#bree barks so fucking loud
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i always find it so funny that the number one argument against toxic fh interpretations I see are comparisons to desert duo, followed up with “but no one’s calling them toxic!!” like boy do I have news for you
#bree barks so fucking loud#Haven’t seen an angry post about it in the fh tag recently which is nice... peace and love#discourse#<- tagging this onto fh fandom shit is so funny sorry
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A/N: This is one of many Jaime-and-Brienne-Battle-of-Winterfell ideas that has been nagging me since the trailer, so here we are! After I rewrote it like 8 times.
(A03)
Shout out to @childoftimeandmagic for being a precious peach ALWAYS and for being there for me extra hardcore lately. Also bless you for putting up with all my GoT/Braime mania haha. Thanks for being such a fantastic friend, K! (You don’t have to read this, btw. Just used the platform as an excuse to shower you with love--’cause you deserve it. ;) 💗)
xx Ashlee Bree
Just As Everything’s Headin’ For Catastrophe
Orange air hung over them like a shroud of smoke. As did darkness, flecked in an ashy white.
With the sky a brutal purple, and the night blacker than oil despite the torchlight which burned defiantly from every post, it was easy to sense the threat. To know what dangers would spring forth from the snowdrifts soon—not to mention who.
Jaime’s head pounded at the thought. A sinister dread curled into the fur he tightened around his shoulders. Ice kissed goosebumps against the back of his exposed neck while a sense of foreboding licked across all those sensitive places where the shadows liked to slip in and freeze. Rot. All of this a bodily reaction to the unnaturalness that was nearing on the plains beyond Winterfell.
An undead army marched forward in the distance - it was marching - and with the night at its back, everything whistled and whipped from a white-black abyss; the ground crunching grotesquely beneath feet that left no tracks.
In the meantime, dragon wings could be heard flapping high above the living while direwolf growls echoed loud, then menacingly low, against the stones near the crypts. Fire crackled at the tips of archers’ bows. Steel and iron was hidden securely in sheaths and waited to clang. Strike. Slash. Scream. Warriors flanked every fragile or defenseless crevasse they could find because they were yearning to slice down this innumerable foe in beheaded verse after beheaded verse if they could, if it would keep their eyes clear of that frosty blue for one more day. One more moment.
How long could they manage it with so many odds stacked against them? That was the question.
Coming and coming, the enemy gathered. Hundreds of thousands of Others…
Still coming.
The wind picked up as Jaime held his forces in position on the southern side of the fortress, swords and dragon glass at the ready. The gusts were sharp at first, then more and more cutting as they clawed red into cheeks and slashed across northern armor like a serrated knife. Their collective breath stalled in knots as a hush rocked between the trees with a chill waiting to scratch, with cold hoping to choke out the world’s remaining light with its spindled branches and rough bark torsos and ice.
When would it start, Jaime wondered? How would it all end?
He tasted the doom this night brought with it in the clatter of his teeth, in that prickle which fired a warning into his phantom hand then slunk down his spine to sting his toes because he knew this could be it. Oh yes, it could be. A dance with death none of them would forget. A fight the living might not fucking win.
Quiet became bloated. Impregnable. Like a somber song that’d frozen inside of a riverbed.
Jaime’s pulse was a sour thump thump in the base of his throat as he turned toward Brienne for what could turn out to be the last time, alive, and shivered. He hated how rank everything smelled. He loathed how desolate and ominously gray the clouds appeared overhead, only to feel them grow thicker and thicker the closer the dead tread.
Catching her gaze, desperate for another reprieve in case one more was all the gods would give him while they still stood shoulder-to-shoulder like this, mostly whole and unbloodied, united in a way they’d never been before, Jaime smiled in that resigned ‘I’m not the fighter I once was’ way she hated.
He knew she hated it because it made her mouth pinch into a stubborn frown. (A reflex if he ever saw one.) Then her hand tightened around Oathkeeper until her knuckles whitened and she stood taller.
The shift in her stance spoke volumes. Loyalty was there, undeserved and unbidden, while resolve dragged up the rear in gentle clenches: with fear a dull, creeping thumping thing she could no longer conceal from him. Not here.
“I’ll see you when the fighting’s over, Brienne,” he said just as the first war horns sounded.
“Gods willing,” was her solemn reply.
“Oh, hang the gods,” jaw taut, Jaime’s voice was thinner than a razor’s edge, “I said I will. Don’t mistake what I meant.”
Flanking his right side, she arched a brow in his direction almost as if half in challenge and half in chastisement. “Are those words ordained truth or pure wind, ser? You know how much stock I place in oaths,” she said almost mournfully, then sighed.
“Shall I swear it? Would you prefer that of me instead?”
“I don’t…” She looked pained and puzzled. Uncertain. “Why—” she licked her chapped lips and swallowed hard, unable to hide the slight wobble of her chin. “Only a fool would say such things at a time like this, you realize?” she said.
Shrugging, “Best promise me a kiss quick then.”
“A…a what?” Brienne sputtered back at him. She took a step away, visibly frazzled, and almost collided into Podrick behind them until Jaime steadied her again, jerking her near enough so they could continue to whisper. Not that he cared a whit who did or did not listen. He was not ashamed of anything he said.
“A kiss, wench. Also known as the meeting of lips?”
“I know what a kiss is, thank you,” she scowled, colouring terribly.
“Good. Then you won’t need a vocabulary lesson after I ask for you to save me one. So?” he said with levity giving way to sincerity now as the walls started to breach and their muscles tensed. “Will you?”
They reached for their scabbards.
“Save—I…what?” she blanched.
“Tis a humble request, really,” Jaime replied in wry earnest, smirking. “I hope you’ll oblige.”
Tension flamed between them at that. So did silence, Brienne’s startled blush, and about a million other unresolved things.
But Jaime didn’t care about any of that so long as he could hold onto the blazing blue glimmer he found floating in her eyes at this precipice of hell—the warmth there— all the soft strength that swam in her pupil’d depths and demanded for him to defend…to attack….to live…even though she hadn’t voiced it out loud yet and probably wouldn’t before the White Walkers descended. He couldn’t seem to force those words out of his mouth, either. He knew he couldn’t. Though he sure as hell felt them.
They each seemed to suffer alike in that respect.
“To be fair, one kiss is a bargain price for a man like me.”
Unimpressed, Brienne huffed. “And why’s that?”
Deflecting, “Call it an incentive for after the war is won,” Jaime said with a wave of his golden hand. “You wouldn’t deny me that, surely?”
His expression was teasing and hopeful, perhaps even a little curious and intense in the seconds before he plunged Widow’s Wail into its first wight scout. The thing shattered like glass with a single thrust.
Though Brienne had already turned away to disband of some ice spiders herself, the bastards scuttling up over the castle walls like a herd of insects the size of horses, she seemed disinclined to answer him regardless, the side of her face flushing a deep red. The stiff set of her shoulders coupled with the cock of her head implied she took his words as no more than a jest. A cruel jape.
With her being as stubborn and as skeptical as all seven hells, of course she didn’t believe him. What the hell did he expect?
“Upon my honor as a Lannister, I fully intend to collect that kiss, you know,” Jaime added over his shoulder. “I vow it.”
His tone was frank and serious as their eyes locked over the fray again. It was a brief interlude before everything broke into chaos and the seconds that followed either would need to be won with courage, or lost with sacrifice.
“In that case, I suggest you put your sword where your mouth is, ser.” At that, Brienne severed a wight in half at her feet when it clamored over the battlements and tried to lunge between them. “Show me you mean it,” she said.
“Fight…” Her lips half smiled down at him as her sword arm swung out in defense. “Deflect…” Her eyes shined fiercely and luminously despite the blizzard of embers thickening around them. The screeching started to grow so loud it would’ve been a blessing to be deaf. “Protect…”
An urgency sprang into Brienne’s blows against the wights then, in her kicks amid all that swirling madness and blood, with the blade she wielded glowing like a talisman between them so as to keep the other from falling straight into winter’s stilled doom. Until that moment, she never looked more like a knight. She never moved so smooth or quick, either.
“Best them all, Jaime. Best them until dawn crests—” she commanded harder than a punch to the gut, the plea in her voice puncturing the night. “Live.”
So he did.
#game of thrones fanfiction#braime#jaime and brienne#ashlee bree's writing endeavors#not my best--or at least not what i hoped it could be#but it's such a relief to have finally finished a fic#after weeks and weeks of failure#that idc#poetry drips from my eyeballs anymore#idk what's happening---ahhhh#*sings: let it go; let it gooooo*
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Fallen Leaves, Fallen Bellas
Ch. 4/6 - Murder of Crows
Summary:
“It’s not true, though,” Chloe’s voice jarred them from their thoughts. “I mean, it can’t be. Ghosts aren’t real, and they definitely don’t kill people. You made that up to scare us, right?” she asked Aubrey, smiling uncertainly.
Aubrey didn’t smile back.
Horror take on the Lodge at Fallen Leaves retreat, cabin in the woods style. Um, for this chapter, if you don’t like birds, I recommend skimming over the ending. It gets a lil’ hairy (feathery?).
Word Count: 4.8k
Rating: T (sorry fam, no plan to change that)
AO3 and FFN
Chapter 1 - Chippy
Chapter 2 - Footsteps
Chapter 3 - Laundry Day
Beca’s eyes followed Aubrey as she paced around the living room gnawing at a thumbnail, her formerly perfect manicure ruined. Her other hand clung onto Chippy, dragging him across the floor as though she expected him to walk, his wooden legs clacking against the floor.
Less than an hour had passed since Jessica’s shirt had gone missing; Aubrey’s search party had returned to the clearing only for Beca, Chloe, Paris, and David to usher everyone inside, latching the heavy wooden door behind them before giving them the news. David and Paris had immediately sunk into the couch, Beca perching herself next to Paris while Chloe had pulled in a chair to sit on Beca’s other side. Amy had been wheeled down from the second floor and sat, her face in her hands, between Flo and Stacie in their respective armchairs. Tears silently streamed down Stacie’s face while Cynthia-Rose, in the adjacent corner, glared in David’s direction malevolently.
Aubrey stopped pacing abruptly and barked at Beca, “Okay, tell me again.”
Beca barely kept herself from sighing in exasperation. Forcing herself to remain calm, she said, “We told you already. We found the bloody shirt, Emily and Lilly went missing, and the shirt disappeared.”
“Plus the message from Charles,” Chloe added. “’Leave now or –‘”
“It’s not possible,” Aubrey snapped, her eyes landing on Chloe beseechingly.
“Yes, it is, Aubrey,” Chloe replied, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. “We really need to get out of here before anything else happens.”
“Oh my god,” Stacie croaked, her puffy eyes moving between Chloe and Aubrey. “What does he want from us?”
“We’re getting picked off one by one like dogs,” Flo added, looking grim.
Beca leaned back and groaned, “We’re screwed.”
They were getting slaughtered, and Aubrey wasn’t doing anything about it.
“No,” Chloe’s voice rang out, loud and strong. “We’re gonna work together as Bellas to overcome, we’re gonna solve it, and we’re gonna find the others.”
Beca sat up in surprise; there was the co-captain she knew and loved. Despite her fear, she felt a corner of her mouth quirk up.
Aubrey nodded approvingly and, swooping Chippy up into her arms, said, “That’s what I like to hear! So now, we’ll just come up with a plan –”
“Like the police!” Amy burst suddenly, her expression incredulous.
“Yeah, I’m done with this crazy shit,” Cynthia-Rose added, standing from her chair and moving toward the door as if to leave the lodge.
In a flurry of moment, David rose from the couch and stood between Cynthia-Rose and the door, facing them all and barring anyone from exiting.
“Woah, hey –” Amy started to protest, half-rising from her wheelchair.
David raised a hand, cutting her off. “No one leaves,” he said commandingly, “at least not until we have a plan. We need to stay together. No more splitting up all the time.”
“Listen, you boy scout wannabe –” Beca snarled, half-rising from her chair.
“Beca, don’t,” Chloe interrupted tiredly.
Beca whipped around to glare at her – no way was Chloe defending that creep – but Chloe continued, ignoring Beca’s expression.
“David’s right,” she said, “We can’t keep splitting up. But we absolutely need to go to the police.”
Aubrey made a small noise of protest. “I don’t know if that’s really –”
“Aubrey,” Paris spoke for the first time since returning to the lodge, her voice hoarse. “I saw the clothes, too. It’s not right. We need the police now.”
Flo nodded and said, “It’s got to be someone on the outside, right? We were together.”
Beca sank slowly back into her chair, her mood worsening as she glared at David. She didn’t see how he could have hidden the clothing in the time it took between them leaving the laundry cabin and returning, but he’d still let something take Emily and Lilly.
And she definitely hadn’t been imagining that freaky figure in the woods.
Aubrey pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at Paris, clearly thinking something through. Beca shifted uncomfortably; she’d been on the receiving end of that glare more than once. Finally, Aubrey sighed, and her shoulders sagged in defeat.
“Fine,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed momentarily. “We go to the police.”
“Hallelujah,” Cynthia-Rose muttered, shoving David out of the way and reaching for the door handle. “Dibs on driving the bus since Amy can’t move.”
“I fell in a pit!”
“Meh,” Stacie shrugged, rising from her chair to follow Cynthia-Rose out the door.
Beca stood up as well, reaching out a hand to pull Chloe to her feet. She felt Paris’s eyes on her but refused to look over; the last thing she needed was to turn into a blushing, incoherent mess right after getting Aubrey to change her mind.
They trooped out of the cabin, Flo pushing Amy in her wheelchair over the uneven ground. Beca made sure to walk directly behind David, where she could keep an eye on him. Chloe walked next to her, staying close, their hands brushing occasionally (not that Beca minded). Aubrey brought up the rear, dragging Chippy along behind her. Beca kind of wished Aubrey had grabbed her shotgun instead of the creepy puppet, but then, with the way she’d been acting, maybe her remaining unarmed was a better option.
As they walked as a group to the bus, passing the tangled remnants of their tent, Beca blinked against the cool moisture in the air; it wasn’t raining yet, but the mist oozing from the woods was stifling, and a glance toward the steel-colored sky hinted at storms to come. She could practically feel electricity crackling through the air, though maybe that was just her nerves.
“Keys!” Cynthia-Rose barked over her shoulder; Amy dug in her pocket, then tossed the key ring to Cynthia-Rose, who unlocked the double doors of the bus and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Everyone in while she’s warming up,” Cynthia-Rose commanded.
“Are you really sure –” Aubrey started.
“Yes,” Beca cut her off firmly, earning a glare in response. Not that she cared.
“I’m sorry, Bree,” Chloe soothed, reaching an arm around Aubrey’s shoulders but keeping her distance from Chippy. “It’s for the best.”
Flo and Stacie boarded the bus while Beca looked around for something they could use as a ramp for Amy’s wheelchair. She kept getting distracted by the darkness of the woods, however; it was nearing noon, and yet, no sunlight permeated their trunks. It wasn’t right.
A lone crow soared out of the woods to land on the roof of Aubrey’s lodge, fixing its beady eyes on them and clacking its beak once.
She wished Cynthia-Rose would hurry up and start the bus.
As soon as the thought formed, she heard the keys jingle, then the unmistakable scrape of them sliding into the ignition. She heard Cynthia-Rose sigh in relief as she turned the key.
Nothing.
Nothing, except a strange clicking noise.
“Uh.”
“Try again!” Stacie’s voice came from out of sight on the bus.
Cynthia-Rose turned the keys again in the ignition.
Click click click click.
The rapid clicks filled the air, cutting through the mist and into Beca’s heart.
Cynthia-Rose swore and tried again, then again, then a third time.
Click click click click.
Beca let her eyes slide closed. She wasn’t a car freak by any means, but she still knew what that noise meant.
“What’s happening?” Chloe whispered, suddenly close to Beca.
Beca grimaced. “Dead battery,” she muttered, forcing her eyes open again to see that a second crow had joined the first on the lodge roof. Beca frowned; there hadn’t been any sign of wildlife when they’d first arrived.
“What?” Amy asked loudly from her wheelchair. “That’s not possible! We’ve only been here a day!”
“We – we can just jump it, right?” Flo asked anxiously as she, Stacie, and Cynthia-Rose exited the bus.
David nodded and said, “Yeah, there are cables in the garage. I can go –”
“No,” Paris cut him off sharply, her deep blue eyes scanning the woods. “We stick together, remember?”
Amy leaned forward. “You’re good with cars, right?” she asked Cynthia-Rose pointedly. “That’s a thing?”
Cynthia-Rose snorted and rolled her eyes, but nevertheless made her way around to the back of the bus.
“Where are you going?” Stacie called, her voice a higher pitch than normal.
“The engine’s in the back,” Cynthia-Rose replied, reaching for a latch on the rear and pulling the engine compartment open with a tug.
“Told you she was good at cars,” Amy muttered to no one in particular.
Figuring that she should at least make it look like she was trying to help, Beca wandered around the bus to join her. As she walked, she noticed a third crow, this one in the topmost branches of a nearby tree.
“Uh…”
Cynthia-Rose’s confused voice brought Beca’s attention back to the engine. Her stomach panged at the sight.
There was a gaping hole where she figured the battery should be.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Cynthia-Rose’s loud exclamation drew the rest of the Bellas, plus Paris and David.
“Oh my god.”
“Where’s the battery?”
“Shit.”
“Beca…” soft fingers laced with her own and Beca looked up to meet Chloe’s cerulean eyes. She saw her own terror reflected there, and she hated it. She hated seeing Chloe in distress.
With a growl, she tugged her hand free from Chloe’s and spun to point between David and Aubrey, both of whom had yet to speak.
“Happy now?” she spat. “Which one of you did this?”
The stared at her in silence, stunned by her outburst. Instead of calming her down, though, that made her even angrier.
“No, don’t give me that!” she half-shouted. “You guys just had to protect your precious camp, and now we can’t go for help or even leave this god damn, motherfu –”
“Beca!” Paris cried, jumping between Beca and Aubrey and David, planting a hand on Beca’s shoulder. “They didn’t do this! They couldn’t have! We’ve been with them all morning!”
“Well, maybe last night!” Beca replied heatedly, but no longer shouting. She didn’t want to lash out at Paris.
“Why would they do that, Beca?” Paris pleaded, her eyes wide. “Think! It doesn’t make sense. Someone else did this. Not them.”
“But –”
“She’s right, Bec,” Chloe muttered from next to her. “It wasn’t them.”
Beca exhaled in a noisy puff. She hated to admit it, but Paris and Chloe were probably right. If the bus couldn’t move, then they were all trapped. As far as she could tell, Aubrey and David didn’t have much to gain by getting murdered with the Bellas.
Soft pressure on her upper arm startled her; she’d forgotten Paris’s hand was there. For some reason, with Chloe standing right there, it felt uncomfortable, inappropriate. She leaned away from the touch, trying to make it look casual. Chloe sniffed loudly and Beca glanced up in time to see her struggling to control her expression.
“What do we do, then?” Chloe asked quickly, diverting Beca’s attention.
“We can’t just sit around and wait to get attacked,” Stacie said, looking around the clearing anxiously.
“We have cars,” David interjected. “We wouldn’t all fit in one, but we could all go separately.”
Beca was nodding before David even finished his sentence. She’d take anything at this point, though she was irritated he hadn’t mentioned that little tidbit before.
“What are we waiting for?” Cynthia-Rose asked from next to the engine.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Flo nodded, looking at David expectantly.
David gestured wordlessly back toward the lodge, and with a glance at the woods (there were now four more crows gathered on the same tree), Beca and the others followed him, Flo again pushing Amy in her wheelchair. Chloe stayed even closer to Beca’s side, which Beca appreciated; she liked knowing where Chloe was as much as Chloe seemed to like knowing where she was.
They made their way around the lodge, to the back side facing the lake, which Beca hadn’t seen before. She glanced askance at Aubrey, who had yet to say anything, only to stare in shock; Aubrey looked horrible, her face tight and pale, a sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“Dude,” she blurted, startling Chloe next to her. “You okay?”
“What?” Aubrey snapped, looking up with unfocused eyes. “Yeah, I am fine.”
And she returned to staring at the ground as they walked, Chippy dragging along behind her.
Beca glanced at Chloe, her eyebrows raised, but Chloe just frowned and shook her head. He expression said Don’t push it.
Shaking her head, Beca returned her attention to where they were going; David was leading them to a garage that had been concealed from view by Aubrey’s lodge. It was just as decrepit as the rest of the buildings on the retreat grounds, and just as overrun with thistles and weeds, with some even growing up the car door. Beca again wondered exactly what David was good for, as he obviously failed as a gardener.
At the side door of the garage, David reached for his front pocket, pulling out a ton of rusty-looking keys on a ring. He rifled through them, selected one, and inserted it into the door handle, unlocking it and shoving the door open with a squeal of old hinges. The interior was shrouded in darkness and a damp smell emanated from within, but David and Paris walked in without hesitation.
Flo, Amy, Stacie, and Cynthia-Rose all glanced back nervously, but Beca merely shrugged. She didn’t really want to go in either, but she didn’t see any choice. Besides, anything go get away from those creepy birds. After a moment, they followed David and Paris into the garage, disappearing into its depths.
Beca glanced at Chloe, who grimaced and shrugged back. With a last deep breath, Beca stepped over the threshold, hoping no spiders were going to fall into her hair. Aubrey and Chippy followed them.
“Don’t close the door,” Beca whispered at the exact moment Aubrey pulled the door shut behind them.
They were plunged immediately into foul-smelling blackness; there were no windows in the garage.
Beca heard Chloe’s breath hitch, then a hand found hers. She squeezed back, hoping it seemed reassuring despite the fact her palm was sweating.
A second later, though, a light flickered on, casting a frail orange glow over the terrified faces of the other Bellas and the neutral expressions of David and Paris. Beca blinked in the sudden light, and saw Aubrey moving away from a light switch on the wall. Beca looked around the garage, first noticing the three cars packed in somewhat haphazardly in the center. Various yard equipment hung around the walls, including hoses, axes, and hacksaws. Beca shuddered, suddenly glad that the garage remained locked. The last thing they needed was for the ghost – or whatever – getting its hands on sharp tools.
Not that ghosts could be stopped by solid walls.
Beca swallowed.
“Oh, thank Jesus,” Cynthia-Rose sighed, her eyes on the three cars.
“Okay,” Chloe said, relief evident in her tone, “we’ll just climb in these and then off we’ll go!”
“Wait,” David said seriously, moving to what Beca assumed was his car, a black Mustang. “This doesn’t look right.”
Beca squinted at the front of the car, then saw what he meant; the hood was cracked open.
Her heart sank.
She knew what they’d see even as David reached under the hood, releasing the latch and lifting.
The others gasped and Cynthia-Rose swore when the hood rose to reveal an empty space where the battery should be.
Chloe’s grip on her hand tightened.
Paris flew to her own car, a blue Bug, and wrenched the hood up; its battery was also missing.
Beca squeezed Chloe’s hand just as firmly.
They all looked to Aubrey next. It felt pointless, but they had to know for sure.
Aubrey walked slowly to her car, every step she took building the terrified anticipation filling Beca’s stomach, until she finally stood at the hood of her Corolla. She bent down, and Beca was sure it was a trick of the light, but Chippy’s arms dangled so that it almost looked like the doll was helping to lift the hood.
She shuddered at the thought, then flinched when the hood rose.
The battery had been removed.
Flo let out a deep groan and Stacie took several gulping breaths; Beca felt like she’d been clobbered over the head with a shovel. The garage swam dangerously in front of her eyes and she felt herself stumble, only for Chloe’s arm to wrap securely around her waist.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Chloe said bracingly, bringing her back to her feet. “It’s fine, we’re fine, okay?”
“We’re not fine!” Amy burst out, her voice filling the garage, echoing off the walls and making Cynthia-Rose wince. “How the hell are we supposed to get out now? We can’t go to the police, we can’t call for anyone, our friends are probably dead –”
“Don’t!” shouted Aubrey suddenly. “Think like a team, Bellas! You can figure this out!”
“This isn’t a game, Aubrey!” Stacie hissed. “Working together isn’t going to change anything, except maybe getting us killed faster!”
“Stop fighting,” Chloe pleaded, “it’s not helping! Let’s just go back to the lodge and –”
“Oh, I’ll go to the lodge!” Amy cried hysterically. “I’m not leaving the lodge until we get some help!”
“Can we just walk?” Beca asked, pressing the heel of her free hand into her forehead. “How far is the nearest house?”
She didn’t remember seeing any houses – or any sign of life, really – for at least the last 20 minutes of their drive to the retreat the day before, but maybe she’d missed something.
“There’s no one around for miles,” Paris said, popping the little bubble of hope that had started to form in Beca’s chest. “That’s why it’s perfect for a retreat.”
“Yeah, perfect,” Cynthia-Rose scoffed angrily.
Flo moved to the garage door. “I’m going back to the lodge and locking the door, before anything else happens.”
“Right behind you,” Stacie agreed as Flo flung the door open.
They marched out, leaving Cynthia-Rose to push Amy’s wheelchair out of the smelly garage and back into the chilly air outside. With a fearful look to Beca, Chloe followed, tugging Beca along with her. As they half-jogged from the garage, Beca looked over her shoulder to see Paris, Aubrey, and Chippy following while David locked the door behind them all.
Looking forward again, Beca watched Stacie and Flo disappeared around the corner of the lodge, clearly headed for the front door at top speed, Cynthia-Rose and Amy following closely. After another second, Cynthia-Rose and Amy rounded the corner and went out of sight as they entered the front yard of the lodge.
“No splitting up,” Chloe mumbled, her pull on Beca’s hand increasing, urging her forward and around to the front of the lodge to join their friends.
Immediately after rounding the corner, they plowed into Cynthia-Rose’s back.
“Why the hell –”
“Shh.”
“Wh –”
“Shh.”
Stacie shushed them the second time; she and Flo had stopped directly in front of Cynthia-Rose.
Beca looked past them all and into the clearing in front of the lodge.
She nearly screamed.
Birds. There were birds everywhere.
Crows. Huge, filthy, black crows. More than Beca had ever seen in her life. Crows, everywhere.
On the roof of Aubrey’s lodge, on the windowsills and stairs and railings, on every branch in the trees, on the roof of the bus, on the mirrors of the bus, on the collapsed pile of canvas that was their tent from the night before, even on the ground. A sea of birds, coating everything like black ink.
And all of their eyes and beaks were pointed directly at the Bellas.
Beca froze and held her breath. Chloe’s hand twitched in hers.
Pounding feet behind her made her jump, but she didn’t dare shout out; instead, she braced for collision. A second later, Paris, Aubrey, and David ran into them, shoving both her and Chloe forward as they’d run into Cynthia-Rose.
“Shh!” Beca hissed before they could even ask. She was pretty sure Chippy’s shoe was digging into her spine.
She felt them freeze behind her, could almost feel the terror crash over them as they realized.
A heartbeat passed, or maybe it was an hour. She wasn’t sure, could only think about the hundreds – if not thousands – of birds watching them.
“What do we do?” Chloe breathed.
“I don’t know,” Beca replied, trying to be as quiet as possible.
“We have to move eventually,” Cynthia-Rose muttered.
“Like hell,” Paris whispered.
Another long moment dragged by. A crow clacked its beak from near Beca’s foot and she winced.
Her eyes swiveled, looking for any way out and seeing only black feathers and sharp beaks. Would the birds let them back away? Or would the movement be too much?
“Um, no one be alarmed,” Amy’s soft voice permeated the air, “but I think I’m allergic to crows.”
“What?” David whispered, confused.
“Well…” Amy’s voice trailed off.
Oh no.
Beca closed her eyes, dread dropping into her stomach like a brick. She knew where this was headed.
Chloe didn’t seem to have a clue. “Amy, what –” she started to whisper, only to stop abruptly at the sound of Amy’s tight breathing.
“Ahh, ahh…” Amy panted, then – she sneezed.
It was quite possibly the loudest, most explosive noise Beca had ever heard. It made them all flinch violently; Stacie even let out a small shriek.
“Well, fuck,” Beca managed.
Then the birds were on them.
They had no chance; wings and beaks and eyes were everywhere, filling her vision, stealing the air from her lungs. Beca dragged Chloe forward, searching blindly for the cabin. It was a total free-for-all, the shrieks and yells of the others surrounding her, lost in the cacophony of caws and clacking and beating wings overriding her every sense. Beca squeezed her eyes closed and flung her free hand over her head, desperate to protect her face even as she felt the sting of claws and beaks tearing at her arms and legs, though not as painfully as she’d expected.
Chloe’s loud scream jerked her eyes open reflexively; there was a crow tangled in her red locks. Beca dropped Chloe’s hand and swatted at the bird, forcing it away from Chloe. She looked around frantically for the others, wanting to help while also defending herself. She caught a glimpse of Aubrey pushing Amy’s wheelchair to the lodge, birds flapping around their heads; Flo and Cynthia-Rose cowering on the ground, overrun; David and Paris swinging at the birds with their hands, fending them off as well as they could.
A bird flew directly at Beca’s face and she lashed out reflexively, backhanding it. It veered away, and in its place she thought she saw Chippy through the window of Aubrey’s lodge, perched in the windowsill almost as if watching the scene from the safety of the indoors, but then another loud scream tore her attention away.
Stacie was sprinting away from the clearing, a huge cloud of birds breaking away to chase her. She screamed again, panicking as the birds dive-bombed her.
She was running directly toward the empty pool.
“Stacie, don’t!” Beca yelled, sure she wouldn’t be heard over the sound of the birds. She tried to break free, to chase after Stacie, only to be tripped by a crow and fall flat on her stomach. She looked up, hoping someone else could get to Stacie, but Chloe was fending off her own legion of birds while Flo, Cynthia-Rose, and Paris ducked and weaved around scores of birds.
David, however, managed to throw off the birds surrounding him; with a burst of speed and a primal yell, he sprinted forward after Stacie, trying to reach her before she got to the pool, but she had too much of a head start.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
Even as Stacie and David ran toward the empty pool, a huge figure climbed out of it. He wore a singed-looking maintenance suit, black boots, and black gloves. His head was misshapen, concealed under a brown burlap sack that had holes for eyes and was sewn with a horrible, stitched-on mouth in the shape of a black smile. He was carrying a massive chef’s knife.
Stacie, blinded by the birds and her own panic, ran directly into his waiting arms.
Beca heard herself scream and she crawled forward, only to fall again under the weight of birds.
David didn’t slow down. He rammed into the figure, pulling at Stacie, trying to shove himself between her and the masked maintenance man. The figure stumbled, his boot slipping over the edge of the pool. He reached out to grab both Stacie and David, and all three of them toppled backward into the pool and out of sight.
“NO!” Beca screamed, her voice tearing as she lashed out at the birds, needing to get to the pool, needing to save Stacie, needing to see what had happened.
Just like that, the onslaught lifted. Without warning, the torrent of birds broke, dispersing into the trees and fleeing as suddenly as they’d attacked.
Beca lay motionless on the ground for an instant, stunned at the unexpected retreat. She looked to Chloe first, who was already staring down at her, shallow scratches on her arms and one on her cheek. Seeing she was okay, Beca hauled herself up to her feet.
“Stacie!” she yelled, sprinting to the empty pool, ignoring the sting of the scratches on her arms and legs.
There was no answer.
From behind her, she heard the others following, Paris calling for David as she ran.
Beca made it to the pool first, peering down into its depths, expecting to see a tangle of limbs as Stacie and David fought their attacker.
There was nothing.
“No, no, no…” Beca chanted under her breath, scanning for any sign of them, but they were gone. Vanished, like Ashley and Jessica and Emily and Lilly, gone without a trace.
Chloe appeared next to her, then Paris on her other side, both having sprinted to join her. Chloe gaped down into the empty pool, shock and disbelief filling her features, while Paris screamed and turned away in frustration.
“Where are they?!” Paris shrieked, startling Flo and Cynthia-Rose, who were limping over to join them.
“You mean –?” Flo started to ask.
“Gone,” Chloe whispered, turning her back on the pool. “All of them.”
Cynthia-Rose pointed a shaking finger toward them. “You saw him, right? That guy with the sack head?”
Beca nodded, her skin crawling at the memory of his blank stare and the long knife he held – which, she suddenly realized, had to be the missing chef’s knife in the kitchen.
“Nope,” Cynthia-Rose said, shaking her head and backing away. “Nope, I’m out, I’m done, I’m not getting murdered by some electrocuted ghost freak –”
“What happened?”
Beca looked up to see Aubrey jogging toward them, her face frightened. Reaching them, she continued, “The birds attacked so I wheeled Amy inside to keep her safe. Did someone fall in?” she asked, her eyes flicking to the pool.
Paris rounded on her instantly. “Some freak in a mask jumped out and grabbed David and Stacie and pulled them in! Aubrey, it was him, it was Charles!”
Aubrey dew up short, her brow creasing. “What? Are they still down there? We need to get them!”
“No kidding,” Beca fired sarcastically. “We looked, and they’re just gone. Poof. Nada. No dice.”
She gestured grandly, hearing the strain in her own voice but not caring. She expected Aubrey to ask more questions, or to look into the pool for herself, insisting that they just weren’t searching properly.
She didn’t expect Aubrey’s face to pale even further. “Get inside,” she whispered, eyes bouncing between them all.
No one moved.
“But,” Chloe started, “if we look for them –”
“Now!” Aubrey barked, making Chloe flinch. “You are all my responsibility, and I’m not losing anyone else to this creep. Move!”
Flo and Cynthia-Rose reacted instantly, jogging to the lodge, heads swiveling toward the woods, as if afraid something was going to jump out. Beca didn’t blame them.
Under Aubrey’s fierce glare, Beca, Chloe, and Paris followed Flo and Cynthia-Rose to the cabin, moving quickly and keeping an eye on the woods. Halfway to the lodge, the sound of wings fluttering jolted Beca’s heart. She raised her hands automatically to defend herself, only to see the birds rising from the trees.
A fat drop of rain hit the ground in front of her, then another, until it became clear that the downpour she’d been searching for earlier was about to break. She ran for the cabin then, desperate for shelter as the cloud of birds ascended to the sky.
#bechloe#horror#my writing#fallen leaves fallen bellas#cabin in the woods#beca mitchell#chloe beale#aubrey posen#originally for horror week#beca x chloe#kind of slow burn#this one is a little shorter sorry#and lots of dialogue#pitch perfect fanfiction
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Floorboards & Footprints
This is my entry for #PPHW2, Cabin in the woods. I got a little carried away... What can I say? Horror is my element.
The fire crackled, sucking away the only coolness that the stone fireplace offered. It was unsure of itself, seeping through the logs and caving out the middle of the wood. It emitted a heated scent; one that reminded Beca of the one camp she went to as a child.
She had taken a white church bus with obnoxious blue cursive on the side. There were only twelve seats in total, six on either side. Not many kids had been signed up to travel three hours through Maine to get to a little get-away for only five days.
During those five days, she had been hit in the stomach with the pit of an ore, got at least thirteen bug bites, and just nearly escaped a runaway arrow that almost shot its way through her eye. She hated camp. She hated the preachy sermons that she sat through, and her bunk mate that silently ate the teenage counselors face off like a flesh-hungry zombie.
When Aubrey suggested they actually spend winter break away from the world at a tiny little cabin, she immediately hated the idea. But it seemed like a better alternative than heading home for the holidays. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the late nights with her father tilting his head back and emptying a bottle of buttery alcohol. Her stepmother retiring to her room early like the drinking didn’t bother her as much as it did.
Her girlfriend didn’t mention the idea of heading home herself; her father not making an effort to come home for the holidays. Her own brothers conspiring for celebration in their own family homes. If it bothered her, she didn’t show it, instead pouring herself into creating a perfect weekend getaway.
Beca curled into Aubrey. Despite the heat of the fire, the cold still found a way past her clothes. Her nose was buried in the nave of Aubrey’s neck, breathing in her floral scent as the older woman stroked her hair patiently. It was a loving and tender gesture that Beca was quick to melt into after months of realizing feelings and pulling one another close.
It was an intimate edge of domestic life that Beca didn’t realize she craved. Her arm slung over Aubrey’s mid-section as a checkered blanket covered both of them. The cabin furnished with a rustic charm. The type of cabin that you could only imagine as a happy place; windows fogging as the heat met brutal cold. An imaginary dog curled up on the fur rug that nearly sparkled against the hazy fire.
“This is nice.” Beca decided in a breathy sigh, cuddling deeper into her girlfriend's embrace.
Aubrey let out a bit of a hum in return. She was admittedly content too, turning as she placed a small but affectionate kiss on Beca’s forehead. She felt drowsy herself, listening to her breath deepening as the two of them drifted off into a calm and collected sleep.
Beca awoke with a start, the air bitterly cold and humid all at once. The fire must have gone out, that signature sound not lulling her back into rest but instead lacking completely. The second thing she noticed was how stiff she was- neck plagued with a crick that brought icy fingers to her neck. The room was dark.
She was curled up on one end of the leather couch, the blanket having flung onto the floor at some point during sleep. Beca blinked a few times, dragging her hand down her face as she stared around the room; Aubrey wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
Beca licked her lips. They were dry and cracked, almost tasting metallic like blood. She pulled herself up shaking away the rest of exhaustion. Her breath was visible in the air, her throat raw and torn. God damn it, Mitchell. She cursed herself for falling asleep in the first place. If Aubrey had gone into the one separate room the cabin had to offer, she would have scooped her up and curled into her like they usually did when she fell asleep during movie nights.
Her socked feet were loud against the wooden floor, long creaks ripping against the silence as if someone had pried them up and reapplied them to the frame sloppily. She didn’t bother cringing away. There was no one to unsettle.
Instead, she wondered to the kitchen, fishing for one of the mismatched mugs that were housed in the cabinet. ‘You’re the bee’s Knee’s.’ The one she grabbed, read. An audible scoff fell from her lips. It reminded her of a certain redhead that would have that embroidered onto a few pillows in a golden thread fit for a king.
She filled the mug with cool well water, steam close to balancing off the liquid itself. It burned as it passed her lips. Dripping down her chin as she hungrily gulped it down letting the water cling to the collar of her college logoed sweatshirt.
“Thirsty?”
The mug fell to the floor as Beca coughed on water. She flicked her eyes up quickly. Neither woman flinched as the glass shattered into a million pieces. It ruined the cute little saying and chip the wings off the cute cartoon bee. “Jesus Christ, Bree.” Her hand had found a way to her chest, trying to still her pounding heart.
Aubrey lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk on her lips “Should I start wearing a bell, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” Beca let out a sound that was a mix between a snort and scoff. Aubrey had her position at the edge of the counter. Not exactly narrowing her eyes but holding them at an odd angle that looked nearly curious like a cat following a mouse. The light from the moon shaded her features. “I didn’t see you when I woke up.”
“You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to stir you. I heard a noise.”
Beca furrowed her brow and glanced past the foggy window that rested above the kitchen sink. There was a thick coat of snow covering the ground in pristine white. None of it was disturbed. Trees resting 30 feet beyond the cabin walls. There was nothing but inky black behind the initial wall of bark.
“What kind of noise?”
“Howling, it was just the wind.”
Beca nodded softly, sleep still on her mind. The fire must have blown out the second Aubrey opened and closed the cabin door. It left in them in a stark cold that made Beca fold into herself, pulling her sleeves past her wrists.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Huh?” She glanced down at her feet. Fuck. The glass had dug evenly into the side of her foot, an angry crimson dripping onto the hardwood floor. Usually, Aubrey would have been beside herself; if not for the ugly mess, then for the safety of Beca. A normally protective woman stood rigidly, swallowing thickly as she refused to stare anywhere but at the large rafters that littered the ceiling. “I didn’t notice.”
“You should clean that.” Aubrey’s voice was husky, she took a step back, almost cautious. “We’re out of firewood, I’ll be back.”
A noise escaped Beca’s throat. It’s the middle of the night, Aubrey. She could have said what if that noise wasn’t the just the wind? Instead, she stayed silent. Partly in shock as she flexed her toes and winced. It burned. Aubrey had walked out the door, a flannel covering a tank top and a pair of fuzz lined boots with sweatpants tucked into them. Not exactly the warmest. Beca watched as Aubrey stalked into the woods.
Beca operated on impulse decisions. Her mind buzzing oddly as she hobbled over to the front door. Her fingers moist with blood as she painfully slid on her own boots, forgetting the socks. She slid Aubrey’s jacket on, the woman having evaded it completely.
The snow caved under her first step, movements making her wince for a few paces before she got used the splayed feeling of the cut on her foot. Her eyes begged to trace the prints left in the snow by Aubrey. There were none.
Her breath hitched, but she continued against the slowly deadening wind. She pulled the collar of the jacket over her face, trying to block out the cold as she walked away from the safety of the Cabin’s yard and into the cool darkness of the forest. Still no footprints.
“Aubrey?” Her voice was a low whisper. It sounded deafening in the quiet.
She walked a few feet, ducking under low hanging branches made even lower by the snow piled on the slim limbs. Thorns tore at the fabric of her jacket. She had no idea where she was heading, the floral scent of Aubrey’s perfume on her clothes overwhelming and forging some form of comfort.
A dark form was crouched in front of her. A blob in the horrid darkness. Beca found herself ducking low, hugging the side of the tree as she purposely hitched her breath in her throat. Aubrey shifted her shoulders in an inhuman way. They cracked like broken twigs under a boot tip. A low snarl breaking through the air.
Beca clenched her eyes shut for a moment. Was this Aubrey? It couldn’t’ be. It carried such a primal and unforgiving nature. One that the DJ had convinced her girlfriend carried when she first allowed her into the Bella’s their freshmen year. But this? This was angry, and the air reminded her of the color red.
No, those were eyes. Eyes that cut through the center of the figure and were trained directly on Beca. They were brighter than the blood that soaked into her boot and meaner than Beca had ever seen. Fully unblinking, fully cloaked as snow began to trickle from the air as it found its way through the trees.
She ran.
Aubrey, the beast, whatever it truly was, nipped at her heels, moving with such unimaginable speed. Beca was a wounded animal that had nothing more than the sickly scent of blood attached to her and the allure of a quickening heartbeat that she wished she could hide under the floorboards.
It dragged her to the forest floor, breath escaping her as her ribs came in stark contact with the rocky ground. Her hands- Its hands; were clawed and digging roughly into her skin. Beca hissed as she flipped herself over, trying to edge her foot somewhere under the creature so she could kick it off.
It wore Aubrey’s clothes, but they were torn and tattered. It carried Aubrey’s physical nature and slowly morphed features but had dripping fangs the same exact color as that stupid mug that broke in the cabin’s kitchen. It was coming at her throat, mixing primal animal growls with dripping drool.
Beca let out a yell of pain as she struggled to hold her arm up enough to block the teeth of the beast. Their pointed ends dug into her forearm with an ungodly crunch, pushing past tendons and dying yellowed teeth with a crimson brine. It’s claws stinging as it thrashed easily, nails starting at Beca’s collarbone and dragging in four even leans down to the tip of her stomach. She cried in distress- letting out a bark of anger as she finally got enough of a hook to kick the creature away from her.
Beca used her impulse, dashing to her feet as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She sprinted, not bothering to dodge away from the low hanging branches or a slippery mix of mud and leaves carved in ice.
She dropped to her knees in a clumsy fall once she burst through the edge of woods, yelping as she cradled her wounded arm against her stomach. She didn’t’ stop- rushing onto the porch and into the golden light of the porch lamp. It was a small circle, her back resting against the side of the cabin as her legs buzzed on separated steps. Breath thick in the air as she scanned her eyes near the perimeter of the woods.
Two rose colored orbs peered at her for a few moments before clouding away. It was gone, whatever it was had left the battle for the safety of the woods. A safety that Beca so desperately wanted to feel herself.
“Oh my god, Beca!” she didn’t realize that the door had opened. Aubrey disregarding the cold as she dropped to her knees on the snow-coated deck. Beca flinched away, letting out a mix between a cough and a pained exclaim. Aubrey was dressed in flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt that was Beca’s. It looked tight on her, but comfortable. She looked undeniably like her.
“Y-you did this to me,” Beca croaked out, voice hot as blood continued to soak through her clothes. Warming her and chilling her all at once.
Aubrey held her hands in the air like she wanted to comfort her girlfriend. Pull her in close and make sure she was okay. But Beca had folded into herself. Cradling a wounded arm between knees pulled up to her chest. She decided to talk her down.
“Sweetie, you were asleep on the couch,” Aubrey tried “I didn’t’ want to wake you, so I went to change but by the time I got back you were gone.” She swallowed thickly “There was a broken mug on the floor.”
Beca blinked dumbly. She hadn’t checked the room, why would she? Aubrey had appeared so easily in front of her being the complete opposite of who she had fallen in love with. Alluring enough to pull her into the forest. A tricky creature that used a weakness and a strength all at once. Aubrey would never leave a broken mug on the floor, she would never go out in the middle of the night for firewood.
Beca let a sob rock through her body as she allowed Aubrey to carefully pull her into a soft embrace, not wanting to hurt the woman. Everything stung, her eyes burning as the beginning of a sunrise turned a dark night into a rain filled day. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed in that position before Aubrey said something, she wasn’t quite sure, about calling an ambulance.
She nodded, fingers still curled into Aubrey’s shirt as she stared out at the large expanse of snow that covered deadened grass. There were no footprints.
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THE EXCEPTION
CHAPTER 5: ADVANCE AUSTRALIA FAIR
He was safe. He was safe in her arms. His head resting on Mieke’s lap. Her hands stroking his face and running through his hair. Her lips deliciously trailing kisses along his swollen face, soothing his pain. Telling so much “I love you it felt like in Heaven.
No more pain.
“Wake up!” She whispered in his ear.
He hummed. He didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to stay here, wrapped in her arms, forever.
“Come on! Wake up!” The voice was more insistent.
Let me sleep Mieke, please I’m exhausted. Keep nursing me. Keep rocking me against your chest. I love your voice. I need your touch. Your scent is marvelous. Mieke I love you, let me rest on your thighs for a while.
“Wake up bastard!” The voice barked.
A fist crashed on his jaw, the taste of blood invaded his mouth. Again.
He opened his eyes, at least he tried. His swollen eyelids barely allowed him to see anything. Whatever, his sight is so blurry.
He grunted. The shadow in front of him was not Mieke. Obviously.
He spit some blood out, the coppery taste didn't leave his mouth.
“Speak asshole!” The man ordered, sending another punch in his temple.
The way the man was destroying his face taught him he was not the same who knocked him down. And hit Mieke and frightened their baby daughter.
Bree!
He clenched his teeth, not from pain, he didn’t feel anything anymore. His face and body were wrecked, smashed in pieces after being beaten up for hours.
He clenched his broken jaw from rage.
Anderson.
That’s how he had introduced himself
before accusing him, crossing the threshold of his fucking house to trample his life and ruin all his hopes for happiness.
He swore he would kill him. As soon as he would have his hands freed from those handcuffs which tied his wrists behind his back.
“Mieke…” he mumbled, worried to death about the fate for his family.
His wife and baby.
He only could remember the awful sound of their cries.
FUCK!
“Speak louder! What’s your name!”
Stefan’s head tumbled and jerked under the relentless punches of the other man in black.
Schmidt. Or something like that. Sounded more German that Australian.
“My name is Stephen Courtney. My wife name’s Mieke and our daughter’s is Brittany. We left London two month
"I had surgery when I was 12 and the scar became infected. Surgeons had to operate again before I died from blood-poisoning.” He repeated for the hundredth time.
“You’ll better have died then. It’d have save me those bruises on my knuckles.” Schmidt rubbed the back of his hands.
He silently asked what he had to do next, glancing at his supervisor who waved his hand in disbelief.
“Get rid of him. He’s useless. He won’t speak today.”
Schmidt drew a devilish smirk on his face and slammed his feet on the edge of the chair where Stefan was tied; the tip of his shoe threatened his crotch.
“We’ll see if he’ll be more eloquent when his pretty woman and baby girl will receive the same treatment.”
He bent down to stare deeply into Stefan’s widened eyes.
“We always get what we’re looking for.”
Mieke! Bree! NO!
Before Stefan could utter the slightest word, Schmidt hit him one more time in the face, then pushed the chair backward, knocking it over.
Stefan fell on his back, the back of his head crushing hard on the ground.
Knock out.
*
“Stefan!”
He thought he had heard his name in the distance.
Mieke was calling his name. His real name. Her voice sweet and clear in his mind.
Her lips.
He was floating in limbo, church bells echoing in his skull, hurting like hell.
“Stefan!”
Her eyes. Her sparkling dark brown eyes.
He slowly opened his eyes, fluttering under the bright lights of the ceiling, adding more flashes and pain under his eyelids.
Godammit! His head!
He managed to lift his hand -the one which had not been broken by Anderson’s heel- and pressed it on the side of his head, where some vicious monkey was playing drums.
“Stefan!” The voice was full of hope and relief.
Bree. His baby. His doll. Her fatty hands gripping his stubble.
He kept his forearm crossed before his eyes, so he eventually could see something. Or block another punch.
The last time he let his brain lure him with some bittersweet memories of his wife and the promise of her hands on him, he had a hard time.
Waiting for his sight to become less blurry, he noticed he was lying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position.
Bree. Her wiggles and giggles when he attacked her belly buton with kisses.
“Daddy!”
He leaned up on his elbow, scanning the room where he had obviously been thrown roughly. His shirt was laying next to him, torn in pieces and covered by -his- blood.
That was it. His brain was fucking with him again, spreading salt on his wounds.
Except from having slept for years, there was no chance he could have heard his daughter calling him.
He was losing his mind, alone, the bars of his filthy cell for unique company.
He gathered the pieces of his limbs together and sat down, his arms crossed around his knees, his head between them, rocking back and forth.
Half past bunny time,
‘Possums by the moon;
Tea and bread-and-honey time,
Sleep-time soon.
Things that poets pant to see,
The beautiful, the true,
Are nothing to the phantasy
The closed eyes view.
The poem Cora taught him worked so well to have the little girl asleep within the minute, his deep and low voice singing the lullaby again and again, his stare savouring the slightest whimper, sight, suckle of the bun of love sleeping like a stone in the home-made crib, her tiny hands fisted each side of her cutie face.
The song told the truth, he closed his eyes and let his brain roll up the memories of his short, too short happy life.
Noises and ruckus suddenly came from the other side of the door which separated the cells from the offices.
“Let me see him!” A voice loudly barked.
Muffled voices tried to calm down the hysterical screams.
“I won’t calm down until you let me see my husband!”
The tone was beyond hysterical and he could hear stationery flying through the room and crushing down the ground. Or the wall.
The door slammed open and Mieke rushed inside.
“Mieke! ”
He jumped to his feet and stumbled to the bars he grabbed for balance. His injured body was screaming out loud but he barely noticed.
Reaching his hands out, he caught both sides of her head and crashed her to his lips. Tears soaked his palms and he couldn’t tell if they were hers or his.
Mieke hooked his wrists, still red marked from the cuffs. But nothing mattered. She was there.
She was there.
Pulling back, she roamed her eyes all over his face and upper body, before locking her stare into his.
Never leave me again. Never look anywhere but into my eyes.
“What have they done to you?”
Her fingertips running lightly over his bruises and cuts, instantly healing his wounds.
“What have you done to him?” She yelled at the cop standing in the door frame, not bothering to even glance back.
Brushing the pad of his thumb across her swollen lower lip and the purple bruise on her cheek, he whispered, pulling her closer, forehead touching between bars.
“What has he done to you…”
Rage ran through his veins and he unwillingly tightened his grip on her neck.
“Mieke how are you? Where’s Bree?”
He inquired, praying whatever God who was listening they were safe.
“Cora’s looking after her. She’s fine. She missesyou. I’ve been tracking you for days! Lizzy helped and found out you were thrown in jail yesterday. I’ve moved Heaven and earth to find you…”
She swallowed back a sob.
“I thought you were dead. Stefan, I thought I'd lost you.”
She buried her face in his bare chest and stopped breathing, preventing from burst into unstoppable tears.
“I didn’t know what to do. ” she hugged him tighter. “What should I do?”
“Mieke” he couldn’t help but kissing her one more time.
“They said I am an alien enemy. They don’t believe in our story. They said they’ll send me to an internment camp, outside Sydney. In Hay or Cowra I don’t know.”
“No!” Her voice broke. She couldn’t holding back her tears and affliction.
“Ma'am, you have to leave now.” The cop behind them anxiously said.
“No!” Stefan gasped, his lungs suddenly empty with air.
He wrapped his wife, the reason he was still alive, the voice which kept him from giving up, melting their bodies together despite the cold bars that crashed his chest.
She cupped his face, sealed her lips on his, terrified to be separated from him again.
“I swear, I swear I’ll do everything I can to have you back home.”
“Ma'am, please, don’t force me to…” the man was losing patience, glancing
constantly through the door. Schmidt, or worse, Anderson popping up in the police dept. office will have him without job and likely without life for letting the woman in.
“No!” Stefan yelled at him. “She’s leaving.”
The last thing he wanted was his wife
mauled before his eyes. NOT again.
“Mieke, please, go.”
“No!” She clung to him desperately.
“Mieke…” He roughly slammed his mouth over hers then pulled back.
“Go… Now .”
“NO!” She was drowning in her own tears, gripping his hands.
“Mieke, please…” he forced her intertwined fingers off of his, but she clawed them back.
“Mieke…” he begged her.
The police officer walked behind her back and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back with all the force he could.
“NO! Stephen!” Her cry was heartbreaking, Stefan wished he was dead instead of watching his wife being snatched away from him.
“I’ll never stop! I’ll never stop looking for you!” She struggled to reach out a hand towards him.
“I know” he mouthed, snapping her eyes and face as she was dragged back by the policeman.
Their fingertips touching a last time before the man violently yanked at Mieke’s body, throwing her out of the room.
“I LOVE YOU!” she howled before the door slammed shut.
“I know…” Stefan’s grip loosened around the bars, allowing his blood to finally reach his white knuckles. He slowly crouched down, his head sliding down the bars and sat heavily on the ground.
“I know.” He whispered once more before cracking in tears, his palms crashed on his face as he screamed and cried his soul out.
*
Mieke knew exactly what she had to do. Leave no stone unturned, shake every bell she’d find, doing the impossible to have her husband back.
She already lost a husband, she wouldn’t let Bree grow up without her father. And beyond that, he was her love, her husband. Him.
She ran, days and nights, in every place in Sydney and beyond. She talked to every single personStefan met. From the worst suspicious fella who dabbled in the black market, smuggling or Chinese mafia for sure, Stefan met while doing deliveries, to the sexiest whore walking the streets around the docks, where he had his habits hanging out with Marvin.
Every single soul.
Mobsters offered their help, planning an abduction or whatever could have Stefan out from his jail. Too dangerous, Mieke didn’t want to have him free but dead. Or her family forced to be on the lam forever.
The prostitutes were united as one, saying Stefan was the most respectful and honest man they’d ever met.
“Don’t worry darlin’. He was only here to have a drink or two with Marvin. Marvin had some fun with Marla but your hubby, ma chérie… Gosh he was such a treasure. He chatted with all of us, called each girl by her nickname, listened to our stories. He always treated us like human beings, which is not very common in our job. But he never had a look at one girl anywhere but in the eyes. Never touched or desired anyone of us. It’s a shame, you know… such an handsome man. But Stephen had only one woman in mind, you lucky girl. He’s crazy in love with you, it’s written on his face. You got his heart, and I can easily understand why.” Judith, a Jew who left France when things were turning into shit, told her, wiping the tears from Mieke’s cheeks.
She apologized for not being more helpful, but gave Mieke good tips about Detective Anderson’s bad, filthy habits when he paid them a visit. Enough to ruin his reputation and name for the next decade, and maybe make him think twice before sending Stefan in one of those awful internment camps.
Mieke was beyond exhaustion and anxiety and accepted the shot of whiskey Judith had offered.
She was trying to gather all the pieces she had in her brain but every lead came to a deadlock.
She said no to the bootleggers.
The lawyer Lizzy sent her to, said she had to prove her husband was not a Nazi nor a SS. An average German citizen would have worked, but a Captain from the SS army would be difficult to defend before the Immigration court.
She planned to call or send a message to the Kaiser, the only one who knew the truth and whom words could count, if he was still alive. But all the communication means to Europe like Phone calls or telegrams were reserved to the military needs and a message by mail was too risky, the Kaiser would likely never receive her request, or his answer would never arrive to her.
She couldn't even consider going back to the Kaiser’s house, she never would put her baby into such a trouble. She -they- left London purposely to bring their daughter away from the war, no way she going back.
Bree. She had entrusted the little girl to Cora for too long, her painful and swollen breast screamed to go back home and breastfeed her baby.
She cut short the soliloquy Judith was into, catching only few words about Marvin being so gentle despite his appearance.
Marvin. He could have been the key, she could have given him the letter before he sailed off to London, and one of her contacts there could sendthe message to the Kaiser. Safely.
But he was gone. They had celebrated and said their goodbye two days ago.
Bad timing.
“I’m sorry I have to go. Thanks for your help Judith. And for the drink.” She sadly said, drawing a line at her last hope. That damn war would end at one point and Stefan would be free then. It was just a matter of years.
*
Stefan had spent the last three months to dream.
Dream of his wife, forcing himself to draw the outlines of her face and curves in his head, practically feeling them under his palms.
Dream of his baby girl, trying to figure out how she could look like, what she was able to do, what her babbling and her laughs could sound like.
Dream of the better days he imagined with Mieke, talking about how much kids they would want, sharing the names they loved, building solid foundations for their family.
Dreaming. There wasn’t much to do in the internment camp they sent him to.
And learning foreign languages.
The camp was full of Jewish, German, French and Italian prisoners of war.
Barracks accommodated 12 men, his homed 6 Italians, 3 Germans including himself, 2 Frenchies, and one Aborigine.
Stefan spent days reading the few books available in the camp, mainly the Holy Bible and the Torah. He read again and again the French version of Nietzsche’s “Beyond good and evil” his roommateJean gave him.
He talked at length about that disgusting whiff of racism Australia applied to both native or refugees, who weren’t “white enough” for this soil.
He couldn’t stand those ‘white supremacy’ theories which reminded him the Führer’s so bad.
Why, by all the Gods, why human beings couldn’t be considered as such? They all had one heart, two arms and two legs, coloured skins or religions didn’t make any difference for him.
Tjupurrurla, an Australian native which skin was black as coal, told him how white people stole the land of his ancestors, banishing them from their own ground. He told him about the British settlers raping native women to father bastards, mixing white and black blood to get rid of the black part. He told him how they forced those children in re-education camps, to teach them the right way to be a good citizen, ignorant of their own mothers, languages and traditional cultures.
Tjupurrurla ended up in this camp for having hidden the children of his two sisters, both raped by white landowners. His sisters were killed, their children sent to the camps. He has never heard from them since.
Stefan found somewhat funny that primal fear of the British colonists to be stolen the land they first stole.
Heinrich Spielman, a German citizen opponent to the Nazi regime, tried his luck in Australia, after all his family and Jewish friends were killed, himself threatened to be sent in a concentration camp. The spelling test all the immigrants have to pass wasn’t supposed to be a problem, he spoke fluently 5 languages, including English. But that sneaky Australians didn’t want him and the spelling was done in a lost gaelic scottish language. He failed and was sent to this camp.
Damn, Australia was not that fair…
Stefan avoided talking about his story, not knowing if he could trust those guys. Last time he confessed his real identity, he had to pay for it.
He didn’t talk about him but he couldn’t stop talking about Mieke and Bree. His beloved family.
It hurt so much but helped to keep his feet on the ground and hope. Turning mad was easy here and he witnessed several desperate men make attempt to their own lives.
He held onto a small note Mieke managed to send him. The police officer in charge with his relocation to the internment camp was a regular user of Judith and the girl’s services and was promised the moon if he passed the envelope on to him. Which he happily agreed, ignoring the consequences if he was caught.
Mieke joined a picture with the note. One Cora took while their Sunday walk, he loved have a stop on the Harbour Bridge and stare endlessly to the Parramatta river. They decided to take a picture each Sunday, so they could see how Bree would change weeks after weeks.
No wonder why the pic looked so old, Stefan stared at it hours a day, stroking the fragile paper, when not hiding it right on his chest, where his heart beated.
The note said Mieke had a plan and ordered him to keep hope and wait.
Which he did.
He imagined Mieke, all day long, and guessed what she was doing, taking care for Bree, likely finding a job as a teacher or translator for foreigners. He wanted her to move in with Cora, he couldn’t stand to know her alone.
She would send letters he would never receive, he wrote letters he could never send.
Until that day of May, a Thursday when he received one.
“Courtney!” The guardian called roughly. “It’s time.”
Stefan grabbed his bag. Nothing he really cared but a pic of Mieke holding Bree, both wrapped in his arms, the letters he wrote to her, and the one he recently had received.
The ultimate mail that explained everything. And had him freed today.
“Marla will be so sad once Marvin is gone.”
Mieke startled. Judith was French, but she knew the tenses.
“He left a couple of days ago, doesn’t he?” She inquired.
“Darlin’, the boat is been docking for two days now. Something went wrong with the engine, but they finally fixed it. Marvin is upstairs right now, thrusting his goodbye deep inside Marla!” Judith laughed.
A split second later, she rushed in Marla’s room, roughly interrupting their 'goodbye’ but there was not a second to be lost.
Marvin offered to stay and help in whatever way hecould but Mieke had all planned. She needed him on board and keep the captain and his staff off the docks. And waited.
Waited for weeks for the ship to travel back to London. Waited for months the precious letter came from the Kaiser, who was still confined in the house with his wife.
Kaiser Wilhem read the handwritten letter, showed Hermine the pic of the family which was blessed with happiness then, and finally told his wife the truth he had kept secret since, even to her.
The letter the Kaiser wrote wore his recognizable German’s style handwriting along with his wax seal.
All he clearly explained clearing Stefan Brandt’s name. Their friendship, how he protected and saved Mieke, despite he knew she was Jewish and a spy for the English crown. How Stefan disobeyed direct orders he received from Heinrich Himmler himself. How he shot SS officers to escape the house, saving his life, jeopardizing his plan to drive him to hospital. How he hated the Nazi’s theory and what the Führer planned for his own people. How loyal and fiercely patriotic Stefan was to his country, until he realized his country was wrong and mad. How himself was convinced Stefan would be the best citizen Australia could ever dream of, ready to fight if the cause was fair.
The mail traveled to Australia by air, safe in an English military aircraft. A frightened-to-fly Marvin in charge with delivering the precious letter personally to Mieke. The Kaiser made sure it arrived as soon as possible, proud to show he had still some power.
It didn’t last long before Mieke and their lawyer had this clue registered before the Immigration court, which ruled in favour of Stefan Brandt. They also blamed head detective Anderson for his obviously non authorized methods and his deviant lifestyle.
Judith insisted to testify in court.
The judge stomped his hammer and stamped the release notice for citizen Stephen Courtney, the only one condition the judge imposed was to keep this name, and ordered Mieke to keep all this waste secret, to save Australia’s Immigration department’s face from shame.
And this was it. The moment he was waiting for so long.
His sight was blurry as he walked, like through a dark channel, Mieke was waiting for him at the other side, wrapped in the warm sunlight.
He barely realized he was outside, free, nothing really mattered but his wife and daughter, waving at him only few steps ahead.
He stopped in front of Mieke, marveling at her perfect radiating face, glanced only once at Bree, babbling in her arm.
He dropped his bag and hugged the loves of his life, so tight he couldn’t breathe nor speak.
He nuzzled his face in the crook of Mieke’s neck and cried.
He just cried. Without restraint nor shame. He cried his eyes out, clung to his wife, his strong and brave heroin. His little soldier. He cried like he never had cried before, enough tears to competewith the Parramatta flows, enough to cover Victoria desert in water.
He cried the three months of his daughter’s life he would never make up. He cried the time lost with his family, the unfairness of his fate. He cried the tears his wife had cried before him.
Mieke just rocked him, she would have rocked him for eternity if he had needed. After tears came more tears, then the flood dried up.
She cupped his soaked face and gently wiped his cheeks with her palms.
“Let’s go home.” She whispered.
She was not crying. She was just wearing the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.
Final chapter coming soon😉
@tigpooh67 @kenzieam @frecklefaceb @oddsnendsfanfics @badassbaker @bookwarm85 @societalfailure @jaihardy @jaicourtneyseyes @captstefanbrandt @pathybo @beautifulramblingbrains @beltz2016 @red-diary @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @singingpeople @ashtotes @murmelinchen @anditcametopass @pernilleals @writingismyhappytime @sporadichologramblizzard-ed17414
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and what if it was all a dream
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can people stop maintagging their bitching im not about to stop checking the scott tags too
#discourse#I wasnt blocking before for studying purposes but im on that block button shit now#Gonna need everyone to get angrier than usual in there for a minute it’s about to get way more awesome for me#bree barks so fucking loud
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Sorry if im inconsolable for the next week I was given a crushing realization about dl!scott and pearl and im never going to be the same again. and the universe said cry bitch mental anguish for eternity
#Its just what he did to jimmy in different paint. I dont know how else to explain it#thank you tumblr user liauditore#I dont know if I will elaborate I may be too emotional to do so ever#bree barks so fucking loud
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I’ve been thinking a lot about how merciless scott was towards joel in limited life specifically during the session where joel was outwardly grieving jimmy in this messy violent desperate way that made him appear mad. and I’ve been thinking about scott’s own relationship towards the concept of grief, what grief “should” look like, and his tendency to act as though he is above letting his emotions consume him. and i’ve been thinking about scott stating that joel “deserves it” shortly before taking him out of the series. do we think that scott judged joel so severely for grieving jimmy in such a raw way that he killed that fucker four times to get rid of him. because of his own standards for what correct grief looks like. and how any reflection of scott’s own emotions needs to be eliminated. i personally dont think so but I think the concept goes hard as fuck anyways
#is this anything#Jimmy griever one kills jimmy griever two four times in a row and laughs. there is something here#(Sorry ll martyn I know you missed him too but that was. different.)#bree barks so fucking loud#hmmm. Actually. What if Iiiii…#scott smajor#smajor1995#trafficblr#Runs away
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i dont know who mogswamp is but the way pix talks to him like he’s a captive animal being released back into the wild and experiencing the worlds wonders for the first time is captivating me
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something is deeply and undeniably wrong with scott
#I’ll elaborate on this later I think#but the way he talked to jimmy this session makes me want to maul him#bree barks so fucking loud
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God this is still so funny. “montage of some of our best moments and memories that I have with him” and it’s:
moment they first met (ok)
passing by him down the stairs (ok)
ruining tango’s cow operation (fun activity they did together!!)
zoomed in footage of jimmy dying (???)
That’s it (youtube scene slide transition and cartoon sound effect)
#bree barks so fucking loud#deranged.fh.posting#was thinking about jimmys funeral being performative even though scott was genuinely grieving and went to go watch it again and had to—#rewatch this like five times I was giggling. little shit tries his best and cant think of more than one good moment they had together#awesome. love these guys
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by each passing month fandom attitude towards flower husbands gets noticeably less cute and more evil. I say we keep going until Scott reallife notices what we’re doing on here and everything goes to hell
#can i still say scott reallife actually. im really attached to saying it instead of cc!scott#bree barks so fucking loud
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why do I never hear “you should watch lifesteal it’s so much fun!!!” why is it always “if you watch lifesteal you will disappear at midnight and the only evidence they’ll have of you is your bones in the woods. the officials suspect a ritualistic suicide but the details are never uncovered” I have never had more people personally warn me in my life than when I mention I’m considering getting into lifesteal
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fuuuck dude this is the most relatable plotline i’ve ever seen (looking at a story that is like 50% audience interpretation at the least) fuck man this guy is just like me for real (looking at a character arc I strung together entirely in my head)
#thinking about jimmy rn. girl it is not like that. girl you made it up#In 3L and DL it’s supported but otherwise it’s like. be so for real#bree barks so fucking loud
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you seem to be in a constant with life series Scott and you seem to keep losing
WRONG. I ONLY WIN. Here is a video of me killing scott with a stapler
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