It’s 47 past midnight here but I am working on the fourth day of comfortember as if it were seven in the morning - and I am strangely liking so far. I hope I can get it finished so I can post at least one day 🥰
When I was a kid, I had several other brothers, all of them older, they were all talented in some way.
Jack was the oldest, he was insanely creative and bright.
Henrik was the second oldest, he loved to play doctor and he knew what he wanted to be from a young age.
Marvin was always so flamboyant and prideful, he came out of the closet at a young age… we were all so proud of him.
Jem was the one who got to choose my middle name, he said that he would name me after him because I was meant to be great.
Jackie was always the type to be the hero… thats why he became a cop.
But, then there was me. Growing up people called me average, after all, my family was all so talented and well known and then there was me. I was ordinary. Nothing I could do was ever enough for me to be on the same level. Even when I got into Uni with a full ride college scholarship, my parents doted on Henrik for being a doctor. They doted on Jack for becoming a public figure who raised money for charity. They loved Jem as a famous comic artist. They loved Jackie as a cop. Marvin became a fashion critic and then, there was me.
I was just their average kid. I played sports, I got okay grades. I was nothing special. While my brothers were doing their things to be great, I was playing football. When my team won the league championship, no one even congratulated me. When I was in the paper, it wasn’t mentioned.
But Henrik was opening his practice, surely that had to be mentioned. Jackie got injured on the job? Oh, they had to talk for hours about how brave he was. Marvin and Jem’s work? Fucking framed and put up all over the fucking house. Jack’s latest video? Oh we had to watch it as a family! But me, their fucking son who worked so fucking hard to get where I was with nothing but the support of friends, of coaches who treated me like a son, of professors who watched me struggle and struggle because my brain wasn’t hard wired for creativity.
They never fucking even came to a game of mine.
How was I supposed to handle that? How was I supposed to fucking handle my family shoving my brothers work down my throat and never mention me? How was I supposed to handle being a ghost in my own fucking home.
Then I met Stacey… she didn’t see my family, she saw me. She had a smile that was like all the stars in the sky… her eyes were so fucking beautiful… soft green that reminded me of the pitch and when I would achieve something, she always was there, telling me she was proud of me. She never stopped praising me, telling me that I mattered and showing me that she loved me for me!
No one had a fucking clue how happy it made me to ask her to marry me, to be my wife… when we had to move to London after I got drafted over there, she was happy to move, when I told my family I was moving away for my athletic career I was told to be safe. Nothing more. It was so fucking hurtful to watch them not care about me, but the second Henrik said he was moving to Germany to open a clinic, they had to talk him out of it… I don’t think they even came to my wedding, it was just Stacey and the people who had grew to be my family over the years. My best friend Sean was my best man…. I was glad Stacey’s family loved me like I was their own after we were married, her dad, Howard, would adore talking with me for hours about my career and my accomplishments. Her mother, Charlotte, would have long talks with me about cooking meals and would offer to teach me things…
When we had our twins, Sean Howard and Mary Charlotte, they were so happy for us. They spent every waking moment they could calling us over our kids, eventually they suggested that we move back home.
I’m glad they did because the week after we sold our home, I got into the accident that ended my career. I… I had an extreme leg break after getting hit by a car walking home one night from practice with the lads.. My knee was shattered, my hip broken as were a few ribs. When the coach found out and had to help me set up the retirement, we both cried. When Stacey came to the hospital, we cried. We cried because my dreams were gone, all right before they even came true.
Howard and Charlotte helped us move while I was in the hospital, they took care of the kids while Stacey stayed with me. The team even donated their checks to us, knowing how costly the medical bills could get. Sean nearly pitched a fit when the first news crew broke into the hospital to get an interview asking if I would get my brother to be my surgeon, if this meant our marriage was over, if this meant I was never going to be able to do anything again.
Once the hospital knew, we changed rooms, used different names and when Stacey would come to stay with me after caring for the kids she would spend hours telling me how much they missed me, how much they loved me and once everything was okay, how excited they were to see me again.
I loved her for it, because she took my mind off the crippling pain, she took my mind off of the fact that I could never be what I made myself be ever again. She loved me, and I knew she did. We had saved money up, the team did too. My coaches through the years did.
Once I was out of the hospital, my team helped me recover. My coaches got me a job as an analyst the would watch the game and tell the coach what would help and which plays to make. Stacey got a job as a sports journalist.
Howard and Charlotte moved us into a nice house on their property, wanting to make sure we were well provided for and while it took us time to get back on our feet, we were happy.
I wish, I could end this and say that this is all I wanted to tell.
But I can’t.
My own wife cheated on me with my best friend for the entire time I was stuck in that hospital.
Her parents kicked her out, telling her she wasn’t welcome anymore and helped me file for divorce.
When the courts chose who got custody, Stacey and Sean won.
Howard and Charlotte were appalled by their daughters behavior, but since I still struggled with my leg, with healing, they moved me into their house. I couldn’t watch the news without hearing about it, without seeing pictures of us through the years of my professional career being shown.
I couldn’t stand to even look at them anymore.. My kids couldn’t come see me because of the custody ruling…
I lost everything.
I lost everything I made for myself.
Even then, my family didn’t care. I didn’t get calls, I didn’t get letters… I didn’t get anything from them.
So, if you’re reading this…. You know how my life went. And you know why it’s ended.
The room was damp, reeking of foul odors from bodily fluids and drying crimson that painted the floor and some walls though that could only be seen when the flickering light that was swinging from the chain on the ceiling stayed on for longer than a blink. The sounds of labored breathing accompanied with the dripping of water as well as chains rattling sounded louder than white noise to the boy who was laid out on the floor, his clothes so shredded one couldn’t really call them much more than scraps at this point. The ever changing shadows of the room made shapes and figures, at time faces too, all of which frightened him more than the last. From his spot on the dirty and nearly destroyed toddler mattress he kept still as possible, so worried one little shift would be the spark the fuse would need to blow the tension through the air into violence directed at him. The wall above him was painted in dents, the newest one matched the dirty food tray that was dented and cast aside in the corner from where it seemed to have ricocheted off the wall.
The boy seemed to curl tighter into a little ball, he looked so much younger than one would think of him to be, his boyish features more pronounced by his weak state as he seemed to be all long arms and legs, but the various injuries on him were concerning, as well as the fact he was so scared. His body seemed to be able to do nothing but shiver, the dried crimson on his skin possibly making him all the colder as he shivered and cried dry tears, his green eyes pale and looking as if they’d been waxed over with a glaze. Perhaps he had been injured, causing a blindness or infection to take his pretty little eyes away. The boy seemed to flinch and curl up smaller as someone entered the room, the proceeded to drag him out of his small space by his hair, his frail body slack as he was chained to the floor like a rabid dog instead of above his head as he was previously.
He seemed to have no reaction to the sudden abuse, more or less conditioned to believe he deserved it, though the pipe wrench that was pulled out certainly was all that was needed to make him attempt to move away though he was far too weak to even properly react with more than a hard flinch. The person over him was smirking to him, even his ruined eyes knew that there would be no hero saving him.
“What’s your name?” The figure asked, his voice smooth and rich in tone, his hands twirling the pipe wrench slowly as if to dare the boy to answer wrong.
“M-my name… i-is Andrew-”
The boy was cut off with a blow to his side with the wrench, a pained cry leaving him at the hit as his pale skin was tore open and more crimson leaked on the floor, his small body trembling once more from the sudden duress it was put under.
“Wrong, what is your name?” The figure asked, a hint in his tone indicating that he was taking a great pleasure in the torture he was doing, that this whole scenario was amusing him. The blood and the dents on the walls… the mistreatment, the harm, it all amused him to no end and it all made him smile especially as the boy on the floor began to sob, his body already so broken.
“M-my n-name… i-is A-Andrew O-”
Once more he was quickly silenced with a hit to the other side of his body the impact causing something to snap on the inside of his body which led to the boy on the floor screaming bloody murder as his pelvis was shattered on the impact.
“Wrong. Your name is not Andrew anymore.” The figure spat, though his tone held more amusement than venom. As the wrench came down once again the hit took a chunk of flesh from him, the red meat being cast up into the air and smacking into the wall with a wet smack. That seemed to trigger a massive reaction, the serums and tests that had previously been declared as fails coming to life violently. The blood around the room jolted, like thousands of little angry bees swarming to attack what threatened their queen. The blood around the room, dried and fresh, swarmed to him, wrapping around him and causing a laugh to bubble up from him… or so it seemed.
“You’re right about that, I’m not Andrew Ó Mórdha, not anymore…. I think I’ll take a new name.” He crooned, his voice growing distorted as his body began to seize, though his voice hadn’t came from the boy on the ground… it sounded as if it was bouncing off the walls with the demented laughter. Whispers joining it too as he growled and thrashed, his weak body suddenly far more dangerous as he convulsed and then…. disappeared?
“Call me Viri, you demented crackjob doc.”
Then, utter silence and nothing but a seemingly normal body, curled up in the corner of the room.
It was strange, the way he noticed that his flesh was no longer connected to his body. The way that he watched the blood leak out, spilling over sheets of white and turning them pink and crimson. He almost wanted to cry from the pain, but the reminder of his inability to do so was in the knife stuck in his though, the chain and collar around his throat and the way his body was contorted and skinned as Anti took his knife to him again after licking the blood from his blade with a grin. He couldn't figure out why that grin scared him and distracted from watching the pretty colors of his blood hitting the sheets.
"Brody... oh my, you can't even hear me now can you, or rather, you've lost coherency... pity that." Anti crooned, the sharpness of his words lost on him as his face scrunched up. "Chase, you would do anything to upset me, so... allow me to... make myself happy with you." He crooned, though the last thing Chase could really see was the Cheshire grin Anti gave as static overloaded his senses, causing his battered and cut open body to convulse and seize. The wounds healing rapidly while his mind felt as if it was being torn apart.
"Theres a good Chap, not like Jameson as I made him my design, he was so loud, you... you know this is your purpose, don't you? To be my toy, to be my plaything.... Such a good puppet, Chase Brody."
The blood rolls off of his arm is gentle streams that he controls, the thick liquid moving to float in the air, it changes shape and color as the air kisses it and once the person stops fighting, the man grins, his blade in his left hand, blood rolling from his right before he extends his hand and the blood takes hold.
The person it attacks is forced to their knees, head tilted back as the blood forces itself down their nose and mouth, pushing and tearing into the inner bodies soft tissue.
The sound of the violins made his body twist and move on it’s own, the sweet mewl of the strings coaxing him into a deadly dance, blood flowing freely down his arms and spreading out in an wide arch around him as he spun, the sound of the music was as sweet as his blood splattered angelic face, the men in the room staring slack jawed at him, as he froze in time with the song before he began to spin and dance in an back and forth waltz, his hands above his head, the long cuts bleeding more steadily onto the slick and stained red floor, unnoticed was the start of swirls in the blood, his movements persuading the blood to come to life.
It started as small little splashes, but son turned into the blood curling up in the air like vines and twisting together, knotting before moving to make more patterns, though the hiss of the violin seemed to startle it, causing the once timid and peaceful vines to turn into vipers, lashing out to the watchers and infecting them down to the bones, pouring into them from all possible entries before it caused them to explode, painting the dancing man in more gore, happy glee filled laughs leaving him, dead green eyes staring at the scene with nothing but apathy before his blood crawled back to him, slowly pushing back under his skin and once more going to live in his arteries. Viri was amazed with the beauty his blood could make, so much so he planned to do this again, walking away from the blood and gore coated room to skip back to the small cottage he was currently residing in, humming along to the song that inspired his little dance; Introduction and Rondo capriccioso in A Minor, Op. 28.
When he wants to kiss me, he whines a title he’s so fond of being called.
He calls me his Master, his lover, his darling little Doll.
I don’t deserve to love him, I don’t deserve to crave his laughter or his voice, but seeing him so happy in my arms makes me crave to kiss him to cherish him, to lay with him for all the hours I can...
I love my little pet, my darling little puppet master, my sweet puppy.... and I will continue to do so until our time is done.
13 the egos finding Jameson? (Maybe after his creation?) I know today has been hard. But it will get better. *hugs*
Thank you Mya-ahee :313: “You’re scared…. and broken…”
Henrik rushed through the halls of the private clinic, hastily fastening his coat over to the room where he was told a new ego was waiting for him in one of the rooms, he was apparently mute as well, as he walked in though, it was clear what the problem was.
This new ego was... broken. He had his neck sliced open, large scars over his eyes and a note carved into his forehead: W̶͡ȩ̸͟ļç͞o͠m̵̡͡e͘͜͢ ̧͢to ̛t҉̸̛he͡ ̢͞f͏͝àmi̧l̕҉y,̷ ̴̧͢J̸J
Henrik couldn’t hide his horror, the words falling from his lips. “Y-you’re scared.... and broken...”
The green eyes watching shined with delight as he watched the exchange.
