#and in that sense she is the 'hearse' that carries the body

[queenofnohr]

puts my head in my hands

im so so so sure ishmael is actually captain ahab

#theres a final piece of the puzzle that im not getting and its WHY ahab would take ishmael's name but #im so sure im so sure im so sure #the fact that snagharpoon has her tied to the harpoon she throws #the fact that her keyword is hearse and that's part of ahab's final speech #and in that sense she is the 'hearse' that carries the body #my theory is that she's captain ahab that lost her crew and becomes ishmael to carry on that memory but in spite of - or because of - that #and cannot give up her revenge against that whale even more now #and refers to her former self as a madwoman #the thirst manifesto #anyway also the fact that they can play on the phrase 'call me ishmael' #as in that is not your real name CAPTAIN AHAB

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

The Event. (Part Two) - OC Backstory.

|| [Part One] ||

pairing: none. -> COD OC!: Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan extra: OC!Whiskey x MootOC!Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley (platonic) extra: MootOC!Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish words: 2.3K~ cw: ANGST, HURT/NO COMFORT, body gore, loss/grief, existential dread/crisis, loss of identity?, depression probably?, death?

2011, aged 20.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. She felt like she was standing in that line for an hour as the CO talked and talked and talked…

There she stood, shoulder to shoulder with her fellow enlisted, recent graduates of Navy bootcamp, their sea legs not all he way adjusted to life on sea, but adjusted enough that standing on solid earth already Felt Off.

They waited until the CO finished his speech and then it happened. Hundreds of family members came down from the stands. Victoria saw her mother and father approaching and Madilyn coming running ahead. She quickly tapped Victoria on the shoulder, tapping her out of formation.

She threw her arms around her sister, her mother quickly following. Her father only gave her another friendly tap on the shoulder and a harsh rub, signaling an innate sense of pride that he never quite voiced.

-

2015, aged 24.

“And finally, our second-ever female U.S. Navy SEAL graduate: Special Warfare Operator Third Class, Victoria Isabelle Callahan!” The CO announced into the microphone. An uproar of cheers came from the crowd. 

She crossed the stage, her CO pinning her SEAL trident to her breast with a ‘Good job, kid.’ muttered under his breath. He shook her hand for a picture and then they saluted each other before she returned to the formation.

Her eyes sought for them in the crowd… And them she found. Madilyn and Mom, and, of course, Dad, and Nathan, who recently arrived from deployment, both of them in full dress blues.

Once they were released, she quickly approached her family. Hugged her sister, mother, and brother… And when she was going to salute her father, the man pulled her into a tight hug, strong arms around her back, head buried in her hair, pressing kisses to her temple and calling her ‘my girl’. She nearly started crying.

-

2018, aged 26.

After being flown home and having all their matters arranged, Victoria was allowed to attend.

It was a military funeral. They pulled out all the stops. Dozens of Marines in attendance. A myriad of flower arrangements being sent both to the church, the cemetery, and to their home. There was the band, and the procession, two caskets, two hearses. 

Victoria wasn’t supposed to even be standing on her own for too long, due to her weakened legs, which were still wrapped in taut gauze.

And yet she forced herself to don her full dress whites, helped carry her brother’s casket, marched the whole way behind the hearses but ahead of the Marines, and insisted on taking part of the three-volley salute, as they presented the flags to her mother and sister.

Then, they went home and she locked herself in her room, refusing to exit.

A day went by.

Then two.

Then a week.

Then two.

Her mother and sister came to her door a few times to check on her, to try and coax her out, have a conversation… But she turned them away sharply with a “I’m fine. Go away.”.

They only saw Victoria a few times. Whenever she left to go to P.T. and hydrotherapy, and whenever she had to be driven to the hospital to check on her legs.

Whenever she did, wherever she went, people would whisper and point and sometimes, if they were brave enough, they’d ask her questions. And she’d answer. But, of course, never with the truth, just a sarcastic joke delivered in such a deadpan tone that it made people wonder if it was true:

“So, what happened to your legs?”

“Had a lighter and a whiskey flask in my pocket. Real flammable, you know?”

Victoria’s friends all drove over many times, coming to knock at her door, but earning the same reply from her. Nothing.

No answers to texts or calls or social media posts.

Cold.

Distant.

Even Meabh’s letters didn’t get a reply. The Irish woman was sending them often, three or so times a week, multiple pages long. Sometimes Victoria didn’t even open them.

Victoria was like a ghost. 

She only left her bedroom after dark to have dinner, shower, do the dishes and tidy up as a ‘thank you’ for her mother cooking for her.

She slept whenever she wasn’t in rehab, and stayed awake most nights, holding a pistol and sitting up in bed.

By the end of the first month, her CO, Cobra, came by. He was the only one who was able to beckon her out of her room, much to her mother and sister’s amazement.

They sat on the back patio, Whiskey wearing a pair of short shorts, her legs too sore and raw for any type of pants, the painkillers she was given slowly being weaned off her.

She had her arms crossed over her chest as she looked at Scott sitting next to her. He had entertained her with some small talk, not probing at her recovery, nor her at his.

The left side of his face was almost unrecognizable, with scarred red burns, an eyebrow fully gone, and part of his hairline having receded. She couldn’t imagine the state he was beneath his civvy clothes.

“What’d you want?” She ended up asking with a cocked brow as she glared at him, done with playing nice and polite.

He had never seen her so serious before. Usually, Victoria could put a smile on a dead man’s face… Oh, how many times she got scolded and yelled at for pulling harmless pranks around the barracks…

“Are you going back to work when you recover?” He asked her as he looked at her, worried.

“I am.” She replied. “Intend to at least.”

“You think you’re gonna pass the PEBs?” He asked as he looked down at her legs and then up at her.

“I will,” Victoria replied as she stared at him. “I’ve still got a whole two months of medical. I plan on spending them getting back to training.”

Scott nodded as he looked at her. “What if you don’t pass?”

“I have to.” Victoria told him, her voice terse, lacking any of the emotion he expected her to have.

“Are you still going to your psych appointments?” He asked, unsure. She could tell he was indirectly asking if she was fit for service.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He nodded as he looked at her. They held eye contact for a moment. 

“What else?” She beckoned.

With a sigh, Cobra continued. “I’m thinking of going private. Asking for a discharge and joining a PMC.” He told her.

Traitor.

Quitter.

Turncoat.

Victoria turned to look at him, eyes solemn before her eyebrows raised, unimpressed. “And?”

Scott leaned forward, clasping his hands together and laying his arms on his knees. “Don’t give me that look-” He told her. “I want your opinion.”

“My opinion is that you should do whatever you think is best.” She replied with a shrug. “It’s your career, not mine.”

“I know but-” He trailed off. “I worry about you.”

“Don’t.”

“You can’t tell me not to worry when-”

“Don’t.” She insisted, her voice clipped and headstrong.

“Vic-”

“Don’t worry about me.” She insisted. “Don’t be wondering about all the ‘What ifs’. And don’t you dare use whatever guilt you feel as an excuse to not move forward because then you’re just gonna turn around and blame me for ‘holding you back’ despite me telling you to go.” She scolded him.

“You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know?” Scott asked in a sarcastic tone, earning a simple shrug and a little amused, conceding tilt of her head. The most emotion she’d shown this whole time. 

“What about you, though? Will you be alright going back to the SEALs without me?” He asked her, his voice softened.

“I will. I’ll be fine.” She nodded, her tone confident. 

“Okay.” He added and nodded. “And, well, if it ever comes down to it… You could go to the Officers’ Academy and start bossing people around.” He joked.

“Yeah.” She nodded before she shifted and got up off her chair, a wince covering her features. “I need to go lay down, my meds are making me woozy.” She lied. “You know where the door is, right?” She asked as she was already approaching the sliding back door to go back inside.

“Yeah…” Scott said as he got up too, eyes locked on the back of her head as he followed her back inside. “It was good to see you, Vic.”

“Yeah. Good to see you too.” She responded.

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

“Mhm.” She added before she climbed up the steps to go back to her room upstairs.

-

Two months later, Evelyn Callahan woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of the door downstairs closing hard and loudly… And a car driving away beneath her bedroom window. 

She hadn’t spoken with her daughter in three months if whatever kind of ghost Victoria had turned into could still be considered her daughter. But she knew. A mother always knows.

She got up and padded over to her daughter’s childhood bedroom, popping open the door and flicking on the light. The bedroom sat perfectly clean and tidy, not a thing out of place. The bed was perfectly made, military corners tucked in, the trash taken out, the closet void of any belongings.

Two days later, Victoria had joined the Officer’s Academy with a bit of help from her old CO… A few strings pulled to allow her to join and resume training before her doctor cleared her. She graduated a Lieutenant Junior Grade within three months.

Three more months after that, Victoria Callahan was passing the Navy SEAL Physical Evaluation Boards to go back on the field, as The Event had never happened, her results somehow more impressive than they had ever before.

And then she was back on the field. Her results, seniority, and recently acquired Officer title allowed her to address command and directly reject being fully integrated into a team. 

So, she started working alone.

She became the go-to person for jobs no one wanted, could, or should do. 

Gave herself a new callsign.

She became more of a contractor than an actual officer.

Working with all four main branches of the military, being sent everywhere and anywhere.

Domestic or international, it didn’t matter.

USMC, Rangers, Delta Force. JTF2. SAS, SBS. NATO. UN.

Getting called in for a job while already in the middle of one, departing directly from the middle of the desert to the rainforest to the tundra to the city to the countryside to the desert again.

Temporarily placed with teams, sure, but never the same one twice, never getting close enough to mourn whenever she lost someone during an op.

Missions gone wrong, giving herself shitty medical aid in abandoned buildings while on the run, suffering ambushes, captures, torture sessions (of herself and others).

Her confirmed kill count grew and grew and grew. 

Enemies in all sorts of places.

Always on the move.

Except for two weeks in early 2019, when she dropped everything and took forced leave, to spend time glued to Meabh’s hip in Glasgow, keeping an eye on her and making sure she didn’t strain herself, after she got put on medical leave.

Whiskey would look after her the way she would’ve looked after Nathan when he was younger, the boy always so tough, but thinking himself too hard to be a wuss… Until Victoria would have to tuck him in or force feed him or sit by his side as he ran high fevers.

“Realtin.“ Meabh would call her, while too high on painkillers to even think, while Victoria tucked her into bed. ‘Little star’, like the ones the Irish girl always prided herself in being able to use to find the way while out at sea.

But how could anyone use her to find themselves when Victoria herself was so fucking lost? 

She felt like her soul was burning alight like her legs had, consumed and constantly fed by the whiskey of her moniker.

As soon as she heard that Johnny was coming home, she took off in the night again.

Back on the move.

Didn’t ever step foot again in Nashville. Couldn’t face her family. Couldn’t put them in danger either.

Started carrying a garrote wherever she went, sleeping with a knife under her pillow, and walking with a gun in her holster whenever she was on leave back in Virginia.

She wasn’t good company. 

After that, she went months without hearing her own name.

“Whiskey.” this.

“Whiskey.” that.

“Whiskey.”

“Whiskey.”

“Whiskey.”

The only person to still call her by her name was Meabh. Her lifeline.

2020, aged 28.

“Tori.” Meabh’d say whenever Victoria dared to pick up her calls instead of letting them go to voicemail.

Sometimes Victoria wondered if the fire that licked the skin clean off her thighs had also licked away the humor and playfulness from her soul.

The ease that 26-year-old Victoria used to have was long gone now for 28-year-old Victoria.

“Ye should come stay with us.” Meabh said on the phone. “Ye could finally meet Johnny and everything.”

Sometimes she'd make some type of poor attempt at a joke.

"If I meet the bastard, I'm roughin' him up, darlin'. Can't do that or you'll get mad at me." Whiskey'd reply in a deadpan tone, which Meabh would always laugh that.

It wasn’t the same anymore. No more fun jokes slipping past the American lips with a need to hear the other laugh. Everything was deadpan and sarcastic.

Now only Meabh made the jokes. It earned her little else than a soft chuckle or huff of air from Whiskey still, but not that cackling and snorting she was used to.

Most of the time Whiskey'd just come up with some excuse for not going, with 'COVID' and 'the missions', just to avoid further discussion…

But that was all bullshit.

The fact was that most days she didn’t feel human. 

And just because Meabh was the only person keeping any type of tether between her soul and her body, didn’t mean that Whiskey would cling onto to it with tooth and nail.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to die either.

No.

Even as she laid on the floor of her cold, empty apartment in Virginia, staring at the ceiling, her legs prickling and painful, unable to stand up... The nerves having come alive, a consequence of the skin grafts, she didn't want to die.

She’d force herself to survive.

She would keep going even if she had to rip herself up and make all her skin go raw, just like her soul had.

She’d keep going until she could get those fucking Ultranationalists to pay for what they did.

for @crashtestbunny bc she loves my OC

#ikea writes 💚 #cod oc #oc: victoria “whiskey” callahan #moots oc #oc backstory

[colnerys]

kira nerys never paid much mind to the shape of her own body. after all, what good would that have done? every child, every person on bajor was emaciated — bone protruding against ashy skin, skin dry from the arid cardassian weather controls that scorched bajor’s soils. her body was only a vessel that she carried herself through the world with — survive, survive, survive, nerys. she would tell herself every night. 

then, she has her beauty assessed by a plin syndicate physician & suddenly, kira nerys felt a wave of insecurity wash over her. ever since that day, she hadn’t felt the same about herself. maybe they fixed her teeth, patched her skin with a dermal regenerator, & shaved the mattes out of her hair but nerys felt a sense of reservation she hadn’t have ever in her life. 

but @ltcmdrdax​ had always been so comfortable in her own shell — even when they hardly knew each other, she shedded her own clothes & walked in her own skin like she didn’t have a care in her own world. not kira though. not when the voice of that doctor announcing every single physical flaw she had, not when plin told her that she would be repugnant to the cardassians ... but that’s okay — a body’s only a body and nothing more. 

brows furrow whilst nerys tries to shake off the unpleasant thoughts — jadzia’s kissing you, idiot! eyes screwing shut, mouth drawing open as if hungry for more. it’s a fire she’s never felt before with anyone. knots churn at the pit of her stomach, winding tighter and tighter until she needs to shed her clothes. but the thought of that pulls her away from the heat of the moment as a cold, shuddering sensation runs down along her spine. 

so far she’s managed to convince her lover to make love to her in darkness. lights off, i want to feel you. all of you. nerys would tell her & perhaps, it sounded romantic for a bit ... but she never liked lying. even if she wasn’t spinning words into elaborate tapestries, nerys considered omission of the truth to be a form of a lie.

please don’t judge me. i know it’s so stupid. i know. you think i don’t know? 

a cyclical internal argument with herself — eyes squeeze tighter, fingers weaving into her lover’s hair as she coaxes dax’s jacket off & naturally, when she feels the other woman reciprocating the action ... nerys jumps ever so slightly & much to her chagrin, jadzia halts. 

heart’s beating like a war drum, before taking in a deep breath. right now, she just wants to run, bury her head in the sand and never be seen again — god, this is so humiliating! but then nerys sees jadzia’s gentle blue eyes & suddenly she remembers every single reason why she loves her.

this is jadzia. she’s not going to judge. she’s not the type. 

so slowly, albeit with some hesitation, nerys nods eagerly as she feels the first button pop off — then, her jacket falls to the ground, leaving her with the white undershirt ... which dax almost too impatiently tore off of her body — kira gasps as the friction between fabric and flesh leaves a reddened streak on her skin. cool breeze hits nerys’ skin & jadzia’s looking at her like she’s some sort of treasure to be unveiled.

she’s never felt like that. 

never felt eyes so reverent labouring across each inch of her skin, the skin that she’s gotten so used to scrutinizing with critical eyes. then, jadzia eases off the bra — the final piece of fabric on her top. kira’s ears feel hot as jadzia leans in, whispering something about how beautiful she looks & god, nerys feels weak in the knees.

“   let’s keep the lights on.   ”   hearse voice whispers before pulling her lover in for a bruising, passionate kiss. 

[ CLOTHES OFF ] ― your muse helps my muse undress.

#ltcmdrdax #* 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 : inbox #* 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 : ic #nsft / #body image / #body dysmorphia / #ask to tag / #* 𝐑𝐄𝐋 : you are my sun / moon / & all of my stars ― kira & jadzia #this was a fucking emotional rollercoaster #meme status: accepting

[coreyspoetry]

For the Earth, Sun, and Moon

At dawn, the Sun saunters into the sky.

He hovers, his rays as striking as ever.

This time they pierce through- the barrier scorches.

He repents, but it’s not his apology to make.

His light cannot penetrate the mines.

Tunnels bury deep in the Earth; extorting metal 

And coal like it was the life from her veins.

All the canaries in the world are gasping for air.

She fights on all fronts, her dirt consuming

Shattered swords, shrapnel and skeletons.

Grass still retreats from obscene battlefields,

Its verdant blades sensing their steel cousins below.

Apathy.

Death clings to the corpse of a faun.

Besides a lolling head, it’s a statue, a shell,

Nothing but an empty echo. Snapped bones poke

Out of its leg, the edges knife-sharp.

Speckled eggs tumble out of their nest as

Leaves and branches crash to the cobbles. 

Birds scatter in the tumult, wailing for their lost young.

The laments go unheard under the throttle of a chainsaw.

Choking, a pike fish drowns in its river,

Foreign chemicals erode its gills when it breathes.

Eventually, a silvery body floats to the surface,

Grey water carrying it downstream like a hearse.

Cruelty.

Polluted sunset steals through my curtains.

It is beautiful, the pinks and crimsons.

A torn-open wound, it bleeds into my room,

Invading the walls, soaking my hands.

Night annexes my window-frame.

I gaze into the dark, just to find that

All the stars are aeroplanes. 

A pattern of bright flashes; three green, one red.

The Moon hangs solemnly in the black.

She is not so untouchable now.

Flag-poles gore her skin, an unending pain.

She has done nothing to us.

Betrayal.

#For the Earth Sun and Moon #corey writes suff #cws 39 #poetry #writeblr #words

[theladyofdeath]

Life As We Know It {Chapter Two}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby's blogs! >> @snelbz​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby's Masterlist

Tara's Masterlist

Trigger warning: death

The vibrations beneath her pillow had nearly stopped by the time Nesta dug it out and held it up to her ear.

“Hell-hello?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open, barely able to get the words out.

Her eyes adjusted as she sat up and looked at the alarm clock on Feyre and Rhysand’s bedside table.

1:26 a.m.

“Is this Nesta Archeron?” a quiet, female voice asked.

It was the tone that got Nesta. 

It was the tone that had her sitting up straight, her heart slowing in her chest. “Yes, this is Nesta.”

“Nesta, this is Claire from Velaris Hospital,” she began. “There’s been an accident-.”

It was all she heard.

After that, everything became blurred and the words that Claire spoke made absolutely no sense at all.

Rhys and Feyre were supposed to be home the following evening, the last she’d heard from her sister, she and Rhys were going to dinner and then out dancing before heading back up to the cabin.

That had been a little before eight, almost six hours ago. She could hear the rain coming down, much harder than it had been when she’d gone to bed, even a few hours before. Nyx had been asleep by seven, only waking up to cry once or twice a night the whole time she’d been watching him. All in all, the weekend had been uneventful, but she was ready for Rhys and Feyre to be home, so she could go home to her townhouse, to peace and quiet and blessed, blessed silence.

But as she quickly tucked Nyx into his car seat, doing her best not to wake the sleeping baby up, she tried not to think about the phone call. She tried not to think about the firm, but steady tone of voice as she drove across town, to the hospital. 

She had been to the hospital before.

Twice in the last fifteen years.

Once when her mother passed, once her sickness finally took her.

And once again when their father passed over complications from his heart surgery.

Nesta hated that drive, hated pulling into the hospital’s parking lot. She didn’t trust it, not one bit. She hated it. Hated the ground on which it stood.

As she parked her car in front of the building, she looked in the rearview mirror. Nyx was still fast asleep, completely unaware of what was happening, completely unaware of the phone call that had just occurred only half an hour before.

There’s been an accident.

Nesta got out of the car. She shut the driver’s side and went to the back. She carefully unbuckled Nyx from his carseat and picked him up, holding him tightly against her chest as she covered him with his oldest, softest, favorite blanket. 

The parking lot was nearly empty.

Nesta carried Nyx inside.

You need to come quickly.

She found Azriel by the doors leading deeper into the hospital, calling out his name as soon as she saw him. He turned, and she nearly froze at the look on his face, the paleness and hollow look in his eyes. But she couldn’t and she hurried to where he stood, with a stone-faced doctor.

We did everything we could.

The next few minutes were a blur of explanations and condolences, but Nesta could do nothing but hold onto Nyx, still sleeping soundly in her arms. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until Azriel slid an arm around her shoulders, offering her what little comfort he could.

They’re gone.

*

They had been driving back to the cabin when the storm had hit. Both of them had been drinking, but not enough to even break the blood alcohol level. The winding roads leading up into the mountains quickly grew slick and when they hydroplaned, Rhys had lost control of the car.

With how hard it was coming down, he hadn’t even seen the ledge coming up, or how far the drop was to the bottom of the ravine.

Nesta prayed that wherever they had gone after their final breath that they were together.

And that Rhysand wouldn’t be blaming himself.

It wasn’t his fault.

She repeated that prayer one after the other until she had begun to doze in and out of sleep.

When she woke, it was nearly five in the morning.

Nyx had slept through it all, hadn’t even realized what had happened. When they got home, Nesta had laid him in his crib, where he had remained, sleeping soundly, ever since.

4:56 a.m.

Nesta had managed to sleep for nearly forty-five minutes.

That in itself was a blessing.

Yet, as she threw her legs over the side of the bed, Nesta felt guilty. How could she sleep after the news she had just received?

None of it seemed real.

Her little sister, her youngest sister.

Dead.

All that was left of their family was her and Elain. 

Her, and Elain, and Nyx, and Seph.

Dad. Mom. Feyre.

Gone.

Nesta stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She didn’t feel a thing. After turning the faucet on, letting the cold water run for a minute, she splashed some on her face.

It didn’t bring her back to reality like she was hoping for.

She was hoping it was all a dream.

But it wasn’t.

Her legs carried her into Nyx’s nursery, where she sat for the next couple of hours, watching him sleep, peacefully. Not knowing, not realizing, not understanding his parents were never coming home.

She heard the front door open around seven-thirty, rushing down the stairs, praying that she had, in fact, dreamed it all and Rhys and Feyre would be coming inside, home a few hours early.

But it wasn’t Rhys, or Feyre. Instead, it was another familiar head of golden-brown hair, her eyes trained in the hardwood just inside the walkway. The door had barely closed before Nesta made it down the stairs and wrapped her arms around Elain.

They both collapsed, falling to their knees on the worn rug, as Elain sobbed into her sister’s shoulder.

*

The following days were a blur. A constant stream of people calling, texting, reaching out to see what could be done. Nesta and Elain handled the arrangements, with Azriel’s help, but none of them realized how prepared Feyre and Rhys had been for their own deaths.

Maybe it was because they’d both lost their parents young. Maybe it was because they didn’t want Nyx to ever have to deal with it on his own. All Nesta had to do was sign some paperwork and present their death certificates.

The funeral home had taken it from there.

She sat in the corner of the room, wearing a simple black dress that Feyre had always told her looked matronly on anyone else, but made her look like a badass CEO. It was one of her favorites. She figured Feyre would have wanted her to wear it today.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to look into the caskets yet, to see what her sister and brother-in-law looked like, if they even looked like themselves.

She’d never be able to wipe the memory of their pale, lifeless bodies from her mind, as she and Azriel had to confirm that it was them in the hospital. Until that moment, she’d held out hope that maybe they had been wrong. That maybe someone had stolen their car and they were waiting at the bar for the rain to die down.

But even in death she couldn’t mistake their faces.

She couldn’t imagine that they looked anything like they once did, knowing that she’d never see Feyre’s bright smile or amusement sparking in Rhysand’s eyes.

The funeral dragged on, a preacher they had grown up with leading the crowd that had gathered. Nesta was asked if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. What was there to say? There was too much to say. 

Nesta couldn’t.

So, she didn’t.

They carried the caskets out and loaded them up in the hearses. 

Nesta didn’t remember getting behind the wheel, didn’t remember loading Nyx into his carseat, didn’t remember driving to the cemetery.

And yet, she ended up standing in front of a set of holes in the ground with Nyx on her hip. Only a few words were said before the caskets were lowered into the ground.

Nesta wondered what was going through Nyx’s head. The one-year-old didn’t make a sound, not a peep as the day went on. He simply remained perfectly calm, his head resting on Nesta’s shoulder as she swayed back and forth.

“I can take him, if you want to say goodbye.”

Nesta spun around, meeting the eyes of Cassian Nazari.

He’d been crying, she could tell. If it wasn’t for the redness in his puffy eyes, Nesta surely would have snapped.

“There’s no need,” Nesta said, with an empty calmness. “I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

It was a lie, of course.

Could you ever really say goodbye to someone you loved?

He didn’t push her, just silently stepped up next to her and stared at the mounds of dirt. Nearly everyone was gone, Azriel taking a silent, distant Elain home. Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, Amren, and Varian had left just a few minutes after them. The only ones still present were those who had filled the graves, the preacher, saying a few final prayers for peace, and the three of them.

“I don’t…” His voice was rough, in a way she’d never heard it. “I keep waiting for him to call me and tell me it’s all dumbass prank,” he breathed. “That this was all some elaborate joke to get back at me for something.”

Nesta nodded, understanding. She blinked, but was unable to stop the few silent tears from sliding down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say, but for once she agreed with Cassian.

“If you, uh, need anything…” Cassian began, before shaking his head and taking a deep breath. “If you need anything just give me a call.”

Nesta nodded once. She knew he was just saying it out of kindness due to the situation, but she supposed it was still a kind offer.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, after a moment had passed. Without giving Cassian another glance, she was turning toward her car, walking away.

Her legs became heavier with each step she took, but she continued onward until she was sitting behind the wheel of her little black car, Nyx buckled into his carseat.

He began to fuss.

Nesta understood.

Maybe he was beginning to realize that his mom and dad were never coming back.

As Nesta drove back toward the house, her vision blurred as the tears came.

*

The next few days passed by slowly. She and Nyx made it just fine, but the time seemed to drag on and on and on.

She had just put Nyx down for his afternoon nap when her phone began to ring, a number she didn’t recognize showing up on her screen.

She hesitated for a moment, not sure if she could handle another one of Rhys or Feyre’s friends offering their condolences. Their pity.

Ultimately, she grabbed her phone, swiping across the screen to answer the call.

“Nesta Archeron speaking.”

A smooth voice came from the other end of the line. “Ms. Archeron, my name is Tarquin Hadrian.”

She paused. The name didn’t seem familiar, so she cleared her throat. “How can I help you, Mr. Hadrian?”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Archeron,” he began. Nesta sighed quietly, waiting for the words to continue, but he said something she wasn’t expecting. “I’m the Lunasa’s attorney. I was hoping to speak with you about their will.”

Shit. Nesta hadn’t even thought about a will, hadn’t thought about any of the plans Rhys and Feyre had made. If they’d planned everything, down to their burials and graves, surely they had prepared a last will and testament. “Of- Of course.”

“Are you free this afternoon?” He asked. “I know it’s short notice, but I’d wanted to give your family as much time as possible to grieve, however, there are some matters that need to be handled sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, I can be there any time,” she said, looking at the clock. Nyx wouldn’t be up from his nap for another hour or so, but she could figure something out. “When would you prefer?”

“Is three o’clock okay?”

After Nesta’s agreement, he was giving her the address to his office and the call was over and Nesta was calling Elain, asking to drop Nyx off on her way over. She didn’t want to wake him, nor did she think a meeting with a lawyer was a good place for a one-year-old.

An hour later, she was pulling into the parking lot of the small law office, and she froze in her car when she spied a familiar truck across the lot.

What in the hell was he doing here?

Nesta made her way inside, letting the pretty receptionist know who she was here to see and she was escorted back to a plush office.

Cassian already waited inside, sitting across the desk from a handsome, dark-skinned man.

“Ms. Archeron,” he said, standing, extending a hand. Nesta shook it with her own. She didn’t miss that Cassian merely sat there as she entered. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course,” she nodded, taking the seat next to Cassian. Neither of them acknowledged the other, which was for the best.

There was a large stack of papers on Tarquin’s desk and as he sat, he began to lead through them one by one. Sighing, he laid his hands atop the papers.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase here,” he said. “Did Feyre or Rhys talk with either of you about what should happen to Nyx in the event that both of them should die?”

A glance at each other, but they both shook their heads. Cassian said, “No.”

Another deep breath. “They...named the two of you.”

His blue eyes looked between them, and it took Nesta a moment to realize he wasn’t just speaking to her. Just as long as it took Cassian to realize the same.

As one, they both leaned forward, Nesta resting her hands on the desk, Cassian letting his elbows fall in his knees. Nesta said, “They picked us together?” at the same time Cassian asked, “I’m sorry, what?”

Tarquin cleared his throat. “I tried to advise them against it. An unmarried couple, with your own personal history…”

“I don’t understand,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “I…don’t understand.”

“Yeah, me either,” Cassian added.

“Here,” Tarquin said, handing the two of them a letter.

Neither of them reached for it, but Tarquin didn’t back down. He held out the piece of paper until Nesta snatched it and opened it up.

Cassian hovered over her as she read.

Cassian and Nesta,

We are writing this letter in case of a tragedy. Of course, we don’t expect a tragedy to happen, but you never know.

In case something does happen, you’re to take custody of Nyx. Both of you. We know you two don’t get along, but if something were to happen to us, we need you. You see, we want Nyx to have a mom and a dad. We want him to have two people who love and support him no matter what.

There’s a reason we chose you both to be godparents.

Nesta, you have a heart bigger than anyone we’ve ever met, even though you don’t often show it. When you care about someone, you care about them wholeheartedly. You devote your life to them. You make them feel loved, make them feel wanted, make them feel protected. And we know you care about Nyx.

Cass, you love more fiercely than anyone we have ever known. You were dealt a poor hand as a child, and instead of making you bitter, it made you stronger. It made you realize how you want others to be treated, instead of the opposite. You would make an incredible father. Therefore, we made you godfather.

The two of you are opposite halves of the same coin. One of you cannot succeed without the other, even though you’d both probably argue against that statement.

Look.

If you’re reading this, it means that something awful has happened. If you’re reading this, it means that we are gone. And, if we are gone, Nyx needs someone. He needs his godparents.

We know you’re scared. We know you’re heartbroken. But, if you love us, the two of you will work together to create a family-like environment for Nyx.

We love you both.

We believe in you both.

Tell Nyx we love him, too. So damn much.

Rhysand and Feyre

Nesta’s hands shook as she lowered the letter. “We… The two of us can’t… We can barely be in the same room as each other, much less take care of a child.”

“As I said, I advised them against this, especially once they explained your personal history to me,” Tarquin said, leaning back in his chair. He laid a hand atop the paper on his desk again. “As I mentioned before, they were very thorough in their planning, even going so far as to put a sum of a portion of their life insurance to pay off the mortgage of their home. They’ve left it to the two of you as well, to ensure Nyx has the easiest time possible. No on and off weekends, no moving back and forth.”

Nesta was still processing his words, when Cassian asked, “Wait, so we’re supposed to live together? Not only take care of him, which I’ll do anyways, but live in the same house?”

With a blink, Nesta looked at him. “You’ll take care of him? I’ve been taking care of him for over a week now.”

“Well, he’s my responsibility, too,” he replied, practically snarling at her. “I’m not going to disrespect Rhys’s wishes by shirking it off on someone else.”

Nesta was about to say something else, was ready to snap, but Tarquin cut her off. “It was my duty to give you the letter, per their will. What you do with it is up to you.”

Nesta left twenty minutes later, ready to set the entire city on fire. She burst out the front doors but didn’t leave alone. Cassian was just behind her, right on her heels, calling her name.

“I’m his godfather and I’m not letting Rhys down,” he said. 

She wasn’t backing down, either. “You realize this isn’t a part time job, right? This is a lifetime commitment, Cassian-.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He asked, stopping in front of her. He paused and blinked, as if he’d just realized she didn’t have him with her. “Where is he?”

She scoffed. “With Elain and Seph. I didn’t want to bring him because I wasn’t sure what this meeting would entail. He’d just gone down for a nap and I didn’t want to mess his schedule up.”

She watched as the words registered, watched as he processed them. He probably didn’t even know Nyx had a nap schedule, and he sure as hell didn’t know what it was.

Nevermind the fact that she hadn’t known it the week before, when Feyre had explained it to her before they’d left. Before they’d-.

Tears stung her eyes, trying to spill over as they always did when she thought about her sister, about Rhys. The fire inside her, the will to fight with Cassian, disappeared almost immediately.

“I need to go get him,” she said, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder, stepping off the curb towards her car.

Cassian didn’t follow her, and when she pulled out of the parking lot, he was still standing in front of the law offices, looking as lost as she felt.

#nessian #modern au #life as we know it #fanfic #fanfiction #collab #shacmc #acotar #acosf #sjm

[rainbows-fanfics]

Our Nightmare (Chapter 12)

Summary: Sally moves in with the man of her screams. But there  is still so much she has to learn of Halloween Town, and what it’s like  living with The Pumpkin King.

A sequel to Two Dearest Friends,  where the Christmas incident never happens. But there are still many  ends that haven’t been met, and much for these two dreamers to learn as  they start to spend their deaths together.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally, Dr Finklestein/Jewel

–

Note: This is a SEQUEL to my other story, TWO DEAREST FRIENDS. To read the original story, go here.

–

“Sally?” 

The name slips off his tongue as desperation lingers in his tone. His fiery pupils frantically search his proximity for the blue ragdoll, only to find no sight of her. This is when he drops his focus on scaring entirely. The flames and straw on his body vanish within thin air as he returns to his skeletal form. He rushes to the path where he last saw her, turning his skull quickly to search the area in despair. He’s using all of his senses at this point - intently listening for any sign of her. 

He is interrupted by the sudden sound of a whimper. Almost as if someone is crying. Cautiously, he approaches the direction it came from all while concealing himself from nearby humans. This is when he finds a figure hunched behind a tree, cradling themselves in a fetal position while hiding their face. It doesn’t take him long to recognize this as his dearest friend, from her auburn hair to her blue, stitched skin. She doesn’t notice him when he finds her. The stitched smile on his lips falls as she continues to cry. 

“...Sally?” 

She makes a startled noise and jumps from her position. He pauses for a second, thinking she is relieved to find him - but that’s far from it! At the sight of the skeleton, she starts scooting away from him on the grass. This gesture pains him more than anything else. He takes a step closer, only to find her getting further. He eventually stops attempting to advance and places a worrying hand on his hip, leaning down to meet at her eye level. His face is sympathetic. 

“What happened!? Are you alright? I thought I heard you scream, and I-”

“P-Pl-ease take me ba-ack….” 

Her voice cracks as the sobs leave her mouth. This is when he feels an unbearable cold sensation in his ribs. It almost pains him as he slowly stands up and offers her his hand. She is hesitant to take it, and only does so to help her to her feet. She withdrawals her hand right away and Jack suddenly feels like his phantom heart is split into two. He says nothing as he starts leading them to the graveyard they came from - worryingly eying his dearest friend as he does so. He wishes he knew what to say at this moment. 

“I…” He opens his mouth to say something but falls short. She doesn’t seem to be listening as it is, rubbing her arms constantly, looking everywhere else but him.

It isn’t long before they return to the Mayor’s currently unattended hearse. The ragdoll turns to him and mutters out her next words. “I-I think I need some time alone....” 

He doesn’t want to leave her, but it doesn’t look like he has much of a choice. “....If you say so…”

She turns sharply towards the hearse and lets herself into the passenger seat, concealing her face after rolling the window up. Jack watches her speechlessly, slowly coming to the door to press his skull against it and listen. He can hear the same small cries from before. He feels his bones throb in pain the longer it ensues. He thinks of opening it up and inviting himself in - wishing to speak with her, asking what is wrong…but he doesn’t want to invade her privacy, as much as it hurts him otherwise. He sighs in reluctance before removing himself from the door. 

He places a stressful hand on his head, beginning to pace in the graveyard. ‘She can’t take long…..I hope she doesn’t...I need to find out what’s going on…’

“Hey, Jack! How’s the scarin’ going?”

The Pumpkin King freezes into place after hearing a voice. He turns on his heel and finds other monsters approaching him with grins and howls. This is when he does something he’s become rather talented at - he puts up his usual front; the same one he used before, during stressful times like these. 

“Just horrible, my fine gentleman!” He replies through a forced smile. “You should have seen how many humans I've frightened tonight..! How is it going for you all?” 

“We’re having so much fun! Everyone’s on edge. It’s awful!” The Wolfman replies eagerly, smelling the fresh dirt in the air. 

“Say, wasn’t Sally with you?” A ghoul inquires as he steps forward, looking around for the ragdoll. “Did she go somewhere?” 

“Ah, yes -- she’s in the hearse, you see. She got tired from all the walking, so we headed in early. She needs to tighten her stitches, and all that.” He lies. 

“Oh. Well, I hope she had a terrible time!” Harlequin comments. “Everyone always has a blast when they get to see the Pumpkin King scare!” 

His lips twitch at that statement, realizing it was the opposite for her. They excuse themselves and leave the graveyard, disappearing back on the streets for another round of terror. The skeleton drops his act once they’re out of sight and bites his lip. His mind starts to fill with overwhelming thoughts - ones that bring anxiety to his bones, and an even worse feeling in his spine…he continues pacing in circles around the graves, much too disheartened at that moment. 

He thinks about their evening. He’s noticed the look on her face every now and then - one of uncertainty and even anxiety after scaring his victims. He feels terrible for not recognizing the look then. He should have known something was amiss when she seemed hesitant watching him scare. Could she have been... petrified ? From only watching him perform? He may have gotten carried away during his fun - wanting to show her his full potential; what he truly can do, as the ‘ Master of Fright ’. 

Now….he regrets ever doing it. 

This is the first time Jack Skellington has ever felt indifferent after terrifying humans on Halloween. He usually feels spirited and alive, in a sense - wishing to sing and dance the rest of the night away, to celebrate a successful night with his fellow monsters and creatures. He has never known a feeling of regret when it comes to what he does so well. And such a thing only occurred because he scared the woman closest to him - someone he wants to keep protected, and far from harm’s way. 

Is she afraid of him? 

His gaze comes back to the hearse, whose walls she is hiding in at that moment. Away from him . His skeletal hands come and rest on his chest, shutting his eye sockets tightly as he slumps against a grave. He wants to return to Halloween Town. To retreat to the Skellington Manor, where he can properly speak with Sally and comfort her. To apologize for his actions and show her that he isn’t a threat. How could he ever be, to the woman he’s fallen in love with..? 

He must have been sitting there for hours until he notices his residents arriving back. He puts on previous demeanor again to converse with them - leaving the impression that nothing is wrong. It feels unpleasant having to do this. It takes up so much of his energy, pretending to be happy around others...he isn’t proud to be doing this again. The skeleton sighs in relief when the Mayor finally makes his appearance, smiling proudly at the crowd before him. 

“Terrible night, folks! Are we all ready to head back, now?” 

He’s met with pleased nods and cheers. This is when he assembles everyone back in the hearse, guiding them inside while the Pumpkin King uncertainly approaches the passenger door. He taps on the window and patiently waits until it’s rolled down. Sally peers outside at him - wincing at his image, which emotionally takes another chunk out of his phantom heart. 

“We’re going to return, now.” He whispers to her. “I hope we can talk once we’re back?”

Her eyes look away from him and to the floor.

They’re interrupted when the Mayor comes in from his side, grinning at the two and starting the vehicle back up. The tall man removes himself and hangs tightly onto its side, a frown settling on his skull. He keeps his head away from the others during their ride back, wishing not to be met with any smiles at that moment. He feels like a heavy burden is back on his shoulders, and he can’t shrug it off no matter how hard he tries…

-----

  “Wheeee!” “What an AWFUL Halloween!” “How fun…!” “Can’t wait to do this again, Jack!” 

The creatures hop off of the car and scurry away to their homes and streets, waving to the politician and skeleton as they go. The Mayor looks proud as he holds onto the side of his hat. The skeleton is wearing a forced smile on his face as he bids farewell, clutching his other hand tightly behind his frame. His friend assumes nothing is amiss when he turns to him and grins. He comes to open the door for Sally and assists her out. 

Jack quickly arrives and offers her his arm. She takes it to help her down, but he notices her eyes are still elsewhere. He can feel her shaking when her body weight shifts onto him - her lip wobbling the longer they share contact. He excuses them from the Mayor, wishing him pleasant nightmares, before retreating to the Skellington Manor for the night. The moment they’re through the doors, he lets out an exhausted sigh. 

He takes off his coat and hangs it on the rack. He turns around expectantly to find his ragdoll by his side - but he doesn’t get that sight. Instead, he finds her picking up Ophelia from her bed and retreating to her room. He becomes flustered as he attempts to chase after her, and catches her only a second before she’s about to close the door to her room. He stops her by holding it with his hand. She appears shocked at this gesture.

“Sally, please talk to me….it’s tearing me apart not to hear from you…” 

She squeezes her eyes and the tears suddenly begin falling again. He goes to let himself in - wanting to open the door and sit on her bed, holding her tightly in his arms. But she fights back. This gesture surprises him so much that he lets go, and she takes this opportunity to close it. His jaw drops open as he stands there. He wastes no time trying for the doorknob again. It adds to his unfortunate luck that night that finds it locked. He knocks on the door a few times and places his hand on it firmly. He feels anguished and desperate as he attempts to get in, not wanting to be separated from her again. Not in any circumstance.  

“My dearest, please ...I did not mean to…” He mutters into the wood, shutting his own sockets and feeling a stinging sensation in them. “You know I would never scare you…” 

He hears her weeping from the other end of the door. Her voice weakly calls from the other side. “I’m sorry, Jack…go-good ni-night...” 

He struggles with the doorknob another time until he hears her whimper again. Trying to impose himself like this must be scaring her even worse…! He unwillingly tears himself away from the door and retreats to his den, where he sits on the cushions in a troubled manner. He hides his face in his hands until he starts to feel a slight moistness. When he pulls back, he finds a few tears of his have fallen onto his fingers.

He wipes them away, shaking his skull in disbelief several times. He can’t believe it. He shouldn’t be crying...he hasn’t cried in years ! Not after he met Sally. He’s had no reason to be upset….not until now. He made a mistake without even realizing it, and now he’s paying the price. 

He slumps back onto the couch and stares blankly at the unused hearth. His gaze comes to the walls - where he notices the photographs and pictures he has hanging in their frames. This is when a painful memory strikes him. That old photograph Sally once found….when she implored him about his scarecrow form - asking what it was, and wishing to know what it looked like….how he assured her then, that he would not impose any harm or fear to her. How he must have fallen back on his word since ….

He clenches his fists in his lap. He’s always been weary of this part of him...the true demon inside of himself - one granted with the ability of fire and true nightmares...he almost becomes a different person entirely on these nights, when he lets free the monster he turns into. In the past, he’s lost control and shook humans to their core - showing no mercy or hesitation in his screams. It thrives on the experience, the gratification of their fears….but even it couldn’t stop him from hearing Sally’s scream. He didn’t notice how far he went with his actions until they were looking right back at him in the face.

Would he have gone too far..? 

He holds his skull in his hands again. No . He wouldn’t have scared Sally. He wouldn’t have laid a finger on her in any way but care….but then he remembers the look on her face. The scared part of her eyes when she looked at his pumpkin in its sockets. She’s always been afraid of it, hasn’t she? He unleashed its power right in front of her - he couldn’t blame her, running away like that...

“I shouldn’t have let it slip,” He mutters to himself. “I shouldn’t have used it at all… ”

There are many other ways he can scare. Just his skeletal being is terrifying enough to scare humans all night…! He got too cocky, too eager to impress….he swears at himself many times in his head, disbelieving how careless he’s been, and how he will make this up to her once she’s willing to see him again…

He thinks of the pain; the numbness in his bones and the tears that have fallen...he can’t imagine hurting her. He’d use every ounce of his willpower from stopping such a thing from happening. Her safety is his priority, first and foremost. He has to show her properly...to become the protective man he’s shown for years now. He’ll have to do that whenever she decides to open up…

He glances at the closed door in the hallway and sighs. He stands and drags himself up the stairs to his bedroom, where he meets with the sleeping form of Zero. He doesn’t address the dog as he prepares for the night. He’s sure he won’t even get a moment’s worth of sleep, and will instead lay there for hours, worrying about the woman of his death…

----

  “JACK! What do you mean you’re not coming in? Today is the MOST important day of the year, besides * the * day!” 

“I’m aware, Mayor...I need to take a personal day. Just this once, this year. I promise you.” 

“But...BUT! How are we going to keep up, if you’re GONE? I’d have to spend my whole day covering your work, and-”

“-And I’m asking that as a favor, from my friend. I assure you, just this one time…” 

“... Hurm… ”

The other voice sounds hesitant before the line is abruptly dropped. The skeleton winces as he pulls down the receiver and returns it to its proper place. His attention is on the floor, staring at the socks on his feet in silence. He has to take a personal day today. He can’t just leave Sally here by herself, in her catatonic state...it would hurt him even worse to hear she’s suffered without him here - or properly comfort her once the time is right. And he is willing to wait for that as long as it takes. 

He glances at the door and finds it still closed from that night. He comes to it quietly and carefully tilts his skull on the surface. The room sounds completely silent. He fidgets with his shirt’s collar as he goes to the den once more, fetching a cup of his morning tea and sitting in his usual chair by the window. He glances outside and watches the skeletal birds go by, and his citizens walking through the plaza below. He feels peculiar not being out there by this time of day, but he pushes that concern aside as he firmly sits his pelvis down. He must wait for Sally. As long as it will take…! 

Zero hovers down the stairs and gives his master a greeting with the wag of his tail. He retreats to the rug in the room and circles on it, shoving his head in his sheet. The dog eventually falls asleep shortly afterwards. Jack watches him do this curiously. As if on cue, his eyelids start to feel heavy. He shakes his skull in an attempt to keep himself awake. He got little sleep last night, what with all the fretting he’d done for hours. And waiting like this makes him feel rather…. fatigued…

His figure loosens in the chair as he slumps back, resting his skull on its soft cushion. His eyes eventually close and his head hangs to the side. He enjoys the peaceful silence of the Manor, instead of the bustling noises of the town hall. Everything will be alright….he was sure of it…

 . . . 

 . . .

 . . .

  “Jack..?” 

 “Huh!” 

The King jolts himself awake when a voice startles him from his sleep. He’s surprised to see the figure of Sally standing before him, uncertainly eying his figure. He sits straight up in his seat and goes to stand - but she motions him back down with a hand on his shoulder. He slowly returns to his prior position and looks at her in concern. Zero floats in the air beside her head, weakly nuzzling the side of his muzzle on her shoulder. She smiles at the creature and lightly kisses his head - a fortunate sign to him, as well. 

“Sally..?” He mumbles as he wipes his socket. “You’re awake…and here…”

“Yes. I have a lot to apologize to you for…”

She stands there with little emotion, before completely scrunching up her face. Without warning, she reaches for him and leaps into his lap - holding him close and dangling her legs over the armrest. He doesn’t pause for a moment as he holds her by the waist and shoulders, to let her nestle her face into the crook of his neck. This moment is quiet, aside from the sounds of her soft cries. He pats her back repeatedly and brushes the strands of her yarn hair from her face. 

He sighs in relief. “You have no idea how good it feels to hold you again.” 

Her eyes shift downwards. “I missed you…I really wanted to be around you last night, but I-I just couldn’t…” 

“Were you scared?” He asks quietly. It’s the most apparent question he wants out of the way. There is a pause before she nods slightly.

“I was.” She confesses in a whisper. “Seeing you frighten all of those people...it was exciting at first, but...I’ve just had this terrible feeling in my stomach that entire night. Like I was getting an image of something unpleasant happening. I think it had something to do with that scarecrow.” 

“....”

“I used to read Finklestein’s books about premonitions. I never had one so strongly until that night. Just knowing what it can do...I felt scared. I shouldn’t have been, but-” 

“I told you I become a different person when I use it.” He interrupts in defeat. “You said you possibly couldn’t be afraid…”

“Jack, do you think something... bad would have happened..?” 

He falls silent at this question. After a few minutes, he hangs his skull low and averts his gaze. “I...didn’t realize it at first. Or at all, really. But I was starting to get in my own world - I didn’t realize how much I’d been scaring, or how intense it became. I used that scarecrow without thinking twice about it, and - I was very close to harming that man…” 

“Would you have lost yourself?” 

“I may just have, if you hadn’t stopped me in time.” He holds her tighter. Closer . “Thank you, Sally. I….I wouldn’t have hurt you. I’m sure of it.” 

“I saw you pounce on him. There was a different look about you that... frightened me. It wasn’t the same way you scared those others. I didn’t recognize you. So, I screamed and I ran, because that’s what I felt was safest to do…” 

Hearing this crushes him to his core. He’s holding onto her so tightly he can feel the pressure he’s applying on her seams. He loosens his grip to run a hand through her hair. This is when he begins to rock them both. Not only to calm her down, but himself as well…

“Sally, I am incredibly sorry you had to see me like that. I would never mean to do that. Sometimes I can’t control what I’m doing when I’m like that, and….it was rather irresponsible of me to put you in that position...” 

She inhales his scent and relaxes her frame. How badly she missed this last night...she’d have asked for his company if she just felt safe in time. It was distressing to lock herself in that room, away from her love as she listened to him pound on that door...she cried in her hands for a long time. For separating herself from him like this...she didn’t want to do it at all ..! But hearing how close he was to losing his composure, maybe it was for the best that she acted in time…Not that he would ever hurt her….she refused to believe it…

“At least I got to see the master of fright in action,” She comments, more to herself. “I wanted to watch you, Jack. Despite knowing what could’ve happened.” 

“That was a poor example. I should have never acted that way. Our rules -- we can’t hurt anyone, we’re not mean. And yet…” 

“There’s no need to fret.” She holds his skull in her hands, looking at him in the sockets. “We’re both safe. You didn’t harm that man. And I feel more comfortable right now…” 

He sighs once more, his breath warming her scalp. “Oh, Sally...I will never frighten you again. I won’t use that scarecrow for the rest of my death..! I swear by it!” 

She remains quiet, resting her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed. He takes this time to rub her arms and brush his fingertips over her face. Her breathing starts to slow after awhile and she slumps in his grip. He rests her properly in his lap and wraps his arms around her waist, leaning back in the chair to get comfortable. She must have not gotten much sleep either - as she’d fallen to fatigue quite easily. 

Jack relaxes as he rests with his love back in his arms again. He feels rather tired, too.

 ----

 The barks of Zero and mews of Ophelia wake the Skellington Manor residents from their slumber. The pets are playfully chasing each other around, wishing to obtain the ball of yarn they’re fighting over. Sally rubs her eyes as she removes herself from Jack’s lap. He stands to crack his back as well as the rest of his bones. The animals move their struggle into the other room while the ragdoll and skeleton head to the kitchen. They’re both parched and hungry after these events and decide to settle in for some brunch together, while it is still somewhat early in the day. 

Jack prepares their food and sits at the table, relaxing when he feels her small hand on his own. They eat their portion of eggs and drink from their glasses in comfortable silence. There’s plenty still on their minds, but they’re not fretting over it anymore. He’d rather move on from the unfortunate night and work on making things better. 

Something comes to his mind. He stands from his seat and pushes it in, giving her a grin. “There is still something we’ve neglected to do…!” 

“Oh?” She asks. 

“We need to find a proper spot for your trophy, my dear..!” 

With the same childish excitement, he rushes out of the room to grab her award from the safe spot he’s been keeping it in. He brushes off the slight dust collected on its rim before presenting it to Sally, who takes it uncertainly from his hands. Truth be told, where to put her trophy was the last thing on her mind lately….

“Where do you think it should go?” She asks him. He looks puzzled at this suggestion and tilts his head. 

“That would depend where you want it…!”

“Hmm.” 

She stares at her reflection in the cup and smiles when she reads her name on the placard. She still feels proud of an achievement like this. Just knowing it was from her friends and customers in town gave her butterflies in her stomach. She takes this moment to think before it dawns on her. 

“It belongs where I earned it.” She tells him. “I’ll present it somewhere in my sewing shop..where everyone can see it.”

“Splendid idea! Let me grab my suit before we head out…”

He dismisses himself from the room to get properly dressed. She holds her trophy proudly in her hands as she waits for him by the door. She would think holding this from such a terrifying night would give her unsettling memories...but it doesn’t. She feels proud and almost happy, remembering why she earned it. And she’s sure everyone else will, too, seeing their gift to her presented right in her sewing shop…

 ----

 Jack Skellington has a lot on his mind. 

Spending an entire day away from Halloween Planning would usually give him the liberty to work on his projects or read some books on his shelves...but instead, he spends his time with her . He assists Sally to her sewing shop and helps her pick a place to present her trophy. Then he spends his time looking at her creations and listening to her future plans and projects, all while supporting her and offering his assistance. She even takes her responsible duties as his tailor and finally fixes the ends of his pants - previously torn by the times he’s had to catch her from that window…

When all is said and done, they retreat back to the Skellington Manor, where they spend even more time together. Sally insists on looking through their library and helping him organize a bit - picking out books she’d like to read and swapping for the ones she’d already finished. Then she helps him clean up his study, which takes a substantial amount of time in the afternoon. This part is demanding for the two of them, and by the time they’re done, they’re exhausted right as dusk is about to fall on them. 

During the day, he can’t help but dwell over the other night. How she must have felt with what he put her through - and what’s come from that situation. Had he lost even an ounce of her trust after what he did..? She appears calm and comfortable in his presence again, but he still doubts himself. He wants to prove he can obtain her feelings in a more proper way - to make up for his irresponsibly putting her in potential danger. Someplace he can assure she’s safe, and the two of them can work on trusting each other…

 ...

 …

 After dinner, he thinks he knows the answer. 

It’s one that makes his mind go jumbled and gives his body the jitters. It isn’t a new thought that’s never come across to him; he’s mused about it before, but repeatedly denied such action considering his gentlemanly side. But now he wants nothing more than getting closer to Sally. And doing this will most certainly do that, in a way that puts him in a position of closeness and trust. And that’s what he wants to share with her, after scaring her so far away from him. 

She lounges in their den to let their supper digest. He opens a window to let in the cool, nightly air before joining her side. Zero and Ophelia observe the outside with curious eyes, resting on the window sill together. Jack presses his arm on the back of the couch as Sally closes in the space, resting her head on his chest and listening to the crickets and bats from outside. It’s a peaceful night compared to yesterday’s. 

He waits several moments before mentioning anything. He takes this time wondering how exactly to bring this up. Slowly but confidently, he calls for her name. “Sal…?” 

“Yes, Jack?” 

“I haven’t been the best with your trust lately, considering what I’ve done.” He sighs sadly. “I want to make it up to you in any possible way I can.” 

“Oh, but we’ve spent all day together..! You didn’t even work a minute today. Your attention is all I could ask for…” 

“Yes, but...I’ve been thinking about it  for an awfully long time, and - do you know the reason I gave you your own room?” 

“So I could have my own space to work on the things I want.” She repeats sweetly. He nods along to her words.

“Exactly. But now you’ve got your own sewing shop in town...all of your dresses are there, your machines - of course there’s a couple here for you to work on, but now you’ve got all that empty space in your closet…”

She lifts her head to listen to him intently. She never thought twice about the space now - she just assumed she’ll use it for future things. Regardless - she’s curious on where this is going. 

“Since there’s no need for such a big space anymore...why don’t you…” His words grow quiet. He grows frustrated at his own fumbling and has to force it out. “...Why don’t you share one with me?” 

Her silence throws him back. He grows anxious with the look on her face. “..Share a room with you?” She repeats.

“Not just the room...it would mean the bed, too.” He tugs at his collar, finding himself hot. “I have such a big mattress I sleep on every night. There would be plenty of room for you.” She looks surprised at this suggestion. He elaborates. “--I think it’s a great opportunity to get your trust again. I can be there for you every night, and we can share the space together…”

“...But you would see me in my pajamas?” She blushes. He finds her coquetry adorable. 

“I think that’s something we can get past together. You’ll see me in my own. That could even be tonight..! .” 

She’s growing as red as a cherry at the suggestion of sleeping with Jack...seeing him in such clothes no one else does, reserved only in the hours of the night...the idea is appealing to her. She can’t deny how lonely it feels some nights. Even though Ophelia recently joins her slumber, she’s always felt like she’s been missing something…or some one . She is enamored by the idea of waking up next to Jack, sharing their ‘ good mornings ’ and even ending the day together. It sounds romantic the more she thinks about it. 

‘This is the next step for couples, isn’t it?’ She blushes deeper at the thought. 

“Y-Yes, Jack...we can do that…even tonight ?” 

“I don’t see why not. There isn’t much to move from your room...we don’t even have to do that right now! We can worry about all that tomorrow, and sleep together now...” 

Even he is growing timid with his words, struggling to get them out. It’s always a difficult feat, being a gentleman and wanting such... amorous things. He will still be chivalrous, of course - she can still have the privacy of changing on her own and dressing herself...but he wants to share closeness with her longer - throughout the entire night, in the arms of one other as they fall asleep…the thought makes him giddy, and treasure her presence even more.

“Okay, Jack...I trust you...I know this is good for us.” She tells him shyly. He leans in and leaves a kiss on her forehead, sending delightful tingles on her skin. 

“-If you aren’t ready, Sally, just let me know...but I think, after all this time apart--”

“Of course I’m ready. I-I know about couples sleeping together...” She pokes her fingers together nervously. “I’ve always wanted to-to do that, with you...” 

His eyes widen in delight. “Have you, now?” 

She appears flustered and he chuckles, kissing her again before getting up and discarding their cups. She begins to panic wondering what it will be like to share a bed with Jack, and how his pajamas will look…and if hers will even compare…! Will she look ridiculous? Unattractive ? Sometimes her hair becomes a mess during the night, and she wakes up rather sluggish...that won’t deter him from his feelings for her, right?

She shakes her head realizing she’s overthinking it and takes a breath to calm herself down. He returns to the room after a minute, sitting next to her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She notices he brought a book with him, clenched tightly in his other hand. She reads the title and notices it’s a romance. She hums in curiosity, her previous thoughts forgotten from this distraction. 

“Why don’t we read a story together..?” He suggests, opening to the starting page with his free hand. She sits up from her seat in delight - enjoying this suggestion spectacularly. 

The man of her screams reads this story to her, about a young woman facing her fears and running away with a man she loves. His voice reads the text so soothingly, showing great emphasis and drama when needed. She melts at the sound the entire time, closing her eyes and picturing the story in her mind. She can’t ask for anything better but to be read to by her skeleton man, relaxing against his frame as the story goes on…

----

 “Take your time; I’ll be in the room whenever you’re ready!” 

His long hand cradles the side of her face as he leans in and leaves a kiss on her soft lips. She closes her eyes tightly and frowns when he pulls away. He gives her one last encouraging grin before disappearing into the room - closing the door slowly after him. She looks at the pajamas in her hands and chews on her lip. Now is the time. It’s finally happening…all she has to do is put on her clothes, and then follow him into the room…where she will be sleeping with him…

She feels herself shaking. She tries to stop herself. What does she have to be nervous about? He’s doing this to make it up to her - to make sure she feels safe and protected around him. She knows she will be; every time she’s in his embrace, she feels like she’s in a better world. He will always keep her close and loved - and she believes it. It’s not even the memory of the scarecrow that bothers her, but rather, the expectations she’s set in her mind....

Will she take up too much space? Wake too early? Or too late? She’ll have to try not to sleep with too many blankets. She doesn’t want to hog anything..! This is his space he's inviting her into, after all…! It sends her mind into a frenzy as she shuffles her feet, begrudgingly heading to the bathroom and dressing herself in there.  She gets this done in a hurry, taking off her dress and easily slipping into her clothes.

She observes herself in the mirror above the sink. She’s moved on from the patchwork dress she used to wear in Finklestein’s Tower - wearing her new creations and dresses instead. But this is the only outfit that reminds her of it. It’s her old nightclothes she used to wear in that tower, sewn from the most comfortable scraps she could find. The different color of browns and beige look almost off-putting on her colorful figure. She starts to play with her hair nervously, not particularly impressed by the image reflecting back to her. 

‘...I hope he doesn’t think less of me’.

 ---- 

  The tall figure uncomfortably shuffles himself in the bed, eyes locked on the currently closed door. He doesn't want to miss Sally's appearance, whenever she decides to come in. He's more than patient waiting for her, understanding this is a drastic change from their usual routine, and that both of them will have to adjust to it. Even he feels somewhat nervous as he sits there, unsure of what to expect, finally sleeping with a woman by his side. The thought alone makes his shirt feel tight.

He's in his own pajamas, a light beige button-up with long sleeves, and equally long pants. He normally wears a night cap to bed, but decides against it for this night in particular. He drums his phalanges on his knee as he tries to pass the time with his thoughts. He glances over and notices his dog fast asleep in his small bed, with Ophelia close by his side. They look comfortable and unbothered together, after such short time of knowing each other.

'If the two of them can do it, then surely, Sally and I can, too...'

He's interrupted by the sound of the doorknob twisting. He sits up attentively as the sight of his beloved slowly comes into view. She modestly steps into the room and closes it behind her, moving her hair behind her shoulders. He's almost awestruck at the sight. To see her in such clothing, her eyes blinking temptingly at his own. She clasps her hands together before shyly advancing forward. This is when he realizes his mouth is agape.

He shuts it and smiles apologetically. "My dear...you look lovely..."

She turns her head to the side, flushed at his words. "You think so..?"

"Absolutely! Why, I - I have never seen you like this...it is..." He struggles to think of a word. "It feels like a privilege..!"

Her eyes travel down to his own body and she hides her smile with her hand. She notices the empty spot on the mattress and assumes that's where she's wanted. She slowly makes her way around the bed and into the covers, all while avoiding Jack's face. When she's properly inside, there's only a few inches between her and the skeleton. This causes her phantom heart to thud rapidly, and a whole bunch of other thoughts come flooding into her mind.

"We'll start moving your things in here tomorrow. I'll clear some space in the morning," He continues casually.

She nods along with him - unsure of what to say or do. She's never shared a bed with anybody, nor does she know what's supposed to happen after this. Whatever it is, it makes her feel small and rather hot, bunching her legs together and watching him out of the corner of her eye. He leans forward to leave a kiss on her cheek, which calms her slightly.

"Are you comfortable?" He asks. She nods right away.

"Yes..! Your mattress is so soft, and the pillow is too. This blanket is warm and comfortable..."

"I'm glad you like it." He sounds relieved. "You can have as much space as you'd like...I don't take much room, as you can tell..."

She feels embarrassed for forgetting about his thin stature. So there is no way she can possibly hog the bed...That makes her feel better, at least. She tucks her hair out of the way as she looks around his bedroom. She notices how dark it is, only illuminated by a set of candles on his nightstand and moonlight from the only open window in the room. She can make out the silhouettes of a few dressers and closets, but nothing else at that moment.

"...Sorry if I seem... shy ." She finally confesses, tugging at her fingers. "I just feel a little insecure about my clothes..."

"If you feel that way, why haven't you made yourself some new ones?" He questions curiously. She looks down at her chest and sighs.

"I didn't think I would be sleeping with you...or anyone at all. I've been wearing these ever since I've been created. I never thought anyone would see me in them. But now that you have - I feel embarrassed..."

"-No reason to be, my love." He takes her hand and kisses it tenderly. "It doesn't matter what you wear - you're always going to be gorgeous in my eyes. Or lack thereof." He chuckles at that last sentence, and she smiles. "--Why, you look beautiful even wearing this..!"

She feels better and relaxes her posture. He motions for her to get comfortable and she does so, laying on her side of the bed and pulling the blanket over her figure. She watches as he blows out the candles, effectively darkening the room beyond the small portion of light coming from the window. He shuffles on the bed - finding the most comfortable position. She feels almost intimidated to move around, but she does so slightly, facing his direction.

It isn't long before she feels his arms come around her figure, holding her close to himself. She finds herself facing his chest and relaxes at the contact. It feels almost natural...being this close to him. It's the most relaxed she's ever felt. Sally eventually closes her eyes and steadies her breathing - falling fast asleep in the contact of her lover. Jack finds himself easily succumbing to his slumber as well - relishing this closeness with her, wanting to keep her safe.

#long post #long #the nightmare before christmas #jack and sally #jack x sally #fanfiction #our nightmare #tnbc #nightmare before christmas #tim burton #fanfic

[seonghwahugs]

two black cadillacs

inspired by carrie underwood’s song of the same name. not proofread.

cw for murder/homicide, cheating

♟♟♟

Two black Cadillacs driving in a slow parade

Headlights shining bright in the middle of the day...

Hyunjin adjusted his tie, foot settled on the brake pedal as the procession prepared to move. Despite sitting directly behind the hearse carrying the body of his late husband inside he felt no loss, no pain, there was no need to grieve. Behind him was another car identical to his own, a 1969 black Cadillac. Who would’ve thought that the other man would own the same car. It was only four in the evening yet it felt so much later, the cloud cover darkening the world around them. 

The procession lasted about half an hour, the drive usually much longer with traffic. But, as a funeral procession, the laws of the road were bent and broken to accommodate them. To accommodate the supposedly grieving family, the hearse carrying their body. 

If only his family knew what he was hiding.

Hyunjin stepped out of the car, adjusting his long coat and veil. It was unusual for a man to wear a veil but he was always known to do things how he felt was right, not abiding by the standards set around him. It was one of the many reasons he and his husband had fallen in love, bonding over their desire to make their own path and not follow that of another person. He made his way to his mother in law, embracing her as she cried and held him close.

If only she knew what they were both hiding.

Two months ago, his wife called the number on his phone…

“I need to shower, it was a long sweaty day.” His husband had said with a playful smile, leaving a kiss upon his forehead. Hyunjin made a sound of mock disgust as he came close, waving his hand in front of his nose with an exaggerated ‘ew, you smell!’ He couldn’t contain his laugh though, pulling his husband down for a true kiss, melting into the hand that cupped his cheek. 

“I’m going now.” His husband said as he pulled away, walking up the stairs to the master bath for a much needed shower. Hyunjin took this time to grab his phone from the coffee table and typed in the passcode, opening the phone app and searching through his recent calls. There were multiple calls made to a single unsaved number, most of them when Hyunjin was already asleep or on days he was out at work. He’d been suspecting something for weeks but his stomach dropped at the thought of his suspicions being correct.

Slipping out to the front porch he hit the green call button, gnawing on the edge of his thumb as the phone rang once, twice, three times, finally being answered on the fourth ring.

“Ah, babe, I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to call this early! I was just about to make some dinner, would you-”

“Who is this?” Hyunjin cut the other man off, his voice cold yet shaky. “Who are you to call my husband babe?”

There was a beat of silence before he got a reply. 

“Husband? He..he said he was single..said the man in his photos was an ex boyfriend from high school…” The man’s voice sounded a bit fearful. “I swear to you I’m not a homewrecker, he told me he didn’t have anyone else!”

Hyunjin stayed quiet for a while, thinking over what to say. Everything was beginning to make sense, all the nights he’d wake up in a cold bed, the extended work days, the constant overtime with no extra pay (despite his company policy stating that all overtime was paid.)

“How long?”

“Have we been together?”

“Yeah, how long?”

“Seven months. He..actually just proposed to me a week and a half ago. It looks like a pretty expensive ring too-” 

Hyunjin let out a humorless laugh. “So that’s where our money went, lying bastard. He told me his friend needed to borrow some for car repairs. And I didn’t question it, his friend has two little ones and taking the bus with them is a hassle.” He took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling.

“What’s your name? We may as well know who he’s been with.”

“Lee Minho.”

“Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Hwang? But isn’t his surname Yeo?” 

“He’s not going to be my husband much longer. I’m not keeping his last name.” 

“Understandable.” There was a long pause from the other, as if he was thinking about something, processing.

They decided then, he’d never get away with doing this to them

Two black Cadillacs waiting for the right time, the right time

“What if we handle this ourselves?” He finally asked, a dark edge to his voice. Hyunjin knew that kind of tone, knew what he was insinuating. And damn, he’d never think to do something like that but he couldn’t deny that it sounded awfully tempting. 

“I’ll text you from my number. Let’s meet, you and I.”

The two made their way over to the set up chairs and Hyunjin held the woman’s hand tight, whispering a soothing ‘it’s okay mama, he’s in a better place now. No one can hurt him anymore.’ After about ten minutes of everyone seating themselves and the preacher making his way to the podium, it was time to give the eulogies. 

And the preacher said he was a good man…

“Today we are gathered to lay to rest one of the best men I’ve ever known.” 

And his brother said he was a good friend…

“My brother, you see, he was an amazing friend. Outgoing and loveable-”

But the women in the two black veils didn't bother to cry…

Everyone around Hyunjin was crying, whether it was loud and sniffly, or a silent tears-and-shoulder-shaking cry. But he wasn’t. He wouldn’t dare cry for that man, not after what he did, how he treated him. Months of lying after they’d agree honesty was the most crucial part of their marriage. When it came time for the burial Hyunjin stood, his disinterested gaze hidden by the dark veil over his face. It’s not like anyone would question his way of ‘mourning’, why would they? Who would think to question the deceased man’s husband?

They took turns laying a rose down…

Hyunjin’s eyes scanned the crowd of people, landing on an unfamiliar man standing in the back, a veil covering his face as well and an umbrella in his hand. 

Lee Minho.

Hyunjin nodded for him to come closer, the two gently plucking roses from the pile and laying them on the casket before stepping away to allow others to follow suit. 

“Funny meeting you here.” Minho remarked softly, Hyunjin’s lips twitching up at his monotone voice making such a remark. 

“Thought I wouldn’t see you after that day.” Hyunjin admitted, turning to look at him. While their eyes were hidden it wasn’t hard to see the crimson red on their lips through the fabric. 

“I know. But..I doubt we’ll see each other after this. I’m moving out of the country with my godson, he wants to attend an international high school in France but his parents can’t leave work.” Minho explained. “And, well, it was my car that did it that night, even though you were driving.” 

The two didn’t plan to meet for coffee, or a meal, or anything domestic like that. They planned to meet only to end things between them and the man they shared. Hyunjin tricked his husband into thinking they were going on a date, a surprise that the younger man had planned for him. 

It would be quite a surprise.

They chose an old bar, a wide alleyway behind it that separated it from an old, abandoned apartment complex. No cameras, no lights, nothing that could identify them. Minho waited around the corner in the passenger seat of his car, leaving it running for the other. It was his husband after all, he should be the one to step on the gas. 

Hyunjin parked his Cadillac further behind Minho’s, stepping out of the car and linking arms with his husband. They strode past Minho, the two sharing a look before Hyunjin began speaking to his husband. 

“We’re going in the back door, I know someone here and she’s going to give us a private room. I know waiting in an alley is...kinda gross but it won’t be long.” He explained as they turned into the dark alleyway, walking to the end of it.

“Darling you’ve led me into weirder situations, if we get a private room-” He slid his hands down his hips, “then it’s a-okay with me.” 

Hyunjin only winked and gave him a sickly sweet smile, toes curling in his boots since he couldn’t clench his fists. They stood there for a couple minutes, the cold biting their skin before the long haired male gasped. 

“Ah hell, I left my wallet! I’m going to go get it and I’ll be back.” 

“Don’t take too long! I don’t want to miss you too much.” His husband smiled, pulling him in for a quick kiss. 

“I won’t be long, just wait here.” And with that Hyunjin was gone, dashing out of the alleyway. He all but ran to Minho and his Cadillac, sliding into the driver’s seat and sucking in a deep breath. The two men were quiet for a minute before daring to do something they’d never thought they would, leaning in to share a deep kiss. 

“I guess this is it, isn’t it? We’re really doing this?” Hyunjin asked against Minho’s lips, holding his hand and slotting their fingers together.”

“This is it. Once we do this, there’s no going back.” Minho whispered, kissing him again before sitting back in his seat and slipping his seatbelt on. “Put your belt on, he’s the only one getting hurt tonight.”

Hyunjin clicked his belt into place, put the car in drive, and circled the corner. 

The man didn’t even have time to scream.

“That it was. But..I would like to see you at least one more time.” Hyunjin whispered before walking away.

Threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground…

Minho followed closely behind the now widowed man, the two taking turns throwing a handful of dirt on the now lowered casket. They took one last look at it and walked away, allowing others to do the same.

He’s not the only one who had a secret to hide…

They knew life wouldn’t be the same. If they were caught they’d be charged with murder, and even if they exceeded the fifteen year limit they would still live with it on their conscious. But what was done was done and that was the end. No going back. No second chance. They did have each other though, if they wanted, if they were willing.

The two shared a crimson smile and just walked away…

The two waited until they were sure no one was looking, lifting their veils for a mere second to share a kiss, letting them fall back to cover their faces once again. With a dark, thin lipped smile they walked away from each other, towards their separate Cadillacs. No one noticed when the two departed together, tailing each other. 

And left the secret at the grave.

#skz #stray kids #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #minho #lee minho #lee know #hyunho #hyunjin and minho #two black cadillacs #this hit me out of nowhere #might do more carrie underwood inspired works #hope you enjoy mwah #seonghwahugs #song inspired

[gladlyrphelper]

AMONG US SONGS Please feel free to change pronouns in your asks as necessary!

SHOW YOURSELF // CG5 ❝Everybody watch out.❞ /  ❝Look around your shoulder.❞ ❝Someone’s here to turn this night around.❞ ❝I don’t want to be carried away in a hearse.❞ ❝I wish I knew how I might die.❞ ❝You’re a sneaky little impostor, aren’t you?❞ ❝Maybe you’re just messing with us, aren’t you?❞ ❝But you’re among us.❞ / ❝I can feel it in my bones.❞ ❝So why don’t you show yourself?❞ / ❝You’re among us, so show yourself.❞ ❝They’re listening in to everything we’re discussing.❞ ❝No one is safe.❞/ ❝We’ve got to keep on breathing.❞ ❝The actor’s here.❞ / ❝The actor’s playing the part.❞ ❝Not a single one of us wants to die here.❞ ❝I think we’re done with this charade.❞ ❝Why don’t you come out?❞ ❝Please stop playing with our brains.❞

IMPOSTOR IMPERCEPTIBLE // NERDOUT ❝I’m definitely not an impostor.❞ ❝If I was, then I wouldn’t be one ‘cause I’m not one.❞ ❝Even if I was then I wouldn’t say I’m not one, ‘cause I’m not.❞ ❝It’s impossible, implausible.❞ ❝I’m an impostor impostor - obviously, I’m not an impostor.❞ ❝Any evidence against me far from valid.❞ ❝I’d never snap your neck or stab your back.❞ ❝An impostor’s a role I could never fulfill.❞ ❝Tragic, but let’s not linger.❞ ❝Definitely wasn’t me.❞ / ❝Wanna point fingers?❞ ❝Somewhere within these walls, a villain does exist.❞ ❝When you breathe, you hear it.❞ / ❝When you sleep, you feel it.❞ ❝It is impending doom and yet it may be you.❞ ❝Hey, why you following me?❞ / ❝’cause you might be the killer.❞ ❝Just do your tasks - wait, they’re probably killing.❞

EMERGENCY MEETING // RANDOM ENCOUNTERS ❝Someone in our midst is a fiendish traitor.❞ ❝Radios were dead in communications.❞ ❝This is inviting a conspiracy for sure!❞ ❝What if the killer’s lurking in our crew?❞ ❝What are you hiding?❞ / ❝Perhaps you’re the saboteur.❞ ❝We caught you, you impostor.❞ ❝You thought you could foster mistrust within our roster.❞ ❝It won’t save you now.❞ / ❝Who will save us now?❞ ❝Paranoia’s all that you’ve been promoting.❞ ❝I think I saw her crawling down the vent.❞ ❝This is all slander.❞ / ❝The impostor’s been unmasked.❞ ❝Spare us your lies.❞ / ❝No use making me sound like a liar.❞ ❝Your phony disguise cannot hide your true intent.❞ ❝How was I so blind to your deceptions?❞ ❝Pretty strong words for a fake.❞ ❝You’re the one behind this whole insurrection.❞ ❝No matter how you posture, I know you’re an impostor.❞ ❝Deception has undone us.❞ ❝What has this madness brung us?❞

ACT SO SUS // SHAWN CHRISTMAS ❝I can sense you’re scheming.❞ / ❝Your words so misleading.❞ ❝Death waits for those who stand alone.❞ ❝You can try to run and hide.❞ ❝The killer hears your pulse amplified.❞ ❝Don’t look my way.❞ / ❝It couldn’t be me.❞ ❝Keep talking - give yourself away completely.❞ ❝I don’t know who I can trust.❞ ❝All my friends are thirsty for blood.❞ ❝An impostor walks among us.❞ ❝Why do you act so sus?❞ ❝We found yet another body bleeding.❞ ❝Your teeth are sharper than the tongue that spreads all your lies.❞ ❝Your words tell me who I should avoid.❞ ❝Vote you the liar.❞ / ❝See through the lies.❞

SPACE INVADER // CONNOR QUEST ❝Need trust though you never see a person’s face.❞ ❝Someone here’s got a nasty truth.❞ ❝I haven’t thought: who’s the assimilated astronaut?❞ ❝Siren blares with an awful anthem.❞ ❝Now that it’s just us two, I don’t need to play nice.❞ ❝Thought I was your old bud, but things are never what they seem.❞ ❝When this vessel docks, I’m afraid only the dead’s arriving.❞

ALWAYS LOSE CONTROL // DHEUSTA ❝I never lived in a crew so heartless.❞ ❝I never lived from the lonely darkness.❞ ❝I wake up and haunt, never to lay my anger to rest.❞ ❝I take what I want.❞ / ❝I always fake what I want.❞ ❝I take what I want, never fight the role.❞ ❝Gonna let go of the feelings I can’t define.❞ ❝I’ve always lived to comply with noone.❞ ❝I’ve always lived to kill and run.❞ ❝I follow you near, not too distant to hear.❞ ❝You don’t know what’ll last.❞ ❝I never lived from the heartache.❞

LIES // ROCKIT GAMING & DAN BULL ❝You question what I have done.❞ ❝I see who you really are.❞ ❝Word is there’s someone among us.❞ ❝Is it you?❞ / ❝Is it me?❞ ❝We can’t ever agree.❞ ❝You’re a madman with a bad plan.❞ ❝That’s what impostors would say to make the truth go away.❞ ❝Who’s the killer?❞ / ❝I’m the killer!❞ ❝Tell me lies.❞ / ❝Who’s been telling all these lies?❞ ❝Sound the alarm, we found another one.❞ ❝A ghost and half a body might be what we all become.❞ ❝Let’s discuss who we think is among us - who not to trust.❞ ❝We’ve got some clues to build off of, it’s enough to find the impostor.❞ ❝If we all accuse the wrong guy, we’ll need a good doctor.❞ ❝The guilty are laughing.❞ ❝We’ll see through their cracks and disguise.❞ ❝Given any reason to kill, they’ll take the privilege.❞ ❝Are we deceitful, misleading or evil?❞ ❝If I did it, would I be dumb enough to be admitting it?❞ ❝Nothing suspicious, got rid of it.❞ ❝Can’t trust you now.❞

THE AMONG US RAP BATTLE // NERDOUT ❝Gotta be careful, that was a close one.❞ ❝Thought she saw me go in the vent.❞ ❝They’re so dumb and so innocent.❞ ❝I saw the whole thing on the camera.❞ ❝I’m always watching the hallways.❞ ❝I’ll be watching these monitors all day.❞ ❝There’s a killer on the floor.❞ ❝Who could be the one we’re looking for?❞ ❝The impostor could be around any corner.❞ ❝Faking these tasks is really an art.❞ / ❝I never get caught.❞

#among us #meme #memes #rp memes #rp meme #inbox meme #lyric sentence starters #sentence prompts #sentence starters #roleplay sentence starters #tw: murder #tw: death #mod pluto

[undertaker1827]

JWJWNAKAAN PROMT 1 AND 4 WITH GRELL AND HER S/O ANS HER S/O JUST WATCHED GRELL REAP THEIR BEST FRIENDS SOUL AND GRELL SEES THEM WATCHING AND IS LIKE SHIT FORGOT TO SAY IM A REAPER!!1!1!1 I LOVE UR WRITING AND I KNOW YOULL DO GOOD WITH IT 💕💕 HOPE UR STAYING SAFE AND DRINKING PLENTY OF WATER

I am drinking plenty of water, I hope you are too! Thank you and I’m glad you enjoy my writing, and I’m so sorry this took me so long, I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you!!

Hope you all enjoy and have a look at my masterlist?

-

Today was going to be a good day. You had woken up early with the intent to get up and get out. It was summer, it was a rare occasion in which the sun was beaming down over London and it was overall the perfect day for your plans. More accurately the plans for you and you best friend. Today had been in the works for a long time, keeping you both sustained through cold days and times where the day had not been exactly right. You were going to meet each other at London Liverpool Street station, then grab the tube to the centre of the city. Breakfast was going to be somewhere along the banks of the Thames, probably sandwiches and a good, strong cup of coffee each. Then the day would truly begin. You were going to hit all of the major tourist destinations, despite having already been to many of them previously. You planned to visit some of the on location shoots of your favourite show, purely for the sake of taking pictures and being able to prove you had in fact been there. You were going Asian for lunch, though where more specifically you had not yet decided, and all out fancy for dinner. And if you didn’t get home until the early hours of the next morning, who was going to stop you? Especially given that your friend hadn’t been feeling so well recently. This was bound to list their spirits.

It was still early when you ran though droves of commuters at Liverpool Street, waving your travel coffee cup in greeting. Your friend lifted a hand in return, though even from a distance you could see they looked a bit pale.

“Hey, you alright?” you asked, a little breathless from having moved so quickly. They explained they had felt quite ill for the last few days, but absolutely rebutted your attempts at going home and postponing the day out. You had been planning it for too long, they said, and really, you were excited enough to agree. You were making your way along the South side of London’s great river, a quitter spot and certainly not on the average tourist information sheet, but it was very close to an on location shooting site. It was really just a case of finding the exact place…

“There!” You called out suddenly, briefly glancing over your shoulder to beckon your friend and then running full pelt, thrilled at your discovery. In your excitement, you failed to see your friend starting to lean heavily on a black fence, nor did you see them collapse to their knees and finally fall to the ground. Location confirmed, you turned to speak to your friend, only to find they were not there. Calling their name apparently did nothing either. Becoming increasingly concerned, you quickly retraced your steps, only to hear an achingly familiar voice speaking clearly from around the corner. A voice belonging to someone who claimed she was too busy with work to go out with you the Friday just passed. Your steps carried you forwards until you could see crimson flooding the now grey, drab street. So focused were you on the explosion of colour that you didn’t see what she was standing over.

“…August 1995, died July 18th, 2019 aged 24 years. Heart attack. No notes of interest.” With that you watched as your lover, your crimson Grell yanked a chainsaw out of the lifeless body of your best friend, having placed a stamp in a book and returned both to the pockets of her coat. “Apologies darling, you truly were so young. But there such is life, yes? Now I have to-“

“Grell?!” The scream ripped through your throat before you had time to second guess it. “What the hell have you done?!” Grell flew around to face you, coat flaring out to frame her body and hair whipping around her head, the bloody chainsaw held out to the side with a strength you hadn’t know she possessed. You were knelt on the ground by your best friend in seconds, holding their hand and whispering to them, illogically trying to get a response, any response. Focused as you were on their body, you hadn’t seen Grell’s eyes widen at the sound of your voice, nor had you noticed the shock passing over her features or the realisation adorning it not a moment later.

“I never told you...” Grell breathed, amazed by her own carelessness regarding someone she cared so much about.

“Never told me what?” You choked out, looking up through the mist coating you vision. “Never told me what?!” Grell’s typically concerned look faded to something much softer, uncharacteristic of her outside of home. A quiet, sad air passed over her.

“That I’m a reaper.” You felt sick. You felt so sick.

“You just murdered my best friend and now you’re trying to play games with my mind? What the hell!”

“Y/N...” Gasping for air that didn’t want to come, you tried to push back your nausea, tears running down your cheeks and shaking your head. “Please, I know it was careless of me I just never thought - look it’s a lot to take in, I understand. But please listen to me. Look! My To-Die list, dispatch give me a new one every day. Y/N look!” She was desperate, you could see that. But even as you took the leather bound note book and glanced over your friend’s entry, you absolutely refused. This was utter madness. You trusted Grell, you were supposed to be able to trust her!

You threw the book back at her, uncaring as to whether she caught it or not. But when you turned back to the body laying next to you, your fractured heart broke to see someone already moving them. Eyes widening, you shook your head frantically and stumbled to your feet clumsily following after a man dressed all in black. He had a hearse pulled over in a tiny backstreet opposite to where they had been killed and he appeared to be taking them to it. He had already laid them inside by the time you got there.

“W-wait, please,” you whispered, emotion overwhelming your voice as you all but pushed past the stranger. “That’s my friend. That’s-”

You had almost reached their shoulder as a hand closed around your wrist, gentle but firm and strikingly cold.

“Come away, now,” the man murmured quietly, sliver bangs covering most of his face but his mere presence somehow calming.

“Undertaker,” Grell warned from over your shoulder, grip on her weapon tightening. ‘Undertaker’ raised a placating hand, carefully extracting yours from his hearse and starting to lead you back to Grell. When you realised this, you dug your heels in almost immediately.

“No. Don’t, she’s a murderer, she killed them!” You pointed behind you, trying to get this man to understand what had happened. Only he saw Grell’s face fall into despair.

“She’s not.” You paused in your protestations, raising the wrist he was still holding between you. What? “What she told you is true, she’s a grim reaper. They harvest the souls of the dead, they do not actively kill them. I can only assume it never occurred to her that she should tell you.” You turned, looking from Grell to Undertaker and back again.

“Y/N it’s true, I swear it,” she murmured, expression pained.

“Did you never notice her eyes?” Grell frowned, and you both moved to face Undertaker. “You must have, surely.” You moved to run a hand through your hair.

“Of course I noticed, I just... I thought the thing about chartreuse phosphorescent eyes was just a legend. I never realised, I never knew it was real!” Undertaker nodded.

“Understandable. I will have to go now, though. A fresh stiff always attracts too much attention.” His hand raised to silence your words before you had a chance to say them. “You’ll be able to see them again, just not right away. I’ve got my own job to think about.”

You and Grell stood in silence as the hearse drove away. It took you a while, but you eventually mustered up the courage to turn around, grabbing her elbow to make her walk with you and then quickly dropping it again.

“Will you explain? Please?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “As both myself and Undertaker already said, I’m a reaper. I only collect people’s souls when they die, I don’t kill them. It was her time.” Hands stuffed into your pockets, you glanced over to the river you were now walking besides.

“Could I have done anything?” Grell gave a small, sad shake of her head. You nodded in return. After another 10 minutes of silence, she spoke again.

“Can I do something? What do you need?” You inhaled deeply.

“I want to go home,” you started. “I don’t want to be alone,” was added more quietly on to the end.

“Hold onto my arm?” You glanced up at Grell, weighing up your options for a moment before deciding what the hell and then doing just that. The next thing you knew you were standing back in your apartment. Your incredulity was met by the reaper explaining a form of portalling was also something they could do. She looked at you calmly, silently asking what else you needed.

“Please just hold me?”

Grell nodded, dropping the chainsaw - which she had explained was actually a death scyth - and walking towards you, proceeding to sweep her arm beneath your legs then carry you to an armchair, sitting comfortably with you curled into her. Head resting on her shoulder and eyes slightly glazed, she drew gentle patterns along your back.

“Thank you.” It came out as a hushed whisper. Grell shook her head, squeezing you tightly to her.

“I’m so sorry.” You just nodded, squeezing your eyes tightly shut and trying to make sense of everything. You thought it would take a while.

#black butler #black butler grell #black butler grell x reader #black butler grell sutcliff #grell #grell sutcliff #grell sutcliff x reader #grell x reader #female grell #black butker x reader #black butler reader inserts #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader

[grlwtskulltattoo]

Fall For You - Chapter 3

Characters - Jax Teller x OFC (Katrina)

Summary - Katrina leaves an abuse relationship and heads home after finding out about her father’s passing. Old feelings come back to the surface for a person from her past. Story will follow the events of the show as much as possible. How might have Jax’s story changed with a different woman in his life...

Word Count - 3892

Warnings - NSFW, Hardcore Smut, Violence, Angst, Adult Language, Dark Themes, Fluff, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Accident, Mentions of Physical and Emotional Abuse, Self-Harm.

Will add to the warnings as the story progresses. Warnings cover the whole series. Some parts will be more mild than others.

A/N - Feedback is welcomed and encouraged, and may help motivate me to continue. All mistakes are my own. If you would like to be tagged in future parts, please send me an ask to be added to the list. Sorry it took so long to update this story. Had a lot of changes going on in my personal life that I had to focus my energy on. This story is still on my mind, and I plan to continue working on it....just might take me a bit.

Katrina wakes up early. Not that she got much sleep, tossing and turning throughout most of the night. The dread of attending her father’s funeral and the get together with the club afterwards weighing heavily on her. She showers then dresses in her nicest pair of black jeans. She throws on a black tank top and covers it with a black button down shirt. Her black riding boots finishes the ensemble. Katrina doesn't own any dresses, not that she would wear one anyway. She combs out her dark hair, then tries to style it into a half ponytail, hoping that her work doesn't get ruined by her helmet when she leaves. She then applies her makeup, paying special attention to the bruise that is slowly starting to fade from around her eye.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand in her room, Katrina hurries to finish getting ready. The service is only a couple hours from now, and she wanted to stop by the funeral home before going to the cemetery. She’s hoping to have a few moments alone with her father before his body is moved to the cemetery. There were no plans for a viewing do to the severity of the accident, just a graveside service. Katrina puts on her leather jacket and grabs her small backpack before heading out the door.

She makes a quick stop at the gas station before heading to the funeral home. She parks her bike, then she takes a deep breath before walking inside. It smells strongly of flowers, no doubt to mask the scent of death. There is an eerie silence to the place, that is a bit unsettling to her. She vaguely remembers being here when her mom passed, however she wasn't alone that time. After a few moments of standing in the lobby, a man finally approaches her. He’s dressed in a black suit and tie and is nicely groomed.

“Hi there. How may I assist you?” He asks in a calm, soothing voice.

“I’m Katrina Morgan. I came to see my father, Daniel.” Katrina tries to keep the hesitation out of her voice. It takes everything in her not to bolt for the door. Deep down she knows if she doesn't take this opportunity she may regret it.

“Ahh, yes. Of course. Let me show you to him.” The man replies as he motions for her to follow him. He leads her to a small room with a closed coffin. There are a couple rows of chairs in the room. “Take as much time as you need.” He says softly before leaving the room and partially closing the door.

Katrina stands in the middle of the room, fighting the urge to turn around and leave. She takes a deep breath then approaches the coffin. Before placing her backpack on one of the chairs, she pulls out the eagle feather she found in the toolbox. Katrina stands in front of the white coffin twirling the feather in her hand. Even though she doesn’t know much about her culture, since her father refused to talk about it, she can’t help but feel there is some kind of importance to the feather. She wants him to have it with him despite her feelings towards him. Katrina carefully opens the lid to the coffin, taken aback by the sight of her father’s lifeless body laying there. The injuries from the accident were evident on his face, but at least he had been cleaned up. His hair was long, and not in its usual ponytail. He was dressed in a nice button down shirt and from what she could tell, some dark colored jeans. She carefully lifted his right hand that was laying on his stomach and placed the feather underneath. She whispers goodbye to him before slowly closing the lid.

Katrina feels moisture gathering in her eyes as she sits in one of the chairs. There is that sense of relief that he’s gone, and he can no longer hurt her with his hands or his words. But there is also a sadness she feels, for what could have been. For the relationship they could have had, had he not turned to alcohol and drugs to console himself after her mom had passed. She remembers the evenings when he came home from work, how they would go out to the garage to tinker with the Challenger while mom prepared dinner. He taught her how to change the alternator and the water pump in the classic car. How to change a tire and do an an oil change. He was so excited to get the old car running again and possibly put it in some classic car shows. 

All of that changed after her mom was gone. As soon as he got home he would lay into her about how she was worthless. No better than a piece of garbage. How he couldn't wait until she was no longer his problem. Katrina lightly rubbed her thumb over a small row of scars near her wrist. Hidden by the skeleton torso tattoo that now covered them. The pain of her father’s words when she was younger, caused her to seek out some kind of relief. Unfortunately that relief came in the form of causing herself physical pain. She avoided home as much as possible when she was a teenager, hanging out with Jax and Opie as late as possible, then trying to sneak into the house without her father noticing. That usually wasn't a problem, since he was typically passed out on the couch. On the rare occasion that he wasn’t passed out, she tried her best to stay out of his way. She lost count on how many times he called her a slut or a whore, when she would come home late from hanging out with the guys. God forbid she got in between him and his access to liquor, or she didn't grab him another beer fast enough. She ended up having to wear long sleeve shirts and long pants year round, to hide the bruises that peppered her arms and legs from him kicking her or hitting her. It’s amazing how much a person can change when they loose something that means the world to them.

Katrina sat there in silence, her heart heavy with all the emotions running through it. She didn’t hear Jax enter the room, and was a little startled when he lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, is everything ok,” He looked at her with concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, I just wanted to say my goodbyes before he was moved.” Katrina quickly brushes the tears from her face.

“Do you need more time?” Jax softly asks.

“No, I’m good.” Katrina is ready to get this over with. She’s shed enough tears.

“Ok. They’re going to get him in the hearse to take to the cemetery. Do you want to ride with mom over there?’ Jax asks.

“I can ride my bike. I’ll be fine.” Katrina doesn't like the idea of not having an escape, if she needs it.

“Are you sure? It’s no problem, Gemma would be happy to take you over. I can bring you back here to pick up your bike afterwards.” Jax still has that look of concern in his face.

Katrina knows she’s being stubborn, and she appreciates the offer, but she isn’t going to budge. “ No, really, I’m fine. I want to ride.”

Jax sighs in defeat. “Ok. Do you want to ride up front? Clay was going to lead the procession.”

“That’s fine, he can lead. I can ride behind the club.” She really didn’t want to be in the lead. She didn’t want to be the center of attention.

“Let’s get our bikes ready.” Jax leads Katrina out of the room. She follows him outside, breathing in the fresh air, the bright sun nearly blinding her.

Katrina puts a funeral sign on the front of her bike, like everyone else had. She then fires up her bike and gets in line behind the club. Jax and Clay, along with a couple of the guys from the club head back inside. A few moments later she sees them come out a side entrance carrying her father’s coffin to the hearse. A flag draped over the top. She almost forgot that he had served for a brief time in the army during the Vietnam War, before being injured in combat and shipped back home. Another one of those things he never talked about. After the coffin is placed inside of the hearse, the guys get on their bikes, and all that is heard is the rumble of Harleys. Clay motions everyone to move out, with him and Jax leading the line.

The ride to the cemetery was fairly short. Katrina parked her bike next to the others, then removed her helmet. She watched as the same group of guys that put the coffin in the hearse removed it, carrying it over to the burial spot. She took a deep breath then walked over to the group that was gathering. Gemma approaches her and then draws her into an embrace.

“I know it’s hard baby, but we’re all here for you.” Gemma reassures her.

Katrina slowly backs out of the hug, and wipes the moisture from her eyes. “Thank you, Gemma.”

Gemma leads her to a row of chairs near the coffin and motions Katrina to sit, taking the seat next to her. Jax and Clay take the seats next to Gemma, and everyone else gathers near. A preacher starts speaking once everything settles down. Katrina wasn’t entirely sure her father would have approved, given they never went to church or even practiced any sort of religion. She couldn’t help but wish she knew more about her father’s people and their customs. Even though her father left his family, she was sure some of their traditions and beliefs were engrained in him. Hopefully he’ll find peace on the other side.

After what felt like an eternity, listening to words she wasn’t sure even she believed, the preacher finishes his speech. A couple of men she didn’t recognize started folding up the flag that laid on the coffin. Once they finished, one of the men placed the flag on her lap. She thanks them, before rising from her chair, and approaching the coffin. She picks up a rose from a pile on a nearby table, and gently places it on top of the coffin.

Katrina turns around and faces the group of people watching her, wanting to say something. “I want to thank you all of coming. It means a lot to me, and I’m sure him as well. My father led a troubled life after my mom’s passing. I can only hope that he’s able to find some peace, and they are both together now.”

Katrina could feel moisture gathering in her eyes again at the thought of her mom. She starts walking towards her bike, ready to close this chapter in her life. Once she gets to her bike she sits on the seat and watches everyone else put a flower on her father’s coffin before heading to their bikes or cars. After Jax finishes talking to a couple of his friends he starts walking towards her.

“Hey, are you ok?” The concern is evident on Jax’s face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s still weird to think that he’s gone.” Katrina tries to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“We’re all going to head over to mom’s. You’re still coming, right?” Jax asks.

Katrina really doesn’t want to. She’d rather go home and bury herself in some blankets, and maybe a bottle of Jack. But she also doesn't want to upset Gemma. It wouldn't be a good idea to get on her bad side, especially after all she did to help plan her father’s funeral. “Yes, of course. It’ll be nice to see everyone again.”

Jax gives her a reassuring pat on her arm, then heads to his bike. Katrina places the flag that she was holding in her small backpack. She then cinches on her helmet before starting her bike. She waits until some of the other guests leave before taking off herself. The ride to Gemma and Clay’s house brought back memories of times she went over there to hang out with Jax. Instead of being on the back of Jax’s bike, she was on her own. 

When Katrina pulls up to the driveway of the house, there is already quite a few bikes parked. She parks her bike and then takes off her helmet. Hanging the helmet from her handlebars, she sits there for a moment. Contemplating whether she should go inside and hang out with everyone or tell Gemma she’s not feeling well so she can go home. Just as she dismounts from her bike, Jax pulls his bike next hers. She waits for him to get off his bike before she starts walking to the front door.

“Mom will be happy that you’re here….it’s been a long time.” Jax reassures her.

Katrina gives Jax a small smile to reassure him that she’s glad to be there, even though she’s really not. It takes everything in her to not turn around and go back to her bike. She tries to remind herself that it will be nice to see everyone.

As soon as they enter the house, it seems everyone rushes to her to offer condolences about her loss.

“Hey doll, sorry about your dad.” Tig gives her a hug and quick peck on the cheek, before standing back for the others to follow suit.

“Lass, if you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” Chibs gives her an embrace as well.

“Thank you guys.” Katrina responds sincerely.

Bobby approaches her next. “Been a long time kid. The shop’s not going to be the same without your dad there running things.”

Katrina nods to Bobby in agreement, even though she was never around her dad when he worked at the shop. She tried to stay out of his way to avoid his wrath.

Off to the side Katrina spots Opie, standing with a woman, that looks vaguely familiar, and two kids. She didn’t realize how much she missed him until she felt the happiness in her heart at the site of him. Like Jax, Opie has changed since the last time she’s seen him. He was always a little bigger than Jax, but now he was like a bear. Quite a bit taller, and a little more broad in the chest. His hair is a little longer and he sports a full beard now. Katrina walks towards him, and Opie smiles at her when she gets close. Before she realizes it, he has her in a big bear hug, practically lifting her from the floor.

“Damn, I’ve missed you.” Opie whispers in her ear, as he squeezes her tight.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Katrina replies, savoring the feeling of her best friend hugging her.

Opie finally releases his hold on her, and takes a small step back. “I want to introduce you to my wife and kids.” Opie gestures to the woman. “This is my wife, Donna. You might remember her from school. And these are my kids Ellie and Kenny.” Opie gestures to the kids standing in front of their mother.

“It’s nice to meet you. Your dad and I were best friends when we were kids.” Katrina smiles at the kids and then Donna. “Thank you for coming to the funeral, it means a lot.” She glances at Opie, and he gives her a reassuring nod.

Everyone starts gathering in the dining room and taking seats at the long table. The food is already laid out. Katrina spots Gemma and Clay sitting at the head of the table. She approaches them while the everyone else is dishing up their food. “Clay. Gemma. I just want to thank you for everything you did for my father. The funeral was perfect.”

Clay stands up from his seat and draws Katrina into an embrace “Hey kid, no problem. You and Daniel are family, and we take care of family.” Clay smiles at Katrina while Gemma nods in agreement. “It’s good that you’re here.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be here.” Katrina smiles in return.

Katrina finds a seat towards the end of the long dining room table, between Chibs and a prospect she’s not familiar with. Jax is sitting across from his mom near the head of the table, far from her. She wasn’t very hungry so she doesn’t put very much food on her plate, even though it all looks good. Everyone is talking. She could hear bits and pieces of various conversations going on around her, most of which consist of stories about her father.

Everyone that spoke about her dad, referred to him as Chief. She almost forgot about that nickname. If she remembers correctly, it was Clay that started calling him that due to his Native American heritage. If it would have been anyone else, they probably would have ended up with a black eye. The nickname stuck and soon everyone around the shop and club started calling him that.

“Remember that tom cat that used to hang around the shop?” Bobby asks the group, which results in nods and smiles from most of the guys. “I remember this old lady came in driving a grandma car. An old Buick I think. She said the car was acting funny and making a weird sounds. Chief popped the hood and found a tom cat stuck in the engine bay. A tuff of fur missing from its tail and a skinned up ear. Chief pried it out of the engine and offered it to the old lady. She said it wasn’t her cat and she didn’t want it. So Chief let it loose out back of the shop and it ran off. Next thing you know, the cat was hanging around the shop. Chief was constantly yelling at it to piss off, but the cat still hung around. Then one day I saw Chief sitting out behind the shop eating his lunch, and giving pieces to the cat. Couldn’t help but get a chuckle out of it. At least one good thing was, we never had a mouse problem.” Bobby chuckles after telling his story.

Hearing that story brings up feelings of resentment and hurt in Katrina. The fact that her dad would show more caring towards an animal than his own daughter crushes her. Katrina can feel a knot starting in her throat and tears gathering in her eyes. She feels like she can’t breathe.

Katrina pushes out her chair away from the table “Excuse me, I need to get some air.” She says before rushing out the front door to the porch.

As soon as she is outside, she breathes in deep gulps of air trying to calm the emotions raging through her. She wants to smash her fist through a wall, instead she slams it against one of the wood beams holding up the awning of the porch. The momentary flash of pain in her hand distracts her from the pain she feels in her heart. She flexes her fingers and shakes her hand, before reaching into her pocket to grab her pack of cigarettes. She hasn’t smoked in a long time, but she knew its calming effects would help her manage this stressful time. She pulls a cigarette from the pack, puts it to her lips and lights it using the lighter she bought at the gas station when she got the pack. She inhales the smoke deeply then slowly releases it from her lungs. The racing of her heart gradually slows as the nicotine works its magic. She takes another drag off the cigarette, focusing on the gathering ash at the tip of it before she flicks it off. Katrina sits down on the steps of the front porch. She closes her eyes and focuses on the sounds around her. Birds chirping, bees buzzing, the rustle of the breeze through the trees. She is so focused on everything else around her that it takes her a moment to realize that she’s not alone. She opens her eyes and looks up to see Jax standing beside her.

“Are you doing ok?” Jax asks, the concern evident in his voice.

“Sorry, it was hard hearing the stories about my father, I needed to get some fresh air. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone.” Katrina responds, thinking that at least it wasn’t a complete lie. She then takes another drag off her cigarette.

Jax lights a smoke of his own then joins her on the step. “We’re here for you Kat. Anything you need, just ask. I remember when I lost my father. It was rough for awhile.”

Katrina remembers Jax’s father, John. He was a good man, who loved his family. Jax was devastated when he passed away. She remembers being there for Jax while he grieved the loss. Helping him through the anger and tears. She knows that’s what Jax is trying to do for her now, but she doesn’t need it. Or want it. She worries that it’ll bring them closer together, and she just wants a clean break from everything in Charming.

Katrina takes one final drag from her cigarette before snuffing it out on the cement. She stands up, trying to convince herself to go back inside, but she’s tired. She really doesn’t want to listen to anymore stories about how great her dad was to everyone else in his life. “Hey, I think I’m just going to head home now. I’m not feeling well.”

Jax rises from the step he was sitting on. “Are you sure?”

Katrina can hear the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah. I didn’t sleep well last night, and all of this is a bit overwhelming.” She can feel how emotionally and physically draining this day has been. She wants to process this in her own way, without everyone watching her. “Please tell Gemma thanks for everything, and I’m sorry for leaving so quickly. The food was delicious, and it was great seeing everyone again.”

Jax nods his understanding, even though he wants to beg her to stay. He takes her in his embrace. “I’m here for you.” He says softly in her ear.

Katrina gives him a light squeeze, before breaking the hug. “Thank you Jax. I appreciate it.” She says while looking into his eyes. She gives him a light kiss on the cheek, before walking down the path to where the bikes are parked. She gets on her bike, places her backpack over her shoulders and puts on her helmet. She backs out of the driveway then takes off towards home, thankful she can finally breathe.

Jax heads back inside to the dinner. Gemma give him a confused look, after seeing that Katrina isn’t with him. Jax just shrugs his shoulders, and Gemma nods her understanding. Jax takes his seat and finishes his meal, while listening to everyone else talk. He can’t get Katrina off his mind, it takes everything in him not to take off after her. However, he understands the need to process grief in your own way. 

Prologue  Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Tagging: @momc95  @jerseynurse82

#redwood original #reaper crew #samcro #soa #soa fanfiction #soa imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller #jax teller imagine #jax teller smut #gemma teller #happy lowman #chibs telford #opie winston #jax teller x oc

[thedoctorcried]

Runaway - Part Four

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

The girls had decided to have some rest before embarking on another trip, but the next morning, they were at it again. "Hold that one down!" the Hunter ordered as she and Hazel flew the TARDIS.

"I'm holding this one down!" Hazel protested. The other button was halfway across the console.

"Well, hold both of them down!" the Hunter retorted, giving her a grin.

Hazel rolled her eyes, holding the other button down with her foot. "You asked for it."

"Oi!" the Hunter exclaimed, readjusting her foot to better hold down the button. "I promised you a time machine and that's what you're getting. We've done the future, now let's have a look in the past." She thought for a second. "1860. How does 1860 sound?"

"What happened in 1860?" Hazel wondered, having to shout over the time rotor.

The Hunter grinned. "Haven't the slightest! Let's find out! Hold on, here we go!" The TARDIS hit its bumpiest part of the ride, and the two girls were thrown to the floor side by side when it finally calmed down.

"Blimey!" Hazel laughed.

"You're telling me!" the Hunter agreed, still smiling from her adrenaline high. "Are you all right?" she asked, standing up and holding out a hand to help Hazel do so to.

The younger girl accepted. "Yeah, I think so. Nothing broken. Did we make it? Where are we?"

"We did it," the Hunter confirmed, checking the view outside on a monitor. "Earth, Naples, December 24th, 1860."

"That's so weird," Hazel breathed. "It's Christmas."

The Hunter smiled. "All yours, Haze."

"But it's like... Think about it. Christmas, 1860. Happens once, just one, and then it's gone, it's finished, it'll never happen again. Except for you. You can go back and see days that are dead and gone a hundred thousand sunsets ago," Hazel sighed. "No wonder you never stay still."

"Not a bad life," the Hunter shrugged.

"Better with two," Hazel smirked, turning to walk to the doors. "Come on, then."

"Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?"

She frowned. "1860."

The Hunter looked her up and down and raised her eyebrows. "Go out there dressed like that, you'll start a riot, Barbarella. There's a wardrobe through there. First left, second right, third on the left, go straight ahead, under the stairs, past the bins, fifth door on your left." At Hazel's bewildered look, she grinned. "Off you pop!"

***

While Hazel made her way through the TARDIS to the wardrobe, the Hunter took a different corridor to her bedroom. There, she changed into a simple black button up and grey trousers, with a tan trenchcoat and a grey beanie for warmth. Then, after smiling at a framed picture of the Doctor, she went back to the console room to start fiddling with the circuits for the light bulb on top of the TARDIS. She made to get up when she heard footsteps, but banged her head on the underside of the console.

"Ow!" Hazel laughed as the Time Lady got up, rubbing her forehead. "Blimey," the Hunter admired, looking over Hazel's nineteenth century attire.

"Don't laugh," Hazel said shyly, still smirking.

"No, you look beautiful, considering," the Hunter assured her.

Hazel raised her eyebrows. "Considering what?"

The Hunter shrugged, winking. "That you're human."

"I think that's a compliment," Hazel muttered, rolling her eyes. "Aren't you going to cause a riot, wearing trousers, and a hat like that?"

"Well, a bit of chaos never harmed anyone. Besides, I said you'd start a riot, not me." The Hunter brushed her coat down, stepping forwards. "Come on."

Hazel held up a hand to stop her. "You stay there. You've done this before. This is mine." She opened the door, stepping out into the snow gingerly.

The Time Lady followed, locking the door and putting her hands in her pockets. "Brr. Ready for this?" she asked, looking around. "History."

***

Hazel was listening to the carol singers happily while the Hunter bought a newspaper. The woman walked over to her, wincing a bit. "I got the flight a bit wrong," she admitted.

"I don't care," Hazel shrugged, enjoying the Christmas vibes.

"It's not 1860, it's 1869," the Hunter reported.

"I don't care."

"And it's not Naples."

"I don't care."

The Hunter eyed Hazel's expression as she spoke. "How do we feel about Cardiff?"

The girl's smile dropped, before she raised her eyebrows. "Right," she sighed.

Both of them looked round when they heard screams coming from a nearby theatre. The Hunter's face split into an excited grin. "That's more like it!" She ran off, and Hazel followed, holding her skirts up so she wouldn't trip.

***

"Fantastic," the Hunter nodded as she saw a blue gas-like creature floating around the ceiling in the theatre. A lone woman was standing with her mouth wide open while the rest of the crowd fled, but she soon collapsed as the Time Lady made her way up to the man on stage. "Did you see where it came from?"

"Ah, the wag reveals herself, does she? I trust you're satisfied, miss!" the man snapped. The Hunter blinked, affronted.

Hazel gasped as a man and his serving-girl picked up the woman's body, carrying her out. "Oi! Leave her alone!" she yelled, to no avail. "Art, I'll get them."

The Hunter nodded. "Be careful!" She watched the girl run out before turning back to the man. "Did it say anything? Can it speak? I'm the Hunter, by the way."

The man looked her over. "Hunter? You look more like a navvie."

"What's wrong with this hat?" the Hunter frowned.

***

"What are you doing?!" Hazel demanded as she caught up with the serving-girl as she was about to close the doors on a carriage with the woman lying inside.

"Oh, it's a tragedy, miss," the girl made up. "Don't worry yourself. Me and the master will deal with it. The fact is, this poor lady's been taken with the brain fever, and we have to get her to the infirmary."

Hazel touched the woman's wrist, and flinched. "She's bloody freezing. She's dead! Oh my God, what'd you do to her?" She yelped as the man snuck up behind her and put a cloth over her mouth, holding it there until she passed out.

***

The Hunter watched as the blue entity disappeared into a gas light. "Gas!" she realised. "It's made of gas." She ran outside, closely followed by the stage man, and was shocked to find no sign of her companion. "Hazel!"

"You're not escaping me, miss!" the man stated, tapping her on the shoulder. "What do you know about that hobgoblin, hmm? Projection on glass, I suppose. Who put you up to it?"

"Yeah, mate, not now, thanks," the Hunter dismissed, seeing a hearse being driven away from the theatre. She jumped into a nearby carriage "Oi, you! Follow that hearse!"

"I can't do that, ma'am," the driver said apologetically.

"Why not?" she frowned, narrowing her eyes.

"I'll tell you why not," the man from the stage fumed. "I'll give you a very good reason why not. because this is my coach."

The Hunter rolled her eyes, pulling him in. "Well, get in, then! Move!" The driver cracked the whip, and the carriage started moving. "Come on, you're losing them."

"Everything in order, Mr Dickens?" the driver called down. The Hunter froze, her eyes widening.

"No! It is not!" Dickens snapped.

"What did he say?" the Hunter asked.

"Let me say this first," Dickens requested. "I'm not without a sense of humour."

"Dickens?" the Hunter interrupted.

"Yes."

"Charles Dickens?"

"Yes," the man himself confirmed.

"The Charles Dickens?"

"Should I remove the lady, sir?" the driver called.

The Hunter smiled in awe. "Charles Dickens? You're brilliant. Completely one hundred percent brilliant. I've read them all. Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, and what's that other one, the one with the ghost?"

"A Christmas Carol?" Dickens guessed.

"No, no, no, the one with the trains. The Signal Man, that's it. Terrifying!" the Hunter enthused. "The best short story ever written. You're a genius!"

"You want me to get rid of her, sir?"

Dickens eyed the Hunter's excited face. "Er, no, I think she can stay."

"Honestly, Charles. Can I call you Charles? I'm such a big fan."

"A what? A big what?" Dickens asked, frowning.

"Fan. Number one fan, that's me," the Hunter repeated

"How exactly are you a fan?" Dickens questioned. "In what way do you resemble a means of keeping oneself cool?"

The Hunter shook her head. "No, it means fanatic, devoted to, but forget about that." She banged on the roof. "Come on, faster!"

"Who exactly is in that hearse?" Dickens wondered.

"My friend. She's only twenty," the Hunter stated, looking down. "It's my fault. She's in my care, and now she's in danger."

Dickens' eyes widened. "Why are we wasting time talking about dry old books? This is much more important. Driver, be swift! The chase is on!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Attaboy, Charlie," the Hunter patted his shoulder anxiously.

He frowned. "Nobody calls me Charlie."

She winked. "All the other ladies do."

***

Hazel woke up, sitting up groggily to find she had been lying in a coffin. She yelped, jumping out, and saw a young man sitting on the next table. "Are  you all right?" she asked. he looked up at her, and she realised he was dead.

***

The Hunter hammered on the door to the undertaker's, standing on the porch with Charles. A young serving-girl answered the door. "I'm sorry, ma'am, sir. We're closed."

"Nonsense," Dickens declared. "Since when did an undertaker keep office hours? The dead don't die on schedule. I demand to see your master."

"He's not in, sir," the girl tried.

"Don't lie to me, child. Summon him at once," Dickens ordered.

"I'm awfully sorry, Mr Dickens, but the master's indisposed." Behind her, a gas lamp flared, not going unnoticed by the pair at the door.

"Having trouble with your gas?" the Hunter asked, before pushing past the maid.

"What the Shakespeare is going on?" Dickens wondered.

***

"You have got to be kidding," Hazel muttered, as the corpse climbed out of its coffin and started shuffling towards her. "Okay, that'll be a no." She ran for the door. "Let me out! Open the door!"

***

"You're not allowed inside, ma'am," the maid tried, to no avail.

"There's something inside the walls," the Hunter mused, pressing her ear up against the plaster. "In the gas pipes. Something's living inside the gas." She looked up as she heard a familiar shout. "That's her!"

"Please, please, let me out!" Hazel cried. The Hunter followed her voice, running into the undertaker, Mr Sneed, as she went.

"How dare you!" Sneed gasped. "This is my house!"

"Shut up," Dickens told him shortly.

Sneed turned to his maid. "Gwyneth, I told you!"

The Hunter kicked the right door in just as the corpse grabbed Hazel, flanked by the old woman's body. "Actually, I think this is my dance," she decided, pulling Hazel out to hold her outside the door, not taking her eyes off the corpses.

"It's a prank," Dickens reasoned. "It must be. We're under some mesmeric influence."

"No, we're not. The dead are walking," the Hunter told him brusquely. She glanced over at Hazel, who was clutching onto her, breathing heavily, and flashed a small smile, rubbing her arm a little. "Hi."

"Hi," Hazel smiled. "Who's your friend?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the writer.

"Charles Dickens," the Hunter stated.

Hazel's eyes widened. "Okay."

The Hunter turned back to the corpses. "My name is the Hunter. Who are you? What do you want?"

The pair replied with multiple child-like voices at once. "Failing. Open the rift. We're dying. Trapped in this form. Cannot sustain. Help us." They then screamed, the gas leaving the bodies to return to a gas lamp as the corpses collapsed.

***

Awhile later, the Hunter was watching with amusement as Hazel chewed out Mr Sneed in front of Charles Dickens, Gwyneth pouring out some refreshments for them all. "First of all you drug me, then you kidnap me, and don't think I didn't feel your hands having a quick wander, you dirty old man."

"I won't be spoken to like this!" Sneed protested.

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut it!"

"Then you stick me in a room full of zombies!" Hazel continued. "And as if that ain't enough, you swan off and leave me to die! So come on, talk!"

"It's not my fault," Sneed sighed. "It's always had a reputation. Haunted. But I never had much bother until a few months back, and then the stiffs -" Dickens glared at him. "The, er, the dear departed started getting restless."

"Tommyrot," Dickens snorted.

Sneed shook his head. "You witnessed it. Can't keep the beggars down, sir. They walk. And it's the queerest thing, but they hang on to scraps."

Gwyneth handed the Hunter her cup. "White coffee, ma'am, just how you like it." The Hunter smiled politely, then frowned as Gwyneth moved away. How had the maid known she didn't have sugar? And how had she known to do coffee when she gave everyone else tea?

"One old fellow who used to be a sexton almost walked into his own memorial service," Sneed continued. "Just like the old lady going to your performance, sir, just as she planned."

"Morbid fancy," Dickens scoffed.

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Oh, Charles, you were there."

"I saw nothing but an illusion," Dickens maintained.

"If you're going to deny it, don't waste my time, just shut up," the Hunter cut him off bluntly, before turning to Sneed. "What about the gas?"

"That's new, miss. Never seen anything like that," Sneed told her.

"That means it's getting stronger," the Hunter realised. "The rift's getting wider and something's sneaking through."

Hazel frowned. "What's the rift?"

"A weak point in time and space. A connection between this place and another," the Hunter explained. "That'll be the cause of ghost stories, most of the time."

Sneed nodded. "That's how I got the house so cheap. Stories going back generations." Dickens slammed the door as he left, and the Hunter rolled her eyes again. "Echoes in the dark, queer songs in the air, and this feeling like a shadow passing over your soul. Mind you, truth be told, it's been good for business. Just what people expect from a gloomy old trade like mine."

***

The Hunter watched from the doorway of the Chapel of Rest as Dickens searched the dead man's coffin. "Checking for strings?" she asked, walking closer.

Dickens jumped. "Wires, perhaps. There must be some mechanism behind this fraud."

"Come on, Charles." The Hunter sighed. "All right, so I shouldn't have told you to shut up. I'm sorry. But you've got one of the best minds in the world. You saw those gas creatures."

"I cannot accept that," the writer shook his head.

The Hunter arched an eyebrow, nodding at the corpse they stood next to. "And what does the human body do when it decomposes? It breaks down and produces gas. It's the perfect home for these gas things. They can slip inside and use it as a vehicle, just like your driver and his coach."

"Stop it!" Dickens pleaded, then sighed, replacing the coffin lid. "Can it be that I have the world entirely wrong?"

"Not wrong," the Hunter assured him. "There's just more to learn."

Dickens shook his head. "I've always railed against the fantasists. Oh, I loved an illusion as much as the next man, revelled in them but that's exactly what they were: illusions. The real world is something else. I dedicated myself to that. Injustices, the great social causes. I hoped that I was a force for good. Now you tell me that the real world is a realm of spectres and jack-o'-lanterns. In which case, have I wasted my brief span here, Hunter? Has it all been for nothing?"

The Hunter regarded him with a small, but genuine smile. "I don't think anyone could call what you've done a waste."

***

Gwyneth gasped as Hazel stated washing up in the pantry. "Please, miss, you shouldn't be helping. It's not right."

Hazel scoffed. "Don't be daft. Sneed works you to death. How much do you get paid?"

"Eight pound a year, ma'am," Gwyneth replied dutifully.

"How much?" Hazel gaped.

"I know," Gwyneth smiled. "I would've been happy with six."

"So, did you go to school or what?" Hazel asked, unsure of how things worked in the nineteenth century.

Gwyneth looked shocked. "Of course I did! What do you think I am, an urchin? I went every Sunday, nice and proper."

"What, once a week?" Hazel frowned.

"We did sums and everything," Gwyneth nodded, before looking left and right furtively. "To be honest, I hated every second."

Hazel snorted. "Oh, me too."

"Don't tell anyone, but one week, I didn't go, and ran on the heath all on my own," Gwyneth confessed, giggling.

"I did plenty of that," Hazel smiled. "I used to go down the shops with my mates. We used to go and check out the goods, if you know what I mean." She winked.

Apparently she did, because Gwyneth blushed. "Well, I don't know much about that, miss."

Hazel raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Come on, times haven't changed that much. I bet you've done the same."

"I don't think so, miss."

"Gwyneth, you can tell me," Hazel grinned. "I bet you've got your eye on someone."

Gwyneth allowed herself a small smile. "I suppose there is one lad. The butcher's boy. He comes by every Tuesday. Such a lovely smile on him."

"I like a nice smile. Good smile, nice bum," Hazel nodded.

"Well, I have never heard the like."

"Ask him out," Hazel suggested. "Give him a cup of tea or something, that's a start."

The maid looked at her oddly. "I swear it is the strangest thing, miss. You've got all the clothes and the breeding, but you talk like some sort of wild thing."

"Well, maybe I am," Hazel shrugged. "Maybe that's a good thing. You need a bit more in your life than Mr Sneed."

Gwyneth frowned. "Oh, now that's not fair. He's not so bad, old Sneed. He was very kind to me to take me in because I lost my mum and dad to the flu when I was twelve."

Hazel blanched, her breath catching in her throat. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Thank you, miss," Gwyneth nodded. "But I'll be with them again, one day, sitting with them in paradise. I shall be so blessed. They're waiting for me. Maybe your mum and dad are up there waiting for you too, miss."

"Who told you they were dead?" Hazel asked quietly, looking haunted.

"I don't know," Gwyneth lied. "Must have been the Hunter."

"My parents died years back," Hazel sighed, shaking her head.

"But you've been thinking about them lately more than ever," Gwyneth stated, not making eye contact.

"I guess." Hazel frowned. "How do you know all this?"

"Mr Sneed says I think too much," Gwyneth said quickly. "I'm all alone down here. I bet you've got dozens of servants, haven't you, miss?"

Hazel was somewhat dazed, half caught up in memories of her parents, back when they were still parents. "No, no servants where I'm from."

"And you've come such a long way," Gwyneth said, looking at her strangely.

"What makes you think so?" Hazel wondered.

"You're from London," Gwyneth murmured. "I've seen London in drawings, but never like that. All those people rushing about half naked, for shame. And the noise, and the metal boxes racing past, and the birds in the sky - no, they're metal as well. Metal birds with people in them. People are flying." She fixed her gaze on Hazel, whose eyes widened. "And you, you've flown so far. Further than anyone. The things you've seen. The darkness, the big Bad Wolf." Gwyneth caught herself. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, miss!"

Hazel hushed her, thinking over what she'd said. "It's all right."

"I can't help it," Gwyneth cried. "Ever since I was a little girl, my mam said I had the sight. She told me to hide it."

"But it's getting stronger, more powerful, is that right?" Both girls turned to see the Hunter leaning in the doorway, frowning a little.

"All the time, miss," Gwyneth nodded. "Every night, voices in my head."

"You grew up on top of the rift. You're part of it," the Hunter realised. "You're the key."

"I've tried to make sense of it, miss. Consulted with spiritualists, table rappers, all sorts," Gwyneth assured her.

The Hunter nodded appraisingly. "Well, that should help. You can show us what to do."

Gwyneth frowned, glancing at Hazel nervously. "What to do where, miss?"

"We're going to have a séance," the Hunter announced. "Off you pop to the living room." Once Gwyneth had left, she looked over Hazel with concern. "Are you all right? You're very pale."

Hazel nodded, taking a deep breath, before joining her at the door. "I'm fine."

***

Everyone had gathered around a circular table in the dining room, and mostly everyone was seated. "This is how Madam Mortlock summons those from the Land of Mists, down in big town," Gwyneth declared. "Come, we must all join hands." She took the Hunter and Sneed's hands, while Hazel took the Hunter's right hand.

Dickens, on the other hand, was refusing to sit down. "I can't take part in this," he shook his head defiantly.

The Hunter rolled her eyes impatiently. "Humbug?" she asked, mocking him. "Come on, open mind."

"This is precisely the sort of cheap mummery I strive to unmask. Séances? Nothing but luminous tambourines and a squeeze box concealed between the knees," Dickens stressed. "This girl knows nothing."

"Charles," the Hunter raised an eyebrow sternly. "Sit. We might need you." The man did as ordered, joining hands with Hazel and Sneed. "Good man." She turned to the maid. "Now, Gwyneth, reach out."

Gwyneth closed her eyes. "Speak to us. Are you there? Spirits, come. Speak to us that we may relieve your burden."

Hazel looked around, her eyes wide, as a whispering filled the room. "Can you hear that?"

"Nothing can happen," Dickens maintained. "This is sheer folly."

"Look at her!" Hazel was watching Gwyneth as gas tendrils floated around behind her, rising to circle around above their heads.

"I see them. I feel them," she murmured.

"What's it saying?" Hazel asked, looking to the Hunter, who was watching the gas with narrowed eyes - the way she usually looked when she was concentrating on something.

"They can't get through the rift," the Time Lady translated, glancing back to the maid. "Gwyneth, it's not controlling you, you're controlling it. Look deep. Allow them through."

"I can't!" Gwyneth protested.

The Hunter squeezed her hand. "Yes, you can. Just believe it. Make the link. I have faith in you, Gwyneth."

"Yes," Gwyneth whispered as bluish outlines of people appeared behind her.

"Great God!" Sneed exclaimed. "Spirits from the other side."

"The other side of the universe," the Hunter corrected, raising an eyebrow coolly.

The figures spoke with child-like voices again, and this time, Gwyneth spoke with them. "Pity us. Pity the Gelth. There is so little time. Help us."

"What do you want us to do?" the Hunter demanded, eyeing them carefully.

"The rift," the Gelth replied. "Take the girl to the rift. Make the bridge."

The Hunter narrowed her eyes even further. "What for?"

"We are so very few. The last of our kind. We face extinction."

"Why?" the Time Lady questioned. "What happened?"

"Once we had a physical form like you, but then the war came." The Hunter blanched, and Hazel squeezed her hand tight, brushing her thumb over it the way Jason had used to do when she was younger.

"War?" Dickens repeated. "What war?"  

"The Time War. The whole universe convulsed. The Time War raged. Invisible to smaller species but devastating to higher forms. Our bodies wasted away. We're trapped in this gaseous state."

When the Hunter spoke, it was with a harder voice than usual. "So that's why you need the corpses."

"We want to stand tall, to feel the sunlight, to live again. We need a physical form, and your dead are abandoned. They're going to waste. Give them to us."

"But we can't," Hazel protested. "It's not right."

The Hunter winced. "It could save their lives."

"Open the rift. Let the Gelth through. We're dying. Help us. Pity the Gelth." The apparitions flew back into the gas lamps, and Gwyneth fell face down on the table.

Hazel ran round to check on her as the Hunter helped her sit back up. "Gwyneth? Are you okay?"

"All true," Dickens muttered, shaking his head. "It's all true."

***

A little later, Gwyneth woke up from where she had been laid on the chaise longue. Hazel smiled down at her. "It's all right. You just sleep."

"But my angels, miss. They came, didn't they?" Gwyneth asked. "They need me?"

The Hunter tilted her head, standing next to them. "Well, you're their only chance of survival."

Hazel shot her a look. "I've told you, leave her alone. She's exhausted." The Hunter raised her hands in surrender and backed away, smirking. "Drink this." Gwyneth sat up to drink the glass of water Hazel handed her.

Sitting in his armchair across the room, Sneed frowned. "Well, what did you say, Hunter? Explain it again. What are they?"

"Aliens," the Hunter replied shortly, taking a seat and crossing her legs.

"Like foreigners, you mean?" Sneed assumed.

"Pretty foreign, yeah," the Hunter allowed, pointing to the ceiling. "From up there."

"Brecon?" Sneed guessed.

The Hunter raised her eyebrows at Hazel before looking back to the man. "Close. And they've been trying to get through from Brecon to Cardiff, but the road's blocked. Only a few can get through, and even then they're weak. They can only test drive the bodies for so long, then they have to revert to gas form and hide in the pipes," she explained.

Dickens nodded. "Which is why they need the girl."

Hazel scowled at him. "They're not having her."

"She can help," the Hunter sighed, making a face. "Living on the rift, she's become part of it. She can open it up, make a bridge, and let them through."

"Incredible," Dickens breathed. "Ghosts that are not ghosts but beings from another world, who can only exist in our world by inhabiting cadavers."

"It's a solid system, I'll give them that," the Hunter evaluated.

"You can't let them run around inside of dead people," Hazel exclaimed, gaping at her.

"I wasn't planning on it," the Hunter assured her. "I couldn't give up a corpse if it were that of one of my own people. I can't ask you to do so either." Hazel's gaze softened.

"Don't I get a say, miss?" Gwyneth piped up.

Hazel glanced at her impatiently. "Look, you don't understand what's going on."

Gwyneth sighed. "You would say that, miss, because that's very clear inside your head, that you think I'm stupid."

"That's not true!" Hazel protested.

"Things might be very different where you're from, but here and now, I know my own mind, and the angels need me," Gwyneth told her, before looking to the ginger. "Hunter, what do I have to do?"

"You don't have to do anything," the Hunter told her.

"They've been singing to me since I was a child, sent by my mam on a holy mission," Gwyneth snapped. "So tell me."

The Hunter closed her eyes for a second, rubbing her forehead, before opening them and sighing. "We need to find the rift. This house is on a weak spot, but there must be a spot that's weaker than any other. Mr Sneed, what's the weakest part of this house? The place where most of the ghosts have been seen?"

"That would be the morgue," Sneed replied dutifully.

Hazel rolled her eyes. "Couldn't you have said gazebo?"

***

The Hunter pulled her coat tighter around her as she looked at the corpses under sheets in the morgue. "Brr. Talk about Bleak House."

Hazel frowned, keeping close to her. "The thing is, Hunter, the Gelth don't succeed, cause I know for a fact there weren't corpses walking around in 1869."

"Time's in flux, changing every second. Your cosy little world can be rewritten like that." The Hunter snapped her fingers. "Nothing is safe. Remember that. Nothing."

Dickens shivered. "Hunter, I think the room is getting colder."

"Here they come," Hazel muttered.

The Gelth's blue form slipped out of a gas lamp by the door and flew over to hover under a stone archway. "You've come to help. Praise the Hunter. Praise her."

"Promise you won't hurt her," Hazel said as Gwyneth stepped forwards a little.

"Hurry! Please, so little time. Pity the Gelth."

The Hunter narrowed her eyes at the apparition. "I'll take you somewhere else after the transfer. Somewhere you can build proper bodies. This isn't a permanent solution, all right?"

Gwyneth sighed happily. "My angels. I can help them live."

"Okay, where's the weak point?" the Hunter questioned.

"Here, beneath the arch," the Gelth replied.

"Beneath the arch," Gwyneth repeated, going and standing where the apparition hovered.

"You don't have to do this," Hazel reminded her.

"My angels."

"Establish the bridge. Reach out to the void. Let us through!"

"Yes, I can see you!" Gwyneth smiled. "I can see you. Come!"

"Bridgehead establishing."

"Come to me," Gwyneth called. "Come to this world, poor lost souls!"

"It is begun. The bridge is made." Gwyneth opened her mouth, and blue gas tendrils floated out. "She has given herself to the Gelth. The bridge is open. We descend." The calm, blue apparition morphed, turning into a fiery red thing with teeth as sharp as knives. It's voice deepened and hardened, sounding much more forceful. "The Gelth will come through in force."

"You said that you were few in number," Dickens spluttered.

"A few billion," the Gelth corrected. "And all of us in need of corpses."

The bodies stood up, their white sheets falling to the ground, and they started moving towards the humans and the Hunter.

"Gwyneth, stop this. Listen to your master. This has gone far enough. Stop dabbling, child, and leave these things alone, I beg of you -!"

"Mr Sneed, get back!" Hazel yelled, her eyes wide as a corpse snapped his neck from behind. A Gelth zoomed into his mouth, and he turned to face them.

The Hunter cursed, grabbing Hazel's arm and pulling her back with her. "I have joined the legions of the Gelth," Sneed hissed. "Come, march with us."

"No," Dickens declined politely, backing away towards the entrance to the morgue.

"We need bodies. All of you, dead. The human race, dead."

"Gwyneth, stop them!" the Hunter ordered. "Send them back now!"

"Three more bodies. Convert them. Make them vessels for the Gelth."

Sneed back the Hunter and Hazel up against a metal gate, pressing ever closer. "Hunter, I can't!" Dickens exclaimed apologetically. "I'm sorry. This new world of yours is too much for me. I'm so-"

The Hunter ignored him, opening the gate and pushing Hazel through, closing it when she herself had gone through too. She locked it with her sonic screwdriver, so the corpses couldn't reach them.

"Give yourself to glory. Sacrifice your lives for the Gelth."

"I trusted you," the Hunter shouted. "I pitied you!"

"We don't want your pity. We want this world and all its flesh."

"Not while I'm alive," the Hunter declared bravely, glaring at the corpses.

One of them seemed to smile. "Then live no more."

"But I can't die!" Hazel protested. "Tell me I can't. I haven't even been born yet. It's impossible for me to die. Isn't it?"

The Hunter refused to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"But it's 1869," Hazel reasoned. "How can I die now?"

"Time isn't a straight line," the Hunter replied quickly. "It can twist into any shape. You can be born in the twentieth century and die in the nineteenth, and it's all my fault! I brought you here!"

Hazel shook her head. "It's not your fault. I wanted to come."

"What about me? I saw the fall of Troy, World War Five, I pushed boxes at the Boston Tea Party. My brother and I inspired an entire civilisation, and now I'm going to die in a dungeon. In Cardiff." The Hunter looked disgusted.

"It's not just dying," Hazel reminded her. "We'll become one of them." She sighed. "We'll go down fighting, yeah?"

"Yeah," the Hunter agreed.

"Together?"

"Yes." She took Hazel's hand, and the girl squeezed tight. "I'm so glad I met you."

"Me too," Hazel admitted.

They were interrupted when Dickens ran in, holding a handkerchief to his mouth. "Hunter! Hunter! Turn off the flame, turn up the gas! now, fill the room, all of it, now!"

"What're you doing?" the Time Lady demanded.

"Turn it all on," Dickens repeated. "Flood the place!"

The Hunter's eyes widened. "Brilliant. Gas."

Hazel looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Are you crazy? We'll choke to death!"

"Am I correct, Hunter? These creatures are gaseous," Dickens stated.

"Fill the room with gas, it'll draw them out of the host. Suck them into the air like poison from a wound!" the Hunter agreed.

Dickens blanched as the corpses gave up on the Hunter and Rose and started shambling towards him. "I hope, oh Lord, I hope that this theory will be validated soon, if not immediately."

"Plenty more!" The Hunter made a swiping motion with her left hand, and a gas pipe ripped itself from the wall, causing the Gelth to leave the corpses, floating around the ceiling angrily.

"It's working," Dickens realised.

The Hunter opened the gate, and she and Hazel walked towards Dickens and Gwyneth. "Gwyneth, send them back. They lied. They're not angels."

"Liars?" Gwyneth inquired.

"Look at me. If your mother and father could look down and see this, they'd tell you the same. they'd give you the strength. Now send them back!" the Hunter ordered.

"I can't breathe," Hazel muttered, holding a hand to her chest.

"Charles, get her out," the Hunter requested immediately.

"I'm not leaving her," Hazel protested.

"They're too strong," Gwyneth whispered, sounding strained.

The Hunter looked at her imploringly. "Remember that world you saw? Hazel's world? All those people. None of it will exist unless you send them back through the rift."

Gwyneth shook her head. "I can't send them back. But I can hold them. Hold them in this place, hold them here. Get out." She pulled a matchbox from her apron pocket.

"You can't!" Hazel cried, her eyes widening.

"Leave this place!" Gwyneth cried.

"Hazel, get out," the Hunter ordered, squeezing the girl's hand before letting go. "Go no. I won't leave her while she's still in danger. Now go!" Hazel nodded shakily, before leaving with Dickens. "Come on, leave that to me," she told Gwyneth. When the girl didn't move, she frowned, feeling for a pulse in the human's neck. "I'm sorry," the Hunter sighed, kissing Gwyneth's forehead. "Thank you." Then the Hunter ran for her life, just about managing to reach the street before the house exploded. The force of it sent her flying into the snow, and she groaned, before getting to her feet and walking over to Dickens and Hazel.

"She didn't make it," Hazel sighed.  

"I'm sorry," the Hunter muttered, rubbing her ribs. "She closed the rift."

"At such a cost. The poor child," Dickens frowned.

The Hunter put her arm round Hazel's shoulders as they started walking. "I did try, Haze, but Gwyneth was already dead. She had been for at least five minutes."

Hazel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think she was dead from the minute she stood in that arch," the Hunter told her.

"But she can't have," Hazel reasoned. "She spoke to us. She helped us. She saved us. How could she have done that?"

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Dickens mused. "Even for you, Hunter."

Hazel glanced back over her shoulder at the ruins of the house. "She saved the world. A servant girl. No one will ever know."

***

The Hunter sighed as they reached the TARDIS and she grabbed her key out of her pocket. "Right then, Charlie boy, I've just got to go into my, uh, shed. Won't be long."

"What are you going to do now?" Hazel inquired.

"I shall take the mail coach back to London, quite literally post-haste. This is no time for me to be on my own. I shall spend Christmas with my family and make amends to them," Dickens smiled. "After all I've learned tonight, there can be nothing more vital."

"You've cheered up," the Hunter noticed.

"Exceedingly," Dickens agreed. "This morning, I thought I knew everything in the world. Now I know I've only just started. All these huge and wonderful notions, Hunter. I'm inspired. I must write about them."

"Do you think that's wise?" Hazel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I shall be subtle at first," Dickens assured her. "The Mystery of Edwin Drood still lacks a ending. Perhaps the killer was not the boy's uncle. Perhaps he was not of this Earth. The Mystery of Edwin Drood and the Blue Elementals. I can spread the word, tell the truth."

"Good luck with it," the Hunter smiled. "Nice to meet you. Fantastic."

"Bye then, and thanks." Hazel shook his hand, then kissed his cheek.

"Oh my dear. How modern." Dickens frowned. "Thank you, but, I don't understand. In what way is this goodbye? Where are you going?"

The Hunter smirked. "You'll see. In the shed."

Dickens sighed. "Upon my soul, Hunter, it's one riddle after another with you. But after all these revelations, there's one mystery you still haven't explained. Answer me this. Who are you?"

"Just a friend passing through."

"But you have such knowledge of future times. I don't wish to impose on you, but I must ask. My books, Hunter, do they last?" Dickens wondered.

"Oh yes!" the Hunter assured him.

"For how long?"

The Hunter smiled. "Forever. Right, shed. Come on, Haze."

"In the box?" Dickens asked. "Both of you?"

"Down boy," the Hunter winked. "See you." The girls entered the TARDIS.

Hazel frowned, closing the door behind her. "Doesn't that change history if he writes about blue ghosts?"

"In a week's time it's 1870, and that's the year he dies. Sorry," the Hunter stated, draping her trenchcoat over one of the weirdly shaped coral columns. "He'll never get to tell his story."

"Oh no. He was so nice," Hazel mourned.

The Hunter smiled at her. "But in your time, he was already dead. We've brought him back to life, and right now, he's more alive than he's ever been, old Charlie boy. Let's give him one last surprise." She threw the lever for dematerialisation, and the girls watched on the monitor as Charles Dickens' face split into an ecstatic grin.

Hazel threw her arms around the Time Lady. "Merry Christmas, Art.

"Merry Christmas, Haze," the Hunter returned, smiling happily. "And may we have many, many more."

~~~

If you enjoyed, please like and/or reblog, and consider helping me out by donating to my Kofi! Thanks for reading :)

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #series #thedoctorcried #gxg #lgbt #oc insert #slow burn

[soaimagines]

six months

Gifs not mine, credit to owners/creators.

‼️ MAJOR SEASON 3 SPOILERS ‼️

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Warnings: grief, mourning, loss, depression, language.

Grief plays pretty heavily through out this so please be cautious.

Authors Note: maaaan it has been so long since I’ve written something. I’m still convinced this is trash but I’m gonna post it before I yeeeeeet my laptop out the window. A huge thank you to @littleblogontheprairie , @harringtonhargrovethings and @justabasterd for reading through and encouraging me, I truly appreciate it.

Tagged For:  @yoinkpeter - @samiel-maurice455 - @total-fucktrash - @fangirlinganditswonders - @please-lives-are-at-stake - @house-in-charmingtown-imagines - @blood-on-my-french-fries - @goodiesintheclosetlove - @inlovewithagreaser - @crystalbaby12 - @fairytale-believerxx - @eternalmikaelson - @avahodge - @gingersearchingforsoul - @supernaturallymarvel - @spider–guy - @missblasphemy - @knightwolfdixon - @potatoe69fan -

I used by tag list from when I wrote for Billy ages ago so if you want to be removed/added let me know.

Masterlist

JULY

The trees lining the road blurred into an endless green, your eyes unable to focus as the car moved along the road.

Every now and then your mother would glance over at you, her brows furrowed with concern.

You knew the radio was on; it was always on. Your mother was a sucker for the latest pop hits. But you didn’t hear the music. A dull buzz seemed to take over and it wasn’t til your mother spoke your name for the third time that you actually heard her.

“Y/N? Honey?”

You couldn’t bare to look at her, to see the sympathy and worry in her eyes.

A grunt left your lips in response. You weren’t trying to be rude, you just couldn’t seem to find words.

“Do you want me to pick you up some lunch?” She pressed on gently.

You shook your head, though the movement was subtle. “I’m not hungry.”

Your mother watched as you shifted your body away from her to face the window.

The days events drifted through your mind. The funeral. There was a big turn out, which you’d expect for the ‘King of Hawkins’. The rows had been littered with girls you went to school with, and their mothers, all clad in black. Tears streamed down each of their faces, mascara staining their skin  and you knew if Billy was here he would have rolled his eyes and laughed, though a smug smile would have lingered on his lips.

You wondered if any of them had ever actually spoken to Billy. Probably not.

They didn’t even know him.

They didn’t know that he loved the hair at the back of his neck being played with, or that he liked his coffee black. They didn’t know he knew every fucking word to every Motley Crüe song and that he had an irrational fear of circus clowns. They didn’t know of the bruises that littered his body or the scar on his thigh. They didn’t know about his mother, or his father, and they didn’t know that all he ever really wanted was to be loved. They didn’t know that his laugh, his real laugh, was like summer rain and every time you heard it, no matter the weather,  the sun seemed to shine brighter.

No, they didn’t know him.

Because those things were hidden behind the walls he’d only let down for you.

And so you’d sat next to Max, ignoring the chorus of sobs that echoed through the room and you stared at the coffin, the familiar sense of numbing that you’d felt over the past room intensifying.

The service was a rush, a muddled blur. A few people spoke, droning on about some bullshit that Billy would have hated and before you knew it the door was closing on the hearse and Billy’s body was driven away.

You were brought back to reality when the car engine shut off.

Before your mother could ask how you were doing you slid out of the car and walked to the front door.

Your feet carried you to your bedroom and once the door closed behind you you let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding.

Bloodshot eyes scanned your room. It was the same as you’d left it this morning, but your eyes lingered on the bed.

Suddenly it seemed so.. big.

Your legs carried you forward and you slowly climbed onto the mattress.

As you lay down you closed your eyes and memories washed over you like a wave.

Images of Billy, his hair splayed against the pillow, golden curls framing his head.

The morning sunlight pouring in like marmalade, the trees outside casting shadows across his bare skin and the way his Californian tan contrasted against the white sheets. His lips pressing to your forehead when he woke, before slipping out the window before your parents came in.

His mischievous grin as he climbed through the window nearly every night and dove into the bed.

“Shhh, Billy!” You would hiss.

He would chuckle and grab your hands, pulling you towards him.

“Come here, princess.”

Your eyes flickered open and landed on the empty space next to you.

The space that would no longer feel the weight of his body.

You grabbed the pillow and hugged it tight.

It was faint, the scent of him, but it was there and you breathed it in as the tears began to flow.

AUGUST

The start of senior year wasn’t anything like you had imagined.

“One more year” Billy had told you. “As soon as you graduate we are going to California.”

You held on to that, it’s what pushed you to keep going when all you wanted was to give up. Maybe it was silly; it’s not like he’d be by your side when you crossed that state line, but you knew that you had to do it. For him.

And so you kept going to school, sinking into a familiar routine and drifting through the days as they all blurred into one.

The hallways were the worst. The whispers, the sympathetic looks. Even the laughter; not that it was directed at you. But how could anyone be that happy when the world was so cold and empty.

Many mornings now you had been late, your mind still not registering the fact that you didn’t have your own personal chaperone anymore. You walked into school alone, no arm around your shoulder or hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.

The jealous stares from the girls replaced with sad eyes and sympathetic smiles.

You caught the bus and you drifted through the hallways like paper moving in the wind.

Today was no different and you rummaged through your locker as the bell rang out, signalling the start of class.

With a sigh you pulled out the books you needed and slammed the locker shut  before heading to the classroom.

Desks were already filling and you eyed the rows before spotting one at the back of the room.

You stepped over bags and ignored the eyes on you as you made your way before slumping down into the chair and shifting your focus to the window. It’s not that the scenery was particularly interesting; it wasn’t. You just didn’t want to see any more apologetic smiles, as if they could possibly know what you were going through.

After a minute or two of listening to the teachers monotone voice you shifted in your seat and glanced down at your desk.

Almost immediately something caught your eye, and a breath caught in your throat.

In the corner of the desk was a carving.

A jagged ‘B.H’ with an equally messy carving of your initials underneath.

Your thumb brushed over the carving and you closed your eyes.

He had sat right here, in this seat, in this class.  

You could almost picture it, Billy, slumped in the chair with his legs stretched out, a bored expression on his face.

Billy, sitting next to his friends and laughing as they tossed pieces of crumpled paper into a girls hair.

Billy, huddled over the desk with his pocket knife, etching his initials into the wood before adding the initials of the girl he loved.

Billy, laughing, breathing, living.

Billy.

A tear spilled from your lashes and you stood abruptly, snatching your bag and rushing out of the classroom.

The teacher called after you but you didn’t stop.

You didn’t stop till you’d left the school grounds and you didn’t stop til you’d reached your street.

You didn’t stop til you’d slammed your bedroom door shut and fallen onto your bed and sobs ripped through your chest.

SEPTEMBER

The change in weather was causing havoc on your lips and you searched your room frantically for your chapstick. You searched the dresser and rummaged through your school bag with no luck before kneeling in front of the bedside table.

The drawer squeaked as you pulled it open and you rummaged through the contents.

You grabbed the tube of chapstick and were about to shut the door when you stopped.

The pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes stared back at you and you gingerly lifted the pack.

They had been stashed away for months, shoved to the back of the drawer and forgotten about.

“Just in case.” He winked and slid the drawer shut.

Your breathing quickened as rage took over and you crumpled the packet in your hands.

Without a second thought  you yanked the drawer out of its place and threw it to the corner of the room. It’s contents went flying and scattered across the floor.

You were shaking now, and tears fell steadily as you let out a jagged scream.

You swiped your arm across your bedside table, sending your lamp and alarm clock  crashing to the floor.

Leaping to your feet, your fingers tore at the posters littering your walls and you crumpled them in your hands.

You couldn’t stop,’couldn’t control yourself and the laundry hamper was flung across the room before you set your eyes on your dresser.

The lipsticks, your hairbrush, the bottles of perfume he’d brought you on Valentine’s Day.

All of it went flying as you tore through your room, demolishing anything in sight. Eventually your eyes fell on the mirror.

You stared at your reflection.

Loose strands of hair fell from your ponytail and hung around your face. Mascara stained your cheeks and there was a wild look in your eyes that you didn’t recognise.

An ugly sob tore from your throat and before you could stop yourself you clenched your first and swung.

The mirror shattered almost as fast as your heart had and the shards began to fall as you hit the glass over and over.

With bloodied knuckles and an aching heart you collapsed to the floor, your body curling up into a ball.

The crumpled pack of cigarettes lay next to you and you grabbed them, clutching them to your chest as the sobs took over.

OCTOBER

Music bellowed out into the street, disrupting the otherwise peaceful night.

You stared at the house, various Halloween decorations were scattered across the lawn and an orange glow came from every window.

Why did you let your friends talk you into this?

Before you could change your mind and run home to the comfort of your bedroom, you took a deep breath and walked into the house.

A couple were already making out, pushed up against the wall of the hallway. You shuffled past them, trying not to make any contact.

Scanning the faces of the crowd you searched for your friends.

When your eyes landed on a leather jacket you froze, for a moment, instantly mistaking the stranger for Billy.

His leather jacket had always been a regular feature of his outfits.

He had draped it over your shoulders last October, when the weather was getting colder and you had sacrificed comfort and warmth for the sake of your outfit. You had walked down the street hand in hand, laughing together about the movie you had just seen at the local cinema. But before the two of you could reach his car he had pulled you into the alleyway behind the florist.

A wicked smirk crossed his lips and you had bitten your lip as you leant against the cold bricks. He placed his hands either side of your head and leant in close and leant his forehead against yours.

You remembered how he'd kissed you, so soft and yet so rough, a sense of urgency in his lips. His hands immediately gripping your waist as he pulled you closer and your hands tangling in his hair.

You sighed and scanned the rest of the room, your eyes finally landing on your group of friends.

Shoulders brushed past you as you made your way across the room to the kitchen.

Your friends greeted you and you smiled sheepishly.

“Good to see you dressed up!” Molly said, her voice flat with sarcasm.

“I’m a mouse,” You pointed to the ears on your head. “Duh.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, “Im glad you came.”

You smiled back at her and grabbed a red cup from the stack on the counter.

“Hey, we’re gonna go dance. Do you wanna come?” Molly asked.

You raised an eyebrow as you lifted the ladle and poured some punch into your cup. “Absolutely not. But go ahead, I'm fine.”

Molly nodded and headed off to the dance floor with the rest of the group.

You took a sip from the cup and grimaced. Whoever had spiked this punch had done an awful job, and you wondered just how many stolen bottles of liquor had been added to the bowl.

But you shrugged and took another sip. If you were gonna get through this night, you sure as hell weren't going to do it sober.

The majority of the evening you had spent perched on the edge of the sofa, watching your friends dance. They had tried to drag you onto the dance floor and you had refused each time, though you smiled at them and laughed at their goofy moves.

You were actually enjoying yourself, which surprised you, but you assumed it was mainly because of the punch you had been sipping on all night.

A large commotion outside caught your attention and you looked out to see a group of boys cheering, as they watched Tommy doing a kegstand

You remembered last year, last Halloween at Tina’s party. When you had watched Billy doing a keg stand from the sidelines, rolling your eyes at his bravado. You remembered how a trail of beer had run down his chest, gliding over his toned muscles. How he had caught you looking at him and winked, “You like what you see, Princess?”

You sighed and stood up from the sofa and you made your way to the bowl of punch.

The music was loud and you sung along to it as you filled your cup once more.

Closing your eyes you lifted the cup to your lips, your brows scrunching together as you tasted the concoction.

You didn't want to remember him. Not tonight.

Tonight you wanted to forget.

NOVEMBER

A cold wind sent a shiver down your spine and you pulled your coat tighter around your body.

Your friends laughed beside you and you forced a smile on your face, though you had missed the punchline of the joke.

Molly was sharing with the group how her date with Tommy had gone and you listened half heartedly.

She had been crushing on him for months and you were happy for her, but you didn’t want to hear about anyone else’s love life. Not when yours had ended so tragically.

Another cool gust of wind sent your hands delving deep into your pockets and you frowned slightly.

In the left pocket of your coat you felt a piece of paper and you pulled it out slowly before unfolding it.

As soon as you laid eyes on the  familiar handwriting scrawled across the page your breath caught in your throat.

Tears stung your eyes almost immediately, threatening to spill over but you held them back and read the words.

‘I cant wait to see what you buy, baby. I’ll come over tonight so you can show me. Leave your window open xx’

A smile crossed your lips and you traced over the writing with your finger.

He had slipped the note into your locker on a Friday, and he'd kept true to his words, slipping into your window in the dark of the night with a hungry look in his blue eyes.

The day before you had spent at Billy’s house, listening to music in his room.  You had stood in front of his dresser, studying the bottles of cologne and the photos from his youth. You had told him about your plans to take Max shopping to find a dress for the Snow Ball and he had rolled his eyes, “She’s got a whole wardrobe full of clothes.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes and you’d shook your head. “She needs a dress, Billy. She needs something.. special.”

Billy groaned and sat up. “You’re really gonna hang out with my sister when you could be hanging out with me?”

“Don’t be so jealous.” You snickered. “Besides, maybe I’ll pick something up for myself. Maybe..” Your voice fell off and you stepped in front of him, your hands laying on his shoulders. “Maybe something I can wear just for you.”

His eyes lit up and his tongue ran across his lip as he pulled you into his lap.

“Don’t tease me, princess.” He’d whispered before crashing his lips against yours.

Together you’d fallen back against the sheets and it wasn’t long before you were lost in hushed moans and heavy breathing, your bodies tangled together.

“(Y/N)? You okay?” Molly’s voice interrupted your daydream and you snapped back to reality.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat and shoved the note back into your pocket. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

And you weren’t lying, not entirely.

As you held back tears the memories washed over you and you smiled.

You were okay.

DECEMBER

Christmas Eve. Even from your bedroom you could hear the carollers singing at the front door. You sighed and rolled over, turning the radio on your bedside table up louder.

You used to love Christmas. Loved waking up to fresh snow and wearing your pyjamas all morning. Drinking hot cocoa in front of the fireplace while your mother cooked up a feast in the kitchen.

But you didn’t feel the usual festive spirit this year.

He should be here.

You couldn’t help but think of last years Christmas.

How Billy had come over after dinner,

How he’d kissed you under the mistletoe, his hand tangled in your hair.

His smile, and the way his eyes had sparkled with love, or maybe it was just the reflection of the Christmas lights.

And you’d fallen asleep in his arms, your legs intertwined  and your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat your own personal lullaby.

At that memory you sat up, the full realisation that you’d never hear that sound again hit you like a truck and you clutched at your chest. Begging and pleading for God, or anyone that would listen to stop this ache that consumed you. To bring him back.

You took a deep breath and slid off the bed.

A walk would do you good. So you slipped on your boots, pulled on your coat and left the house, without a destination in mind.

Your legs seemed to make up their own mind as they carried you along the road.

Maybe deep down you knew where you were going. You’d wanted to go there for a while now but you had been scared. Scared that it would only remind you of how much you had lost.

The night was quiet and it wasn’t long before you reached your destinations

4819 Cherry Lane looked almost the same as you’d always seen it. But you couldn’t help but notice the absence of Billy’s camaro parked in the driveway. Now his usual parking spot sat empty, only a few oil stains on the concrete remained.

You took a deep breath and as quietly as you could, you walked around the side of the house, stopping in front of the third window.

You closed your eyes and for a moment the weather changed.

For a moment it was a warm summers night and the window in front of you was glowing with light. You could hear Mötley Crüe coming from his radio and the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with his cigarettes drifted out the window. His shadow cast over you as he moved across the room, cigarette pressed between his lips as he smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

And just like that he was gone.

It wasn’t summer. It was the middle of winter and you stared up at the dark window.

Sadness washed over you but you pushed on, carefully shifting a few blocks of wood to stood on top of them.

Laying your fingers on the window you took another deep breath.

It was silly to think you could actually get inside without the strength of his arms hauling you up.

But that didn’t stop you from reaching up and pushing the window open.

As quietly as you could you clambered through the window, your feet hitting the floorboards with a dull thud.

You waited patiently, listening to see if your sudden presence had been noticed.

But only silence met you and you stared sound the room as your eyes adjusted to the dark.

You tiptoed over to his lamp that sat next to his bed and you flicked the switch.

Everything was the same.

The bed was made, sheets pulled up with close to zero effort and your fingers brushed over the wrinkles in the fabric.

Cigarette butts sat in the ashtray and a small smile crossed your lips.

You walked around the room, wiping the layer of dust from the surfaces you touched and you stopped in front of the dresser.

His favourite cologne sat closest to you and you lifted it carefully. Your finger pressed down on the pump and the scent sprayed into the air.

Memories flooded you as you breathed it in, all the nights you’d spent with your head buried in his neck.

You sprayed it once more onto your neck and placed the bottle down carefully.

You stepped in front of his wardrobe and bit your lip, remember the doors had always creaked.

But you opened them anyway and ran your fingers over the fabric of his shirts.

The red shirt, that was torn from his fight with Steve yet he’d refused to throw it out.

The black shirt, that he’d worn when he first met your parents.

And the blue shirt, that he had worn last December when he told you he loved you for the first time.

Finally your fingers fell on the leather jacket and let out a breath. With careful movements you removed it from its hanger and pulled it over your shoulders.

You pulled the leather to your face and breathed in the scent, the faint hint of his cigarettes still lingering.

A tear rolled down your cheek but you didn’t notice as you closed the wardrobe doors and walked to the bed.

You pulled the sheets back and slipped in beneath them.

Moonlight shone through the window and you reached over to turn the lamp off before falling back against his pillows.

God you missed him.

But in that moment, as you laid amongst the sheets in the bed you’d spent so many nights, basking in the scent of the boy you loved, you swore you could feel him.

You could feel his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin.

And as you drifted off to sleep, with tears rolling down your cheeks, you felt safe.

For the first time in six months you didn’t feel so empty.

For the first time in six months, you were home.

Masterlist

#Billy Hargrove #billy x reader #billy hargrove stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 3 #stranger things #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery imagine #soaimagines writes

[hozierandco]

1917 imagine - Reader x Will

William's POV

All through the battlefields that I had walked, all I could think was Y/N. In Somme I was walking as a dead man, crying my soul away as I crossed by the bodies of my brothers. The only way I found to carry on and not to shoot me instead of yet another German man was to keep Y/N on my mind. When I met Blake, it was as if I had found a second Y/N, a second confidant I could truly relate to. The trenches were not a pleasure cruise but as I had more and more chances to end this war in a hearse, I was more and more desperate to see Y/N again. When Blake died in my arms, I could not stop but imagining me, dead and unable to say goodbye to her.

Last time we saw each other, we were nearly engaged. There was not one day we did not meet for a walk and it had been thus for the past ten years. There was not one single thing I did not know about her or that she did not know about me. I had long dreamt of calling her mine and to end my life peacefully in her arms. Most of the nights, I would fall asleep thinking of her lips brushing mine.

After my mission completed, Tom's brother moved heaven and earth to send me home safe and sound. I had thought of this happening to me many times before and now it came true, I was reveling. I had kept her last letter on my bosom and after ten days, still knew it by heart. I had been surprised to get a letter from her again for lately, her missives were more scarce. Before getting to her house, I had chosen to meet Blake's mother and sister as I had learnt he used to live not too far from Y/N's house.

Once on my way to Y/N's house, I was having all those ideas wandering. Why hadn't she send me any letter? Why were the rare letters I got not demonstrative? What if she was not interested anymore? What if she had never been at the first place? It is with a bad feeling that I knocked on her door. As I took a foot back, a posy in my hands that I had done with flowers I found on my way, her mother greeted me. She had never been too fond of me but was it my grimy face or the sad look upon it, she let me in.

Inside, the warmth of the household covered me with its rays. Y/N appeared by the handrail of the staircase. Her face seemed off. I knew something was wrong the second she reached out for me.

"Will...", her voice broke. It was as if she was holding tears in my mouth.

She looked as magnificent as I had remembered if not more but I could sense a feeling I only knew too well. She was terribly alone and sad. She took me outside and before she started talking, a silence had invaded the long distance between us two.

Omniscient POV

Y/N had been engaged to Stephen Collins, the son of some self-made man and the wedding was due in just ten days. From the second she saw William after so long, she gained back all her feelings for him. Well, in fact, they had never left. Now, how could she tell him the news when her too was not fine about it?

As the distance became unbearable for the both of them as they had craved for this encounter to happen for so long, they hugged before Y/N decided to speak. The longer she would wait, the worse it could get, she thought.

"I'm to be married, Will..."

William looked at her as to make sure he had understood it well. He had fantasized about getting home, getting married and then they would settle after years of eloping. Now, that pipedream had turned into a nightmare.

"I wish things were different. I tried to postpone it for the longest time and I... The whole village thought you had been killed when we heard about Tom... I had no way out...", Y/N said, almost panting and as if she had stepped away from her own body and only remained as a shadow.

She had never wanted to get married to anyone else than Will but her family had alwas had the final word on everything. She knew how many sacrifices Will had gone through and felt terrible that she was tying the knot with some iddle man she barely knew.

"When?", Will simply asked to put an end to their misery.

"Sunday in ten"

"Just tell me you're happy with him and I'll go. I need to know if he makes you happy to wake up every day", Will scoffed to hold back his tears.

"It's harder than this... I've been told I would learn to be. That's-that's what marriage seems to achieve"

"Are you happy with him now?"

"I... I... No, I suppose not"

"Don't marry him then", he whispered almost begging "Marry me instead"

Those words hurt Y/N more than they offered comfort. If she had burnt alive right this instant, it could not have been any way more terrible. Y/N was not a renegade and could not just walk away but seeing Will that way and knowing her heart, she burst into tears.

"I can't. You know I can't", she simply replied in the midst of her grief "Don't make it harder than it is, Will, please...", she added by getting back inside.

Will remained stupefied for a few seconds, staring at the door. Why had he come back? He wished he had died instead of his brother in arms. Surely that was less painful.

xxx

Y/N was getting ready by putting on the white dress her mother had worn before her, she looked at her face in the mirror. She could barely recognize her own features as a severe deprivation of sleep and the memories of her past conversation were showing up.

Y/N only wanted to dive in Will's arms and never to let go of her lover. She walked down the aisle will all the strength she could gather to look happy. By the altar was a man she did not love and probably never will. That man could never be Will.

On that morning, Will had one choice to make: would he attend Y/N's wedding or not? He could not possibly see her getting married to anyone else than himself but he felt like it was the best, a last chance to see her.

As Stephen, the groom uttered his vows, Y/N's eyes wandered around the crowd attending. Half of it was sobbing. She thought that she should be sobbing by now too. And then, then she saw Will sitting on a bench from afar. He came and was doing his best not to cry out loud.

"Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Stephen Collins as your husband"

The last sentence had put Y/N out of her daydream and staring at Will. All it would take now would be two words. Or she could run away with Will, never to come back. She could choose freedom and living as a renegade.

#1917 #Imagine #Reader #william schofield #readerxschofield #sad #angst #kinda #Idk i was emotional #open ending #ok bye sorry

[renee-writer]

Learning to Love Chapter 142 Goodbye Patrick

Ainsely carries Patrick out and hands his tiny body to the funeral home representative, not wanting his parents to see the transfer.

"Go home and try to sleep Grace. I am keeping you on the iron pills and pain meds." She nods, crying to hard to answer.

"What about Patrick?" Daniel asks.

"They will call you. I am so sorry guys." She hugs them both and tries to shake off her own grief so she can focus on her other clients. They walk out to Daniel's truck in silence. He helps his wife up and she pulls her knees up towards her stomach and rovks slowly back and forth.

"I love you Grace." Gently said as he lays his hand on her bent knees.

"I love you too."

He gets her home and carries her to the bed. "Do you want something to eat?"

"No.. I just can't."

"Baby, to take one of the pain pills, you must have something in your stomach."

"Okay. I will try." After she manages to get cereal down, he gives her the meds and then, when she drifts back to sleep, he makes phone calls.

"Hey Chief. Is Grace alright?" Marcus asks.

"No. The baby, Patrick, died."

"I am so sorry Daniel. Is there anything we can do?"

"I will need a few days off. We are going to have a funeral for him. I will let you know when. If you can tell the others. I will let Amy know."

"Of course. We will be praying."

"Thanks." He is on the verge of tears again and has other calls, three other tough calls to make.

"Let us know if you need anything else." Marcus adds, his own voice heavy.

"Thanks."

"Amy, can you come over. Grace needs you. The baby died yesterday."

"On the way." She says.

Daniel can't handle calling their parents yet. He walks back in to check on Grace. She sleeps on her side, curled up, protecting the baby that is no longer there.

Amy walks in pushing five week old John Mark in his stroller. He is asleep so she parks him in the living room and goes to find her friend. She finds Danirl first. She opens her arms to him and he holds her close and weeps. She cries with him. After a few moments of hard weeping, he is able to tell her what happened.

"We are going to have a funeral for him," he concludes.

"Good. I think that is good. Get some rest Daniel. I will sit with her."

"Where is John Mark?"

"Asleep in the stroller in the living home."

"Okay. Thanks Amy." He goes into the living room and falls asleep on the couch.

Two days later, with his biological family and Team family in attendance, Patrick Daniel Windtalker, is late to rest. He is dressed in doll clothes because even premie clothes are to big. His mom sits clinging to the blanket he was wrapped up in. His daddy and Uncle Willy are pallbearers. Grace holds tight to her mom with her free hand. Luke sits solemnly on his mom's other side. It is a heart-breaking ceremony.

Grace had thrown away the pain meds that morning, wanting to be coherent for her son's funeral. She leans against her husband, in emotional and physical pain as the chaplain struggles to make sense of the baby's death.

They all cry, with not one dry eye in the place. Grace, leads the procession out, following her husband and his brother out, as they carry the baby's casket out. She clings to her mom and brother as they walk out to the hearse.

They lead the the long procession out to the grave yard. The impossibily small casket is lowered into the ground.

When they get home, Hannah puts her daughter and son-in-law to bed. She and Amy greet the mourners, accept the food and flowers, as they explain the parents need time to rest. Luke plays with John Mark as he struggles to understand how his Aunt Amy has a baby but his sister's is dead.

"How do I get past this?" Grace asks Amy two weeks later. Her mom and in-laws had stayed as long as they could. Daniel had taken off as long as he could. But real life has to be resumed. The wifes, at least one of them, come by everyday. She is surronded by support. It is just the grief is overwhelming.

"Yoy won't. No completely. It will get better over time but Patrick will always be a part of you."

"It is hard to think of anything else. I know our husbands are getting ready for something big. I can only concentrate on it like music in another room. It is like background noise. I hate that. Patrick is gone. Daniel is here. I need to be able to concentrate on him."

"Grace, this is incredibly hard. I know that doesn't even cover it. Patrick's death was a horrible thing. No one expects you to get over it right away. You need to grief and need time to get used to the new reality."

"I just miss the ferl of him inside me and his weight in my arms." She confesses through her tears. Amy gets up, lays John Mark on the blanket laid out on the floor, and pulls Grace into her arms. As she holds her, she remembers something.

"How much did Patrick weigh?"

"One pound eight ounces." Grace tells her. She recalls everything about her son. "And he was ten inches long."

Amy reaches for her phone and looks up something. "Ah, I did remember right."

"Remember what?"

"There is a company that makes dolls the exact weight and height of stillborn babies so the parents have something to hold in their empty arms."

"That would be perfect." Grace whispers.

"I will order y'all one." Amy says before entering Patrick's vitals in.

"Thank you Amy."

"I will do whatever I can to help you through this."

The doll arrives a week later and the weight of it does help both of Patrick's parents through the worst part of their grief.

#my writing #my ocs #learning to love #goodbye patrick #the military one #angst

[tutti-writes]

Let’s Play a Game of Ghost or Hallucination

You’re dead.

           You’re gone. You’ve kicked the bucket. You saw the light. You are no longer alive. Alive and you are now mutually exclusive entities. You have run out of time. You are six feet under. You gave up the ghost. You went out for a pack of smokes and ended up in the gutter. You pulled the trigger and it worked. You are dead. You are a once was. You are a has been. You are fucking goddamned wasted.

           You’re dead.

There’s a lot of living people do without ever being alive.

           FUCK! Another wasted hour on a deadbeat score. I sit up and crouch over the steel bench, warming the goosebumps popping on my arms with the rub of my hands. I cannot say I am particularly surprised. I pushed the embalming fluid through Mortimer Saperstein’s blotchy purple shoulder almost four days ago. The effects of the fluid wear off by day two; day three if the person really fucking believed in something. No, Mortimer was a goddamned Catholic. You can’t get a day three out of shoulder tapping and breadcrumbs, let alone a day four.

           A huff and a sigh expel from my lips causing a white puff to form as I shove the frozen Mr. Saperstein back into the freezer once more. My dry cracked fingers squeeze my temple as I turn around to scan the area for who could quell this ache. Fuck, I needed a fix and I needed it bad.

           I take a spin around the room, opening and closing the metal bins in search of some morsel not gone stale of fridge aftertaste and rotting innards….

Now for the ever-popular Morgue Styles of the Stiff and Lifeless, featuring Hedy Lincoln, Rose DeMastris, and Leeroy Ginkin. Hedy was an art teacher from Pekin whose rollover time in the peace movement of the sixties earned her a fine for doping it up in the oncology bathroom just before she croaked.  Rose studied English Literature in Chicago until a wealthy proctologist persuaded her into mastering the domestic life. She died surrounded by family, without a book in sight. Lastly, poor Leeroy. Leeroy led his life fighting the good fight. From becoming a respected black soldier in WWII to being beaten by police at a peaceful protest. What a hero! He froze to death alone in a back alley, homeless.

           Goddammit! Fuck! Shit! Damn! Hell! Fuck on a stick on a brick none of these yesterday’s headlines will work. Hedy and Rose will get their time in the casket spotlight tomorrow morning, a week after their arrival. I’m not going to risk fucking up my work for a less than ten percent chance of a high, no matter how devout Rose was.  It’s been two weeks since Leeroy came to join us and we still can’t find his family. Three weeks since the subzero temperatures petrified Leeroy’s feeble shivering body causing his organs to shut down one by one until not even a last breath was left.

           BAM! The sound of my slamming Leeroy’s slot shot through the room.  I glance up at my metallic reflection in the locker. Dark brown twists matted and rested in waves of a tangled nest of unwashed, unbrushed hair. A complexion paler than beach sand barely reflected against the white walls behind. White walls are my tiny body’s camouflage. The most prominent feature beyond the dip in the bridge of the nose was the dark smudging circles encasing the startling light green eyes. Part of the bruise looking came from unwashed eyeliner, the other half from four nights without sleep.

           This is what you did with your life. You took the heaping piles of money your fucking Romeo and Juliet parents left you and bought a fucking funeral home. Not a pony, not a car, not  a goddamned Italian Villa….but a hearse and a mortuary.

BEEBOOPBEEBOOOP…..

           The sound of my cell phone breaks me from my moment of pity. I dig the rectangular device from the black hole of a pocket in my charcoal colored smock and swipe over the scratches on the screen several times before it allows an answer.

           It’s Cadence.

           “Yeah?” I ask.

           “Got one for you. Coming in around back in five minutes,” she says and immediately hangs up.  

           The tension releases from my shoulders and I race up the stairs to tell my apprentice to get ready for a new arrival.

           “C’mon Marley! We got an un-live one!” I yell reaching the top of the stairs. Marley’s obnoxiously large suede shoes appear in the kitchen entryway a second before the rest of his towering gangly self catches up. His tan skin appears darker in the shadowed entryway as he stands peeling a banana, shoving it whole into his mouth before speaking.

           “Y’know, I did not find that funny the first time you said it. I still don’t.” he manages to clearly say amidst the mushy chomps and hint of a British accent, the result of his living in London for twelve of his childhood years. He came to live with his aunt after his parents died in an accident. Maybe that is why I took him on as my first apprentice; some orphan bond or orphan hood or something. We both have dead parents, just his did not involve matching revolvers.

           “Look, I don’t have time to argue if Brits even have a sense of humor. Cadance has a new client for us to meet. Should be arriving any minute. So please, swallow your banana in your unusually large throat and make yourself useful.” I say, emphasizing the double entendre of his throat size until a red flush grazes over his modelesque cheek bones. I swear, if death did not fuck people up, he’d be in Hollywood.

           Marley rolls his iridescent mahogany eyes and shrugs his squared shoulders as the buzzer rings. His robin’s egg blue polo ripples catching the whites of the overhead light as he makes his way past the four tables adorned with fake flower arrangements. I stare down at the just flung grey patterned carpet to avoid the wind of the doors Marley just flung open. I chose grey to mask any stains, and carpet to muffle sounds of feet and falling. People are so unaware of how many of their loved ones tipped over like wine bottles being carried in.

           “Ms. Hugh, I believe we are going to need your help. This fellow is rather large.” Marley says.

           “Will you fucking not call me….” I begin.

           “Darcy.” He grins as a child in knowledge of their own mischief.

           We roll in our new resident, who Cadence calls Jason Malone. I ask how he bit the dust and she explains he literally bit it on a back road on his motorcycle. Not necessarily the smoke and glory most riders aim for, but I guess it is better than my last rough rider who died of dysentery in a men’s stall in Jersey. Cadence and I tuck Jason Malone in on top the of the cool metal frame of the morgue car before she departs. She waves through the thin window of as it shuts with a thud. Cadence hates how clinical the morgue smells so she always leaves quickly, but frosted guts and Lysol is the odor of home to me.

           “48. Wife. Children. Bloody hell grandchildren. Geesh, what a mess.” Marley exclaims flipping through the police and coroner reports, breathing deep heaving sighs. He keeps his empathy as a family crest, or as the only family he has left I’m not sure which. The iridescence in his eyes flicker to a dark, almost reaper black, as he turns to put down the file and pick up the disinfectant.

           “Marley, it’s late. Why don’t you call it a night? I got it.” I say, giving him an out to escape.

           “I’d rather stay and learn…” He begins.

           The grit of getting past the tinge of loneliness lingering on every syllable he spoke and getting to my oasis outweighed any faculty of loyalty to his teaching. “This is going to be a solo job, tonight. Got it?” It is past six in the evening. The family shouldn’t call for arrangements until tomorrow. Marley can compose himself tonight and deal with them tomorrow.

           “Yeah, yeah, yeah. If I’m to learn anything you’ve got to let me help sometime…” He said, drifting off in defeat as he saw my shrug of an care when the door drew shut.

           I begin the process and make Mr. Malone a sparkling gem, certified clean by scientists and moms everywhere. The needle goes into the artery of his right shoulder next to his chivalrous and patriotic tattoo of an eagle emerging from the American flag with U.S.S. Navy written underneath. The deep crimson and purplish hued blood drains and pours from the body like nectar in a sieve. When all the life juice finally drips from his veins I fill him back up with the fluid that makes people look like people and not rotting masticated meat from Thanksgiving dinner. I finish through the veins and replicate the procedure through the abdomen. And there lay Jason Malone, safe and soundless.

           Washing up I barely kept my fingers from twinging in anticipation. The lock clanked as I chained the door and dimmed the lights to where everything was barely detectable. Grabbing a syringe from the cabinet next to the washing station, I held it to get a reflection and smiled openly at the prize before extracting some of the embalming fluid from Jason’s tattooed shoulder.

           What do you believe? What is your life after death? Do you stay in your memories and relive your childhood and children? Do you anal fuck twelve virgins because you deserve it? Do you reach heaven’s gate? Do you stay here on earth reliving your homerun over and over? Do you find the cure to cancer? Do you sit with Buddha? Allah? God?

           This is what I find out. What you believe is what I get off on.

I sit back in my frigid chair and use my teeth and my right arm to wrap the tourniquet around and tie to reveal my vein. The needle pierces the already circular red marking and I breathe in relief.

           They ask:

How does she know what music my grandma likes?

           Why does she know the names of unknown corpses?

           Why does she seem so familiar to my brother/mother/aunt/sister?

           I’m not a fucking psychic. I’m not a fucking medium. I’m fucking high.

           I’m tripping balls on grannies’ memories. I’m getting fucked up on grandpa’s Jesus juice. I’m walking next to fucking John Lennon on a bed of clouds with your acid dipping uncle. I am watching your priest blow David Bowie dressed in feathers and glitter.  

           This is my stage and I must perform. In front of the bereaved I am the goddamned ringmaster and I light up the show. But here? Behind the curtain, I am the hallucinogenic spectator with popcorn and a beer. You die, I get fried.

           The rooms clinical atmosphere begins to shape shift as I hear the chain stretch and I jolt up with a start. The cart in front of me crashes and the needle spins into unknown places.

           “What the fuck!” I shout, looking heinously at the idiot who dared to disturb me.

           “Sorry Ms- I mean Darcy. But…the Malones just arrived.” He stammers.

           “Who?” I manage to say amidst the fluttering orbs of light around me.

           Marley points to the corpse on the slab. “Mr. Malones family is here to see about him.”

           The hallucinations pour from a liquid state to a solid and I freeze, staring wide-eyed back at Marley’s casual overcoat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. An infinite amount of fucks for this situation. I am at the tipping point of nonsense and about to enter the green fields of Jason Malone’s eternal happiness when my own eternal damnation personified in Marley’s earnest voice slashes the whole illusion to pieces. I’m running in strides back to the reality line…

           “Darcy? Darcy? DARCY!” Marley’s voice turns to an almost hysteria as the clanks of him tying to barge through the door snap me to the present. “Darcy open the damn door!”

           “Alright, alright. Jesus, Marley, who knew you even had a pair of anything.” I assure him of my state of being in my own quip nature as I pull the chain out of it’s lock. Marley treads back a couple steps and looks me up and down, studying.

           “Are you alr-“He begins to ask.

           “I’m fine.” I bat back quickly.

           “But your eyes, they’re dark and your pupils are…”

           “And Oh My, grandma, what big teeth you have!” I reprimand sarcastically, cutting him to a place that makes him wince back in hurt.

           “Well, you look like shit and you smell ghastly.” Marley manages to say with a singe. I am actually impressed by his tone, but not enough to show it.

           “What I am is considerably irritated. I’ll use the back way and shower quickly, change, and be back in ten. Just stall, okay?” I state, and Marley begrudgingly offers a nod of adherence. I know he wants to ask more but there isn’t the time. He couldn’t have seen everything, but he saw enough to warrant an inquiry.  Thank the godless I installed the chain on the door.

Once Marley sways his dancers’ hips around and disappears to the upstairs I return to my state of frenzy as before he called my name. The door sweeps my hair behind me as I fling it as fast as it can open, searching the floor with eyes for any sign of the needle. Five fucking years of painstakingly careful execution of hiding my high ended at my own foil. Good job, Darcy, your common failure of crash and burn now comes to your favorite hobby.

On this episode of: Dude, Where’s My Needle? I hit the floor on hands and knees and scour the place to find my evidence. The jagged edges of my fingernails extend out in marks along a black tar highway. Wind brushes through my arms and around my waist as I stare forward to the dreamy fuchsia, orange, and burning yellow sunset horizon….

           Shit. I shake myself and the horizon fades black into the marble flooring. With a push, I jump from the floor and look at the standard doctor’s office plastic clock. Three minutes I lost on Mr. Malones highway ride. There’s no fucking time to find the damn needle.

A shine gleams off Jason Malone’s nose as I shut off the light. My fingers flip the switch back on and I walk in inches towards the corpse. There, atop the corpse like a birthday cake for a funeral, the needle stands up. The tip of the needle stuck directly in Jason’s wide bridged nose. I poke the top of the injector and it waves back and forth like a metronome. It’s real, I’m sure of it I think, as I grab it and fling it into the wastebasket before heading upstairs to my quarters.

I don’t stop to turn on the light and illuminate the catastrophe that I call my upstairs apartment. Trudge through, shower, move the fuck right along. No amount of makeup will ever cover the hollowness incased in a shell of a tiny little pale whiny bitch such as myself. Suck it up, fucker, you’ve got business to do. You do your best work while being barely alive.

           The echo of grinding my teeth ricochets in my brain as I stomp down the stairs. Fucking high cock blockers, this family, coming in here unannounced after hours. The dead may not keep hours, but I sure as hell do. I curse Jason Malone’s nightshade blue motorcycle and  put on my “condolences” face as I enter.

           Action! Time for the scene. Sweet docile funeral director enters stage left with a woeful demeanor and a basket full of tissues. She assures them their dearly departed is in the best of care while handing the grieved a napkin to wipe their fresh and relieved tears away. The director keeps decorum and shows the best salesman review of how to usher the dead a final farewell…

           “It’s about damn time you get here!” croaks a raspy male voice.

           Marley chimes in ahead of me, “Ms. Hugh, this is the Malone family. Everyone, this is Ms. Hugh, our director here at…”

           Each of the family members give me their names. Old lady grey-fro is first to tell me she is the poor Jason Malone’s mother, Blanche. To the left of her sits her leather clad biker gang appearing eldest daughter, Marie, who despite her appearance talks in a delicate voice. Next to Marie, pen and paper ready for notes and blonde hair disguising her face, a girl who says her name is Roe. Across the table Jason’s older daughter Mona attends to two children while her husband Brent introduces them. Seated to my right in a barely audible voice a petite woman tells me she is Jason’s wife, Diana.

           “Okay,” I say, “Now that I know at least your names, I think we can begin to talk about the arrangements if you are ready.” The quiet of reluctancy puts everyone to a silent moment. It’s the type of silence I hear nearly every day. The silence that screams, “No we’re not fucking ready!” No one is every fucking ready, especially not this crowd.

           An overpowering scent of musk chokes me as Grandma Blanche leans over passed any personal space and plants her bosom on my shoulders, adjusting her silver spectacles to look. “You see,” Blanch points… “right there…I want that one and….”

           “Jason….JASON….are you even listening to me? Bet you can’t hear a damn word I’m saying on that motorbike of yours. You love that motorcycle than you do your own mother! You hear me! I’m done!”

           I’m blinded by bright lights and the honking of a large vehicle……AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

SMACK!

           “Mom doesn’t want that package, Grandma, she wants this one.” The voice said dragging me back to reality with a jolt. It was Mona’s manicured finger with I am sure some polish titled, “Slutty Pink” or “Tit Juice” or some other obnoxious name for fucking pink contrived by the bored and corporate. Tit juice nails Mona’s colored her thin lips in with almost the same color lipstick and rouge for her cheeks. She talked like a reject eighties popstar from New Jersey with hair to match.

           Blanch places a hand to her heart as if she’s a thespian of a great Shakespearean work in the deep south., “But, I am…”

           Mona cocks her head and points her index like a trigger, “I don’t care who the hell you think you are, but that’s my dad and over there is his motherfucking wife, so if you don’t just back off…”

           “I AM HIS MOTHER!!!!!” Blanche exploded, throwing both her hands in the air like this expression should render awe and applause from the audience instead of eye rolls.  “Fine, fine, FINE! I can see I’m not wanted here. None of my kids care about me. My grandkids don’t care about me. I’m leaving!” Blanche’s hair ignites in a grey fire as she leaves the room, but I know that’s just the hallucinogens…I think. Marie and Diana chase after her, but no one shouts, “FIRE” so it’s just me tripping balls. I can deal with their fucking crazy, I just have to keep my fucking unreal crazy separated from their crazy. Sometimes reality is more batshit than tripping balls on highway to heaven.

           “Now, mom, no one wants you to go anywhere. We want you here. But we..” I hear Marie tell her mother in as calming a tone as possible.

           “I don’t think my poor heart can take any more, Marie! No one knows how hard it is to be me right now. I’m his mother!” Blanche says in sobs that put the Academy to shame. The award of the night, however, did not fall to her, but to Mona. She leapt up, leaving behind a mist of hairspray and face powder behind her and shuffled out the door.

           “Oh, hell the fuck no!” she exclaimed as she walked out, her black dress flowing behind her like a cape in heroic flight to the villain. I don’t think I’d have a better vision stoned in the basement. Super Tit Juice rushed towards her grandmother followed by her sister and husband who ran passed me to hold her back. I went to the entrance to calm down the commotion when I felt a tug on the back of my skirt.

           I turn around to see a girl no more than five looking up at me. Her features were barely grown but enough to know she’d always have dainty features. She looked down and tugged at the hem of her floral dress before she asked, “Aren’t you the funeral lady?”

           “Yes, yes I am.” I say sweetly.

           “Where does he go now?” she asks genuinely. Her bangs tread around her eyeline giving the impression her eyes are twice the size than their normal state as the sea blues begin to flood with burgeoning tears. Fuck, I had to come up with something. Luckily, my extracurriculars make this occupational hazard easy.

           I bend my knees to reach her level and place her hand into mine. “You see, there is a bright green field and a never-ending stretch of highway, and he never has to get off his motorcycle. The skies are always clear and never rainy. And every evening has the most beautiful sunset where he can ride and never get weary.”

           “Are you sure?” she questions, pursing her thin lips together.

           I smile almost completely sincerely, the top of my overbite protruding over my lower lip, “You know what? I had a lot of those same questions when I lost my parents at a young age. It is one of those questions if you focus on too much, you’ll miss every real thing right in front of you searching for the afterlife. But I can assure you almost one hundred percent, he is where he believes is the happiest place for him.” The happiness shining on her face suggests she understands as much as a five-year-old can. The girl giggles and skips down the hallway.

           My head throbs as I turn back around to the screaming match between Blanche and Mona. Here we are ladies and gentlemen for another round of Family Smackdown! Here in the first corner sporting her turn of the century musk de old person and fanny pack, It’s Our Fair Lady Grey-Fro with the dramatics to keep you sighing and the pacemaker to keep her going, going, going.

In the adjacent corner, wearing her patent ant Pepto-Bismol colored and decades old everything, is Super Tit Juice! When she’s not busy fighting for family justice, she can be seen at the local dollar mart getting a fresh manicure for those cat scratches!

One-Two-Three- Let’s go! First strike comes from Grey fro with a swift, “I’m your grandmother you won’t treat like that!” But Super Tit Juice recoils quickly with a, “You’ve never been there for us!” Grey fro takes a few paces back to recover but then comes from behind with a “I’m not going to be around forever, you know! “Super TitJuice is no fool and grabs Greyfro by the head and body slams her with a, “It’s not about you right now! It’s about our dad and he’s dead!” One-Two-Three-Four-Five-Six-Seven-Eight-Nine-Ten. Victory!

“If you all are finished, we can adjourn back in the room. Otherwise, the police can escort you out.” I say, causing everyone to file in silently to the conference room.

Once seated, I begin, “Everyone here is very passionate, and that can be a good and bad thing. Sometimes it allows us to show those who have passed how much we love them. Sometimes it makes us say things we regret…And sometimes you can’t take back what you say before it’s too late,” I pause on my words and Blanche settles a little lower in her seat and looks away, “But what we can do now is sit here and decide together what Jason would have wanted. Jesus Christ, this little girl here acted with more common sense than any-“  the looks of bewilderment on everyone’s faces stopped me in my moment of rally.

           “Uh, Darce..” Marley interjects quizzically.

           “What” I asked.

           “What girl are you talking about?”

           “His granddaughter.”

           “Darcy, Mr. Malone only has grandsons.”

           Fuck.

#short story #fiction #writing #chuck palahniuk #funny #satire #fuckmywritingteacher #words #death #funeral #drugs

[eachainn]

Innocence

The graveside was crowded by people, the royal family surrounding the grave so thick that Suzaku couldn’t see where they were lowering the coffin in. He was back with the Rounds, as was his proper place. Suzaku supposed that it was supposed to bring him a sense of unity and comradery being among those of his station, but he hadn’t spent much time with all of the Rounds. Gino and Anya were the closest that he could consider friends. The rest of them were distant, busy with their own orders or on distant battlefields. They were all back now, their colors cast aside for the black and silver of the colors of mourning. Suzaku didn’t even know where his usual cloak was. He had thrown it somewhere in his quarters, wanting to chase away the memory of Lelouch wearing it around his room.

Suzaku squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. Blocking it out didn’t help, he could still hear the careful intonation of the priest and the sounds of sobbing. He didn’t dare look to see who, because he guessed at the answer. Nearly all of the royal family was back for the funeral. It had been a parade of black from the imperial palace, all following the coffin that was carried far too lightly on the bearer’s shoulders both to and from the horse-drawn hearse.

There was no body.

Suzaku repressed a shudder, holding himself very carefully in place. There were times that he was glad to have been an Honorary Britannian in the Britannian military, and nothing more than an Eleven in the minds of most of them. He had gotten used to standing still without an expression on his face. He had gotten used to pushing it down for later, although more likely than not the later never came. There were always more pressing things.

He still curled his hands into fists, ignoring the glance that Gino shot his way.

There was no body. None of the searches that Clovis had done had found one. From everything that Clovis had stumbled through the day he had brought back the coffin and Julius, they had done everything that they could. They had postponed, even taking Julius to where it happened to see what they could find. According to the both of them, there had been a smear of blood and nothing more.

Suzaku took another deep breath, opening his eyes as the priest stopped talking and left him with the sounds of sniffling. Ahead, some of the royals shifted slightly, Suzaku getting a last glimpse of the coffin before it dropped out of his sight.

He jerked forward before he knew what he was doing, Suzaku catching himself a moment before Bismarck did. He swallowed as the man rested a hand on his shoulder. Suzaku ducked his head, swaying back into line. He saw a slight billow from where Gino was standing, sure that the man was about to reach out to him, but Suzaku was glad that he didn’t.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted, beyond the impossible.

He wanted to be away from all of this. To be back in the Aries Villa with things as they were. To turn around and see Lelouch heading his way with that small smile on his face meant only for him.

Impossible.

The gap in the crowd closed up, Suzaku dropping his gaze at the thump of dirt on the coffin. It was easier this way, to just listen to the sounds and let everything else fall away. It felt more detached that way, and it would make it easier in the end. Or, at least, easier for the moment. Everything else would come in stages. It always did.

His world narrowed to the thump of the dirt against the coffin until it was muffled, dirt falling on dirt. It meant that it was almost over, and he could go back, although to what he didn’t know. He still had his orders to stay with the family, but he wasn’t sure that he could do it, not with the grief that was hanging over the villa. But he had his orders, and he couldn’t back out of them. He would just have to grit his teeth and bear it.

Suzaku listened idly as the funeral wrapped up, perking up at the shuffle of feet before he gave up. He would wait until the Rounds moved before leaving, it was only right. Bismarck would want to say something, possibly to cheer them up and then Suzaku expected that he would be sent back to the villa. It was the sort of thing his superiors had done before.

He flicked his gaze up as the royal party started to shuffle away, Charles’ wives and Lelouch’s half-siblings were the first to leave. They headed out of the royal graveyard, back to the main road and the cars that were waiting for them. Charles himself remained at the grave, as did Lelouch’s immediate family.

Suzaku meant to look away, but his gaze drifted over the way they grouped together. As always, Charles was at a distance, C.C. the one to prop up Marianne. Marianne’s other side was occupied by Rolo, the boy holding onto his mother’s arm and Nunnally’s hand. It was hard to tell which of the three was holding tighter, although they all had a right to.

His gaze slid over to the last person standing apart from the group, his heart thudding painfully and, for a moment, he was fooled. Then Julius turned to look at him and the spell was broken.

Julius stared at him for a long time, an unreadable expression crossing his face before Julius turned away. Suzaku wasn’t surprised. He was used to the mixed emotions that were directed his way. He was in charge of security at the Aries Villa, but not Japan. Still, it would be hard to disconnect. It was hard to disconnect for him as well. He had been ordered to stay behind, but that didn’t stop him from feeling responsible.

Charles finally broke away, his motion a signal for the rest of the Rounds. They started to slip away one by one, a double line of black and silver trailing after him. Gino was one of the few that lingered, Suzaku bracing himself for Gino to make an attempt to say something, but the Knight of Three was shooed off by a simple motion from Bismarck.

The Knight of One stepped away before pausing, the man turning to look back at him. Bismarck Waldstein gave him a short nod before reaching out to pat Suzaku’s shoulder. “This pain may be like no other, but you did not fail in your duty. You cannot take the blame for this. You have conducted yourself with everything that can be expected from a Knight of the Rounds.”

Waldstein lifted his hand and walked away, Suzaku watching him go. Waldstein joined in the line of Knights, Suzaku watching as they disappeared out of the gate, leaving him on his own.

Suzaku swayed in place, looking between the gate and the family still at the graveside. He didn’t really belong with either group, so it was better that he stay in place.

He reached out to touch the edge of his cloak, playing with the silver along the cloak before curling his hands into it. This cloak suited him far better than the blue and gold one. Suzaku didn’t think he would be able to wear the blue one again, not with everything attached to it. Black suited him better. It was the color of death and mourning, the only two things he seemed capable of.

---

Julius looked up from the carpet at the sound of footsteps, a shiver running up his spine. The sound was wrong, and it was impossible that he could have gotten back. The fall had been beyond what anyone could survive, and there had been the blood that he had seen staining the ripped and tattered tarps and the blood smeared over the ground. It hadn’t looked like Lelouch had managed to drag himself away, but maybe someone had carried the body away. Julius almost wished that he knew who had done it, because he would like to thank them. At least he wouldn’t have to explain away a body, because Lelouch was dead. He could feel it.

The footsteps got closer, Julius breathing out at the uneven pace of them. There was only one person who walked like that, but he hadn’t heard his mother’s limp that badly for years. He swallowed and turned to face her, watching as Marianne stumbled into the doorway. She leaned against it for a moment, staring into the room with wide eyes.

Julius turned to look at the suite, trying to figure out what his mother saw there. He and Lelouch had shared the suite once, but his brother had demanded that they separate. It was more his than Lelouch’s now, and Julius intended to keep it that way. He wanted no reminder of his brother, not when it came with everything else.

He took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts out of his head. He didn’t want to think about his brother or that Eleven. If they hadn’t…then he wouldn’t have had to kill his brother. It was Lelouch’s fault in the end.

Behind him, Marianne made a soft noise, Julius turning slightly to look at her. Marianne was clutching the front of her shirt, her eyes wide as she looked around the room. For a moment, she looked like she was going to fall over, Julius looking around for her cane or C.C. Neither were in evidence, which made him rush over.

He tucked himself under his mother’s arm, gasping when he took on her weight. Marianne leaned heavily against him, Julius wheezing. He glanced around his room, spotting the closest chair. Julius nodded to himself and started to shuffle over towards the chair. Marianne went easily, her attention on somewhere distant. The only time she seemed to wake up was when Julius started to lower her into the chair.

She dropped heavily into it, staring at the fireplace on the wall opposite. Julius watched her for a moment before stepping away from her and claiming the other chair. His groan while he sunk into it seemed to finally snap her out of whatever had stopped her cold.

Julius tipped his head, considering his mother for a moment while he tried to piece together what had caused her to be like this. He gave his room a quick glance before the realization sunk in. While he was busy worrying about getting discovered, she was mourning his brother. It was another layer of deception that he would have to remember to play this right. Still, it might not be too hard. There were plenty of times that he missed Lelouch, because he’d start a conversation and get nothing back. But it wasn’t enough to forget the anger and betrayal.

The two of them were close, far closer that anything than Lelouch and the Eleven had. Lelouch had no right to break that apart with his silly ideas. Lelouch had no right to cheat him of anything.

“Julius.” His mother spoke his name so softly that Julius almost missed it. He shifted in his seat to look at her, watching as Marianne rubbed at her bad leg. “I haven’t been an ideal mother, have I?”

Julius recoiled at the question, staring at her. “What do you mean?”

Marianne gave him a sad smile. “I’ve hardly done what was needed to look after you. I’ve let Nunnally rush around without a guard, let Rolo shrink into himself instead of getting help. And the two of you…I’ve held the two of you back.”

“Mother…”

“I can’t help but think if I had fought for you, this wouldn’t have happened. You two would have been treated like the rest of the princes. You could have had guards and been safe.”

Julius stared, wanting to shake her to get the mother he knew back. The Marianne he knew didn’t falter or admit mistakes. She was like their father in that. There was no weakness in her, Marianne made tough after so many years as a knight. This Marianne made him want to shy away. This was everything that Father had warned him to stay away from, because it could be used and twisted. This was weakness on display and the whole world could see it. And he had done it.

He curled his hands into fists, pushing away the guilt. It went easily, because he was sure that he was right. He had been right to take action against his brother, and he was right in this. Marianne was putting the family in danger with this display. Julius set his jaw, trying to control his expression. He didn’t want to have to protect his family and work on getting his own career going. He wanted to be able to go back into the EU without having to worry about everyone at home ruining everything. He might have been able to trust the Knight of Seven, if he wasn’t already ruined.

He sighed, relaxing his fingers as Marianne reached out for him. He watched as her fingers stroked over the back of his hand. It took only a moment for him to make up his mind. Julius reached out and rested a hand over hers.

The little bit of comfort seemed to be exactly what his mother needed. Marianne slumped in her chair. She squeezed his hand, holding it too tightly for his taste.

Marianne didn’t seem to notice. “I know it is a lot to ask, but can you stay? I know you want to get back to the EU and helping Schneizel but…I just…I buried another one of my children, right next to Clara. I want to know that you are all safe, especially you when you head out.”

It was on the tip of Julius’ tongue to refuse, because he couldn’t waste his time staying behind. This was more important than anything else. But it gave him the time for things that he needed. Having a knight and his own guard would be useful while in the EU, and this would give him the time to seek one out.

Julius looked away from their joined hands, staring at the doorway. His eyes widened as he watched the Knight of Seven ghost down the hall. It was strange to see him in black and silver instead of the blue and gold. It rankled him a bit, but it was to be expected. The empire was in mourning for his brother. It would be strange if he demanded it all change, strange and suspicious.

He shivered, but he didn’t look away as the knight glanced in. Sir Kururugi held his gaze as he walked by, Julius seeing something like light coming back into the knight’s eyes, but then he was walking away. Julius fought the urge to lean out to watch him. He was with his mother now, and he had to focus on that. Even still, it was hard to concentrate, because his action had brought unintentional openings.

Lelouch had died in a distant Area and his death was being covered by the entire empire. Julius hadn’t been able to turn the television on without seeing brother’s funeral being broadcast or talked about. Julius didn’t think that they would stop, not for a week. And that would put pressure on his father.

Knowing Charles, he would immediately react by making sure that all signs of weakness were gone. The empire could mourn, but he would protect their vulnerable underbelly. The Areas would be cracked down on, as they deserved and guards would be doubled around the family. But Charles’ rushing presented an opportunity.

If he and Schneizel were going out to the EU, then they needed more than Kanon and the handful of Schneizel’s aids. Considering that it was a war zone, it would make sense that they took a Knight of the Round. The choice was obvious.

Sir Kururugi was a fine knight, but his honor had been besmirched by Lelouch’s death. He needed something to regain that honor, and what better way to do that by beating back the enemies of the nation. Of course, his father might station Sir Kururugi in Area 11 to punish the Numbers who had dared raise a hand against the royal family. It might mean that he would have to go to Area 11, but Julius was willing, especially if it got him Sir Kururugi. His father wouldn’t be able to refuse him, not after what happened to Lelouch and not if he vowed to take revenge. As long as Area 11 was brought to heel, his father would consider it a job well done.

Charles would get his show of force done and Julius would get what he was due.

He shifted his hand to lift Marianne’s hand. He kissed his mother’s knuckles, flicking his gaze up to meet hers.

Marianne still looked like she was a moment away from falling apart, Julius just barely keeping his lip from curling in disgust. There was no time for weakness, but he would pretend at it. He would do anything to get what he wanted.

Julius cleared his throat, holding his mother’s hand. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

She gave him a thankful smile and squeezed his hand. Julius waiting until Marianne went back to looking around the room, letting her look for any traces of Lelouch. He would just have to make sure that he got rid of them in the villa. Ridding the rest of the world of any sign of his brother would have to wait.

#my fic #Month of Code Geass #suzalulu #code geass