original: "Summer Afterlife." slash
Lo! New here. :))
Title: Summer Afterlife
Author: sensitization
Rating: PG-13 for a bad word
Summary: All Trip wanted was someone to haunt Hyde Lake with him, and after ten years, he finally gets his wish. MM slash.
Trip loves the Fourth of July.
He supposes he really shouldn’t, given that it’s his deathday, but he liked the blueberry pies, the barbeques, and the water gun fights with his younger cousins even if he couldn’t experience them anymore. It was the principle of the matter, really, and at least the one good thing about haunting Hyde Lake was the spectacular fireworks display that appeared above the waterfront every year. He always managed to snag the best spot to watch, hovering above the forest and sitting on the canopy, not having to bother with mosquitoes or the humidity as shots of colors flew up from the ground and exploded in a flurry of sound and light.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a spark along the riverbend, but doesn't pay much attention to it.
--
He still remembers how he died.
Most of it, anyways. Something about having four beers and an invitation to skinny-dip at midnight far beyond camp had somehow lead to him tripping over some slippery rocks, then knocked unconscious as he tumbled down into the water to then subsequently drown. It really wasn’t much of a painful death as it was embarrassing, having been knocked out and all, but it did give him a permanent blue skin tone just a shade darker than the smurfs, along with a major bump on his forehead now in the afterlife. He really didn’t believe it warranted a closed casket funeral, most likely requested by his mother, who had shook her head throughout the entire procession, especially during the eulogies, still disappointed in her son even in death.
But that was ten years ago. Ten years of haunting this lake alone. It wasn’t that he wanted more people to die while having some sort of recreational fun out on the lake, just that it was getting kind of dull floating above the water and talking to ducks that were very uninterested with what he had to say. Anyways, it would be a sort of a pipe dream, given that the lake ramped up safety measures after he died-- he even had a small pier that had several very clear, well-made signs about the dangers of being by the water when intoxicated named after him.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to actually talk to someone.
--
A week later, Trip sees him.
At first, he didn’t believe it, but the ectoplasmic, shimmery being with a half sunken face that was floating out on the lake in a car tire was certainly not alive. Trip floats out of the forest until finally reaching the shore, hovering as he stared out at the other ghost. He wonders if he should say something, but he’s thankfully spared from having to by the mystery ghost waving a lazy hand and then shouting through cupped hands, “C’mon in! Water’s fine!”
Trip floats over the water’s surface, a little cautious, though more curious than suspicious. Upon closer inspection, the man’s face wasn’t sunken as much as it was molten, his eyes, nose, and mouth were all shifting and floating about his face as if stuck in jello or a Picasso painting. But even with both eyes floating around on one side of his face, Trip could tell that the man was very handsome, most likely even more so when he was alive.
“Face melted off,” the other ghost helpfully supplied, correctly guessing why Trip was staring so intently at him. “Got a bunch of sparklers and tried to make a bouquet out of them for my aunt. Probably shouldn’t have tried it so close to the grill.”
Trip hasn’t felt any sort of physical pain in the last decade, but winces out of memory of his past body. “I worked at McDs when I was still alive, got burnt a couple of times by the fryer," he quips, rubbing one of his arms at the memory. The other ghost laughed, before grinning, his mouth a little lopsided and traveling down towards his chin. “It was over pretty quickly. One minute it's hot, the next you're floating above your body." A pause. "To be honest, I’ve been here since last week, and I’ve seen you around, but you seemed so busy all the time.” He shrugged. “Didn’t want to interrupt you.”
Trip squints at him, wondering how staring off into the far off distance lost in a non-existential debate with himself or trying to stuff inside gopher holes or squirrel nests or bee hives just to pass the time would look ‘busy’, but he blurts out, “I wouldn’t mind. I’d like someone to hang out with.” Immediately, he ducks his head, grateful that he didn’t have any blood to blush with anymore.
“That doesn’t sound half bad, actually. Name’s Nobel, by the way,” he introduces, holding out a hand that’s missing a pinky and thumb. Trip lightly grasps onto the offered appendage, not wanting his own hand to go through Nobel’s.
“Trip, and seriously?”
“Seriously. I come from a long line of pyrotechnicians and excavators and miners-I even had a twin, his name’s Albert. And no one complained when I wanted to name the dog Sparky.”
Trip gives a small grin. That’s what you do at people, right? His knowledge of social protocol has deteriorated over the years. Still, he murmurs, “Nice to meet you, and, er, sorry for your loss?”
“Ehhhhh…” Nobel shrugs, “my family’s kind of used to people dying from stuff like this. I guess I should be more upset, but I’m not? At least I died correctly, according to the brood. My uncle Barry choked from lung cancer. Kind of the black sheep in the family. Liked libraries and shit.” Nobel tilts his head; a slow smile forming as he quietly studied Trip, before pulling himself out of the tire and not so subtly looping an arm around Trip’s shoulders. “Well now that I’ll be haunting this place, mind giving me a grand tour?”
Trip nods, equally not so subtly leaning on Nobel’s shoulders, who turns towards Trip, possibly a little too fast as his nose droops down next to his mouth and ear shifts onto his cheek, but he doesn’t bother to shift them back into their original places as he starts jabbering more about his family and his upcoming funeral.
And Trip doesn’t mind in the least.
--
I grew up in Upstate New York, and went to the Finger Lakes every summer. I love lakes. And ghost stories. >Ub
Title: Summer Afterlife
Author: sensitization
Rating: PG-13 for a bad word
Summary: All Trip wanted was someone to haunt Hyde Lake with him, and after ten years, he finally gets his wish. MM slash.
Trip loves the Fourth of July.
He supposes he really shouldn’t, given that it’s his deathday, but he liked the blueberry pies, the barbeques, and the water gun fights with his younger cousins even if he couldn’t experience them anymore. It was the principle of the matter, really, and at least the one good thing about haunting Hyde Lake was the spectacular fireworks display that appeared above the waterfront every year. He always managed to snag the best spot to watch, hovering above the forest and sitting on the canopy, not having to bother with mosquitoes or the humidity as shots of colors flew up from the ground and exploded in a flurry of sound and light.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a spark along the riverbend, but doesn't pay much attention to it.
--
He still remembers how he died.
Most of it, anyways. Something about having four beers and an invitation to skinny-dip at midnight far beyond camp had somehow lead to him tripping over some slippery rocks, then knocked unconscious as he tumbled down into the water to then subsequently drown. It really wasn’t much of a painful death as it was embarrassing, having been knocked out and all, but it did give him a permanent blue skin tone just a shade darker than the smurfs, along with a major bump on his forehead now in the afterlife. He really didn’t believe it warranted a closed casket funeral, most likely requested by his mother, who had shook her head throughout the entire procession, especially during the eulogies, still disappointed in her son even in death.
But that was ten years ago. Ten years of haunting this lake alone. It wasn’t that he wanted more people to die while having some sort of recreational fun out on the lake, just that it was getting kind of dull floating above the water and talking to ducks that were very uninterested with what he had to say. Anyways, it would be a sort of a pipe dream, given that the lake ramped up safety measures after he died-- he even had a small pier that had several very clear, well-made signs about the dangers of being by the water when intoxicated named after him.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to actually talk to someone.
--
A week later, Trip sees him.
At first, he didn’t believe it, but the ectoplasmic, shimmery being with a half sunken face that was floating out on the lake in a car tire was certainly not alive. Trip floats out of the forest until finally reaching the shore, hovering as he stared out at the other ghost. He wonders if he should say something, but he’s thankfully spared from having to by the mystery ghost waving a lazy hand and then shouting through cupped hands, “C’mon in! Water’s fine!”
Trip floats over the water’s surface, a little cautious, though more curious than suspicious. Upon closer inspection, the man’s face wasn’t sunken as much as it was molten, his eyes, nose, and mouth were all shifting and floating about his face as if stuck in jello or a Picasso painting. But even with both eyes floating around on one side of his face, Trip could tell that the man was very handsome, most likely even more so when he was alive.
“Face melted off,” the other ghost helpfully supplied, correctly guessing why Trip was staring so intently at him. “Got a bunch of sparklers and tried to make a bouquet out of them for my aunt. Probably shouldn’t have tried it so close to the grill.”
Trip hasn’t felt any sort of physical pain in the last decade, but winces out of memory of his past body. “I worked at McDs when I was still alive, got burnt a couple of times by the fryer," he quips, rubbing one of his arms at the memory. The other ghost laughed, before grinning, his mouth a little lopsided and traveling down towards his chin. “It was over pretty quickly. One minute it's hot, the next you're floating above your body." A pause. "To be honest, I’ve been here since last week, and I’ve seen you around, but you seemed so busy all the time.” He shrugged. “Didn’t want to interrupt you.”
Trip squints at him, wondering how staring off into the far off distance lost in a non-existential debate with himself or trying to stuff inside gopher holes or squirrel nests or bee hives just to pass the time would look ‘busy’, but he blurts out, “I wouldn’t mind. I’d like someone to hang out with.” Immediately, he ducks his head, grateful that he didn’t have any blood to blush with anymore.
“That doesn’t sound half bad, actually. Name’s Nobel, by the way,” he introduces, holding out a hand that’s missing a pinky and thumb. Trip lightly grasps onto the offered appendage, not wanting his own hand to go through Nobel’s.
“Trip, and seriously?”
“Seriously. I come from a long line of pyrotechnicians and excavators and miners-I even had a twin, his name’s Albert. And no one complained when I wanted to name the dog Sparky.”
Trip gives a small grin. That’s what you do at people, right? His knowledge of social protocol has deteriorated over the years. Still, he murmurs, “Nice to meet you, and, er, sorry for your loss?”
“Ehhhhh…” Nobel shrugs, “my family’s kind of used to people dying from stuff like this. I guess I should be more upset, but I’m not? At least I died correctly, according to the brood. My uncle Barry choked from lung cancer. Kind of the black sheep in the family. Liked libraries and shit.” Nobel tilts his head; a slow smile forming as he quietly studied Trip, before pulling himself out of the tire and not so subtly looping an arm around Trip’s shoulders. “Well now that I’ll be haunting this place, mind giving me a grand tour?”
Trip nods, equally not so subtly leaning on Nobel’s shoulders, who turns towards Trip, possibly a little too fast as his nose droops down next to his mouth and ear shifts onto his cheek, but he doesn’t bother to shift them back into their original places as he starts jabbering more about his family and his upcoming funeral.
And Trip doesn’t mind in the least.
--
I grew up in Upstate New York, and went to the Finger Lakes every summer. I love lakes. And ghost stories. >Ub