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blackhakumen · 3 years ago

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Mini Fanfic #1016: Familiar Faces (Super Smash Bros Ultimate)

1:56 p.m. at the Smash Direct Mall........

Falco: (Walking Next to Banjo and Kazooie) Wait. So you're telling us you guys had to race against some evil, giant wizard pig in a kart and plane race. Then after you beat him.......

Kazooie: (Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion) He somehow rode himself off into the deep void of space.....

Banjo: Yep. He was never seen again after that. But some say you could hear him screaming to tis very day.

Falco and Kazooie starts turning back and forth in the attempt to hear the screams of the evil pig wizard.......with little to no success whatsoever.

Kazooie: (Turns Back to her Boyfriend) Preeeetty sure we can only hear people chatting in here, babe.

Banjo: That cause you have to go outside in the nighttime to listen for it yourself! (Points at his Chest) At least that's what I did a while back home. (Places his Finger on his Chin While Thinking) Don't remember the time or date though.......

Falco: Riiiiiight.....So anyways! (Gives Banjo a Sly Grin on his Face While Placing his Arm Around his Shoulder) Why didn't you tell me you knew how to fly a plane? You'd make a great addition to the Star Fox crew with a more training to boot

Banjo: (Smiles Sheepishly While Rubbing the Back of his Head Back and Forth) Well....shucks. That would've been a great honor. But I don't think I'm any good with those fancy, advanced technology and junk, so long as if it's anything tablet related.

Falco: Yeah, our systems can be pretty confusing to figure out at times....(Shrugs) But who needs to learn more about that nerd stuff when you get to learn how to fly with the best pilot around?

Banjo: Fox?

Falco: Me! I could teach you everything there is to being a pro. (Uses his Knuckles to Rub his Chest in a Smug Like Fashion) I could even teach you how to be a cool, well known stud like yours truly, but...('Sigh') That will take years to perfect it.

Kazooie: ('Scoffs') Please. My Honey Bear doesn't need to be an overly cocky bird brain to be a stud.

Falco: (Glares at Kazooie) Hey, I ain't that cocky, bird braindette! I'll have you know that I take my skills in the skies, with the upmost care and humbleness.

Jet: (Walks By With a Smirk in his Face in the Distance) Yet you still can't ride an Extreme Gear Board worth a crap. Which says much about an old timer like you! (Starts Laughing Out Loud)

Falco: (Glares at Jet) PISS OFF, TWERP! I AIN'T OLD!

Jet: Maybe try riding the board next time and maybe I would HAVE to guess your age, old man.

Falco: We'll see who's old once I smack that BOARD UPSIDE YOUR CROOKED ASS HEAD! (Turns Back While Crossing his Arms in Annoyance) Damn brat. I hate him.

Kazooie: (Rolls her Eyes) Don't we all.... Speaking of which.....(Turns Back to Banjo) Why did that Wizpig guy went and attacked you guys to begin with anyways? Was there some kind of all powerful treasure he was trying to get or something?

Banjo: (Shrugs) Not sure what his reason for coming by Timber's Island for other than wrecking havoc.

Falco: (Raises an Eyebrow in a Bit of Confusion) Timber?

Banjo: One of the old friends Diddy and I made from a while back. (Chuckles Lightly) Boy, those two were the kings of pranksters, I tell ya what. One time, when we were getting ready for a party at Diddy's house, we were greeted with pouring down water balloons from the ceiling, once we took one step inside!

Falco: Yeah, that does sound like a prank Diddy would try to do.....

Kazooie: (Shrugs) Eh. I think he could do a lot worse than that.

Banjo: ('Sighs Happily') Yeah, but still....Those were good, simpler days back then....(Places his Hanf on his Chin) Makes me wonder what the gang has been up to nowa-

?????: As I live and breathe. Banjo!

The trio turns their heads to a tiger cub, wearing a blue hat on his head, smiling brightly at Banjo as he approaches him.

?????: Is that really you, mate?

Banjo: (Smiles Back at a Familiar Face) Timber! (Wapk Towards his Old Friend) It's been so long. (Gives Timber a Hearty Handshake) You look like you haven't changed a bit, bud!

Timber: Likewise, mate! How's the Smash Tournament been treating you these days. Congrats on gettin' in, by the way.

Banjo: Thanks! And it's been going great. So many new faces to meet, fight and befriend with....I love it a lot! Diddy's doing great too by the way.

Timber: (Chuckles Lightly) Wouldn't doubt that for a fortnite. Hey, speaking of which, I've been thinking.....One of these days, when none of us are busy and whatnot, we should totally have ourselves a crackin' reunion party.

Banjo: (Smiles Brightly) Timber, that's a great idea! I've just thought about you guys not too long ago. I already can't wait.

Timber: (Smiles Back) Same here, mate. It'd be nice to see the old gang again. Bumper, Tiptup, Krunch, Conker...'Wonder what the nut been up to nowadays.

Banjo: (Starts Rubbing The Back of his Head Back and Forth in Uncertainty) Er....I tried calling him multiple times, but.......

Meanwhile at the Cock and Plucker Bar.......

Conker repeatedly bangs his head in the bar table with blood shot eyes, all while the phone rings and his "subjects" continues chanting "Long Live the King" right behind him.

Back at the Smash Direct Mall............

Banjo: He never answers my calls.

Timber: Hm. (Shrugs) I'm sure he's been busy.

Banjo: Yeah, probably.

'Ahem' 'AHEM'

Banjo: (Eyes Begins to Widened Once He Realizes Kazooie and Falco are Still Present) O-Oh! Right! Timber, I wanna introduce you to these two: One is the love of my life-

Kazooie: (Smirks Playfully While Leani) And the only girl who could keep this doofus from getting himself killed every ten seconds. (Pulls Out her Hand to Timber) The name's Kazooie in case you're wondering.

Timber: (Happily Shakes Kazooie's Hand) Named after a wood wind instrument, I like that. I take it our Banjo here 've been giving you a headache these days, huh?

Kazooie: (Rolls her Eyes) Ohh you have no idea....It's surprising I still have feathers intact from all the crap we've been through....(Smiles Softly) Still.....(Snuggles her Head Onto Banjo's Shoulder) That didn't stop me from falling for this sweetheart of a honey bear overtime.

Banjo: (Heart Begins to Melt in Pure Happiness at Kazooie Right Beside Him) Kazooie~ I-

Falco: (Walks in Between the Two Lovers, Getting in Front of Him) Yeah, yeah, you love her pieces. Now move aside. It's my turn for introductions.

Kazooie: (Glares at Falco With a Groan)

Banjo: (Smiles Sheepishly) Oh heh....Right. Um Timber, this here is-

Falco: Falco Lombardi! (Smirks While Posong in a Cool Like Fashion) The coolest and objectively the best member the team Star Fox has to offer.

Kazooie: (Rolls her Eyes in Annoyance) Says no one.....

Falco shushes Kazooie before turning back to Banjo's old friend.

Timber: (Happily Shakes Falco's Hand) Ah, Falco! Pleasure to finally meet ya at last. My girlfriend, Pipsy, is a real huge fan of ya-

Banjo: Wait. (Eyes Widened in Genuine Surprise) You and Pipsy are dating now!?

Timber: (Turns Back to Banjo) Yeah, mate. We've been an item for a while now. (Feels his Phone Viberating in his Pants Pocket Before Getting it Out of There) Ooh. Speak of the devil, I'm gonna 've ta high tail it outta here and find her before she starts gettin' worried 'bout me. (Tales Out a Mini Notepad From his Other Pocket And Writes Something Down) We'll plan out the whole reunion party on our free time. (Takes a Paper Out if his Notepad and Gives it to Banjo) So give us a call and/or text sometime, will ya?

Banjo: (Looks Down at the Two Numbers Written Down Before Giving Timber Another Bright Smile) I sure will! It was really great seeing you again, bud.

Timber: (Smiles Back at his Old Friend) Same to you too, mate. You three take care now. Till next time. (Winks at the Trio With a Grin and a Thumbs Up) See ya! (Finally Starts Sprinting Off)

Falco: (Waves Back at Timber) Take care yourself, Tiger Boy!

Kazooie: Byeeee! (Turns Back to Banjo) So you guys are really having a reunion party soon down the road?

Banjo: (Happily Nodded) Yep! And I want you guys to come along with me. (Turns to Falco) You can even bring that girlfriend of yours with ya too if you want, Falco.

Kazooie: I wouldn't bother asking him to do that, babe. (Smirks at Falco) The girl's probably imaginary.

Falco: (Glares at Kazooie Again) Uh for your information, wise woman, my girlfriend is very much real. I just....(Starts Looking Away While Sliding the Top of his Hair Back) Haven't seen her that much in a while, ya know? Girl always go off do whatever all by herself since day one. Hell, I don't even remember last time we've called and junk- (Suddenly Felt Two Hands Covering Both his Eyes) Uh...Banjo, I appericate the sentiment, but...I don't think my eyes needs any covering right now.

Banjo: .....Falco, I'm......not really doing anything right now. I'm still right next to Kazooie.

Falco: Wait. Seriously? Then who-

????: Oh Falcieeee~

Falco quickly moves away from the two hands and sees the culprit in front of him, which just so happen to be a pink feline wearing blue jeans and leather vest and boots.

????: It's been a while~ (Does a Little Kiss Nose at the Blue Bird)

Falco: (Eyes Widened in Complete Surprise at the Very Familiar Face Right in Front of Him) KATT! I-I-Is that really you?

Katt: In the flesh. (Walks Up to Falco....) Been a long time coming.....(.....And Happily Hugs Him) but I'm soooo happy to see that dopey face of yours after all this time!~

Falco: (Sighs While Rolling his Eyes a Little) Yeah, Yeah. (Smiles a Little) Glad to see ya again too, babe. Hope you ain't causing any trouble as of late.

Katt: (Immediately Pouts at Falco) Falcie! Since when have I ever caused any sort of trouble?

Falco: (Raises an Eyebrow) You want the short answer or the long one? (Fprms a Sly Smirk.on his Face) Cuz I'm fine doing either one.

Katt: (Groans Lightly While Rolling her Eyes) Forget I asked.....(Turns to Banjo and Kazooie With a Soft Smile) And I take it you two must be one of Falco's newer friends?

Banjo: (Happily Nodded) Yes, ma'am! I'm Banjo.

Kazooie: (Wave her Hand Up to Katt) Kazooie, how's it going. (Starts Smirking as Well) So you're really the girlfriend of good 'ole Falcie here?

Falco: (Immediately Gives Kazooie an Annoyed, Deadpinned Look on his Face) Really?

Kazooie: Really.

Katt: That's correct!~ Ever since our academy years. Well. Actually, we've been on and off throughout most of it, but we still kept in touch. At least we used to until certain.....(Turns Back to Falco With Another Pout) SOMEONE suddenly decided to stop returning my calls and text messages years prior.

Falco: 'Ey what do you expect? I was busy!

The trio raises their respective eyebrows at the ace pilot.

Falco: ('Sighs a Bit in Defeat') Okay, so maybe I wasn't completely busy. B-But I definitely thought you were! Being an independent woman and all.

Katt: Honey, I only do missions on some occasions. It's not like I'm always occupied 24/7.

Falco: Yeah, well.....you could be.

Katt: ('Sigh') Well, luckily for you, I'm free as kitten for the today. (Leans onto Falco's Shoulder Woth a Playful Smirk on her Face) Meaning you owe me a double date~ (Turns Back to the Couple in Front of Her) If that's alright with the two of you of course.

Banjo: (Smiles Brightly) It's not a problem with us at all, ma'am. The more the merrier!

Kazooie: (Nodded in Agreement) Mhmm.

Falco: (Shrugs) Eh. Sure. You're here now, so we might as well get it over with.

Kazooie: Cool. Say, you mind telling us more about that "Falcie" nickname?~ (Starts Walking Away With the Trio) I'm quite curious~

Katt: Why, of course!~ It all started back in the flight academy and Falcie here was notorious known as The One and Only Problem Child.

Falco: (Groans While Facepalming Himself) Oh my God, I was young and stupid back then. Mistakes were made!

Banjo: How many mistakes?

Falco: Far too many, big guy......

@keyenuta

@caleb13frede

@ma-lemons

@albion-93

@cyber-wildcat

@tampire

#super smash ultimate #diddy kong racing #star fox #banjo #kazooie #falco lombardi #timber (dkr)#conker #katt monroe #humor #friendship #reunion #cute romance #banjo x kazooie #falco x katt #jet the hawk

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luulapants · 4 years ago

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Stories We Tell

When I was eight years old, my parents split up, and my dad, as divorced dads are wont to do, got a shitty apartment in a weird neighborhood.

The building was two stories with sixteen units. There was an in-ground pool out back, unheated in the shade, so the temperature hovered just above arctic. Half the time, instead of swimming, you ended up fishing a dead squirrel out and changing your mind. The laundry room in the basement flooded every time it rained. The appliances were junk, constantly breaking. The doors and locks, too. The landlord never fixed anything.

I didn’t give much thought to the neighbors until I was fourteen, when my dad got full custody. Someone broke into our ground floor apartment around the same time (and by “broke in,” I mean waltzed through a door with a broken lock) so we moved to the second floor, where it was a little safer. Our new balcony looked out over the rodent graveyard pool.

Over the next few years, I developed a colorful picture of our neighbors:

Across the hall was Doris, a madam and a raging alcoholic. She was in her fifties or sixties, but there were always astoundingly attractive young women coming and going from her apartment. She threw parties where she was the oldest woman by about three decades.

On quieter nights, Doris would sit on her balcony and get wine-drunk. If my friends and I were walking past, she would lean over the railing and shout super appropriate things at us like, “Izzat yer boyfriend, honey? R’you two using protection?!”

One time, my dad did some legal work for Doris. She paid him with two cases of wine.

(My dad doesn’t drink wine, but somehow, it was still gone by the end of the summer. I dunno, Dad, it’s a mystery to me. Couldn’t tell ya.)

Next to Doris was a big old dude that used to stand on his balcony in whitey tighties and watch me and the other kids while we waited for the bus. I never learned much about him, except he was creepy with a capital “Eeeugh.”

Across the hall from Captain Underpants were the Five to Eight Guys. So called because there were at least five of them living in that two-bedroom apartment, but no more than eight. They all looked vaguely the same: twenty-something stoners with a lot of tattoos and piercings and a fashion sense that hovered somewhere between Hot Topic and PacSun, while somehow managing to be worse than either.

I don’t think all of them were drug dealers. But at least some of them were. Absolutely. People would go into the apartment and re-emerge thirty minutes later in a veritable cloud of smoke. Our coat closet shared a wall with them, and my coats always reeked of pot. I mostly started smoking because people assumed anyway.

The summer after my Freshman year, they hung blankets up around their balcony to create an extra room. I told my dad, “That’s smart – there’s so many of them living in there, so they made an extra bedroom.”

My dad looked up at the tell-tale red glow of a grow lamp peeking out through the cracks of the blankets and told me, “Kiddo, I don’t think it’s a bedroom.”

Below the Five to Eight Guys were two elderly nuns.

Yes, really.

They never had a mean word for anyone: not the madam, not the drug dealers, not the creepy old man standing outside in his briefs. That wasn’t to say they had a kind word for them. Their go-to was smiling and minding their own fucking business.

I liked to think of them as our building security. Because, sure, we had no real security to speak of. The doors were always propped open, and I don’t think there was a functional smoke alarm in the entire building.

But surely God wasn’t going to let anything too bad happen to a building with nuns living in it, right?

Next door to the nuns was the strangest of the whole lot: Crazy Cat Man. He was Russian, in his seventies, and had lived in the building since before the landlord added the ‘no pets’ rule to the lease. And I’m pretty sure Crazy Cat Man was reasons A through Z for that rule.

I never got a real count on the cats, but it was somewhere in the ballpark of ten. But ten cats wasn’t enough to sate Crazy Cat Man’s love for animals. Oh, no.

One winter, he decided to feed the geese, and hangry geese laid siege to the building for weeks.

Another time, I heard the landlord’s voice downstairs. He was screaming, “What the fuck is the matter with you!”

And Crazy Cat Man was yelling back, “I no let squirrel in the apartment! I never!”

He had. He had spent weeks feeding the squirrels, getting friendly with them. Then he started cracking the patio door to lure them inside.

Crazy Cat Man was married. His wife had albinism and was photo-sensitive, so I only ever saw her outside once.

See, once a year, Crazy Cat man delivered phone books. It was his only job. He spent the rest of the year trying to fix his van up so it would run well enough to deliver the phone books. He was constantly working on it. Every part he put in, the van attacked and destroyed like a body rejecting a donor organ.

One day, he hadn’t pulled the van quite far enough into his garage, so when he lowered the garage door, it hit the back bumper and got stuck. That day, I learned that his wife’s absolute favorite thing in the world was watching her husband be incompetent, because she came out of the apartment for once. He couldn’t get the door back up, so he had to try to crawl under it to get inside the garage, and she was standing there shouting, “My husband is an idiot! My husband is an idiot!”

My dad and I stopped to watch this seventy year old man crawl under a mechanically compromised garage door. My dad said to her, “If he’s not careful, he’s going to be a dead idiot.”

The albino wife turned to him and hissed, “I should be so lucky.”

My senior year of high school, the recession hit, and my dad’s law practice went under, and my older brother died of a brain aneurysm. A week after I graduated, my dad told me we were going to be evicted, and I’d have to find somewhere else to stay until I went to college.

We moved everything out of the apartment, so nothing would be trashed when they evicted us. My dad ran off to the mountains to contemplate suicide (as one does), and, for about a month, I had this big, empty apartment to myself. My friends and I threw parties, got drunk. Hot boxed the bathroom.

And I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor in the living room, because it felt too weird to sleep in my old room with none of my things in it.

Late one of those nights, alone in my empty apartment, I heard screaming outside. I went on the balcony. All the neighbors were coming outside to see what the noise was.

On the property behind ours, across from the squirrel-killing pool, there was a huge cottonwood tree, maybe fifty feet tall. On the end of this long branch near the top, there was a raccoon. Closer to the trunk were two more. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a raccoon scream, but it’s almost human sounding.

One of the two at the trunk rushed at the third, and forced it farther to the end of the branch. Then the two raccoons started bouncing the branch. The one at the end screamed.

I think we all realized what was happening at the same time, because I heard someone downstairs say, “What the fuck,” at the same time I thought it.

It took a long time. Pushing the raccoon back, then bouncing the branch, then pushing it back again. By the end, the one raccoon was hanging from the end of the branch, which was pointing straight down. It was screaming continuously.

When it finally fell, you could hear the thud.

I heard the same person say, “What the fuck,” and I had no idea who it was.

If found out years later that the rumor in the complex about my dad was that he’d been a lawyer for the mob, and he got on someone’s shit list, and that’s how he ended up so broke. And it’s why he had to disappear so suddenly.

The truth was, my dad was a good lawyer, but a terrible businessman. His clients were mostly small businesses and everyday people. When they didn’t pay him, he assumed it was because they didn’t have the money, and he didn’t want to rub it in by asking.

When I heard that theory, it occurred to me that I had created characters out of our neighbors with no real regard for what was true or logical, only what was interesting. I think that night with the raccoons was the closest I ever got to any of them, as real people. Standing in the dark, faceless, watching something horrible that we had no control over.

I’m not sure what the rumors about me were, but here’s the truth: by all logic, I should have been a pretty miserable kid. My dad had untreated depression, and sometimes he stayed in bed for days. When there was no food in the fridge, I assumed it was because we didn’t have the money, and I didn’t want to rub it in by asking. I went to friends’ houses to eat. That guy that broke into our apartment when I was fourteen? He had a brain tumor, and he thought I was his girlfriend. And I should have been scared shitless that a forty-something year old man had tried to get in bed with me before my dad woke up and beat the bajezus out of him in front of me.

But instead, I started making these stories about the weirdos we lived with. I loved them. I was obsessed with them. I talked about them all the time.

“Say, Julia, how are things at home?”

“Well, you’ll never guess what the Five to Eight Guys were up to yesterday, let me tell you!”

I saw Crazy Cat Man two years ago. He’s still delivering phone books, and he looks nothing like I remember him.

#original writing #personal #I wrote this for an oral storytelling event a couple years ago and it makes me sad that it's just sitting in my docs so here you go lol #coping mechanisms #storytelling #cw death #cw drugs #cw alcohol #cw uhhh raccoon murder??#murder of raccoons by raccoons #i guess that's a tag now

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ladyanaconda · 4 years ago

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Helluva Boss Vol 2: Loo Loo Land

Striker awoke with a start, panting heavily. His heart pounded so fast that he thought it would burst out of his chest at any moment now. The imp sighed as he ran a hand through his ash white hair.

He had that nightmare again. He didn't cry, as he had no more tears to shed and it wouldn't being her back but the wound was still raw. He'd tell himself that he did what she asked of him: to save their son. However, the guilt was still there.

Striker went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he looked through the window, he noticed it was raining. There were no thunders tonight but still, he better go check on Jake just in case.

Something pulled on his pants. Speak of the devil! Striker looked down and found the infant next to his leg, his little hand grasping his pants. How Jake managed to crawl all the way down from his nursery was a mystery to Striker.

"What's up, kiddo?" Striker asked, not really expecting an answer. Jake reached out his hands, asking to be picked up. Sighing, he bent down to pick up his son. " Can't sleep either, huh? That makes two of us, my boy," he said gently as he walked up the stairs. "How about we keep each other company for a while? It'll be less lonely that way."

Striker sat on his bed and placed Jake on his lap. He entertained the little one with the rattling of his tail for a while until Jake lost interest and snuggled into his father's chest, yawning. Striker knew what the little one needed. Jake protested via whimpers as he was tucked back into his nearly started to wail if not for the familiar sound of a guitar's strings and his father's voice as the cradle was rocked from side to side.

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

Hold it tight

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

For one so small

You seem so strong

My arms will hold you

Keep you safe and warm

This bond between us

Can't be broken

I will be here don't you cry

'Cause you'll be in my heart

Yes, you'll be in my heart

From this day on

Now and forevermore

You'll be in my heart

No matter what they say

You'll be here in my heart

Always

Always…

Jake had long been lulled into sleep by the end of the song. Smiling, Striker kissed the little one's forehead.

"Good night."

*HB*

"M and M, J and S, get in here! We're going to Loo Loo Land!"

Striker frowned under his hat, annoyed at having his nap interrupted. "Isn't that the rip-off of Lucifer's far more popular LuLu World?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"That's right, Strike! Stolas is paying us extra cash for making sure he and his daughter are still breathing by the end of the day."

Striker covered his face with his hat again. "Sorry, Blitz, my contract only includes assassination jobs."

"Look at it this way: you're going to 'assassinate' whoever tries to lay a hand on Stolas and his daughter."

The cowboy frowned. "Why us? Doesn't that blueblood have a whole legion of guards at his disposal?"

"Come on, dad! I want to go to Loo Loo Land!" Jake pleaded, taking his father's hat. "I've never been to a theme park!"

"Yeah, Strike, it'll be fun!" Millie wrapped an arm around the cowboy's shoulder. "You won't find a cheaper theme park in all of Hell, plus it's a good opportunity for you and Jake to spend some quality time together!"

Striker would have protested further, but Jake (and Blitzo) were giving him the 'puppy eyes' face. At last, he murmured. "Ugh. Fine."

They picked up the owl Goetias in I.M.P.'s van and went straight to the theme park in the Greed ring. As always, Striker and Jake rode Bombproof to avoid an overcrowding inside the vehicle, especially with two bluebloods inside.

Striker'd seen a few tv commercials about Loo Loo Land, but something he'd learned over the years is that no intentional rip-off of anything was worth wasting money on. He was soon proven right once they arrived at the place. Most of the attractions within Loo Loo Land were either broken, cracked, or disheveled-looking. And judging by the look on Octavia's face, she didn't like it here either. Jake, on the other hand…

"Cool! Look, dad, there's a carousel! Can we go? No, wait, I wanna try the roller coaster first! Whoa, is that a dragon? I must pet it!" the impling was running around the place, awing over the rides and booths with wide eyes.

"Blitz better add another zero to my next paycheck." Striker murmured under his breath.

"Woow! I haven't been to this place since I was a tot! It hasn't changed a bit- oh, LOOK!" Millie pulled Moxxie and Jake into a hug and gestured to an old dinosaur-like animatronic. "It's Big Woobly!"

"That is… deeply upsetting," Moxxie whispered.

"Oh, come on! It's fun! You've never been here?"

"No, theme parks always disturbed me. Especially the mascots."

"I agree with Moxxie." Millie, Jake, and Moxxie himself gave Striker a baffled look. "As incredible as it sounds."

"Well, hey there!" Striker was caught off guard as Moxxie suddenly jumped into his arms with a frightened yelp as a guy in an old cartoonish apple costume appeared out of nowhere. The only reason he didn't drop Moxxie was that he too was disturbed by the awful, smelly costume. "I'm Loo Loo! Welcome to Loo Loo Land! If ya'll get hurt, just try and sue us!"

Striker quickly wrapped his tail around Jake's waist and lifted him up before he could get too close to 'Loo Loo'.

"Hey, dad, let go!" the impling protested.

"Stay away from that predator, kiddo." Striker finally dropped Moxxie to the ground.

"I have a question."

"Well, ask away, little girlie!" the mascot made a poor attempt at goofy laughter.

Octavia sneered. "Is it true this park is just a really shameless spin-off or Lucifer's far more popular Lu Lu World? This place reeks of insecure corporate shame."

Striker held tightly unto Jake until they left the creepy mascot behind. Being new to this place, he decided to follow Millie and Moxxie around for a while.

"You really love this place, huh?" Moxxie asked casually.

Millie nodded eagerly. "I love this place! My parents would bring me and my siblings here when they could swing it. Money-wise."

"Dad, look!" Jake ran towards a gift shop and pressed his face against the window, eyeing a plush dragon like the one on the Petting Zoo. "Can I have one?"

Striker only had to look at the price, 400 souls, to reply. "Absolutely not."

"Whyy?"

"400 souls for a doll you'll end up throwing away? Don't you wanna throw away all of my salary, since you're on it?"

Jake pouted, arms crossed. "Meanie."

"He does have a point. I mean, that much for a novelty cup you use one time?" Moxxie added, pointing at said cup worth 29 souls.

"Cause it's Loo Loo Land!" Millie chirped.

"Listen to your hoe, Mox." Blitzo seemingly had no trouble with loading up on the theme park's merch. "Hey, Strike, how 'bout you and I take the first watch while M and M have a little fun with Jakey?"

"Can I, dad? Please, please, please!"

Striker sighed. "Fine. Just stay close to Millie and Moxxie and listen to whatever they tell-"

"Um, Striker, I have to interrupt your fatherly monologue, but they already left." Blitzo was right. Millie, Moxie, and Jake were gone already.

Striker merely sighed and loaded his rifle.

*HB*

Jake still couldn't understand why his father had never brought him to Loo Loo Land before. This place was incredible! The rides, the junk food, kicking the guy in the Loo Loo costume; for some reason, he couldn't resist the urge every time he saw the apple costume. And of course, Moxie simply had to ruin everything. His wimpy stomach couldn't handle The Lawsuit ride and he ended up vomiting unto the people in the front car, Jake included. They had to get him new clothes in the nearest gift shop.

"You're so lucky my dad wasn't here or he would have fed you to that," Jake pointed at the dragon peeking over the Petting zoo fence.

"Okay, guys, how about we take a look around the smaller rides?" Millie suggested.

"You mean the kids area? That's where the Petting Zoo is! Can we go there to see the dragon?"

"I don't care as long as I don't have to get on top of it," Moxxie murmured, his hand still clutching his stomach. Jake squealed happily.

There were lots of animals at the Petting Zoo. Jake recognized some from Wrath, most notably some Hellhorses with green fire to reflect Greed. He had seen how Bombproof's fire color change from orange to red each time they entered Pride, and it had changed to a minty green when they entered Greed. There were other animals he had only seen in books too, but his attention was entirely focused on the giant red, black and white wyvern. Known as Hellvern, it is native to Greed and is often used as a 'guardian dog' of sorts by Overlords.

Jake felt a shiver down his spine as the giant dragon stared down at him curiously. Taking a deep breath, he stroked the animal's snout. Once he realized his hand was attached to his body, Jake began to laugh and jump.

"I touched the dragon, I touched the dragon!" he cried out happily. "Just wait until I tell dad!"

"Oh, I bet he'll be very proud of you!" Millie smirked, ruffling the impling's hair. "

Afterward, they took a break from the rides and wandered around the snack and game booths. Jake and Millie ate big cones of ice cream bugs and fried butter sticks. Moxxie chose not to consume any 'junk food of questionable origin'.

"This place is amazing! Man, I wish I'd come here sooner!" Jake said happily as he looked around the game booths.

"So Striker has never brought here? He would have loved the rides for sure!" Millie pointed out.

"Nah, dad's never been too fond of machines. He'd rather do things the old-fashioned way."

Moxxie scoffed. "Yeah, why would he come to work on a horse otherwise?"

"Well, at least we don't waste time on looking for a parking spot."

"Touché, kid."

"Hey, now that we're on it, I don't think we've ever met your mom."

Jake stopped in his tracks. His… mom? It's the first time someone's brought that up. Dad has never talked about her and there are no photos of her in the house. But surely he had one, right? Everyone has one.

"Hello, hello! Step right up and win a thing!"

Millie's excited cry distracted Jake from his thoughts. "Oh, look, Moxxie! A thing!" The 'thing' in question was a purple stuffed penguin-like creature with imp horns and pink overalls.

"Oh, you like that thing?"

"Yesss! I don't really know what that thing is but I want that thing!"

Moxxie smirked. "Finally, something I can handle." he placed a soul bill on the counter. "Okay! One game, please!"

Unsurprisingly, the cork but the target. To Jake's surprise, however, the target barely moved. Moxxie didn't seem to mind since he had hit the bullseye.

"Strike one, little man!"

Moxie's smugness faded instantly. "But I hit it!"

"Hmm, I don't know what to tell ya, buddy. The target, see?" the vendor pointed at said target "It didn't go down, so yeah, no go, bro."

Growling, Moxie placed another bill on the counter and fired another cork at the bullseye, but again it didn't move. Annoyed, Moxxie slapped the pistol. "The Heaven's wrong with this thing?!"

"Oh. Man, a real shame, I tell ya." the carnie made crying gestures in a mocking manner, prompting Moxxie to slam yet another bill on the counter.

*HB*

As incredible as it may sound, Striker envied his son. Jake was probably having a great time at the admittedly cool-looking rides while he is stuck babysitting a blueblood. He couldn't say he was completely bored, though. Turns out the pervert was right when he said there'd be lots of people going after him. Striker even ended up making a bet with Blitzo over who could shoot more people by the end of the day. Up to now, Striker was winning.

The cowboy casually spotted Octavia, who by then looked like she'd snap at any second now. He couldn't blame her, the show's musical number was rather bizarre.

"How come that pervert hasn't noticed his daughter is not enjoying himself at all?" he asked Blitzo casually.

"Not our business, Strike. We're their bodyguards, not their family therapists. Speaking of which," Blitzo shot an assassin in the back before he could stab Stolas. Blitzo smirked. "That makes it four on my count, Striker."

"Let's save that for later, Blitz. Looks like the mare's finally kicked." Striker motioned to Octavia as she fled the tent, Stolas following closely behind.

"You should find Jakey. It's Millie and Moxxie's watch, anyway, they can go keep an eye on Stolas."

Striker nodded gratefully and left the circus tent. Surprisingly, it didn't take him too long to find Jake, Moxxie, and Millie. They were at a shooting game booth. Judging by the enraged look in Moxxie's face and the 600 souls in the vendor's hands, the wimp just got scammed.

"Hey, dad! You won't believe what I did, I petted a dragon!"

Striker chuckled and petted the boy's head. "I'm glad you had a great time, kiddo."

"Hey, you, cowboy! You look like ye might be better at shooting this sad little fella."

Striker frowned. He knew from experience that these booths were rigged to scam customers out of their money at the vendor's leisure. He had a better idea. Smirking, Striker pulled out his pistol and handed it to Jake.

"Show them what you got, kiddo."

The impling's face lit up. He pointed the barrel of the weapon at the carnie to give him a fright before shooting all of the targets with flawless precision in quick succession. The bullets went right through the targets, leaving big holes. The carne was reduced to a trembling, frightened mess.

"H-Hey, take it easy, p-pal…" he stuttered nervously as Jake pointed the gun at him again.

"That's my boy!" Striker laughed, patting Jake's shoulder.

"Now I think," Moxxie sneered as he leaned unto the counter. "That you owe us a thing."

Something crashed through the roof of the shooting gallery and on top of the carnie. The group leaned in to take a look.

"Sir?" Moxxie asked.

Striker sighed once he turned around and found the theme park literally on fire. "Really, Blitz? I leave you alone for a second and you screw the damn place up?"

"Oh, hey guys!" Blitzo seemingly didn't hear him as he drew his pistol. "You should probably go, uh, make sure Stolas is okay. I got some… unfinished business to take care of."

The group dispersed, with Millie quickly grabbing her plush thing. Strike quickly picked Jake up and moved out of the way as Blitzo fired at the burning robot; the thing caught the bullet in its mouth and curled up to roll towards Blitzo in a fiery charge. Blitzo jumped out of the way just as the robot hit the booth and it exploded in an inferno of green flames.

"Um, Dad, should we lend Blitzo a hand?"

"I suppose so lest he ends up blowing the whole place up with us inside."

Jake smirked as he spotted the dragon from before on the loose. "I got an idea!"

Striker knew what the boy was thinking. He wasn't sure if it was such a good idea, though; he's dealt with wild hogs, hellhorses, and many fauna, but never a fully-grown Hellvern. Then again, he's always liked challenges. He had Jake climbed onto his back and cling to his neck.

"Hang on tight, my boy, this will be one hell of a ride!"

Grabbing a discarded rope and tying it into a lasso, Striker expertly threw it over the dragon's neck and pulled, tightening around its neck. When the animal reared back and spread its wings, Striker took advantage of the momentum to pull himself onto the Hellvern's back.

"Easy, there! I'm your new master now!" the cowboy shouted over the Hellvern's angry shrieks, pulling the ropes tightly in the manner of reins. It wasn't that hard, as the Hellvern had already been tamed. Otherwise, it was like riding a giant version of Bombproof.

"Woohoo! Can we keep the Hellvern, dad?!"

"I already got enough with a Hellhorse, kiddo!"

Striker led the animal through the green inferno, eyeing the crazy robot going after Blitzo. Millie and Moxxie were shooting it, but it was far too fast for bullets. Striker couldn't contain an excited 'yeehaw' cry as he whipped the Hellvern forward and it snatched Robo Fizz right before it could run Blitzo over; the animal threw Robo Fizz into the air before eating it whole.

"Got a new mount, Striker?! Can I keep Bombproof?!"

"In your dreams, Blitz!"

They barely made it out of Loo Loo Land before it was consumed by flames, then made a run for it before anyone could identify them as the people who destroyed the place. Mammon would look for heads to roll before the day's end, after all.

*HB*

"Best… Day… Ever…" Jake laughed in-between exhausted pants as they got home that night.

Striker fell on top of the couch, groaning in exhaustion. "We're taking the rest of the week off, kiddo. If Blitz calls, tell him Bombproof has a cold or something like that, but I'm not moving from this couch."

Jake joined his father and snuggled against him. "Thanks for taking me to Loo Loo Land, daddy."

"I'd say 'anytime' if the park hadn't been reduced to ashes." Striker chuckled, eyes closed as he wrapped an arm around his son.

As Jake snuggled into his father's arm, he thought about what Millie had said back at Loo Loo Land about.. "Hey, dad?"

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you something? "

"What?"

"Well…" Jake took a deep breath. "Do I have a mom? I mean, Millie has one, Moxie too, Blitzo… Even Stolas's daughter has a mom. I've never seen any pictures and you've never told me about her…"

Jake trailed off as he heard snoring. Dad had already fallen asleep. He must be really exhausted, Jake thought. I can ask him some other time. I'll let him rest for now.

…

Striker didn't open his eyes until he was certain that Jake had fallen asleep; then he carefully cradled his son in his arms and carried him upstairs all the way to his room. He carefully tucked Jake in as quietly as possible; Jake shifted a bit, but otherwise didn't look like he'd wake up anytime soon. Striker smiled as he stroked his son's hair.

It's not that he didn't want Jake to know about his mother. He wanted to tell his son about the wild-spirited, strong-willed woman that stole his heart. He really did. But he just couldn't find the words to explain what had happened to her. Just even remembering her was like adding lemon and salt to an open wound. Striker would tell Jake about his mother eventually, just not now.

The cowboy carefully placed the stuffed dragon he had grabbed from the shooting gallery in Jake's grasp, carefully leaning in to kiss the boy's head.

"Good night."

*HB*

Well, seems there's been a hint about Jake's mother. What do you think happened to her? I might go into details later on.

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taking-over-his-life · 5 years ago

Text

The old shop

Written by my old friend Colt.

On a bright autumn day, when the low angle of the sun, the sudden warmth of Indian summer, and the riot of scarlet and yellow leaves all cast a spell over the Virginia countryside, I set off for a drive, with the car windows rolled down. Intense glare alternated with deep shadow, as the road wound through fields and woods. It led to a town called Hapsburg, where it became Main Street, nearly deserted on Saturday afternoon. I parked along the sidewalk, and got out to stretch my legs.

The buildings were of red brick or painted clapboard, one or two stories. Shop windows were empty, or contained faded posters, long out of date. I walked past a café, a drugstore, a lawyer's office, and a barbershop, all closed. Next came a shop that sold old furniture, chipped plates, sentimental pictures, obsolete farm tools—the debris of former households, past lives.

In the display window, draped over the back of a chair, as though the wearer left it there minutes ago, and would soon reclaim it, was a black leather jacket. Creased and scuffed, it had evidently seen hard use. So casually was it thrown on the wooden chair—was it also for sale? I tried the latch, and the ancient shop door opened. A bell jingled sharply overhead, as I stepped inside.

A pale, thin man seated behind a counter barely looked up from his newspaper. His eyes were watery blue or gray, and his hair was sparse, showing the scalp. I pretended to look at a dusty shelf of books, then wandered to the back of the shop, which seemed to have nothing of value. At last, I returned to the front. Except for the man at the counter, there was no one else.

The black leather jacket was compelling. I touched a sleeve—the leather was thick and heavy. I searched for a tag, a price, a label, but found nothing. On the shoulder, a red patch bore the legend: "Hapsburg Motor Patrol." "Go ahead," the man said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and strong, despite his age. "Try it on. You'll be the first, since it just came in. Who knows, this may be your lucky day."

I slipped my arms into the sleeves, shrugged the weight of the leather over my back, and tried the zipper, which worked smoothly.

"A perfect fit," the man said, "like it was custom-made for you. There's a mirror, if you don't believe me."

It was uncanny, but the old leather jacket did fit perfectly. Stiff yet pliable, it was already molded to my shape, broken in by the previous owner.

"Whoever wore it must have had exactly the same upper body size," the man said.

"So you don't know who owned it?" I asked. "Anything about him?"

"Not a clue."

"What about the patches? Will I be arrested for impersonating a police officer?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. The town police department disbanded years ago, when the county took over everything—schools, taxes, roads, jail. The county police wear a different uniform, not that red patch. As it stands now, that jacket is a collector's item, a genuine Hapsburg Motor Patrol issue. Quality leather—they don't make them like that any more. The badge is missing, of course. It went in that reinforced hole in the chest."

The leather creaked, as I flexed my arms and walked to and fro. I inhabited the jacket, inhaled the smell of leather, and felt slightly giddy.

"There's plenty of wear left in that jacket. It will keep you warm on the road, and protect you in case of a spill. When you're riding, that is. Yes, sir, it fits you like a glove."

"How much do you want for it?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate.

"That depends on how much you want it," he answered, suddenly shrewd. His pale eyes glittered in the shadowy interior.

Though I detest haggling, I was unable to take off the jacket. I named a price, a round number, which I hoped was low. To my surprise, the man instantly agreed.

"Sold!" he shouted, as though at an auction.

I reached for my wallet, anxious to complete the transaction before he changed his mind, or before I did.

"Like I said, that leather jacket was meant for you. What are the odds that someone would walk in here, exactly the right build, with an eye for police memorabilia?"

"So you don't know where it came from?"

"Sorry, my friend. It could have been someone cleaning out an attic, getting a house ready for sale, winding up an estate. Wait! Now that you mention it, some other things came in with the jacket. Here's a helmet, the standard police type."

He handed me a white helmet, and I lowered it over my head. Snug, but comfortable. I started to ask the price, but he cut in.

"At no additional cost—special today. And check out these beauties." He rummaged behind the counter, and produced a pair of black leather riding boots.

"Somewhat the worse for wear, but you can replace the heels, and shine them up like new. Here, try them on."

Hurriedly, I untied my shoes, and shoved my feet into the tall boots, folding my pants inside the cylindrical shaft. Amazingly, the boots fit. I wiggled my toes, rocked from side to side, and strode a few paces. Like the jacket, the boots felt eerily right, as though I had worn them for years. Looking in the mirror, I caught my breath.

Instead of the man who entered the shop, an ordinary citizen like millions of others, I saw a police officer, a motorcycle cop, a figure of speed and power, a member of an elite squad, albeit from decades before. The fantasy was exhilarating.

"Do you want a bag?"

Abruptly, I remembered where I was, in a dusty junk shop, in a forgotten country town. I took off the helmet.

"No bag, thanks. I'll wear it."

"What about your shoes?"

"Oh. . . yes."

I handed the man my shoes, which he dropped into a crumpled paper bag. He handed the bag back to me, with a wink of his gray eye.

Jacketed and booted, as though dressed for a costume ball, I exited the shop, and blinked in the dazzling sunlight. The air was growing cooler, and the sun would soon set. With the helmet under one leather sleeve, and clutching the paper bag, I strode to my car for the drive home, through the inflamed countryside.

In the following weeks, as the weather turned cold and windy, I sometimes wore the leather jacket. As promised, the thick, back skin kept me warm. It did not attract attention, other than a smile or nod of approval. The thrill I felt on first putting it on mellowed, and in a way, I grew into the jacket.

One day, it occurred to me to search the pockets. An inner zipper revealed a small black and white photograph of a man standing beside a motorcycle. He appeared to wear the same jacket and boots, with the same white helmet on his head. He also wore a police badge, a silver star on his chest. His posture was upright and confident. The photograph bore no identification, no name or date. It was impossible to tell the man's age, or where the photograph was taken. Still, I was convinced that this was the officer who owned the items I had bought.

His uniform included a pair of riding breeches, tailored snug at the calf and flared at the thigh, almost as though inflated. It was a picturesque style, something that went out of fashion long ago. I could not recall ever seeing such a uniform on the street. In color, the riding breeches were dark, with areas of sheen. Were they made of black leather, too? I placed the photograph in a dresser drawer.

Though out of sight, the image haunted me. Who was this man, in purely physical aspects so much like me? What were his tastes, his habits, his personality? What was the police officer's story?

With no conscious intention, I began to read classified ads for used motorcycles, and I looked more closely at those I passed in the street. I wondered what type of motorcycle my officer rode. What type would a small-town police department be likely to have? When a neighbor parked a motorcycle in his front yard, a machine much like the one in the photograph, with a "For Sale" sign attached to the seat, I did not hesitate.

The neighbor, an engineer who would soon move to another city to start a new job, taught me how to ride the motorcycle, and he gave me advice on maintenance and repair. My luck continued in the form of a mild winter, which allowed me to ride on weekends, gradually learning how to handle the motorcycle on narrow roads, and in traffic. Though not especially powerful, it was quick and responsive. I wore my leather jacket, boots and helmet, of course, and sturdy jeans. By spring, I had become a confident, if careful, motorcyclist.

One Saturday, as the trees were coming into leaf, and the air was newly fragrant, I set off to ride through the green landscape. I started with no destination, but the road became familiar, as it wound through fields and woods. Just as it did six months before, it led to Hapsburg. Slowly, I cruised Main Street, looking for the old shop where I had bought the leather jacket, the same one I was wearing. Not seeing it, I turned around, and rolled in the opposite direction, but still failed to find the dusty display window. I parked, pulled off my helmet, and stood in the middle of the street, baffled.

A place I did not remember, a combination art gallery and custom frame shop, hinted at economic revival. Clean, freshly painted, with a gleaming steel and glass door, it was open for business. I entered, and at once was greeted by a young man with black hair, dark brown eyes, and an eager smile. After browsing the drawings and paintings, all by local artists, I explained what I was looking for.

The young man grew solemn, and said he would be right back. He walked briskly to a storage room in back, and returned with a large envelope, which he handed to me. Scrawled on the envelope, as a kind of address, was the phrase:

"For the man in the leather jacket, when he returns."

I studied the envelope for a moment, then asked:

"How can you be sure that this is for me?"

"The junk shop you describe was here, this space. I cleaned it out, renovated, put in new lights, and so on. A lot of work, you can imagine. The previous tenant passed away, I was told, and he left the shop as you saw it. I never met him—a retired police officer. Nothing of the contents was worth saving, but I did save one thing. That envelope was lying on the counter."

I lifted the flap, and extracted something heavy and pliable, made of black leather.

"Looks like a pair of pants," said the young man, clearly interested.

"Yes," I said, "or riding breeches. I saw them in a photograph."

"Awesome! They match your jacket and boots. Want to try them on?"

"I don't need to. They're exactly my size. Don't ask how I know."

"Okay, I won't. Strange things happen, even in Hapsburg. But here's the really strange part. They told me that the old man passed away more than a year ago. So how could you have met him here last fall?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and the leather jacket creaked. I slid the breeches back in the envelope, and tucked it under my thick black sleeve.

"Thanks," I said, turning to leave. "And good luck with the shop."

#leather boots #uniform #leather gear #leather jacket

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vidkid20ssimblrlair · 4 years ago

Text

Episode 32: Sundown At Ashfield (Part 2)

He grabbed his backpack and placed his mask inside. He then pointed towards the cemetery front gate and we entered. We walk through rows of graves as we went deeper and deeper into the cemetery.

Some graves were covered entirely by grass and weeds while others sat tall and crooked in the dirt. He pointed to a giant weeping willow tree and there a small tent sat under it. It looked like a campsite with a little campfire, a sitting area with logs, and various gear sitting around it.

"Welcome," he beamed. "This is my home away from home, so make yourself at home."

"In a cemetery?"

"It's not that bad. It's pretty serene. Plus the dead stay dead here. No rising from the grave so far."

"Still doesn't make it any less creepy."

"Oh, don't be such a Debbie Downer. Sit down. Let's talk."

He sat down and I sat down across from him. I placed my bag beside me and watched him do the same. He lit a fire with a lighter creating a warm glow amongst the chilly gloom.

"So what happened to the fancy stick?" I scoffed. "You actually managed to impress me out there.”

"Really? It’s just something I made using junk at the junkyard. A spear. It took me forever to make” he blushed as I rolled my eyes. “I fashioned it after my favorite video game-"

"Ugh, videogames. You sound like Audrey."

"Who?"

"Nevermind.”

“Well, I left it at the front gate if you want to look at it.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Ok. Ok. Well, I bet this will put a smile on your face." He smirked and reached for his backpack. He pulled out a packet of small spongy cakes. He held it up like a trophy, ripped it open, took out one, and bit into it. He then held the packet out to me. A mouth full of cake, he offered me the other. "Twinkie?"

"No, thanks," I frowned. He seemed disappointed but continued eating. I studied his face now getting a good look. He looked to be banged up a bit. He even seemed to be sporting a shiner and bruises to go with it. Poor guy. My eyes then scan the place as he chomped down on the second cake. I felt unease. Not because of the creepy choice of setting, but for the living who might come by. "So you sure this place is secure?"

"Yep. Along as the gate is closed, they stay out. Maybe one or two might squeeze in -”

“No. I mean the living.”

“Oh. Well, not even my sister knows about this place. Also, most strangers stay clear of places like this, so we’re good."

"Are you sure? No one followed you?"

"Follow me?! No way! They don't care about me or where I go. My sister does, but only when she remembers I'm related to her," he huffed. "Besides, they sent me out on a supply run. They've been sending me out for a lot of supply runs lately. To get me out the way I guess. They probably think I'll be gone for days since they sent me on some stupid hunt for watch batteries. Jokes on them, I found them already. Ha!"

"How about Jade though?"

"What about her?"

"Well, last I left you she was knocked out on the floor thanks to your genius thinking and you were going make up some bullshit story to save your ass. What happened with that?"

"Well, she woke up. That's for sure. She was a bit confused and dizzy at the time so she brought my story. Didn't make her any less angry though. She yelled a lot. Asked me a bunch of questions and yelled some more."

"Oh. So is that who gave you that shiner?"

"The black eye," he asked touching it hesitantly. He shook his head. "No. Ace did this but it's nothing. I've had worse."

"Worse?"

"Yeah. Let's just say I don't keep medical supplies around just for kind strangers like you," he chuckled. He then sighed. "He just gets really angry and frustrated with me is all. After Jade told him my story about getting jumped, he told me I should have done something. Said I was useless. Then he punishes me...with his fist."

I shook my head. "You should leave them."

"But my-"

"Your sister. Yeah, I know, but it's not fair to you. Does she even try to stop it? Does she do anything?"

"She tries to talk him down and she has kept him from killing me so far."

"That's fucked up."

"I'm fine. Really. Don't worry about me," he smirked. He fidgeted a bit and threw his twinkie wrapper to the side. He then grabbed another one. "You sure don't want one? Here take one."

He handed it to me, but I had no interest in cake or food at the moment. I placed it on top of my bag beside me. I looked up at him and his mouth was already full of cake. I groaned. "Enough with the twinkies!"

"You don't like them?"

"They’re fine, but I didn't come here to stuff my face, kid. I came here-"

"For Gemma."

"Bingo. You know her?"

"Yeah. Redhead, right? Tall, pale, insane."

"Yeah. Exactly. Definitely nuts. She part of your crew, right?"

"Yeah. Unfortunately," he mumbled. He tensed up and look downward. "When you said Gemma, I thought the name sound familiar. I wasn't entirely sure. Then it came back to me. You're talking about Big Red."

"Who?"

"Big Red. Her codename is Red Devil, but everybody calls her Big Red. Have you come across her or something?"

"Have I come across her? She's in my house right now. Well, where me and my friends are staying at least. She just showed up one day-"

"Wait! You said she's at your house?" he gasped. "Oh, God. Are you serious?"

"Yeah. She's tied up in our kitchen now-"

"That doesn't matter. You're like in serious danger," he shrilled. He then began grumbling to himself. "They never tell me anything. Shit. Of all the things to not to tell me..."

"Hey! Hey!" I snarled. I snapped my fingers in his face. "Talk to me. What's up?"

He came back to attention. His eyes wide and the color draining from his face. "Has anyone died since she's been there?"

"Meh. No. Not really. We had an old lady named Grace die, but that was before she came and the corpses killed her."

"Well, you're lucky. That's a damn miracle. You see Red takes pleasure in killing. She kills people. She likes toying with them first and then she lets them turn. Sometimes she lets them turn and watches them devour loved ones. She thinks it's funny. She's a psychopath and Ace loves her for it. She’s like his little pet," he said. "He sends her in when he wants a bloodbath, so I don't get it. You should be dead by now."

"Well, we're not and she's tied up. Maybe we got the better of her."

"Of her. Ha! If she wants to kill you... if she wants to get free, she will. She knows how to manipulate people to get what she wants. Trust me. She won't stay tied up for long," he warned. "Hmm...the only reason you're still alive because Ace had to order her not to. That's the only thing that makes sense."

"Why would Ace order her not to? Is that his usual thing?"

"No. Not at all. He takes pleasure in sick shit like Red, but he's a lot more tamer about it I guess. Still strange. At less...," he pondered. He then gasped. "At less, he needs you alive."

I scoffed. "For what?"

"I don't know. It's the only explanation I got though."

"You're hopeless. Do they really not tell you anything?" I sighed. "What about the Ace? What's his deal?"

"Ace aka Johnathan? He's just a power-hungry asshole who takes his jollies on preying on the weak and stealing from them. Who needs to find supplies or food when you can make someone else do it for you," he scowled. "But he didn't start off like that. He was a jerk but he was fairly normal when we met him. Part of me pities him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like you, he had a daughter, but he lost her doing this. It broke him. The way she died and everything. It truly broke him."

I started to ask how she died but part of me was afraid. People dying in this mess was enough to mess with your head, but losing a child...that was something else. I thought back to the zombified little girl and I got chills. I then thought of my daughter. Was Mya alive?

Both of us then froze as we heard something. It sounded like it was right behind me. The crinkling of paper? I quickly stood up and look back. A hand was reaching out from behind a gravestone and bushes. It had managed to pull my bag closer to them and its fingers felt around on top of my bag. It grabbed the Twinkies and I grabbed its wrist. It was no way it was a corpse. I pulled out my gun and pulled the intruder towards me. I gasped.

"Audrey?!"

"What? You're weren't eating them and I got hungry," she whined. I let her go and she grab the spongy cakes. "You don't want it right?"

Part 1

Audrey gets those Twinkies in Part 3.

P.S. I wish someone would make a normal looking wooden spear and Twinkies is a nod to Zombieland. xD

#sims 3 Dead on Arrival #ts3 dead on arrival #sims 3 doa #ts3 doa #sims 3 story #ts3 story #sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 simblr #ts3 simblr #simblr #dead on arrival season 2 #doa season 2

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opiomancy · 4 years ago

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cumulonimbus ix

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger x Ron Weasley

Summary: When asked about how Harry's life got turned upside down he's going to blame a Farrah Fawcett poster, a second magical diary, and Draco Malfoy in that order.

Word Count: 1873

[Part One: Mid Day] Part Two: July 2nd, 1998: Early Morning

It’s well past midnight and Harry is still loitering in Sirius’ old bedroom; the dinner Kreacher placed on the nightstand has been left cold and untouched. Instead of eating like a normal functioning adult, Harry decided to stare at the ceiling. The face of Farrah Fawcett and her red swimsuit still beaming down at him as dusk fell into night. He’s not quite sure why he’s just sitting here… staring at the pearly white smile of the blonde bombshell above him. Maybe if he stares long enough he’ll find some divine intervention on what the hell he’s supposed to be doing. It’s only been a few months since the battle of Hogwarts, and Harry feels as if he’s running out of time. He always feels like he’s running out of time. As if he’s late for something important, or there's a deadline that’s just a few days away, but for once in Harry's life he doesn’t. He has absolutely nothing to do.

“Except clean this bloody house” he says to two dimensional Farah, as if she’ll respond to his complaints. Harry groans, running his calloused hands over his sticky face, dried sweat clogging his pores. The result of hours of grueling labor stains him. It’s something he should be used to by now but isn’t, and probably never will. After staring at the American actress some more he’s come to the conclusion that he’s completely mad. It’s the only explanation really. Why else would he decide cleaning up this mansion, alone, was a good idea? Why did he think breaking up with Ginny was a good idea? Why did he think that when the moonlight hit Farrah’s hair in just the right way it reminded him of...

Yep. Definitely madness. A one way ticket to the Janus Thickey ward if it pleases the court. Harry flipped over on the bed to bury his face in the dusty satin pillow, anything to not stare at the Hollywood starlet again. When Harry thought about it, it makes sense that madness would take him in the end. You don’t survive the killing curse twice without it screwing something up inside. He could see The Daily Prophet headline now: “THE CHOSEN CRAZY ONE!”

No, Rita would definitely come up with something more clever. “THE BOY WHO WENT OFF HIS ROCKER: THE TELLING TALE OF HARRY POTTER’S QUICK DESCENT TO INSANITY!” That sounds better, more Rita.

Harry supposes he’s had a good run of it all. Nearly eighteen years old, a war hero, wealthy beyond his needs, half a virgin. It’s been a life. Better to be done in by an army of dust bunnies and outdated aristocratic decor than Voldemort. At least now it’s quiet, he can let his mind slowly slip away into the unknown without the stress of his friends and loved ones getting hurt. Maybe he should eat the dinner Kreacher left, at least it’ll be something else to do.

Harry accios his wand that fell to the floor at some point in the evening and heats up his kidney pie. He eats it slowly, trying to forgive its mushy texture and cold bits. He’s never been that good at cooking spells. Harry begins to take inventory of the room as he eats. Sirius’ style in decor was much better than the rest of his family, especially considering it was decades out of fashion. One solid wooden king size sleigh bed that Harry was currently sitting on, with Gryffindor red sheets gently stretched across it. A bookshelf to his left filled to the brim with old Hogwarts textbooks and muggle literature with the covers removed. A large wooden nightstand to his right with a few girlie magazines stuffed inside the drawer, something Harry refused to touch in fear of them being much more solid than magazines ought to be. In front of him was a window that was charmed to display a dense forest at all times, with large thick black curtains that shrouded the room in darkness when closed. On the other side of the room laid a desk with an antique stationary set resting on top, and a yellow record player beside it. The walls were covered with pictures and posters like the marvelous Miss. Fawcett, splattered around with no rhyme or reason, and shelves to display a fantastic classic rock record collection. It looked like a muggle teenage boy’s room, and that’s just how Sirius liked it.

Every part of this room screamed Sirius Orion Black, and that just made Harry miss him that much more. He wished his godfather was here to help him renovate the house, but he knew that would never happen. One thing Harry knew for sure was that he was going to keep this room exactly as it was, a time capsule of Sirius’ youth. Deep down he knew that his godfather would appreciate it, even if he’d never admit it if he was here.

Harry sighed as he placed the half eaten kidney pie on the nightstand, too exhausted to finish it. He laid back down to stare at Farrah some more, he understood why she was so popular in her day. Her smile was bright and beautiful, and people tend to like bright and beautiful things. Harry didn’t see a lot of that in his life, and now he can say he finally has. A bright and beautiful... poster. Yes, undeniably mad.

Harry slammed his fist on the wall behind him with a groan. Stupid Farrah, stupid Hermione, stupid Sirius. He could be doing so much with his life but he’s just sitting here! Harry got up and began to pace around the room. Shouldn’t he be thinking about his future? Shouldn’t he begin thinking about a career? Dating? Getting a life? And why does all of that sound so much more monumental than fighting a facist overlord? He wants to do nothing, but needs to do something. The contradictions of his life were wearing on his psyche and he just... needs. He has this major need deep within himself and he doesn’t know what to do with it all.

Harry could feel his magic begin to overwhelm him, a feeling he hasn’t had since he was eleven and could barely control his magic. Before he knew it books were flying off the shelves and Farrah had fallen off her post. When Harry opened his eyes to see the mess he created he slumped with exhaustion.

“Great more bloody mess” Harry said to himself. He began to levitate the books to their rightful place, making sure they weren’t out of order. He noticed Farrah was lying limply against the wall as if she was as tired as Harry was. Madness . When he went to pick her up Harry saw a loose floorboard at his feet.

“Think there’s something underneath it Farrah?” as per usual, Farrah didn’t respond. Harry levitated her back to the ceiling where she belonged with a sticking charm, and went to work on the floorboard. The corner of the dark wood lifted up at the edge, and squeaked when Harry put pressure on it. After some finagling the board finally gave way. Inside was a large cigar box, an old crown royal bag, and small metal tin. Harry decided to check out the tin first, he blew off the dust and pried the rusty hinges apart. Inside were a pack of matches from a place called The Beaver Dam and some joints. Harry went to smell one of them and it nearly disintegrated in his hands.

“Better off. ‘ Mione would kill me anyway,” he thought to himself. He could almost hear her commanding voice now: “Do you know what drugs could do to your brain Harry? It can affect your memory, your lungs, your libido! Marijuana just makes you okay with being bored and that’s not good for your mental health either!” A walking D.A.R.E program that one. Harry could remember back in sixth year when she caught a couple of Hufflepuffs hotboxing the greenhouse. Hermione went on and on about how it could damage school property, or damage their bodies, or worse get them expelled. Harry himself was too obsessed with watching Malfoy’s name on The Marauder’s Map to listen to her speech. His mates gave him endless flack for it, but he turned out to be right in the end.10 points to Gryffindor.

Harry opened up the crown royal bag next. Inside was an array of seemingly meaningless knick knacks: a mood ring, an old coke bottle cap, an empty carton of clove cigarettes, and a plain brown tie. Harry was curious about why Sirius decided to put in the effort to hide this pile of junk. It all seemed harmless enough, but knowing Sirius each item probably had their unique own story to tell; the sentimental oaf.

The cigar box was the last item hidden away under the floorboard. The box itself wasn’t that magnificent, it was a faded yellow wood with the King Edward Tobacco logo imprinted on the top with the royal crest repeatedly stamped along the borders. When Harry opened the box his stomach plummeted to the floor. Inside this innocuous box was an old leather diary, reminiscent of the one that made his life hell in second year. Harry immediately shut the box and tossed it across the room, begging his heart to stop hammering in his chest.

“It’s just a diary. Not every diary is a trojan horse attempting to kill you. Sirius would never keep a cursed item in his bedroom. Just breathe.” Harry repeated to himself. He found himself staring at Farrah once again, breathing slowly as his heart rate returned to normal. Her once brilliant smile appeared to be mocking him, panicking over a silly little diary, such a childish thing to do. Harry steeled himself once again, he wasn’t going to let some dusty book get the best of him. He defeated the darkest wizard of the century at seventeen. Dust bunnies were one thing, but a dumb diary? Harry refused to be bested by this nonsense. He stood up from his fetal position on the floor, puffed up his chest, and stalked towards the worn tobacco box.

“Nothing to worry about, just an old diary” Harry said as he opened up the box, pretending that his hands weren’t shaking as he did. As he held the well loved leather diary in his hands, Harry questioned whether or not he should open it. This could easily be Sirius’ diary, and that would be a major invasion of privacy. Downright disrespectful. What kind of godson would he be if he just nosied his way through all of Sirius’ belongings? Nothing cowardly about respecting boundaries.

“Scared Potter?”

Harry flinched as a certain blonde haired git’s voice buzzed in his head. He was not scared. He could read this diary if he chose to. No problem with it all. In fact he was going to sit down and read the entirety of this diary… tomorrow.

Harry hastily placed the diary on the nightstand and fled out of the bedroom towards his own. He was in desperate need of sleep if he was hearing that voice in his head.

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kessielrg · 4 years ago

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A Quiet Place

Summary: Inspired by a rp that @chibi-mushroom and @animacreates are doing with each other. I’ve lovingly dubbed it the ‘chaos rp’ because it’s kinda how it started out. And while the rp was also meant to be fandom specific, this little story was written to be mostly removed from that context. You might recognize some names though if you’ve been following me for awhile (or look at the tags). This story has a second part. You can read it: here.

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,085 words

If you liked this story, please reblog.

. . .

Every kid had their challenges. It didn't matter if they were your blood or not, they just did. These two particular kids were warned as being extra challenging- with less than subtle wording indicating the girl in particular was the one who made things difficult. Oswald looked at the kid's photographs, then at their case worker, and said but one single word on the matter; “Good.”

In retrospect, though, he should have given Ortensia a greater warning on these two. She had always wanted children -even before they had gotten married-, and hearing that they were going to foster two kids nearly made her bounce off the walls. She didn't waste any time setting up two bedrooms with all sorts of little things she'd thought the kids would like. Proper things like soap and toiletries, and then general 'welcome to the family' gifts like toys and prepaid phones. When the kids actually got there, Oswald literally had to hold her by her shirt collar so she wouldn't hug them to death.

The boy, Blaine, seemed rather charmed by Ortensia at the get-go. He was the one who gave the proper introductions. The girl, Sabrina, held her suitcase with both hands and at her side like she planned on smacking someone with it. Her face holding a look of utter contempt that it nearly made her look older than she was. Oswald knew with all his heart that Ortensia meant well, but in her excitement, she quite easily forgot to notice the child's body cues. It didn't help in getting the girl to open up. If anything, Ortensia was making things worse.

He purposely let her forget to get groceries this morning. He knew he was going to need to separate her from the kids once she met them.

At least that meant their house tour was done in a slow, linear fashion instead of filled with several mildly irrelevant anecdotes. Never once did Sabrina let down her suitcase. She held it close to her like it was her only possession in the world. (And it very likely was. That was a thought that hurt old Oswald's heart in ways he couldn’t describe.) Blaine had been the one to gently suggest she leave it in her room. Even with her brother's approval, the child was still hesitant. She did end up sitting her stuff down eventually. Blaine was the one that suggested they go back out to the living room to wait for Ortensia to come back, and Oswald couldn't find a reason to disagree. He let the kids lead- it seemed only fair at this point.

“I want to apologize for how rude my sis is being.” Blaine said once everyone had found a place to sit. “Each family we go to, she seems to get more quiet and more scowl-y. If she didn't have such high opinions of certain people and things, then she'd almost take a vow of silence.”

That got some kind of reaction from the girl. She kicked him with the side of her foot; a motion that looked to have quite a bit of force to it, but Blaine didn't flinch. Oswald got a violent flashback to how he and his brother used to treat each other. He quickly shook his head. His brother had ruined more than one thing in his life before, and he wasn't going to take this either.

“It's alright.” he then said. “I can't imagine how stressful all the constant moving around must be for you guys. Once we get into a rhythm (and Ortensia calms down a bit) things should get easier. We won't force you two to do anything you're not comfortable with. I promise it.”

Both siblings looked like he had just punched them in the gut.

“Thanks...” Blaine stammered once he remembered his manners- his eyes averting from Oswald. Sabrina, too, curled a bit tighter inside herself. Their reactions were… odd, to say the least, but Oswald nearly feared questioning it. It's not like he could say he wouldn't force them into anything, then tell them to spill whatever was on their mind.

“I think I'll be fine.” Blaine then said. He tried to sit up proper again, to be an authoritative figure between the two kids. “It's Sabi that's the tough nut to crack. Too much activity and she retreats to her own little hideaway- wherever it tends to be that day.”

“I get that.” Oswald agreed with a nod; perfectly ignoring the stink eye Sabrina was giving Blaine. “I built that little extension above the garage just so I could be alone.” Oswald blinked when a thought came to him. “I have an idea.” he then offered. “Sabrina, how about you follow me for a second. We can come right back after.”

Sabrina gave Blaine a wary look, but at her brother's firm nod, she relented. Oswald offered her a half grin in response before he got up. He gestured for her to follow. He didn't look back- trusting that she would be behind. She did follow. Perhaps by a good foot or two, but she followed him. (Her brother was following as well, by the way. Just out of eye range, but close enough so she could still feel his presence.) Oswald led them through the house and over to the garage. There was a staircase that went up to a second floor, Oswald opened it to enter the room. He left it open to allow Sabrina time to come in if she wanted to. (At this point, Blaine was at the bottom of the stairs, also waiting to see what she would do.) She took a breath in, and followed Oswald inside.

The child was greeted to a room that was a mix of a living room and a workshop. The generously sized area had a CRT TV against a wall, with a dark blue velvet couch in front. Against another wall was a large desk- there was something that looked like a small coo-coo clock on it, next to a decent sized container of tools. On the wall next to that was a well abused recliner, a bookcase filled with books of various sizes, and even a box that looked to have nothing but broken junk in it.

“I suggest making yourself comfortable on the big sofa.” Oswald offered, gesturing to the dark blue couch. “It’s got plenty of room to stretch out. You can even put on a movie too if you feel like.”

Sabrina still hung by the door. Her body was scrunched as if she could disappear just by looking as small as possible. Oswald didn't force her any further into the room. If anything, he went over to the desk to check on the dissected clock than paid any real attention to her. She was waiting. She was waiting for the moment when he forced her to do something- anything. After five minutes, it didn't happen. Giving the room a rather disgusted glance, Sabrina slowly started to move her body to the couch. She flinched when the couch squeaked slightly at her sitting down. She flinched again when Oswald started to talk, thinking she was in trouble.

“Once Ortensia realizes that we’re here, she won’t come bother us. I made it a rule.”

The child's face scrunched as she looked over at him. She really wanted to ask why, but she didn’t want him to think she was opening up. Instead, she pressed herself against a corner of the couch and said nothing. Oswald still wasn't paying attention to her, still talking more to himself than anyone else.

“Ortensia means well, she's just not aware of her own strength- so to speak. I don't blame you for turning down every hug she tries to give.” He gave a small chortle before adding, “There are days when I don't want her to hug me. And we've known each since middle school.”

This was when Oswald finally looked back at Sabrina. Words couldn't even begin to describe how relieved he was that she was still in the room- let alone sitting down. His hand absently went over the thick afghan blanket that he had draped over his desk chair. It had been a wedding gift that was passed down from generation to generation. The blanket was knit together in a ripple pattern using light blue, dark blue, and faded pink lamb's wool. One of Oswald's fingers traced over the knit before he had an idea.

“Here.” Oswald said as he tossed the blanket her way. “You hide under this, then I'll pretend you're not there. I can do my thing, and you can do yours. I won't talk to ya unless you want to.”

The girl just stared at him before covering herself up with the blanket. At first, she was less than amused that the heavy blanket nearly smacked her when he had tossed it. She took it with two fingers as she looked it over. Noting that it was a little worn, but cleaned, Sabrina carefully placed it over her shoulders. She wrapped herself up snugly, covering even her head, and laid down on the couch curled into a ball like she was nothing no more than a lumpy bolster pillow. Oswald smirked a bit. But he knew he wasn't going to say anything about it. This kid had to move on her own time- that was a lesson he knew well.

He hated to admit it; but he saw a lot of himself in her.

“You have any music preferences, kid?” he asked as he went over to where he kept his portable phonograph. An original Edison, crank and all. Took him the greater part of a summer to get it back together again.

“I don't exist.”

Oswald blinked before realizing what she meant. “Oh. Right, right.” he agreed. “Sorry about that. Lemme just put on something then...”

He thoughtfully hummed as he went through his record collection. When he found a good one, Oswald let out a sound of happy discovery. He pulled out a record from its sleeve, flipped it in his hands before blowing on it a bit, then placed the record on the turntable. From her spot on the couch, it was a bit hard to watch him crank the player up and move the needle over to the record. There was no way Sabrina was moving from her spot, though- she was way too comfortable now. When the player gave way to static, Oswald was satisfied enough to go to his desk. He started work on his project as a jazzy song started to say.

“Listen while I tell you about a gal named Daisy Mae. They called her 'Lazy Daisy Mae.' Her reputation I'm afraid is all that people say. Midnight begins her working day. She had a man that was tall and handsome; large and strong. She used to sing this song;”

“Hey daddy!” Oswald sang along in baritone. “I want a diamond ring- bracelets, everything. Daddy, you outta get the best for meeee…!”

Sabrina tried to watch him with a critical eye, but it was rather hard when he kept half humming, half singing along to the song. He really was going to act like she wasn't there, huh? Which was all fine and dandy- she had no interest in whatever he was fixing up. The only sound in the room besides the record player was him shuffling his tools around for another. She didn't like how relaxing it was. This was always the part where someone came through the door, demanding attention to something else in the scariest voice possible. But it didn't happen. She knew that no one was going to interrupt them. This weird fella and his wife? They were genuine.

So far.

They were genuine, so far.

That 'so far' was incredibly important, you know. Just as scary; if not more so.

She didn't want her eyes to close. She didn't want to be relaxed. She wanted to resist the urge to go to sleep here. It wasn't working. But constantly being on guard for something bad to happen was exhausting. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get a little sleep. Besides, to Oswald, she didn't exist. He was the only other person in the room with her, and he surely wasn't going to stop whatever he was doing just to make small talk with her. After letting out a small sigh, Sabrina went into a dreamless sleep in seconds.

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insomniac-dot-ink · 5 years ago

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Never Alone

The yard sale spread out like a little girl shook her dollhouse and the contents sprawled into messy piles across the grass. There was a box of second-hand shoes that you had to find the mate for yourself and rickety card tables with rusting legs holding knick-knacks ranging from toy trains with gunk in the wheels to stained cloth napkins the color of one of the seven deadly sins.

Two neighborhood houses on Chestnut Hill had decided to get together and sell the insides of their attics to the unsuspecting masses. I wrinkled my nose at an old toy chest with a yellow finish and long scrapes across the top.

I glanced over to where a tall brunette was inspecting a plastic tea-cup with flower designs on the side. “How long do you want to be Ollie?” I asked sourly as the sun licked over my brow. It was barely even eleven and I could already feel the heat of the day sinking its teeth in.

Olivia barely looked up as I addressed her, she was in “shopping mode” which was a space I couldn’t personally penetrate with either manners or an industrial-sized hammer. “A couple minutes. Ten tops.” She lied and I wrinkled my nose.

I shook my hair back in irritation, “you promised you’d try that new brunch place with me.” I stuck my bottom lip out, “Derick and I were gonna do it… but you know.” Olivia looked up long enough to flash me a sympathetic look and held up two fingers, “just a couple of minutes.” She gave a long pause and tried to wave me off, “Go find something you like. It’s a big sale there’ll probably be something.” I rolled my eyes and turned back to the messy zig-zags of junk. “Ugh.” I walked away with my shoulders hunched.

Olivia Henderson was my roommate and best friend and had a thing for yard sales, second hand stores, people’s closets, junk piles, and anything that smelled a little funky from the lost and found. Her tastes were as inexplicable as the fact she worked in banking. She collected shoddy 18th century reprints and people’s old key chains with anime characters on them and weird bomber jackets covered in patches.

To say the least, she was going to be awhile.

I rounded an burnt ironing board and watched an old couple inspect a bright green bike parked up against a table. I glanced down at my phone and saw a healthy number of notifications which I immediately flicked away out of habit.

The old couple laughed at something as the owners of the house rounded on them and asked something probably included lines like “lovely couple” and “this will be perfect for you…” I rolled my eyes and went around a box with old roller blades and worn jackets for sale inside.

I checked my phone again and there was a new text.

Mariene: I heard about you and Derick :(

Mariene: Want to talk about it? :)

I shook my head like there was something I was trying to dislodge and jammed my phone in my back pocket. The sun simmered above and I kicked a box of board games lightly before weaving back and forth toward the back of the house.

It was a two-story carbon-copy kind of house that was painted grey and felt grey and oozed that bland grey choke hold sensation of suburbia. The houses around it were beige and cream and off-white and had families in them that were working on holding down decent jobs, having 2.5 kids, and then dying. The whole thing made my stomach churn.

I eyed an old rocking chair that at least looked reupholstered recently and heard the last of the old couples voices: our grandson just turned eight…

Their grandson just turned eight. I felt my phone buzz from my back pocket and glanced over my shoulder to check that Olivia was still collecting slightly bent silver forks and drapes with bowling alley designs.

I was ready to leave. I was ready to get brunch and bitch about Derick and Serina and the fact they were now “Derick and Serina.” How the last thing he said was “I love you,” before cheating on me. I took another meandering step toward the house when my eyes landed on a doorway. There was a series of concrete steps laid into the ground itself, tucked away right behind some bushes and at the back of the house.

I eyed it for a second. The door itself was brown and faceless and the only thing interesting about it was that it was open. I cocked my head to the side as a little basement entrance was fully exposed. It reminded me of a scab begging to be itched.

I looked one more time over my shoulder to check that the owners were still talking to the old couple and Olivia was still in love with her oddities. I skipped down the garden level steps toward the door.

Snooping and boredom usually went hand in hand and I justified it in the back of my head with a quick “maybe they have better junk they’re selling down here.”

A few steps down and the light seemed to shift above my head. It became honeyed and slightly cloudy-- like looking through colored glass. The voices of the yard became more distant and I poked my head inside a very cramped looking room.

It was a finished basement that unlike my parents house wasn’t just concrete floors and water damage. I stood up straight as a blast of AC hit me in the face and I took a few more steps into the room to feel that sweet cold air across my skin.

It seemed to be another storage room which was impressive since they already seemed to have an entire universe of junk on their lawn outside. There were brown boxes stacked high and a wooden dresser alongside a big classic baby crib with wooden bars. The cool air inside the room was heavenly, but there seemed to be a sheen of dust through it. The late summer light streamed down through floating bits of something and my nose began to tickle.

I glanced around the boxes and curiously made my way to the baby crib because I hadn’t seen one like that outside of movies and museums. It looked like it was made of real wood and whittled by hand with a certain amount of care.

My parents had bought plastic industrial-made cribs and quickly got rid of them the second me and my sister were old enough for bunk beds. They weren’t the type of couple to hold onto sentimental keepsakes or make anything by hand.

I delicately touched the railing of the crib and it was warm and the wood was soft like smoothed stones you find near lakes. My eyes glazed over for a moment and some part of me wanted to take the crib home with me. It was handsome and strong and I didn’t own a lot of things with history behind them.

I shook the thought out of my head after a moment because I never planned on having kids. I never wanted to live in a beige neighborhood where people settled for their jobs and settled for each other and settled for raising bratty kids they didn’t even want. Kids that in turn grew up to settle for shitty governments and shitty societal systems and stop dreaming and start focusing on collecting piles of junk and dying on top of them.

I turned around quickly as if to bundle myself up and run away from the whole vision of it. I pivoted and stumbled into a vanity that I hadn’t noticed was right beside the crib. I hit it hard with my whole body. “Oof!” I yelped.

It was a big solid vanity with four drawers and spindly legs and a round clear mirror in the very center of the wooden body. It looked like the same wood as the crib. I had a moment to catch my own panicked eyes in the mirror before the thing teetered backyard.

“No!” I reached to stop it from thundering backward, but it happened quickly. The vanity toppled backward and crushed two small boxes behind it that sent up an entire storm of dust into the air.

I sneezed rapid-fire as the dust exploded and my head rocked back and forth.

“What’s going on?” A sharp voice barked and someone was at the side door. “What are you doing in here?!” I sneezed again and turned around to find one of the owners-- the woman in a pink cardigan, staring daggers at me. Her mouth went round in perfect horror as she saw the vanity toppled backward and me standing in the very center of the dust plumes.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, “I didn’t mean to, but it’s not broken or anything, promise.” I said before sneezing again and wiping at my nose.

“Get out!” Her voice was strained and barely a pitch below hysterical. “Get out of here!”

My brow furrowed and I plodded back toward the door, “It was open--” She pushed me physically from the room and into the stairwell, “you fool.” She spat, “don’t ever come back here and pray to God it didn’t--” She paused, “just pray.” “What?” I backed away from her. “Anika?” Olivia poked her head around the corner as the light beat me over my head. Olivia eyed the owner looking like a bull with red paint in front of her, “Uh?” “We gotta go.” I said flatly. Personally, I thought the woman was overreacting since nothing was actually harmed.

The owner turned to me. “Leave.” I didn’t need to be told twice. I hurried up the stairs and grabbed Olivia’s wrist, “Come on.” I tugged on her.

“Wait, I found this weird map I want to buy.” “I think we just sorta got banned.” I clarified and tried not to wince. I reminded myself it wasn’t my fault the woman completely lost it.

“What?!”

“I’ll make it up to you.” I said quickly, “lunch is on me.”

I glanced over my shoulder and the last thing I saw was the woman hurriedly locking the door with a huge old-fashioned key and muttering to herself. Something cold dropped into the pit of my stomach and I ignored it.

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

“I can’t believe you guys are going out without me.” I pouted as I watched my roommates finish gathering their bags and checking their makeup and phones for updates on their Uber.

I lived with three roommates because it was New York City and I wasn’t a billionaire. Olivia was a strange artsy girl who worked in accounting, Carmen was an outgoing career girl with a type-A personality, and Molly was a soft, quiet girl who was getting her PhD in something useless. They were all my type of people, but it didn’t help when they all just stared blankly at me as I moped on the green armchair by our windows.

Carmen puckered her lips, “Hey, we told you to come with us.” She said with an arched eyebrow, “it’ll help get over your bastard ex.” I gave a dramatic sigh, “I’m not ready for a rebound guy yet.” I said tersely and shifted in place. “And I’ve got a headache.” I lied mostly for the effect.

Molly shot me a sympathetic look. “We don’t have to talk to boys--” “Speak for yourself.” Olivia joked.

“It’s our girls night. We've been planning it for weeks now.” Molly simpered.

I stuck my chin out stubbornly. “Can’t we just stay home and watch TV? I have a breakup ritual to get through.”

Carmen clicked her tongue, “I bet Derick would be so jealous if he saw you already hot and ready to trot right now.” I made a face at them. “I don’t want to make him jealous. I don’t care about that cheating asshole anymore,” I lied again and turned away, “but you guys have fun.” I knew I was mostly refusing out of spite, didn’t they care that I was going through something right now? It didn’t matter either way though as Carmen cheered, “Our Uber’s here! Come on ladies.” “Be good, Anika,” Olivia waved, “don’t get banned from anything else while we’re gone.” She said with a twinkle in her eye and a reference to our outing that morning.

I flipped her off, “Go enjoy getting yourself gonorrhea in a club bathroom.” “We will.” And just like that they were out the door and to their “girls night” without a care in the world.

I groaned and hung my head back. I heard my phone buzz probably with yet another text from my sister. She never got the hint when I didn’t want to talk to her or listen to another one of her lectures beginning with “start growing up already, Anika, you’re almost thirty.”

I closed my eyes and wanted something to scream into.

The apartment was a clean space with dark carpets and low ceilings. It was decorated by Olivia with misshapen nautical lamps in the corners and heavy curtains that Carmen put up so she could Skype with her international colleagues early in the morning.

I stared at the ceiling as I listened to my roommates reach the elevator and the doors dinged. I frowned as the noise faded and something else took its place. It was a faint sound.

I perked up and looked over to the apartment hallway. It was almost so distant I couldn’t make it out, but there was unmistakable shuffling coming from the narrow space. “Hello?” I said and narrowed my eyes.

More sounds of scuffing came from the soft carpets. I stood up. Some animal-instinct sent off alarms in my head and I peered around the corner. I swept my eyes across the closed doors and a dying houseplant by the bathroom.

I looked to the ceiling to check if maybe rats were in the vents, but I heard the noise again: pat pat pat.

I looked right in front of me where the sound was coming from. Nothing was there.

Pat, pat, pat

I looked down. There were two dark indents in the carpet that seemed to be moving. I backed up until I reached the opposite wall.

Pat, pat, pat

Something was padding across the floor in front of me, slowly and deliberately. But I couldn’t see anything there.

Some sort of dread settled in my stomach that I couldn’t place, cold and hard and tying knots in my guts. I stared for another moment at empty space, and then ran for the door. I shoved my feet into my shoes, looked at my phone, and then booked it into the hall and down to the stairwell.

“Hey!” I waved as my friends were nearing a blue Mazda. “I changed my mind. I want to come.” I didn’t think I was actually that torn up about Derick, but the mind is a terrible thing, and I didn’t need it playing tricks on me all by myself in my apartment.

--------

My fingers clacked on the keyboard with a certain satisfying fury. The deadline was the day after tomorrow, but that meant it was even more important to get most of the leg work out of the way that night.

The shine of the fluorescent lights was almost feverish and angry above me and my right wrist ached from typing. It was past midnight by then and it was only me and a lowly intern finishing up work for the night. The building was always “on” in the way that the city itself was always “on,” but I had an article on current campaign finance reform failures that I needed to finish.

It was almost 1am by the time I blinked and Kenny the intern was turning off his desk lamp. I looked up and he looked right back at me. “Um,” he was a sweaty kind of kid with a round face and freckles that popped like pock marks on his cheeks. “Did you, uh, want that on?” He asked nervously as he pointed to his desk lamp for some reason.

I shook my head, “I’m basically done.” I looked at my article. It would need a lot of cleanup tomorrow morning before it went to the presses the next day, “I’ll be right behind you.” I let Kenny get to the elevator first and head downstairs so we wouldn’t have to share any awkward small talk when all we really wanted to do was head home. I was revising the last paragraph-- the one with the real “punch” to it when I heard something.

I looked up just as a soft shuffling sound came from across the room. My neck prickled and I closed my laptop.

Pat, pat, pat.

It had a slow pace and strange rhythm to it, but I was certain this time that it was footsteps. I hunched over, finished closing my bag up, and stood.

Pat, pat, pat

It sounded a little quicker this time, but still slow and steady. I jogged to the elevator and was grateful that it didn’t seem able to run itself. I clenched my jaw and looked over my shoulder. Nothing was there again, and some rational part of me felt ridiculous.

I glared, “I know you’re there.” Pat, pat, pat

It was getting closer now. Closer than it was before.

I bared my teeth, “I don’t know what you want--”

Ding

The elevator arrived and I threw a withering look over my shoulder. “But you’re not going to fucking scare me. Go away.” Pat, pat

It was almost right in front of me now. I darted quickly into the elevator and pushed the button a dozen times to get the doors to close faster. I exhaled when they finally gently clanked shut just as the steps arrived right where I had just been.

I was massaging my neck and thinking about going to shrink when I heard the creature really arrive at the door.

Sccrrrtchhh

I sucked in a quick breath and that same cold dread shook through my nerves. The elevator started descending to the street level, but all I could hear was that same sound over and over again: sccrrtchhh

It sounded like claws on metal.

I spent the whole walk home looking over my shoulder and listening for invisible things and slow footsteps. I waited for its claws to finally arrive and slit my throat. However, nothing seemed to pursue me in the crowded streets or the subway.

It was probably all in my head. Or it was just trying to scare me a little and would go away-- maybe it enjoyed the hunt and not the kill. But something told me that wasn’t the case.

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

“So,” I said and a long drawn-out silence passed between us over the phone. “How’s Josh? How’re the kids?” I asked casually and waited for the other shoe to drop.

My sister cleared her throat on the other end of the line, “He’s fine. They’re fine.” She sounded prim and measured as always, “You’re the one we’ve been worried about.” I scowled off into nothing as I sat in a large park with pigeons pecking at the ground nearby. The weather had been turning and the sky was readying itself for the first snow, “Why?” I said without meaning to.

“Because of Derick. You guys had been dating for ages,” she said slowly, “Plus… you know.” “What?” “You only call when you need something.” She said with both a hint of humor as well as accusation in her tone.

“Well it’s not about Derick.” I grumbled, “I was actually calling about…” I drew a deep steadying breath. “I’ve just been straining myself at work a little too much.” I stared at the ground with a hard look. “And maybe gotten a little over stressed.” “Oh?” Mariene waited.

“So,” I forced the words out. “I know you got a good doctor after Liam was born.”

“You mean a therapist?” She said and it sounded triumphant. “Because he handles mostly postpartum depression, but I could find you someone really good. What do you think the problem is?” “There’s no problem.” I said quickly between clenched teeth, “I just need a better way to unwind or someone to… I don’t know. A second opinion.” “On what?” Mariene sounded truly concerned now.

I looked up at the slate-grey sky and sighed, “it’s nothing.” My shoulders drooped, “it was nice talking to you.” I said in a tone that didn’t really convey the sentiment at all.

“Wait,” Mariene said quickly, “Anika, don’t hang up. If it’s really bad, you can stay with me. Or maybe get an apartment of your own! You’re almost 30 and living with 3 other people is--” “Goodbye Marienne.” I hung up. I looked over my shoulder as I had been doing for weeks now ever since a that first panic pumping night. That first feeling of something, something I couldn’t see approaching.

I checked the park one more time but only saw the squirrels in a trash bin and an old man sleeping on a bench nearby. I got up and told myself that I hadn’t heard from it in awhile now. “I’ll just go back to my apartment,” I rubbed my face. “And sleep.”

“And sleep” was mostly wishful thinking at that point. I hadn’t slept well in awhile. Soft bits of snow started to fall and catch in my hair and eyelashes. I took a deep chilly breath that prickled in my lungs and grounded me. I started walking. I had taken to wondering at night and going in random directions.

I had to use google maps to get home on these nights. I followed the little blue line on my phone down a dark narrow street that directed me toward home. That’s when I heard the distinct echoing.

“Oh.” I said.

Clack, clack, clack

It’s steps reverberated through the dank street and I looked around me. Belatedly, I realized that I had chosen the one street in all of New York that was empty. “Do you only come,” I looked behind me and it seemed even quicker than the last time we met. “When I’m alone?”

Clack, clack, clack

Did it keep getting faster, closer, better at this each time? I couldn’t tell. I started hurrying down the long dark street with empty buildings on either side of me. I needed to find people. I just needed to find some other living breathing person.

Clack-clack-clack-clack

I looked behind me and in the soft fallen snow I saw it’s footsteps. They weren’t shoes or toes or even paws. It was something much worse.

I let out a scream and turned a corner. I ran straight into an old woman with her hair falling out and a sallow look to her skin. “Oh thank God,” I grabbed her and turned, “do you see that?!”

I pointed to the place where the steps were misshapen and lumpy in the snowfall.

“See what, dear?” She asked with her eyes squinted and I remembered to breath again.

“Nothing.” I collapsed onto the ground next to her, “nothing at all.”

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

Things were different after that. I went out more. I went dancing so much the blisters on my toes had blisters. I stayed in crowds. I never stayed home. I considered getting a cat, but then what if it hurt the cat when we were finally alone? I knew I had started to bother my friends. They gave me irritated looks when I third-wheeled on nights out with their boyfriends. I knew I was getting annoying when I clung to them and looked over my shoulder wherever we went. I knew I was distracted and not much fun.

It didn’t help that Molly saw me sliding a giant knife into my purse. It didn’t help when Olivia asked me what was in my pocket jokingly and reached in to find handfuls of sand. I couldn’t give her the proper explanation. I couldn’t tell her that I needed to see if it was coming.

It stayed at bay though, as long as I was never alone.

I went back to the house on Chestnut Hill. I suspected that’s where it started-- with the dust and the baby crib. However, when I finally found the address that Olivia gave me the place was completely empty with a “for sale” sign out front.

I couldn’t find the owner’s new address and when I tried to find the basement I couldn’t find that either.

It was midwinter when my friends finally had an intervention.

“We think you need some me-time.” Carmen said factually as we sat in the middle of the living room. “Why don’t you stay home tonight and give yourself a spa night?” She smiled tightly.

They all stared at me from places on the couch and I didn’t even care that we hadn’t had fun together in months. I just needed them to be in the room.

“Sure.” I said with an absent nod. “We can do a spa night tonight.” “Well, babe,” Olivia said slowly, “I’m going to do some me-time tonight in my studio. By myself. Carmen is going on a date with her boyfriend. And Molly is going to visit her parents tonight.” I turned to Molly. “I’d love to see your folks. It’s been too long.” I gave a strained smile.

Molly shook her head. “They saw you last week.” She said with an equally strained smile. “And I was thinking… it would be nice to be only me and them. You know, with my dad being sick and all.” I clenched my teeth, “Of course.” I went on, “but I’d love to give him some get-well presents.” “And you can!” She said, “but not tonight.”

She got up to leave and I turned to Carmen. I opened my mouth and she put her hand up. “No.” She said, “I let you come out with me and Isiah last time and you wouldn’t even leave us alone on the pier. Just, no.” My face fell as she got up to leave as well, “this isn’t healthy.”

I got up as well, “fine.” I said, “I’ll go out by myself.” I could certainly spend a night in the park or at yet another club again.

I heard a collective sigh and Olivia took my shoulder, “do what you need to do.” She kissed my cheek, “but you need to get some rest.”

Rest? It sounded like a joke at this point.

I shook my head. “Let me just get my bag and I’ll go downstairs with you all.” I said and hurried to my room. I expected them to wait. They always waited before. Olivia was my best friend and she would never leave me.

I came back to the empty living room.

Pat-pat-pat

It was so fast now. I let out a small cry before dashing out into the hallway. I barely made it out where I banged on every single one of my neighbors doors. “Please,” I hit 603 with my bare hands and tried the door knob, “please, please come out.” Pat-pat-pat-pat

I ran from door to door banging and yelling and running as the thing’s enormous weight bore down. I felt a hot breath on my neck.

“What is it?” A family-man with a beard burst out of room 610. “Are you alright?” I exhaled as the heat from the things mouth disappeared. The tears were streaming down my face then and I reached for my phone, “I’m sorry.” I said and then I made a phone call to the one person I thought might still want to see me.

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

Derick walked in the door with his slouchy jeans and tousled brown hair. He wore a sheepish look on his face and hung back the second he entered the apartment. He was just in time after the guy from 610 left. Derick rubbed the back of his neck as we exchanged looks, “Uh, I guess you heard me and Serina broke up.” I shook my head. “I heard.” Derick seemed to see me for the first time, “babe, why are you holding a baseball bat?” He frowned, “And why did you call me here? Last time we talked you said you’d like to see me dead.” “It doesn’t matter.” I said blankly. Robotically. “None of it matters. You still want me. Yes?” “I mean,” he shifted from foot to foot. “We had fun together. We dated for five years, that wasn’t nothing.” “It wasn’t.” I agreed. “And we could be together again.” His face emptied, “You said we wanted different things though, like, kids and a house. I still want those things, Anika.” I was so tired. I dropped the baseball bat and walked over to him. I wrapped my arms around him so he wouldn’t escape and buried my face in his chest. “Let’s have kids.” I said blankly, “lets have as many kids as we possibly can.” “Alright?”

“But you have to promise me,” I squeezed him tightly around the middle and he grunted as I dug my nails in. “Never,” I seethed between my teeth. I was still shaking somehow and maybe I would never stop shaking. “Never ever leave me alone.”

#horror story #supernatural #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #original story #my work #creepy story #short story #cw: long post #any and all feedback would be appreciated!

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howfarwevecome · 5 years ago

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CHAPTER 1: AFTER THE END

He found her the following morning as he went to gather wheat for the day’s bread. She was an odd sight, beautiful but broken, slouched on the ground with her arms folded around a large box strangely decorated with pink hearts.

Pale skin covered in blood, scars and sweat, her brown hair tied back in an oily mess of a ponytail. She wore a white singlet in-scripted with some strange brand name and the remains of a bright orange jumpsuit, strange boots strapped to her slightly curled legs. She was breathing faintly seemingly in a rough sleep, as if half way through a nightmare.

Sighing he approached, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. She woke with a start and stared up at him confusion flashing in her grey-blue eyes, underlaid with déjà vu and mild disappointment as if he wasn’t the person she was expecting to see.

“ah, miss? Are you okay?” He asked concerned, stepping back to give her some room as she glanced around, “you look as if you’ve been through hell. What happened?”

She shook her head, placing a hand on her forehead and blinked, but made no move to respond. With a small sigh he offered her a hand and helped her to her feet, stepping back but remained close enough to catch her if she collapsed.

Once she was on her feet she seemed to regain some function. She blinked again and took a breath, shaking her head once more to clear her mind. Seeing as she seemed to have gotten some sense of consciousness back he decided to ask another question.

“what’s your name?”

For a while she just stood there as if the question confused her, but she soon glanced up, making direct eye contact for the first time since their meeting, and made a slight movement with her hands. The man stepped back confused.

“sorry, I don’t understand sign-language,” he admitted and she glanced away in defeat, “but I’m willing to learn,” he added giving a smile as she glanced back at him.

“i’m Mitch, by the way, Mitch Stevenson.”

Smiling in return the woman knelt down to write something out in the dirt. Motioning to the small sentence in the dust she signed it out as the man read: I’m Chell.

“Chell,” he smiled warmly, glancing back up at her face, “great name. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Chell.”

She nodded, signing like-wise and they shook hands. After a minute or so they drew apart and that was when the woman glanced down, spotting for the first time since their meeting the odd curved blade at the man’s side, and the large wicker basket already half full with mechanical junk. Following her confused gaze he glanced down.

“Oh,” he laughed, running his fingers through his sand coloured hair, “parts, for my workshop. I’m an experimental mechanic you see, kind of a hobby of mine. Although my real job is... it’s kind of stupid really. I run a bakery, that’s why I’m out here actually. Fresh supplies for the store. If... if you’d just give me a few minutes i could take you back to town with me? If you’re interested, i mean. Do you have anywhere you have to go? Family even?”

She shook her head and in the end decided to take him up on his offer. Settling down on the strange cube she waited, watching as he gathered up his sickle and went to work. As he worked, he chattered happily, barely seeming to mind that she couldn’t answer or that he couldn’t understand her if she did. She didn’t mind either, she was just happy to have found such a friendly man to be with after almost a lifetime of danger.

“It’s amazing what you can find out here,” Mitch continued, taking a moment to wipe sweat from his forehead, he turned back and motioned beyond the small barn with his sickle, “take over there for example. You’d assume at first glance that it’s nothing but wheat for miles, but just a little bit down the hill, near a small lake is a giant junkyard full of the most amazing and bizarre machinery i have ever seen. Don’t even know where any of it came from. It’s almost like it just appeared out of nowhere.”

She gave him an absent smile as he turned to her for an answer, shrugging it off as clueless. It was only when he went back to work did she allow her true feelings to show on her face. Giving a silent sigh of remorse she glanced away, rubbing a hand gingerly along one of the burns on her shoulder, a reminder of the bomb she had miraculously survived.

In that one moment her mind was forced back to the night before, and the bright moon shining overhead. Deep down she had wanted it to be a dream, a horrid nightmare and nothing more. That was why—she admitted to herself— she had been disappointed by the sudden sight of Mitch.

At a glance he had been easily mistaken for him. But on a further observation she noticed obvious differences: hair too dark, sandy while his had been gold, eyes didn’t have the same glow and had a faint green undertone, and height, although Mitch was tall it wasn’t quite the same. Mitch was also a lot stronger in comparison, well muscled and fit. In the end she had to admit, and hated herself for it, that Mitch was rather attractive.

I shouldn’t have let go, the thought came unbidden, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself that it had been GLaDOS and not her the thought still lingered, i should have held tighter... i should have grabbed him...

That was when she noticed the tears. Hurriedly she wiped them away just as Mitch glanced up, a bunch of cropped wheat in his hands. He smiled at her and she forced herself to return the expression.

“That should be enough for a few loaves, let’s head back to town.”

Nodding Chell forced herself to her feet and picked up her companion cube, struggling a little under the loaded weight. Things would have been so much easier if she still had her portal gun. Unfortunately she had left it behind, just another bad memory wanting to be forgotten. Giving a quick nod to Mitch she followed behind, allowing him to lead her into town and hopefully—she thought to herself—a better life...

...

The town was small, nothing more than a few houses spanning across a couple of streets. It was even hard to tell the difference between storefronts and houses, many having been combined sometime ago. In the middle was a wide square of pure green grass, not a single sign of settlement could been seen. The sight was both beautiful and intimidating to her, this being the first time since she could remember seeing this many people.

All of them seemed to know Mitch on sight and would call out and wave as he made his way through the streets. The place being small enough for everyone to know everyone else. Which was also the reason why everybody they passed seemed to take a second glance when they saw her, that and her strange outfit accompanied with that large cube.

They continued on, passing a small group of kids playing in the road, being over-watched by a few gossiping parents. A few children stopped to watch them pass, one boy snickering at Chell’s dirtied clothes, another wondering out loud what was in the box, both got scolded by their mother, who apologised to them before hurrying both boys inside. Mitch laughed outright, telling her not to worry, they would all grow accustomed to one another as the days go by.

They walked until they came to the last house on the street. The building itself wasn’t that big or grand, old white brick, possibly reaching two stories. The front of the house, quite like the others, appeared to have been remodelled into a quick setup bakery, the back half being blocked off as the living quarters. Dwarfing the whole building was a large grey garage next door, which was clearly Mitch’s workshop.

They both paused at the front, Mitch taking a step forwards to unlock the door, only to be nearly blasted off his feet when it was forced opened from the inside and he was wrapped in a sudden hug.

“Welcome home, big brother!” Squealed the girl, who’s dirty blonde hair sprung up like ringlets around her rounded face.

He laughed and returned the hug, “hello Matty. Just the person i was looking for, actually. Matilda this is Chell. Chell this is my little sister Matty. Don’t let her appearance fool you, she’s the town’s tailor. No one knows fashion better than her. Just ignore the fact that she acts like a kid.”

Does she have a medical degree, Chell thought to herself, not unkindly as they shared a rather awkward hug, in fashion? From France?

“Oh you poor thing,” Matty fawned, holding Chell’s hands out to observe the scares on her skin, “you’ve been through the wars haven’t you? What happened?”

“Oh i should have mentioned,” Mitch broke in as Chell pulled her hands back awkwardly, “Chell can’t exactly talk.”

“Oh, sorry,” the young woman pulled herself back, before returning with a bright smile, “you’re full of mysteries aren’t you? I want to learn everything about you. I just know we’re going to be... really... good... friends...”

giving another squeal she gave Chell another unwanted hug, “why don’t you get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll get some clothes ready.”

Before either Chell or Mitch could answer she ran off, disappearing into a side room. Once she was out of sight Mitch sighed, running his fingers through his hair and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry about that. Hope you don’t mind being her toy for this afternoon.”

At Mitch’s words she moved back, adapting an almost defensive stance before letting her agitation go with a sigh. In the end she shrugged, she needed some new clothes anyway and didn’t really have any other option.

He motioned a thumb casually over his shoulder, “bathroom’s over this way if you want to wash off first.”

Nodding her thanks she made her way in that direction. A shower was what she was looking forwards to most of all, to finally rid herself of all the sweat and blood. That and the fact that her hair really needed a wash, it was just the perfect way of finally getting rid of everything.

Nearly half an hour later she was out, dressed only in a towel, steam rising from her skin and drenched hair. She stood awkwardly in the back room lounge-room, waiting for Matilda while Mitch busied himself with the baking. If it was up to her she would have just gotten redressed in her current jump-suit, but she had to admit to herself that her old outfit was nothing more than trash now.

It took a few more minutes but eventually Matty returned, bringing in with her a rack of clothes in almost every colour and size, stacks of shoes and scarves accompanying the set.

“sorry it took so long,” Matty huffed, ever smiling, “but I couldn’t find a colour that best suited you, so I figured why not choose for yourself?”

Hearing his sister’s voice Mitch stuck his head in, dusting his hands of flour.

“aren’t those Madeline’s old shoes?” He asked, to which Matty shrugged

“i’m sure she won’t mind,” she answered just minutes before there was a knock at the door. The siblings both smiled at each other.

“speak of the devil,” Mitch smiled as he went to answer the door

Though she was smiling pleasantly Chell could tell that their older sister was more strict than their younger. Tall and thin where Matty was short and soft. Even their sandy coloured hair was styled differently, Madeline’s being long and straight. Smiling she came over and gave Chell a quick, welcoming hug.

“welcome to the neighbourhood,” she said before moving back to address her brother

“Sorry about the short notice but the others have decided to host a ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ party for miss Chell here. It’s a big deal you see, her being the first new coming in literally years. Mitch make sure to bring your best batch of pastries and Matty... help Chell find something nice to wear. Hopefully something that brings out her eyes.”

With that she made a quick farewell and left, as prompt as if she owned the place. Sighing Mitch shook his head.

“That Sissy, always having to act like the boss, just because she’s older than us,” smiling he turned to Chell, “Mad is a very busy person around here, and very renowned, not only does she manage the local grocery store she also part time’s as a teacher at our school. Well i better get started with the pastries. Matty, you’re up.”

The squeal of excitement she made would have been enough to send any dog within the area into a frenzy. A couple minutes later Chell had been fitted out in a silvery blue gown that, although it folded perfectly to her body, revealing curves even she didn’t know about, it was still flowy enough to splay out when she twirled.

She glanced in the large oval mirror Matilda provided, swaying from side to side and admiring the fabric, a genuine smile crossing her lips at the sight as Matty fussed about with her hair, deciding whether or not it should be up or out. in the end they went with up. Finally a little makeup to show off the linings of her face and a silky scarf that matched the gown’s silvery colour to hide most of the burns and she was ready.

The celebration was to take place in the grassy clearing in the middle of town and went all afternoon and well into the night. Chell was tossed between people all evening, learning names and hearing stories until long after the sun had set. Finally the last introductions were given and the party started to break up. As she made her way back across the field she found herself walking along side Mitch who sighed up at the darkening sky.

“Beautiful night,” he noted, forcing her attention up to the sky for the first time that day, and the slowly rising glow of the full moon, “so clear and peaceful. Oh, i got an idea, why don’t you come star gazing with me?”

The sudden question caused her eyes to widen. Shaking her head fiercely she fumbled with the little notebook they had given her and wrote out a quick excuse: tired... big day...

Sighing but trying desperately to not let his disappointment show he relented and offered to walk her to Matty’s house, where they had agreed she would stay until things could be more permanently set out.

“Next time, then,” he said, smiling to cover up his disappointment and it was only when they had reached the front door of Matilda’s house did she answer with an uncertain: next time...

...

They had gotten her set up in the spare room at the back of the house, right next to Matty’s, fitted in one of Madeline’s old light purple pyjamas. The window next to her bed had it’s blinds closed on her request, but they still didn’t close all the way, causing a small beam of silver-white light to sliver through the glass, flowing across her pillow as she tried to sleep.

Against her better judgment she rolled over on the well-worn mattress and almost forced herself to focus at the glowing, milky sphere. Tears stung her eyes as she rolled back to face the darker, more reassuring wall, rubbing the palms of her hands against her eyes with force enough to hurt, but it still wasn’t enough to stop herself. in the end she gave up trying and allowed herself to cry silently. Apologising over and over in her mind as she finally drifted off to sleep.

I’m sorry.

I’m so—

#wheatley #portal #portal 2 #chell #aperture science #fanfiction #glados #space #portal fanfic #chelley

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daybreak-delusion · 5 years ago

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Chapter 9

Introduction: Whitney Goodwinson was planning on inheriting one of her deceased grandmother's properties, but not a little house off the coast of North Carolina. As she struggles to meet new people, fix up her new property, deal with troublemaker JJ Maybank, and perfect her grandmother's infamous lemonade, she might just find that the Outer Banks has more to offer than it seems.

Series Masterlist

Previous chapter

I want to say that on Sunday I was totally independent and was totally not missing the presence of a certain golden boy at all, but I’d be lying to myself. It wasn't a complete waste of the day though. I did manage to drive the Bee (my new nickname for the Volkswagen) to the hardware store that I saw yesterday and picked up some essentials for fixing up the house. Blue tape, a bunch of paintbrushes and rollers, a couple of gallons of primer and white paint, drop cloths, this anti-rust spray for the garage, about a million trash bags, and some other items that I had to pre-order. The store had limited options for paint so I had to order some from a manual and it would be coming later this week. I figured I would stick to the yellow/lemon theme that she had going on and picked a shade of light yellow. Since the paint should be arriving in a week I had time to get everything situated. Somehow I managed to shove everything into the Bee and make it home. I mean back to the Lemon House. Back at the house, I placed all of my new equipment on the back porch and then headed to the garage. My task for today was going to be cleaning out the garage. I parked the Bee closer to the house so I could have more space and started to realize the trouble I was in. There was just so much junk and the last thing I wanted to do was find the pests that had made a mess of the place. I decided to change into a more suitable outfit for the deep cleaning I was about to do. After switching my sandals for some sneakers and putting on some leggings I made my way back to the garage with a trash can, recycling bin, and a box of trash bags. It was gonna be a long day.

The boxes were filled with all kinds of things. There were old suitcases filled with clothes, rusty pans with ancient stains on them, old fashioned jewelry, and a bunch of old photographs that were in good shape. I was really conflicted about what to get rid of and what to keep. I decided to ditch the pans and pots seeing that they were out of shape. I kept the clothes in case there was a thrift store I could donate them too. Most of the stuff could also be given to thrift stores or antique shops, but there was one box underneath this ancient-looking blanket that seemed different from the others. First of all, it was an actual wooden box, not like the cardboard boxes that had held all of the other items. Unfortunately, there was a lock on the box and it wouldn't open. I didn’t want to break it in case I broke something in the box. Then I remembered the bulletin board where I found the car keys. Walking over to it there were a bunch of different labels for different keys, but one of them didn’t have a label. I figured it was my best bet. Thankfully it was a pretty good bet. When I opened it, a disgusting spider the size of one of Grandmother's lemons crawled out and I bolted out of the garage screaming, knocking over a few boxes in the process. It took me a couple of minutes to calm down and I reluctantly walked back into the garage with a baseball bat I found in my hands. I was shaking as I started to open the box again until I was sure the spider had disappeared. In the box were a bunch of misshapen things covered in old linen cloth and unfortunately spiderwebs. Not wanting to be in the pest infested room anymore I decided to take a break and bring the chest on to the porch. It was a lot lighter than I expected and stained my gray shirt with dust. I placed it on the porch and went inside to grab a damp cloth to clean off the dust. Sitting on the porch I cleaned the box and opened it again. The first misshapen item was a gold locket in good condition, I was excited to see what was in the compartment only to find it empty. The next item was a silver ring with a crop of wheat engraved on it. It was a bit bulky for my taste and definitely had belonged to a man at one point. I slipped it onto my thumb and thought it looked nice with the rest of the rings that I had on. Then at the bottom of the box was an old cracked leather journal with yellow pages. On the bottom right-hand corner the name Elenora Stanton was engraved in gold letters. I instantly knew this stuff belonged in a museum or something the date on the first page was from April 1843.

“Holy shit,” I whispered to myself stroking my hand across the faded ink. The writing was in a small cursive that I could barely make out. It would be easier to read with a magnifying glass. I carefully wrapped the leather-bound book in the white cloth and placed it back into the box. Walking inside I cleared a space for it on the table and set the box down. Thankfully from my knife search when I was making lemonade I got an idea of where everything was in the kitchen and I remembered seeing a magnifying glass in a drawer with a bunch of other random items. I brought it over to the table and opened the old book again. Thank god Mother made me practice writing in cursive or this would have been a nightmare.

23 April 1843

Dear friend as of today, I am eighteen years of age and now get to embark on the responsibilities of an adult. I had received many good wishes of health and good tidings for my birthday and my dearest younger sister Juliana gifted me my most favored gift, this diary. I was also gifted a new church dress from Mother and Father and Aunt Alice promised to take me into town to buy a new corset. She said that all adult women should own a suitable corset and if I am to live with her and Uncle Harry this summer it would be an absolute necessity for me to own one. Mother wishes I would stay home and help care for my younger siblings, but I find it absurd that she puts the task of looking after them on me. If Mother feels too overwhelmed with her offspring then she should simply just hire a nanny. I pray that whoever she hires will be able to keep her sanity after a week of working with my siblings or perhaps Juliana will have to bear my burdens. No matter I mustn’t worry about my family anymore. I am an adult as of today and now am able to focus on the wishes of my own heart. In all truthfulness, my wishes are few in number, but this summer I hope to make more. Aunt Alice says that Outer Banks is a marvelous island and I count the days until we depart. Nonetheless, I still have time to prepare for my departure, till next time dear friend!

30 April 1843

Dear friend this week has been excruciating. Father is beginning to go back on his promise to let me live with Aunt Alice this upcoming summer. He is skeptical of the owner of the island being a colored man and all, but Aunt Alice says that to be truly Christian we must see and treat all people as the children of God and that my father is little-minded. I would never speak to Father with such forwardness so to help my case I have been taking on extra tasks and duties around our home. Juliana has been accompanying me in my tasks as she will be taking over my responsibilities as I predicted. She is quite a quick learner and I’m sure she will be able to manage all of my duties when I leave for the summer. Today we-

The rest of this entry was just explaining all of the chores that Elenora and Juliana had to do on a daily basis. I was incredibly fascinated with the diary and was confused as to why it was in Grandmother's garage? I am interrupted from my thoughts by a buzz coming from my phone on the table. I placed a stray piece of paper where I left off and reached for my phone. Checking my phone I noticed a text from an unknown number.

U/N: Hey Whitney it’s Sarah! My friends and I are going to the beach tomorrow afternoon! I remember you said your board was coming in tomorrow, but if you don’t have it yet John B has an extra one you could borrow! BTW this is nonnegotiable you are coming! We’ll be by at 1. See ya then!

Oh thank god, I was so scared it was going to be Rose Cameron inviting me over for brunch or something.

Also, my mom wants to know if you can do brunch sometime.

Great. Oh well, I guess there could be worse things than free food.

Me: Tell your mother that brunch this Saturday will be fine and I would love to go to the beach with you guys! About the board, I’ll be sure to let you know if I need it or not.

Sarah: Sounds like a plan and be by your dock at 1

Me: Got it see you then!

I was excited to finally have plans that didn't involve me having to wear a dress. I just hope that my board would get in before the afternoon, I’d hate to have to be a bother. I eyed the journal and decided to continue reading. What else did I have to do?

The next few entries were about Elenora’s daily life. Taking care of her siblings, washing the laundry, having tea with her mother’s sewing group, and walking through town with her friends. It was starting to become boring until an entry from June 3rd.

3 June 1843

Dear friend today is the day! I am finally leaving this simple town and am leaving with Aunt Alice and Uncle Harry to The Outer Banks of North Carolina. My soul has reached happiness beyond my comprehension. All of those days of labor around the house finally served a purpose in my measly life. Now I will be embarking to a new place where hopefully anything can happen. Nonetheless, I will not be staying there without a purpose, I am to work in Uncle Harry’s tailor shop mending minor rips and sewing on buttons and such. Mother and father are still reluctant for me to leave our household, but Aunt Alice is most persuasive especially when her favorite niece is involved. We will leave today at noon and then will stay in a tavern closer to the ferry we will take tomorrow. I am just jittery with excitement, this will be a new area for me to explore and I cannot wait to see where it takes me! Till next time dear friend!

It was so strange that this lady, Elenora, was so excited to come to Outer Banks, and just two days ago this was the last place I wanted to be. Maybe I was being a bit ungrateful, maybe this place had more to offer than it seemed. I was absolutely fascinated with the diary, but for real why did Grandmother have it? Maybe she bought it in an auction or it was a gift or something. Looking at my phone for the time I realize it’s a quarter past 1 and I still need to clean out the rest of the garage. Sighing, I closed the diary with a makeshift bookmark and left the house. Bagging up the clothes took the longest, but with the music playing, I didn’t really mind it that much. I had also gotten used to the heat, kind of, so it wasn't completely unbearable. After cleaning everything out and dusting some of the hard to reach corners I decided to power wash the garage. It was disgusting, but it had to be done. The garage was still wet so I decided to bring the remaining boxes to the porch. I was definitely done cleaning for the night and needed some relaxation time. So I cooked up some pasta and steamed vegetables and sat down for dinner. As I was eating my lonely feelings were coming back to me. I was craving company and turned to the diary for something to do.

10 June 1843

Dear friend, I have been staying with Aunt Alice and Uncle Harry for a week now and it has been a thrilling experience. On the ferry ride to the island Uncle Harry let us sit on the top deck and it was exhilarating leaning over the edge to see the water. The shop that Uncle Harry owns is the only tailor shop on the island so they are always busy. We stay in the apartment space above the shop and one of the windows in the parlor gives the most breathtaking view of the ocean. It is so vast and wide that I feel as if I am a small button on a white collared shirt. The apartment is quaint, but I have my very own quarters! There is so much space that I felt quite foolish when I only had my small bag to fill up the drawers. However, Aunt Alice says that if customers are satisfied with their work they sometimes pay extra and that I can keep the excess money for myself! Me owning my own money! It will truly be thrilling I know it. I pray that my skills will be adequate for the shop and that I will exceed my skills. There is still more work to be done, so until next time dear friend!

19 June 1843

Dear friend, I thought that my experiences here on this island could not have been better, but I was proven wrong! This week has been most eventful. It all began on Monday the 13th in the tailor shop. Denmark Tanny, the owner of practically the whole island, came into the shop. He was accompanied by his eldest son Robert Tanny and as they were discussing business with Uncle they mentioned the expertise work on the stitching of a new suit and it was my own work! Thankfully Uncle gave me the credit and I had the pleasure to make their acquaintances. They were truly delightful people and invited us to tea that coming Wednesday at their residence at Tannyhill. Their home was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen in my existence. It was a mansion. I felt so quaint in my three-year-old Easter dress compared to the lavish home. The Tanny family was most welcoming and tea went by too fast. The conversation was most interesting, although I did not speak much. They talked of the economy and politics and I was too mature on the subject. However what was most interesting was during the conversation I prayed my mind was not presuming it, but Robert kept looking in my direction. Looking back on the occasion I should not be assuming such things, but one cannot help themselves when the presence of an attractive male is in the room. When he smiles I feel nothing, but sunshine and complete bliss. The feeling magnifies when he smiles in my direction. I was anticipating our next meeting, however, Mr. Tanny did not come into Uncle’s shop for the rest of the week. Not all hope was lost however because today after our church services Robert Tanny asked to accompany me on my walk home. I almost fainted with excitement, however, I kept up my studious facade and accepted. On the pathway home, we talked of nature and the ocean. To my disappointment we arrived at the shop rather quickly however, Robert promised to take me to the beach to search for shells so that I may decorate my quarters. I am counting the second until this Thursday comes along. Until next time dear friend!

I wanted to keep reading, but I noticed it was past midnight and I still had a lot to do tomorrow. JJ would be by and I had a list of things for him to get done. I also needed to get enough rest if I was going to go surfing and I didn’t want to be the one lagging behind. Elenora’s diary was just gonna have to wait. As I fell asleep I tried to imagine myself in Elenoras place, wonderstruck about Outer Banks, and starting a relationship with a true gentleman. Oh, how things have changed. Still, the name Tanny sounded really familiar to me, especially their house, Tannyhill. This all did take place on Outer Banks, so maybe some of the places Elenora was talking about still exist. I would have to save it for another day because for now, I needed as much beauty sleep as I could get.

a/n: Hey guys sorry I haven’t updated in a while I am on vacation and have been going through a bit of writers block. But I am revived and am so excited to finish this story. Also like PLOT TWIST can’t wait for you guys to read what’s next! I’m still on vacation so I’ll try to update when I can.

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years ago

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All the Beautiful Pieces (Rated NC17) Chapter 10

Blaine Anderson is spending the summer after graduation flipping houses with his brother for Cooper’s total home renovation show. The show features the worst houses Cooper can buy, with Blaine playing the role of lackey so that Cooper can torture him in front of his viewers. The last house Blaine has to renovate is an original Victorian House in San Diego, CA, which is in terrible condition. But this house turns out to be more than just another job. It was once owned by a famous Vaudeville ventriloquist by the name of Andrew Smythe. It houses a very interesting collection of items - among them, two life-sized puppets. Blaine isn’t sure exactly why, but he’s drawn to them - especially to the one with the beautiful blue eyes. He convinces Cooper to give him the puppets, and Blaine starts to restore them. In the course of the restoration, Blaine finds out that neither puppet is simply a run-of-the-mill puppet, and Andrew Smythe was hiding a secret that will be the key to saving two lives.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 10 (7470 words)

A/N: Warning for a few dated homophobic slurs. I am determined to take the time during this quarantine to complete this re-write and finish the story. I hope that you join me on this little adventure. :)

Driving with Kurt turns into a major distraction for Blaine as the blue-eyed puppet stares up at the sky through the open window and sighs every five seconds.

“Oh, Blaine” - Kurt closes his eyes against the wind as the minivan breezes down the highway - “it’s nothing like I remember it.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Blaine asks, sneaking a peek at the puppet pulling his head in from the open window.

Kurt presses the button to close it, shutting it half way, then presses it again, lowering it an inch. He has developed a fascination with the buttons and switches that control things in the van – the door locks, the window switch, the seat adjuster. It had been adorable to watch Kurt spend the first five minutes of their trip swaying back and forth and up and down as he adjusted and re-adjusted his seat over and over.

“Both,” Kurt concludes after a pause. “I mean, I’m all for progress, and highways and tall buildings are a part of human civilization moving forward, but I don’t know …” He gazes out at the edge of the highway, where store after store and building after building blurs by. “There’s just something to be said about driving slowly down a dirt road and hearing the gravel underneath the tires, the birds flying overhead, seeing houses surrounded by green grass, cows grazing, and a chicken coop in the front yard, white picket fences, laundry hanging from a line …” Kurt sighs again, probably his hundredth sigh in the last half hour. But it’s peaceful, and Blaine knows he’ll never get tired of it. “I think I’m just an old-fashioned, silly romantic. The world has changed so much since I last saw it. I think I’m going to spend a lot of time playing catch up.”

Blaine wants to reassure Kurt that playing catch up in this new time period will be easy, but he bites his lip to stop himself. It won’t be easy for Kurt. Blaine knows it. And patronizing Kurt won’t change that. He comes up with something instead that he hopes will mean more to Kurt, give him something more substantial to hold on to.

“However long it takes,” he says, “I’ll be here to help you.”

Kurt’s glass eyes reflect the sunlight and blue sky overhead, making them look like they’re swimming with unshed tears. “Really?”

Blaine smiles. “I promise.”

As they turn onto Harbor Drive, Blaine’s eyes shift periodically to Kurt’s face, trying to gauge his reaction to returning to the house where he had been trapped for so long. But as they approach the old Victorian, Kurt settles back against the headrest and closes his eyes.

Blaine doesn’t ask. He understands.

Kurt isn’t ready to see it.

Gary’s U-Haul is parked by the curb out front. Standing beside it are Gary and two other men he brought with him to help. The first guy, Ted, Blaine knows. He’s a few years older than Blaine and studying occupational therapy at San Diego State University. Ted met Gary years ago when Ted was on the search for a porcelain doll for his mother for her birthday. It turned out that authenticating vintage dolls was a hidden hobby of Ted’s, and the day he walked into Gary’s shop, he rescued Gary from spending a fortune on dolls that turned out to be incredibly well-made counterfeits.

The other gentleman – an older man – Blaine doesn’t recognize. He’s standing off on his own reading a hefty, leather-bound book, while Gary and Ted talk over their game plan for the rest of the toys in the house. This man couldn’t be any more different from Gary and Ted if he tried. Where the other two men are wearing polo shirts and jeans, this older man is wearing a three-piece suit. He’s trim and tall, with generous flecks of silver interspersed in his stark black hair. Narrow reading glasses sit perched at the tip of his long, thin nose. His lips move as he reads, ignoring the other two men and their constant jabber.

From the looks of things, only Gary and his crew have arrived so far, which means everyone else would be showing up later on, while Blaine is inside the house and Kurt outside. Blaine hadn’t anticipated that. Usually everyone on the renovation team gets to a project house early. He doesn’t want anyone bothering Kurt when they arrive.

Blaine leans over to Kurt’s seat. “Okay, I’m going to be a couple of hours, but I’ll be in and out, so I’ll check in on you to make sure you’re alright.”

Kurt doesn’t open his eyes but he smiles, turning his face in the direction of Blaine’s voice. “Oh, Blaine, you are a gentleman. But don’t worry too much about me. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Blaine looks at Kurt’s face, serene and sparkling in the daylight. He’s staring, he knows it, but he can’t help it. Kurt is such an attractive puppet. He has such a kind and honest face. There are many compliments Blaine could give to Kurt in that regard that, unfortunately, wouldn’t be compliments at all. Blaine could say that Kurt is beautiful, which he is, but that might be more a comment on the masterful way he was made, and therefore a compliment to Andrew’s workmanship. Blaine would rather cut out his tongue than compliment that monster. Blaine could say that Kurt is handsome, as he was in all of those black and white photographs Blaine saw, but that would be a compliment to the person he was.

A person who doesn’t entirely exist anymore.

Whoever Kurt is, whatever he is, whatever miracle brought him to be, Blaine adores him - shamelessly so.

Of all the crazy, outlandish, off-the-wall things that could happen to Blaine, he has a thing for a puppet.

Go figure.

“Blaine?” Kurt whispers, his smile growing wider. “Are you planning on leaving anytime soon, or are you going to stare at me all day?”

Blaine’s cheeks go from tan to scarlet in award-winning time.

“I was … I was just wondering … uh …” He clears his throat “… if you’re going to be okay sitting here, or if you need a book to read or something.”

Blaine clamps his jaw shut when he remembers the only things he has in the van to read are the journals in the trunk.

“I’m fine,” Kurt assures him, “except …”

Uh-oh … he does want to read. Shit!

“Except …” Blaine repeats anxiously.

“If you can maybe find me some paper and a pencil? I would like to sketch.”

“Sketch?” Blaine mentally breathes a sigh of relief.

“Yes. I design clothes.” Kurt sounds contrite, like he’s apologizing for this thing that he enjoys, and Blaine longs to ask him who might have given him the impression that designing clothes was a bad thing. Kurt’s mother doesn’t sound like the type to discourage her son from a hobby like sewing, and Andrew, for all his faults, included a sewing machine in Kurt’s room, so it couldn’t have been him.

“Of course,” Blaine says, opening his door. “I’m sure I can dig some up. Give me a moment.”

“Mm-hmm.�� Kurt hums as he reaches for the button to recline the seat. “Take your time.”

Blaine hops out and shuts the door behind him. Cheers and applause go up from Gary and Ted, who wave his way, hooting and hollering like the over-excited fools they are. Blaine smiles and waves back, heading for his trunk.

“I’ll open up the house in a second,” he calls out, knowing that Gary is drooling to get his hands on the rest of those toys. Blaine admires Gary really. He’s living his dream - he owns his own business, makes enough to support himself in an expensive city like San Diego, and most importantly, he enjoys what he does.

If Blaine can achieve half of that, he’ll consider himself fortunate.

Blaine knows he has a notebook somewhere in the trunk, but with all of the things he’s packed and unpacked in the last few days, he doesn’t know where it ended up. He rustles through the usual automotive junk – first aid kit, jumper cables, a bottle of Armor All. He comes across a roll of paper towels and a half used bottle of Windex that he doesn’t remember ever seeing , but there it is, and it reminds him of the posters hanging in the kitchen – the ones with dust caked on so thick Blaine couldn’t see through it. He pulls them out, keeping a hold of them while he keeps looking. Underneath the backseat he finds his notebook, with a pencil shoved inside the spiral rings. He grabs it along with the three journals, hiding them strategically between his body and the cleaning supplies. He closes the trunk and walks over to Kurt’s window.

“Here you go,” he says, laying the notebook on the lap of the resting puppet.

“Thank you, Blaine,” Kurt says with eyes still closed. “Now go. I’ll be fine. I promise.” And he blows Blaine a kiss.

Blaine feels it land against his cheek as if it were a real, palpable thing.

“Alright, Kurt,” Blaine says, noticing how Kurt’s smile grows when he says his name.

Blaine heads to the house, gesturing to the other men with one wide wave. All three men look at Blaine’s van as they pass. Though none of them are close enough to peek inside and see Kurt stretched out in the front seat with his eyes shut, they must have caught a glimpse of him because he’s the first thing Gary mentions as Blaine starts unlocking the house.

“So, you’re driving around with them, Blaine?” he asks, sounding disturbed but amused by Blaine’s choice of company. “Is this a legitimate obsession, or just an attempt to defraud your way into the carpool lane?”

Blaine decides not to argue with Gary, knowing he’s mainly teasing him.

“You know, Gary,” Blaine says, sticking a key into the front door, “as an adult man who plays with dolls, I would think that you, of all people, might understand.”

“Wait,” Ted says. “You guys aren’t kidding, are you? You brought the puppet with you, Blaine!?”

Blaine turns and shoots Gary an accusing glance as the door swings open and he leads the trio inside.

“You told him?”

“I’m sorry, Blaine,” Gary says, not sounding sorry at all. “It just … came up.”

“What in the world were you guys talking about that the subject of my puppets came up in conversation?” Blaine props the door open, then starts pulling the drapes.

“Cheeseburgers,” both men answer in unison, leaving Blaine to shake his head.

“You took one of the puppets?” the older man sneers, speaking for the first time.

“Blaine” - Gary steps in before a potential argument breaks out - “this is Alex Norton. He specializes in Vaudeville culture, and he’s very interested in the puppets.”

“I purchased two of the puppets,” Blaine clarifies to the man staring him down through the wafer thin lenses of his spectacles, “from my brother, who owns the house and everything in it.”

“So, you purchased them without knowing what they’re worth?” The man’s nostrils flare with contained anger.

“I paid quite a bit for them,” Blaine says in his defense, swallowing a comment about the loss of his paycheck. “I’m pretty sure my brother got what they’re worth.”

“Like I said,” Gary interrupts, “he didn’t buy any of the franchised puppets, just two handmade puppets that were trashed in the basement.”

“Made by the original owner of the house, yes?” Alex over-enunciates each word, unnecessarily in Blaine’s opinion. “Andrew Smythe?”

Blaine bristles at the name. “What difference does that make?”

“That makes the puppets of historical significance.” Alex straightens, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Therefore, I will need to see the puppets.” Alex stares at Blaine, waiting to be lead out to his van, Blaine assumes.

“No,” Blaine says.

“No?” Alex repeats contemptuously, his glasses beginning to slide their way back down his nose.

“No.” Blaine stands firm. “You are free to see any puppet in the house, but those two are my personal property. They’re not available for you to see.”

“They are the only existing examples of Andrew Smythe’s attempts to make human-sized puppets,” Alex argues, leaning in in an attempt to intimidate him.

“Too bad,” Blaine says. “You can’t see them.”

Alex stares at Blaine and Blaine stares back, the air between them electric, waiting for a spark to set it off.

“Okay, guys,” Ted intercedes, hoping to diffuse the tension, “we have a lot of work to do. If Blaine doesn’t want to show off his puppets, he doesn’t have to.”

Alex’s upper lip curls, baring his teeth. He knows he’s lost, but his eyes darken nonetheless.

“Fine,” he says, the word a growl inside his locked jaw. He stands up straight, fixes his glasses on his nose again, and walks off as if he knows where he’s going.

Blaine watches him carefully, concerned with how comfortable he seems in the house.

“I apologize about that,” Gary says. “He’s … really passionate about his work.”

“Apparently,” Blaine says, thankful that Kurt is safe in the minivan outside, and that even Sebastian is securely locked up in the beach house.

“Come on.” Gary claps Blaine on the back as he eyes the man heading for the hallway. “Let’s get to work so I can get these glorious tin toys back to my shop.”

Blaine peeks out the window to make sure Kurt can’t be seen, then heads off down the hallway himself. He holds his head high as he passes Alex on the way to the dining room, barely giving the man any berth as he hustles by. Alex grumbles something beneath his breath, but Blaine doesn’t pay enough attention to pick up the remark. He heads straight for the posters hanging on the dining room walls and begins spraying the glass with Windex. He puts his books and supplies on the table and waits as the blue liquid cuts through years of grease and grime, spreading through the muck like fingernails scraping it off. He sprays each poster frame a few more times before he starts tearing paper towels from the roll and wiping, cleaning the glass completely before he steps back and takes a good look at them.

He was right in assuming they were theater posters – twenty in all, each one hung in order showing the rise and fall of “The Great” (a superlative he adds in his head with a sarcastic snarl) Andrew Smythe. The poster on the far left starts with Andrew’s act listed at the bottom in the tiniest type conceivable. As time progresses, Andrew’s listing on the bill rises. His act becomes ‘Andrew and Sons’, written in larger and larger typeface until bam! There he is - his face big as life. And even though his act is still titled ‘Andrew and Sons’, the picture on the poster is of him alone with a puppet sitting on his lap – Sammy, more than likely. A couple more posters have his face on them, but then a new face takes its place and his act, now listed as ‘The Great Andrew Smythe’, shrinks back down the list of names until it’s barely legible.

“Ah. The demise of The Great Andrew Smythe,” a nasally voice echoes through the room. “Tragic.”

“Yes,” Blaine says, “if you believe Andrew Smythe was great.”

Alex tilts his head and stares at Blaine aghast.

“He was one of the greatest performers of his time.”

“Maybe, but he was a crap father.”

Alex jerks back, scrunching his nose as if he’d smelled something offensive when Blaine opened his mouth. “How could you possibly know that?”

Blaine shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes flicking subconsciously to the journals on the table. “I’ve been doing research.”

“Well, did your research tell you that being a good parent wasn’t a pre-requisite for being an excellent performer? Nobody in particular cared how he treated his children.”

Alex makes this statement with such an absence of emotion that it feels like a slap in the face.

“To be perfectly honest, I couldn’t care less about Andrew Smythe or his precious act.”

“And yet you apparently spent a considerable amount of money to purchase two of his rarest puppets, which are now so important to you that you won’t let anyone see them.”

“That’s my business,” Blaine says, wanting a quick end to this so he can find a quiet spot and start reading the journals.

“And what about these posters?” Alex asks, pointing to the walls. “Are they to become victims of your indiscernible personal collecting habits, too?”

“No. They’re being donated to the San Diego Historical Society for their exhibit on Vaudeville,” Blaine says with a sardonic twist to his lips. “I hear it’s excellent. Very informative. You should go check it out.” Now would be nice, he thinks. He picks the journals up off the table. Alex watches him, zeroing in on the books in Blaine’s hands as if he recognizes them.

“What are those?” he asks, reaching out a hand like he’s planning to grab them away, but Blaine pulls them towards his chest.

“Homework,” Blaine answers sharply as he brushes past, heading down the hallway and back toward the living room. He decides to plant himself next to the living room window and wait for the other members of the team to arrive. With Alex in the house, Blaine needs to keep an eye on Kurt. He can’t see Kurt from the window because the puppet is lying back in his seat, but Blaine’s not taking the chance of Alex slipping out unseen and harassing him.

He leans his head against the glass and looks at the journals, trying to decide where he wants to start first. Figuring that going in order will be less confusing in the long run, he opens the journal dated 1924.

March 5 -

Dear Margaret –

Our little nine-year-old is quite the recluse. He also has one hell of a left hook, and because of that we are no longer with the Henderson and Co. traveling show. That’s alright, though. I always thought they were stealing from the till, anyhow. So what if it took their little bastard Billy getting a black eye for us to leave that roadside freak show? I know that traveling can be hard on Sebastian, but I think it’s just because he misses you that he acts out this way. He needs a friend. Hopefully we can glom on to another traveling show that has kids down the line. Who knows what will come our way? I love you and miss you always.

July 6 –

Dear Margaret –

I think I might have found the solution to the problem with our Sebastian … and his name is Kurt Hummel. We just finished a show in Columbus, and on our way through Lima, we found him. Well, Sebastian found him. He’s not much more than a slip of a boy, with the thickest head of brown hair you’ve ever seen, but he’s clean and polite and has a voice like an angel. If I didn’t know better, I would say that Sebby was quite taken with him. He was probably just blown away by this kid’s talent like I was. But there’s something different about this boy. He’s special – not only his voice, but the way he behaves, as if performing isn’t something he does, it’s something he is. I’m hoping that his father will let the boy come with us. I introduced myself, told him my piece, but the man became suspicious as all get out. I could just let the matter be, but I really think having Kurt in our act would be a God send. Wish us luck, Margaret.

July 30 –

Dear Margaret -

By golly, it worked. My sweet new acquisition has tamed your unruly son. The two rug-rats are thick as thieves. It’s almost like having you back here with us, Maggy. He cooks, he cleans, he sings all the time. From morning to evening, he fills the house with music. I feel bad for his papa though - losing a wife and now a son - but I promised the man I’d raise his son proper. Maybe with his talent in the mix we’ll finally make it to Europe like we always planned. Can’t you just picture it, Maggy? Headlining in Paris?

“Hey, Blaine,” Gary calls, his arms wrapped around a box filled with carefully wrapped metal toys, “aren’t you supposed to be filming us or something?”

Blaine doesn’t look up from the journal when he reaches a hand into the pocket of his pants and pulls out his webcam. He switches it on and points it in Gary’s general direction. Gary chuckles.

“You know, Cooper’s going to be pissed,” Gary says, adjusting the box in his arms and heading for the door.

“Yeah, well …” Blaine lets the comment die off as he closes the first journal and opens the second one.

March 14 –

Dear Margaret -

Boy, that Kurt is sharp as a pin. Every day he spends with us, I learn something new. Here he’s been with us for almost a year and I didn’t know he spoke French. Says his mom taught him when he was little. She must have been one hell of a woman, just like you, Maggy.

August 21 -

Dear Margaret -

I was a little worried taking Kurt on that he’d be sort of … delicate. You’d understand if you saw him. But he’s no nancy, I’ll tell you that. Kurt and Seb got themselves into one heck of a tussle the other day – the two of them against four older boys, all of them a foot taller, and boy oh boy, did Kurt lick ‘em good. Of course, I told them that I wouldn’t stand by fighting, not while we’re trying to make a respectable name for ourselves in the higher paying houses in town. And I disciplined them. I didn’t lay a hand on Kurt. It don’t feel right giving a hiding to another man’s son and besides, I’m pretty sure it was Sebastian’s mouth that got them into all that trouble, so he got a few extra lashings with the belt to teach him. But you would have been so proud to see that boy handle himself.

Blaine winces as he reads. He knows that Kurt, Sebastian, and Andrew lived during another era, in almost a completely different world. The twenties erupted in the middle of a turbulent time in American history, but that’s no excuse for the way Andrew treated his son – or the fact that he replaced him.

Blaine switches to the last journal – 1928. He does the math – if Sebastian was 10 in 1924, he’d be around 14 in 1928.

February 22 –

Dear Margaret -

Those two boys are inseparable. They go everywhere together, and they’re so similar, they could pass for brothers. So I call the act ‘Andrew and Sons’ now. It’s worked out well for us so far. The burlesque houses hire us for their matinees. It’s good to have a family act to offset the bawdier performances. With our name on the billboards, it keeps the Fuzz off their backs and we get a higher percentage of the pot.

Blaine skims through a few entries, stopping off and on when real life intervenes. He’s interrupted first by a phone call from the storage company, rescheduling again for the following day, and then by Alex when he boldly tries to read over Blaine’s shoulder. Gary swoops in and rescues Blaine by telling the dreadful man that he and Ted are ready to pack up the puppets and they need his help with the values. Alex gives Blaine a stern glare before he hobbles off after Gary and Ted.

Blaine turns to the back of the book, trying to find an entry that he saw earlier and thought looked promising.

October 15 –

Dear Margaret –

I wish you were here. It was the darndest thing. I went out to the shed behind the house and saw Sebastian kissing Kurt. It wasn’t brotherly nor friendly neither. It was a real, honest-to-God kiss. I’m not surprised with Kurt. I kind of suspected that his tastes tilted that way, so that doesn’t bother me. He’s a smart boy, and if that makes him happy, then so be it, but not Sebastian. I’m not raising a cake-eater. But it’s an easy fix. I’ll whore it out of him. I know you wouldn’t approve, Maggy, but there’s nothing else I can do. He turns fifteen come January. I’ll plan for then. In the meantime, I’ll have to find a way to keep them apart.

Blaine closes the journal. He’s had enough. He blinks his eyes, spots and shapes dancing in front of him as he recovers from Andrew Smythe’s wretched penmanship. He looks out the window in time to see Kurt raise his seat. From this distance, Kurt doesn’t look like a puppet. With his head titled, his eyes shut, a small smile curling his mouth, he looks like a human boy.

Blaine sees a car from another pawn shop pull up out front, and he runs to meet them with his webcam switched on. After Cooper’s demeaning phone call, Blaine isn’t too concerned with getting all the shots he claims that he needs, so he plans on only taking enough to keep his brother off his back. He ushers the men into the house and directs them down to the basement, filming as they look over the large tools and equipment, deciding what they can realistically sell. It takes a while to interview these new guys since they’re so focused with the job of rifling through the power tools, plugging each one in to see which ones work or not. As soon as Blaine gets the bare minimum of shots that he needs, he races back up the stairs, taking a brief shot of Alex discussing what looks like the last of the puppets with Gary and Ted, and then heads for Kurt sitting in the van.

“Hey,” Blaine says, trying to sound nonchalant while panting uncontrollably, “I came out here to make sure you weren’t getting too hot or anything.”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve felt the sun on my face?” Kurt sighs. “Or the wind?”

“I can only imagine.” Blaine cocks his head. “Do you feel it now?”

“Not really,” Kurt says, the smile on his lips taking a wry quality. “But I can remember them better when I’m outside than when I was locked up in the dark.”

Kurt’s comment tugs at Blaine’s heart. Tears prick his eyes at the thought of this beautiful boy locked up, shattered to pieces on that cold, damp floor, and he has to look away. He glances down and sees the notebook he gave Kurt open in his lap, the pencil stuck back in the spiral spine, two sheets of paper covered in drawings. Kurt didn’t sketch clothes like he’d said, but the living room and dining room of the house, drawn the way they might have looked when Andrew bought the place. Blaine stares in awe at the intricate details of the embossed wallpaper, the grain in the wood floor, the furniture, down to the tiny touches – portraits on the walls, statuettes on the mantel, books in the bookcase, and the tools by the fireplace, arranged so purposefully that Blaine can tell which one gets the most use by how it leans slightly while the others stand perfectly straight. Even the light streaming in through spaces in the drawn curtains gives hints to what time of day it is.

“Kurt … your drawings … are they of this house?”

“Sort of.” Kurt closes the book, keeping his eyes staunchly shut, and hands it to Blaine. “It’s a combination of the house we lived in with Sebastian’s dad and this one the few times I saw it.”

“They’re amazing,” Blaine says, thumbing through the pages. Kurt has sketched each upstairs bedroom, a bathroom, and also (Blaine discovers) a few outfits. They’re an older fashion, a match to the time period Kurt lived in.

“Thank you,” Kurt says.

“I’m close to wrapping things up in there,” Blaine mentions, setting the notebook back on Kurt’s lap. “We’ve probably got around another hour or so. Did you think about where you might want to go after this? The movies, maybe?”

Kurt raises one eyelid and peeks at Blaine.

“Do you think there’s some place we can go and see the sky?”

Blaine nods.

“I think I know the perfect place.”

***

“I’ve missed the beach so much,” Kurt says, sitting cross-legged on the retaining wall. His eyes travel up and down the shoreline, watching the white caps of the tide curl into the sand.

“Me, too,” Blaine agrees, his own gaze following Kurt’s.

Kurt turns and looks at Blaine. “But, don’t you live here?”

“No.” Blaine coughs, the confession he should have made before tickling the back of his throat. “Actually, I’m from Westerville, but I live in Lima.”

Kurt gasps, throwing both hands over his mouth. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope.” Blaine takes out his cell phone and opens his photo gallery. “Here. Take a look.” He scoots closer to Kurt so that he can better see the pictures on the screen. “These are a few of my friends from high school.”

“Where do you go?”

“McKinley.”

“Hmmm … must be new,” Kurt says, watching Blaine swipe the screen and change the photo.

“This is the Auglaize River last winter. The Glee Club went skating there over break.”

“That’s quite a handsome young man you’ve got your arms around,” Kurt remarks dryly, eyes darting away from the image of a tall blond grabbing Blaine from behind. Blaine smiles at the jealousy plain in Kurt’s voice.

“That’s my best friend Sam. He’s just a friend,” Blaine explains.

“You look close,” Kurt says, noticeably unconvinced.

“We are,” Blaine admits with a smile that slowly takes over his entire face.

“Quite.”

Blaine switches the photo, bypassing a few others with Sam in them. He wants to tease Kurt with the knowledge that he garnered from those journals, how Andrew had hoped Kurt could settle Sebastian down, how the two boys were so fond of each other, but it seems like a cruel memory to bring up. Kurt might not remember it that way and besides, thinking about that closeness starts to plant a seed of jealousy in Blaine’s mind.

Especially that kiss.

Blaine shows Kurt a few, more generic, pictures – the farmer’s market where the Secret Society of Superheroes Club held a food drive last Thanksgiving, the Lima Mall, The Lima Bean coffee shop where Blaine goes pretty much every day after school. Kurt looks at these photos like he’s absorbing the images into his brain, imprinting them there.

“It looks so different now,” he says. “I don’t think I’d recognize it if I went back there.”

“Do you want to go back there?” Blaine asks, closing the photo gallery and pocketing his phone.

Kurt looks at the ocean, sadly shaking his head. “No. There’s nothing there for me now.” He wraps his arms around his torso, runs his hands up his exposed skin.

“Do you want to leave?” Blaine assumes Kurt has caught a chill, forgetting for a moment that Kurt can’t feel the cold.

“Not yet. You know, back when I …” He stops. He stares off at the distance, then he shakes his head. “Do you think it’s more fitting to say when I was alive? Or should I say when I was human? I mean, if I’m speaking of the past, what do I say? How do I address it?”

“That’s a good question.” Blaine wraps his arms around his bent knees and squeezes. He’s definitely catching a chill, but he has no intention of mentioning it. “I would say that you’re alive. And I like to think of you as human. Maybe you don’t need to make the distinction.”

Kurt looks at his hands, turning them over front to back, examining them beneath the moonlight. As well made as they are, as much time was put into them, they don’t look like human hands. They glisten unnaturally, and his knobby knuckles reveal the fact that his digits separate, each piece held together by wire, every time he bends them.

He may be alive, if this is what alive is, but he’s far from human.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” he asks, looking at Blaine with his hands splayed in front of him. “I’m a puppet. I’m made of porcelain. I can’t have a normal life like you. I know you said you would help me, but how? What can I do?” Kurt drops his hands in his lap, helpless, and Blaine sighs. He feels just as helpless. He doesn’t know exactly how Kurt feels, but Blaine is human and still, most of the time, he has no clue what he’s doing. He can’t fix this, not completely, not right now. He doesn’t even know where to start. So he puts an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and holds him close, and together they watch the waves chase each other down the beach.

***

Blaine and Kurt return to the beach house late. They’re not covered in sand, so Blaine doesn’t rush to shower right away. He takes Kurt to his bedroom and sits him down on the bed.

“Okay,” Blaine says. “I had a thought. Hang out here for a second. I’ll be right back.”

Kurt nods, watching Blaine disappear out the door. He crosses the living room and heads for the opposite end of the house. These rooms Blaine doesn’t go to usually with the exception of the kitchen. Where his room and his brother’s room are situated side-by-side on one end of the house, the master bedroom and his parent’s library mirror them on the other.

It’s the master bedroom that Blaine ducks into.

When Blaine was younger, his mother used to sew a lot. It was a hobby that inspired him, but that she kind of grew out of the more “adult” she became. He can’t remember exactly when that happened, it just kind of did. She kept a basket of sewing supplies in the bottom of the closet, along with a few old fashion magazines, so Blaine always had hopes of her picking it up again.

To date, she hasn’t.

On their last visit here, his father, who is tall and thin like Kurt, left clothes hanging in the closet. He had planned to pick them up on their next summer trip, but there never was another one. Blaine looks them over, frowning at how out-of-style they are, but he hopes that Kurt can do something with them. Blaine pulls the clothes off the hangers, grabs the basket of supplies and a handful of magazines, and races back through the house, ignoring Sebastian with each pass.

“Here we go.” Blaine slides into the bedroom on his sock-covered feet and drops the supplies onto his bed. Kurt sees them and goes from sullen to ecstatic.

“Oh, Blaine.” He picks through the clothes and the magazines, smiling so brightly that Blaine thinks Kurt might burst into song. “Did you bring all of this in here for me?”

“Yeah. Well, I thought these clothes might fit you better.” He opens the basket of sewing supplies. “And if they don’t, you could alter them, maybe? And …”

Blaine stops when Kurt kisses him on the cheek. It’s brief, innocent, but it makes Blaine’s entire body tingle.

“It’s wonderful,” Kurt whispers. “Thank you.”

“Yeah? Oh. I’m glad you like them.” He stands and backs up toward the bathroom door while Kurt continues to sift through the items on the bed. “I’m just going to take a quick rinse, and then …”

“Are you going to work on Sebastian?” Kurt’s expression seems genuinely hopeful, but Blaine still has trouble interpreting that wary tone in Kurt’s voice.

“Do you really want me to?” Blaine asks.

Kurt pauses a second.

It’s a second in which Blaine thinks Kurt might say no.

“Yes,” Kurt says in the same unsure tone. “Yes, I do.”

***

Blaine’s shower is basically a dip beneath cold water to get his head straight before he jumps back out and joins Kurt for what could turn out to be a long, exhaustive night of repairing Sebastian. He has only been at it for fifteen minutes, but already he wants to throw in the towel. Sitting in a chair from the dining room that he pulled up in front of the loveseat, Blaine struggles to get Sebastian’s arm seated correctly. Whereas Kurt’s body felt magnetic, his broken limbs pulling together, longing to return to their body, Sebastian’s body feels like he’s repelling these pieces away. Maybe Sebastian doesn’t want to be put back together, Blaine muses.

Or maybe he doesn’t want help from Blaine.

If Blaine had the money to send him to a professional repair person, he would. At least it would get Sebastian out of the house for a few days. The longer he sits on the love seat staring blankly into space, the more unnerving it feels having him around.

Blaine wrestles with the piece, eventually fitting the arm in its socket. He threads the wires through, twisting them together and tying them, but they snap before he can finish. The sharp end recoils and hits Blaine on the arm, leaving a long scratch. Sebastian’s arm falls off his body and onto the love seat.

“Dammit,” Blaine screams, dropping Sebastian to look at his smarting wound, which sends the loose arm tumbling to the floor.

Kurt puts down his sewing and runs over to examine Blaine’s injured arm.

“Is it bleeding?” he asks, looking on with concern.

“I don’t think so,” Blaine hisses, “but it hurts like hell.” Blaine reaches for a box of tissues on the table while Kurt bends over to retrieve Sebastian’s arm.

“Blaine!” Kurt exclaims, getting on his hands and knees. “You didn’t tell me you had a cat!”

“I … I don’t.” Blaine leans to the right and peeks over Kurt’s shoulder. “Oh, is it a tabby cat?” he asks, remembering the fugitive cat that scared the living daylights out of him. “Apparently he’s found a way in here.”

“No!” Kurt gasps, pulling a furry body out from underneath the love seat. Blaine eyes the unmoving animal and groans low in his throat.

Great. The cat broke in again just in time to die in my dining room.

But what Kurt has in his hands isn’t the dead body of a tabby cat. It’s the puppet of a tabby cat - the same tabby cat Blaine had seen in the house before. It has the same inquisitive green eyes, the same ripple pattern to the fur.

“Abigail,” Kurt murmurs, gently stroking the animal’s coat.

“Abigail?” Blaine slides off his chair to kneel on the floor beside him.

“Yes.” Kurt smiles affectionately at the realistic-looking feline puppet with the silky fur and the sparkling green eyes. “Sebastian made her. His dad was teaching us to make puppets, and Abigail was Sebastian’s.”

“But why would Abigail be here?” Blaine asks. “I didn’t bring her here.”

“Abigail was the first,” Kurt says, petting the cat as if he expected it to spring to life any second.

“The first … what?”

“The first puppet that Sebastian’s dad tried the spell on,” Kurt explains, each word forming as if the memory comes to him in the instant that he speaks.

“A spell?”

Kurt’s eyes grow wide as he starts to remember.

“Sebastian’s dad bartered for a spell from the Calhoun family. A favor for a favor. It was supposed to capture any lingering soul and put it into the vessel of your choice.”

“But, why start with the cat?” Blaine asks. It sounds far too fantastic to be real.

But then again …

“Abigail wasn’t just any cat.” Kurt holds the animal up to his nose and stares into its eyes, trying to coax the creature to come alive for them. “She was Sebastian’s cat. His best friend back before I joined their group. She was a stray. Andrew didn’t really let Sebastian keep her. She followed them around because Sebastian fed her, and they couldn’t get rid of her. After she died, Sebastian said he always kind of felt her around. He swore he would see her dart out from behind corners, or feel her curl up next to him while he slept. She was always hiding under things and scurrying beneath toys and such, looking for mice …”

Blaine’s mind conjures up the sounds of scurrying he heard in the Victorian house when he first entered it, wondering if they might have been made by Abigail hunting around the piles of trash.

“He got the spell to bring us back, but he tried it out on Abigail first.”

“So, he was able to bring her back because she stayed behind? So that means that you stayed behind?”

Kurt puts Abigail down beside Sebastian on the love seat, moving the cat close to his friend’s body so that they can finally be together again.

“I couldn’t leave him,” Kurt says, giving the cat puppet one last pat on the head. “He was like a father to me. And he felt so guilty … I had to make sure that he was going to be okay.”

“And Sebastian?” Blaine bites his tongue. The answer is obvious, but Blaine doesn’t want to let on that he harbors secret knowledge of the motives of Andrew – or Sebastian - Smythe. After what Blaine read in those journals, he knows that Sebastian didn’t stick around for his father. No way. There’s only one person he would have stayed around for.

“He stayed around for me.” When Kurt turns and looks at Blaine, it’s with the ghost of tears in his eyes – tears that don’t exist but are as real as any others, brought on by emotion that Kurt can feel but can’t fully express. “That’s why you have to promise me you’ll put him back together.” Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s torso. “You have to fix him. Please? For me?”

“I will,” Blaine says, holding Kurt just as tightly in his arms. “I promised I will, and I will.” With his cheek resting in Kurt’s hair, he looks Sebastian over. He should fix Sebastian – at least give the poor guy another arm or a leg. He did promise Kurt. Sebastian’s puppet is made of wood and the pieces are not as extensively damaged as Kurt’s were, but fixing Sebastian feels like the last thing he should do.

He has a feeling that if Sebastian wakes up, he has the power to take Kurt away from him for good.

***

There must be rats somewhere beneath the floor. Or possums. Or maybe Abigail is up and roaming about the house, chasing dust bunnies or pouncing on her shadow. Either way, in his sleep, Blaine can hear the scrape, scrape, scrape of something moving across the wood floor.

Or maybe it’s a gnawing. He can’t tell in his half-asleep state.

His mind swims with dreams of Kurt: Kurt sitting on the sand at the beach, staring off into the water; Kurt dancing beneath the moonlight, arms outstretched to the sky; Kurt lying beside him where they fell asleep together on the living room floor, their fingers intertwined.

Kurt’s blue eyes, his smooth skin, his pink lips.

Blaine feels a tickle on his cheek, bothering him awake. He opens his eyes with a smile, expecting to see a tuft of orange fur, or maybe blue eyes staring at him from an already awake Kurt.

He hopes it’s eyes – stunning blue glass eyes.

Blaine’s eyes open slowly, holding on to as much dream as he can, even though he’s eager to spend another day with Kurt.

He focuses through slits. It’s eyes that he sees alright, but this time they’re not blue.

They’re green.

And they don’t belong to Abigail.

Blaine’s eyes snap open, realization propelling him awake.

Sebastian is lying out on the floor in front of him, nose pressed against his, wooden mouth split into a startling grin.

“Well hey there, tiger,” Sebastian says. “Don’t I get a kiss hello?”

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic

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tabloidtoc · 5 years ago

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Globe, November 30

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: The palace lured Princess Diana into death trap

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- Sienna Miller shooting Anatomy of a Scandal, former soap star Wanda De Jesus and longtime partner Jimmy Smits take a walk in Brentwood, Mama June Shannon gambles on plastic surgery

Page 3: Billy Dee Williams may walk with a cane but he doesn’t let that stop him from taking the wheel in West Hollywood, Joey Fatone at the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival, Ariel Winter lugs around a massive roll of bubble wrap in L.A.

Page 4: Courageous Al Roker has battled health problems for years and now his new devastating prostate cancer diagnosis seals his rep as the unluckiest man on TV

* Patrick Duffy and Linda Purl are proof that love can be just as wonderful in your golden years and now pals predict their whirlwind romance will lead them to an elopement -- the former Dallas star was heartbroken after his wife of 43 years died of cancer in 2017 but Happy Days alum Linda brought joy back into his life -- the greying sweethearts plan to spend the holidays with both their families and then go house hunting for their own place

Page 5: Kanye West thinks he’s so smart and wonderful and creative he’s showering bucks on a project to make a posse of his own personal mini-mes and he sees his clones as his gift to the world claiming it’s his duty to keep himself on the planet at all costs long after he’s gone so death doesn’t have to be the end of Kanye -- Kanye’s wife Kim Kardashian has given Kanye permission to double down on himself -- he’s also fascinated by cryogenics and no one would be surprised if he arranges to have himself stored in a chamber when he dies so he can be revived years later

Page 6: Britney Spears is having another family feud because she wants her dad Jamie Spears suspended immediately from his role as co-conservator of her estate claiming he installed a new business manager to run her $60 million fortune without consulting his daughter in what she brands a blatant attempt to get full functional control of her assets and books and records in the face of Britney’s objections

* Ryan Seacrest is turning into a bloated recluse as career and personal problems have worried pals thinking about an intervention -- he’s so devastated by his breakup with Shayna Taylor and the end of cash cow Keeping Up with the Kardashians that he’s shutting himself away for days on end and ignoring calls from friends and co-workers and only responding to texts and he’s stuffing his face with junk food and sloppy takeout and pizzas and he’s come close to belching on camera a few times

Page 7: Devastated widow Paulina Porizkova who her bitter husband Ric Ocasek cut out of his will even though she took care of him in his final days suffered a shocking collapse -- she had gone to Costa Rica with her sons for a change of scenery following the death of Ric who was divorcing her -- she says she had a total nervous breakdown in the airport and they had to put her in a wheelchair to take her back to the plane

* Abby Lee Miller is learning to walking again -- the former Dance Moms star had been using a wheelchair after undergoing chemo for Burkitt lymphoma and having life-saving spinal surgery but she’s now cancer-free and recently underwent an elective operation to help regain mobility -- even though Lifetime canned her plan spinoff Abby’s Virtual Dance Off over charges she’s racist she claims to have a scripted show and two reality series in the works

Page 8: Mike Tyson says he once used a prosthetic penis loaded with his infant son’s pee to pass a drug test during his hard-hitting heyday in the ring and although he swears he never took performance-enhancing drugs he has been blunt about his history of toking weed and snorting cocaine

* Pioneer Woman Ree Drummond reveals she has a foster son named Jamar -- Ree who has four children explains she couldn’t talk about Jamar until he turned 18 and state agency restrictions no longer applied

Page 9: Beloved Jeopardy! host Alex Trebek went to his grave harboring a bitter grudge against talk star and game show rival Regis Philbin -- Alex and Regis began their feud in 2000 when Alex slammed Regis’ Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? as a game show for dummies and Regis was deeply hurt by the dig and shot back that face to face if Alex says anything about Millionaire he’d just look him in the eye and say is that your final answer, Alex?

Page 10: Inside the modern Mafia -- blogs and blunders and killer cops

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- Adam Brody shows off his bod in Malibu (picture), Lamar Odom was seemingly back on a marriage track to wed fitness instructor Sabrina Parr next year but Lamar’s engagement was abruptly called off amid ominous sparks of ongoing trouble for the athlete and Sabrina sad she’s no longer able to be by Lamar’s side while he seeks the help he so desperately needs, Mina Starsiak of Good Bones wants a postpartum tummy tuck pronto, things got bristlier than an old broom for Anne Hathaway groveling her way out of massive fan backlash for her appearance on The Witches remake for the insensitive way she portrayed a three-fingered witch with split hands, behind the scenes at The Tonight Show where Jimmy Fallon recently extended his lucrative contract to host the struggling late-night talk show past 2021 but his head writer Rebecca Drysdale lasted six months of butting heads with Jimmy and his cronies before getting dumped

Page 13: Katie Holmes and boyfriend Emilio Vitolo Jr. (picture), Sean Stewart in a leg cast in Beverly Hills (picture), Busy Philipps puts on lip gloss on the NYC set of Girls5Eva (picture)

Page 14: Dave Grohl got scared stiff recording an upcoming album in an eerie L.A. home reportedly rocking with paranormal activity and when he got nosy about the place’s past he apparently got answers from the landlord along with an NDA form meant to keep him from spilling secrets, RHOBH star Kyle Richards’ half-sister Kathy Hilton is joining the show; socialite Kathy cold-shouldered Kyle and her husband Mauricio Umansky when he left her husband Rick Hilton’s real estate company to launch a rival biz

* Fashion Verdict -- Jana Kramer 7/10, Michelle Dockery 4/10, Gretta Monahan 3/10, Charlize Theron 2/10

Page 16: Ailing pop star Phil Collins is being so publicly humiliated by his two-timing ex-wife Orianne Cevey who dashed his dreams of a permanent reunion by secretly marrying another guy pals now fear for his life -- Phil is currently battling Orianne in court over his $38.6 million waterside Miami mansion which she and new husband Thomas Bates have now agreed to vacate but Orianne is demanding half of the home insisting Phil promised her a 50 percent share when they moved into it in 2016 -- Orianne also claims that Phil became a hopeless addict in 2017 hooked on booze and pain pills and after two years of drug hell he was incapable of having sex and he stopped showering and brushing his teeth and had become a hermit

Page 17: Troubled Jonathan Rhys Meyers crashed his car in Malibu and failed a field sobriety test and was slapped with a misdemeanor DUI

* Teresa Giudice has found new love with business man Louie Ruelas just two months after divorcing deported jailbird Joe Giudice -- the Real Housewives of New Jersey star who has four girls with Joe hooked up with the dad of two and digital marketing whiz and both are very happy

Page 19: 10 Things You Don’t Know About David Giuntoli

* Sophia Loren says early in her career she told a director to buzz off when he suggested she surgically alter her nose -- she recalls telling the meddling moviemakers her nose is going to stay there forever and it has a lot of personality

* Parkinson’s patient Michael J. Fox admits he may be forced to say goodbye to Hollywood because his short-term memory is shot and acting is getting tougher to do

Page 20: True Crime

Page 21: Desperate to salvage his tarnished reputation and career Johnny Depp is hoping to hook up with another Hollywood outcast in former co-star Angelina Jolie -- Johnny and Angie first flirted while filming The Tourist in 2010 but at the time Johnny was with Vanessa Paradis and Angie was with Brad Pitt -- Johnny recently reached out to Angie to jumpstart their friendship and he’s been sending her poems written with her in mind and suggestions for book to read and music to listen to and they’ve exchanged a series of emails and texts and talk on the phone quite a bit so Johnny has hope to win her heart and they’re making plans to meet in L.A. very soon but the ball is in Angie’s court and she’s open to having a little fun but don’t count on anything getting too serious

* Johnny Depp’s career has taken another hit as he’s been axed from the Fantastic Beasts film franchise after a British court determined he beat ex-wife Amber Heard at least a dozen times

Page 24: Cover Story -- Princess Diana was lured to her death by a twisted dirty tricks campaign orchestrated by the palace -- acting at the direction of Queen Elizabeth’s hard-case husband Prince Philip British intelligence officers mounted a clever operation to drive Prince Charles’ emotionally fragile wife to the breaking point and they knew she was frantic and suicidal and vulnerable and played on her worst fears -- Diana’s own brother Charles Spencer has also broken a 25-year silence to expose a plot against the People’s Princess and he reveals forged documents and a whisper campaign hinting at treacherous betrayals fueled her paranoia and desperation and despair and pushed her into a decision that ultimately cost her life

Page 26: Health Report

Page 30: Rock legend Jerry Lee Lewis vowed to keep wailing ‘til the end but the 85-year-old stroke victim now spends his days listening to his old hits and staring out the window and his health has taken a tragic turn for the worse since he was clobbered by the stroke last year -- he’s hunched over and seems confused and he’s forgetful and can’t remember some of the lyrics to his oldest hits; he tries to play the piano and just can’t because his hands are so stiff and don’t move the way he wants them to

* Mel B claims she’ll go bankrupt if a judge doesn’t lower the $500,000 she’s been ordered to pay her ex-husband and if the sum isn’t modified she will in all likelihood have to file for bankruptcy -- Mel and ex Stephen Belafonte divorced three years ago and have been slugging it out in court ever since

Page 44: Straight Talk -- lifestyle queen bees Martha Stewart and Gwyneth Paltrow are at each other’s throats but their furious feud is hard to understand because they’re not really in the same business -- Martha is the ultimate homemaker peddling recipes and furnishings and decorating tips while Gwyneth’s New Age-style Goop website is a sleazy sex shop with items normally found in tacky joints along West Hollywood’s sleazy Santa Monica Boulevard

Page 45: Sinead O’Connor is taking a break to enter a one-year trauma and addiction treatment program after losing a loved one and she admits she’s been addicted to weed for 34 years but became briefly addicted to another drug following her loss

* Sean Connery’s wealthy widow Micheline Roquebrune could end up behind bars and fined a whopping $28 million if convicted of stiffing the Spanish taxman -- the tax-cheat case spans back to 1999 when Sean sold their Marbella mansion on the glitzy Costa del Sol; Connery’s lawyer and the mayor of Marbella and six other elected officials were jailed over a tax-cheat scam involving the property but in 2014 Sean was told he wouldn’t be prosecuted but now Spanish bigwigs say the case has not gone away and want to indict his widow for tax fraud

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kaspbrak-tozier-reddie · 6 years ago

Note

#1 & #30

#1 - “I’m cold” “take my jacket” & #30 - “Oh my gosh, you’re so annoying!”

Pairing: Reddie

Warnings: Sonia’s parenting, swearing, underage drinking

Masterlist + Prompt List + Asks

———————————————————————

Eddie and Richie have been struggling for the past year with their newly found long distant relationship. Sure they had started dating only a couple of weeks before graduation but they had to split for college. Eddie had left sooner as Sonia had wanted to move to New York to be with Eddie since he didn’t want to go to a community college. It had been had at first but considering the technology, ie. Skype and phone apps like Snapchat and Messenger, it was a little easier.

Since there is a couple weeks break for Christmas and New Years, Richie and Eddie decided to meet back in Derry. Only for the sole purpose of introducing Eddie to Richie’s parents, well as his boyfriend instead of his best friend.

So that’s where they’re at now, standing on the 2-inch high, snow-covered pavement in front of Richie’s childhood home. “Does it feel weird?” Eddie asks Richie. “I mean, you haven’t been home for a whole year.”

“It is a little,” Richie admits. “It should go well this time, hopefully.”

Sonia Kaspbrak was an easy trip, Richie was already in New York for July so Eddie thought it’d be best to tell Sonia. Of course in good Sonia fashion, she blew a casket at Richie, claiming him to be dirty and had also corrupted her saint of a son. After leaving in a huff, Eddie was apologising to Richie on the subway back to his off-campus apartment.

“Well, let’s go. It’s chilly.” Eddie says, shivering a little. Richie pushed open the gate and led Eddie up to the front door and knocking.

Richie makes a note that the house exterior has not changed within the past year, except for a new paint job. There is no more chipping paint on the exterior walls and the front door is now stained timber instead of painted red.

“Eddie!” Maggie exclaims as soon as the front door swings open, pulling him into a hug. Once she releases Eddie, she brings her son in for a bone-crushing hug. “When you said you were bringing someone over, I was hoping that it was - ” Maggie cut herself off and looks between the two boys.

Richie isn’t sure if she cut herself short because she’s happy or if she thinks it’s a stupid idea. A stupid idea that will tear their whole friendship and friend group apart if they ever break up.

“About fucking time you two! So when did this happen? how long have you been hiding this from me?” Maggie says with far too much joy laced in her voice, for Richie’s liking at least.

“Ma, can we go inside? It’s cold!” Richie whines.

“Oh crap! Yes of course.” Maggie steps aside to let Eddie and Richie into the house.

****

The house is like an oven compared to outside. The Toziers have their fireplace crackling away and a couple of heaters. Richie and Eddie remove their boots and socks and quickly changing into the spare shoes they had packed, in case of this kind of weather. Eddie can blissfully smell the roast that Wentworth and Maggie have prepared as well as the strong scent of cinnamon.

“Oh Eddie, this is a pleasant surprise,” Wentworth exclaims stepping from the kitchen to greet him. He extends his right hand outwards to Eddie, which Eddie politely shakes. “When Richie said he was bringing a boy over, I didn’t expect - “ Went pauses. “Oh my goodness!”

Eddie swears he sees Richie blush, through his peripheral vision. “So Eddie is this mysterious boy that you’ve been gushing about for the past year?” Maggie questions her son.

“’Mystery boy’?” Eddie asks Richie. Richie’s already pink-tinged face, starts to get darker before resting on a crimson.

“Well, we were keeping it a secret until we knew how serious it was,” Richie admits. “So, mystery.”

“Oh, so this is serious?” Went asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie replies.

Went and Maggie smile at each other, joyously, and quickly bring the food out of the kitchen and a bottle of white wine, while Richie and Eddie take their seats.

“I know that you’re both underage but one glass won’t kill you,” Maggie says.

Eddie could think of a whole damned list but doesn’t say anything because he knows that she’s right. If they, however, drink a whole bottle or two, they’d be in strife. He watches as Maggie pours both him and Richie half a glass of the wine, being the responsible but fun adult that she is.

Richie starts to load up Eddie’s plate with the chicken that Went made, it sort of became a habit. When they were kids Eddie was shy and scared to eat a lot of the junk food that the losers had. Only taking minuscule amounts of chips, candy, chocolate, pizza etc. Eddie never touched any soda, opting to only drink water or freshly juiced oranges that can from Mike’s farm. It was also because Sonia used to pile food onto Eddie’s plate, so Richie often did it for Eddie even though Eddie always says he could do it himself.

“This is so nice Mr Tozier,” Eddie says after a few mouthfuls of food.

“Please, Edward you’ve earnt first name privileges,” Wentworth says, “and thank you.” Eddie smiles and takes another forkful to his mouth.

****

“If you two are going up to your room, Richard, I want that door open,” Maggie says sternly.

“Okay mom,” Richie replies and leads Eddie upstairs to Richie’s bedroom.

The room’s bare except for a few posters, here and there, ones that are tattered or aren’t one of Richie’s favourite bands anymore. There aren’t any photos stuck to the edges of his mirror or framed photos on the nightstands. The sheets were still black as were the 3 blankets that Maggie must’ve put on the bed.

“I guess you aren’t allowed in my bed tonight,” Richie jokes, noting the mattress on the floor beside his bed.

“Do you want me to?” Eddie asks jokingly, the two laugh nervously, unsure of the new protocols that have just been placed in the Tozier household. It’s no secret that Richie and Eddie use to sleep in the same bed, or that both would sneak into each other’s houses in the middle of the night when they were younger. But now that they are dating?

“Screw my parents,” Richie says in his British accent.

“Not the British guy,” Eddie groans.

Richie opens his window and sits on the ledge, letting his long legs dangle over the side of the house, Eddie joins him and rests his head on Richie’s shoulder. They used to sit on the window frame for hours, looking up at the sky. If it was Summer/Spring, they’d climb up to the roof and lie on the metal sheets. Since the roof was probably covered in snow, the two sit on the frame looking aimlessly at the sky, making shapes with the stars.

“Want to drive around town for a bit and maybe go to the fields?” Richie asks.

“Just like old times, eh Rich?” Eddie chuckles, the pair climbs down the tree and make their way to the beat-up truck that never made it to Seattle. Richie didn’t want to take the truck to Seattle because everything he’d need was within walking distance or he’d use his bike.

As they got into the car, Eddie shivers, regretting not grabbing his coat on the way out. “I’m cold” Eddie whispers.

“Here, take my jacket.” Richie shrugs off his worn-out denim jacket and passes it to Eddie. Almost immediately, Eddie pulls it over his arms and wraps himself in it, enjoying the strong scent of Richie’s cologne and washing detergent.

They drove around town, taking in the breathtaking view of the retro buildings. You ever get that in big cities, the whole modernisation thing didn’t sit well with Richie and Eddie, it took a couple of months for them to get truly get used to the idea of everything. Especially with public transport.

Driving through town then to the fields on the outskirts of the town had become their thing. When Richie got his truck, he took Eddie out to celebrate. He had asked him to stay the night, in case they got back late. They went to the diner that the losers always went to and then drove around before stopping on the side of the road before the big-ass sign saying “WELCOME TO DERRY”.

Tonight was no different, except they didn’t go to the diner, they went to the 24/7 corner store for Slurpees (even though it is freezing out) and continued their drive around Derry. Richie pulls up on the side of the road and pulls out an old cassette tape that Eddie had made him a few years ago. The soft tune of ‘Tiny Dancer’ by Elton John played through the speakers. “Oh my goodness I forgot I made this!” Eddie squeaks, covering his face with his hands.

“I haven’t listened to it in years,” Richie says and takes a slurp, finishing off his Slurpee.

“I made this to express my love for you but um, I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”

“You kidding?! I kept chickening out until Stan basically pushed me to ask you out! If he didn’t I wouldn’t be with you now.”

“I’ve got to thank Stan.”

Richie shoves Eddie slightly and Eddie shoves him back. They sit in silence watching the twinkling stars and enjoying each other’s company. Eddie found himself drifting off to sleep listening to ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley. Richie puts the car in drive and drives back to his house.

****

Richie struggles to carry Eddie’s sleeping body up the stairs to his bedroom while trying to not wake his parent. “Rich?” Maggie asks standing at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry, we went out and Eddie fell asleep,” Richie explains, whispering, and almost trips on the last stair, thankfully Maggie stops him and helps get Eddie into bed. “I’ll take the floor tonight.”

“Okay sweetheart, night.”

“Night.”

Richie partially closes the door and slides in beside Eddie. The boy beside him stirs a little before sitting up slightly. “Thanks for tonight, Rich,” Eddie slurs out.

“You’re welcome Eds. Do you want me to grab you something a little more comfy?”

“Yeah.”

Richie makes his way over to his dresser to get an old shirt, that he didn’t want to take but left in case he didn’t have clothes; and a pair of old sweatpants that had dozens of holes in them and hands them to Eddie. Eddie’s quick to kick off his jeans and rip off his T-Shirt and quickly slides on the items of clothing that Richie has just handed him.

“Checking me out Tozier?” Eddie chuckles.

“You know it Kaspbrak,” Richie replies and starts tickling Eddie’s sides.

“Oh my gosh, you’re so annoying.” Eddie groans out, hitting Richie’s hands away. “Just go to sleep asshole.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Richie cuddles into Eddie and listens to the sound of Eddie’s slow and steady breath and the sound of his heart beating, before finally allowing himself to drift to sleep.

#Reddie #eddie x richie #richie x eddie #edward kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak #richard tozier #richie tozier #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2

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