#i miss watching the birds leave for the winter. waking up to the sudden realization they’ve all left for the winter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

technicallymilkshakes · 3 years

Text

A Change of Season

Genre(s): Fluff, Fantasy Pairing: Yixing x Reader Word Count: 4.1k

This is my gift for @chicken-fifi for the @exolssecretsanta event! I hope you enjoy this take on dad!Xing. Happy Holidays!

When Mae stampedes back into the house, a whole host of critters follow her in. A young fox kit bolts between your legs, a hawk chasing after it. You shoo away a curious chipmunk, intent on investigating the roasted chestnuts you've set out to cool. Bingo, the white hare that has followed your daughter since she celebrated her first birthday, runs in next with a little leap of joy. And rounding out the procession is Yixing, who walks into the room with a sheepish expression.

Melting ice and snow puddle along the floor like little cookie crumbs trails that lead to what is apparently a whole forest's worth of animals in your house, your daughter included. You and your husband exchange a familiar look, one of equal parts fondness and exasperation.

You beat him to placing a finger on your nose.

“Not it!” you crow victoriously.

Yixing laughs and hangs up his scarf, resigned to animal round-up duty.

You smile and hand the chipmunk, who has returned for a second attempt at pilfering, a chestnut. You watch with amusement as he promptly stuffs it in his mouth. This is the enchanted life you've become used to ever since your daughter was born.

After a dinner of rich stew and homemade bread, Mae totes her father off to play, leaving you to clean the dishes. She had not been happy with him after he had herded the last woodland creature out the door, so you're glad that she seems to either have forgiven him or forgotten.

Your mind drifts as you begin washing up. The window over the sink affords you a view of the backyard and the forest that abuts it. It had snowed long and hard the past two days, but tonight the sky is clear. The evergreens appear like frosty giants in the evening with their wintry snow coats aglow.

Winter is your favorite time of year. Your family bundles up inside together against the cold, a cozy intimacy that no other season can seem to replicate. Dinners are warm affairs, full of good food, laughter, and Mae's cheerful chatter. It feels, for a time at least, that you exist outside of the rest of the world. The only sounds are of birds, the crack of branches and the snow falling from them, then crunching beneath your feet. You never want it to end.

Such thoughts and reminiscing help pass the time, and soon enough you are drying the last dish and setting it back in the cupboard. The quiet strikes you then and pulls you into the living room in its wake.

Already Mae has fallen asleep, the gentle glow of Christmas lights dancing blue, orange, white upon her eyelashes. Yixing cradles your daughter in his arms, bending his head low to sweep his lips against her cheek. The fire he had kindled hours ago crackles dimly in the background. Bingo, ever watchful, has curled up beneath the Christmas tree to keep an eye on his sleeping charge.

A deep-seated happiness burns within you. You promise yourself to commit this moment to memory.

You come up behind your husband and touch his shoulder. When he looks up, tears sparkle in the corners of his eyes.

“Yixing?”

“She's getting so big,” he whispers. “I remember when she was just a baby. Her whole hand could only wrap around one finger. And now she already knows how to talk.”

You wrap yourself around him and feel the reciprocating bittersweet ache of your child growing up. “Oh, Yixing,” you whisper back. “We're parents for the rest of our lives,” you murmur as you rest your head on his shoulder. “She'll always be our baby.”

Eventually, Yixing puts Mae to bed. She stirs from her sleep, brow scrunching. Bingo hops onto the bed and slips into her arms. You sweep her fringe away and lay a kiss as gentle as snowfall on her forehead. Only then does she relax and slip back into sleep.

Arms slips around your waist and spin you. Yixing holds you loosely in the circle of his arms. He catches your gaze, eyes sleepy and affectionate. Mae's nightlight projects snow drifting down the walls around you.

“Love you,” he says.

No matter how many times you hear it, you always have to fight down the sudden spike in your pulse, the warming of your cheeks.

“You're just jealous I haven't given you your kiss yet.”

He's smiling, the shadow of his dimple a deep dark. “How'd you know?”

You smile knowingly. “Love you, too,” you whisper back before finally giving him the kiss he's been waiting for.

You dream that night. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that you remember.

One spring day, when the first buds appeared on the trees, Mae was taken. You had been sleeping, and then you weren't. A great clattering came from down the stairs. Mae's crib was gone. You scrabbled out of bed, crying out “Mae!” Yixing jerked awake behind you, but you couldn't linger. There was no time to explain.

You sprinted downstairs to see two white-tailed deer dragging the crib out of the house. Vines had sprouted from the crib's wooden legs and attached themselves to the halters of the 12-point bucks. The backdoor was open and they were making a dash for the woods.

“No!” you shouted, leaping after them. You managed to grab onto one of the rails. Bingo peered at you over the edge. They were going so fast, they were dragging you through the remaining snow, which that night measured a scant inch. Snow and slush slid into your shirt. I can't hold on, you realized with creeping horror. And just as you thought it, you jolted as the deer dragged you over the jagged end of a rock. Your fingers slipped and you came a halt, curling around the bruise blooming on your ribs.

A breeze whisked by you and you glanced up through tears to see Yixing racing into the forest after your baby.

Minutes, hours went by, and then a blinding flash, brighter than lightning, blazed through the woods. The howl of soul in despair rang out after like thunder.

You were already crying by the time Yixing came back, carrying something. He looked up at you, devastated.

In his hands hovered the most perfect snowflake you had ever seen.

Mae sits at the table drawing with Yixing. Crayons scatter across the table in a mess of color. Some have rolled off the edge. Yixing holds one captive, rolling it back and forth on the ground with a socked foot.

“What are you drawing?” you ask Mae.

“This is you!” she says, pointing to a vaguely human-like shape. There is a concerning red blotch by the head. A smaller blob she declares to be herself, and Bingo a small circle that you had thought was a foot at first.

“And where am I?” asks Yixing.

Mae points to her father's drawing.

“I'm a sheep?” he asked, confused.

“No! A bunny,” she says back.

You stifle a laugh as Yixing looks even more confused.

Mae traces the sheep's horns. “These are its ears.” Yixing nods thoughtfully, then scrawls over the paper to make the sheep more bunny-like

He's such a good father, you think. He is patient, and kind. He listens to her and responds sincerely. You are profoundly in love with them, with your family and its small place in the world.

The two drawings hang from the refrigerator later that evening. You can hear Yixing playing with Mae in the living room, bouncing her up and down on his lap as she giggles and shrieks “Horsey!” Mae has labeled each figure in indecipherable symbols, but underneath one, in handwriting too elegant to be a child's hand, reads Daddy. It is undeniable a bunny.

You had long been suspicious of Bingo. He was no ordinary hare. But you had never been more suspicious of him than when your daughter came home this year.

It was the first snow of the year, and you and Yixing had been standing outside for hours already in the cold so that you didn't miss it. And there! To your left, a bright light had flashed in the forest. You were the first to find Mae and you fell on your knees before her.

“Oh, baby,” you said, cradling her cheeks in your hands, checking her over for any injuries. She was dressed in a similar foreign garment as last time, this one made of a pale pink shimmering gossamer.

“Where have you been?” you cried. She was old enough now, if she could just tell you where she went, then maybe....

And that was the first time you noticed it. The way your daughter fell silent and stared at the white hare.

She looked you full in the eyes a moment later and said, “Bingbing says I can't tell you yet.”

Yixing came at that moment and swept her into his arms.

“Don't leave us again,” he said, voice muffled against her. “Promise me that you won't go.”

“Daddy!” Mae complained, squirming in his hold. She looked at you plaintively over his shoulder and pouted. “I'm hungry.”

The first time it happened, you thought you'd lost your daughter forever. You had grieved with the force of a death. And then you woke up on the first day of snowfall to see a white hare on your chest.

“Mae...” came Yixing's hoarse voice besides you. You turned and saw your daughter in her crib beside the bed. Two seasons had come and gone, and she had clearly kept growing the months you'd been apart. But she watched you with those same keen eyes like she knew exactly who you.

“Did you...bring her back?” you asked, turning back to the white hare. Bingo merely twitched his nose a few times. He seemed to be staring right at you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You rested a tentative hand on the hare, who close its eyes in acceptance. After another moment, it jumped away.

Yixing watched you with wide eyes, Mae already cradled in his arms. You wrapped your arms around the both of them. “I love you so much,” you whispered in a voice choked with tears. “I am so lucky to have you both.”

It snows again the next day. You're not sure who's more excited about it, you or your daughter. Yixing struggles to get Mae kitted out for the weather, and you practically trip over yourself to shove your boots and hat on at the same time.

You had spent your free time this fall building a sled. You had cobbled all the pieces together yourself: the polished wood, the metal runners, the string that worked the rudder like reins on a horse. The winters have only grown longer since Mae was born, and you want to enjoy it while you can.

You start to wax up the candles with a broken candle when Mae huffs and puffs her way over to you, stretching up to try and reach your hand.

“No, mommy! I want to do it.”

You laugh and hand her the piece of candle. You wrap your fingers around hers, two-times clumsy with her gloves on, and help her slide the wax on the metal, lifting your daughter up when she can no longer reach.

“Perfect!” you declare when you finish with the second runner. “Thank you for your help, my little elfling.” You pinch her nose lightly and she giggles and runs to her dad.

All of you, Bingo included, pile out into the snow. You and Mae get the honors of the inaugural sled ride. Yixing bursts into a run first, yelling “race you down the hill!”

“Get him, mommy!” Mae yells, trying to scoot the sled forward. You kick off, and soon the two of you are zooming. You catch up with Yixing easily and then you are past, far past, trees blurring by.

The sled finally comes to a rest and Mae is still laughing. She has already hopped off the sled and is tugging on you, wanting to do it all over again. You roll off the sled, feeling about as dexterous as a marshmallow. Then you stand and survey how very long you have to climb back up.

“Come on, Mommy,” Mae says, slipping her hand into yours. The two of you walk forward in silence for a minute before you ask, “Where's your daddy, Mae?”

She runs forward, Bingo dashing after her, and you call after them not to go too far by themselves. Your warning is half-hearted, though. The woods welcome Mae like a friend. Even now, cardinals flock to the branches around her, bright splashes of red against the snow like trail marks pointing straight to her. There is an undeniable magic to your child. You have a feeling that nothing could hurt her, and the only thing that could take her is a force that you have no way of stopping.

The sled glides easily back up the hill—you do your best to keep it in the tracks you left on the way down. You eye the branches of the trees along the climb. Not one of the deciduous trees you spy has a single hint of a bud upon its branches. You heave a sigh in relief.

You're the one who stumbles across Yixing first. He has fallen backwards into the snow, his phone lying on his chest, staring up at the sky. You can't resist—you pick his phone up and take a few pictures of him, rosy cheeked, haloed in snow.

You pocket his phone and stretch a hand out for him. Mae comes barreling towards the two of you, yelling “Daddy!”

Yixing takes your hand with a smile.

“I guess you guys won.”

Later that night, Yixing shows you a video on his phone. He was filming the entire sled race. You watch second hand as you tuck Mae between your legs and wrap an arm around her. Suddenly, the camera is jerking forward, Yixing's muffled challenge to a race humming through the speaker. You hear his huffed laughter, the crunch of snow and the way his jacket sleeves rub against his sides as he runs. All of a sudden, you and Mae streak by, Mae squealing, and then the world topples. From white to black to white again, you hear Yixing trip, the sound of his breath knocked out of him in a single oof. Miraculously, he manages to keep a grip on his phone.

He lays there, camera facing the sky. All you hear is him breathing. A couple of snowflakes drift by and just miss landing on the lens. You feel oddly self-conscious when you show up onscreen. Is that what you looked like? A wide grin split your face, your hair windblown. You look down at Yixing with what is unmistakably love.

The video ends when you grab the phone to take pictures of Yixing (which you have already bullied him into sending you).

“I love watching you with Mae,” he confesses as the two of you lay in bed. Your bodies have curved inward, seeking the presence of the other. His fingers wrap around yours.

“Your smile, how tender you are...” Yixing turns and presses his face against your neck. “I love you both so much,” he says.

Mae becomes increasingly more cuddly as winter wears on. It's difficult to put her to bed. She'll cry long into the night, begging to sleep with you and Yixing. More and more, one of the two of you would cave in. She would crawl into your bed and rest in the warm hollow between your two bodies. Soon, neither of you bothered with carrying her to her bed.

How could either of you resist when you already had so little time with her? You want to hold her close just as much as she wants to be held. Everyday, you find her napping with Yixing, laid out along his chest and stomach. Your phone album is full of pictures of the two of them together.

Yixing said she took after you. But you see all the ways in which Mae takes after her father. The shape of her eyes. Her brilliant dimples. Her wavy hair. You had taken far too many pictures of them waking from a nap together, sporting matching cases of wild bedhead. It is the most adorable sight you have ever seen.

It happens earlier this year than it ever has before. On Christmas Day, Mae disappears. You race outside, going tree to tree, looking for the sight of even a hint of a bud. But there is nothing.

Hours pass in the woods, but they feel barren. You hunt for even a hint that Mae has been there, but find not even footprints. The forest is quiet and empty. For the first time, you feel the loneliness of winter.

You trudge into the house, numb from cold and disbelief. Yixing looks equally as hollow. “Bingo's still here,” he says hoarsely. And the two of you collapse towards each other with the gravity of your anguish. Why is this happening, you wonder.

Later that night, you wander in Mae's room. Lying atop her pillow is a single brilliant snowflake and a white hare.

Spring marches in with a a triumph. The flowers are riotously beautiful—bashful pinks, velvety reds, radiant yellows, and inky purples. All the life that winter has lacked bursts forth with a vengeance. And still, Mae is gone.

Bingo spends most of his time outdoors now. The sight of him upsets Yixing, which in turn upsets you. But outside of your husband's sights, you take some comfort in the hare's presence. He joins you on walks through the forest, thin tethers to a time before. You while away most of your days there now.

Where you have turned to the forest, Yixing haunts the threshold to Mae's room. He doesn't go in. He simply stares, watching the snowflake that never melts. You suspect that he's waiting for the moment it disappears so he'll know exactly when Mae has returned.

Neither of you have been sleeping much, nor well. The house is quiet, as if it's waiting with the two of you. It feels like the first time she disappeared all over again. A part of you, one you can never confess having to Yixing, thinks that she will never come back. Not this time.

One morning, you awake and find Yixing gone. You frown and throw the bedsheets off. Yixing never gets up before me. You slip downstairs and find yourself standing in front of Mae's room. The snowflake is gone.

“Yixing?” you call out, with real concern now.

It is quiet still. A pot of coffee rests on the counter. A half-empty mug sits abandoned on the dining room table, the chair still pulled out.

The backdoor is open.

“No,” you gasp, and stagger outside.

Yixing is nowhere in sight, but you know he must be in the forest. What is he doing. You hesitate at the edge of the woods. You've spent hours amounting to days in this forest, and yet it suddenly appears to you a maze. He could be anywhere.

And then you hear it. A chorus of whistles. And like magic, a path marked by the red of cardinals appears before you. You hurtle along it, crashing through bracken and bramble, until you see the sight of a very familiar back.

Yixing whirls around. In his hands is the snowflake.

“Look here,” he says, pointing to the snowflake. “The gates are open.” You gaze at the snowflake. It is like ice, or glass—clear enough to see through to Yixing's palm on the other side. All six points of the snowflake are perfectly formed like castle spires or a knight's sword, and at its hub is a beautiful ice castle with open gates.

You look up at Yixing. “The gates weren't open before,” he says. “There's a path,” he continues, body already half-turning, “the hare....There!”

He takes off, and you see the flash of a hare disappearing in the distance.

The two of you race after Bingo. The world flashes by in colors and noise, simultaneously real and insubstantial. You feel the burn of your lungs, the jolt that goes up your legs with each stride. All you have to do is follow Yixing. He is a few feet in front of you until.

He isn't.

You try to stop, but your momentum carries you forward. You break through the edge of the trees and slide right over the edge of a blind ravine. You try reaching for the scraggliest tree you have ever seen jutting from the cliff face, but it uproots and you, and it, plummet

down

onto warmth. Thick white blankets your lap. Yixing sits ahead of you, looking just as shell-shocked as you feel.

“It's about time,” rumbles forth a voice from beneath. You realize all of a sudden that you are sitting astride the most gigantic white hare you have ever seen.

The hare comes to a halt, lowering itself. With a gentle shake, both you and Yixing are deposited on the ground.

You gape at your surroundings. It is starless night, yet everything is awash in a glow of blue. Frost blankets the world as far as your eye can see. Without the warmth of the hare, the cold bites deep into you, undeterred by the thin pajamas you had rushed out in.

A sudden wind blows, and you shield your eyes against it. A man, or something like it, lands before you. Wings arch away from his back and a small fount of feathers sprout from his red hair, whereas his eyebrows and beard are a trim black.

“Welcome, Starbearer. Welcome, Woodweaver.” His voice is musical.

You and Yixing stare perplexed at the winged man. He approaches Yixing first.

“Thank you for returning the First Star. We humbly accept this gift.”

For the snowflake in Yixing's palms had turned into a blazing light. Warmth radiates from it, reaching you even from where you stand. The man bows his head, cupping his hands beneath Yixing's and then pushes them both up. You watch as the star ascends from its cradle in Yixing's palms until it streaks into the night sky. It settles into place, and soon, begins to color night into day.

The man approaches you next.

“Thank you for returning the First Tree. We humbly accept this gift.”

This time, the man places his hands over yours and pushes down. The scraggly tree, which you had been holding onto all this time, immediately roots itself into the ground and begins to flower and leaf. Soft showers of iridescent petals drift around you.

Morning dawns over the land and sweeps the ice away. Grass has sprouted beneath your feet, and little flowers like fireworks burst into bloom. You gasp. In the distance, you catch sight of a familiar castle, with spires that spear the sky. It glimmers golden in the sunshine.

“I apologize. We have been looking for you for a long time, however your daughter was an unforeseen element that confounded our agents.” He gestures with a wing to two white-tailed deer and a white hare. “All this time, we expected it to be one person when we needed two.” He shakes his head, feathers ruffling.

“But I digress. You have brought with you the first new season. Starvale thanks you.”

The winged man observes you both for a moment, then gives a brisk nod, the plume at his front rising.

“Daddy!”

Like a reflex, Yixing drops and gathers Mae into his arms. You find yourself in the mix a moment later. You shake with sobs, pressed cheek to cheek with your daughter. Yixing pours kisses all over both of you, much to Mae's chagrin. She is wearing the same kind of garment as before, this one with real twigs and berries stitched into it. Some berries get crushed, staining the fabric around it in halos of red.

“Will you stay?” she asks. Her eyes are wide and watery, her little hands clutching fistfuls of Yixing's sweater.

“You have my heart,” Yixing answers, helplessly in love. “For the two loves of my life, I would capture every star in the sky if I had to.”

And so, the family stayed on in Starvale.

The Starbearer walked the lands to bring morning and night. The Woodweaver felled trees and scattered seeds to make the forests grow. And their Herald of Joy showed the world what great love is capable of.

** A/N: Thank you for reading! I’m grateful for this event, which has brought forth such wonderful content and connected creators across the fandom. This was my first crack at a kid fic, which was a great challenge. Thanks to chicken-fifi for being such a good sport, and sorry that I couldn’t send you more asks! Still, I hope you enjoyed. I look forward to more of your own writing!

Happy Holidays!

23 notes · View notes

brainsbeauty · 3 years

Text

High and Dry

Summary: Once again, another Calum Hood fan-fiction; starring my favorite trope, SECRET DATING.

Word Count: 1,444

In this moment, he was ethereal.

The brown eyed boy laid next to her. Everything was soundless, except for the shallow noises of his breathing, chest falling in unison with his fluttering eyelids. She often wondered what that boy thought about, the daydreams are frequent, she knows that. People have their assumptions, yet the chaos was never correct. Somewhere beneath the creative outpourings of that boy resides the kitchen table, always content to stay quietly beneath, yet at times be revealed upon the random cleanings that come as welcome storms. He always said the bed was his safe place, his haven. He'd snuggle into the duvet as happy as a cat in the sunlight, ready for his starry dreams. He'd fall asleep in good time, either slowly or fast, never without a partner. For now, all Marianne could do was hope whatever went on in there, was pleasant.

The blanket is thin and the night is cold. As she wraps it around her shoulders, she knows it is better than nothing but it fails to reach her toes, which sit like ice-blocks on the parquet floor. She can't sleep tonight. Looking down, she realized the blanket was all she had left, the sheets had been scrambled across the floor once again. In their whiteness were as a fresh page awaiting ink, looking so comfortable yet so far away. In that dark room there were shapes in monochrome, of course the daylight could bring brilliant fuchsia or deepest scarlet, but for now it could be a scene from a black and white movie. The silhouettes were already more discernible than they were only a short while before and she gazed from the window; any moment the sun would kiss the sky orange, igniting a new dawn, bringing the chorus of the birds, but for now, she didn't dare move.

When another bite of winter seeps through the cracked windows, Calum moves his hand under her night dress and towards her middle, sharing the warmth as easily as he shared his heart. Shifting her body under his was easy, but moving her hands under the soft curls of his hair without waking him, was hard. She loved to touch him - never in a sexual way, never anywhere other than his face, his hands, his obsidian hair that fell in tousled locks. His warmth would seep into her being and he comforted her without ever opening his mouth. Marianne would melt into him like ice-cream on a warm porcelain bowl, like she belonged next to him, like he belonged next to her; and each time before they parted, the aching to be in his arms would begin anew.

France was known for being cold in the winter. Without sunlight, the place was simply hopeless. Nevertheless, it was beautiful, especially to her, after all those years of living in England, this place seemed absolutely extraordinary. Tomorrow, maybe, the promise of spring will blossom as flowers do, yet today the wind blows cold. The last serenade winter's song. Upon the grass there is snow, much like sprinkled sugar over cake. The frigid air has a way of keeping us in the moment, wicking away body heat faster than it is replaced. It was no secret today would be one of those days when normal clothes aren't enough, when they feel thinner than they are. It hadn't taken her long to realize the brown eyed boy accompanying her was not enough to resist the grating of winter.

The balcony there was a concrete ledge, square rough edges and a rusty rail, but in that moment it was her oasis. The hotel workers had filled whatever space the table for one did not occupy with potted plants and in the spring and summer seasons, she was told, was a riot of color. On her balcony she could enjoy the early morning breeze, the sun and even sometimes sit out in misty rain, no matter how cold. Below the city flowed in it's tense way, bustling and honking. But ten floors up she seemed far enough removed from it to be a passive observer, not troubled by its strife. She'd always been fond of balconies. She felt that if she could only manage to stand on one long enough, the right one, wearing a long white trailing gown, preferably during the first quarter of the moon, something would happen: music would sound, a shape would appear below, sinuous and dark, and climb towards her, while she leaned fearfully, hopefully, gracefully, against the wrought-iron railing and quivered. But this wasn't a very romantic balcony.

She stepped outside, toes flinching as they touched the chilled ceramic floor. She was no longer naked, taking her time wrapping the tattered bathrobe around her shivered body as she glided. It wouldn't be such a shame though, people seeing her naked; after all, men payed for that. The sunlight had come quickly that morning, as if it had missed the sky and wanted nothing more than to warm up those blues to a radiant gold. Just another person wanting warmth, she assumed. Looking back, she watched as Calum stammered over the laundry and tossed sheets from the exiting nights before, his only heat shield being a pair of boxers, ones accompanied by stretched fabric and many, many holes.

He walked up to her slowly and pulled her closer to him wrapping his arms around her. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. His forearms were streaked with green veins that sat comfortably on his silky, almond skin. The beauty spots that speckled them jumped at her when he clenched, tugging her even closer, the veins pulsating with concentration. The world around her seemed to melt away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end.

"It's early, you're not supposed to be awake yet," his lips alight on her cheek then, like a dew freckled petal caught in a breeze, so soft and with the smallest hint of coolness. "Come back to bed, please." He took her small calloused hands, as his eyes still adjusted towards the soft light; causing him to move cautiously while maneuvering the generous amounts of pillows and the chairs drenched in used jackets. There’s a finger. Two. They faux sashay in tandem up her leg from her ankle as if they were two legs of their own, and they splay into a palm to grip onto her thigh mid-journey. She returns the advance with a small smile, leaving the sky in which her attention was previously occupied with alone.

Thats not all, of course, it never is. In seconds someone is at the door, knocking ever so loudly. The noise came quietly at first and then there was silence. Someone was desperate for Calum's attention, but at just the wrong times. There is a kind of fast movement that is precise and well thought through that rose from the panic in both their eyes. Not the impulsive and random swipes of the cornered, yet more with the calculation of a chess player as she huddled behind the whitewashed bathroom door. Silence washed her system once more. She listened intently as the door opened, creaking, for it couldn't be quiet unless politely asked. She recognized the voices quickly enough to know this was bad, the situation she meant. They weren't supposed to find out and, by now, all she could do was hope no one needed the washroom.

Today she was unlucky. The footsteps approaching were not Calum's, they weren't heavy and slow, they were quick and stammered as the boy crept closer, and closer, and closer. Her heart rate was elevated to serious extents, and if she hadn't been holding her breath, she'd be traveling towards the nearest hospital. "Wait!" she could see him through the crack and, thanks to the bad carpentry, the gap was just narrow enough for him not to even notice her existence, just Calum's sudden volume adjustment, making everyone, even Ashton, freeze. "I had gotten a call from Luke earlier, he said it was urgent," his fingers twirled around each other and, just like that was not enough, he continued, "I'm kind of worried, perhaps we should go. We could form a search party, maybe."

Just as he had tugged Marianne to bed, he took Ashton's hands and scrambled out of the room, pants seeping off his waste as he searched for the nearest belt. Closing the door behind him, he looked back one last time and winked, before exiting out to his own doom. They hadn't been caught this time, she thought, thank God.

Note: I could really use some help. I would like to continue this storyline, yet I have no substantial plot, so, if anyone has helpful tips or hints, I’m always wide open!

Note: Thanks for reading, ao3 username is mikethemechanic, follow me if you’d like more!

#calumthomashood #calumhood #5sos #5sosfam #fanfic #fanfiction #someone please help me #help

10 notes · View notes

exosmutfactory · 4 years

Text

Dark Horse-Chapter Two

All I know is that one day my boyfriend and lifelong best friend disappeared. No word of him from anyone. No trace of him anywhere. And after 6 agonizing months, they concluded that he is dead. So why the fuxk do I seeing him strolling around town at 3am?

[ warnings: Baëkhyun is a carnivore, okay ]

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 ✓ |

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Observations

“Okay everyone, let’s share what you want to be when you grow up!” Our english teacher, Mrs. Kim, with the typical thick rimmed glasses and perfectly made bun exclaims from behind her desk. Books stacked high and orderly on either side as excitement seeps from her every word. That wild twinkle in her right eye terrifying me without fail.

Hiding behind my shield, I clutch on to the back of his shirt; keeping Mr. Bunny tucked into the crook of my elbow.

“I want to be an astronaut!”

“A doctor!”

“A princess!”

Mrs. Kim smiles while looking over everyone’s glowing faces, but no one shines like the boy hiding my small form from view. “Baekhyun?”

My shield nearly blinds the room with his boxy grin; two front teeth missing as he points his finger to the sky. “My name is Byun Baekhyun!” He proclaims, pointing back at himself, “And I’m going to be the best fencer to ever live!”

Mrs. Kim’s eyes twinkle even more, the unnaturally grey orbs shifting to peek at my shying away form, “Charity?”

Baekhyun steps to the side, and I clutch tighter onto his soft t-shirt, meeting his gentle eyes with my alarmed ones. ‘Go on,’ He wordlessly nods, smiling encouragingly.

“I…” I squeak, hiding in my shirt collar; keeping my eyes steady in his. Taking a deep breath, I start over again, “I want to be…”

////

“ey...”

“He..”

My brows furrow as I curl my stiff fingers; struggling to open my eyes. It feels almost as if my eyelids are glued together.

“HEY!”

With a start, my eyes snap open. I shoot up into a sitting position—actions that leave me crying out in pain at the unpleasant crack of my stiff bones and the hot tears pouring from my throbbing eyes.

“Get up.” A figure hisses; their silhouette blurry until I’m able to rub the blinding eyelashes and tears from my eyes.

“W-What,” I croak, rubbing my sore throat. “What time is it?”

The old man scoffs, tapping his cane against the brick wall. “8:30, Wednesday the 11th.” He grunts.

My brows furrow, Wednesday? But it’s-

“Baekhyun...” Narrowed green eyes, “He’s dead.”

Crimson smirking lips, “...I thought we had somëthïng spëcïal, Charïty.”

Split jaw; large mouth; crooked teeth; red and black demon eyes. Rancid breath; tight grip; a blaring siren from afar. “Sorry little lamb. We’ll play more next time.” A glimpse of blinding light. “For now, I’ll be watching.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

My eyes widen in horror and I splutter; scrambling to my feet. Days… He left me here for 3 days. Fuck. “T-Thank you.” I mumble, hastily bowing to the old man; wincing at the tear-inducing pull at my sore joints. Fuck I'm fucking late!

He tuts in displeasure. “Do that again and you might find yourself dead.” He grumbles, spewing more incoherent insults while slowly carrying on down the street.

Watching him go, I sigh, rubbing my scratchy throat and taking a look around the shaded alley. The slight glimmer of a familiar red liquid twinkling in the dim light catching my eye. I squint at it, blinking in surprise when the unnatural blood quickly shrinks to nothing; only dirtied asphalt left in its wake.

Feeling a shiver go down my spine, I quickly shake my head; exiting the smelly space and walking home on stiff legs. My eyes constantly looking over my shoulder. The rest of my memories of Sunday come back full force once I reach my apartment complex; images of a certain white-haired suave man making me flinch. God, she really knows how to mess things up, doesn’t she?

A familiar buzzing warmth flares up on my skin. I gently place a hand over the cross resting above my heart; whispering a few words and waiting for it to cool down before warily eyeing my surroundings again. I don’t know what I expected from that demon, but it surely wasn’t this.

Slipping into my apartment, I quickly shut the door and lock the dead-bolt, checking that everything is secure before limping to the kitchen. Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, I sink down into a dining chair, sighing in relief at the coolness sliding down my parched throat. Setting the empty bottle on the table, I close my eyes. Baekhyun is alive...I can feel it. I always do.

But where is he?

The sudden urge to cough itches away at my chest. Wherever he is, that thing—

Bending over, I roughly hack and cough into my hand; the feeling of a warm liquid making my eyes go wide. Shakily pulling my hand away, I gasp at the amount of red covering my palm.

Pushing away from the table, I stumble over to the pantry; flinging the door open and scanning the shelves. Where is it? Striding back out in hast, I take to the cupboards and cabinets, groaning in annoyance at the tightening feeling building in my chest. Where is it!?

Suddenly recalling the last place I left it, I quickly spin around to sprint out of the room; hissing when my forearm roughly bumps into the back of the chair. Why does it hurt ten times more when your body is ice—

I suck in a breath, warily glancing down at it halfway down the hall. A burning red, blistering patch of tissue left where my skin is supposed to be.

Flinching, I fling open the door with force, clutching the top nightstand drawer before the door collides with the wall. The drawer falls to the ground with a loud clang; my knees buckling before I can pull out the vital with cramping fingers, gritting my teeth as I painstakingly screw it open. The familiar scent of honey dew and sunkissed roses adding a temporary soothe to my screaming body. One drop. I eye the purple contents with unsteady breaths; gripping the dripper and planting one drop on the tip of my tongue. The world snapping out of focus the moment I clumsily set the bottle back into the drawer.

Soft colors....scratchy surface….loud coos….steady breaths.

My eyes peel open to a blurry baby pink ceiling, a white object too close for comfort out the corner of my eye making me flinch. Pulling myself up onto my elbows, I look to the left, blinking at the white dove sitting by my side. “Oh...Nice seeing you again, I guess, ” I greet, my voice surprisingly soft.

The bird continues to give me judging eyes.

“Look, I didn’t mean to go without it again, okay?” I lay back on the floor with a deep sigh. “At this rate, it might happen again-or worse,” I grumble, glaring up at the ceiling.

The little beauty coos insistently as I comb a cluster of soft material out of my tangled hair. “I’m okay,” I murmur, eyeing the fistful of white feathers in my hand, “Thank you for checking in though.” Grinning, I add a teasing, “Mom.”

The dove ruffles its feathers and makes a show of snapping its beak at my arm before taking flight; sailing out my window like the entering wintry breeze.

Shivering, I look around for my winter coat, spotting it draped over the back of my desk chair that’s lying sideways on top of the dresser barricading the door. Looking over to the right at my bed with the mattress halfway hanging off it, I climb to my feet with a sigh. Some things never change.

Amidst tidying up my room, I come across an inky black feather; the thin obsidian strands ruffling over the surface like the waves of a deep dark sea. Crumbling it in my hand, I quickly glance over my shoulder, shoving it deep into my dresser.

♦•—•♦•—•♦•—•♦•—•♦

“Cherry!” Mrs. Lee is a tiny ball of wild, brown curls and motherly fury; practically teleporting to the door before I fully step over the threshold. “Where have you been, young lady. I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

Wincing, I press my palm to my throbbing temple, “Sorry ma’am, I think I caught the flu.” I croak, rubbing my sore throat. The vital always leaves my body to the hands of high fevers and sleepless nights—in fact, I dare say it handed me directly over to them.

“I told you to be careful,” She sighs, fixing me a knowing look. “You’re not still sick, are you?”

“No, my throat is just-” Wincing again, I lift my arms as she pulls off my thick, black coat. Closing my eyes at the throbbing pain.

“Shh no more talking,” She scolds, folding the material over her arm, “Go have a seat, I’ll make some tea.”

“But-” The look she shoots my way has my mouth snapping shut. I quietly take a seat at the table closest to a window and the counter as she hangs the coat up and strides to the backroom.

“If you weren’t feeling unwell, I’d give you an earful,” Her voice drifts from the little window; the telltale signs of a pot boiling water adding life to the quiet building.

Tiredly resting my cheek on my palm, I gaze out the window; eyes drooping every now and then. They are sliding shut for the third time when something catches my eye—something white. Something distinctly familiar.

My eyes snap open in realization and I practically slam my face against the glass, watching with a heavy heart as a figure with two lone white braids gets lost in the crowd.

Gulping down the lump in my throat, I grip onto the edge of the table. I’ve forgotten about that damn thing while cooped up in my stuffy apartment. There’s hardly any time to think of the outside world when you’re in the midst of dying from a strong virus and having to deal with your heater going out—speaking of which, I won’t hear from my landlord until the first of January…

Cleaning my jaw, I lean back against the cushioned chair with a hand covering my burning eyes. Looks like I’ll have to take some late night drives for awhile. It’s not like anyone will be out to stop me—

A chime brings me back to the present; my eyes flicking up in alarm at the blurry white blob. My heart lodging itself in my throat.

Quickly wiping my sore eyes, I blink at the random stranger flipping off their white hoodie attached to their fleece coat; their own eyes menacing glaring at my staring form.

Averting my eyes, I graciously take the steaming cup of herbal tea from Mrs. Lee. Softly giving her thanks before she hurries back behind the counter to serve the impatient customer. I look down into the misty mug with a little sigh.

“First a murderer and now…”

An unpleasant screech makes me jump in my seat, the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. Carefully pushing the cup away, I turn my attention back to the window; watching with wide eyes at the shine of a familiar fucking saber reflecting off the concrete and onto my window. The vivid sound of manic laughter echoing in my pounding ears as the man dressed in all black walks out of sight before I can catch a glimpse of his face. A sight that isn’t even needed given the all too telling stance of the casually strolling, white haired being.

“...fencing king is back in town.”

♦•—•♦•—•♦•—•♦•—•♦

Shoving the last stubborn bag of food into the freezer, I press my back to the refrigerator with a tired sigh; tossing my car keys on to the table. Rolling my stiff shoulders before an out of place noise reaches my ears. A barely audible squeak…. and the screech of the brand new window in my bedroom being pushed open—one that I always keep locked. And as if clockwork, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The vital…

Eyeing the purple pill idly sitting by my keys on the tabletop, I fling it into the trashcan seconds before my room door is thrown open. The pained squeaks of a struggling rat silenced by a single, lewd squelch.

Steadying my breath, I face the glowing individual standing in the doorway. It stares right back at me with those blood-red pupils; licking red covered fingertips as its manic grin turns into a boxy, sinister smile.

“Hï lïttlë lamb.”

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 ✓ |

Late asf update BECAUSE of my sudden writer's block at the end of last year. Hopefully I can get plenty more chapters of this story posted before it happens again! I'm slowly but surely figuring out how I want the story to go so it's helping the whole writing process <3

Thank you for sticking around during this 2 month dry spell and all the support!

Happy Valentine's ^-^ ♡♡

#baekhyun angst

53 notes · View notes

riviae · 5 years

Text

not to get like emotional on main, but imagine the first time ciri makes a surprise visit to corvo bianco:

at first, geralt thinks he’s seeing things. ciri’s busy & she’s a witcher now, no longer just a ward of a bitter old man, but someone strong, capable, with the same headstrong tendencies he had when he was her age. having learned all she could from him, she’d then taken to the path better than any other witcher geralt had known--he’d even heard tales of her heroism as far south as toussaint, about how she’d traveled all across the continent on her steed, equal parts legend & ghost story. wherever chaos & evil festered, an ashen-haired woman with bright green eyes and a scarred cheek will suddenly appear, as if from the aether itself, moving with the grace & speed of a nightwraith, only to disappear come morning. never in one place for long, the woman--or apparition, as some believed--wrought justice with her sword, leaving a trail of death in her wake. she took trophies from her kills regardless of whether they were human or beast as her payment, but never asked for coin from those she saved.

geralt had opened the door the moment he heard the sound of hoofbeats on cobblestone, leaning against the doorway as he watched ciri’s approach. now, he stepped out from the shadows and into the light of the morning, ignoring B.B’s insistence on shutting the door, moths and other critters be damned. as he stared at the woman who was undoubtedly the child he saved all those years ago, a momentary flicker of nostalgia overtook him. was this how vesemir felt when he returned to the Keep? it wasn’t like he visited vesemir that often in his youth--only returning to kaer morhen in the winter when he didn’t have a place to stay for the season or was running low on coin (something he sincerely regretted now). but here ciri was, his daughter, his destiny, bright green eyes & ashen hair, practically beaming at him as she dismounted from her horse, the handle of the silver witcher sword he made for her peeking from behind her back.

geralt tried to stifle the sudden wave of emotion he feels as she stands before him, one hand at her hip, the other reaching to pull back the hood of her cape, revealing her signature hair style: a messy bun framed by long bangs. her hair’s grown a bit longer, she had forgone some of the eye make-up she normally wore, and her clothing had changed; she wore the new armor well, the extra padding, leather, and chainmail taking on an almost bronze sheen in the toussaint sun. her boots and gloves were the same from when she was on the run from the wild hunt, but he could tell that ciri had used the armor repair kit he had given her when they were back in velen training. she looked like a real witcher.

she is a real witcher, geralt corrected himself, another swell of pride and adoration threatening to rob him of his classic witcher stare. for all that had changed in the past year, some things still stayed the same. his lips curled upwards at the thought, at knowing ciri would always come back, would always be his daughter, that he had a home & a family he loved, something almost completely unheard of for witchers.

geralt was happy, genuinely happy, & the realization only broadened his smile. there was no use in trying to hide it, anyway. even as a child, ciri had been able to see past every facade he’d put up.

it’s automatic, the shift from his rigid witcher stance to open, relaxed, and content as ciri launches herself at him, laughing when her forehead accidentally knocks against his chin. her arms loosely curl around his neck as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss his temple, the touch soft and feather-light. geralt pulls her closer to him in return, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground. they spin together, ciri playfully flailing her legs & giggling as she held on tightly to geralt. at the sound of her laughter, he laughs too, the rest of the world falling away. there is only ciri, the feeling of her hair against his face, the warmth of her hands against his back, the weight of her as he spins her around in a tight embrace. eventually, he slows to a stop, letting her boots find purchase on the stone before he pulls away, cat eyes blinking slowly in pure contentment at the sight of her, cheeks flushed, locks of hair swept across her face. she gives a wide grin that would put even dandelion’s most charming theatre smile to shame.

“missed me?” ciri asks, still a bit breathless. she raises a brow before he can respond, as if to say don’t even try it, & geralt can only give a soft snort.

“yeah, i did.” the raw honesty in his voice, the slight waver in his timbre, shocks him. to distract himself as well as ciri from his sudden moment of vulnerability, he purposefully ruffles her hair the same way she hated when she was a kid.

i really am getting old... geralt thinks to himself, but the thought doesn’t bother him. it’s a testament to the ferocity in which he lived; the urge to survive, to see another day, to be there for the people he cared about, had kept him alive after suffering wounds that should have killed him.

ciri bats his hand away, a sharp retort at the edge of her tongue, only to fall silent as a certain sorceress appeared in the doorway.

“hello, my little ugly duckling.” yennefer says, voice warm & light. her violet eyes soften at the sight of her daughter, love thrumming through her veins like magic.

ciri runs to her, squeezes the sorceress into as tight a hug as she can, face buried in the woman’s curly black hair. the fierceness of her embrace reminds yennefer of one of ciri’s title’s: the lion cub on cintra. but she isn’t a lion cub, not anymore, a thought that saddens & pleases the sorceress in equal measure. ciri had lived much longer than anyone thought she would given that the entire continent had been after her and her bloodline--ciri had been cursed, blessed, hunted, tortured... but those were thoughts better left in the past. what mattered was that she had survived & was now thriving in her new occupation.

no, you’re a lioness now, yennefer thinks to herself, beyond proud of the young woman her daughter had become. soon, they both fall to their knees, a few happy tears escaping ciri’s eyes that she desperately tries to rub away with the back of her glove.

“hush now. it’s alright. welcome home, my daughter. oh, how i’ve missed you.” yennefer soothes, brushing her hand through ciri’s hair.

ciri’s cries grow louder as she clings to the sorceress, every pent up emotion from her past year on the path flooding out of her without her permission--as if she were hit by a spell. in the arms of the woman she saw as her mother, ciri allowed her barriers to fall away--to let herself cry & be comforted in turn. she sobbed into yennefer’s clothes, shaking at the extent of her catharsis as the sorceress hummed comfortingly in her ear, rubbing her back in gentle circles.

geralt watches the exchange, watches the two most important women in his life hold each other & knows that it isn’t his time to intrude. his family was here with him, alive, & though they all still carried the scars of the past, they were healing. everything had been worth it, in the end. they had gotten their happy ending.

a flash of black in his periphery drew the witcher’s attention away from ciri and yen. in a nearby tree, geralt saw a familiar raven, the single silver-streaked feather at its breast betraying just who had sent the corvid to begin with.

regis... of course he’d be the first to notice ciri’s return.

geralt approached the bird, folding his arms before sighing. “tell regis he’s welcome to come to corvo bianco whenever he wants to see ciri... but only if he brings his mandrake brew.”

the witcher watched the raven fly away, shaking his head fondly.

#cirilla fiona elen riannon #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #i like writing fluffy things lol #i'd tag regis too but he's only briefly mentioned #anyway hope y'all enjoy this :D

45 notes · View notes

team-fartress-over-crotch-blog · 6 years

Note

*whispers* how would the TF2 mercs react if.. say... the Great Pyrenees died? Old age or other team fault, your choice.

HEY WHO THE FUCK GAVE YOU THE RIGHT-

Heavy:It was the saddest day on Earth. Or at least, Heavy thought so.He’s seen many deaths, but this one was… It was different.He had just lost a dear friend at the ripe age of 9 when a speeding vehicle struck him on a lonely route.Why the car was there, no one had any idea. It was bizarre and unexpected, almost like it was crudely planned…Cottonball was a beloved friend to all mercenaries, he was almost like a fuzzy son that couldn’t talk and ate trash occasionally.Heavy would be silent for days, even more so than before. He’d keep Cottonball’s collar, it was dented and dirty with several name tags his teammates had managed to put on it.It’d sit on his bedside table so Heavy could look at it when he wanted. Sometimes he’d roll over in bed during the night and just stare at it, hoping the dog would magically manifest in his old collar.Heavy would be the first to get over the death, but on rainy days he’d look outside the window and remember the times Cottonball would prance around the field, playing fetch with Scout.Heavy would smile and lay back into his chair proudly. He knows he and his crew gave Cottonball the best life a dog could have, he couldn’t have been happier.

Medic:Medic had been deeply affected, but he didn’t show it. He was horribly lonely in his lab once again. There was no fur to clean up, no friendly nudges at his shins in the early hours of the morning, nothing tugged at his sleeve to pull him to bed, it was truly deserted.Medic even noticed Archimedes being affected by the absence of their furry friend. The sad little bird didn’t eat as much, he over preened and nestled silently on Schätz’s little bed.Medic began missing the trouble of cleaning up Schätz’s messy paw prints after a fresh battle or rain and sweeping up the massive amounts of shedding fur in the springtime.However, he finds a little comfort in fiddling with Shäzt’s favorite chew toy, a little cotton blue goose with a missing eye.Medic has always made deep connections with his animals, and Schätz was no exception. He knew the dog like the back of his hand but that only made the death worse.He’d curse himself for growing attached and cursed himself even more for thinking, “That’s just how life is.” He’d always have a counter argument with every thought he made, Medic became restless and soon spiraled into a deeper madness.Of course he had thought of bringing Schätz back, he was medic! He brought Sniper back to life before, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Medic had faith that Schätz was in a better state of being. Whether heaven was real or not, he’d figure Schätz was an exception.

Sniper:Sniper demanded a proper burial be planned as soon as possible. He was pissed, depressed and anxious all at the same time and had no idea what to do with himself.He couldn’t even bring himself to stay for the majority of the burial, he was far too proud to express any tears for the beloved animal.He’d stay in his camper for days on end, not going out or even driving along the country roads. His energy seemed to have been taken away when they lost Snowy.Sniper would lay in his bed or even sit at his table, smoking and reminiscing the times he and Snowy shared.One day, late in the winter month, Sniper looked out his camper window and gazed at the falling snow.In the distance, a small figure raced across the battle field.It was barely visible, but Sniper knew something was out there.He quickly threw on his hat and ran outside bare foot into the frost.The figure seemed to motionlessly move further and further away from him, but he didn’t quit. He couldn’t.Sniper’s leg went out and he landed in a soft snow pile that completely engulfed him.In a daze, he looked up to find the figure and saw that it was only a few inches from him.It's… no, it couldn’t be.Snowy’s transparent outline shimmered in the light. He rolled out his tongue and bent down to like Sniper, but just as he was about to make contact Snowy poofed into sparkly dust that got lost in the wind.Sniper laughed, wiping away his tears.Snowy came back to say goodbye. That’s all that Sniper needed.

Scout:He’d slam the door and stay in his room for weeks straight, only coming out to eat and use the restroom.When he did come out, nobody spoke to him. They didn’t know what to say or do, which made Scout angrier.Scout would feel so alone, so cold as he slept the day away. His cute furry companion was no longer snuggled against his feet at night and no longer waking him up with sloppy kisses.He’d be sitting in his bed, his knees tucked into his chest. He’d look at the floor for no reason at all, until he spots something just barely visible underneath his bed.Scout went on his knees to grab the object, but as soon as he’d catch sight of it, he’d freeze.It was Fluffy’s favorite blue and white sweater. Scout hadn’t realized that it was still in his room after all this time. With the sweater in his palms he’d weep once more until he couldn’t shed another tear. It had brought back memories of his teammates raiding every pet store near the base (which were, like, miles and miles away) and picking treats and toys for Fluffy.When they had gotten to the clothing section, Scout had found the cutest blue and white winter themed sweater and presented it to his crew.Everyone went up in a riot, shouting about how cute Fluffy would be in it and such.Scout’s smile would eventually come back as he replayed the memory in his head.He’d get up and walk straight out of the door with the sweater in hand. He’d simply place it on top of a mantle and leave for his room again.Engie had immediately taken it and custom made a frame for it to be hung above the mantle.After that ordeal, Scout had felt much better. He’d begin to tell his teammates funny stories of Fluffy that he had kept secret, such as it was Fluffy who spilt the glass of pigeon blood in Medic’s lab, not Scout (he always took the blame for Fluffy) and Fluffy was the one who dug holes outside and not gophers.He’d go on and on making everyone laugh and appreciate the time they had with their good friend, Fluffy.

Spy:Spy would mask his sadness with wine and ignoring the subject.Sure, he didn’t like the dog at first, but just when Mutt was beginning to grow on him, he died.I guess that’s what happens to everything he loved, they’d just go away eventually.But it was just a dog, he’d think.Just a furry, smelly Mutt that always barked and begged for food. It should’ve been annoying but… Spy couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at Mutt after all. Shit, he adored the old fool.Nature was merely taking its course. A cruel, merciless course. In fact, Spy felt that Mutt was some sort of bad karma on Spy’s end.Think about it, when Spy was finally settling down with his big family he just left.Just as he was beginning to bond with his son, he abandoned him.Now, just as was beginning to be at peace with Mutt, he died.Damnit, he missed Mutt. The sudden realization sat in Spy’s stomach like a block of ice.But, if he missed Mutt… Then surely, his family must miss Spy as well.A smile crawled on Spy’s lips.With every death comes a lesson, he supposes.

Soldier:Soldier is in a huge state of denial.Mop isn’t dead, he’s simply been deployed to more dangerous battles!Yes, he was at the funeral, but he thought it was practice run for when he and his teammates die. (He’s a bit screwy in the brain area but I luv him still)His crew is stuck in between feeding Soldier’s imagination or just explaining the concept of life and death. Soldier just continues doing his own thing, recruiting raccoons and talking to corpses. His teammates watches him for days, still debating on what to do.They finally decide to tell Soldier the truth rather than leave Soldier in his own thoughts, wondering when Mop was coming back.Engie has been unanimously voted to be the one to tell Soldier, much to Engie’s displeasure.Engie grabs two beers and brings Soldier outside to sit on the deck. He then begins to explain Mop’s death as Soldier sits there quietly, taking it all in.Soldier laughs, tears rolling down his eyes. This wasn’t the reaction Engie was expecting at all.Soldier didn’t wipe away the tears, he let them drop onto the soil below.Slowly, Soldier got up and walked away with Engie close on his heels.They had stopped at Mop’s grave which was shrouded with fresh flowers.Soldier squatted in front of the tomb stone and patted it.He gave a short speech, or rather a eulogy, describing the best times he had with Mop.Sadly, Soldier began to admit that he did indeed know Mop had died but… Sometimes reality was too hard to accept.He wanted to be in his own world for a while, one with Mop still frolicking around.Soldier hadn’t meant to cause any worry he says, he just liked being in denial.Engie pats his back gently, a small smile on his face. He was proud of Soldier, he never knew what went on in his head but now he had a bit more of an understanding.Soldier grabbed a dog tag with Mop’s name on it. He made it himself with a piece of scrap metal and an old tiny chain laying around. Mop’s name was messily engraved on it as well, which was also Soldier’s doing.He threw it around his neck and saluted the grave proudly, even Engie joined in.Then they made their way back to base in a comfortable silence.

Demo:Demo wouldn’t be all too sad. Yes, he loved Fang but he knew it would happen.He’d grieve for a while and giving comfort to his comrades.Demo would drink just a tad more though, everyone saw the difference.Demo would go to his room and sob there, he didn’t want to sadden his own teammates with his crying.He’d pick up every single one of Fang’s toys and bring them into his room. He’d play with them often when reminiscing.Fang’s favorite red ball could be heard banging against the wall in the middle of the night when Demo couldn’t sleep.One night, about a week in without Fang, Demo couldn’t stand the loneliness any more.He’d stumble outside for a walk, just to clear his head.He’d mumble to himself, sometimes not even understand what he said.Demo would kick up snow and throw rocks here and there.Just as he was about to pick up another smooth rock, he hears a small, weak whimper.Demo shot straight up in search of the noise. It was close, but quiet.He turned around and found a figure beneath a shrub, shivering violently.It wasn’t that hard to spot at all, it was small and black with wild, poofy fur.Demo quickly retrieved the fuzzy thing, gently petting its head and cooing.He ran back to base to find warmth for the poor thing.As soon as he stepped a foot through the doors, he was surprised to see that he was holding a small pup!How did it get there? Where was its mama?Maybe, this was a sign. A sign sent from Fang due to his untimely death.A sign of love because Fang knew Demo and his team would give the new puppy a better life than anyone else could offer.Maybe. Whatever the case was, Demo was happy to accept a new family member.

Engie:Engie wasn’t as much of a mess as the rest of his team.He would be one of the first of his crew to accept Alaska’s death, but it wasn’t easy.Engie was back where he started, all alone in his garage for hours on end.However, finding the strength to get back to work was harder than anything he had done before.Engie would be laying underneath his truck to give it a tune up when he’d shout for a tool.It took several moments before he realized that his partner Alaska was no long there to fetch tools.He’d sigh and roll out from under the truck, too emotionally exhausted to continue his work.Engie was no longer warm during the evenings or nights, since Alaska would sit on his lap and watch TV or look at Engie’s blueprints. (He has no idea what the fuck is going on, but he was very encouraging!)His energy was wasting away each time he found himself thinking about Alaska.Eventually he’d be up all night working on absolutely nothing in his garage. He’d do about anything to keep him distracted.One sunday night, Engie would hobble to his room for some tool when he’d spot something on his nightstand.It was a lovely framed picture of Alaska sun bathing on Engie’s truck.He cracked a smile and soon began to chuckle and laugh at his own misery.Why was he moping around? He gave Alaska the best life he could give.Alaska lived happily because of Engie, if it were not for him, Alaska might have died long ago.He looked at the picture again and found something within it that gave him that familiar feeling of inspiration.Engie practically ran to his garage and locked himself inside of it for nearly half a day.Once he was done, he’d take a step back and admire his work.He’d call in his teammates to check it out and when they saw it, all jaws dropped to the floor.Engie had custom made the truck bumper into the shape of a Great Pyrenees.The license plate had Alaska’s paw print right smack in the middle and for the final accessory, Engie planted a hood ornament of a dog name tag with Cotton written on it.Everyone loved it. Demo, Soldier and Scout were the very first to drive into town with the new look.Engie was glad he got out of his short depression and it was all thanks to Alaska.Engie keeps the framed picture in his garage now and he’ll look at it whenever he needs inspiration.Alaska never failed him.

Pyro:He cried.And cried and cried and cried.When he wasn’t crying, he was screaming and lighting everything in his sight on fire.Nobody knew how to deal with Pyro at all, they were scared and too busy putting out fires to even check on him.Eventually Pyro stopped setting things on fire.Instead he had locked himself in his room and refused to come out.He had fully exhausted himself beyond repair.Pyro himself didn’t even know how to handle himself.He didn’t eat or sleep. He just curled up in a corner of his room and sat there with his knees tucked tightly to his chest.It was on for days, weeks even. It was surprising that he was even still alive.Every few days one of his teammates would go in and check up on him, but he never spoke.One evening, his door opened.He supposed that it was one of his teammates with a plate of food or a cup of water. He didn’t bother to look up.However, he felt a hand gently rub his shoulder.He looked up and-Surprise!His teammates had collected a ton of Marshmallow’s old sweaters and knitted them into a comfy blanket, just for Pyro.He cried.And cried and cried and cried.But it was out of happiness. His friends did care about Pyro!He hugged the blanket and jumped around in joy.His teammates smiled and clapped, it was refreshing to see Pyro happy after all this time.The blanket itself was not all that impressive. It had a few loose stitches here and a tear there, but to Pyro, it was perfect.

(Hey let’s add more to the angst- Cottonball was assassinated by none other than the Administrator herself. She felt that Cottonball was making her team too soft for her liking. So, she got rid of the problem. However, she didn’t expect them to find ANOTHER puppy. She’ll just have to try again… ((Spoiler alert, the team finds out and does everything in their power to protect the new baby)))

#tf2 #tf2 head canons #Tf2 imagines #EXCUSE ME WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE #I LOVE ANGST BUT THIS ONE INVOLVED A PUPPY #I LOVED WRITING THIS AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY YOU SADISTS #<3 yall

69 notes · View notes

shadowsfiguresfigments-blog · 6 years

Text

A good place to die Chapter 8 (Light fluff)

Warning: Harsh language, violence

I jolted up, heart pounding and light sweat covering my whole body. It took me several seconds to understand who I was, where I was and what had happened. I was lying somewhere warm and cozy, but my surroundings weren’t covered with silk. My ribs hurt like hell, which was probably what had caused me to wake up in the first place. After another second of thought I understood that I was in my own bed.

“Penny?” I whispered tentatively, but I received no answer.

The last thing I remembered was resting my head back against his chest, exhausted from all the reading. When I was done with another five Poe stories Pennywise handed me one of my textbook, and I spent nearly two hours reading to him about human biology, Greek philosophers and the history of Derry. Particularly the last one made him laugh quite a lot, his cackle echoing through the cavern so long that I had to wait for him to calm down before I could continue. My throat had gone dry and my voice became raspy.

“Relax, little one”, he had purred into my ear, and I did. Apparently I had fallen asleep rather quickly after that.

Now I was home, and I couldn’t remember how I had gotten here. I stretched out my good arm, fumbling around for the light switch and accidentally knocked over the glass of water that stood next to the lamp. I was pretty sure there hadn’t been one there when I left the house. Finally I found the switch, and light was so bright it temporarily blinded me. When I was able to see again I noticed the two red balloons floating around my room. One read ‘I love Derry’, which made me smile for the absurdity. No one here would have actually believed it to be true.

Well, me maybe, but only as of late.

I got up (boy, that HURT!) and went downstairs into the kitchen. I left the glass where it had landed on the floor. Picking it up would have hurt too much. When I filled another glass with water I noticed the note stuck to the fridge.

“We’re one hand short, so I’ll have to do the late shift too. Don’t wait for me.”

I was relieved. At least I wouldn’t have to explain how I mysteriously had gotten into my room.

I took my medicine and splashed my face with some water.

Just about when I was going to go back to bed the phone shrilled. Cursing under my breath I picked it up.

It was the Derry police, informing me that Mr. Shanks had been murdered in his shop. Apparently he had surprised burglars and a fight had ensued. Since I was the only one somehow connected to him they informed me of his passing. They wanted to ask me some questions about my whereabouts this night (uh-oh), and told me to be there tomorrow as soon as I could.

Feeling a little sad as well as annoyed I hung up, when auntie entered the kitchen.

“Who was that?”

She looked incredibly tired and older than she actually was. I knew her job stressed her out, and the worry about me probably too, but it was the first time I actually understood what it did to her. I reluctantly told her about the call, and she offered to accompany me to the hearing. After all, according to law, I was still a minor. I looked at her, chin stubbornly thrust forward at the thought of me being accused of some crime, brow furrowed with worry, her eyes tired and red-rimmed, and felt a sudden rush of affection for her. I hugged her gently, trying not to increase my physical discomfort anymore than necessary, and went back to bed. What was wrong with me, being so emotional all the time?

The hearing was more of a joke, fortunately. Mr. Shanks had been bludgeoned, and I was clearly in no condition to do so. Also, during the time the crime was committed auntie had returned home and peeked into my room to see if I was still awake, but “she was snoring so loud she could have woken the dead.” The only reason I was questioned in the first place was because they had no other person to speak too, and of course my fingerprints were everywhere. They had not yet found a testament, nor did they know of any living relatives, but the detective promised to contact me as soon as any new clue turned up.

I highly doubted that they’d find anything. That part of Derry was known for being dangerous after nightfall, and if the crimes that took place daily were even reported, they almost never got solved.

Auntie had to go back to work, but she offered to drop me off near the barrens. I had told her I was working on a biology project about the local flora, and despite her not liking me going on a hike school came first. I waved her good-bye, then started my descent down the slope that would bring me to the banks of the Kenduskeag, which I could follow to the entry to the sewers. It wasn’t an area of the barrens I was too familiar with, so this seemed like the best option.

It was a beautiful day, sunny, but the first cold of October was already lingering in the air. The leaves around me had turned brown, I noticed absently, and the air bore the faint scent of winter – the scent you could have never described, more of an idea of a scent, but an indicator for the end of the year nonetheless. So immersed in my musings was I that I didn’t notice the group of people before I stood right before them. It wasn’t Yaneesha – thankfully – but one of her girlfriends and a couple of boys with a rather colorful reputation. They were smoking something that clearly wasn’t weed nor anything else I was familiar with, and had built a tower of empty beer cans. One of the boys was currently aiming at them with a pistol. He stood there confidently, legs spread apart, and fired rapidly at the cans.

He hit them all.

I tried to retreat into the bushes I had just broken through, but they group had already noticed me.

“Hey, isn’t that the hoe that fucks you for a dime?”, one of the boys asked, his face sporting an unpleasant sneer.

“I wouldn’t touch you with a stick if somebody paid me a million”, I shot back, not thinking.

Their mouths fell open in surprise – I’d never talked back before.

“You take that back, cunt”, the girl yelled, her eyes going crazy.

“Sure. I’d not touch any of you for a billion.”

The group stood up collectively, and the guy with the gun started grinning maliciously.

“Hey, Denny, you better be careful. After all she killed poor ol’ Shanks to get to his hidden millions. Don’t cross her, she’s real tough. Doncha know she only watches horror movies? She gets off of pain.”

They started walking towards me, forming a semi circle. The gun was still pointing to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a small red bird settling in one of the bushes.

“Speak for yourself, idiot. I bet you need that gun to even feel like you have a dick, right? Better not tell your Daddy about that, though. He might give you the belt again.”

I laughed, no idea what I was saying or where all the nasty things were coming from – normally I’d just turn around and walk away. But not today. Today was different. Maybe I was high from the painkillers, or maybe it had something to do with my growing range of emotions.

The boys face turned a ghastly shade of pale, and he pointed the gun at me.

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK!” His voice broke, and his buddies looked at him uneasy. “Ey, Shot, maybe put that down, it’s not like she’s worth it…”

He fired.

I felt something whizz past my face, and laughed as I could hear the bullet hitting a tree behind me.

“You missed!”, I teased him.

His buddies backed away, and the girl tried to pull his arm down.

“Let’s go, Shot, please. She’s crazy…”

He took aim again, pointing the gun straight at my face.

“Die, bitch!”

The gun boomed, and he screamed.

Again something whizzed past me, but more importantly, a huge gator was chomping down on Shots hand. The entire group screamed, a choir of fear, and the gator vanished. In its place stood a giant spider, clicking its jaws and raising on its two back pairs of legs, ready to strike.

They scrambled as fast as they could, Shot clutching the maimed remains of his hand. Within seconds they had vanished, only their shouts and cries echoing in the distance. The gun was gone, and Shots father would probably do some nasty shit to him – I actually felt bad for him.

Still, I grinned with joy as I hugged the spiders’ hairy legs , each of them the diameter of my waist.

“Hey, Penny.”

Before my eyes the spider melted into my favorite clown. He was grinning widely, his buck teeth shining brightly, and drool flying everywhere as he laughed loudly.

“Thanks for bringing me home yesterday! I’m sorry I fell asleep…”

He didn’t let me finish, bowing down to my eye level, pressing a gloved hand against my lips. His eyes glowed brightly blue, making the autumn sky look pale by comparison. “I liked that a lot”, he purred. My heart skipped a beat, making me clutch my chest in surprise.

“Let’s make you comfortable.” He scooped me up once again, and carried me into the sewers.

But this time, we didn’t go to the cavern. I only realized where we had arrived when the tunnel opened into a bottomless pit. With on big lunge Pennywise jumped up the walls before us and lifted us both over the top with just one hand. Then he carried me through the dark corridor, up the stairs and into one of the rooms I hadn’t entered before. (Never mind my head swiping off all the cobwebs and dust that had gathered.) He gingerly lowered me unto the biggest bean bag I had ever seen. It was white with a beautiful pattern of red stripes and smelled of food… Candy canes, cotton candy and sweet popcorn, actually. And it looked brand new. I almost disappeared into the bean bag, until Pennywise sat next to me and made me rise from the wafts of sweet delight.

He pulled me against his chest excitedly, rummaging through my bag already.

“So, what are we going to read today?” He pulled out some books at random and handed them to me, all anticipation.

So Pennywise learned about mechanics and vector calculations. That didn’t seem to interest him too much, and after a while he interrupted me all of a sudden.

“You were late today.” His voice sounded almost… pouty?

I told him about the murder, the police and my job. The concept of police work and money seemed peculiar to him, and so we spent the rest of the day talking about crimes and what humans do to solve them. It was the weirdest conversations I had so far (that actually said a lot, right?) and the clown laughed at all the wrong parts, which in turn made me chuckle every now and then. He seemed to enjoy that, and I had to admit, I did too.

The word ‘friendship’ crossed my mind.

When I told him about DNA, fingerprints and forensic evidence he became a little less exuberant, puzzling at the lengths we would go to punish wrongdoers. “And that actually works for you?”

I shook my head.

“Not all the time. Especially not in Derry.” I shot him a suspicious look. “But I guess you know that.” He grinned at me, then stretched himself out.

“You are funny little creatures.”

“Well, so are you, to me… Except for the small part.” He chuckled, but then became very serious within a heartbeat.

“Only to you, little girl.”

I lay my hand against his cheeks, feeling the texture of his skin properly for the first time.

“I like that.”

#pennywise #pennywise fanfiction #pennywise fluff

15 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

[HR] Seldon's Playroom

There was only one place to buy dolls where I lived: Seldon's Playroom. Seldon was an agreeable old man, stooped and wizened. After his wife died, Seldon had declined to remarry, something that was still thought improper in our little corner of the country. Most of the cruelest whispers were all easily attributable to small town gossip, however, for there is little else to hold one's attention in the backwoods of nowhere.

And so we went to his shop regularly, and bought Sarah whatever doll she wanted. It was a cheap diversion, but adorably dear to her. Whenever we would pass the old building's rickety sign, emblazoned with its proprietor’s name in gaudy, red letters, her excitement was nothing short of precious. And, more often than not, I would find myself capitulating to those charms peculiar to a man's female children and allow myself to be led through that creaking doorway once more. I often cynically wondered if these kinds of architectural failings went unrepaired by design so as to lend the old shop a further quaint blandishment.

It was during one of these episodes that I learned of the first disappearance. I was sitting in one corner of the shop and reading the paper, which included, on the front page, an account of Susan's last known whereabouts and the panic her parents had undergone in her absence. In big cities, such occurrences are so commonplace that they rarely even make the news. There can only be so many pages in a newspaper or minutes in a television broadcast, and once all the horrific atrocities and celebrity gossip have been dispensed with, there is hardly any room left for something as prosaic as a mere missing child. In our little backwater, however, it was, virtually by definition, a big story.

She had apparently not been seen by anyone since Saturday night, three days ago. The last person to have contact with her was her brother, who was the elder sibling by about 10 years.

But that was all I read, for Sarah interrupted me by shoving a doll onto my lap and pushing the paper aside. I might have been annoyed, but it was an upsetting story. Children didn't go missing in Dixonville. And yet, apparently, one had.

“This one!” Sarah said, excitedly jingling the toy in front of me. And whatever transient anger had risen in my chest was drowned out by the sensation of my heart melting.

“Alright, Poppet,” I said, using a nickname acquired from the obscure and decidedly antiquated vernacular of my youth.

***

But, I could only put the dreadful business out of my head for so long. That night, the whole town was abuzz with talk of the missing girl. It seemed that someone had found her, and she was being treated at the hospital. The exact nature of her malady varied depending on whom you asked, but all agreed it was something sinister.

I am ashamed to say that I joined the crowd of people who visited the hospital that night and demanded to know what had happened. Curiosity, the cat, and all that. Security tried to stop us from disturbing the poor dear, but they were not equipped to deal with a mob of any kind, and so we succeeded in barging into her room and interrupting a doctor in the middle of his duties.

“What the hell are you people doing here?” he shouted, but none of us were listening to him.

All eyes were upon Susan. For, there she lay, physically undamaged, but utterly faceless.

Her features had been erased in their entirety, and yet that smooth head turned in our direction, as if somehow still seeing, and cocked ever so slightly to one side, like a curious bird. And, from a mouth that was not present, a curious, muted gasping sound filled the air.

At the same instant, we all fell back out of the room, and eagerly accepted the guards’ escort out of the building.

***

Later that night, my wife, Sarah and I sat next to the fireplace, warming ourselves against the frigid winter air which scurried under our doors and around our windows. Sarah had put her new doll on the ground and was happily dressing and undressing it.

“She didn’t have a face, Nikki!” I said, somewhat tactlessly, before remembering that Sarah was in earshot.

“Who didn’t?” Sarah asked.

“Nobody, Poppet,” I said.

“Well, do they know where she was, or what happened to her?” Nikki asked, scowling at me over my indiscretion, but failing to restrain her own curiosity.

“I don’t know. It’s all just gossip right now,” I said, shaking my head.

We both went back to sipping from mugs of hot cocoa, I with my nose buried in a book and my wife with hers buried in her phone. In those days, my interests were vaguely academic despite my dismal educational background, and the tome within which I found myself ensconced that night was a rather saccharine work of New Age spirituality. Like many of its ilk, following in the great, pseudo-intellectual tradition of Deepak Chopra, my nightly entertainment concerned itself with quantum entanglement and the so-called “oneness” of reality. Dreams, it claimed, were products of a universal mind. Borrowing half-quotes and misattributed jargon from Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell, it purported to prove that our nightly visions offer a window into the future as well as “the underlying nature of things.”

It was a silly thing, to be sure, and it did not hold my interest for long. My eye was drawn back to Sarah and her doll when a sudden and unwelcome thought struck me.

Didn’t the figurine’s face look an awful lot like Susan’s?

***

When at last I slept that night, an unusually vivid dream forced itself upon me. For most of my life it has been rare for me to remember a dream long after waking. This one, however, certainly proved itself to be an exception.

In it, the creature in that hospital bed fixes me with its blank, faceless gaze, and I am frozen to the spot, unable to move or even blink. It stands, and walks toward me, slowly feeling its way through the intervening space. And, all the while, it points that hideous, featureless head squarely in my direction.

With every step, an irrational fear builds within my chest, and I want to scream and kick it until blood runs down its unnatural noggin and coagulates in pools on the floor.

But, paralyzed and voiceless, I can do none of those things. I can only watch as the thing inches toward my body until it’s right in front of me, and still I can do nothing.

And, at the instant when its smooth visage makes sickening contact with my leg, the paralysis breaks, and I lash out with all of my strength, beating it with fists and feet, over and over again, screaming like a banshee as I do so.

Eventually, all of the rage is used up and I collapse upon the floor, panting, only to realize that something is very wrong with the twitching corpse I have just created.

No longer is its face gone. It now wears the face of Sarah.

***

The morning came and broke the dream, and, just as with fever, this breaking was accompanied by torrents of sweat. When I related the experience to my wife, she ran her hand over my head and just told me that it was over now, and that I didn’t need to worry. She mumbled something like this and then fell back asleep, but I couldn’t do likewise.

Those images still sparkled in my vision, taking on the character of phantasmagoric eidola. The sight of Sarah’s lifeless body seized me and wouldn’t let me go.

For the rest of the day these terrible phantoms played at the edges of my vision and more than once made me jump, eliciting some strange and curious glances from coworkers and passersby.

On the way home, I passed Seldon’s Playroom and saw some girls leaving its creaking doorway with dolls clutched under their arms.

Something about these figures caused me to shudder involuntarily.

Then, one of the children caught my eye and smiled at me. She was a friend of Sarah. I smiled back, forcing the gesture, and waved.

And, as she turned to run after her friend, for just a moment, the features of her face were erased.

But it was just a moment.

***

The front page of the paper that night was dominated by the story of another disappearance. At first, my eyes scanned over the name of the unlucky victim, but when its meaning finally sank in, I nearly dropped the paper.

It was Rachel, the girl I had seen in the street.

One disappearance was enough to set the whole town’s nerves on edge. Two were positively cataclysmic.

I went to Seldon’s Playroom that night, and caught its owner just as he was preparing to close up shop. He smiled politely and reminded me of his hours of operation.

“Oh, no, actually I’m not here for a doll,” I told him.

“How can I help you?” he asked quietly.

“Well, it’s going to sound a little odd,” I said apologetically. “It’s about Rachel -- the missing girl.”

He nodded.

“Dreadful business,” he murmured.

“Yes, well, you see, I saw her leaving the shop earlier today, and I was wondering if you saw anything strange or unusual when she was here.”

“Such as what?” he asked mildly, and something in his voice was slightly unnerving -- slightly too calm for the subject matter at hand.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, somewhat tactlessly. “Anything.”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, and in that instant, he stepped to the side, and I saw a doll on the shelf behind him which had not been there the day before.

It looked an awful lot like Rachel.

***

That night, I had the dream again, only this time I was haunted by two faceless tormentors. When the dream reached its bloody crescendo and their identities were at last revealed, the first was still Sarah, but now she was joined by Rachel.

I woke again in cold sweat, and in that liminality between sleep and wakefulness a voice whispered very close to my ear,

“You have seen the old man’s hex

And seen them seeing with stolen eyes

Watch out, for Sarah is next”

A strangled cry escaped my lips, and once again, my wife soothed me in the gray light of dawn as I gently shook in her arms.

The moment passed, but its reliquiae troubled me throughout the day.

At the office, buried in paper and memoranda, this strange blend of terror and tedium would not entirely lift from my heart. More than once, I called Sarah’s school to check in on her, and received the same response from the secretary on the other end of the line each time, albeit in an increasingly frustrated tone. She was fine.

She was fine.

I repeated it as a mantra throughout the afternoon.

But, nothing could quell the beating of my heart when the news broke that Rachel had been found wandering the old woods just at the edge of town. Once again, I joined the throng of people insisting on seeing her in the hospital, for she too was afflicted by a disorder of recondite origin.

Security was expecting this response, but was once again unable to restrain us, and when we burst into Rachel’s room, what I saw there was, in the depths of my heart, not at all surprising.

Still, that eyeless head sent convulsions down my spine as it turned to face us, and that same, sickening gasping echoed repeatedly in the silence left by the mob’s riveted attention.

***

When I came home, Sarah was not there. My wife told me that she had probably just gone off with some friends and had forgotten to tell me, but I knew better. And, as the hours wore on, panic rose within my chest, and the police were involved, but there was little they could do for me.

For what good are terrestrial agents against forces of occult darkness?

But, as I spoke in robotic tones to the joyless Sergeant assigned our case, it occurred to me that Sarah’s doll was no longer in its place by the table. When we were done, I excused myself to go look for it, but could find it nowhere.

All at once, the manifold shards of this broken mirror pieced themselves together, and I saw that there was at their center, had always been at their center, one place and one man.

The police were powerless to pursue this line of inquiry of course, wrapped up, as it was, with supranatural planes of reality.

It was time to pay another visit to Seldon’s Playroom.

***

When I arrived there, and demanded entry, I was surprised to find the door opened by the man himself as he waved me inside.

“Where the fuck is she?!” I roared at him, expecting some kind of evasion. But, I got none, even as I grabbed his jacket between my fingers and shoved him against the wall.

“Oh, here and there,” he chuckled.

I shoved him still harder.

“I will kill you, old man!” I shouted, but he merely chuckled again.

“No, I don’t think you will,” he said, and, with a flick of his wrist, propelled me across the room and into the wall. I collapsed, and he lifted me with unnatural strength and carried me to a back room.

“If you want to see so badly, I will not deny you,” he told me, and opened its door with another flick of his wrist.

Within that room were rows and rows of dolls, most of them blank, but some with fully realized faces. Sarah sat in the middle of the room, and was experiencing something which I cannot describe properly. A curious distortion surrounded the front of her head and, like a kind of vacuum of light, seemed to be pulling at her face with tendrils of fiery gold.

“Here she is, my good man,” he said, propelling me forward once again, so that I sat beside her.

“What the fuck are you doing to her?” I asked, tears streaming down my face.

“Nothing she didn’t ask for -- nothing she doesn’t want.”

“What?”

“Ask her -- go on.”

At that instant, a little sound escaped her lips.

“More…”

“What is happening to her?” I yelled.

“She is being transubstantiated, to borrow a religious term,” Seldon replied. “Faceless she will be, and faceless she shall remain, forever seeing without eyes, and breathing without lungs. It will be a kind of ecstatic agony -- a union of pleasure and pain, beyond time and all imagining.”

“Let her go,” I sobbed, but Seldon was reaching his own sort of ecstasy.

“She will become perfect. Without those horrible charms unique to her kind. And, Daniel, my good man, you shall have to join her, I’m afraid. An adult has never joined my collection, not here and not in the innumerable places and times I have set up this little shop. But my work is too important to risk your interference, and so, we embark on a new journey now, a new sort of playtime.”

And then he raised his hand and spoke a word I cannot reproduce, bringing that terrible light onto my face as well, and bringing me into that realm into which he had trapped my daughter, and innumerable children through the ages.

I feel it beginning, just as he said. I feel myself gaining eyeless sight and moving motionless hands. I feel the joyous rigidity of my doll-like limbs beginning to take shape.

Most of all, I can hear my own lungless gasps as I drown in oceans of ecstatic pain -- a prisoner of this half-death which fills my chest with fire and rapture.

And, imbued with that power often granted the dreamer, I know implicitly that this fate to which I and my daughter are now sentenced -- the ecstatic agony of Seldon’s faceless dolls -- shall not end for millenia to come.

Nor would I want it to.

submitted by /u/MellonTheFelon [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/30gvMiM

#Blogger #Story

0 notes