosts, this is one of the most infamous buildings in New York. But it still serves a famous bunch of residents.

Mark Twain is one of the most ghosts that once lived here, and still haunts his former residency. Another ghost is confirmed to be that of a young girl who was beaten to death of her father,

Indeed, some ghosts aren’t even human! A grey cat is a regular roamer of the House of Death.

Okay real talk - how would you know if a ghost cat is a ghost cause like lets say its a victorian child this bitch be looking victorian but a cat that just wanders around looking sarky and fucking off for long periods of time just be a cat.

Next up is the Lizzie Borden House.

The main ghost of this house - Lizzie Borden is still claimed to be laughing about murdering her stepmother and father via axe back in 1892.

Yet Borden is not the only entity still residing in this Massachusetts-based house; her victims still stalk the land, and a maid screaming for help is also often seen.

These sightings are mainly witnessed by the guests who visit the house hoping for a scare.

We now turn to a house that has been at the centre of its own horror film, just like The Conjuring.

Unfortunately, this film was rather more disappointing.

The Winchester House belonged to the wife of a man who developed one of the most popular guns of the era. Having lost her husband and young daughter, she consulted a spiritualist who told her the house was haunted by each and every victim of the guns.

Native Americans, Civil War soldiers and the other victims had haunted the house built on the empire of the weapon.

The spiritualist then recommended Winchester move and use her hefty inheritance ($20 million!) to build a home and appease the spirits.

From 1884 to 1922, a labrinth totalling 160 rooms was built, with corridors often leading guests to nowhere.

Next up is the Joshua Ward House. Built in historic Salem, this house was built for Sheriff George Corwin.

A major figure in the Salem witch trials, he lived, died and was buried here. So it’s no wonder that he still haunts the location!

But this haunting doesn’t just involve some bloke wandering the grounds and chatting shit about some witch-hunt (sound like American politics, if you’re asking me...).

This bloke is often rumoured to choke visitors to the house - this comes from Corwin being known as ‘the strangler’, a name descended from his favoured execution method for witches.

Even his victims have been spotted!

A dishevelled witch has been seen in a picture taken by a realtor wishing to sell the property on.

And I doubt that picture made a positive impression…

The final feature-film haunted house inspired the flick Haunting in Connecticut.

Great film; spooky house!

In the 1980s, the Snedeker family witnessed some serious haunting in their funeral-home turned family home.

Across two short years, the parents claimed they were physically assaulted and raped by demonic spirits. And their son was too visited by a spirit - a creepy man with long black hair.

The most recent family claim that their house is spirit-free, but it’s the fame of this house that currently is haunting the residents:

Frequent visits by paranormal fanatics have even caused the police to set up routine patrols to protect the residents.

We continue our road-trip in the Los Feliz Murder Mansion in sunny LA.

In 1959, Dr Harold Perelson murdered his wife with a hammer, attacked his daughter with the same weapon, and then killed himself with a glass of acid.

The rumours of haunting might be difficult to source, but this hasn’t stopped paranormal fanatics from trooping to the house and having a gander ‘round the grounds.

Years later, it was purchased by a family for storage purposes, and finally in 2016 it was cleared of the junk dating back to 2016. And most of it hadn’t moved since the murder that still haunts this property!

We follow up this murder with a much more en masse set of deaths.

The Farnsworth House Inn in Gettysburg is a remnant of the history that the USA has been subject to.

The inn is currently used as a restaurant to celebrate the history of the Civil War with waiters clad in civil war er-costume.

But what really accentuates the authenticity is the real confederate soldiers seen on the grounds!

The inn was once used as a hospital for the South’s soldiers after the war, and the hundreds of bullet pocks concealed into the walls confirm that it’s not just the injured that will haunt the grounds of this historic site.

Our final haunted house contains a figure who featured prominently within cinematic history: the only and only Molly Brown.

If you’ve been asleep since 1997, then you’ll have missed the Unsinkable Molly Brown in Titanic as played by the one and only Kathy Bates!

And the Unsinkable Molly Brown has her very own haunted house!

She was one of the few survivors of the Titanic, and eventually died in New York in 1932.

Following her death, it is said that she haunted the Victorian home she shared with her husband and mother, and it has now become a museum brimming with the items she once owned throughout her life.

From apparitions in the dinings room, to rearranged furniture; from moving objects to apparitions in the room of her child (who just so happened to die at a young) - this haunted house stays firmly within the past.

We finish our road trip in Virginia, and thank god we do!

(We are running low on gas.)

(I am also terrified.)

Welcome to the Ferry Plantation house! Fit to burst with 11 spirits, you can encounter the passengers of s ship-wrecked ferry, a former slave, and even a witch!

Grace Sherwood was accused of being a witch back in the 18th century, but her favoured haunting is less paranormal and more puppy-dog.

Yep, you can hear her call for her dog, Tobias!

So: do you fancy visiting any of these haunted houses?

And are you sure you want to rewatch The Conjuring?

Fact is, it’s the reality behind the monsters, demons, haunts, and horrors that makes those tales the films tell quite so terrifying...

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ificouldau · 4 years

Text

Section 1 - Chapter 7

> 52% of you chose to leave the village.

48% of you chose to hide and gather supplies.

“We’re leaving,” You say in a rushed tone, rising sharply to your feet as the fourteen eyes follow. No matter how tired you are, there’s no way you’re bringing the same torture you lived through onto those that helped you. Seungcheol stands just a second after, nodding towards everyone else with a strong stare. They all hurry to their feet, anxious, but more prepared to run than ever. The constant running has, at least, brought you some courage this time.

Wonwoo boldly pulls open the door, poking his head outside for a brief second before closing it shut again. “We need to hurry before people wake up.” “We need to make sure we’re seen first,” Minghao explains, “Then we need to find out where to go, to lead them where no one else is.”

“God, this is so frustrating,” Jeonghan whispers to himself, “We were finally able to eat, to sleep, to sit down and-”

“We’ll find another place to rest.” Coups interrupts. The boys stare at him apprehensively as he hurries towards the door, pulling it open and turning to face everyone in the room. No one says another word as you all flood out of the building, into the dark open air without a set plan in mind.

The boys gather around in the cold, shivering and crossing their arms in an attempt to stay warm. Though the snow’s stopped, it somehow feels twice as freezing as it had the night before. It’s the first time you’ve noticed their attire: simple jeans and plain t-shirts as if they’d worn a uniform the day of their kidnapping. You can’t exactly complain much, with a thick sweater to keep you snug, but a familiar, panicked voice reaches your ears before you can form another thought.

“What are you all doing out here?” The older woman you’d shared a room with shouts, her door wide open and feet still bare as she hurries your way. The boys step back and allow her to join the circle.

“Thank you for everything,” You explain, “but we need to leave. I think we’ve been found.”

“What?” She exclaims, her jaw dropping to the floor. Your heads snap up again as another distant scream pierces the air, a bit louder out here, but still far off.

The woman holds her hands to her chest in fear, eyes wide, and turns to you. “Follow me,” She says quickly, turning around and running back into the house you’d shared. Before anyone can protest, you run right along after her, stumbling through the door to spot her searching frantically through an old wooden closet. Junhui and Mingyu trail behind you like bodyguards, standing back as she pulls a few large cloth bags out towards you. She motions for you three to take them, and you heave one onto your back only to realize how heavy it is.

“What- what is this?” Jun asks, shifting the bag strap uncomfortably upon his shoulder. The woman nods firmly. “A gift for choosing to protect my village.”

Mingyu grabs the last bag and tugs at the one on your back, asking for you to pass it over. You shake your head, but he slides the strap off of your arm and onto his own regardless. The woman smiles seeing the gesture, then asks softly for the boys to leave.

“I know you’re in a rush, but give me one moment with her,” She says. Jun opens his mouth to protest, but Mingyu grabs his arm and hurries him out the open door before he can speak. You watch as they disappear, then turn to the older woman with a confused gaze.

She doesn’t say much for a second, merely scanning you with a warm smile before tearing up.

“You’re so grown up,” She whispers, ruffling your already messy hair. You freeze in confusion as she sighs, holding a hand steadily to her heart. Why does she act this way? You wonder aimlessly, thinking over everything she’s ever said, wondering why she’d taken you all in in the first place, wondering why she has so many heavy bags just waiting in her closet for someone to use. You can hardly think up any answers before she places both hands over your shoulders, turning you towards the door and guiding you back outside. “Be safe,” She says, “Follow the road.”

You aren’t sure how to respond as she pushes you out into the cold again, giving you one last nod before looking up at the circle of boys a few feet away.

“Take care of her!” She shouts their way, almost aggressively, before letting you go. You thank her, and she smiles, then runs off into the village, still barefoot and in a nightgown. You hear her trotting off to warn the others, and in a split second, she is gone.

There’s no more time to waste. The boys hurry to meet you by the door, Minghao grabbing your hand gently and pulling you away alongside the others.

“Where are we going?” You ask as he tugs you along.

“Where the screams keep coming from,” He replies. Dread fills your heart again, but you keep on moving without paying the fear any mind. The fourteen of you hurry along, past the little stone houses and the shacks and the farms, the roof covered well and the tree swing. Icy wind brushes past your face at the sound of nothing but crickets and your hurried footsteps.

“There,” Chan says suddenly after a few moments of running. You all turn your heads to see another older woman fleeing your way, weaving between buildings with a panicked expression.

“Auntie!” Seungkwan shouts in her direction, a term of endearment he’d adapted for every older woman at the village. He hurries to her aid, wrapping a careful arm around her and pulling her behind a stone wall as you all hurry to meet him. Now that she’s here, you recognize her as the kind old woman you’d cooked with earlier today, but rather than her usual warm appearance, she’s shaken and her apron is matted with blood.

“What happened?!” Soonyoung asks as she takes time catching her breath. “They… Six of them… Couldn’t- Couldn’t run-” The poor woman huddles over with a heavy cough, and the boys frantically knock upon the nearest door for help. Luckily, an older couple opens it, only to gasp at the sight and quickly aid the woman into their home.

“Sit her down! Oh God, oh God. What happened?!” The man asks with terror in his eyes. Seungcheol shakes his head, lightly nudging at the man’s arm, motioning for him to go back inside.

“Hide,” He says hurriedly, “Hide! Go!”

The man does not ask questions as he shares one last glance with the group, then closes the door and leaves you out in the freezing cold. You all gather again in silence, hurrying towards the direction the woman had come from without sparing so much as a word.

You don’t get very far, however, before a cloaked figure turns the corner from a wooden market stall. Everyone stumbles back behind the nearest wall with a gasp, any sense of courage draining from each and every one of their faces. ‘What do we do?’ Vernon mouths to the group. ‘I don’t know,’ Jihoon replies.

“We run.” Mingyu whispers harshly and, before anyone can stop him, sprints out into the open air directly in the man’s line of sight. You hold back a million curses as Soonyoung follows, then Wonwoo, then everybody else. It’s life or death now, but you have no choice.

You bolt out from behind the wall just as another cloaked figure appears out of nowhere, right on your tail.

“Fuck, fuck!” You yell, nearly tripping over your own feet as the thirteen boys ahead of you glance back with horrified eyes. A hand grabs the back of your shirt, but you strike it off quickly and hurry to catch up with the others ahead.

“That way!” Soonyoung shouts from the front of the group, and you can see him heading towards what seems to be an open patch of trees. He disappears between two market stalls and so do the others, and as you turn the corner behind them, the gloomy forest comes into view once again.

You make the mistake of looking back for a brief second, only to see more cloaked figures having joined the chase. They’re right behind you now. Any slower, and you’re dead for sure.

“Come on!” Minghao shouts from in front of you, turning around to grab your arm sleeve and force you to quicken your pace. You do, unintelligible thoughts racing your mind as the abundant patch of trees seems to grow closer.

That is, until another hand grabs your collar and yanks you backwards, subsequently dragging Minghao back as well. You both stumble, causing the gap between you and everyone else to increase significantly. Blood drains from your face as the glint of a blade catches your eyes. Minghao yells, and you can see nothing more than a few seconds of dark cloth, metal, and the boy’s tousled hair before someone is pulling you forward by the sleeve again.

It’s Mingyu, having hurried your way after hearing screams. “Keep going!” He shouts, and you notice he’s grabbed Minghao with his other hand as well. Hao is bleeding all of a sudden, an open slash on his right arm. He winces in pain as Mingyu forcefully drags you both forward.

( -1 Health: The8 )

The three of you run as fast as possible, doing your best to close the large gap between you and everyone else. That’s when you notice Jeonghan distantly stumbling along, Seokmin’s arm wrapped around his waist as the boy limps with every hurried step. His leg had been tightly bandaged just before, but now the fabric seems to be loosened and ripped as if he’d been attacked. Guilt balances your fear now. Maybe if you hadn’t decided to run…

( -1 Health: Jeonghan )

You gather all your courage and look back again, but unexpectedly, the view is different this time. About six cloaked figures lay limp in the snow covered dirt, and two stand completely still in front of them, watching you all flee. WIth a quick glance you notice a bright red scar across one of their hands, but find yourself facing forward before you can notice anything else. Nothing makes sense, but there’s no time for thinking anymore.

You run for a long time. A very long one, in fact, as by the time everyone stops to catch their breath, the sun has fully risen into a bright blue sky. The boys fall to their knees, panting, as you collapse against a tree trunk, desperately trying to fill your lungs with air. No one is even able to form a word for a minute.

“Holy shit, we’re alive,” Joshua remarks, a hand on his heaving chest. “I can’t run anymore-” Seungkwan struggles to so much as breathe, and you feel terrible guilt at the sound of him begging for a break.

Seungcheol glances about at the trees. You notice their abundance in this area, with heavy trunks gathered together in a way that can almost hide a group, even one of fourteen. That is, at least for a while.

“Guys,” Vernon mutters, and you all glance over to see him kneeled upon the snow, pulling a thick folded tarp and metal rods out of one of the bags. “Is that…?” Chan asks, hurrying over to the other two bags and pulling the same items from another. Junhui grabs the third and opens it with pure surprise on his face, unexpectedly raising a wool blanket and a food can into the air. “Tents and supplies.” He says with a smile. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

You all take the day to rest from then, scattered about the region but always staying in the sights of the group. Luckily, no one shows up to run from, and everyone unanimously decides to spend the night out in the woods before hiking down the road the next morning. As night falls, you help set up the two small tents and finally grab a bite to eat, perched peacefully on a snowy log as the others ration their own meals.

It’s dark out again, and you desperately wish lighting a fire wouldn’t be as dangerous as it is. The boys sit around in a circle regardless, plowing through bread and food cans after hours without a thing to eat. It’s silent for a while, until Seungkwan turns to send a smile your way.

“Thank you,” He says suddenly, “You saved the village, and us.”

“No, I didn’t do much-” “I have to admit… your plan worked out better than mine would’ve. You’re smart,” Wonwoo says in a low tone, and the others are all quick to agree. “Don’t be so modest,” Minghao adds. The rest of the group seems to have warmed up to the decision, and you can’t help but feel welcomed at their expressions.

( +1 Reputation: ALL )

Seungcheol pipes up after a second of quiet. “How are everyone’s wounds?” Chan looks down at his bandaged arm, the cloth all dirtied and loosened to the point that he can only sigh. “Got it all cleaned for nothing. Feels just as bad as when I got hurt, now,” Jihoon, with his hand wrapped in the same fashion, agrees alongside Hoshi. Jeonghan looks down at his leg and frowns. “The guy told me I need to rest it,” He says, “Don’t think I can do that if we keep running around.” “Lucky for you that we’re camping tonight, then.” Joshua sets his empty food can on the dirt before stretching his arms in the air, heaving a heavy yawn and standing up to head to bed. You feel tired watching him, and soon head into a tent as well. For a few hours you are able to sleep, feeling oddly more rested than you were the night before, before someone gently shakes you awake.

Your eyes slowly open to see Vernon crouching beside you.

“You’re on,” He says simply as you lift yourself into a sitting position. You can’t help but frown, forgetting that Coups put you on watch for the second half of the night. Vernon takes your place upon the blanket as you step cautiously over the other boys, careful not to wake them while ducking out of the tent.

You rise to your feet at the sight of Wonwoo outside. He sits against a tall tree with a small pocket book in hand, using the dim light of a matchstick to read amongst the pitch black night. He’s wearing glasses all of a sudden, not turning to look as you trot over to a spot opposite of his. As you take a seat on the floor, you eye him curiously, wondering where he got the glasses, or even the book for that matter. Something in you wants to go sit with the boy, but before you can head his way, a rustle to your right scares the living daylights out of you.

You turn your head to see Junhui, crouched directly beside you with a kind smile. He glances about at the trees and the sky while you try to steady your heart from the scare.

“Hey there,” He whispers as you gaze into the ground. You look back up to see him talking to a cat as opposed to you, a furry black and white one with glossy green eyes. Just like the one your dad brought home when you were younger. A sign of good luck, at least in your case. Where did she come from? Jun coos at the creature, reaching out to pet her before she snuggles up to his palm.

“Those are good luck, you know?” You say, and he nods in agreement.

“She’s a special one, too, all alone out here in the forest.”

“You hungry?” You call at the cat before it hops up and heads back into the trees. You watch it walk off for a second, then turn your head to check on Wonwoo a good while away. He’s still sat under his tree, holding the match flame to the pages, pushing his glasses further upon his face as he reads. It’s a peaceful sight, but as you turn back to face Junhui, you realize that he’s disappeared.

“Junhui…?” You mutter in shock, until a soft meow reaches your ears. The cat is still nearby, prancing slowly into the forest, but now Jun is crouched behind its tail like a child. You want to laugh for a moment, but then the cat begins rushing off, with Junhui following along behind her.

“Hey, Jun!” You whisper harshly, rising to your feet as he delves further into the forest. You turn to Wonwoo, too far away to hear a thing, and turn back to Junhui as he begins to disappear from sight.

Is he an idiot? You think to yourself, glancing over at Wonwoo, then the back of Jun’s head. You know he’ll be fine on his own, but can’t help feeling curious as to where he’s headed off to. Still, you don’t wanna leave Wonwoo alone on watch, and if anything, now's the time to prove his cold impression of you wrong. Jun’s almost completely vanished at this point, and you aren’t sure how else to spend the night.

- Hang out with Junhui

- Hang out with Wonwoo

( Vote now on instagram.com/ificould_au. You have 24 hours. )

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unrepentantauthor · 5 years

Text

Dispatch Deferred, a PMD Oneshot

Brisa, Luxio

Mud clung to her paws, wet grass dampened her belly, and petrichor assaulted her nose with every breath. Morning patrols were a critically important routine but at times like this, Brisa envied bipeds.

She was scouting out the ravine near her home, checking for changes in the terrain, opportunistic intruders or hapless wanderers, anything at all of note. There was always something to know, even if it was that everything was normal. It paid to be vigilant. The skies were clear now, and the winds had subsided from their recent gale force to their usual boisterousness. The night’s storm had left its mark on Brisa’s territory. Parts of her house needed repair, her scent would need to be marked in almost every place, and the surge of water had broken her water filter.

She also noticed that the peculiar tree on the very edge of the ravine had finally begun tipping over. It was the only tree out here - something about the soil only permitted scrub and grass to grow upon it. Brisa liked to use it for shade when on patrol. This had been coming for a while; each storm washed away just a little bit more of the earth supporting its roots. Now at last, its fate was undeniable. Sooner or later, it would topple down the sheer slope, knock a few sun-burnished red rocks down with it, and coming crashing down in the clear river water at the bottom. As she went to take a closer look, Brisa noticed something glinting between the emerging roots.

She approached the tangle and, yes, there was definitely something stuck inside. It was difficult to make out exactly what, under all the tree roots and damp earth, but the exposed parts were at least slightly reflective of the morning sun. Brisa put her paw to it and pressed firmly; it wouldn’t budge. Most of its mass was presumably still underground. She tapped it experimentally with a claw, and it sounded out a dull clink, much like a ceramic pot. Whatever it was, it was probably artificial. Maybe even a relic.

There was no time like the present, and Brisa had precisely zero interest in letting someone beat her to a valuable dig. She shook off her satchel bag and found her protective gear, rope, and other tools. Trowels. Brushes. Handsaw. She laid everything out and selected fresh cloth wraps to protect her paws with. The townsfolk might make comments about her being “half-feral” when they thought she couldn’t hear, but here was proof she was like them in the ways that counted: tool use. A mind with the right know-how; paws with the necessary dexterity. She was civilised, no matter how she chose to live her solitary life.

She started by clearing away rocks and earth, and soon found an efficient rhythm. It was soggy, dirty work, but nobody died from getting their paws muddy. Ugh, she was starting to sound like her father. Aphorisms aside, she could tolerate the discomfort for the sake of her prize. Her next task was to cut away obtrusive tree roots. Then came lifting up the larger rocks. A few sore muscles and some red cuts to her paws later, and she’d uncovered the upper surface. She wiped off the muck with a small towel to inspect her handiwork.

The early light fell upon a hard plate etched with some kind of symbol — this was what had glinted in the sun. It was fastened with ancient leather or cloth straps to a central bulk of some kind. It was a solid, uneven spheroid, and slate-grey in colour. Careful prodding of the surrounding earth with a spiked metal peg revealed five connected masses, still buried. After clearing the ground a little further, one of those masses turned out to be a stubby arm ending in a clenched fist. Brisa levered it up, a seed of concern growing in her chest. It was fully articulated. Not a statue, then. Not exactly a relic. More likely, a pokémon. Maybe a rock type?

A dead rock type.

She stared, the seed of concern blooming into a forest of dread. Dead bodies were an unusual discovery for Brisa, and her heart reminded her of this by drumming in her skull as she resumed clearing debris from the — crust? shell? — of the... the 'thing.' How long had it been here? Surely this thing she had found had lain buried for at least the age of the tree. Its roots made a kind of cocoon, or cage, for its body. That would have taken years, much longer than any hibernation. If it was a pokémon, it was very likely a corpse, and she was digging up its grave.

The thought made her stomach clench, but what was done was done, and she hadn't realised the possibility until it had already been well-disturbed. Besides, if she didn't retrieve it now, it would very likely tumble into the ravine along with the tree come next storm. She kept working. Another arm emerged, as did a leg. Also short and stubby. Also articulated.

What was that symbol, anyway? That could be a clue. She brushed away fallen leavings from the tree, and scoured the ancient filth that lay beneath. She couldn’t help but to growl softly as she worked on it. Despite the appearance of an archaeological excavation, she was reminded more of preparing a corpse. She tried to flatten her hackles. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t even flesh and bone! Flakes of ancient paint clung to the grooves, barely detectable beneath the grime. The fully uncovered symbol consisted of undulating curves. Nothing like footprint symbols, trail scratch, or even unown glyphs. What was it? Did it represent waves? Wind? A good question for later, she decided.

Eventually, her shoulders aching and her paws cold and bloodied, she unearthed the final limb and the thing’s squat, lumpy, asymmetrical head. Two dull and featureless rectangular eyes, a faceplate with not so much as a mouth, let alone anything else. Its construction looked slap-dash, made either in haste or by an amateur. At least now it could be taken out of its pit. Right. Ropes, spiked pegs, the principles of leverage, and some physical effort: there was little you couldn’t achieve with that. Brisa heaved the lifeless creature up and out of its grave without too much trouble. With the absent ceramic weight no longer keeping it anchored, the tree lost yet more grip and lurched again, dangling into the ravine with only the bravest, deepest roots holding it up. There would be no more shade on hot days for Brisa.

She placed an inquisitive paw on the inert body.

"What kind of being were you?" she asked aloud, half-expecting a reaction.

None came.

She ended up making a trip directly back home to fetch a proper harness and trolley. It didn't take much time for a luxio in excellent health with a loping gait. With some equipment available, she was able to pull her discovery away with relatively little difficulty. Sure, she could have asked a favour from a heftier pokémon in town, and it was unlikely that anyone would steal her ‘treasure’ in the meantime, but she took pride in doing a job wholly by herself. Even if her hunter's limbs weren't made for hauling.

She didn't take the shortest route, because that would risk meeting early risers heading across the outskirts. Instead, she took a circuitous route that would put her in town right near the junkshop. After all, if anyone could tell her what this thing really was, it would be the sketchy old spider who owned it. She passed around the western ridge, eyeing with distaste the rooftops of those absurdly characterful buildings which urban pokémon liked to construct. Such vanity. What sane person built a shop that looked like their own head?

Soon enough, she was at the south side of Frontier Town, where the weirder, more esoteric merchants made their living. The noise of the town centre was an irritation even from here. She turned a corner and found her way to Al's Odds'n'Ends, a certifiable shack with blue awnings over the shopfront threaded to resemble galvantula legs. She could make out the workshop behind the front counter, filled with tools, scrap, gadgets and other nonsense befitting an ‘inventor’.

"Alejandro," she called out, "you in today?"

"What'd'ya need, youngster?" he rasped back, poking his head and forelegs out of the shopfront to greet her. He did so not from ground level, but upside-down from his shop's ceiling, a habit which most pokémon had yet to get used to. Brisa wasn’t bothered. She made sure she didn’t look bothered by licking down her raised hackles.

"I might have something for you," she said, unfastening herself and rolling her discovery over with her muzzle.

Al dropped down and climbed over his counter to examine the thing more directly. He prodded at it carefully with his sensitive pedipalps, and gently brushed dirt and debris from its surface. Brisa watched wordlessly as he worked, trying to glean a hint of recognition in any of the galvantula’s several eyes.

"Looks like a golett t'me," he said at last, in his breathy, ear-scraping spider-voice. "S'a living being like you or me, though this one looks like it passed on a long time ago. Who's t'say? I haven't seen a pokémon like this up close, after all."

Brisa rolled her head to one side and regarded the thing again, this time as an expertly-confirmed corpse. ‘Golett’. Not a word she remembered hearing before. It sounded earthy. Diminutive. Maybe this was a pokémon meant to evolve into something much larger. Maybe it was rare.

"So... do you want it?" she asked.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Alejandro, I'm trying to sell you this thing."

"A trade? Hrrm."

Al always took a great deal more time than strictly necessary to consider a trade. Brisa had always wondered if this was just for show, but interrupting him invariably lead to a refusal to deal, so she waited, shifting her weight impatiently from paw to paw.

"I guess so," he concluded, tapping the golett's body. "I kinda want t'see if I can get the darned thing up'n'at it again. Golett are ghost types, you never know when scoundrels like that are gonna spring to life ‘n’ surprise you. But it's as likely as anything to wander off after'ards, so I can’t be certain it’ll be of any value. Still, it’ll be interestin’. Say, Brisa, I'll give you a doohickey for it."

"I'll take a new water filter. Mine broke in the storm last night."

Al consented to this trade, Brisa left his shop with a new filter part in her satchel. Only once she got home and thumped it into place did she wonder if she'd see the golett again, and what it might think of her for selling it, should it wake up.

Alejandro, Galvantula

Brisa paced off like the town’s air itself was out to get her. She always did.

Al took no offence; anyone who paid him proper for his goods and services was worth forgiving a few quirks. He had plenty of his own, after all. He absentmindedly put a thin roll-up between his palps and lit it with a spark of electricity from his foot-tip fur. Then he put it to his left breathing slit, near the front of his abdomen, and let his lungs go to work. Terrible habit, to be sure, but good for soothing the nerves. Mammals gave him funny looks if he did it in their company, so he was always ready to shove his smokes in his mouth if a customer walked by, even though he couldn’t use his mouth for breathing. Somehow, it just bothered ‘em less. That was mammals for ya.

He looked at the funny little pokémon from every angle. Sure wasn’t showing any signs of life now, but that could change. Certain pokémon could live thousands of years, so who knew? But if a critter wants waking up, a critter needs the right stimulus. What did golett need to come back from a slumber like this, if there was still a spark left in there? Maybe that bookish feller in the Guild would have some old tome with the answers. Or maybe his ol’ reliable was worth a shot. It couldn’t hurt. He rolled the golett into the workshop, wheezing through his abdominal slits. He was getting old. Now to see if a boost would revive the little guy.

Al rubbed his legs together until they sparked.

Well, maybe it could hurt, actually. The golett for one, but also himself if it had some fancy energy redirection ability. Probably not. But maybe. To hell with it, it was worth a shot all the same! Zap!

Gil, Golett

This new environment was unexpected for Gil. They had lost consciousness near the river, far from any settlement, yet this was an indoor location. A pokémon was tending to them, though not a species they recognised. Possibly this one was a medic. Gil peered at their caretaker. Squat body, with bristly fur, but also arthropod limbs and multiple eyes. An arachnid. Its energy signature was type seven - ‘bug’ - which would seem to match up well. There was something else in the signature, too, maybe type-

The bug's ‘fur’ sparked and lit up before jolting Gil with a powerful surge of electrical energy. They sat straight up as their vision span out of focus and their head crackled with it. When the shock ended, they could detect smoke caused by light singing on their straps. Oh dear. An electric type as well, for certain, and apparently defending itself from them.

"Do not be alarmed!" recited Gil. "I am a courier golett and I mean you no harm!" The standard greeting rarely failed.

"Oh, begging your pardon!" replied the spider. It was an odd sound, like a sharp whisper. "I'm Alejandro, but you can call me Al. I was just testin' a theory o’ mine that you'd wake up with the right... stimulus. My apologies if I hurt you at all, feller!"

Al made a gesture with his pedipalps, almost like a shrug. He seemed sincere enough.

“I am Gil! It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Al. Do not worry, I am hurt very little by electric type attacks, especially when inactive. You have done me no harm.”

There was a silence lasting several seconds before Al replied.

“Well, you’re an odd critter, aint’cha?”

“Yes, sir,” said Gil. They patted around for their satchel. Gone. “Excuse me sir, but are you the one who brought me here?”

“Huh, no. That’d be Brisa. She dug you up from a hole in the ground a ways nor’east o’ here. She didn’t find any belongings with you if that’s what yer fussin’ about. ”

“Thank you, sir. Still, I would like to thank Brisa for their role in reviving me.”

“Ah, you can find her west of the town, not far from the ravine. Don’t worry, she’ll find you soon enough if you hang out around there!”

Gil considered this.

“I shall do this once my task is complete, Al. My purpose is to make deliveries, and I wish very much to make no further delay of my priority package. I’m sure I can find my package, but I will need to take it to the residence of someone in a nearby village, Desert Knot. The intended recipient is a turtwig who goes by the name of Esther. Could you give me directions, please?"

Al’s expression was unreadable, and Gil didn’t have any training in reading arachnid faces, but something gave them the impression that they’d said something wrong.

“Turtwig, was it?” Al said, eventually.

Gil nodded effusively. “Yes, sir.”

“Not a torterra?”

Gil shook their head. “No sir.”

“You sure?”

Nod. “Yes, sir.”

Al rubbed his pedipalps over his face. Maybe that was like scratching your head thoughtfully for a spider.

“Say, kid… do you remember how you came to be inactive in the first place?”

Tamuk, Chesnaught

Wind howled over the hills. Thin scrubland stretched around for miles, the little village of Desert Knot barely visible in the distance. If a storm picked up, it would lift enough sand and dirt that a person could get lost. There were no landmarks, not even so much as a tree, save for a ravine ready to swallow any wanderer with weak vision. This was truly a wretched country. Tamuk wanted to be rid of it, and he would be as soon as he’d collected the funds he needed.

Looking up at him was the courier he’d been expecting. It barely reached his knees.

“Don’t run, messenger,” he growled. “I’ll take your money either way.” He drew himself up to his full height, letting the shadow of his armour’s spiked pauldrons fall over his pint-sized target. This would be easy however it shook out. Easier if intimidation saved him the trouble of a fight.

“Sir, I am a sworn courier and can make no surrender of any package entrusted to my care,” said the little golem, looking up at Tamuk without a hint of fear. Clearly a fool, the variety of which mattered not.

“Do not misunderstand. I want your valuables, and if you won’t give them to me, I’ll beat you senseless without hesitation.”

“You are at liberty to do as much,” came the reply.

“I’m a chesnaught,” tried Tamuk. “Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”

“I have a duty.”

Tamuk sighed, raised a gauntlet-clad paw and bludgeoned the golett into the ground with a hammer blow. Grass type energy collided with a ground type body. The crunch was wince-inducing. It crumpled to the ground, and sunk into the earth several inches, a fresh crack visible on its torso like a wound. It was over before Tamuk had taken a breath.

He plucked the golett’s satchel between two massive digits and pulled it away, breaking the straps in the process and ignoring some feeble utterances of protest from the owner. He turned it upside down and shook out the contents. Nothing. Or, nothing valuable, which was just as disappointing. Just some seeds held in a tiny cloth pouch, a one-page newsletter from the only major town for countless miles, and a few envelopes. None of the envelopes had a wax seal marking them as significant. He searched them anyway, and found only idle correspondence between distant friends and family. Worthless. He hawked and spat on the ground.

“You should have saved me the trouble of wasting my energy,” he growled. “If you had just shown me you weren’t carrying anything valuable, I might have let you be.”

“All messages are valuable,” squeaked the golett, who was even now pushing itself to its feet and charging a tiny, pulsing spark of energy in its fist to fight back. How insulting.

“Not to me,” said Tamuk. Then he hit the golett again. Hard, and again for good measure. This time, it didn’t get back up.

Alejandro, Galvantula

“More than a century ago?”

Gil sounded as if they might cry.

“Aye, lad. Tamuk was a notorious bandit ‘round these parts, extractin’ a toll from any and all travellers ‘n’ traders. He’s the only chesnaught in this region I ever heard of, he fits your description, and he’s surely been dead since before my gran’s time. Besides, Desert Knot is what this place was called before the Guild was founded, and tha’ was a long, long time ago now.”

“But how can you be sure? Perhaps there’s been some confusion?” pleaded Gil, their voice breaking on half the words they choked out. Their eyes flashed blue and their little hands clenched and unclenched on loop.

Al sighed, shook his palps, and reached for another smoke. He offered Gil one, but they just gravely shook their head. Of course clay automatons didn’t breathe, you stupid spider. Darn.

“No, lad. You were found buried under a tree next to a ravine like the one you described, widened by a hundred years o’ weatherin’. You’ll find your Esther alright, but she’s a wizened old torterra now. She placed that order for delivery generations ago, and tha’s a fact. It’s too late now. But look, if there’s anythin’ at all I can do fer ya…”

Gil lowered their head and closed their eyes.

“I appreciate your kindness, Mister Al, but I really must be going. I have to make my delivery all the same. I will simply be unforgivably late, and there’s nothing to be done about it. My thanks to you.”

“If that’s the way it is,” said Al, gently. He reached to place a reassuring pat on Gil’s shoulder, but they turned and walked straight out of his shop without a backward glance. What a strange pokémon.

Well, the experience was worth the price of a water purifier, he supposed.

Brisa, Luxio

She felt her hackles raise before she even spotted the golett jogging along the hillside, one clay hand up to shade its eyes from the sun. She didn’t bother flattening them. She had, after all, seen a ghost.

She took her time intercepting it, studying it all the while. It was almost comical the way it looked around, stopping and posing with one hand shading its eyes and the other outstretched behind it, like a child actor in a stage play. How to approach this resurrected being? She drew closer from behind it, and settled on a greeting.

“Good day,” she tried.

“Good day!” The golett’s head spun around to face her, its body following a moment later. Brisa very nearly jumped in fright, but dug her claws into the damp soil instead. Damn the thing.

"Do not be alarmed!" it said. "I am a courier golett and I mean you no harm!"

“I know,” said Brisa, a little more coldly than she’d meant to.

“Ah, you must be Brisa! I am Gil, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

She nodded. Feeling something more was expected of her, she added “Yes. I suppose Alejandro sent you my way?”

“That’s right. I’m here to thank you, and to ask for your help finding my missing package for delivery!”

They couldn’t possibly be serious. Yet, that eager, bright-eyed expression of hope was evident even without a mouth. She tried to tell Gil to get lost, but what came out of her mouth was “Of course, that would be no trouble at all.”

As Gil thanked her effusively, she padded off in the direction of their onetime grave. With any luck, this was the only favour they’d ask of her.

It wasn’t a long journey on her own, but with Gil’s miniature stride to slow down for, it took half a lifetime. All the while, they asked her things, and she did her best to answer in as few words as possible. It wasn’t like Gil knew many people who could answer their questions about the century they’d missed out on, and they clearly didn’t get the hint that she didn’t care for conversation. Besides, she didn’t have the heart to tell them to keep their mouth shut, if they even had one.

Eventually, it clicked for her what was bothering her about Gil’s spirited interrogation.

“Wouldn’t you rather ask a townie about all this?”

“What’s a townie, Miss Brisa?”

“Just Brisa will do. A townie is someone who lives in, you know. The town? Like a civilised pokémon.”

Gil shook their head. “Where I come from, nobody lives packed that closely together. It’s too noisy in Frontier Town for me to think. It’s much better to be around one person at a time, then I don’t have to concentrate so hard.”

Brisa considered this.

“No towns?”

“No, miss. I mean no, sir! I see no reason why civilisation should mean living in a town. Living alone does not make one feral, after all.”

Huh.

They continued. “I myself have a modest home in Little Scriven, many days’ travel from here. It is only small, but it serves my needs well.” Gil put a finger to their faceplate, and narrowed their eyes thoughtfully. “Of course, it might not still be there if I were to return.” Their shoulders sagged as soon as they uttered the words.

Oh. Brisa wasn’t any good at this. Nothing she thought of to comfort them seemed appropriate. Instead, she said “Can you see up on that crest? That’s the spot.”

She described her discovery of their body and the state of the dig site, which seemed to distract Gil from thinking about what their home would look like after a century of abandonment. They were an attentive listener, as it turned out. Brisa couldn’t remember being listened to like this before by another pokémon. It wasn’t unpleasant.

When they got to the dig site, Gil pottered around, examining it from every possible position, even clambering into it and patting around the earth as if they would find something Brisa hadn’t. She waited soundlessly from the rim of the grave. It was disturbing, seeing Gil where they had been a corpse only earlier that day, but as animate and purposeful as she had been in her dig.

“There’s nothing here!” they cried.

“Seems not.”

They climbed out, and gazed around at the landscape. “Brisa, sir, how can I know without a doubt that this is the same spot where Tamuk the chesnaught physically assaulted me?”

“Ravine,” she said, flatly. “Moves west every year. That long ago, it would have been much narrower, and further in that direction.”

She gestured with a paw towards the drop in the earth.

“Oh,” said Gil.

Recognition dawned in their ghostly green eyes.

“Oh, and Desert Knot… was that way. It’s Frontier Town now.”

“Yeah. Didn’t Alejandro tell you?”

“Mister Al told me, I just didn’t understand.”

Gil sat down on the edge of their grave, and looked as if they might fall backwards into it at any moment. Brisa positioned herself to catch them. They tore up a handful of grass and rubbed it between their fingers.

“It was very nearly barren here, when I first arrived,” they said. “Which means it really has been a lifetime. My letters must all have decomposed, of course. I’ll never be able to deliver those. And the seeds…”

They turned and looked at the tree.

“That’s my package,” said Gil, firmly. “Please help me dig it up.”

Gil started before Brisa could reply, trying desperately to haul a tree much larger than themself out of the ground. Brisa hesitated, but joined in anyway when she realised they might succeed only in helping the tree fall into the ravine. Gil grunted and strained, their fists glowing as they summoned elemental energy to lift their ‘package’. The final roots snapped or tore loose, and they hefted the tree overhead. They were triumphant for only a moment. Then they lost their footing, wobbled, and fell heavily onto the far side of the crater. The tree escaped their grasp, and tumbled over the edge.

There were sounds of crashing branches and whooshing leaves from the ravine.

“Good grief, what a blunder,” said Brisa. She instantly regretted it.

“It was an accident,” said Gil, very quietly.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a tree. The person who those seeds were for is either dead or doesn’t expect their package any more, it’s fine.”

Gil shook their head mutely.

“It’s fine,” repeated Brisa. “Don’t get upset about it, none of this is important any more. It all happened a century ago!”

Gil thumped the ground, not getting up from their knees.

“It is important!” they said, barely raising their voice even now. “It’s my life! That was the only thing left from it! My home, my friends, even my colleagues will all be gone now. I don’t know what happened to them, if they looked for me when they realised I was missing… I don’t even know if Little Scriven exists any more, the whole country is different now, from every patch of soil to every person in it. This was…”

They paused to sob into their ceramic hands.

“This was going to be the one delivery I could make. If I could only deliver my priority package, it would have been a little tiny bit worth it. Now I’ve messed it up, and even the tree is gone, I can’t get it back alone, I have nothing left, and I may as well still be buried in the ground!”

Brisa bit her tongue. Why did she always say the wrong thing?

Gil wasn’t moving. Say something, Brisa.

“Uh, you’re sure there’s someone to deliver it to? It might have survived the fall, you know.”

“Yes, Mister Al says Esther still lives here,” said Gil. “It would have gone to next-of-kin if she had passed, or to the local government if there was no will to execute. But I doubt I can recover it, especially if it’s been caught up in the river.”

“Alright, well, it might still be salvageable. I have my own tools. I know a safe way down.”

Gil looked up, hopeful.

Brisa sighed.

“Let’s get that tree.”

Gil’s turquoise eyes widened in surprise and silent gratitude, and Brisa had to look away. She’d accept thanks when the job was done.

Brisa sunk a spiked peg into the ground, secured a rope to it, and tossed the other end over the edge. Gripping the rope hand over hand gave Gil much-needed help balancing as the luxio guided them down the slope of the ravine, avoiding loose scree and pointing out firm footholds. As it turned out, the fall had been merciful to the tree. It had merely rolled for most of the descent before it hit the river, then been carried downstream until it came to rest against a jutting rock. Besides some snapped branches and a coating of silt, it was otherwise intact.

Once they’d located the ‘package’, Brisa directed Gil in assembling a raft from riverside trees and the last of her rope, and they carried out the task with brisk efficiency. The river passed through Frontier Town further downstream, Brisa explained, and after strapping the tree down they could transport it straight into town, with her walking along one riverbank and Gil on the other, each clutching a rope to guide it along. Brisa couldn’t talk with her mouth full of rope, so she listened to Gil’s recollections of a century ago with weary patience. By the time they exited the ravine and were heading along the eastern bends, (from which the view of the area’s rolling fields, great forests, and distant mountains beyond was truly peerless) Gil’s babbling had become rather soothing, and she was almost sorry to hear it stop when they finally reached town.

The kricketune watchman on the riverbank perked up when they came into view, then sat back down in his deckchair. He recognised Brisa despite the distance, and when she was close enough he flicked his antennae at her to signal her to go on by. He continued his keening singing and high stridulations as they passed, and Gil stared with wide-eyed wonder, their pace slowing as they listened. It was a mournful folk song, but not one Brisa knew well.

“What’s so interesting?” she asked.

“It’s sad and beautiful,” said Gil, as if they’d never heard a tragic tune before. “Both at the same time…”

What kind of sheltered life did Gil have before they wound up here? Brisa just kept walking, unsure how she felt.

They found Esther’s house by means of Brisa interrogating passers-by, keen to avoid anyone taking too great an interest in Gil, who would surely be only too happy to tell their story in full to anyone who asked. They learnt that the torterra had saved wisely in her long life, and purchased a riverfront property near the edge of town. It was a single-storey building, with well-kept flower baskets along the walls and a broad garden patio along the riverside. To Brisa’s great relief, they’d be able to get the tree directly from the river onto Esther’s property. Brisa hadn’t come up with a real plan for transporting a fully-grown tree through the main thoroughfare. She might have even had to ask someone for help.

Gil stood at the doorstep, their fist raised to knock on the (frankly enormous) double front door. They were motionless, a miniature figure against the height and breadth of doors meant for a torterra.

“Something wrong?” called Brisa from the riverbank, the raft’s ropes firmly trapped beneath her paws.

“What if she’s mad at me?” replied Gil, turning to look over their shoulder. “What if she doesn’t want the package?”

Brisa closed her eyes to avoid visibly rolling them. “What if she isn’t mad, what if she does want it?”

“But-!”

“Just knock, already!”

“…okay!”

Gil knocked once, very quietly. Then they rapped the door a few times, much harder. They waited.

“Maybe she’s not home?”

Brisa growled under her breath. “She’s older than Frontier Town and the size of a building. Be patient.”

Gil nodded and stood demurely in stoic silence.

At length, the left-hand door creaked open and a craggy, beaked head poked out.

“Who’s there?” asked Esther, in a voice with enough bass that Brisa felt it in her bones.

"Do not be alarmed," said Gil, haltingly. "I am Gil the courier, and I have a package for you!"

“Oh? I’m not expecting any deliveries,” murmured Esther, nudging the other door open with her massive flank. Someone could build a house on that back. Presently, there was only an unassuming rock garden and some small shrubs atop her shell.

“I’m terribly sorry for the delay,” said Gil, their voice starting to quake, “but this package comes… one hundred and seven years late. It used to be a pouch containing several seeds but as you can see…”

They stepped to one side and gestured to Brisa, the raft, and the tree.

“I’m afraid it’s been… damaged in transit. It’s a tree now. That tree. Um.”

They clasped their hands together in a silent plea for forgiveness.

Esther’s brow furrowed for several seconds. Then her beak widened in a grin. Then she laughed.

“Oh my!” she cried. “It’s a perrin berry tree! How marvellous. I sent for a perrin seed delivery when I was just a little one! Oh my.”

She plodded down from her house to the riverbank, still grinning and saying things like “simply marvellous,” and “bless the day.”

Brisa offered Esther the ropes, somewhat awkwardly. After a minute’s subdued inquiry from the torterra, she agreed to cut the tree free from the raft. Esther herself lowered her considerable mass into the river. With a bit of creative shoving, the tree was levered onto Esther’s back, whereupon the tree’s roots and the shell beneath Esther’s mobile shrubbery began first to glow, then fuse together. Soon enough, the tree was securely joined to her body, growing quite happily on one flank of the shell-top garden.

Gil jogged down to join them, hands still clasped together.

“Is everything suitable?” they asked.

Esther turned to smile indulgently at them. “This is ever such a lovely tree,” she said, in a soft rumble. “My great aunt used to grow one when I was just a hatchling. The berries were a real treat. I’ve wanted to cultivate one ever since.”

“You don’t seem disappointed by the wait, Ma’am,” ventured Gil.

“Certainly not!�� she boomed, climbing steadily out of the river. “I’m very grateful to you. They take ever such a long time to mature, you know, and they’re dashedly prone to withering when young. It must have found the perfect spot to grow. Remarkable. Thank you so much, young one. I’ll be able to have the grandchildren round and share some with them in the spring…”

As Esther headed back up to her house, water pouring off her shell, Gil slowly sat down on the paved part of riverbank.

“You doing okay there?” asked Brisa.

“Yes, sir. Mostly I’m glad that the delivery turned out alright. I’m not sure what to do next, though.”

Brisa put out a paw and patted their shoulder. Her claws clinked gently on their clay.

“You can do what you like, Gil. But if you don’t care for the noise of the town, and you want to stick around a while…”

“Yes, Brisa?”

“I have a spare room for emergencies. It’s yours for a while, if you need it.”

“Oh! Thank you, many many thanks! I’ll do chores, I’ll take messages, I’ll-!”

“It’s okay. I just reckon you deserve a second chance at… living a life.”

Brisa shook herself dry, spattering the patio with river drops, and loped off towards home. She looked back at Gil, who still had a hand to their faceplate in apparent embarrassment.

“You coming?” she called.

Gil nodded fervently and jogged after her.

“Let’s go home.”

#My writing #pokemon #pmd #fanfiction #golett #luxio #galvantula #chesnaught #torterra

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i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 6 years

Text

The New Romantics ch. 7

(If you have songs I can add play to a playlist for this fic please let me know!!)

Formerly known as Frenemies

Part 1 Here

Part 2 Here

Part 3 Here

Part 4 Here

Part 5 Here

Part 6 Here

click the OP if the read more link doesn’t show.

The following day, the crew had come to the unanimous decision to postpone their landing until morning. If they could only stay for 12 hours, they wanted it to be daylight. Hunk, Pidge, and Lance were too hyped up and excited to sleep, switching between nervousness and impatience and restlessness.

Keith watched, feeling happy for his fellow paladins in a strange, detached manner. He wanted to feel that way too, but he had nowhere to go. No one to go back to.

The three of them started for the lounge, hoping to goof off until they were too tired until morning came. Lance asked Keith if he was joining, but Keith felt he would only bring them down. He assured Lance he’d be fine and to go on anyway.

Lance seemed hesitant, but eventually turned away to join his friends. Meanwhile, Keith went to find Allura.

She was in the control room, fidgeting with a holographic tablet as she sat cross-legged on the floor and the mice did her hair. He cleared his throat nervously and she looked up with bright eyes. “Oh, hello, Keith. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled. “I uh….” He stepped forward and sat across from her. “I wanted to say I was sorry for how I spoke to you the other day.” Allura’s expression softened. “I know it was out of line. I was just very overwhelmed I guess.”

“I understand. I’m sorry too. Shiro spoke with me afterwards; I was wrong to try to keep you from your home for my benefit. Lance spoke with me too. About how communication isn’t your strong suit.” Keith grimaced and shrugged. He really wished that wasn’t what he was known for. But he was the loner of the group. The guy with a bad temper and shitty communication skills. “Are you still angry with him?”

“With… Lance?” She nodded, and Keith shook his head. “No, we talked yesterday. We’re okay now.” She nodded and smiled.

“It’s strange. He’s usually always flirting with me, but yesterday during training he didn’t try at all. Come to think of it, he hasn’t in a long time. Quite a relief, honestly.” Keith looked at her with surprise and oddly enough, felt himself blush. He shrugged and looked back down, earning a chuckle from Allura. “Where will you be going when we get to Earth?”

Ah, the dreaded question. Keith frowned and sighed. “I’m not really sure. There’s nowhere for me to go. I’m sure the Garrison probably searched my shack already. It’s probably closed off. And I don’t know where my family is, or where to start looking.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but… if that’s the case, why did you advocate for going to Earth so passionately?”

Keith looked at her and furrowed his eyebrows. “I… I knew the others needed it. I knew Lance needed it.” He gulped and shrugged. Everything was about Lance lately. “I guess I could just stay on the ship. Or…. Look around for a while.”

“Why don’t you ask one of the other paladins if you can join them?”

Keith smiled and shook his head. “They’re reuniting with their families. I don’t want to intrude on something like that. It’s okay. Really.” He stood and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m going to go get some sleep. I think I’m the only one of them who can.” He chuckled awkwardly and waved before turning away.

Sleeping without Lance was doable, but it wasn’t comfortable. Sleeping on his own like this, he sometimes felt like he’d never left his little shack. He wasn’t sure why sleeping next to Lance was so soothing. Even if Lance wasn’t cuddling him against his chest, Keith just felt better having him close. Which made no sense, because when he was asleep he couldn’t even tell Lance was there.

It was a very strange feeling.

Eventually, Keith managed to fall asleep. He woke up when he felt the slight shudder of the ship landing.

***

Hunk, Lance, and Pidge were all bustling around to look like they hadn’t slept on the floor in their clothes. Keith watched with amusement as they ran back and forth, torn between running out to feel the morning sun and doing what they had to in order to look safe and healthy for their families.

Lance was the first one done, surprisingly. He noticed Keith watching Hunk and Pidge bustling around and sat beside him. “Are you going back to your shack?” he asked. Keith shook his head. “Well… what are you going to do when we go out there?”

“I don’t know. Go to the mall, maybe? Figure out what’s new on Earth.” He shrugged.

Lance looked at him for a long time, and Keith felt like closing in on himself. Then Lance wrapped an arm around him and said, “Well, you’re coming to my house. I know it won’t be a problem. We’re a big family, and trust me, my mom will stuff you full of food.” Keith started to object, but Lance covered Keith’s face with his hand. “Shush. It’s decided.”

Keith moved his hand away and scoffed. “Lance this is your reunion with your family. I have no place there.”

Lance frowned and crossed his arms. “Well, you’re my friend, right?” Keith nodded. “And you’ve saved my butt plenty of times. I’m sure my mom would love to thank you.” He hesitated, but Lance gripped his shoulder and smiled. “Keith, I mean it. It’s thanks to you I get to go home anyway.”

“Okay,” he gave in. “I’ll go with you. But you’re going to have to translate a lot.” Lance laughed and nodded, making Keith feel a weird tug in his gut.

***

Each paladin got into a pod set with coordinates for their home. They were given watches with the amount of time they had left. Keith got in with Lance and sat nervously as the pod shot forward on autopilot. Lance looked nervous, and Keith noticed his hands were shaking.

“How many siblings do you have?” he asked.

Lance looked up, blinking in surprise. “Three. Two sisters then a brother. It’s been, what? Two years since we became paladins? Maria is probably 17. Rebecca is 12 unless her birthday hasn’t passed. And Tito is eight now.” Lance smiled. “I wonder if my aunt is still living with them. She’s probably 21 now. She’s like the older sister I never wanted. She had little boy before I left, so he’s probably two. Little Nicolas.”

Keith smiled and nodded. “They’re going to be really happy to see you, Lance.” His blue eyes flitted towards him and sparkled, and Keith looked away, checking the grid on the pod. Two more minutes before landing.

Neither of them spoke for that time. They felt the pod land and it opened, giving them their first breath of fresh, Earthly air in years. It made Keith lightheaded, and he noticed Lance had shut his eyes and stood shakily. Keith followed him out and saw a small house with short wooden planks around it. There was a wide expanse of land before the next house’s fence. A dog was running in the lawn directly in front of them, running around with a little boy who was whirling a stick like a sword. There was a smaller boy wobbling behind him, squatting down to yank grass up.

Lance walked forward slowly, and Keith stayed behind him watching with interest. He put a hand against the gate entrance and the little boys came to a stop. The dog started barking, scratching up the fence, trying to get to Lance. “Hi, Renegade,” he chuckled.

“Mami!” The little boy ran back into the house screaming for his mom. “Mami! Es Lance! Mami! Mira!”

Lance opened the gate and smiled at the toddler that was staring at him with a runny nose and a faced smeared with dirt.

The door opened, and Keith looked up to see a woman with wild, curly hair pulled up in a bun. She had on a floral shirt and faded jeans, mostly covered by a bright green apron. Her eyes were as blue as Lance’s, and wide with shock. Behind her, the little boy from before was peeking from around her hip.

“Mami?” Lance whispered. Keith looked at him, tears running down his cheek. “Mamita,” he called. “It’s me, Mami. It’s Lance.” He walked closer and she crumbled to her knees, eyes locked on Lance.

But when he moved to help her up, she started screaming, and pushing him away. “Demonio! Demonio! Maldito espíritu, déjame en paz! Deja mi niño descansar!”

Lance knelt down and grabbed her arms as she hit him, shaking his head. “No, Mami. Soy yo, Mami. I’m okay. It’s me. Remember when I fell on the porch and lost my tooth? And when I went running in the field and got stung by a wasp? Or when I broke my arm on the tire swing?”

She let out a sob and stopped trying to hit him. “Eres tu, mi niño? Is it really you?” Lance nodded and she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing so hard Keith had to look away.

Some twisted part of him wished there were someone out there who would cry like that for him. He wished there were someone out there who missed him and mourned him. He looked back and found Lance wiping his mom’s tears away, kissing her cheek as he cried.

“Where have you been? What happened to you? I thought you were dead.” Her voice broke and she began sobbing again at the end of that sentence. Lance hugged her and nodded, whispering in Spanish.

Keith watched as two girls ran toward the door, looking confused and afraid. They saw Keith first and he couldn’t help but start at how similar they looked to Lance. They had long brown hair, but it wasn’t as curly as their mothers. The only difference Keith could immediately note was their heights and the fact that one of them had their hair in a side braid while the other had it loose.

“Lance?” the taller one gasped. Lance pulled away from his mom and looked at the two girls which Keith assumed were his sisters. “Dios mio,” she whispered.

“Maria! Becca!” He stood, keeping one hand in his mother’s as his sisters tackled him into a hug. “Tito! Come here, little man!” Keith took a deep breath and stepped back feeling like an intruder.

They kept covering Lance in kisses and tears and exclaiming in Spanish. Finally, Lance stood, with puffy eyes and a tear-streaked face. He waved Keith over with a wide smile. “This is Keith. He’s my friend, he’s….” Lance sniffed and shrugged. “It’s a long story. But we’re kind of like soldiers in space. And he’s saved me a lot of times. It’s thanks to him we were allowed to visit.”

“Visit?” his mother questioned.

Lance’s expression sobered and nodded. “We can only be here for twelve hours. And we have to go back to keep you all out of danger. Please, trust me, I’m okay. I’m a pilot and I’m fighting to keep a bunch of planets and solar systems safe!”

“Twelve hours,” she repeated. “Then we’d better start celebrating, shouldn’t we. And you, muchachito. Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around Keith and he gasped, uncertainly wrapping his arms around her. Keith understood why Lance missed these hugs so much. “Come in, both of you. Nico, vente, mi amor, Mami will be home soon!” The toddler waddled over to the door and Lance’s mom lifted him into her arms. “Oh, look at you, you’re all messy. Come on in, boys, I’ll make you some breakfast.”

She wiped at her eyes and walked in. Lance looked at Keith with so much joy, it made Keith smile. “I told you,” he said. Keith rolled his eyes and followed him in.

It was a quaint little house. There was a small living room with a television set up around the walls. The kitchen was immediately next to it with a dining room on the opposite side. A hallway led to a few doors, which Keith assumed were the rooms and bathrooms. There was a small glass table beside one of the couches that had a professional picture that showed Lance in his Garrision uniform. Beside it was a picture of Lance with his family standing in front of the Garrison on moving day. There was a religious candle lit behind the pictures and Keith furrowed his eyebrows.

“So what is space like?” Becca asked, sitting beside Lance.

“You’re a pilot? What does your ship look like?” Maria asked, sitting cross legged on the floor with Tito in her arms.

“Do you shoot aliens?” Tito asked.

Lance laughed and started telling them the story of how they came upon the blue lion, how they reached the castle of lions, and the battles against Zarkon. He told them about Pidge and Hunk and Shiro, then Allura and Coran. Keith noticed he didn’t fawn over Allura when he spoke about her and, if he was honest, he felt a little relieved.

In the kitchen, Keith could hear and smell something being made, sizzling, smelling of spices and making his mouth water. He hadn’t had real food in a long time. He also heard Lance’s mom singing in the kitchen as she cooked and held Nicolas on one hip.

Just as she had begun to set out plates, the door opened and another woman with wild frizzy curls came in with a sigh and bags of groceries. “Carajo, los tomates estaban- Maria santisima!” she shrieked when she saw Lance, dropping her bags. “Lance! C-co-cu-cua-d-donde?” She stammered, and it only made it harder for Keith to understand.

Lance stood and smiled. “Hi, Nanis,” he whispered.

She shrieked and started jumping before engulfing Lance into a hug and crying into his shoulder. A variety of words were spoken, over each other, in English and Spanish, so Keith just watched and decided he understood enough by the expressions on their faces.

“This is Keith. He’s my friend.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Keith? You mean the Keith?” Lance paled and he gave her a pointed look. “What, you’re friends now? How did that happen?”

They both blushed and Keith looked down at the floor. “Um, well, fighting wars makes you closer, I guess,” he mumbled. “Hi,” he waved.

“Well, I want to hear about this war,” Nanis said. “And I smell food! Maria, Becca help me pick this up.”

***

Within the span of an hour, more uncles and aunts and Lance’s father had all arrived at the small house. There had been a lot of crying and a lot of Spanish spoken too quickly for Keith to keep up. Lance kept him at his side, sometimes to back up his claims on the war and his ability to pilot a lion and shooting his bayard.

Keith wasn’t sure what to feel. He felt like a boyfriend coming home to meet the family each time Lance introduced him. But they were just friends. Keith was only here because he had no family to return to.

Somewhere nearing that hour Keith felt too overwhelmed and took refuge inside the house, looking for the bathroom to calm down. He stayed there long enough for his heart rate to return to normal and for the silence to calm his brain.

When he gathered the courage to leave the bathroom, he ran into Maria, Nanis, and one of the cousins, Elena. They were smiling at him, giving each other sly glances. “So,” Nanis began, “since when are you and Lance friends?”

The truth was, Keith wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure when his relationship with Lance had gone from two people who disliked each other to comrades to two guys who messed around to… actual friends. Who messed around. Then stopped to be just friends. Of course, he couldn’t tell these girls that.

“Um, a while, I guess. It’s hard to tell time up there.”

“But I thought you hated each other,” Maria said. Nanis elbowed her hard and she winced, smacking her arm. “That’s what Lance said, anyway.”

Keith gulped and tried to figure out what to say when Elena blurted, “So do you have like an alien girlfriend up there? Or one of the pala- what is it?”

“Paladins. Uh, no,” he answered. “No girlfriend.”

“Then what are those?” she giggled. Keith furrowed his eyebrows as she gestured to his neck. He backtracked into the bathroom to check his reflection and his stomach dropped.

Goddammit, Lance.

His neck was still littered in hickeys and bite marks from their last endeavor, and while Pidge had helped him hide it before, there was nothing covering them now. “Um, bruises. Training.” The girls giggled and Keith gulped, feeling his face heat up.

“Oye, metiches, leave him alone.” The girls looked over at Becca who was standing with her arms crossed down the hall. “Keith, come on. Ignore them.” She grabbed his arm and hauled him away. Normally Keith didn’t like that, but he was too grateful to really show discomfort. “I know it’s a lot of people. And most of them are as nosy as those girls.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Lance is out playing with Tito and Nicolas. You can hang out with me in here for a bit, if you want. I was just reading.”

Keith nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking around. There weren’t many posters up. There were a few lights that hung across the walls and pictures hanging from transparent string. Journals were scattered on a desk, and a large stuffed bunny was propped up against one corner. Keith’s eyes were drawn to a guitar that rested on the floor in an open case.

“You play guitar?”

“Yeah. I’m taking classes, so I’m not that good.”

Keith nodded and gestured. “May I?” She nodded and Keith picked the guitar up gingerly, feeling the vaguely familiar strings under his fingers. He strummed each string one by one and smiled as the sound echoed.

“Do you play?”

Keith shook his head. “I did a long time ago. I don’t think I remember much.” He strummed the guitar in the chords he remembered, switched to plucking and cursed under his breath when he stumbled or ruined the rhythm. “I only ever really kept one song in my head. My dad really liked it, so… I guess that’s why.”

“Which one?”

“Um, Only Hope. I’m not sure if-”

She reached out and Keith handed the guitar to her. She began strumming the guitar and began singing a familiar tune in a different language. She was singing in Spanish. Keith smiled and nodded, enjoying the elegant, foreign way the words strung together in Spanish. “It was one of the first I learned,” she said with a smile. “I saw a movie with it, and I wanted to learn it.” She handed it back to him and gestured. “Try again. I’ll help you.”

Keith nodded and tried to play again, his mind slightly refreshed. His fingers still slipped now and then, but he still began to murmur the beginning of the song softly. He chuckled when he messed up, but Becca just encouraged him to keep going. By the time he was singing the chorus the second time, his fingers had recalled the movements and played by memory. His voice grew stronger and Becca swayed with a smile as she listened.

When he finished the song he heard a soft breath behind him that made him jump. He turned and saw Lance leaning against the door with a smile on his face. Keith felt his face heat up faster than normal. “You never told me you played guitar.”

“I don’t. I only know the one song. And your sister had to remind me. I’m not-”

“Keith, relax,” he chuckled. “I liked it. I had no idea you could sing.” Keith cleared his throat and gave the guitar back. “You wanna eat? My godfather made some fajita.”

Keith nodded and gave the guitar back to Becca. “Thank you.” She nodded and smiled as he followed Lance out. Before they left the hallway, Lance’s hand gripped Keith’s wrist, making his stomach flip as he pulled him back. “W-What?”

Lance tilted his head and smiled. “You okay? You seem kind of freaked.”

“Just… a lot of people,” he muttered. There was a beat of silence and disappointment settled over Keith, but he wasn’t sure why. “Also.” Keith punched him hard in the arm.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“Your family is asking if I have a girlfriend because of these.” He gestured to his neck.

Lance had the decency to blush, but he rolled his eyes. “Okay first off, you literally asked for that,” he whispered. “Second, just say you do, it’s not like they’d know… it was me.” Keith scoffed and hit his stomach lightly. “Whatever, come on, I’m hungry.”

They both left and went to join the rest of Lance’s family where they were eating. The family was talking in Spanish again so Keith busied himself with picking apart his food and eating it, watching as Lance’s expression changed and shifted. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but he knew it was making Lance slightly uncomfortable. He saw it in the tension of his limbs, in the set of his jaw. Vaguely he wondered when he’d come to know Lance well enough to understand subtle body language.

Keith finished his food, and he went to throw away the paper plate he’d been served on. Lance’s mom was in the kitchen, talking to Tito. Tito looked like a clone of Lance, with smoother edges and stubby fingers. It was chilling, really. “Hi, mijo,” Mrs. McClain greeted. “Did you like the food?”

“Yeah. Yes. It was very good, thank you.” He smiled and looked at Tito who was looking at him curiously. He had his stick in hand, and Keith pointed. “Is that your sword?” Tito nodded slowly. “I have a sword too. Not with me, though. It’s on the ship.”

Tito looked at his mother, and she translated for him. His eyes widened and Keith couldn’t help but smile. “Keith, would you like to help me frost the cake?”

“I-I’m not much of a baker, really. I’ll be in your way-”

“The worst you could do is smear the crumbs. It’s all going to be eaten anyway. Come.” She gestured him over and pushed a bowl of homemade frosting toward him. “Three swipes. Like this.” She grabbed a spatula and smeared the frosting on one edge of the cake, swiping back and forth. “Try it.”

Keith chuckled nervously and took the spatula from her. He followed her actions, though his result was sloppier than hers. Still she smiled and nodded her head, encouraging him. “I’ve never frosted a cake,” he mumbled.

She laughed softly and ruffled his hair affectionately, making him freeze. He swallowed and continued to frost. She was looking for something in the cupboards and Tito was watching him. When he managed to finish, he put the spatula down and stepped back.

She clapped and smiled, before placing a few orange colored star shaped sprinkles. “His favorite color,” she said. “He used to love watching the sun go down because the sky became dark orange.” She began placing candles in an array on the cake. When she caught Keith confused expression, she said, “We missed his last birthday. When he turned 17. We might miss his next one, too. I figured we should celebrate now.”

She was smiling, but her voice was shaking. Her eyes were watery, and although Keith felt uncomfortable, he also wanted to help. Lance’s mom was kind and seeing her cry just didn’t feel right. Still he didn’t know what to do.

He cleared his throat and said the first thing that came to mind. “I thought his favorite color was lilac?” She frowned and tilted her head. “I-I don’t know why, I just thought…. Um.”

“Como tus ojos,” she murmured. He furrowed his eyebrows and she smiled. “Ah, like when he was little,” she chuckled. “He always went back and forth.” She waved the concept away and finished placing the candles.

“So his birthday is coming up?” She nodded and Keith bit his lip. “Do you mind if I take a picture of you and Tito?” He pulled out the space phone Pidge made for them all and gestured to it.

“Oh, I look horrible, I…. Ah, one second.” She took her hair down from her bun and pulled it over her shoulder as she kneeled down to wrap her arms around Tito. Tito held out his stick and smiled widely.

Keith smiled and counted until he managed to snap a few pictures. Just enough for what he needed. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a bit.” He smiled and left to find Becca. She was still in her room, scrolling through her computer. “Hey, Becca?”

She turned to him and shut her laptop. “Hi. Everything okay?”

He nodded and waved his phone. “Do you mind if I get a quick picture? I’m trying to do this thing, and…. If it’s okay, I mean.”

She tilted her head and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Do I just sit and smile?” Keith nodded and she walked over to the edge of her bed, crossed her legs, and smiled. Keith snapped a few pictures and nodded. “What are you doing with those?”

“It’s just something I thought of to help Lance with being homesick.”

She frowned, but before she could answer, Keith waved and hurried off to find Maria, Nico, and Nanis. He found Nanis with Nico and Elena playing with the dog, Renegade. Keith managed a few pictures including the dog and left to find Maria. She was helping serve food and managed to get away for a bit to smile into Keith’s camera.

“What is this for?”

“Just something I’m hoping to-”

“Lance!” Keith jumped and turned in time to see a girl running smack into Lance, toppling him over.

He turned to Maria and asked, “Another cousin?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “No, that’s Rosa. Lance’s sort-of girlfriend. They used to date in middle school, but she’d just tug him around like an idiot. I always told him she was no good.” She scrunched her nose like there was a bad smell. “Someone must have told her he’s back.”

Keith looked back and saw Lance standing, hands on Rosa’s shoulders as she cried and smiled up at him. Before he could turn back to Maria, he saw Rosa take Lance’s face in his hands and kiss him. Something twisted uncomfortably in him.

That feeling got worse when a few family members hooted and Lance was kissing her back.

Keith cleared his throat and turned away. “Um, thanks. I….” He trailed off and walked away, reaching the bathroom and shutting himself in again. He sat on the floor trying to figure out why the hell he was so upset.

He and Lance were friends. Just friends. Keith had watched him flirt with countless aliens and felt nothing. Why was this any different?

Whatever the reason, Keith didn’t want to be around to watch the girl cling to Lance’s arm the entire time. He pulled his phone out again and managed to get a signal to connect to Pidge. After a bit, a video popped up and he saw Pidge with her hands out, sitting next to her mom.

“Keith? What’s up?” she asked. “Whoa, you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he breathed. He gulped and tried to figure out a way to phrase his question.

Pidge shifted and neared the camera. “Keith, are you okay? What happened?”

He took a breath and looked away. “I don’t mean to intrude, but… do you think I could go stay with you?” She furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head. Keith sighed. “Everyone’s talking Spanish here, and there’s a lot of people, so I’m freaking out.”

She furrowed her eyebrows and nodded. “Yeah, sure. I think I can get my pod to get you. It can probably get there in ten minutes.”

Keith nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Pidge.”

He hung up and left the bathroom. He paced for a few seconds and went back out to the party. He was slightly frustrated at the sight of Lance with his arm around Rosa, laughing with family members. As they poked fun at him, Rosa would cuddle into his neck, and something possessive would wash over Keith.

Finally, he saw the pod land next to the one he and Lance had come in about three hours earlier. The sight of it spooked a few family members, and it managed to make Lance pry himself away from Rosa. He went up to Keith and tugged on his arm.

“Do you know why that thing is here? Is that like a sign? Do we have to get back early?”

“No,” he answered, pulling away. He grabbed his jacket. “It’s for me. I don’t want to intrude on you and your family, and I don’t really get half of what they’re saying, so…. I’ll just stay with her for the rest of the time. It’s cool.”

“Keith.” He groaned and looked at him. “Wh-what do you mean? I mean I thought-” He reached for Keith’s hand then pulled away at the last second. Keith nearly shoved him away just to get to the stupid pod. “You don’t have to go, Keith.”

“I’ll be fine. Really. Besides-”

“Amor, que pasa? Que es esa cosa? Y el, quién es?” Rosa sidled up next to Lance and Keith bit back an actual growl.

“Besides, it looks like you have all the company you need.” Lance frowned but didn’t say anything. “I should go.”

“Keith, are you leaving already?” He turned to see Lance’s mom coming up to him. She noticed Rosa, and her face tightened. It seemed Maria wasn’t the only one who didn’t like her. “Mijo, why don’t you take some food? Come.” She pulled him away and took him back to the kitchen. “That stupid girl. I can’t believe que tuvo las agallas de venir aqui. All those times my boy cried over her, and now-”

“Mami?” She stopped talking and wrapped a few plates in aluminum. “Tell Keith he doesn’t have to leave. He won’t believe me.”

She put her hand on her hip and looked at him. “If he’s uncomfortable, then he can go. But you’re welcome back anytime, mijo, really.” She smiled at him and wrapped him into a hug. “Oh, I can’t thank you enough for bringing my boy back. You stay safe out there, you hear me?”

Keith gulped down the knot in his throat. “Yes ma’am.”

She let go and kissed his cheek. She handed him a few plates and smiled. Then she turned to Lance. “You and me are going to talk later.” He blinked in surprise, but Keith just started for the door again.

Before he could leave though, he heard a voice calling after him. He turned and saw Becca rushing towards him. “Wait!” She pushed a strand of hair away from her face and held something out. “It’s an iPod. I uploaded a bunch of different music, because I wasn’t sure which you’d like. Only Hope is on there too. And, you know, today’s hits. Lance told me you missed music up there, so I thought… I don’t know.”

“O-oh.” He took the iPod and smiled. “Thank you. This is great.” He smiled and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“Keith, really, you don’t have to go,” Lance insisted.

Keith shook his head and punched him lightly on the arm. “It’s fine. I’ll see you back on the castle. Enjoy your family.” He turned away and climbed into the pod. He took one more look at Lance as he stood in the doorway and pressed Launch when he saw Rosa go up to him.

He had no idea what that feeling was, but he hated it. And he kind of hated Rosa too.

***

Being at Pidge’s house was a lot more comfortable. It was just her and her mom who immediately took a liking to Keith. The woman looked like she’d gotten no sleep in a year, and frankly, Keith couldn’t blame her. Especially if she thought she’d lost her entire family.

Now, Mrs. Holt had her hair up in curlers and her nails were glistening, as were Pidge’s. Pidge had some weird foam separators between her toes which were also glistening in a bright yellow color with black polka dots. She even had makeup on her face, which Keith figured was done by her mom.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” Keith said as he followed her to her room to help her bring down a few boxes of things she thought she could use up on the ship.

“No teasing,” she muttered.

“I wasn’t!”

She huffed and handed him a box. “So you ever gonna tell me the real reason you wanted to ditch Lance? Another lover’s quarrel?”

“We’re just friends. For real this time. And there was no real reason. I told you-”

“Keith, I managed to sneak into the Garrison as a boy and decoded Galran talk about Voltron. I can see through your bullshit easily.” Keith huffed and she put another box over the one he had. “What happened?”

He shrugged and hefted the boxes. “I don’t know, okay? Some girl who used to date him came and started kissing him, and I got annoyed and… I wanted to leave. I didn’t belong there.” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

She put a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “Did you get this twisted feeling in your stomach? Your chest felt like it was pressing in?” Keith frowned and nodded slowly. “Couldn’t breathe, really sad but really pissed at the same time?” This time, before he could nod, she smirked. “Keith, that’s jealousy. I told you one of you was going to fall for the other.”

“What are you talking about?”

She shook her head and gestured to the stairs. “I’m talking about the fact that you see this girl all over Lance and you felt all these shitty emotions, and it’s because you like Lance and feel jealous.” She pointed to the couch. “Set them there.” Keith did and frowned as he processed what Pidge said. “Come on, I have something for you.” He followed her to another room and looked around at the bookcases and piles of books that littered the floor. “You obviously need to figure out how to deal with and understand your own emotions. I think reading could help you with that.”

“I’m not sure if that’s an insult.” Pidge snorted and went around, pulling out a few books here and there until she had four piles of books that reached her height. “Um.”

“Pick one to read now. The rest will go in the pod.” Keith sighed and grabbed one at random. Pidge helped him carry the rest to the pod.

When they got back, Pidge sat with her mom as she sorted through the boxes and Keith sat down in a different chair, reading his book and listening to the iPod Becca gave him.

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#klance #laith #no smut #this is plot

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the-nerd-herd-blog · 6 years

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The Dream Catcher

I’m going to be honest with you. If there’s one thing I learned while living with humans, it’s that they are nasty beings. Except for a few kindred souls who I’m convinced aren’t even human at all. Like me. Another, I call them. From another world. Or in human terms, angels.

I’m a Dream Catcher. With a capital D and C. Not those feathered strings you hang around your bedroom. Those are merely instruments my kind use. We use them to catch the dreams of the worthy. I filter the good and the bad. It is a terrible job and very unpleasant. There are some things I’ve seen that I will never ever forget. Sadly. No matter how hard I try.

When I was born from the prayers and wishes of a happy family, I thought humans must be wonderful. I watched as that family grew and grew until there was no trace of the kindness that birthed me. Eventually, the off springs were no more than vile creatures I was no longer willing to protect. So I left. They had no more need of me so I sought pure-hearted souls that I’d wish to protect. I wandered around, searching for my calling. Eventually, I stumbled upon a huge house full of sparkling lights. A jolly old man wearing a red robe sat at the patio, hands beckoning. I approached him, certain that someone with such joy emanating from his smile would be kind. That’s when I learned about Christmas and Santa Claus.

I stayed there for a while, watching the people. For a huge house, it contained so little. Don’t get me wrong, it was full of furniture, of mundane things, but it lacked everything else. It lacked color; it lacked joy. I have never encountered something as empty as that mansion. A family of three lived there. And a person who cleaned the house for them. A maid, they called her. But in that huge space, rarely, so rarely, did their paths diverge. Hmm. Maybe saying it is empty is wrong. For there, amidst the stink of air fresheners is a smell I am becoming familiar with. Sadness. It is heavy in the air, and every breath they took was laced with it. I didn’t understand. This family had everything they would have needed. Everything. Except perhaps the one thing that they all desperately wanted. Love. I wanted to help them. I really did. But they were non-believers. I could not help people who did not believe. So on the fifth night, I gathered myself and left. I burned their faces into my memory. So I would not forget. So someone would remember. And remember, I did.

When I close my eyes, I could still see them. The teenage girl embracing herself in the dark, warm tears slowly cascading down her face and unto the soft pillow on her bed. The father, worry lining his young face. Hair graying from all the work. The mother, dark circles in her face from all the stress. Strands of silver in her beautiful raven black hair. The maid, scrawny and sickly. Falling asleep looking at the pictures of the children she couldn’t take care of. It was sad, but I could not help them. I can only help people who are willing to let someone help them. To help, I needed them to believe. And they didn’t.

The next family I went to was the complete opposite of that family. Except for one thing. The sadness. While that mansion was huge, this house was small. If you could even call it a house. The small dilapidated building looked on the verge of collapse and it was what caught my attention in the first place. I entered the shack and the putrid smell assaulted my nose. I almost left by then. The huge house stank to me because everything smelled artificial. Those fancy bottles sprayers they sprayed stank to me. This time, a different kind of stench welcomed me. The shack smelled heavily of decay, of sweat, of dirt, of blood, of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and of tears. I thought it was empty at first. Then just as I was about to leave, I heard it. A whimper. I scanned my surrounding and found something wriggle behind a tiny cabinet.

I approached it warily and came face to face with a child. She stared at me, brown eyes wide. It confused me; never had a human looked at me directly. No one, not even the family who bore me, ever looked at me like they knew me. She wore ragged clothes and she shivered in the cool winter night.

“Who are you?” she whispered. I tilted my head, unsure of how to respond. I never had to talk to someone before and here is a human spawn, talking to me. I inspected myself, the white shirt and pants I had always worn. I wondered what made this different. Why she could see me. Her gaze remained piercing.

“I-I am-” I began. And then we heard footsteps. She looked stricken. Her face reminded me of a kicked animal.

“Hide,” she whispered and she curled up on herself more. I wondered why that was. She was a small child, barely noticeable from when I entered the place before but at the sounds of someone storming the shack, she seemed to look even smaller. And though I was pretty sure whoever was coming would not see me, I scooted beside the child. I was smaller than most full grown humans but even then, the place was a tight fit. I found her looking at me and in the dark, her eyes reminded me of fire.

And then the man came. As soon as he stepped in, I knew why the house stank so much. It was him. He shuffled across the tiny space, chugging a bottle of who knows what. I know then, that this man is no man at all. It was a monster who took on the flesh of a human. I look at the girl, to tell her that I know why she is hiding. She was shivering. She was not looking at me. Her eyes are closed, hands clasped together. As if she is praying. I did not know who she was praying to. But I knew that he’d find her soon. I raised my hand to touch her, to tell her to run somewhere but my hands passed through her. Just like smoke. And then she opened her eyes and looked at me. She smiled at me. It was a sad smile. But she was smiling.

I did not understand it. She must sense the danger. But why is she not afraid? And then the man came. I stood up, tried to push him but my limbs just went through him. I look at the little girl but she is not looking at me anymore. She is looking at the monster. The monster towered over her, leering with his rotting teeth. But the child did not cower. She looked at him straight in the eye. It surprised me. I was confused. Why was she not afraid? I could sense the danger of this man. He stank of it. Does she not see it? Then I saw her lip. It was trembling. And her hands. She was clutching the hem of her ragged shirt so tight that her knuckles were white and despite the chilly December air, sweat beaded her forehead.

The monster scratched its belly and laughed. He looked like a beast that was appreciating the dish before him. My stomach sank. I knew where this is going. I ran to her, kept trying to grab her arm but to no avail. My hand just went through. And that’s when the tears came. I did not understand it at first. My vision blurred and a lump got stuck in my throat. Then the next thing I know, tears were rushing down my face. I called out to her but she would not look at me. And that’s when I knew. I was invisible again.

I wasn’t sure a god existed. But I knew about the power of believing. So in that moment, I let myself believe. I believed that someone would help that little girl pinned underneath the monster. She cried silent tears as he butchered her dignity, her soul. Pain, so much pain. And sadness. It was so thick in the air that I could almost taste it. And even thicker, was the smugness emanating from the monster. I forced myself to look away as he took everything from her. He took away that little girl’s innocence and her purity. That’s when I stopped believing. I closed my eyes and blocked my ears, unable to take it. I knew she was aching and hurting and I knew I couldn’t do anything to help her. I wished and wished and wished for it to over.

Time passed agonizingly slow before the monster finally stood up. And even after he brought his shorts back up to his waist, she still laid there. And way after he left, she stayed. I stayed too. She pulled on her ragged clothes back on and curled in herself. She looked so small, so frail, and I worried that a gentle gust of wind would blow her away. Then I remembered what happened. Maybe being blown away by the wind isn’t such a bad thing at all. From underneath her clothes, on her pale skin, I see a patchwork of colors. Blue and violet and green and yellow. Bruises. Then red. Blood. But even as I looked at all of those, I knew that wasn’t the worst part of it. Knew that what hurt the most is something that the eye couldn’t see. Just because you couldn’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I watched her until her quiet sobs became nerve wracking. Watched her until she quieted down and fell asleep from exhaustion and sadness. And then I worked my magic. I went to her, movements careful lest she suddenly see me and I scare her. She was asleep, but she sniffled in her sleep and remained curled up. As if even while resting, she gets the urge to remain as small as possible. To not be seen. She whimpered in her sleep and her face contorted to a mask of pain. I needed to work quickly.

As gently as I could with the tears blurring my vision and my hands shaking from the anger I felt, I touched her hair. She flinched at first but I hummed my favorite tune and eventually, she steadied under my touch.

To “catch” people’s dreams, I needed dream catchers. The little web in the middle would catch the bad dreams til I could touch it and gather the dream. Or to touch them directly. When you “catch” bad dreams for someone, you take their nightmares away and experience it for yourself. It is not a pleasant experience but whatever I could do, I would just to ease the child’s pain away. Sure enough, the monster is in her dreams again. A constant, looming presence. And I felt it. I felt her pain, her terror. When I finally came back, it felt like forever. But I knew I only spent a moment in her dreams no matter how long it felt. Sweat beaded my brows and I sighed upon seeing her face calm in sleep. But immediately, I knew that something was wrong. It was faint, but her heartbeat got weaker and weaker. She was…going. I looked at the filth around us and told myself, “Wherever she is going, I hope it is better than this.” And as he breathing became more labored, I told her of the stories I have gathered of the times I spent wandering around. I didn’t know if she heard me; she most likely did not. But it didn’t matter. It was quiet, too quiet, and it felt sad. The little girl has had plenty of sadness in her life. She didn’t need more. So I filled the silence with my voice and hoped that she will be guided and that she will find happiness.

And just before the first rays of the sun broke out, she breathed her last. Peace at last.

It was then that I hated what I do. I learned to hate being who I am and my abilities for no amount of wishing would take that little girl back. I know that in her last moments, I eased her pain but it isn’t enough to me. I want to take everything, every pain, every tear she has shed. And it made me realize just how insignificant I was. There I was, helping people one by one. But for every person I help, hundreds lay curled up in their bed, crying in their sleep, for no Dream Catcher came for them. What must I do? Is my existence a blessing or a curse? I do not know. And I am not sure if I want to know.

— m.a.

#The Dream Catcher #dreamcatcher #dream catcher #writers in tumblr #spilled ink #spilled words #thenerdherdwrites #dreams #sad #faith #hope

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leapintime-blog1 · 7 years

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Chapter 1- LIT Fanfic

London-1878

Will Herondale was scowling as he pulled a seraph blade out of his coat and held it before him, leading the Shadowhunting trio along a harsh wooded path, gradually going upwards. "Who decided you could come along?" he asked the girl beside him with a glare.

"You did," a Miss Theresa Gray replied promptly, plucking at phantom skirts as the trio began to scale the hill before realizing she was in the unfamiliar tunic and trousers of shadowhunting gear. "Out of the kindness of your hearts and generosity you asked me along."

"That, Will," a slender, white haired boy beside them put in, looking amused. "Is another way of saying she snuck into the carriage."

"Ah," Will said, glowering down at his sensor. "And how exactly did you do that? Shape shift yourself into a bug, did you?"

Tessa shot him a rather annoyed and bewildered look. "You know that's not how it works."

"He does," explained Jem congenially, putting an arm out for Tessa to grab as her foot slipped on a wet patch of leaves. "He's in a rather bad temper today. It's not just you."

"How do you know it isn't just her?" Will began fiercely, plucking at the buttons on his coat, clambering up the hill ahead of both Jem and Tessa. "Personally, I think that Tessa is-"

He cut off, staring wildly ahead. "Something moved."

Jem's eyes moved up quickly, scanning the woody terrain. "Where? I didn't see anything."

Will whispered to his blade, and it glowed blue. "If you would cease and desist goggling at Tessa then you would've," he said, but without the usual bite, his eyes trained on the forest. "There. Up ahead." He gestured with his blade.

It was an average morning for London, the sky a dark almost-downcast, the air fresh with the scent of barely falling rain. Charlotte had been set two weeks to find Mortmain, two simple weeks, and every lead was viable. Charlotte herself was besought, running this way and that, rather hopelessly in Will's opinion, trying to get everything, and really getting nothing, done all at once. So it was that when a note was left on the door of the Institute, bright the morning of the last week, Charlotte herself didn't even fully read the note. The moment she saw the name of Mortmain was mentioned in its phrases she left it in the hands of the others, with commands to follow up. Jem and Will had eagerly offered their services, seeing that being around Charlotte these days was a bit depressing. Or at least, that was Will's thinking. He couldn't say for Jem. So they had set out, Cyril taking them as far as possible in the carriage.

The note was, in short, a confidence, from an anonymous witness, claiming that there lived, in the countrysides of the outskirts of London, a warlock by the name of Echius. The note itself was in a rather disgusting scrawl, smeared with what looked like grease, and worded like a foreigner or an illiterate, so at first they paid it no heed. Upon brief investigation, however, the parabatai set had quickly found that there was no such warlock registered under that name in the Clave, which, if he truly existed as the source claimed, would be in direct violation of the Accords. In Will's opinion, it was what one would call a wild goose chase, but that didn't stop him from going. Beside killing demons, arresting rogue downworlders was second best in his opinion, and if this little trek meant a chance to arrest an illiterate fool meddling in an already incredibly tedious investigation, he thought it completely worth it.

It hadn't been raining when he and Jem left the institute in the carriage, driven dutiously by Cyril, who Will was still, though he wouldn't admit it, vaguely uncomfortable around. There was just something about being around the lookalike of a man you watched die, that was extremely disconcerting. Regardless, he assumed he was kind enough, even to the extreme of being courteous to Will himself.

Will did not want Tessa with them. He tried desperately to despise every little smile, and honestly despised every time she caught on to her fiance's arm (which was quite often). He was using the best of his abilities to show utter disdain for the fact that she was here at all. How could one take their minds off of horrible things by destroying downworlders if the center of one's aggravation insisted on following them?

So, when motion caught his eye up ahead, he was infinitely grateful for the distraction. He took a firm step in front of his companions.

"Who's there? Name yourself!"

Jem stepped up beside him, surreptitiously moving himself directly in front of Tessa. "Will," he murmured. "How do you know it's not simply a forest animal?" Yet, as he spoke, he slowly twisted his cane, letting a slip of blade glint in the light of Will's blade.

"Gut feeling," Will muttered back, eyes remaining on the forest. He moved forward once more. "By the authority of the Clave I demand that you show yourself!"

"The Clave doesn't scare me, boy," came an almost elderly sounding, crackling voice from the foliage, causing Jem to jump slightly, and Tessa behind him to suck in a loud breath. Will stayed perfectly still, jaw tight. None of the group could see a thing. "I like to think I'm old enough to be Jonathan Shadowhunter's own father. How does that settle with ye?"

Will and Jem tensed, Will's blade flashing bright, Jem sliding his blade out completely.

It was Jem who responded first. "Are you the warlock Echius?" he asked, his voice cautious but firm.

It was then that a man stepped forward from behind a crowding of ivy and dead vines, standing before them on the crest of the hill. He was not what one could call intimidating, with a small, hunched over frame and cane that made him look much older than his eternal youth would portray, a mop of sandy hair that was rooted in dirt, leaves, and what looked, at a distance to be. . . maggots. He suddenly grinned at the travelers with a large, toothless smile, that made something in Will's chest go cold.

"And if I be? What do the likes of the Clave want with a simple man like me?"

Jem seemed to be struck speechless by the strange sight, his face a mirror of Will's own bewilderment. However, it was Will who spoke this time.

"We are currently in an investigation for the clave," he said, eyes unblinking on the feeble warlock. "We were told that you could give us information we need."

Echius twirled his cane in a hand, looking thoughtful. "Ye best be coming into my home. No good talking out here in the dank with that pretty miss ye've got behind ye."

Tessa straightened slightly, looking slightly disgruntled as Jem and Will simultaneously glanced back at her.

The man turned and began to disappear deeper into the forest. The three exchanged a look and began to follow.

"Are those maggots he's got in his hair?" Tessa hissed, leaning over their shoulders.

Neither responded, excepting Jem, with a simple shudder.

They followed him deeper and deeper into the dark wood, the sun almost completely eclipsed by the tangles of trees. Finally, without warning, they nearly bumped into a ramshackled house, shoved between two cypruses. Echius, who had been far in front of them despite his seemingly frail frame, waved to them from the shack's door, already safely inside.

"I don't like this," Will cut in quickly to his companions.

"Neither do I," said Jem grimly. "But we've seen worse. One insane warlock won't keep you away, Will. That I do know.

"Well, are we staying outside all day or shall we go in?" Tessa spoke up, looking at the two of them in turn, eyebrow raised.

Will and Jem exchanged a look. Jem shrugged slightly. "What is there to lose? From the looks of him you and I alone could control the situation easily, if needed."

Will nodded. "In it is then." He stepped to the door, opened it and disappeared inside.

Jem and Tessa exchanged a glance before Jem held open the door for his fiance and they too disappeared inside the shack.

The inside was worse than the maggoty man himself, reeking of what smelled like stale urine and sour milk. Upon entry, one's eyes did not know what to look at. Whether it be the rotting green boards of an ancient bookshelf, falling to pieces, several broken windows, their glass dotting the floor, or what looked like a long ago abandoned squirrel nest in its ceiling. As for the man, sitting in an armchair in the corner, he was almost unrecognizable. Sitting up straight, cane merely a toy in his hands, his appearance had changed entirely. What had been grease coated rags were suddenly a sleek foreign fabric, in the set of tight trousers, a buttoned shirt, and a jacket of sorts. What had been hair coated with maggots and filth of all sorts was now combed down across his forehead, a starling blond. Instead of a sickening toothless grin, a small, tight lipped smirk smiled out at them.

Jem, in his bewilderment, asked the less obvious question. "You. . . live here?" he asked, dazed.

The man's eyes glinted. "Oh no. No, no, no, no," he spoke, his voice as silky as the fabric he wore. The strange lilt and 'ye's' were gone, leaving no trace of anything but a pure, cultured British accent. "I wouldn't dare live in a hovel like this."

Will stepped forward, eyes burning dangerously. "Are you Echius?" he demanded, pointing his seraph blade at the man.

The man continued to smile, his smile tamed but his eyes bright and wild. "Oh, I am Echius. I am most certainly Echius, young man. And you are what will soon be my greatest achievement."

"Explain this," demanded Jem forcefully, pointing his bladed cane at the man beside Will's sharp pointed knife. "Now."

"What is there to explain?" he asked in response with a titter, leaping to his feet with grace that made the three in front of him back up a step in surprise. "I have successfully lured three Shadowhunters exactly where I planned without a hitch. I have exactly what I wanted and I plan to make the best of it." He grinned wildly at the three horrified faces in front of him. "Oh, and now don't be hasty!" he called loudly, as Tessa, teeth gritted and determined, attempted to reach behind her for the door knob. "You really think I'd bring my biggest achievements to a room and leave the door unlocked? You must think me stupid!" He laughed out loud at this, Tessa's white face growing taught.

"You wrote the letter to Charlotte. Luring us here," Will said without emphasis, face tight and resigned.

"Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes," sang the man gleefully, his eyes darting from one to the other of them with the look of a small child on Christmas. "I must say you caught on rather quicker than the last one. He wasn't much of a help, had to call a demon up to possess him," he said with a pouting expression, as if this was the most tedious of stories. "Although, he did manage to bring me back some nice presents." He stroked the strange fabric of his clothing lovingly, as if caressing it.

Jem stepped firmly in front of Tessa, who had already drawn a blade from her own belt, but it was Will who spoke this time. "Back from where? Why did you lure us here?"

"He didn't last long enough," Echius replied, turning on them with wild eyes. "The trip hurt his brain. But you. There's three of you. One goes down, I have two more!" he sang, gibberish, in childlike glee.

Will's lips twisted. "No, you don't. Whatever's wrong in that sick mind of yours we want nothing to do with it. And you can't possibly possess all three of us," he said defiantly.

"Will," groaned Jem from beside him.

"Who needs possession?" shrieked Echius, eyes wild and gleeful, bouncing on his toes. "I learned last time that didn't work well enough. This time, this time, you're going differently. THIS TIME-"

Tessa grabbed onto Jem's arm, eyes wide.

"Jem," called Will loudly over the Warlock. "Get Tessa out! NOW!"

"-THIS TIME YOU'LL NEVER COME BACK!"

"JEM! NOW!"

The sound of Jem's shoulder slamming into the door resounded just as Will dove at the warlock with his blade, and Tessa threw hers through the air directly towards the crazed Warlock's face. But nothing came of any of these actions , because, at that exact moment, the world as it was for Tessa, Will, and Jem, went black.

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zfiledh · 7 years

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Return to Rothezar

AO3 | LJ | FF.net

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

The Pines family returns to Gravity Falls for the summer of 2013, this time accompanied by Dipper and Mabel's parents. But they're not the only ones coming back...

Author’s Note: This continues directly after the last chapter of Not What It Seems. There was another part to the story of Maegella, and it took me months to set a cohesive plot to the sequel and a couple of weeks to begin writing again.

For @eregyrn-falls who talked me into kickstarting the writing flow. :)

Prologue

June 2013

Fiddleford McGucket looks a lot better these days after becoming insanely rich. Before he left Gravity Falls with his twin, Stanford Pines had teamed up with a reluctant Tate McGucket and managed to convince Fiddleford to wear new clothes and shoes. It ended with a compromise: Fiddleford wore a shirt under his new overalls and he only wears shoes for “special occasions”, like eating out at Greasy’s Diner. However, there was nothing friend nor son could do to convince Fiddleford to let go of the patched and frayed brown hat that he snatched from a scarecrow. The cast on his arm was removed, but was promptly replaced with what looked like a red fiberglass replica of the cast.

When he was asked by Soos about this, Fiddleford replied, “My arm felt naked!” Soos nodded in solemn understanding.

Nowadays, his posture is now much straighter, his (horrible, screeching) voice toned down a bit, and he cleaned up nicely after his “wizard’s beard” was trimmed to half its length. Some of the townsfolk attributes this to a visit from Wendy and Soos around February. The former employees of the Mystery Shack had returned from a quick “visit” with the Pines family in California, and the day after they returned they headed straight for McGucket’s mansion.

Presently, Fiddleford was out at the front of the former Northwest manor. Spry and agile for his age, he hops out from an opening of a huge round metal hull that was propped up with wooden beams on the sides. Next to the fountain and lying on its side was the head and neck of a mythical sea monster. Fiddleford jumped nimbly on the ground and took off his welding helmet.

“Won’t be long now, Gobblewonker,” he said to the head happily, shutting off his welding torch before putting it on a nearby table. “I’ll finish ya before the kids get here next week and we’ll go out on the lake and scare the willies out of ev’rybody!”

He starts whistling a happy tune as he saunters back to the manor. Tonight, he’s hungry for some grub from Greasy’s Diner.

XXX

She crashed on the dusty floor of a dark and forbidding place.

After a moment, Maegella carefully pushed herself up to a sitting position, holding herself steady to let the dizziness pass. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but darkness. She shifted into a kneeling position and held out her left hand, palm-side up.

“Naur,” she whispered, frowning as she concentrated. This was a lot more complicated than wielding a staff, on top of summoning fire.

From the palm of her hand came a burst of blue flame. It illuminated her hand, making the sleeve of her silver robes shimmer in the light. With one hand occupied, she awkwardly pushes herself off the floor. She raises her hand out and turns around, looking at the area she was in. She could make out the rocky formation of the floor, a partition made of metal, and the walls carved from earth. It seemed like she was in a cave of some sort.

It was also familiar to her somehow.

She raised the hand with the flame and looked up. The light wasn’t enough to see the ceiling in this place. But if this was the place she thought it was…

"Koron en' naur!"

A ball of blue flame shot out from her hand. It struck the ceiling and briefly illuminated the earth above. Maegella’s eyes widened when she saw the corner of an opening. She sent out two more fireballs before she found what she was looking for: a large, jagged opening in the rock, but something seems to be covering it.

She took a deep breath and raised both her hands above her head. “Faina templa!” she yelled.

This time, great bolts of blue energy shot out from both palms and hit the ceiling.

BLAM!

After the debris stopped falling, Maegella grinned as she looked up; she could see the night sky from the hole she made. From the folds of her robes, she took out a small silver disc the size of a tiny teacup saucer and dropped it. The disc stopped falling and hovered inches from the ground. She tapped it with her foot and it began to grow in size until it was roughly the size of a manhole cover. She stepped on the Hover Disc and started flying up toward the hole she made in the ceiling.

When she cleared the opening, she breathed in deeply and turned around. Before her was a familiar dwelling with a triangular roof and a square body made of wood. The last time she was here, the house and grounds were covered with snow. Now, it was warm and dry and green all around.

“I have returned,” she whispered, a sense of relief and wonder creeping into her voice. “This is Soos’ home!”

Maegella moved away from the large hole in the ground and floated away to where she knew the entrance was. She felt giddy with excitement; she missed the friends she had made from this plane of existence.

She clasped her hands over her mouth at the thought that she would see him again.

She reached the front door and stepped off her Hover Disc. She tucked a strand of dark red hair behind her ear and gently knocked on the door.

After a few moments, she stepped back, frowning. She walked towards one of the windows next to the door and peered inside.

She remembered Soos saying that the front of this house serves as the “gift shop”, where people buy trinkets (possibly as gifts to others, Maegella thought then). From the light on the porch, she could see inside the gift shop. There was no one inside.

And then she realized that if Soos, Melody and Abuelita were inside, they would have heard her blow up the cover on the fissure.

“Where did they go?” she wondered, stepping back on the Hover Disc. She floated away from the Shack and up over the treetops. “Perhaps they went on holiday…”

XXX

“Goodnight ev’rybody!” Fiddleford called out as he and Tate stepped out of Greasy’s Diner. Strapped to the older man’s chest via baby carrier was a large and very well-fed raccoon. Apparently, the Huggy Wuvvy Tummy Bundle also works for Raccoon Wives.

“Welp, time to git on home!” said Fiddleford, leaning down to kiss her furry head. “I’m so glad we could have this git-together and spend time as a family.”

“Yep,” Tate said in his stoic voice and patted his father’s skinny shoulder. Fiddleford smiled; his son wasn’t much for conversation. In fact, their reconciliation last year was the most they have talked in years.

Father and son hopped into a brown pickup truck and started driving back to the manor. Fiddleford and Raccoon Wife provided the background noise on the drive back home, mostly chattering from the latter and the former’s excitement at receiving visitors at his grand new home in the coming week. They were halfway home when the pickup’s headlights lit on a figure standing by the trees. No, they weren’t standing; they were walking, but not in a straight line.

Something was wrong.

“Hornswaggle m’goat knees, stop the car Tate!” Fiddleford cried out. “We gotta help ‘em!”

Tate immediately parked to the side and before he could turn off the engine, his father had jumped out of the truck and ran towards the woman in silver with Raccoon Wife still strapped to his chest. When he got closer, he slowed down as he heard the stranger speak.

“Stop…please, stop…Mani uma lle merna?” she whimpered.

She wore what looked like a long silver gown, with a rip on the right sleeve and stains on the same side. Her dark red hair was wild and sticking up in places and partially covered in leaves. Fiddleford immediately felt sorry for this woman. He remembered living in the dump when his mind was ruined by the Memory Gun, and the kindness that went his way were few and precious to him.

“Pardon me, miss, but are ya in need of some assistance?” Fiddleford asked softly, but it was enough to startle the woman. She turned swiftly to face him, and Fiddleford mustered a kind smile in an attempt to calm her down, poor thing. Her gray eyes were huge with fright on an oval face and her lower lip was trembling. There was even a smudge of dirt on her straight nose.

The woman looked from his face to a point on his chest. Fiddleford looked down. “Oh, don’t mind ‘er, miss,” he chuckled. “She’s well-fed and content, she won’t harm ya none. She ain’t the jealous type!” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Ya look like yer in need of some assistance. It ain’t safe out here at this time o’ the night.”

She opened and closed her mouth, somewhat at a loss for words, before she managed to say, “I—I am lost. I was l-looking for my friends and I—I fell and got lost.”

She looked up at a point on Fiddleford’s right; Tate had stepped forward, looking between the strangely-dressed woman and his father. The senior McGucket looked at her in concern before stepping forward cautiously.

“Tell ya what? We’re gonna take ya with us and getcha cleaned up. Ya can sleep at our place an’ tomorrow, we’re gonna help ya find these friends o’ yers. Ya can tell us on the way back home,” he offered. “And I ain’t takin’ no fer an answer! As ya can see here, these woods ain’t safe this time o’ the night.”

Behind Fiddleford, Tate nodded in agreement. Though he wasn’t fond of strangers, even he wouldn’t want to leave the woman out here in the middle of the night. The woman blinked.

“You would do that for me?” she asked in surprise. When both men started nodding (including the raccoon), she gave them a small smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She accepted Fiddleford’s outstretched hand (which was covered in some strange glove) and limped slowly back to the pickup truck.

“The name’s Fiddleford, by the way,” he said cheerfully. “Fiddleford McGucket! And this here is m’son, Tate!”

She nodded at the two of them and said, “My name is Maegella.”

#return to rothezar gf #gravity falls #fanfic #au #stanford pines #stanley pines #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #tate mcgucket #dipper pines #mabel pines #maegella #dimension travel #can't believe I'm back in the writing groove again!

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arceusbeta · 7 years

Text

whistling [heaven machine]

The settlement is a quiet one - the borders spread wider than she’d expected, the gears stopping and the song going quiet well before she sees people, but the bits of dirt they’ve uncovered beneath the porcelain are barren of anything but weeds and the houses are mostly empty. A few tired-eyed people look at her as she heads towards her destination, but not many. She guesses that the crops died out, that the soil wasn’t fertile, that the rains fell short. A settlement can support itself on sporadic apostle visits for only so long.

The inn is figwood, of course. Most of the buildings here are. This isn’t a town that’s rich enough to support growing trees just for appearances.

She pushes her way in, scanning the room. The innkeeper is behind the bar, whistling to himself, but he looks up and nods when she enters.

The box is pulled from her cloak, and she approaches the bar and sets the box on the figwood countertop. “For Ruth?”

A broad shrug. “Ruth left a few months back.”

She fights back an oath, nodding and picking up the box. “Any idea which way?”

Another shrug. “Somewhere better than here.” He sighs. “She has some kin around. Few doors down, third floor, little family. You can bring it there.”

She sighs in turn, nodding. It’ll do. No point in hunting further. The sender will understand, if the news ever gets back. This is far from the first failed delivery, after all. “Any chance of some wine, then?”

He nods, pouring her something from the keg into a rough-hewn vessel and offering it over. She doesn’t offer payment, and he doesn’t ask.

As she walks away, he starts whistling again.

She takes the wine back to one of the little tables, settling in to sip her wine and consider her next steps. There won’t be any jobs to pick up here, most likely, although maybe she can escort someone who’s trying to make a new life. She’s heard rumors of a more prosperous settlement a few more days east of here, so maybe she can just keep going. Her supplies aren’t too low. It’s that or detour north to somewhere with better rains.

East, she decides. She’ll wait a day to see if she can pick up a passenger, then get east.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice the stranger until their shadow falls on her. She glances up, startled, and then looks a bit more up. Tall - they’re dressed in town clothes, not the heavy cloak that apostles favor, so they’re not an active traveler, but they’re tall and slender and have the too-regular face and too-bright eyes of someone who’s spent too much time in the choirs. Retired, most likely.

“Mind if I join you?” they ask, already going to sit.

She hesitates, then nods. She’s been talking to nobody but herself and the gears for too long. It’ll be nice to have company.

They smile a little - bright teeth, bright smile - and settle down across from her. They don’t have a drink.

“So what brings you this far out?” they ask, with the softest tip of the head. “We’re a ways from things here.”

She shrugs. “Looking for a Ruth, but I guess she’s already moved on. I’ll pass the package on and get going, I guess.” Looking at the stranger again, she manages a bit of a grin. “You sure picked a hell of a place to retire.”

The stranger’s smile doesn’t falter. “I’ll move if I have to. I enjoy the company.” A pause. “So what made you start?”

It’s not an uncommon question among apostles. Sharing the tales of woe that pushed them out of the settlements and into the brilliant beautiful alien choirs. Asking each other what would make them risk their lives, what had made safety the option they couldn’t take.

She means to lie, to take the edge of it like she always does, but maybe the wine is stronger than she thought, because she says something else. “My hometown was a sacrifice settlement.” She looks down, not wanting to meet those eyes. “Big beautiful orchards and sweet fruit and all the room to build you could want, just so long as they kept pushing kids out into the choirs barefooted and with vague directions to a place they’d never be able to make it to.” Her hands are trembling. Somewhere, distantly, the innkeeper is whistling again. “I made it. I don’t know how. Maybe my crying drowned it out enough. But after…”

“…after nowhere could feel like home,” the stranger finishes, and even without looking up she can imagine their sad smile. “It must have been hard, those early days.”

She shrugs, shakes her head. “Not like it got much easier. It’s just what I know now, and I can manage the choirs better than most. Eventually maybe I’ll settle down, or…”

“Or you’ll take off the earplugs.”

She looks up, startled. Even if it happens, nobody talks about it, not that directly. Not with that calm voice and calm smile. But the stranger doesn’t seem to notice her distress, just smiling more.

“You’ve thought it too, right? Even broken, the machine is so much more beautiful than these little wood and dirt towns.” Their tone is even, calm, measured. The innkeeper is whistling. Her hands aren’t shaking. “There might not ever be anywhere worth settling down for. There might not be any place that’s home. Not when everywhere is built on sacrifice and hopelessness and the slow weight of giving in. Not when everything is built on fruit stolen from the gardens the machine grows, built on ground stolen from the machine, built on walls of gears and pipes that should be working, should be running, should be so much more than supporting a few shacks. Is it not so?”

She nods, slowly. It makes sense. It all makes sense.

The soil at the edge of town was rich and dark. Weeds had begun to grow.

Ruth had moved on to somewhere better, leaving a family behind.

The innkeeper is whistling.

“You could be more,” the stranger says, smiling, brilliant, brilliant. She is sinking into the words, feeling them like a glow around her, a warmth. "You are so much more. You fold your wings beneath your skin, but they itch to burst forth and let you fly. You could help to rebuild what should be over this pathetic vestige of what was. All you have to do is step out and listen again. It’s been waiting for you. It loves you, and it wants you to come home, to where you belong. It wants you back, Ma–“

But she stands before it can finish, knocking her chair back, the shaking coming back in a moment. "No, that’s not my–I’m not–don’t say it, don’t–”

The stranger stands too, but now its smile looks forced and wrong, an expression poorly mimicked from someone else. “Come home. Come home. Come home.” She can hear the rhythm behind the words, now that she’s listening for it, the rhythm that matches and underscores the tune the empty-eyed innkeeper is repeating again and again and again.

She kicks another chair aside, more to create noise than anything else, and runs for the door. Out. She needs to get out. There’s no time to save anyone else, not when the nephil is following her.

As she dashes east, frantically pulling the earplugs out of her pocket, she glances back only once.

The nephil is out on the porch, and it is tall and beautiful and so much more than the shabby figwood and cracked stone that surrounds it.

It smiles at her, forgiving, loving, and mouths words to her that she knows without hearing them.

Come home. We love you. We’ll be waiting. We’ll always wait. We can make it right.

She turns away and keeps running.

[my ko-fi]

#heaven machine

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