#I’m trying this new thing called ‘just vomit your mind onto the canvas and don’t fuss over it too much’
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Sunday scribbles
#invader zim#my art#doodles#dib#zim#random flowers I guess#I’m trying this new thing called ‘just vomit your mind onto the canvas and don’t fuss over it too much’#and this was the result
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Sinners & Saints-Chapter 12
A special thanks to @statell for all your help
Previous chapters at AO3
Chapter Twelve (NSFW) Chapter notes on AO3
The morning broke peacefully on the day Javier and Joseph were flying back to Paris. Claire had a huge breakfast for everyone on the foredeck and even Jamie was in attendance. He was looking better and was staying awake longer each day. He was indebted to these men for coming at a moment’s notice to help Claire with her grief.
Claire hugged each of them, waved, and blew kisses as the cab rolled away. Maia had come with them and now walked with Claire back to the boat.
“Has Jamie said anything about the scars yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Has he told you how he ended up with Hesser?”
“No.”
“Well, we have ten days at sea before we hit Jamaica. Maybe all that time alone will make him talk.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Darius was excited to get out to open water so Claire and Jamie got comfortable on the foredeck to say goodbye to Greece, civilization, other boats, people, everything except endless miles of ocean.
”Can we talk a bit Sassenach? Every time I get ready to explain things, I decide it’s not the right day to ruin for you and I put it off.” He stuck his nose in her hair and pulled her smell into his nose. “God, you smell good.” He sat up and looked into her eyes, “are you ready mo chridhe?”
“Yes, although I don’t think you’re capable of ruining my day. Your mouth is too beautiful, your eyes are too mesmerizing, your body is too close to me. So, do your best Mister Fraser, and don’t pout if I smile through your story.”
“It starts when I woke up in what I thought was a hospital. I was so scared, and I just wanted to find you, but people were holding me down and that made me fight more. My back was on fire and every movement was excruciating, even so I fought them until they knocked me out. This happened every time I woke up, many times. I saw the doctor standing over me once, at least I thought he was the doctor. He started shouting at me about not having a candidate for the white house and it was all my fault. He finally settled down and told me it had been a month since I fell into the water with Frank. I was shocked it had been that long. He said my wounds were starting to heal, but it would be a long recovery. He handed me a tape recorder and your voice soothed me and gave me hope.
“I can’t imagine how awful it was for you, alone, severely wounded with that man hovering over you. But you’re home now Jamie, and we can forget this whole incident if we try. We’re free with new identities, a shitload of money, our friends, and adventure ahead.”
Jamie brought her hands into her lap and looking straight into her eyes he shook his head sadly. Hesser plans to train me in espionage and counterterrorism. I refused and he laughed, telling me dead men don’t have a choice. Claire, there is a branch of the American government called Black Ops and Hesser is the chief. They answer to no one, not even the president. When he is ready they will come and get me for six months of training.
Claire sat up, "that’s ridiculous, he can’t force you to become a spy, or terrorist, whatever it is!”
Jamie held her hands to make her look at him and he shook his head looking like it was the end of the world.
“It’s not a matter of me, Sassenach, it’s a we”
“What are you saying? I will be abducted and forced to train in espionage, for Hesser?”
“He knows you are Casper, and I am the painter. He owns us and he is giddy with it. The worst part is no help or backup. If we die during the mission we have no identity within the CIA.
“That is why he saved you. So he can turn you into his personal super-spy and he can end your life anytime he wants just by turning your location over to the Europeans.”
“Hesser wouldn’t waste his time reporting me. He has no compunction about killing unnecessaries. His words.”
Claire was seeing the bigger picture and it terrified her. Hesser would become their puppet master and throw them into any horrible situation he wanted. It was unfathomable how cruel he was, it would be a life of torture, always looking over her shoulder, waiting for them to take her. She wanted to vomit and scream at the twist of fate that now promised a very short life for both of them.
“ I am going to lay down.”
Claire had pulled the bedspread off the bed and lay sleeping in her bikini. Jamie watched her with a crippling need for her love. It had been almost three months since they last made love and he fought with his painful erection every day until he felt strong enough to let it go with her. He could barely breathe because his heart was hammering in his chest. He could not stop himself from touching her.
Claire felt Jamie’s warmth press into her from behind. It was foreign to her and she felt her body react instantly. His arm came across her chest, strong and commanding, holding her in place and rolling onto his back, pulling her with him. He pulled at her bikini top savagely and she heard the straps rip as the garment was cast aside, leaving her breasts naked for his mauling hand. He pinched her nipple and she gasped before trying to get away from him. She wanted to control the activity and make sure he was safe from harm, but he wouldn’t release her nor did he speak. She felt the hair on her neck stand up when he panted into her ear.
He ran his hand down her stomach and into the lower part of her suit where he dropped his other hand and ripped it off of her. His mind was not his own anymore. He felt like a different person, out of control with need, barely able to have a coherent thought.
“Spread your legs, love,” he breathed into her ear.
“Jamie..”
“Spread them.”
His amazing fingers played with her bud and spread her lips open to the fingers of his other hand pushing into her.
“My God, your wet. Your body wants me and you’re powerless to stop me.”
He would not let up on her, even when she pleaded in her headlong rush to orgasm. She felt his strong wet fingers pull her chin to his lips kissing her into submission and his fingers were once again inside her body moving in and out in sync with his tongue. Claire moaned and her body was shaking when he stopped.
“Turn around Sassenach, I want to watch your eyes when you come. Straddle me, love, that’s it.”
She was out of her mind with this possessive lovemaking and watched Jamie quickly move through her knees and down on the mattress to hold her pelvis tightly and pull her down on his assaulting tongue. He could see her breasts bounce with her oncoming orgasm and the erotic scene nearly finished him. Claire moaned through her release and Jamie pulled her to him and held her while she pulsed and jerked. The second she opened her eyes, he took control again.
He flipped her to her back and ripped the buttons off of his shirt followed by his shorts. Claire was in a lust drunk haze and tried to rally with his fresh onslaught on her body.
“Tell me you love you me.”
“I love you, Jamie, more than anything.”
“Tell me you belong to me, tell me how you will make me come.”
“I belong to you Jamie and I want to feel you down my throat.”
Jamie rolled to his side and grabbed a fist full of hair, very close to her scalp so he could direct her head. “tongue out,” he panted and moved her tongue up and down the length of him before he shoved her face into his balls and watched her lick and suck until he almost lost his mind. She felt him lift her head to his cock and push her down on it, keeping her head clear of his view. He yanked her head away and held her away from him while he regained control.
“On your back.”
He pulled her legs straight up and held her ankles with one hand and watched his dick go in and out of her. Claire was moaning with a second orgasm building pressure and she begged him to let go so she could spread her legs and let him bang into her throbbing center.
He pulled her legs apart and pushed them wide. With each thrust he pressed into her and told her he loved her, he desired her, he would never leave her. Claire was mewing with every contact until he pushed into her deepest body and felt her orgasm start. Jamie just closed his eyes and felt her pulsing, her wetness, and heard her moan his name until it was over.
Two deep thrusts and he joined her in the erotic stratosphere where arms and legs disappear and existence is reduced to your core that pulses wtih euphoria.
Jamie grabbed his chest as he panted and dropped to her side, pulling her close.
“I’m sorry for being a brute, love.”
She tried to speak and gave up forming words that would fall tragically short. When she could speak again, she pulled Jamie’s head up from her shoulder and looked in his eyes.
“I will fight for you Jamie, no matter what Hesser throws at us I will never give you up. Please say you will never give up on me.”
“Never, ever, ever, will I give up on you, Claire.”
Jamie held Claire while she napped and his mind was racing for some way to out-think Hesser. He had them in a vise grip and cared not a lick for their lives. They were utterly disposable and when one was taken, the other would agonize until they returned. He wondered how long sanity would hold up under that torture.
Once Claire was deep in sleep, he made his way to the boat garage and placed a fresh canvas onto his makeshift easel. He didn’t make drawings or sketch the final picture but stabbed his brush into the earthy colors on his pallet mixing them lighter and darker, adding shadow colors and light ivory and peach, browns from light to dark and transferred the color to the canvas to rough out the forest where he played as a child with his three best friends, Ian, Angus, and Rupert. He painted the gorge, then changed it to the ravine they loved with a giant tree overhanging the edge and a long rope tied to its outstretched branch. He roughed in Rupert, clinging to the rope, smiling in the dappling sunshine. In his mind, he heard Rupert’s voice telling him he would always be on his side, no matter what.
Jamie threw his brush into turpentine and ran up the stairs to the bridge, where Darius was looking at his maps.
“I need to get to Jamaica right away, even if you push the engines beyond what is safe. I’m serious. I need to be there yesterday.”
Darius looked at him for a full minute, trying to think of any reason someone would risk the engines to cross the Atlantic so quickly. One thing he knew about Jamie was his intelligence, so he would know the risk.
“Done.”
“How long?”
“Seven days. Ish.”
“Thank you.”
As the days passed, Jamie painted, Darius used the autopilot and fished, Maia cooked and read her chapters for her online English course, and Claire touched base with the University and then sent her letter of resignation. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. Rather, a minor event when compared to the horrific life she would endure in the days to come.
The weather turned warmer and humid two days out from Jamaica so Claire and Jamie slept on the sundeck, under the stars. If they didn’t make love when they first laid down Jamie would wake her with a warm hand and the race would start anew. It was exciting, and he would take her to the edge of acceptable passion and then push her into the erotic vortex. He had changed and both of them knew it. Making love slowly and softly was no longer on the menu but was replaced with something desperate, possessive, and domineering, yet wholly satisfying.
The last day of their journey, Jamie kissed Claire’s neck at breakfast and told her how lovely her hair was. He pulled on a shiny coil and it sprang back, making him chuckle.
Maia backhanded Darius’s upper arm and demanded he pay more attention to her. He rubbed his arm and scowled at her.
“I love you and you know that Maia, why the brutality?”
“You don’t love me enough, Darius!”
When he saw the tears start he jumped out of his chair and pulled her to him. Maia did not cry, not even at funerals, and here she was with wet cheeks. Claire felt sad for Maia and wondered what was happening.
“I love you Maia, with all my heart.”
“You love to fish.”
“I love you more than I love fishing.”
Maia looked up at him and smiled through her tears and then hugged him. And that was it. The spat was over and Maia was bouncing around the kitchen again. Claire squirmed in her seat, horrified at her sudden arousal, and ran to the bedroom.
“Jamie, can you get this splinter out of my hand?”
“Sassenach, come out to the deck, it’s easier to find in the sun.”
When she didn’t respond he followed her into their room and barely caught her when she jumped on him. He found her bossy lovemaking adorable until she pulled him into orbit and the slave became the ruler.
Later, Claire walked out to the foredeck and was stunned by the crystal clear water and marine life that was everywhere she looked. She grabbed the bridge phone and asked Darius how long to get to the island.
“One hour and I want a promise you will wait until we’re moored before you jump overboard. Claire?”
“Yes, yes, I will jump overboard, goodbye, and hurry.”
Jamie was dispatched to make sure his wife stayed on board and the two of them hung over the side of the yacht to watch for sea life. Jamie helped Darius with mooring the boat and the girls were overboard without a backward glance. Darius dug out the snorkels, flippers, and masks and threw them overboard before locking up the yacht and diving into the water. They all found a slice of heaven in the clear water and did not return to the boat until the sun was setting.
Jamie was exhausted and could hardly get the fork to his mouth for dinner. Darius told him to pace himself because they would here for as long as they wanted. Jamie laughed and said “too much fun” with his mouth full of peas. Claire found him asleep on their bed still in his trunks and she smiled at her prince, praying for some time before one of them was taken for training.
The following day they tendered to shore to look around and find some local fun. Jamie promised Claire he would catch up and took off to find a store and then a post service. He paid cash for the fastest service to Germany, then Scotland.
Three days later, Jenny received a package from a remailer in Germany. She pulled out a card and read the note as she struggled to the kitchen table to sit down.
Dear Mrs. Murray,
Thank you for your order. Enjoy your new phone and see the
operating instructions before plugging it in the first time.
She had not ordered a phone which was confusing, but she was stuck on the handwriting because it looked just like Jamie’s. That was impossible, and her eyes stung with fresh tears remembering him. She pulled out the folded instructions and on the inside he had written, “keep the phone on and with you at all times. JAMMF” Jenny stared at the letters and backed into the refrigerator before running upstairs to wake her husband and show him.
Ian rolled toward the tapping on his shoulder and smiled at his pregnant wife. He stared at the handwriting and the initials on the instructions. This was Jamie’s way of contacting them without phone taps finding him, or the cruelest joke in history. He pulled Jenny to his side and pulled the phone and cord out, plugging it in.
“We will keep it charged and on us at all times. Okay, Dove?”
Jenny reached for the ringing phone two nights later and immediately started to cry. She heard Jamie’s voice and thought she would choke from crying so hard. His calming voice helped her get over the shock that he was still alive. He asked her to wake Ian and turn on the speaker to which Ian replied “go ahead, Jamie.”
Jamie told them everything about Frank, Casper, his wife, and Hesser, the man in charge of Black Ops.
“Ian, will you find Rupert and tell him everything I’ve told you?”
“Of course Jamie, I’ll do it tomorrow. Why Rupert?”
“He’s a good friend and might have some pointers about dealing with Hesser, maybe he learned something in the special services.”
“Jamie, I feel so bad for you and Claire. I wish there was something we could do to help. Can ye get that tracking device out of yer arm?”
“I hope so, it’s something we’re working on.”
Jamie ended the call soon after and told them he would call another time. He never thought he would pit a friend against the likes of Hesser and hung his head in shame for having no other solution. It was never confirmed, but he knew things about Rupert and his time in the service. He prayed for forgiveness and his guilt raged for several days after.
Ian smiled at Rupert through the window as he walked up to the construction trailer. Rupert was the job manager for a new shopping center going up in Edinburgh. He launched out of his seat, shook hands with his old friend, and the two sat down to talk for a bit.
Ian knew there was a special bond between Jamie and Rupert because Jamie saved his life when they were eleven years old. Rupert, Angus, Ian, and Jamie were inseparable when they were kids, always looking for something fun to do with the long summer days. When it was hot, they would head into the forest to find the big tree that hung into the ravine, right over the rushing creek that cut through the woods. Jamie was first to swing into the center of the ravine and let go, falling ten feet into the water. Ian was next followed by Angus, but Rupert wanted nothing to do with it. It took all summer, but they finally talked him into it and he held the rope shaking from head to toe. He was quite sure he would fall to his death but none of his friends had, so he forced his bravery and jumped off the edge of the ravine. Unprepared for the stark terror of clinging to a rope over a drop that seemed one hundred feet down he refused to let go. Jamie got concerned and backed up to jump off the edge with enough speed to reach the rope. If he had missed, the momentum of his body would have dropped him into the rocks on the other side of the creek, so it was utterly heroic to an eleven-year-old.
Jamie caught the rope and told Rupert to hang onto to his waist, and then he dropped them into the water, pulling Rupert to the bank and going on about his bravery. Jamie was his hero after that, and Rupert made no attempt to hide that fact.
Ian looked Rupert in the eyes, remembering his break down at Jamie’s memorial, and decided to just blurt it out after swearing him to silence.
“Jamie’s alive Rupert, but he’s in trouble, so keep it secret please.” Ian told the story of Jamie being rescued and revived by a man named Hesser, a Black Ops CIA boss that threatened to turn him over to his captors or kill him outright if he didn’t follow orders. He covered Jamie’s marriage to none other than Casper, the art thief, the very person he gained his freedom to catch. Rupert seemed to be playing with something in his desk drawer while every word was seared into his brain. When Ian stopped talking, Rupert looked up, “Ye tell Jamie, I gotcha brother.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ll be prayin for im.” Then he slapped Ian on the back and walked him out to his truck.
One week later, the moonlight shined on the raised barrel of a sniper rifle with a twelve-inch silencer attached to its end. An eyeball looked through the night scope from over a mile away and twisted the calibration dial and focus. Rupert crouched on top of a water tower with a clear sight to the CIA parking lot and Hesser’s vehicle. He had been in this position for three nights, waiting for the man to show up. When he climbed the tower that night he was relieved to see Hesser’s car in the lot and waited for his five-second opportunity to remove him from Jamie’s life. When Hesser walked out of the building Rupert trained his rifle on the man’s head, exhaled, and took his shot.
To the CCTV cameras, it looked like Hesser bent down to unlock his car door when he was actually sprawled on the blacktop missing half of his head. He wasn’t noticed for an hour, giving Rupert time to break the rifle down into separate plastic bags that he would return to his comrade-in-arms. He still had to drive the pieces back to Maryland, then he would jump on a plane back to Scotland. The only emotion he felt was relief that Jamie and his wife were safe.
“James Fraser, get out of the water this instant!”
Jamie looked up at Claire on the foredeck, hands on hips, looking exasperated. He knew there was no use putting this off and swam to the aft deck, throwing his flippers up on the boat and hoisting his body up after them. He found Claire in their bathroom with a chair pushed into the vanity right under the sink. She pushed Jamie’s head back and started mixing the chemicals to turn his red hair blonde.
She looked down at him and smiled, making his stomach do flip-flops. “Don’t look so scared Jamie, it will look good, I promise.”
“I don’t care how it looks Sassenach, it is a bit late for this, isn’t it?”
“Not if we can find a doctor on the island willing to cut into my arm and remove the whateveritis.”
“Why not use me as the guinea pig?”
“Because you have been brutalized enough lately. It’s my turn.”
Jaime could smell the chemicals being squeezed onto his hair and ran his hand up Claire’s leg, making her squirm and laugh. He closed his eyes when he felt her hands spreading the mixture through his hair. He thought about Rupert and wondered if he had taken the initiative. So far the news had been devoid of any attack on the CIA chief, and each day was one day closer to men boarding their boat and taking one of them away. Jamie shivered at the thought.
“You have twenty minutes to wait. Do you want your book?”
“Hmm?”
Claire could see Jamie was already falling asleep, so she left him alone and got the chair ready on deck to cut his hair. When she rinsed out the hair color, she noticed it looked very light and wondered if she made a mistake. The sun dried his hair as she cut it and when it was combed into his new style, he almost took her breath away.
“Are you looking that way because blonde is not a good color on me, Sassenach?”
“Quite the contrary, actually.”
“Wow, you were good looking before, but now you’re drop-dead gorgeous! That’s an American saying I learned,” Maia giggled, “it means you look even better.”
“Thank you, Maia,” he chuckled.
The next day they all went ashore, Jamie and Claire had a doctor appointment to remove Claire’s tracking device and the others wanted to see a bit of Jamaica. Claire was getting uncomfortable with the women staring at Jamie. One stopped on the sidewalk and just watched them pass.
“Jesus Christ, haven’t these people seen blonde hair before?”
Jamie gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head. When they entered the medical facility, Claire was getting nervous. What if the doctor turned them over to the police? It wasn’t everyday people came in with trackers in their arm. At least she didn’t think so.
The Jamaican doctor nodded a few times and looked at Claire’s incision that had healed to a thin red line. He was a man of few words which sharpened the edge Claire was feeling.
“Lay here and I will try to find it.”
The doctor came back into the room with a medical device that used sonar technology to find foreign objects under the skin. He pressed a wand into Claire’s skin around the incision and listened with headphones as he calibrated the machine. He was getting concerned because the machine was blinded by another pulse, but that was impossible. He moved the wand to Claire’s leg, then feet, then her back before he removed the earphones and turned the machine off. His face did not look right to Claire, and she was ready to come undone.
“Please doctor, tell us something, I am getting terrified because I thought this would be an easy removal.”
The doctor sat on his stool and shook his head. “The chip in your arm might be identifiable like a GPS bouncing off a satellite. But it is using some kind of sonar technology to ping into your body. Until you discover what it is pinging to, you should not remove it.”
“What?”
“What do you think it’s pinging to doctor?”
“It’s only a guess, but it might be looking for a second object that was introduced into your body at the same time. It could be anywhere and small enough to inject.”
“That makes no sense, doctor.” Jamie could hear the almost hysterical pitch to her voice.
“I think I understand. Sonar technology is also on the chip and it pings looking for something, like a specific shape that they injected. If we have the chip removed the ping sends a warning that it can’t find the shape. That’s as far as I got. So what then?”
“If someone wanted to know your whereabouts enough to implant a super RFID chip they don’t want you removing it and getting away. Just a guess, but when it’s removed, it may lock in your coordinates and …”
“The sky is filled with helicopters looking for us.”
Claire looked quite pale all of a sudden, and Jamie pulled her close. The doctor picked up his equipment and headed toward the door. He looked at them both.
“A life of crime does not suit either of you. Why not do an honest day’s work? Handsome men get pictures in magazines, make lots of money, put a hex on my nurse so now she just waits at the clinic door!”
The doctor laughed and left before seeing Claire’s eyes roll. On the way out, she regarded the nurse with an I-dare-you-look and they left, more rattled than before. Back on the yacht, they filled the others in on what they learned.
“That is diabolical,” Darius shook his head.
“I don’t get it,” Maia looked wide-eyed at the group.
"It’s a sonar warning system in case they have the chips removed. They put something else in their bodies that the sonar looks for. If it can’t be found, because the chip is removed, it locks in their location and they flood the area with agents. It is pretty hard to hide a yacht of this size.”
“Just take the other thing out as well then.” Maia looked at the three of them like they were dumb.
“They have no idea where the object is. It wasn’t implanted with an incision, it was probably injected.”
Maia rubbed her temples like she had a headache. “I’m going for a swim before I start dinner.”
Maia left to jump overboard, Claire went to feed Adso, and the guys went to the bridge to think and bounce ideas. Five minutes later, Maia ran up the aft deck and saw Claire sitting in the saloon staring into space.
“I get it now! Oh my God! You look like you just lost your best friend, but I’m still here, so get your ass in the water. Claire?”
When she didn’t move Maia boldly walked into the saloon and stood next to Claire dripping water on the Persian rug. She pinched her suit and a fat drop of water squeezed out and rolled down her hip. She pointed at it rolling down her leg.
“Okay, okay, Maia, I just want to sulk for five minutes.”
“No!”
Claire jumped in the water followed by fins, masks, and snorkels that Maia threw overboard. She felt the usual excitement pulling her fins on and decided to worry later, diving deep to catch up with her friend.
Darius and Jamie were on the side deck watching the girls dive for shells. The contrast of moods was not lost on Jamie.
“How can they be so happy? All they do is hunt for pretty things, they could at least spear some fish for dinner.”
He and Darius both laughed at the absurdity of his statement.
“I need to speak freely, Jamie.” Darius looked out at the ocean and took a deep breath. “What if the second object does more than act as a warning when the chip is removed? You said Hesser placed no value on your life other than what you could do for him. What if the second object is programmed to kill you, like releasing a neurotoxin if the ping stops?”
Jamie had a pained expression on his face and gripped the railing, making the veins in his arms stick out. “Certainly something to consider. Thanks.” He slapped Darius on the shoulder and left the bridge to find sanctuary before he lost his mind. When the turpentine hit his nostrils his racing heart slowed down and the painter came out. He pulled a canvas out of hiding and set it on his easel. It was Darius, on the bridge, the morning of their wedding. He stood looking out at the water with the glorious purple, orange, and magenta of the sunrise seen through the windows. Jamie was intrigued by his face. A wide smile flanked by deep grooves, solid jaw, and floppy hair, but his eyes shined with intelligence and calm confidence. His shirt was open and the instruments were reflected off the flat planes of his chest and stomach. Jamie’s expert use of color contoured his face like a photograph, and he stood back to look at the finished painting. He lettered “The Captain” in a lower corner and left to clean up for dinner.
Climbing the steps to the saloon was a shock when the rays of sunrise stung his eyes. He could hardly remember the hours of night going by, but the image of Claire looking at the picture and kissing him goodnight finally surfaced. He was filled with gratitude for such an extraordinary partner.
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Home Again Chapter 2
warnings: Same as the first chapter (reccommend reading chapter one first)
~10 Years Ago~
When Jean awoke, it was dark, wet, cold. The smell reminded him of that time he left a cheesesteak sub in his mother's fridge, stuffed all the way in the back and forgot about it, it smelled of rot, decay and death. The air was thick and he choked on it. When he tried to move, he couldn't, his hands behind his back and stuck to whatever wall was in the room, the feeling of mold and miss sticking to his hands had his stomach churning with disgust.
"Ah, looks like the runt is awake." A deep, raspy voice sounded, echoing off the walls and sounding much louder than what it probably was. Jean turned to the sound to see a doorway lit by a candle. Above the flame was a long, thin, stubble coated chin, a mouth of thin lips curled into a wicked smile showing off dark yellow and brown stained, crooked teeth, a short pug like nose and then eyes that seemed to burn a bright blue in the low light. The man was tall, lanky, but underneath the tight green shirt showed off toned muscle. "How you feeling princess?"
Jean just looked at the man, "What's going on? Where am I?" He asked just above a whisper.
"Ah, straight to the point I see, well, ya see princess-"
"Don't call me that." Jean hissed as a boney, calloused hand smacked him across the face.
"Don't back sass me boy!" The man's deep voice bellowed, causing the volume in the small space to vibrate the moist walls. "I will call you whatever the fuck I feel like!" The man pulled Jean up and pushed him against the wall, bending down a significant amount to get right into his face. Jean's nose scrunched as the smell of tobacco and whiskey invaded his nostrils. "You belong to the Nevidljiv now, you have no right to speak to anyone without permission. You will learn place, princess, and I will making fucking sure of it." The man sneered in his face. Jean's eyes widened and his body started to shake. What the fuck was happening? What is the Nevidlijiv? What's going to happen to me? All these questions ripped through Jean's mind as he was dropped to the floor, landing with a painful thud against the hard floor beneath him. "The quicker you learn, the less painful it'll be for you. So I suggest you do what your told the first time." The man looked at the young teen on the floor and smiled wickedly, "We start lessons in an hour." With that, the man and the source of light was gone. Jean was left alone in the cold, damp, dark space with just his thoughts.
~1 Hour Later~
Jean was suddenly dragged out from wherever he was, the sloshing of something thick and liquidy seeping into his work out sketchers. Jean let himself be taken, the words of the disgusting man from earlier still ringing in his ears, 'The quicker you learn, the less painful it'll be for you.' Jean was then led up a set of stairs, the air becoming less thick smelled more like tobacco and cinnamon scented candles. A door was swing open and Jean had to close his eyes before the blinding light that smacked in his face. "This the new kid?" Another man asked and Jean opened his eyes, only to stare into a pair of eyes, one white like cream and another eye that was like an olive green, staring back at him filled with an emotion that screamed hatred.
"Yes, sir. This one was found walking in the park only a few hours ago. Lappell found him." The man dragging him spoke, the man from earlier.
"Well, Lappell did a good job this time. Finally, a bitch that should make a decent penny if he is trained correctly. Thank you Marcus, you may leave the boy and do whatever." The man, Marcus, pushed Jean into the big, bright room and closed the door behind him. Jean stared at his surroundings, the white walls and high ceiling seemed to stretch on for forever, the only things that he could see that weren't white were the dark brown, leather couches and a baby blue door on the opposite side of the room. "Get a shower kid, then come back out. Do not make me wait longer then five minutes." The short, chubby man walked towards one of the couches and turned to look at Jean, who was standing frozen in place. "Don't make repeat myself boy!" The man yelled and Jean turned to the blue door, which he assumed was the bathroom and made a mad dash towards it, opening it and stumbling pass the threshold.
He was right, this was the bathroom, but the site of it made him want to vomit, it was dirty, spelled of shit, vomit and copper. Yellow stains covered the walls that he only assumed used to be a pristine white at one point. He quickly undressed and turned the shower on, he stepped in and let the burst of cold water drench him. He scrubbed off the dirt and sweat and everything else that seemed to cover his body in the amount of time from the morning he woke up to now. What day was it? The man, Marcus said a few hours, but was it longer?
Jean got out of the shower only to find that his clothes were missing and he had no towel. Panic set itself within his body and he bagan to shake. Suddenly the door was ripped open, almost off it's hinges, and the shirt chubby man stood before him. Jean made aove to cover himself, but the man grabbed him arm and drug him towards the center of the two couches that now seated more men, all in dark business suits and perfectly styled hair, puffing cigars. "Men! Meet the newbie." The stubby man spoke…. Happily?
"My, my, my. This one is a beauty! You really out done yourself this time Reggie." A pale man with peircing hazel eyes and cherry red hair spoke, lips curling into a smirk as he looked over Jean's naked form. Jean moved to cover himself again, but the red head snatched his hands. "Don't you dare cover yourself, boy. We quite like the view." Jean stared to shake again, he was not liking where the conversation suggested, he just wanted to bolt through the door Marcus brought him through, but he had no light, no clothes, no shoes, he didn't know where the hell he was or how he even got here. He was stuck and he was alone.
"Spin around for us." Reggie spoke from his seat on the couch next to the red head. When Jean didn't move, a hand hit his face, the force giving Jean whiplash. "Spin around!" Jean nodded shakily, the faint taste of blood hitting his tounge as he slowly turned in a circle, hands balled at his sides as he concentrated on not covering up his dignity. "Good boy." Reggie purred like he was talking to a dog who just learned how to obey a simple command. "Who would like to break in the new toy first?"
~Present Day~
"Where the hell did you find him?!" Marco cried as he rushed to a sleeping Jean, holding a cold, pale, thin hand in his own warm, freckled, tan ones as a tear slowly slipped down a cheek.
"We went looking for a new maid, as you know since… Mrs. Kirstein passed, we haven't been able to find one quite as good as her. So we scouted for one at an auction." The young men were silent, all knowing how much everyone on this side of the state hated under ground auctions that sold off people for there own benefit. But Marco, knowing his father was desperate for a friend like Mrs. Kirstein, understood why he would've went so low. "We made it for the last fifteen minutes or so for the pleasure portion of the auction. None of us bothered to look and see who was being sold off, we didn't have the hearts, until the last person came out and the bids were flying out left and right, huge numbers, more then any other I've heard for being sold. I got curious and turned to see the one face I never thought I'd see again. Jean."
Marco looked at the sleeping man and gently brushed some hair out of his face, his eyes roaming the expansive canvas of his body, bruises varying in color from blue, purple, yellow and green, all in various states of healing. The scars and freshly stitched wounds done by Dr. Yeager himself. His once almost smooth perfect body had been beaten on, dirtied, and touched by unknown men and possible women, he was put into pain and suffering for probably ten years. A while decade Marco wondered what had happened to Jean, and now he wasn't liking the reality of it. "Who had him?" He whispered as his fingers traced old wounds on jeans right arm.
"He was being sold throught a human trafficking organization known as The Nevidlijiv, it's Creation for Invisible. Meaning this organization it's soon secret, no one knows about it unless you know someone, someone powerful. It started back in the late 1800s by a group of men who wanted nothing more then to steal and use others weaker then themselves to.. keep them company, if you get my drift." Dr. Yeager informed and the rest of the young adults listen intently. "After a few years of kidnapping young men and women, they decided they wanted to make a pretty penny, so they started selling them. Always moving to different locations or even different countries to keep themselves off the grid. It's cash only, if it's traceable, it's not allowed. No phones or may other electronics are allowed in the places the auctions are held. Hence, invisible." Dr. Yeager looked at Jean's unconscious body and sighed, "And I'm afraid Jean here, was the top prize for those disgusting pigs. Sure, being the best means too care, but that doesn't exclude from anything else, he was probably treated worse because of being the top one to want."
Marco could feel the tears cascading down his freckles cheeks, as held onto Jean's hand tighter. "Fuck! If I would've known something like this could've happened, I would've-" Eren suddenly spoke up, his voice cracking as he willed himself not to break down. Sure, he was an asshole to Jean, a major dick bucket, but he realized after Jean had vanished it was because he himself, was trying to hide the fact that he also liked the same sex. When Jean never showed up for school again, he felt this odd pang of hurt inside his chest and realized then, he really liked Jean.
"Eren, it's okay, none of us could've guessed this would've happened." Armin then spoke, putting a comforting hand on his boyfriend's shoulder and brought him in for a hug.
"Do you know what else happened to him?" Marco asked, as he looked towards his father with tear filled eyes.
"I was given this. A list of prior "owners" and all the medical records he had in the last ten years." He held out a decently sized folder, filled with papers. Marco took the black folder and began looking through it, heavy in his hands, he wanted to be sick. Every single medical record was signed with a different name for major things like surgery or anything that required severe medical attention. Others where I put signed by people who had bought Jean at auctions and some just had awful names written down: Bitch, Whore, Slut… just to make a few. As Marco got further the papers the words began to blur into a mess of scribbles. He closed the folder and tossed to across the room, laying his head on the couch next to Jean, Marco let out a loud sob, breaking everyone hearts as they saw the heir to the Bott mafia and business weep his heart out for the boy he lost and then found again.
Jean suddenly let out an ear piercing scream, shaking and clawing at his own skin. Marco fell away as he wanted the man he loved for years convulse like mad man and scream like he was in pain. Dr. Yeager and Mr. Ackerman held him down, "Get the sedative!" Dr. Yeager yelled at no one in particular. Mikasa grabbed the syringe from her adoptive father's bag and handed it to him. After Jean was injected, Jean fell limp against the couch once more.
#Jean Krischtein#marco bott#attack on titan#levi attack on titan#jean x marco#abuse#eventual smut#chapter 2#marcos dad#erens dad#armin#reiner#bert#mikasa
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Be My Nightmare Ch11
On Endings and Origins
Trigger warning - School shooting (adult students)
Word count - 3,117
~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~
_______
Michael smirked, putting extra emphasis into his stride as he walked past a particularly attractive woman in a stylish pencil skirt. The business district was so much fun to wander in, so many professional looking ladies dying to play secretary. They’d do anything not to get fired; he loved that line.
Was she looking? If she wasn’t, she was missing out. He made it a point not to make eye contact; that was a novice mistake. Never let them know you’re interested, that was rule numero uno.
She had to be looking. He was a catch; the hours he spent every day in the gym made sure of that. The carefully styled hair and overly tight shirt dialed it up to eleven, and his perfectly straight teeth to a twelve. No woman alive wouldn’t see him.
That’s right, baby. You wish you were hot enough to catch my eye…
Even from just a glance, he knew she was a seven, max. Nothing special, maybe a solid Tuesday lay if he felt like it. Too bad for her it was Saturday.
He kept going, strutting across gradually less crowded intersections like he owned the entire city. This was his palace; he was king, and the world was his for the taking. He’d earned it. The world owed him his due.
Michael was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice the slim shadow that followed in his wake.
Almost there, what’s her name again? Jenna? Jane? Something with a J…
He almost pulled out his phone to check, but nothing undermined a woman’s confidence quite like being called by the wrong name. Even if he got it wrong, it’d only help him get laid. Chicks were so predictable. All you had to do was make them feel the need to prove themselves, then they were putty.
A sudden cold pressure on the back of his neck stopped him in his tracks. The click that followed froze the blood in his veins. It was a sound he’d only heard in movies and TV, but unmistakable. Who the fuck would pull a gun in broad daylight? On him, no less?
“Move and you die,” a silky voice said. “Muscles aren’t bulletproof.”
The pressure moved, sliding down his spine to settle at his waist. He tried to look back, but a disapproving tut warned him before he spotted anything useful. What the hell did this asshat want, anyway? Phone? Wallet? Dating advice?
“Turn left here,” the voice commanded. He didn’t recognize it.
Maybe he could disarm the guy? It sounded like a guy. Probably a loser, some shrimp that needed a weapon to make a move. All he had to do was remind him of the natural order, then he could get to his date, with a thrilling new story to impress whats-her-name with.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Michael asked.
A searing heat flashed between his ribs. Pain reminiscent of tearing a muscle erupted in his core and his bravado hiccupped. Something wet made his shirt stick to his skin, and as he looked down to see a growing red stain, the young man gagged. He hated blood.
“I used to be like you, you know. Foolish and naive, never imagining myself in peril,” the sinister voice commented. “Turn right.”
Michael obeyed, his hands busy staunching the fresh wound. The area wasn’t one he knew, full of derelict apartment buildings and shady-looking shops with newspaper covered windows. Chain-link fence lined the sidewalk, occasionally broken by a gap of unknown origin. Half the streetlights were burned out and a smell of cigarettes and sweat spoiled the air. Nothing good happened in a place like this.
“W- what do you want from me?”
The figure behind him replied by increasing the pressure of the barrel against his spine. Michael quickened his steps and tried to ignore the trail of crimson dripping from his side. If he didn’t see it, it couldn’t hurt him. No pain no gain. Ignore the pain, focus on the gain.
“That all changed in a single afternoon.”
What the hell is he talking about?!
Without knowing who his tormenter was, Michael couldn’t even begin to guess. All he had to go on was the haunting regret dripping from the man’s words.
“I don’t understand,” he replied quietly. A soft hum met his ears, another prod of the barrel guiding him toward a gravel path.
“You needn’t worry. You won’t live long enough for it to matter.”
The anxiety of moments ago seemed like a passing shadow compared to the pitch black, mind-numbing terror that filled him now. He was going to die. The guy basically just said it.
This can’t be happening! Not to me!
There had to be something he could do, some way he could get out of this. He’d talked his way out of trouble before. Talking was his specialty, second only to fucking. He just needed to find the right words and everything would be fine. Maybe he’d even get a sexy scar on his back from the…
Don’t think about it!
“That day opened my eyes to the truth, just as I shall open hers. Through there.”
At the end of the gravel walkway stood a small house, as poorly maintained as the other structures nearby. Metal bars covered the only visible window and the door featured three locks, yet all of them were open. Michael hated how his hand trembled when he pulled the door open. He was supposed to be stronger than this.
Get it together! C’mon!
Inside, a gloomy living room awaited the two men. A faded grey couch sat opposite a small television, empty beer cans and paper plates covering the rickety coffee table. A movie poster from a decade past was the only decoration. Any other time, Michael would have sneered at the slovenly abode, but not today.
“Welcome, my canvas,” the voice said.
A heartbeat later, agony flared across his consciousness. The same blade that stabbed him before now sawed through his flesh and ripped through his spinal cord, the angle perfect to slide the slim metal between his vertebrae. Fluid gushed onto the floor as his legs crumpled, numbness more intense and horrifying than any he’d experienced taking over the nerves below the madman’s wound.
I can’t feel my legs!
Michael screamed as his face struck the hard floor. More pain, in his cheekbone and eye socket this time. Worse than when he fractured his collarbone trying to deadlift his cousin, but that was the least of his worries now.
He tried to shift his legs, but nothing happened. Icy dread coiled in his stomach, growing with every second he failed to move. How was he supposed to get away now? Crawl?
“P- please!”
His arms still obeyed his commands and he managed to roll over, getting his first look at the monster that planned to take his life. Michael focused on him instead of the pool of viscous red under his body. A small figure, dressed like an idiot teenager at a skate park. Black hair peeked from the hem of a beanie, shadowed green eyes and a smirk that would shake even the bravest of souls beneath.
Michael’s eyes traced the figure’s arms down to the weapon that forced him to cooperate and he cursed. What he had assumed was a lethal firearm was, in fact, a harmless felt-tipped pen.
What the fuck?!
“Not my usual tool, but acceptable,” the man said, clicking the cap on and off a few times just to show off how stupid he’d been.
Why hadn’t he attacked when he had the chance? What was wrong with him, to meekly surrender and let this… this… devil lead him wherever he pleased? He should’ve at least tried!
“Ah, yes! Thank you, Vergil. I’d almost forgotten,” the man said. Who the fuck was Vergil? Was this guy bonkers?
The man turned away to flick on the television, straight into a film full of blood and screaming victims. He turned up the volume, then returned to his victim’s side with a sly grin.
“Each night this week, I increased the volume a little more. The neighbors are used to the screaming now. Make all the noise you wish.”
He tried to scramble away, but without the use of his legs he didn’t get far before the madman caught up. The first tears he’d shed in years leaked from his eyes as the blade struck once more, sinking deep into his shoulder and twisting. When the tip scraped against his shoulder blade, Michael’s last shred of stubborn resistance abandoned him and he released a jagged wail of agony.
“Yes, I suppose I ought to…” the man murmured once his cries faded.
He howled again as a boot-clad foot stomped on his forearm. The bone snapped and hot blood gushed from the hole it punched through his carefully sculpted musculature. All that work, and for what?
I’m gonna be sick!
The film’s screaming and his own retching mixed together as the first wave of agony lost its bite. Adrenaline was a beautiful thing, to dull away the worst of it, but enough remained to draw forth increasingly emasculating sounds. Pathetic.
Something pulled at his waist and before he had the chance to talk himself out of it, Michael looked down to find the cause.
The man was slicing off his calves. He didn’t feel any pain from it, only the pressure when the last few strands of sinew snapped away. A small blessing, wrapped in the horror or his own paralysis. Sour bile flooded his mouth at the sight of his body being pulled apart and the coppery smell of blood, another helping of vomit spilling out to mix with the precious fluid.
“Hmm, yes. That one next, I think,” the man said. Michael barely noticed; his mind was elsewhere.
Silver flashed. Volcanic agony erupted in its wake as the madman hacked off his bicep. Michael screamed again, louder than before as he felt every shredded cell split, but the film drowned him out. None would hear his cries.
The void where his flesh once rested wept crimson. His arm felt limp, as if he’d just finished a long work out. Pain choked him, the severed nerves wailing their protest as if it might somehow save him. Michael closed his eyes, mentally begging for unconsciousness to claim him. Anything to escape this hell.
“This moment is all we have together, don’t spoil it by closing your eyes…”
The blade whistled through the air, lithe fingers grasping each eyelid in turn as metal split the thin tissue apart. His eyes burned, red soaking his vision yet not enough to make him blind to the grin on his tormenter’s face. Never had he seen such a cruel image.
Tears and blood alike dribbled down his cheeks. He thought he knew pain, thought he understood the way the human body was put together. How much strain the muscles could handle before they broke down, only to grow back stronger than before.
But there was no “growing back” from this.
The madman hummed a cheerful tune as he pulled apart Michael’s meticulously toned body. Chunks of meat and sinew slapped wetly in a pile, for what purpose he didn’t have the focus to imagine. How much longer before it was too much? How many more times would his heart beat?
Not enough, yet also too many.
Please, please, please make it stop! Just kill me!
The next time the blade struck bone, Michael lost control of his bladder. As it dug against his collarbone and scraped away all he was, his mind snapped. White-hot terror and pain overwhelmed him, he had nowhere to hide from it and there was no end in sight. He drowned in agony so powerful each second felt like an eternity.
Somewhere far away, voices screamed a poor imitation of his torture as his own voice gave out. All Michael could manage now were dull whimpers.
And then, even that freedom was stolen from him as the ghoul carved his jaw open to remove his tongue. Another wet slap as he tossed it into the pile with the rest. How the fuck was he still conscious?
“I must say, you have impressive endurance.”
Michael gurgled, mangled jowls flapping. His vision blurred, darkness leaking in around the edges. Was it time? Was it finally over?
Please, god, just let me die…
“It seems our time together is at an end. How unfortunate, I was having such fun.”
Michael’s vision narrowed, the final curtain call of his life passing by. He didn’t resist it, instead mentally racing toward oblivion with all he had left. Whatever awaited him on the other side had to be better than this. Death was the only way out.
Twisted laughter heralded his release, a final flash of metal as the artist sliced open his neck. At last, blessed peace…
---V---
The artist cackled and leaned closer, staring deep into the boy’s mutilated eyes as the last glimmers of life left them. He’d never understand why others killed from a distance; there was no greater power on earth than watching another being die and knowing he made it happen. That moment, that last soft sigh as their spirit broke free…
He found it beautiful.
People revealed their true selves as they died. Their fear, their hopes and dreams, everything they valued was on full display for him. In a way, he knew his victims better than anyone else ever could. In some cases, they also knew him.
But this one…
He hadn’t lied. The boy reminded him of his younger self, before Nero’s death and all that came with it. Back when he saw the world with wonder and hope, when he’d never seen the color of blood when it gushes from an open chest cavity.
The pen he’d used to trick his target sounded nothing like a gun; the boy simply didn’t know what one sounded like. It was a lucky guess that such a fool didn’t have prior exposure to such things, but it paid off.
Still.
“Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction?”
The words of William Blake and the true sound of gunfire echoed in his mind as he carved the corpse like a Thanksgiving turkey. The panic, the confusion and shock when it first broke out, the look of resolve on his best friend’s face. Like a film he’d seen too many times, his mind held each frame in his memory forevermore.
“Get down!”
Nero…
He forced himself to relive it all. Those three minutes of anguish taught him more about the nature of life than his prior two decades of comfort. It seemed longer at the time; only later did he learn the true duration of his trauma.
No. Not his trauma.
His failure.
“V, what the hell?! Get down!”
He remembered the thud of the lecturer's heavy tome slamming onto the floor, Blake’s words soon to be soaked in the blood of the innocent. Dozens of voices screaming. Gunfire. Doors slamming open. Bodies hitting the floor.
He remembered smelling the coppery tang of blood in the air for the first time, tinged with piss and panic. Vomit and someone’s leftover French fries. Gunpowder, too; the same smell as New Year’s Eve.
He remembered feeling the pressure to move and how his legs refused to obey. The way his hands trembled as he stared at what would surely end his life. A warm, heavy weight crashing into his chest and knocking him to the ground.
Nero.
Whispered words and the splash of scarlet across his face when Nero coughed.
“Play dead and… take care of her…”
The light fading from his crystal blue eyes.
Tears spilling from his own.
The artist cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. Yes, it was good to remember. It reminded him of why he needed to keep going, why the blood must continue to flow. The reason for his existence. Never could he allow himself to forget – to do so would dishonor his friend. After everything Nero did for him, V owed him this much.
He remembered the empty words of others afterward, the crushing vice that held his heart captive. The weight that bent his shoulders in grief. His family, hesitant and unsure how to restore his previously carefree spirit. His teachers, the pity and discomfort in their eyes whenever they spotted him in class.
He remembered the announcement of the memorial and Professor Marx, asking him to participate. The now-familiar voice of Vergil in his mind urging him to do it, if only to maintain appearances. The gentle scrape of his brush against canvas and the tightness of his throat with each added stroke. The duality of being both numb and feeling far too much all at once.
He remembered her face, swollen and red as she declared him the reason for her fiance’s death. His shame as he accepted her words. How could he argue? She was right, after all. Going to the Blake recitation was his idea. A second, more gravelly voice in his mind, calling her obscene names and giving shape to his urge to deny responsibility. Griffon.
He remembered the unveiling, all the families gathered together to see his and his classmates’ work. Nero’s family, shell-shocked and angry but without a target. The hush that fell over the crowd as each name was read, far too many. Rustling cloth as the covering fell, and the gasps as grieving families found their murdered loved one’s faces.
He remembered his rage boiling inside him as nothing changed in the months to come. An inferno he couldn’t contain, not with the addition of Shadow’s voice; a wordless roar of crashing fury. The cacophony of all their bickering in his mind, indecision and desperation only making them harder to ignore.
He remembered breaking. The gradual creation of his plan and the sense of purpose that grew from it. The urgency of his new goal and the thrill of being reborn. Leaving home to escape the relentless pity, finding his path and walking it without fear. His fear did nothing to help him. His fear was what got his friend killed.
His fear would never control him again.
He released a shaky breath and closed his eyes. There was still so much to do. Eventually, someone would track the boy’s blood here and discover his latest work; it needed to be ready before then. Perhaps once he finished it, he could honor his friend somehow. Carefully, of course. The locals were still hunting him.
And his work was not yet done.
~~~~Next Chapter~~~~
#fanfic#my writing#Be My Nightmare#v x reader#reader insert#devil may cry#dmc v#vitale#psycho V#tw: mental health#tw: school shooting
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Human
As I sit in the quiet of my empty home, two children enjoying their day at school, my husband at work, the animals napping around the house, I remember. There are so many different things to remember that I can only handle a little bit at a time. I play music to reflect and let my memories pour out of me through my tears and words on this page. The haunting melodies tear at my soul and remind me that I am human and my experiences are my own, I have fought many battles (sometimes I wonder how I have done so) with so many more to come. In times like this I can let go, I can reflect, and remember how far I’ve come.
I can start with the “what used to be” mentality and rage against the world for taking so much from me. What good would it do? I had energy, memory, optimism, hope, health, family, and so much more. Now I sit here years later looking at the aftermath of the battles fought and I find myself eerily content with some of the carnage because it brought me silence, peace, and a break from the dramatic machinations of others. I used to mourn friendships lost and feel even though there were many chances to redeem the friendship before it went sour that I still could have done more. I’ve learned. Sometimes it just isn’t worth it. The peace is calming as is the silence though there are times when I remember that some of these battles have left massive scars in my heart, soul, and on my body.
I’ve lost a lot. My energy, health, career, optimism, some family, a baby, friendships, and at times hope. I’ve mourned more times in my 36 years than anyone ever should. I’ve done my best with my “lemon” of a body (or rather “Lyme”), tried to do my best for my family, friends, and humanity. My battle has always been two steps forward and one backwards. It is a never-ending dance that leaves me broken, hopeless, and shattered at times. Today is one of those times.
As I clean my hardwood floors, I pick up the photo canvases that I have collected to display in a gallery wall in our foyer. I’m reminded that something is missing. Well actually it isn’t only as I clean my floors and look at pictures, its daily. You see my body is a reminder of one of my most recent and more tragic battles.
Despite the odds I found myself pregnant earlier this year (did you know in your 30s your odds of pregnancy are 20% at any given month?). I got pregnant with basically no progesterone in my body. I can notice all the small changes in my body so I noticed right away that something was weird. It was odd because my cycle had been irregular the previous month. This started the process of ultrasounds. I think I had five of my little one before 12 weeks. There were concerns about the low progesterone so I supplemented. My hyperemesis gravidarium (extreme nausea and vomiting) came back with a vengeance – I was on separate medicines to deal with the condition (the goal was to stay out of the hospital and off a PICC line). There were times I really wanted to crawl out of my body and thought to myself I wish I could make it stop. I was desperate, couldn’t sleep, was in constant pain and completely tired. I couldn’t enjoy much because of this sinister condition robbing me of the fun of pregnancy. After my 8-week ultrasound and we finally had a great ultrasound with the baby (yes he/she has a name) and saw that beautiful heartbeat I started to try to focus my energy on planning the fun things about having a baby, a gender reveal, my children having a sibling, how to tell family, a little baby in my arms, I’d give anything to have that back.
There are portions of my phone with photographs I cannot look at. It’s a section I just haven’t been able to bring myself to deal with yet. The plans for a nursery, colors, things we’d need, planning a fun gender reveal right before my birthday, and so much more. I had a list of names. Things to take my mind off that horrific condition and put myself in a positive frame of mind so I could endure and embrace the joy instead of the horror of hyperemesis. I was so excited for my 1sttrimester screen but also petrified. We had the announcement photo ready with the kids and my son came with me to the appointment. Unfortunately, my husband was busy and couldn’t come but I was going to video tape it for him. Who knew the horror that would lie ahead? I was joking with the sonographer when I noticed her concern, my 9-year-old was next to me so I asked him quickly to hop out into the waiting room to play on his iPad. It was then my world crashed. 12 weeks 5 days and I learned my baby had passed away. The chaos began. Calls to my doctor, my mother, my husband, explaining to my son what had happened. I kept my composure and let my son sit in the waiting room while I dealt with the specialist as he did another ultrasound and they informed me that my baby was gone, my body just had not recognized the loss. Walking out I had to explain things to my son, he had questions and I tried to answer everything in a kid friendly way so that he wouldn’t be scarred for life. I kept my tears hidden.
I was greeted at home by my mom. My daughter bounced home from camp excited and we had to break the news to her before heading to my OB. The decisions we had to make that day were unthinkable. I saw my baby’s form, head, body, limbs, but that screen didn’t have a flicker. I had two options: wait for my body to realize the loss (it had already been a couple weeks) or two have surgery. Coming from somewhat of a medical family I knew what this surgery was and I couldn’t contemplate this happening to my baby. I would have loved to be able to bury my little one or at least scatter ashes instead of the cold sterile way that it was dealt with in the hospital. We asked for this option but were denied because it was before 20 weeks it counted as a miscarriage. Two days later, I went into surgery. Those days of waiting were the most horrific, as I should have been waiting for those little kicks and flutters of first movement, instead I was sitting in bed knowing that I was carrying a baby who had passed away. Think about the absolute turmoil that would play on your emotions. I was wishing against all odds that it was a mistake but the ultrasound tech let me know how they knew against all odds the baby had passed (I’ll spare you the details).
The day of the surgery I was checked in to the hospital. I walked in and was completely unable to contemplate how or why this had happened. Could I have done something wrong? Was it something I ate? Did a missed dose of medicine do it? Did I eat something wrong? The questions cycled through my mind. I asked for the catholic representative of the hospital to come and pray over our baby. I knew that he/she would never get baptized and I wanted to be sure that this baby had been blessed. I was given a beautiful rosary and as hesitant as I was to have the surgery I did it. I don’t think I could have waited for two weeks to have things naturally happen (labor and all). It was that day my baby was no longer nestled safely inside of me. I know that my baby left days before and I was sure my baby was in heaven but I left that hospital feeling empty. I didn’t have the baby with ten fingers and ten toes that I was supposed to have.
The following weeks were hard. Tears and lots of them. Fights because it’s harder for some to understand the loss. I just wanted to be alone and grieve. I bought one of my favorite plants (a bleeding heart) and planted it. I had a memory stone with a quote created. I bought a garnet ring (it would have been the baby’s birthstone) to remind me of him/her. I went through so much to get to the point where I could semi re-enter society. Yet that wasn’t the end.
Did you know that your body may never act the same after you have this procedure? Periods, cycles, everything can be completely different. Did you know you could get thrown into perimenopause from this? Did you know that just because you were pregnant for however long it takes your body quite a while to readjust to life without that baby in there? Did you know that you could lactate after you lose your baby? So many things that smack you right in the face after such an utter loss. Platitudes and things such as maybe this was Gods way of saving the heartache of having a baby that had severe disabilities were not easy to hear. I understand them all logically but when we learned we were pregnant we decided we would do everything in our power to take care of this baby and make sure the pregnancy was healthy. Platitudes just don’t help when you are left empty handed.
It’s been a few months now, I adopted a kitten because I needed light and laughter in my house. His crazy kitten antics have had me laughing and yelling (claws and sharp teeth – ow), but it has brought a light into my life when I needed it. A pleasant distraction but never a substitute. While he has 10 claws and 8 claws on his teeny little feet it isn’t the same. Although, the laughter of his antics definitely helps break the mood. Life has to go on and while it does, I will still remember the day I was supposed to have the gender reveal ultrasound, I know I should be around six months pregnant now. I should have a nice round belly with kicks and hopefully feeling a bit better from the hyperemesis, but I’m not. Instead as I’m cleaning those floors I know that this child will never have a picture on my wall, a handprint canvas, a birthday party, a first day of school photo, and so much more. My body still has not recovered from this loss and is acting wonky so I’m sicker than I have been in a long time, I’m aching and screaming inside some days, and other days I’m happy and able to enjoy life.
I’ve promised to “Never let go” of the ones I love, here or in heaven and I’ll hold onto that each day as I continue to fight and battle through the barriers in front of me. I won’t let things hold me back and I won’t let my life be spoiled by things that aren’t important. I’ll hold onto the good, release the bad, and move on. I’ll never forget, I’ll never let go, and I promise that I’ll never stop remembering. I’ll remind myself that I’m human and its ok sometimes to stop and remember, to fall down and need help up, to lay your troubles down for a little while. So today I’ve let my troubles rest on this page, my tears fall down my face, and my emotions pour out of me so that I may begin again fresh tomorrow’.
“Our hearts still ache in sadness, and secret tears still flow, what it means to lose you, no one will ever know.”
All my love to my angel baby
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Limerence - Chapter XI
Limerence Masterlist
Characters: Sehun and OC (Ursula)
Warnings: This series contains mentions of assault, sexual violence, and stalking.
Word Count: 3.8k
Limerence: The state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one’s feelings.
Have you ever felt like the world was against you? Do you know what it feels like to have life going so smoothly, and then life just throws something in your face to make life more difficult? As if it just wanted to catch you off guard and trip you up?
It seemed like everything in my life was going great. I was advancing in my job, I was healthy and happy, I had a loving boyfriend, where did it go wrong? Was my life going along too smoothly? I didn’t have the smoothest years behind me, so why can’t I just have a few smooth years to make up for that? Why is it that life seems to want to ruin my happiness with whatever it has up its sleeve?
“They found his body a few miles upstream. The level of decay to his body makes it difficult to pinpoint exactly how long he has been dead, but longer than three weeks I know that much. His face was badly beaten, unrecognizable basically. Thankfully, he still had some of his teeth so we could match dental records to find his identity.”
I stood in front of the mutilated body in complete shock. He had been in the water for days, weeks even, before being found miles up stream. I had never seen such a vile, disgusting, and heinous scene in my life. When the medical examiner removed the sheet from the body completely, I rushed out of the room and to the nearest exit I could find. I thought I would vomit, but I only dry-heaved. I hadn’t had the chance to eat anything earlier in the day, but if I had it would have certainly come back up at the sight of this.
“Urs, are you alright?” Caspian followed me out the same exit, finding me crouching on the ground next to the door. He crouched down as well and rubbed my back, “I’m so sorry you had to see that…”
“Casp, I… I don’t understand,” I took a deep breath in to calm my breathing, “It wasn’t the sight itself, but knowing who he is… I don’t really feel anything towards him, but seeing that… I feel so… Sad.” Logically, as a human, it would be expected that I would feel disgusted and saddened at the sight of such a horrendous act happening to another fellow human being. That much, I knew. However, this felt a lot worse than what I assumed that case would feel like.
“A murder with this amount of rage usually means something personal. We don’t have any leads yet, but I advise that you two not leave town until we get more information on this case.”
Detective Phillips—The same detective who questioned me after Eric’s assault—had asked us to come down. It seemed that he brought bad news with him whenever we met, this makes twice that he has brought bad news to me involving people I’ve known.
Caspian took me back inside while we finished up with the medical examiner. Afterward, he drove me back home—in silence. We had only been in a similar position a few times before, enough to count on one hand for sure. The feeling grew unbearable, but I knew we couldn't do anything to change it. We didn’t speak a word to each other, after all, what was there to say? What could we say to change how we felt at that particular moment? What could be said to take our mind off of the most revolting thing we have ever seen in our lives? Nothing. That’s what. Nothing.
Upon entering my house, I noticed my mom getting ready for work again. She stopped what she was doing to look at me. No witty or sarcastic remark, again just silence. She didn’t know why exactly Caspian and I had been called to come down to the medical examiner’s office, and I honestly didn’t want to tell her why. She had too much to think about already, and letting her know what had just happened would burden her even further. I would tell her soon, just not at that current moment.
For the next few hours, I did nothing but lay in bed. I had one of my playlists on loop, and I just laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Like a movie reel, events from my past seemed to be playing right before my very eyes. I could see things that were not relevant in the least to the situation at hand, and some that were. One day, in particular, stuck in my head.
“Urs, please come out of your room. You can’t stay locked up in there forever.”
“No! I already told you that I don’t want to leave!” Caspian had decided to stay home with my mom and me for a few days. After the incident with my father, I could tell that he felt like he had to be around for me. I shut myself up in my room and only came out to go to school and eat meals. He tried to get me to leave my room, but I just couldn’t find reasons to leave my room. On that day in particular, though, he tried extra hard. He continuously knocked on my door and would yell at me through it. Eventually, I couldn’t handle it anymore and I went and sat on the roof for awhile.
The sun had started to set, leaving the sky brushed with hues of pink, purple, and orange. Being in October, the autumn chill had just started to set in. It wasn’t cold, by no means, however, if you were cold natured you would need a sweater before coming outside. The leaves were almost completely converted over to their autumn colors, but a few sparse green leaves remained.
People around the neighborhood had started setting up for Halloween already. Our neighbor to our right always turned his yard into a graveyard. I looked towards his house to see him bringing out a few tombstones from his garage. His kids came running outside to him, begging for him to let them help set up the yard. Which he, much like any father would, eagerly agreed. He was the neighbor who called Caspian that day. He must have sensed me watching him because he turned in my direction and waved. After returning his gesture, he brought his attention back to his two children that were now chasing one another around the yard with a skeleton hand.
As I turned my head back towards the direction of the sun set, I noticed the woman across the street looking at me. Once she had my attention, she motioned for me to come to her. Reluctantly, I went back inside and out the door to her house. She sat on her porch with her cat, she offered me a seat next to her which I gladly accepted. She looked at the sky, seemingly captivated by whatever she saw there.
“Have you ever thought about how beautiful this world is?” She spoke.
“What do you mean?”
“Look up at the sky, dear,” I looked up, “Look at how it looks like a work of art. The colors blend so well together. It's as if they were watercolors splashed onto a blank canvas. The clouds are positioned so imperfectly that it’s almost perfect,” She pointed to the moon that could barely be seen, “The sun is setting, the moon will soon rise, this is something that happens every day, yes?” What I gathered from the times that I had spoken to her is that she had a very odd way of wording things. Half of the time, what she said made absolutely no sense to everyone except her. What she meant by this, I had no idea, but I simply nodded.
“The sun setting signals the end of the day, the beginning of the night. Then, when the sun rises in the morning, it signals the start of a new day. No matter what happens on Earth, the sun never fails to rise and set each time. It pays no mind to whatever events have happened because what matters is the next day. Think of it like this; The sun will always bring us a new day no matter what happens. Whatever things you have faced today, once the sun sets it will be in the past. Once the sun rises, it will be a new day. This day might have been a struggle, but you always can look forward to the next day. Even when it seems all hope is gone, you will always have the hope that the next day will be better. We do not know what tomorrow will bring, no one does, but all we can do is hope that tomorrow will be better than today and days past.”
It took me a moment to try and process all that she said. The way she said it didn’t completely make it clear as to what she meant, but I understood the overall message she was trying to give me. No matter what happens, tomorrow is a new day and it has potential to be better than today. You can’t lose hope over one or many days of bad luck because once the sun rises the next morning it is a new day—full of new possibilities.
“I… I think I understand what you’re saying.” I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, she still paid full attention to the sky. We sat there in silence watching the sunset, the moon had fully risen by the time I left.
I sat up in my bed and wiped a tear from my cheek. I let out a restless sigh, then scrambled to put on my shoes and make it downstairs. I took a walk to one of the local parks a few blocks away. I walked down one of the many trails they had that lead into the woods, stopping when I found a running stream. I climbed onto a large rock by the edge of the stream and took my shoes off. I sat down on the edge and dipped my feet in the water—finally having a moment of peace.
I laid back, putting my arm behind my head as a makeshift pillow, and looked through the trees at the sunshine. My eyelids grew heavy, slowly but surely closing. I took that time to soak in all of the sounds of nature around me. The wind rustling through the trees, the flowing water of the stream, birds of all kinds chirping and singing, the playful yips of a dog nearby…
Wait.
A dog yipping nearby?
If there were ever to be a perfect time to insert a needle skidding off of a record, it would of been that very moment. I snapped my eyes open with a squint, my brows furrowing. Before I could look to find the dog, I felt a wet tongue licking my cheek. When I saw who it was, I immediately started giggling.
“Vivi! You silly boy! What are you doing here?” I crossed my legs and allowed him to jump in my lap. He put his front paws on my shoulders and continued licking my face, “Okay boy, enough licking please!” I managed to calm him down enough so that he wasn’t trying to lick my face off. I petted his back,then a thought coming to mind. I looked around my surroundings and spotted Sehun leaning against a tree a few feet away.
“I wondered how Vivi got here by himself,” I commented. Sehun smiled, then moved away from the tree and came to sit beside me. Vivi altered between mine and his lap, jumping back and forth while we spoke.
“Urs, what’s bothering you? I can tell something is bothering you.” Either I was very bad at hiding my emotions, or he was very good at reading my emotions. I contemplated if I should really tell him what happened, but by the way he looked he would be able to tell if I lied.
“It’s… My dad,” I sighed. The scene of his body flashed in my mind, making me wince.
“Your dad?” Sehun’s entire demeanor changed, “What did he do? Did he do something to you? Ursula, you have to tell me if he did something to you!”
“Sehun he’s dead!” His face that had been scrunched up in anger dropped abruptly. “They found his body, he was murdered Sehun. Murdered. Caspian and I went to the medical examiner’s office earlier today and that sight,” I shuddered at the thought, “It had to be the most gruesome thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
I explained the events from earlier in the day, making sure to leave out the gory details. He attentively listened, but for some reason, he didn’t seem as if he were surprised by the events I told him. That made me a little questionable.
“Sehun… Why don’t you look shocked or surprised? It’s as if you… Knew of this somehow,” I questioned him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then snapped it back shut.
“Sehun, tell me-”
“It’s just that I kind of expected this.”
Wait. What?
“From all I’ve learned about him, he’s not exactly everyone’s favorite guy. If he did what he did to you and your family, who knows what he would do to other people. I’m not saying it was right, but all I am saying is that I expected this because of his actions.”
I remembered the night I told him about my father, I remember how his face mimicked that of Caspian’s that day many years ago.
“After hearing that, if I ever see that asshole I will kick his ass.”
Sehun is so… Strange. He’s such a sweet, heartfelt guy but then there are times where he looks so bloodthirsty. Maybe he’s just very protective over people he cares for, no need to overthink anything, Urs.
Sehun pulled my body closer to his and guided my face to the crook of his neck. I took a deep breath in through my nose, the scent that I smelled wasn’t his normal one. However, I knew I had smelled it before.
“Hey, you smell different,” I commented. He chuckled, causing a slight rumble in his chest, “I changed the soap that I use. I didn’t think it would be that noticeable.”
We spent the next few hours at that park. We played frisbee with Vivi—or at least tried to. Sehun kept throwing it too hard, Vivi eventually stopped running after it. However, when I threw it, he ran after it without hesitation. Sehun went near one of the trees and plopped down to the ground, sulking. With the way he had his arms crossed over his chest, he looked like a little kid sitting in time out.
When Vivi brought the frisbee back to me, I tossed it over to where Sehun sat. It landed at his feet and Vivi ran after it, but he didn’t go for the frisbee. He jumped on Sehun and started licking his face, much like he had done to me earlier in the day. Sehun’s face brightened up and he started giggling, he laid back on the grass and let Vivi continue showing him love. The two of them looked so adorable, Vivi’s little yips and Sehun’s giggles brought a wide grin to my face. The two of them—no—the three of us together… I couldn’t explain how it made me feel. Being with the two of them made all of the things I had witnessed earlier in the day disappear. When I was with Sehun, my problems weren’t the most important thing on my mind. He was.
Yes, he had weird tendencies, but none of those really mattered. I used to only think of my troubles, they used to weigh heavy on my mind, but then he came into my life. I still thought of my troubles, but they were minuscule in comparison to the pure joy that he made me feel. Just hours ago I thought my life was falling apart, but then being with him made those thoughts seem silly. Those thoughts weren’t true, being with him helped me see that.
Nothing can describe how important he is to me. No combination of every word in the world could explain this, it wouldn’t even come close. He’s my hope. He’s been here for me for everything, even the things that happened before I knew him. If any past events bothered me, I could confide in him and he would be there with me and listen to whatever I had to say. I think that’s one of the things I love about him. Another thing I love about him is, just like today, he doesn’t even have to try and cheer me up. Him being around me and being himself cheers me up, it’s effortless. Something about him just makes me feel… Bliss.
While on our way back home, walking hand in hand, we didn’t share any verbal communication. We communicated in gestures and facial expressions, we didn’t need words. What started out as one of the worst days yet, turned into one of the best. Finding out my father was murdered did drag my mood down, but that now laid in the past. What’s done was done, nothing could happen to change that. The future, that is what I knew I should focus on. The future, my future, our future. The future had such a luminescence to it, I could see beams of golden light and I could feel an ineffable warmth.
Once we reached our driveways, Sehun kissed my cheek and wrapped his arms around my waist. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his body to mine. I had realized something at the park, something I wanted to tell him.
“Sehun?” He hummed in response, “I love you.” He put some distance between us so he could look me in the eyes.
“You love me?” I nodded. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open in wonder. His eyes teared up a bit, “You love me,” He repeated his question again, this time as a statement to himself. I, once again, nodded.
“I love you, Sehun.” His lips were on mine in no time, he didn’t have to say so for me to know that he loved me as well. I could feel his passion and love in his kiss, this one different from our kisses before. Ones before were short and sweet, and sometimes a little shy. This one, neither of us held back. We let all of our emotions pour out into the kiss. It felt as if both of our emotions met on impact and molded together into one entity.
At the end of the day if I have nothing, at least I have you. That’s all I could ever ask for.
Vivi’s barking made us pull apart. He was jumping on our legs, begging for attention. Sehun scooped him up and cradled him to his chest, “Daddy is sorry, I will give you love too.” He kissed the top of his head and snuggled him closer. I didn’t want to leave, but I knew I had to go home. A new day awaited tomorrow, I had to be ready for all that it held.
I kissed him and Vivi goodbye then took my leave. As I stepped foot on the concrete of my driveway, I heard Sehun gushing to Vivi. “Did you hear that? She loves me! She really loves me!”
I walked up the steps and to the front door, I unlocked it and then walked in. I heard my phone ringing from upstairs, so I rushed upstairs to see the name of the caller. I checked the caller ID, it was one I didn’t recognize. I declined it, but then when I could clearly see the number of missed calls I had from this number, I answered it on spot the next call.
“Ursula! It’s Detective Phillips, thank God you answered!” I kicked my shoes off and laid them beside my closet, “Oh detective, hello. I’m sorry I didn’t answer, I just came home from being out for awhile and I saw all of your calls. What is it that is so urgent?”
“We found out something about your father’s case. We found the murder weapon. We searched against the current and found one of his shoes washed ashore, and when we sent divers in to check the water near there we found a tire iron at the bottom of the river. The water washed off most of the evidence, but after further examination of the impact wounds on your father’s head, we found that the way the tire iron had been bent matched the crime. After determining his time of death, and asking the public for any information, we have a lead.”
I passed by my window, stopping to see Sehun rolling around his yard with Vivi. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight, he seemed to be ecstatic after our encounter earlier.
“Someone saw your father get into a car with someone. It was nighttime, but they could give a small description of the car. Four doors, gray or silver in color, and the back right bumper has a dint in it,” My eyes trailed to the driveway across the street and my heart dropped, time stopped altogether.
“Ursula? Are you there?”
“Uh, yeah, sorry!” I turned away from the window, a sick feeling in my stomach started rising, “I don’t think I have seen a car like that before, but I will keep an eye out for it. Thanks for telling me, detective.”
“Are you okay? You sound troubled.”
“Yeah! I’m just a little shaken up still after earlier, you know?”
Please buy it, please please PLEASE buy it.
“Ah, yes, I’m sorry. Call me if anything comes to mind, I will keep you and your brother updated on the case.”
I thanked him and then hung up the phone. My phone fell from my hands onto the carpet. I didn’t want to turn back around and look again, but I knew I had to. I looked back towards the driveway again, confirming that what I saw had not been a lie. I fell to my knees and choked on a whimper.
There’s no way… There is absolutely no way. He could never… He would never… He isn’t capable of doing something like this…
My phone rang again, the peaceful melody filled me with pure terror. I forced myself to crawl across the floor to look. I drug it across the carpet and over to myself. The phone seemed like it weighed a few tons, I found it hard to even pick it up. I peeked at the screen to see the caller ID.
Suho.
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11 The Dodgers, Boy’s Club, and Santa
I suppose, for me, living on Martense St. it was a time in my life that I have a score of memories. Perhaps that part of my brain was maturing to a point that it was easier to remember a wider range of instances. What I mean is that usually remembering things that are vivid is easy, but to remember ordinary things is harder. Maybe from eight and a half to ten years old, my life was filled with more vivid moments. Who knows…
Martense Street goes east from its start on Flatbush Avenue. The first cross north-south cross street is Bedford Avenue. That should be very familiar to Brooklyn Dodger fans. Up to when they abandoned Brooklyn, towering home runs would fly over the right field wall onto Bedford Avenue.
It was no more than a ten block walk up Bedford to get to Ebbets Field, the baseball stadium of the Dodgers. As part of the War effort, you could get free admission to lots of Dodger games by bringing 50 pounds of newspaper to Ebbets field.
The basements or cellars of every apartment house in our neighborhood, like plenty of other neighborhoods in Brooklyn, were deluged by kids with wagons picking up every thrown out newspaper in existence. To Ebbetts Field we’d go to see the likes of Dixie Walker, Mickey Owen, Whitlow Wyatt, Eddie Stanky, Eddie Miksis, Leo Durocher, Augie Galan et. al. These were the guys who were playing when I went to my first Dodger game. Just a quick story about Augie Galan. He played center field. Daddy, my brothers, and I were in the center field bleachers one night when Galan let a ball go over his head. Daddy thought he was bush league. Years later, I met Carl Erskine, a super Dodger pitcher in the 50’s.
I asked Erskine if he knew Augie Galan. A big smile came to Erskine’s face as he told me he roomed with Augie. He went on, “Augie was a great guy, and a good ballplayer.” Daddy would take issue with the “good ballplayer part”.
I do not take lightly that I met Carl Erskine, or as Brooklynites would say, “Oisk”
He was a Dodger Great! Years later, when I met him in his home town of Anderson, Indiana, he was gracious and welcoming. He gave me personally signed copies of his books, “Tales From the Dodger Dugout”. He also signed his name as “OISK” in one of the books. One thing Carl Erskine cannot experience is to know what a thrill and privilege it is to meet Carl Erskine.
An interesting thing about living on Martense Street, and being so close to Ebbets Field, is that we never played hard-ball. Our “baseball” street games were limited to stickball, slap ball, punch ball, and fast pitching. Hardball and softball required a sand-lot with no buildings near it. Otherwise, plenty of windows would get broken. So, even in big schoolyards, stickball was the big game. A hollow, rubber, high-bounce ball would be used, and broomstick handles were used for bats. There were no balls and strikes, and the pitched ball must go over home plate in one bounce. The rest was exactly like a hardball or softball game. However, that meant there needed to be plenty of players. Fast pitching or slap ball were the street ball games of choice. Either could be played with one guy on each side. We played lots of other games: kick-the-can, ring-a-leevio, Johnny-on-the-pony, tag, Chinese handball, I Declare War On, box ball, red light, et al. All of this speaks to how I spent my time.
Naturally, going to school took a good portion of my days. I attended P.S.246. In Third Grade, I had one of my favorite teachers, ever! Mrs. Cohen was fun, and I learned a lot. I loved going to school during that year. Funny thing, I don’t remember
playing hooky in 3rd grade. Actually, in First Grade at P.S. 181 may have been the last time. Another thing I don’t remember is Fourth Grade. Nothing! Not a single piece of memory! My teacher? My friends? Wait! I do remember the door to the room, or at least where it was located. I now wonder what in the world was going on in my life for me to lose or block out a year of my schooling. I know for sure things were happening in my life…but maybe nothing at school.
Just south of Church Avenue on the east side of Bedford Ave stood the Flatbush Boy’s Club. Much of our time was spent at the Boy’s Club. Two things, at this moment, stand out in my mind regarding the Boy’s Club. The Golden Gloves and Santa Claus.
Today, I don’t keep track of the Boxing World. But in the 1940’s, Joe Lewis was the Heavy Weight Champion of the World. We listened to every fight he was in. I was a big fan. I cried the night he lost to Jersey Joe Walcott. So, boxing was big in Brooklyn. The Bengal Bouts were huge! Many a world champion, in all the different weight classes, were once Bengal Bout champions. Believe it or not, scrawny little me competed in the first bout of the1945 Bengal Bouts. There is a qualifier here. My rival in the ring and I were 9 years old. Our bout, a preliminary bout, was strictly for entertainment purposes. However, for my rival (I can’t remember his name) and me, it was serious business. I had never before been in a boxing ring, and never before been in front of such a huge crowd- the place was packed!
To prepare us for the fight, we were given a few boxing lessons. I was coached to keep my right arm and jab with my left. I had the old 1-2 down pat. For three 1.5 minute rounds we pounded each other. I had trouble executing the old 1-2 throughout the entire three rounds. My boxing shorts were way too big, and every time I’d try to put my right arm up, my shorts would start to fall down. I think I fought the entire bout with one hand trying to hit the other kid, and the other hand holding up my shorts. I’d hear shouts, “Go Richie!”…and…“keep your pants on!” Had I not had the difficulty of using my right hand to save me from embarrassment, I probably would have knocked that kid to the canvas, flat! Due to the size-of- my- shorts mishap, I was sure the other kid got the best of me. However, the judges ruled it a draw. I must have gotten some punches in I wasn’t aware of. The fight must have been great. We got a standing ovation!
The second thing I remember about the Flatbush Boy’s Club was monumental. The guy who managed the gym, I think we called him Ace, had submitted my name to be one of two boys to travel to Canada to bring Santa Claus back for all the kids in New York City.
The Herald Tribune, one of New York’s finest newspapers, sponsored this adventure through their Fresh Air Fund. The other kid, who was to travel with me, was ten years-old and I was nine. It had to be late November or early December of 1945.
We were taken by car to LaGuardia Airport. When we got there, there were throngs of people there to wish us well. We were interviewed by the Press. Probably, the Press was the Herald Tribune reporters and photographers. The Herald Tribune looked like the New York Times. In my mind they were the classy newspapers. The other newspapers I was used to seeing, especially at Church and Flatbush, was The News and the Mirror. But this was a Tribune event for us kids.
Before we got on the plane, we were interviewed. They ask me if I was afraid to get sick when flying. I told them, I would not get sick because I wasn’t allergic to flying.
At that time, the term allergy was rather new to the world. I think because my uncles were doctors, I knew about them. Our interviews took up two whole columns of the next day’s paper. We then boarded a two engine passenger plane owned by Colonial Airlines. Naturally, flying up to Montreal, Canada was about the most nauseous experience of my life. I vomited and vomited until nothing would come out. I wonder if I was allergic to flying.
When we arrived in Montreal, we were met by Mrs. Rogers Reid, the owner of the Tribune. We were to stay at her home overnight, then meet Santa at the airport, to fly home the next day. When we got to her house, she showed us around. The other kid and I were to sleep in the same bed. That scared me. I wet the bed, and I didn’t want to admit it to anyone. My plan was to not drink soda or water after dinner so I wouldn’t have to go. I knew there was no guarantee there would be a dry bed in the morning.
Before we went to bed that night, Mrs. Reid told us we could order whatever we want for breakfast. I couldn’t believe that. Today, I have no idea what either of us ordered. I’m certain there were plenty of times, while shopping for groceries, my mother would say, “What do you boys want for breakfast?” I never looked at that as my mother telling us we may order our own breakfast.
That night, after we got tucked in, I started to tell scary things to my companion. I would go- “Oh, what’s that?; I thought I saw a skeleton; Did you hear that?… I was scaring myself! Pretty soon, however, the other boy got real scared and made a spooky noise. Mrs. Reid came in and separated us. My partner was taken out of the room, and they made a bed for him on a couch in the hallway. I quickly fell asleep.
The next morning, I awoke to a dry bed. I did not wet the bed! But guess who did?
When I went out of the room into the hallway, I could see all the couch cushions standing on their side to dry off. That made things even better for me.
We had breakfast, and left for the airport to meet Santa. He was there, ready to fly back to New York. I was suspicious that he was a fraud. However, he knew our names, and he let me pull his beard. Wow, I almost pulled his head off. I was certain we had the real Santa. Guess what? I did not get air sickness on the way home.
There was a big crowd of people cheering as we got off the plane. I felt like a hero.
No one from my family was at the airport. Oh, well. I’ll see them when I get home.
As I walked into the front door, I yelled, “hello. It’s me, your hero, I’m home! A big disappointment for me- no one was home.
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Dread and Hunger: Ch. 14
You can read Chapter 14 on Ao3 Here
Chapter 14: Dolcetto
He didn’t see Hannibal for a week.
He didn’t see Tobias Budge, either.
He told himself it was fine; no labels meant freedom, an easy exit in case things became too complicated or too serious for him. No labels meant he was free to fly on the whims of whatever provocation struck him in the moment. He changed his aftershave back to the one with the ship on the bottle.
He was kindly but firmly let go at Nectar.
“I’ve gotten a couple of customer complaints. Your head’s just not in the game, Will, and I can’t have that here. You’re a great guy, but one of those complaints was on Yelp, and we’re family owned. We can’t take a hit like that. We can’t afford it.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll give you a fair reference; feel free to put me down, and I’ll see to it that you get the job.”
“…Okay.”
He considered calling Hannibal to tell him, but at the last moment, finger poised over the send button, he changed his mind.
-
“What’s got you meeting us in a public place like this so early in the afternoon?” Beverly asked, sipping her drink. Fridays meant half price Long Island Iced Teas, and Will was kind enough to buy one for each of them. Hannibal had been making so much food for him that he’d ended up saving on groceries, leaving a little wriggle room for alcohol meant to numb and stifle emotions.
“Just needed some time away from work and school,” he said.
“I heard you were fired,” Margot drawled, spinning on the stool. Will shot her an unforgiving look.
“People don’t like the Chesapeake Ripper’s target working for them. It makes them nervous,” he informed a sympathetic Alana. He took a sip of the drink, pleased with the way it settled hot in his stomach. He wasn’t in the mood to be sober.
“What’s Hannibal going to do?” Beverly asked. Alana glanced over at them, curious.
“Who’s Hannibal?”
“A fuck buddy?” Margot guessed.
“I think he’s seeing someone else,” he told Beverly. Beverly hmm’d and scowled, taking a long, exaggerated drink from the two straws.
“If he is, drop him,” she declared.
“I think he’s already dropped me.”
“Was he a boyfriend?” Alana asked kindly.
“No labels,” he muttered, taking another drink.
“People say that as an excuse to fuck around,” Margot said, arching her brow. “No labels means no breakup, so if you make a scene, you’re the one that people talk about, not them.”
“It’s fine,” said Will, and Beverly snorted.
“Like hell it’s fine. Bartender?” She waved at the man on the end. “I think we’re going to need another round. I don’t want this fish trying to come up for air.”
Will was too miserable to even think about arguing.
It wasn’t the third long island that got him, nor was it the fourth. By the fifth, half of the bar knew Will had been ‘cheated on’ and were more than happy to buy their small group drinks, declaring themselves the new best friends of Will Graham, that guy that sounded like the one in the article about serial killers, but no one could really remember the details. Alcohol made it fuzzy, made redirecting people as easy as pie.
Will found himself decidedly not missing anyone or anything. No, no, that was a lie; he missed the feel of his lips. They tingled, numb, and he touched them, staring stupidly at the wild debate that Margot, Alana, and someone else at the bar were elbows deep into.
“You’d never know Alana was a debater until a moment like this,” Beverly said with a hiccup.
“She’s always been a debater,” Will said, but it came out slurred, words blending and blurring like paint on canvas. He swayed on his stool, a dull hum in his veins that made everything soft.
“Are you thinking about Hannibal?” Beverly asked.
“No,” he said honestly. “I was thinking that I’m too drunk to remember what you just asked me.”
Beverly laughed, then Will laughed, and it was loud enough to get the attention of Alana, who gave up the debate in order to laugh with them, as well as catch Will as he decided to take a tumble from the bar stool.
They split a taxi fare home, and Margot, surprisingly the least drunk of them all, made sure Will got to his apartment before she toddled back to the taxi, swinging her hips and flailing her heels in hand to the beat of a song playing on her phone. Beverly and Alana cheered her on from the taxi. Will leaned against the door to his apartment on the second floor, breathing in the sharp, frigid air, and he debated sleeping outside. It was nice. Nature was nice.
Lack of a pillow ultimately led him inside where he tossed his keys somewhere in the gloom. They hit the ground with a loud, jangling clatter, and the noise distracted him just enough that he turned to it rather than turn to flip on the lights. Which was just as well; as he turned, he stumbled, and as he stumbled he fell right into the arms of the Chesapeake Ripper.
It was the hat silhouette that gave him away; it was the same as the time the Ripper had straddled him on his bed. Will fell against him, surprised, hands flying up to grab his arms to steady himself as his equilibrium swayed, threatening to spill his stomach’s contents all over the floor. At his frantic, tight grip, the Ripper grabbed his upper arms, steadying him. He let out a short hiss of breath.
“There you are,” Will slurred, and he fell into him, pressing his face to his chest. He turned his head, ear pressed to his heartbeat. It pounded, far less calm than it’d been before, his body tense around Will, waiting. Waiting for what? Will closed his eyes; at the dizzying array in his head, he opened them.
“I thought…he’s gone from me. I wasn’t enough, and he’s gone. Are you here to finally kill me? Is that why you’re waiting in my apartment?”
The Chesapeake Ripper shook his head, sliding his hands from Will’s shoulders in order to wrap his arms around him tightly, securing him in place.
“That’s a fucking relief,” he murmured into his chest. In the dark, he could only see the shape of his arm, made lumpy by the sweatshirt he wore. It smelled of grass clippings and secrets. He inhaled the taste, and it made his head spin, so much so that he tried to straighten up, blinking rapidly.
“I’m drunk,” he confessed, and the Ripper tightened his hold on him. “It’s nice.”
He laid his head on his shoulder, since that’s what felt appropriate while being embraced by a serial killer.
“I thought you left me. I thought you left like Tobias left, taking Hannibal with him, and you followed along, too.” The Ripper’s hand lifted to the back of his head where he stroked the curls lightly, soothingly. Will leaned into his touch, material bunching in his grasp as he held on for dear life.
“Did you send me that letter?” he whispered, and the Ripper stilled. “Did you send me that letter where you mentioned the perfect pitch being my screams?”
A beat. The Ripper shook his head.
“Did you kill the musician in Baltimore?”
He shook his head again.
“Did Tobias Budge kill the musician in Baltimore?”
A prolonged hesitation. Will swallowed down the awful taste of too many liquors blended together, and the Chesapeake Ripper nodded.
“Did he send me those flowers in the vases?”
Another nod.
“I didn’t think he was the Chesapeake Ripper. I’m relieved,” he said, and he blinked rapidly, eyelids heavy. “I’m tired.”
The Chesapeake Ripper walked him down the hall in the dark, like he’d done this a thousand times before. Minus carrying half of Will’s body-weight, it was very likely he had. He didn’t turn on the light in the bedroom, but he helped Will ease down onto the edge of the bed, smoothing hair away from his brow once he was settled.
“I’m tired,” he said again, and the Ripper slid his hands down to cradle his face, tilting Will’s head back. Will blinked hazily at the shadows before him, too drunk to focus well enough to try and see what few features he could maybe make out in the dark. “I’m tired in my head, in my skin, in my bones. Everything’s escalating, and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.”
The Chesapeake Ripper hmm’d, stroking his thumb along his cheek.
“I know that Tobias is dangerous. His eyes are dead. He came to me to get to you, and I think he thinks this town isn’t big enough for two serial killers.”
A subtle nod. The Ripper agreed.
“He should just die,” Will decided quietly. He hiccupped again. “If the choice was between you or him, I’d choose you every time.”
A soft huff of laughter, a mere whisper in the quiet.
“Isn’t that awful, though? You’re a murderer. You eat people. I should…I shouldn’t want you this much. I shouldn’t be that upset when you’re not here. I shouldn’t want you.”
One hand slid down to Will’s neck, cupping his pulse. It beat steadily against his palm.
“…But I do.”
His hand tightened on his neck reflexively. It loosened when Will hiccupped again.
“What is it you said to me? ‘I long for the day you ache for me’?” At another nod, Will laughed, a blurred, miserable one. “…I’m hungry. I have a hunger for you.”
The Chesapeake Ripper’s breath caught, the only sound in the room apart from the blood roaring in Will’s ears. He swallowed, his throat decidedly dry. His tongue clicked on the roof of his mouth.
“…And what do we know of hunger?” Will asked. He leaned into the Ripper’s touch.
He suddenly found himself pressed back onto the bed, hands pinned to the mattress above his head.
“It needs to be fed,” The Chesapeake Ripper growled.
-
He woke up with just enough time to run to the bathroom where he vomited profusely. The world swayed left, right, and Will’s head bobbed with it. He groaned, somehow still drunk despite the time of day, and when he lifted his head, he stared at the toilet seat that sat with quiet indignity at his behavior.
The night before was a blur.
He propped himself up and took short, curt breaths until his stomach settled. Once he felt that he could stand without barfing again, he stood up and rinsed his mouth, grabbing his toothbrush and attacking his teeth with it, a shudder running down his spine at the foul taste in the back of his throat.
�� He grabbed his trash can and hauled it after him as he stumbled into the front room and stared dazedly, trying to get his bearings. The room was clean, spotless, and it took him a prolonged moment to realize that the shattered glass and roses that he’d left on the floor for the past week were gone, no indication of their having ever existed. Had he decided to clean the night before? He slumped into a dining room chair and sat the trash can beside him, squinting at the space where the other two vases once dominated the table. Had he thrown them away? When he tried to recall, he had to place his face in his hands to stop the lurching sensation that made water pool on his tongue.
He couldn’t remember.
He checked his phone and pulled up the text from Beverly, squinting at it.
B: How you feeling, champ?
He uttered a short, foul curse and scowled down at his phone.
W: I don’t remember what happened last night.
B: Me neither. We were pretty hammered. Alana said Margot had to convince you not to sleep out on the porch.
He snorted. Margot must have pitied him to deny him the opportunity to make an ass of himself.
W: I cleaned the house, apparently.
B: If you managed to clean it without breaking anything, good job. I’ve been puking since seven A.M.
W: Just woke up.
B: Lucky bastard.
He sat the phone down and rubbed his face, cursing the taste of the long island iced tea. Never in the history of drinking had anyone ever mixed that many liquors into one drink and lived to speak happily about it.
He went into the kitchenette and flipped on the light, fingers hovering over the switch as he noticed a pan sitting out on the stove that he most certainly didn’t recall putting there. He lifted the lid, still warm against his palm, and his heart dropped to his guts as he gaped at steam rising from a breakfast omelet that’d recently been made.
Definitely not him. Will stared at the peppers mixed into the egg, a voice whispering in the back of his head that he had no such peppers in his fridge.
In his rush to throw open his apartment door, he had to lean against it and take deep, steady breaths as he almost vomited again. When he managed to open it a crack, he used his foot to drag the letter inside, not wanting to bend over and fall onto his face. Door closed and securely locked, he slumped to the floor and picked up the letter, his pulse hammering into his neck mercilessly.
Dearest Will,
If you truly wish for me to kill Tobias Budge for you, you only have to ask.
Always yours,
-C.R.
The Chesapeake Ripper was in his house last night. He’d made him breakfast.
Hoarse panting, bedsprings creaking, hands that encase and ensnare, cheek pressed to hot cheek.
“My darling Will,” a rough, grating voice whispering praises in his ear, making his blood sing. “My darling Will.”
Will dropped the letter and pressed his hand to his mouth, shaking his head frantically. That hadn’t happened. That hadn’t happened.
He barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up again.
-
Hannibal called a few hours later, and Will considered letting it go to voicemail. He stared at the buzzing phone, swallowed the taste of bile, and picked up.
“Hello?”
“Will,” Hannibal said warmly. Like he hadn’t ignored him for over a week. “Do you work today?”
“I was fired.”
“…I see. That is regrettable.”
There was a lull, Will staring blankly at the floor, trying to puzzle out the night before, two fingers of whiskey in the glass at his elbow. The best cure for a hangover was more alcohol. The best cure to get the flashes of memory out of his head was more alcohol. Ergo, he needed to drink.
“Would you like some company?” Hannibal asked, and there was a touch of hesitation. If Will didn’t know better, he’d have guessed Hannibal knew just how deeply he’d hurt him. Maybe he knew what ‘no labels’ meant to someone like Will, and that there’d been a line somewhere that’d been crossed. It was up for interpretation. Maybe he thought Will was pissed. Maybe he just felt bad he wasn’t there to witness Will get booted from another job. The headache kicking at his temple wasn’t really an ally in reading tone of voice over the phone. The flashes of memory that danced along his eyelids every time he blinked wasn’t helping with the nausea.
He thumbed the edge of the envelope from the Ripper, and he sighed.
“I don’t think I’d be that good of company.” Among other things.
“Why not?”
“I’m hungover.”
“A long night, Will?” There was a gentle nudge of humor, testing the waters.
“It all pretty much came back up,” Will informed him.
“You’re unwell? Allow me to bring you food.”
“I can’t promise that I’ll eat it,” Will said. He wasn’t quite sure how the word ‘no’ would sound coming out of his mouth. He practiced it silently, and the shape of his lips just wasn’t right. He considered trying anyway, just to see how Hannibal would react.
“At the very least, I can ensure you’re alright.”
“…Alright.”
He made the drive in almost half the time.
Will answered the door, clad in his pajama pants and a loose tee, uncaring of his bedhead or what probably had to be half a week’s worth of unshaved face. Hannibal’s eyes swept from head to toe, and he stepped in, two small bowls in hand.
“You do look unwell,” he said, setting the bowls down in the kitchen. Will grunted.
“I drank a lot,” he said, closing and locking the door.
“Beverly’s idea?” he asked.
“Mine. She didn’t try and discourage it, though.”
“I wouldn’t imagine she would.”
He watched Hannibal move about the kitchen with poise and ease, finding spoons without having to ask which drawer they were in. He’d cooked at Will’s house for the past few months almost as much as he had at his own.
“This is a silkie soup to aid in replenishing what was lost during your stomach’s upheaval,” he explained, presenting a bowl to Will. He accepted the spoon and set it in the bowl.
“That’s a nice way of saying I puked up anything of value from yesterday.”
“In all things, I try and maintain some level of dignity,” Hannibal replied with a small smile.
“Can’t say the same for myself,” Will replied. “Last night was a pretty damn good indication of that.”
“I’m glad you were able to make yourself breakfast,” Hannibal said, nodding to the half-eaten omelet at the table.
Will avoided looking at the food. He’d choked it down out of necessity, not want.
It was not a want but a need, and Will thrust into him, palm pressed to palm in holy palmer’s kiss, and the noises that fell around them made his heart pound, made his veins burn as his hips moved hungrily.
“Thanks,” he said after a moment, motioning to the soup. He took a sip, testing his stomach in the face of the broth. It was rich, still warm despite the trip in the car, and he nodded, scooping up a mushroom.
“Was it the sort of relief you were going for?” Hannibal asked. Will didn’t have to question what he was talking about.
“I didn’t plan on getting that drunk. Just enough to relax.”
“Do you remember if it worked?”
Teeth grazed over his inner thigh, and Will cried out, hips bucking up. Hands pressed him back down to the bed, teasing, caressing. When lips wrapped around his member and hands glided along his skin, he gripped the sheets beneath his hands and shuddered, sparks of pleasure arcing along his nerves.
“Yes, yes,” he moaned.
“…No.”
His skin tasted like salt and blood. Will traced his lips and tongue over his ribs, biting down when gloved hands tugged his hair.
“Take your gloves off and touch me,” he said. The Chesapeake Ripper complied.
“I hope nothing untoward happened,” Hannibal said. His soup sat untouched, and he studied Will with a hesitance that, if Will hadn’t known him well enough, he wouldn’t have noticed.
“We got a cab back here, my friends went home, and I was here the rest of the night. I don’t think they’d have let anything happen to me.”
“That is a relief.”
Once Will got about half of it down, Hannibal began eating as well, like he had to make sure Will could stomach it before it was worth it. His eyes occasionally drifted towards the half empty plate though, and Will traced his movements, fingers drumming on his leg idly.
Afterwards, Hannibal cleaned up and sat beside him on the couch, leg crossed and hands clasped in his lap like a gentleman. Will slumped into the seat of the couch, willing himself to melt into it.
“You changed your aftershave back,” Hannibal noted.
“…Yeah.”
“Were you jealous that I had dinner with Tobias?” Hannibal asked in the bleak quiet.
“You can have dinner with whoever you want,” Will replied after a moment, fiddling with the string on his pajama pants.
“He was restringing my harpsichord. Since he was more than willing to come to me, I thought to give him something in return.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I’m giving you one all the same,” said Hannibal, and he reached over to grasp Will’s hand.
Their hands were intertwined, their breaths wrapped up in one another, and Will held him pinned to the bed, thighs tight around his middle as he kissed him like a drowning man breaking the surface of the sea just before death. His lips were full, plump from the abuse, and Will bit down on his bottom lip, hard.
“…Do what you want, Hannibal,” Will finally said. He didn’t pull his hand away, but he didn’t return the light pressure, either. He needed a shower. He needed to scrub his skin raw.
“Your tactics of evasion may work with your friends, but they won’t work on me, Will,” Hannibal informed him gravely. “You tell me to do what I want, and what I want is to spend my time with you. That desire is meaningless, though, if you don’t want it, too.”
“…I’m tired,” Will said heavily.
“I’m tired.”
“Of me?” Hannibal wondered. Will shook his head, letting go of Hannibal’s hand to rub his face roughly, palms pressed to his eyes.
“I told you that I wasn’t going to be good company,” he muttered.
“Are you still hungry?”
“I have a hunger.”
“No, I’ve been fed.” He motioned back towards the clean and empty bowls on the table. “I think I just want to lay down.”
“Would you like company for that?” Hannibal asked. Will stood, and he felt Hannibal’s eyes track his movement, his stretching. Wordlessly, he grabbed Hannibal’s hand and tugged him up, leading him down the hall to the bedroom where he crawled beneath the blankets and curled up close to him, legs intertwined.
He tried very hard to ignore the bitter scent of stale sex in the room. Hannibal ignored it, too.
#Dread and Hunger#LiaS scribbles#hannibal#hannibal fanfic#hannigram#will graham x hannibal#someone help Will graham#hannibal au#university will graham#age difference hannibal
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Dear Ash,
I am writing to you because I have words in my head that I need to get out on paper.
Last night, as you know, I got unbelievably drunk. I went to bed after drinking about 3 glasses of water and eating a plate of hash browns (also chocolate chip pancakes, courtesy of the Springfield Diner. Our server totally knew I was drunk). After a few hours of sleep, I woke up around 3AM. My heart was racing and my stomach was churning. My whole body was shaking. I thought I was going to throw up, but I never did. Tori rubbed my back as I laid on the floor of my bathroom. I prayed to a god I don’t believe in that my body would release all of the toxins I’d forced into it. But it didn’t.
At first, I was surprised. Normally when you put too much alcohol in your system, the body detects it as poison and rejects it - which is why most people spend the end of drunken nights with their heads over a toilet as their bodies force the poison out. But then I realized something. I thought my body was doing something abnormal by not causing me to vomit, but what it did was actually normal for me. Last night, my body reacted to a physical toxin the same way it reacts to emotional toxins. My brain holds in all of my dark thoughts and refuses to let go of them in healthy ways, the same way that my stomach held onto the alcohol in my system and refused to release it. No matter how much I beg and plead the poison to leave me, my body keeps it hostage.
So after spending a good amount of time on the bathroom floor, I finally managed to get back into my bed for some much-needed shut eye.
Today I woke up surprisingly functional (probably thanks to the water and pancakes - another shoutout to the Springfield Diner and their nonjudgemental staff). Tori cooked us a breakfast of eggs over easy, toast, and tea. We spent the morning reading articles in the Philadelphia Inquirer while talking to my cats (yes, I said talking to my cats). I still felt queasy, but around noon my friends Rita and Heather came over and we all went on a mini adventure around Springfield. It helped distract me, but once I came back home and was alone again, I felt overwhelmed with pain. It’s funny how the darkness lurks - following you at a distance while you live your life, waiting for the moment you let your guard down enough for it to overpower you. When I get into dark moods like this, I can’t function. I spent two hours on my couch, watching TV and scrolling through Tumblr mindlessly.
Then I thought back to this time last year, and the type of pain I was in then. It’s actually the exact same type of pain, but back then it was even more overwhelming than it was today, But last year, I took the pain I was in and transformed it into a beautiful painting - it’s still the painting I am most proud of to this date. I took my emotions and channeled them onto a canvas. So I decided to try to do that again.
My concept for the painting was going to be this: a lone mountain with an incredible galaxy night sky behind it. It seemed perfect. You see, Liam always liked my mountain landscapes, but I always preferred an abstract sky; a sky filled with stars and planets and wonder. And in a way, those preferences easily represent our personalities. Liam is a mountain - standing tall, strong, bold, and unmoving. Both intimidating and breathtaking. It’s so easy to look at a mountain and be rendered speechless by its sheer power. There have been so many times Liam has made me speechless because of the power he possesses (but we’ll get into that later).
Where Liam is a mountain, I am the sky. I’m worlds above the earth, swirling with mysterious phenomenons that boggle the mind and defy logic. I’m that thing you see every day that seems ordinary enough, but can make you question your very existence if you look at it the right way. I’m untouchable and distant. I’m not grounded to anything. And my moods are as extreme and unprefictable as the weather.
That mountain? He might have been tall, but even he couldn’t reach me. He tried to catch me and pull me to the ground, but I am too quick and temperamental to be tamed. And a mountain is too heavy, too rooted to the earth with logic and reality to truly be able to capture something as absolutely insane as the sky. And that’s why Liam and I never worked. I wanted this painting to showcase the beauty of the sky and the mountain together, but also make the viewer aware of the stark difference between the two.
But, as I began painting, things started to go wrong. I began the painting with the sky, and it was beautiful. I pulled silvers and deep blues together, pushing them onto the canvas until I was happy with the result. Then, I took a moment to prepare for the introduction of the mountain, and I realized I had a problem. The place I left for the mountain is much too high on the canvas. If I paint it there, it will overwhelm the sky, and take away from its majesty. But if I place the mountain too low, then it loses its magnitude. It will seem too small. It won’t be strong or intimidating like it should be. Either the sky will be lost behind the mountain, or the mountain will drown in the vastness of the sky.
I found a new metaphor in this predicament. Liam is still the mountain, I am still the sky, and, at first glance, you’d assume that it’s the perfect landscape. If anything, you’d probably expect us to enhance each other’s beauty to create something magical. But that’s not how this painting, or our relationship, seems to be working out. One spectacle will always overwhelm the other. And because I am who I am, I know I will fade into the background to let the mountain reach his full potential.
I know that was a lot of heavy, depressing stuff. And I’m really sorry for reading into this painting so deeply. But I really appreciate your unwavering support. You’re always here for me and validating my feelings. And I know things are tough for you right now all the way in Texas, and I ate that I can’t be there with you physically to make the transition a little easier. But I love you more than the miles love keeping us apart, so I know we’ll be together again soon. Until then, I’ll be here for you - just a call, text, or letter away. Stay strong and take care, my love.
Love always,
Valerie
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Guard Duty: A Development Retrospective - Devblog #4
The Art of Guard Duty - Pixel Practices
Howdy. Today I would like to take some time to talk to you about my process when creating art for Guard Duty. I’m going to be focussing on pixel art and practices you need to be mindful of when creating your art. Hopefully this will give you a bit of an insight into my process for creating the many pixel packed locations in Guard Duty.
Let’s start with a few basic things you’ll need to keep in mind when working with pixels. My advice here is geared around creating pixel art in Photoshop, but most of the rules will apply to other art packages.
First thing’s first - Decide upon a resolution and stick to it.
The problem I see a lot of people run into when starting in pixel art is in consistency of resolution, that is they often mix different resolutions within the image (or game). Mostly called ‘mixed resolution’, it is a where pixels in the image are not all of a consistent size, often leading to an undesirable look. Traditional pixel art is based on the foundation of a grid, where each pixel acts like a grid square. The pixels are unable to be placed outside of these grid squares, therefore keeping a consistency throughout the image. The hardware used to render pixel art in it’s heyday was unable to handle high resolutions, meaning that each pixel had to be carefully placed to make up the intended image.
See this graphic for example, the image on the left is using a consistent pixel density whereas the one on the right is using a different density between the character sprite and the background (mixed resolution).
You see the difference? The larger pixels on the right-hand image look messy compared to it’s counterpart, this not only looks a bit strange but does not keep with the traditions of creating pixel art. You want to stick to the resolution you started with. There are some examples of modern games which used mixed resolution pixel art successfully, but these are normally used sparingly and are scaled in-engine, mostly to benefit gameplay.
Platformers often use sub-pixel movement to make gameplay smoother, which can lead to character sprites not lining up correctly with background assets. Sprites however are very rarely scaled in engine as this is far more jarring to look at.
Either way, you will save yourself a lot of hassle if you decide on your game’s resolution at the start and stick to this resolution throughout. Guard Duty uses a similar resolution to many of the early LucasArts and Sierra titles using a 4:3 ratio of 320 x 240px. It might not sound like much but that’s 76,800 pixels you’re going to have to wrangle. More than enough for me!
Moving on - Do not use anti aliased tools
Another problem I see that newcomers often run into is the temptation to use tools designed for high resolution artwork, things like the brush tool, smudge, burn/dodge and gradient fill are all inherently anti-aliased and will give you a heap of extra clean-up work. These tools create way too many pixels, with a massive array of shades and colours. You’ll find that tweaking your artwork becomes increasingly harder when using these tools. So just forget them, resist temptation to smudge your wall texture, or use your neat grass brush, It’s really not worth it if you want to create pixel art. The easiest way to keep track of anti-aliasing is to use (almost exclusively) the pencil tool, the pencil tool can be found by click-holding the brush in the toolbar and selecting the pencil from the drop-down menu.
I also recommend turning off the anti-alias setting on the marquee selection tool, transform tool, paint bucket tool and magic wand tool. All of these can be used in pixel art, but with the anti-alias checkbox active you will find that they create a lot of different coloured pixels around the edge of your selection, again causing issues when flood filling areas, or otherwise editing the image.
So as a general rule, make sure each pixel that is going onto your canvas is intentional. Photoshop isn’t really geared towards creating pixel art and you want to make sure it doesn’t do anything without your permission. Bad Photoshop! Behave!
Try to avoid scaling your pixel art
This is similar to my first point, but can often catch you off guard. Once you’ve drawn something on the pixel grid you may find that it doesn’t fit in a scene you’ve created previously, despite both images having the same resolution. You’ve drawn the sprite too small and although the pixels are consistently sized, it just looks tiny in the scene. Well, you’re probably going to have to redraw it, somewhat.
When you scale pixel art Photoshop will try to scale the pixels to match the resolution’s pixel grid, anything under a 200% scale will result in only some of the pixels being larger than others (some will become rectangular) and at 200% the pixels will be twice as big, but still fit into the grid. This is because Photoshop has to keep to the bounds of the canvas resolution and doesn’t know what to do with the new space between pixels.
You can see from the image that some of Tondbert’s upscaled pixels have stayed 1px wide/tall whilst others are now 2px wide or tall. His eyes, nose and left shoulder have suffered the most. Poor Tondbert. This is because Photoshop doesn’t know what to do with the pixels, at the chosen scaling it only has ‘small’ (1px) or ‘big’ (2px).
Anyway, to combat these issues you should always draw your pixel art with other assets in mind. When working on a game you don’t want to have to be scaling the character sprites differently between locations, so you should paste your character sprite into the blank canvas for the new location, so you’ve got something to reference the size. If you stick to a consistent resolution with all your art and be mindful of other assets you’re intending to use together you shouldn’t run into any of these problems.
When scaling pixel art, always use Nearest Neighbour interpolation and scale in multiples
Pixel art is kinda small and most modern computers are displaying a 1920x1080 resolution or higher. This means when showing off your pixel art on a website, it can often look reeeeeally tiny. So, you want to be aware of your image resize settings. You need to make sure the image is scaled in exact multiples of itself, 2x bigger 3x bigger etc. So if your canvas is 320 pixels wide and 240 pixels tall, the upscaled image would need to be 640 pixels wide and 480 pixels tall. To keep it simple scale the image to either 200%, 300% or 400% depending on how big you want it, but never 250% or 225%.
There is also a setting at the bottom of the ‘Image size’ box in Photoshop that has a drop down list of interpolation types, next to the ‘Resample Image’ checkbox. Set this to drop down to Nearest Neighbour(preserve hard edges). It will make sure that your pixels always stay crisp when resizing.
There is a similar drop down box when using the transform controls which you will also need to change, if you do not your sprites will become blurred.
Note the amount of pixels Photoshop has added when trying to smooth out the sprite to 121%, this would make the sprite near impossible to modify beyond this point. Using the Nearest Neighbour interpolation solves this issue.
Stick to a limited palette
When starting out with an image I try to keep the colour count to a minimum, this way you won’t get bogged down with tweaking the finer details and can focus on the bigger picture. It also makes tolerance selecting bits of the image a lot easier. Try to keep to three or four colours per texture, dark, mid and highlight colours. You can add extra colours later if needed but removing colours is a bit of a pain.
Now we’ve gone over the basics, let’s get started on a creating a scene.
Start with a basic thumbnail sketch
This technique applies to both sprite and background creation, but for the purpose of this post we’re going to work with a background.
I like to sketch out a few different compositions for the scene before committing to one. I usually find I get something decent by the third sketch but it may take longer, just stick with it. Each sketch shouldn’t take more than a minute or two, we’re just establishing where the shapes in the scene are going to sit. I use a black 1px brush for this stage but the colour is mostly irrelevant (we will be changing that later). I liked the composition in the second sketch and decided to make the opening more central, adding a fallen tree to the left similar to the first sketch.
Develop the thumbnail sketch
I was pretty happy with this so decided to roll with it. The next image shows how I developed the detail in the image, sticking to the sketchy black lines for now. I occasionally use a dark grey colour to show objects that are further back in the frame.
Establish clean 1px outlines
In the next step I set my sketch layer to semi-transparent (20-40%), lock it and create a new layer then begin to outline each of the individual elements. Remember to use a 1px brush and the pencil tool. About 80% of the time I’m holding shift whilst click two points on the canvas to draw a 1px line between the two points. This saves a lot of time and really helps when drawing straight lines, or long curved ones. At this point in the process you want to keep your pixels as clean as possible, avoiding ‘double pixels’ where the line becomes more than 1 pixel wide.
For the time being I’m using a different colour for each of the elements in the scene, this will make it easier to colour them in the next step and helps to cut down on having lots of layers at this early stage. It’s not necessary, but if you’re drawing everything on the same layer I would recommend it. Plus this is probably the only time you’ll get to use bright pink, vomit green and orange in the same scene!
Separate the outlines and block in the colours
Once I’ve outlined the each of the elements in the scene I pick one and start detailing! I don’t worry about the finer details, I just aim to block out the main shapes and colours. What I have done below is use the magic wand tool (anti-alias turned off) with the tolerance set to 0 and contiguous turned off. This way it will select just that colour from the scene. I cut out the element and paste it into a new layer.
I decide upon a highlight colour and start blocking out the parts of the trunk that are raised, drawing these on the same layer as the trunk outline. Underneath on a new layer I am able to fill in the darker base colour of the trunk, as seen in the third image. This leaves the outline and highlights intact and allows me to use a larger brush size to block in the colour underneath.
You can see where I’ve added some trees and foliage from another background in the top right of the image, this is to get a feel for the colours used in those backgrounds, to help consistency between scenes and because I’m too lazy to draw new trees.
Apologies for the slightly blurry images, they were pulled from the timelapse video.
Add definition with shadows and fine highlights
This is the fun part, giving the object volume. First you want to add another layer above both of your previous layers. Then by carefully placing your shadow colour you can add heaps of definition to the shape. Here I’ve used it to bring out the cracks in the wood, as well as help the branches stand out against whatever will be behind them.
Thanks to having the colours on separate layers I am then able to tweak the balance between the three colours, ready for adding an extra fourth colour for fine highlights.
After adding the fourth colour we’re about done, the object has a nice shape to it with a decent amount of detail. You could work on it further from this point, maybe adding a second dark colour for shadows but I tend to leave it here. Remember, every step of this process was done with the pencil tool and a 1px brush, the only exception was the use of a 10 pixel brush for blocking in the colour. You can use this technique for everything in your scene, I like to merge the layers once I’m finished on each object but that’s personal preference. If you do decide to merge them you have the option of using a Brightness/Contrast or Hue/Saturation adjustment layer to tweak the contrast between the highlights and midtones etc, this won’t affect the pixels or add any anti-aliasing.
Okay! That’s about it. There’s nothing particularly fancy going on once you’ve setup Photoshop to handle pixels appropriately, you just need to follow the process I’ve laid out above and you’ll be creating rad pixel art in no time. If you’ve got any questions feel free to drop me a line on one of our social links or email me on the contact form @ www.sickchicken.com.
Here’s the finished image:
You can watch a timelapse of the process on Youtube here:
youtube
For a bit of additional learning, I highly recommend watching the ‘8bit & 8bit-ish’ Graphics GDC talk by Mark Ferrari:
youtube
Cheers!
-Nath
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