Vampire: The Masquerade flavored MIW blog 23/nonbinary/asexual/nosferatu supremacist Header image by KageFool on DeviantArt Profile Pic by arkquackie 18+, minors DNI
Cursed with seeing spirits since birth (and killer migraines because of it), Ricky leaves Washington to escape from something he canât describe. After a year of keeping his secret, everything changes after a clairvoyant nightmare saves the entire band from a fatal collision.
Chapter One - World Spirit Map
Chapter Two - Fantasmas
Read on AO3
Pairing: Poly!MIW, but nothing in this first chapter. Itâs a Ricky and Ryan bromance, if anything.
Content Warnings: 18+ MDNI, horror elements, mention of ghosts, minor (some intense injuries and blood are mentioned, but itâs not written in a lot of detail) gore, vehicle collision/car crash, background character death, mention of that one time Ryan accidentally drank Rickyâs piss.
Word Count: 1.5k
Authors Note: Hi, first fic Iâm ever posting here. Cross posted to my AO3 for those who prefer it. A few things; fic contains supernatural elements, will contain even more supernatural elements in the future, and will be slow burn. Itâll be a bit more fun later, I promise. For now you get psychic medium Ricky and some hurt/comfort.
Chapters will be named after random songs I like. I canât promise theyâll be consistent genre wise.
If thereâs any content warnings I missed, let me know.
Inspired by the works of @sitkowski @desperatetype and @frankenmorrow (check them out they rule)
Thanks to mutual horror freak @monoistrash for letting me yap to them about this fic for literal hours.
Dividers by @enchanthings
He wasnât always like this.
He couldnât help that he babbled and reached out towards the smiling, gray haired woman that cooed at him in his crib. He couldnât help but repeat melodies of songs heâd never heard, but the teenage boy that sat in the corner next to his toy chest sang. He couldnât help but listen to the old man on the porchâs lessons and advice when he got his first guitar.
He couldnât help that no one else could see them. He couldnât help that no one understood. The headaches that made him consider ways of beheading himself didnât make life any easier.
When his mom told him to not tell anyone what he saw, he listened. Still, it was like the rest of the world could smell that he was wrong. Born wrong, born to be chastised or ignored completely. His friends were dead, but they appreciated the company. He was the only one that could see them, after all.
It got easier to fake as he got older. He went to college, joined a band but never got too close. He learned that letting people get too close would drive them away. He played his part, wore the right mask. It wasnât until he started talking to a guy on MySpace that things changed.
Chris was two years older than him, and the lead singer of a band called Motionless In White. He had never clicked with anyone in his entire life, but Chris was different. Six months after they first started talking on MySpace, they met at a Motionless show. They needed a bassist, he was miserable, he joined. He moved across the country to live with people he had met in person once.
It was incredible. Theyâd never heard rumors about the weird goth kid that had to leave class after staring off into dark corners and getting splitting migraines. They only knew him as Ricky; Chrisâ friend turned bassist and vocalist. He fell into the ranks, slept in a coffin-like bunk nearly head to head with Chris, and nursed his throbbing head with cheap coffee, generic Excedrin, and a nicotine addiction. Things were normal for the first year. He always knew that normal was never in the cards for him, though.
It was 2010, somewhere in Ohio or Indiana, and Ricky slept fitfully in his bunk. Normally Chris would have nudged him awake and whined at him for squirming, but his bunk was empty. Instead, he was in the driverâs seat as the rest of the band slept. They had a hour give or take until they reached their hotel and crashed until the show the next day. Until then, Ricky was left to his nightmare.
A dark road lined with trees that seemed to bend towards him as he drove. The painted lines moved like snakes, rain pelted on the windshield so loud that it made his ears ring. Hands that werenât his gripped the steering wheel. The smell of antifreeze and smoke made him glance to the passengerâs seat. Ryan, eyes glassy, neck bent unnaturally, head pinned to his shoulder, one leg crunched to his chest. A huge wound on his head oozed blood into one of his eyes. Blood dripped from his mouth as he spoke, âsomething badâs about to happen.â
Ricky crawled out from his bunk, eyes wide as he stared towards the front of the van. Even in the dark, he could see Chris meet his eyes in the rear view mirror. One of his hands gripped the wooden beam of his and TJâs bunk, his chest shook with uneven breaths, âsomething badâs about to happen.â
âRicky, what the fu-â
Ricky gripped the beam tighter as the van swerved into an empty cornfield next to the road. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of squealing tires and metallic impact, but the hard jolt never came. He could barely hear the clamor of voices around him as his pulse rushed in his ears.
His chest hurt, his head hurt, his throat hurt. Everything felt tight enough to snap. His eyes burned, his lungs felt like they pushed against his ribs. Something echoed behind him, and it got louder, and louder, until, âRick! Ricky!â
He stared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Meeting his own eyes let him take control of his body again. He turned to see Ryan standing at the back of the van, doors open, staring up at him. âYou alright?â
Ricky swallowed, but his throat still stung, âare we okay?â
Ryan made a face Ricky couldnât quite read, âyeah, weâre good. Are you okay?â He reached a hand to pry Rickyâs death grip off the bunk beam. âGet out for a minute, get some air.â
Ricky nodded and let Ryan maneuver him to the side of the van facing the cornfield. He stared out across what little of the empty field the headlights of the van illuminated. He was himself again, but the migraine that had started at the back of his head was threatening to take that away from him.
âRick, you gotta talk to me man, otherwise youâre going into that ambulance too.â
âThereâs an ambulance?â
âThereâs one coming. Angelo called while you were staring at nothing.â
Rickyâs arms wrapped around himself, âIâm sorry.â
Ryan let out a sharp exhale from his nose, âfor what? That scared the hell out of everybody, Ange was just the first to un-shit himself. Fucking answer me this time, are you okay?â
Ricky opened his mouth to answer, but quickly closed it. The sound of sirens faded in from somewhere behind them and progressively got louder. He turned to look at the cars behind the van and his stomach churned. The taillights of an SUV glowed, smoke floated up into the night from its compressed front end. He couldnât see the car it hit, but he already knew what happened. A brutal head-on collision that just ended two out of the three people involved lives.
A brutal head-on collision that was almost them. Chris would have died, Ryan would have died, Angelo and Josh would have probably been injured. The only ones that would have made it out mostly okay would have been himself and TJ. Ricky stared down at his shaking hands, âmy head hurts.â
Ryan groaned as he stood, then disappeared into the back of the van. In a moment, he was back at Rickyâs side with two white capsules and a half-empty water bottle. Ricky took it with a quiet, nervous laugh, âpromise you didnât piss in it?â
Ryan shoved Rickyâs head to the side with his hand and a half-hearted glare broken with a chuckle, âhow the fuck was it perfectly clear? You drink so much coffee!â
Ricky shrugged, took a drink of water, then downed the pills. âI dunno, healthy kidneys I guess.â
Ryan pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He offered the first to Ricky, then pulled one out for himself. With a black Bic he had to flick a few times to light, he lit both cigarettes. The loud sound of sirens pulling in closer made Rickâs head pound. He pushed his thumb into one of his brows, then took a long drag of his cigarette. When Ryan noticed his friendâs pained, furrowed brows he scooted in closer. Rick put his head on his shoulder and tried to block out the sound of worried voices and emergency vehicles pulling up.
After the cigarette burned down to the butt, Ryan tucked them back into the almost empty box. Ricky drifted off after that, lulled to sleep by Ryanâs steady breathing despite his head still trying to rip itself open. He wasnât sure how long it was until Ryan nudged him awake with his elbow.
âHey,â Josh came to the side of the van, watching TJ get into the back before his attention went to Ryan and Ricky again. âNot much else we can do here, so weâre leaving. We can still make it to the hotel for check in. Chris said heâs okay to drive, but, I donât know. He still seems spooked.â
âFucking duh, man, he got two feet away from killing us, of course heâs spooked,â Ryan stood and dusted himself off, holding out a hand for Ricky to pull himself up with. âIâm up there too, Iâll watch him. If he taps out, Iâll get us there. I donât think I can sleep anyway.â
Josh gave them a drowsy thumbs up before opening the side door of the van and crawling into his bunk. Ryan turned to Ricky again, studying him with an expression he couldnât name. âTry and get some more sleep, yeah?â
Ricky looked back at the still flashing lights of the ambulances. A woman on a gurney was getting lifted into the back of one of them. He turned back to Ryan and cleared his throat, âyeah, Iâll try. Thanks, Ry.â
Ryan patted his shoulder, then turned to get into the passengerâs seat. With a final look at the crash, Rick got back into the van with the rest of the band. He put the water bottle in the gap against the wall next to his stolen creamer collection, and curled into his bunk. He was rooming with Chris at the hotel, and he knew he would have questions. A lot of questions.
His heart started to thrum against his ribs again. Fuck, so much for an extra hour of sleep.
itâs something when you have an unprompted anxiety attack as soon as you get off work until 5am but itâs also something when you learn the next morning that the sister you donât talk to had one at the same time
good morning to horror fans, fat bitches, people with psychosis, they/thems, people who canât drive, trans women, witches, and single dads. the rest of you... youâre on your own
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