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hanahaki-disease · 2 years

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Hermit! Tommy fic I'm working on

Okay, so I've decided to share my hermit! Tommy fic here. I need feed back from people that aren't my sister (who doesn't give a shit about what I'm doing.)

I'm only posting the first chapter because the prologue doesn't make sense by itself and so far that might be the most completed chapter I have. If this does good, I might post the second chapter, but no promises cause I'm nowhere near ready to post the rest.

So here you go!

It was strange to be sixteen, Tommy thought. Nothing changed much. He didn’t wake up feeling any different than the day before, if anything dread sunk deeper into his stomach than the realization of aging a year. But none of that mattered anymore, not from where he sat. Below him was his little campsite of logdeshire. He could see his shack and the pit where his items would go when Dream visited. He could see the horizon line. Where the blue sky meets the blue of the sea surrounding him, where the sun disappeared and onto the other side of the world. The side where the rest of his friends and those he considered family lived, far from his misery and the corruption he causes (as Dream would say.)

It was easy to get lost in one’s head from that height. The air was thinner and the clouds passed around you with a soft touch that left your clothes damp and cold. It was refreshing. When everything below was suffocating and hot with everyone breathing down his neck for every action he did, the open sky was a nice reprieve that Tommy sorely needed.

Tommy wondered how his mother faired over the years. Having not seen her since he was seven years old, his mind often daydreamed and thought of all the different ways her life could’ve gone without him. He wondered if she was still alive, ten years have passed and he wouldn’t know how she passed or why. He wondered if she moved on and began a new family, one without him. Was she happier with them? Did she love her other children more than him? Probably not. Tommy doesn’t remember much of his childhood before Philza, he does remember her bright smile and laughing. He remembers the warmth of her hugs and the taste of the sweet buns she would get for the holidays.

He remembers feeling happy back then, an emotion that seems to never stay with Tommy long these days.

But as he stared at the setting sun on the horizon, Tommy stood on his oak pillar. The one-block-wide pillar swayed in the wind, threatening to topple at any moment. Looking down at Logdesire below and the short shore between his shack and the sea, Tommy contemplated the pros and cons of walking off the edge and plummeting to the ground.

On the one hand, he’d be dead as soon as he hit the ground. For a fleeting second, he would feel at peace in the goddess of Death’s dimension. The warmth of the void could remind him of his mother’s hugs and Mumza would be there–his second mother. So he wouldn’t entirely be alone. However, Dream can revive him with ease, having memorized the revive book. He’d also be stuck with Shlatt, Wilbur, and Mexican Dream in limbo for all eternity. (He doesn’t mind Mexican Dream that much, it’s the other two he has problems with.)

Sighing, Tommy turned away from the sun, letting the last few rays hit his back. It was peaceful, warm, and calm where he stood, but Tommy took one last look at the world. He looked at the world he reluctantly called home these past few years and knew that no matter what he does, Tommy would always return. He will resurface from the water below and Dream will be standing in front of him, wondering what the younger blond was doing. If by some miracle he hits the grass along the shore and the world blinked to black, Dream would just resurrect him wherever he landed, expecting everything to return to normal as if nothing ever happened.

So, with nothing left to lose, Tommy leaned back and fell off the edge of the pillar.

The sound of the wind rushed past his ears and left him deaf to the world. The view of the changing sky was the only thing he could see as the ground rushed to meet him. The night slowly overtook the bright day just moments before, Tommy wondered if that was some sort of symbolism for something in his life, the last little bit that was left the closer he got to the ground. But instead of landing flat on the shore, the water of the sea engulfed the teen, enveloping him in a cold rush of bubbles.

Air bubbles escaped his mouth the further down the water he sunk. Tommy thought he was dead, yet the pain in his chest from a lack of air forced him to open his eyes and swim up. He didn't think the water was so deep so close to the shore, he was certain that it was only a block deep.

By the time he resurfaced his arms ached and his legs were cramping. The tightness in his chest didn’t loosen when he broke the surface of the water it made him worse. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. The air was different, it was thinner, mossier–there was something in the air around him that wouldn’t let him breathe.

“Oh my god!” Tommy heard someone say as he struggled for a breath in the water. “Don’t worry, I’m coming!” He heard splashing from behind him and shortly after the splashing, two arms wrapped around his chest and dragged him toward what he assumed was the shore. “I got you, don’t worry, I got you!.”

When he felt the ground under him, the mysterious person broke a potion above him, and almost instantly Tommy gasped for air. The world was bright around him, Tommy noticed when he was able to breathe, that the sky was at its midday blue and the leaves above him were too green to be natural. As well as the blurry image of the person trying to save him, though, in Tommy’s defense, his growing unconscious mind made everything a tad bit off.

–

With the start of the rush of a new season still coursing in her veins, Stress happily worked on the walls of her megabase in the Dark Oak forest just outside of spawn. Despite the sun blaring down on her, the canopy of leaves around her kept her cool while working. The wind flowing through the trees was fresh enough for her to keep her signature pink cardigan on (it also let Iskall know where she was, just in case he wanted to mess with her.) Having planned her megabase meticulously this season, Stress wanted to return to her roots. She decided to make a fairytale-like, forest kingdom; something to let the fae-magic within her settle and quit being so restless.

Though a Dark Oak forest wasn’t what she planned on having her base in, it fit the theme pretty well and looked pretty in candlelight. If she had built her base last season in a Dark Oak forest, she would be the target for multiple mobs right now. Skeletons would’ve shot her from her mossy-cobble wall, zombies chasing her, and creepers–well, not much changed with the creepers, they still followed her. This season, however, with the new update mobs only spawn in light-level 0, this means the rude geezers won’t attack her as she works.

It was a blessing, but she can’t let her guard down so easily. The mobs that took shelter under the canopy during the night were safe and could still attack her.

So when the sound of splashing caught her attention, the first thing Stress did was pull out her sword and run to the pond she had built a few days ago. Maybe a Skeleton fell in and was trying to get out, or a local cow tripped in? Reasonable guesses came to mind when she approached the source of the splashing. Not one of those was a young teen boy slowly drowning in the shallow water.

“Oh! Oh my god!” Stress unequipped her sword and dove into the pond. Arms wrapped around the boy’s chest, tugging him up and to the grassy shore a few blocks away. “I got you, don’t worry, kid! I got you!” Try as she might, it felt like something was pulling him down into the water, magic of some kind that Stress didn’t quite know all that well. But it had a visceral grip on him and clawed at her arms, trying to pry her off.

“Iskall! Iskall!!” Stress screamed, hoping he would hear her. His base wasn’t too far from hers, just within the mountain cave a chunk away, but she begged to whatever deity listening that Iskall could hear her yells. “Iskall get over here!”

A second later the familiar bright green of his shirt flew overhead, “Stress! Wha-what's going on?!”

“Get over ‘ere and help!”

Together they were able to free the kid from the water. Iskall’s arms were decorated with new scrapes and cuts that would take a while to heal, Stress was no better off. The magic claws dug deeper into her than it had on him, and Stress knew that she would have scars for a few years. But when they looked at the kid, their injuries seemed like mere bruises in comparison.

Despite being in the water only a few seconds ago, the kid was covered from head to toe in grime and scorch marks. His shirt which was once white had holes and hastily sewn seams as if it was the only shirt he ever owned, patches of different colors decorated a large portion on his side and back as if it was ripped away or burned off.

“C’mon,” Stress stood up, wrapping one of the kid’s arms around her shoulders. “We’ve got to take him inside, he doesn’t look too good.”

Iskall grabbed ahold of the kid's other arm and dragged him towards the incomplete castle. Don’t get him wrong, Iskall was a strong guy, he was one of the strongest on the server and it should’ve been at least a little bit of a struggle to take the kid inside. But it was like the kid hardly weighed anything. He was nothing but skin and bones and a shirt that hung very loose on his body

“I got a bed over here,” Stress lead them to a magenta bed tucked away in a secluded corner of the castle. “Easy, easy, easy Iskall! You’re going to hurt him!”

“I barely put him on the bed!” He shot back. “How’d he even get here?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But we need to get Xisuma over here because there’s no chat message saying that he joined the server.”

“You think he glitched here?”

“Only X would know.”

“I’ll go get him.” Iskall launched a rocket and flew off, the admin’s base in mind.

Stress took this opportunity to heal as much of the boy as she could. Step one, clean the injured person. Taking the first aid sponges out of her ender chest, she began to wipe off as much of the dried blood and dirt that covered his body. The bucket of water next to her grew more and more murky and brown as she wiped him down, and it was only from the exposed skin on his legs, arms, and face. She would hate to see what would be under his shirt.

Thankfully Stress still had clean bandages, especially the health and regen-soaked ones, void knows those will come in handy. Carefully, Stress wrapped his injuries with the bandages hoping the potion would do its magic and heal his injuries. She tried to be gentle with him but moving a dead-to-the-world body was difficult. His limp body would sway against her and his hand almost smacked her at least twice.

“Stress, who is this?” Her admin’s voice shook Stress out of her thoughts.

“I don’t know,” She said and placed a damp towel on his forehead, hoping it would cool him off. “I was building the roof of my castle when I heard splashing in the pond., I thought it was a mob or something that got stuck, but when I went to see what it was, it was just him.”

Xisuma walked up to the kid, crouching to see if he was awake, but was only met with slow breaths and barely audible murmurs. The admin couldn’t make out his mumbling, but whatever he was dreaming about wasn’t pleasant. Now and then his eyebrows would furrow and Xisuma wondered what was going on in his head.

“My guess is that he came from a hardcore server where a magical deity took pity on him and gave him a portal here but the other deity of his server said “no” and tried to keep him there,” Iskall joked. “And that’s why we were struggling to save him.”

The other two hermits in the room gave a pointed look to the swede. “It was supposed to be a joke.”

Xisuma searched his pockets, hoping that a certain device was with him. “Stress, did you guys know if the kid had a Comm with him?”

“You’re not gonna search through his code are you?” Stress stood up. “You know that’s an invasion of player privacy! He has to be awake for you to access that, and you know it!”

The admin looked from the boy to his hermit, she was right. A player’s code was their entire being, it was what allowed them to be them, and it was only accessible to an admin if a player allowed it. Trespassing into someone’s code without consent went against the first rule of the Admin Ordinance–rules and restrictions that must be followed precisely to be an admin. Xisuma had never gone against the rules, never wanting to see what would happen if he didn't follow them, but he had heard stories. Stories of Admins being ripped apart by their code for disobeying the laws, admins locked away in abandoned worlds for their crimes to wither away and die. He remembers learning about the first admin who broke the rules, the code that made them human was stripped from them, leaving them a husk of their former selves in a world to rot away.

“I wasn’t going to do that, Stress,” Xisuma says. “I know better.” He brings up the admin controls, a screen of jumbled numbers and letters that made no sense to the others in the room. “I was going to inspect the firewall that protected the server and see if there was a hole that let him in. If not that, then maybe there’s a bug somewhere in your base that let him through.”

“What if none of that’s true?” Iskall asks.

“Then we wait till he wakes up so I can sieve through his code–if he lets me,” Xisuma answers. “Hopefully, by then, I’ll be able to figure out how he got here and where he came from. But for now, Stress, make sure he stays alive and wakes up.”

“No guarantees, Xisuma,” she says. “From what I can tell, he’s malnourished and severely dehydrated. His scars are from battles most of us have fought before we came here. This kid has been through some things, and if I’m right, you won’t like it.”

“Just do what you can,” Xisuma says. “I’ll tell Doc to bring some more potions on his way over here.”

#hermit!tommy au #hermitcraft #hermitblr #dmsp #tommyinit mcyt #grian fanfic #hc xisuma #stressmonster101 #iskall85 #mcyt fanfiction #don’t judge me #feed back is greatly appreciated

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beth-march · 2 years

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meet me in the afterglow (protective fez fic)

Tagging @scytheterranova and @fixation4fexi who also mentioned wanting the Protective Fez fic

Summary:

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby,” her father says. “I’m just gonna need you to call your boyfriend, and give me the phone, so I can talk to him for a minute. That’s it. Then we can get you out of here, okay?”

Or, Lexi gets hurt. Badly hurt. And Fez completely loses it.

A/N:

So the first chapter of Protective Fez fic is finally here! Thank you for all of the interest in me writing it. I’m a bit nervous to post this, because this is so different to anything I’m used to writing, with all of the drama and action, so please tread carefully, if violence is something that worries you (though it’s no worse than anything that happens in canon). Also, I feel a need to disclaim that I am fully aware of how absurd this is, please just enjoy the soap opera fantasy and don’t shun me for writing something so ridiculous. In my defence, you did all ask for it!

Read on Ao3 here or under the cut:

When Lexi was little, even littler than she is now, she had a recurring nightmare.

It spurred unknown fear. Something that eclipsed what she knew of the world. It swallowed her in sleep, tore her awake and made menaces out of the shapes in the darkness. Cassie would crawl out of bed for the light switch, flood the room with warmth, untwisting the monstrosity, making it mundane.

But it would not be enough to soothe her. Mere light could not balm. Distraught as these dreams made her, Lexi needed her parents. More often than not, it was her father who came to the rescue. Her mother was far too heavy a sleeper to stir.

“Tell me what happened,” Gus would say, brushing curls off her flushed face.

Young as she was, Lexi lacked the words to describe her torment. A teenage Lexi might have spoken about suffocation. Dirt in the lungs, a pit she’s swallowed by, or entanglement in vines, a deathly cocoon of barbed branches. A loss of control, of company; complete helplessness, complete isolation.

Instead, she would cling to her father’s wrists, as if she already knew about him leaving, and whisper, “I’m being squeezed, and I can’t breathe. My throat is like a lemon.”

The taste of it has always been the part that bothers her most. How lemon blossoms in the pit of her throat, staining her mouth with something acidic and fluttery.

Of course, it is the taste that lingers. Beyond the nightmare, which she had for the last time just before she started middle school. But whenever she is scared, she still tastes lemons. The bitter salt of fear, that she comes to know as anxiety.

It flickers without preamble, the day she sees him again. In sunlight, this time.

Gus Howard lurks on the corner of the street, obscured by bushes. He hasn’t made it all of the way into the house. When Lexi passes by, on her way home from school, he lurches out of his hiding spot, and seizes hold of her wrist. She has been wheeling her bike, and it clatters to the ground between them.

Startled, she screams, and he catches the sound in his hands.

“Shh,” Gus says, breaking a two year silence.

Lexi is amazed that he is touching her. She is too used to the movies, where ghosts try to interact with people from the mortal realm and have their hands pass right through the skin. Utterly transparent.

Unlike Gus, with the grimy skin, the grey sheen of sweat. His fingernails are filthy. He bombards her senses with grit, and Lexi recoils on instinct, her eyes enormous.

“Dad?” she manages, just barely.

He smiles, and the shape is distorted. It reminds her of a funhouse mirror. Something that has been hooked at the edges, sprawled too big, too blurry. Lexi is reminded of a very different man, clean shaven, buttoned up, lifting her beneath her arms and pointing at the mirror’s wobbly depictions of them. Saying something about a change in the wind, permanent disfiguration, and how he’ll love her anyway.

How he’ll always love her.

“Lexi, baby. You’ve gotten so big,” her father whispers.

But Lexi has never felt so small. And fear has never tasted so sour.

The phenomenon is familiar. She has come across it in her studies, before - the biological imperative mammals have to please their parents. Gaining their approval is the equivalent of securing safety in the tribe.

Maybe this is why Lexi complies, when Gus leads her down the street and towards his tattered, dusty car, with the side mirror on the driver side upheld by duct tape.

Maybe it is because he yanks her there, his fingers jittering where they ensnare her elbow, but so firm she can feel her skin going pink with the sting.

Maybe it is because she is so shell shocked that she cannot hear her own thoughts.

All she can hear is blood pounding in her ears, and the sound of her father breathing.

He is breathing. He is alive, and it is a relief that he is, because Lexi has wondered about him falling into a ditch, and wondered about him dying in a pool of his own vomit. She has wondered about his junkie associates holding a funeral - if junkies even did such a thing - and wondered about what she might be doing that day, instead of mourning her dad. Studying? Reading? Mediating a fight between Cassie and her mother? Loitering in Fezco’s house, Fezco’s store, laughing by his side, snuggling in his arms?

These are the options that seem most likely. But she supposes she will never know when he dies. This catchup does not strike her as a beginning of any kind. There is nothing fatherly in the way he regards her, not since that initial smile. He won’t even look at her.

“Where are you taking me?” she hears herself asking.

Her voice trembles, sounds windswept. Like it’s taking place somewhere very distant, across time and space. It crackles in her ears, unreal. Maybe she didn’t say it after all.

If she did, Gus doesn’t answer. He just shudders, and keeps driving. He drives until the houses change, suburbia shrinking into tiny flats, abandoned buildings, the part of town Fez always tells her not to pass through under any circumstances.

The house they park in front of is in total disarray. Paint peels off the walls, and graffiti adorns the front door. A tangle of yellow grass brackets the wire fence. It grazes Lexi’s bare ankles on the way down the concrete path, and already, she can see discarded needles, broken bottles, slipping from the cracks of the front door.

“Is this a fucking drug house?” she finds her voice, and it comes out fiercely, even though she is petrified. She commands his gaze, but he doesn’t relent. She slips her arm from his hand, but it makes for less than a second of freedom.

He looks frail, but he isn’t. He reclaims her wrist, holds it so tightly she cries out.

“Dad,” she whimpers. “Please.”

“You don’t have to worry, okay?” Gus insists, but his voice is wobbly, too.

Her dad is a terrible liar. He manoeuvres her into the house, and it looks even worse than the front yard. Rubbish covers every surface, scattering the coffee tables, the mouldy sofas, the picnic chairs. The smell is so putrid that it takes her off guard. She swears she can smell urine, and the thought of it makes her want to gag.

She probably would, if she wasn’t frozen. If she weren’t in a room with two heroin addicts, one of whom has no reason to want to keep her safe, at all.

It is as though the other man is faceless. She cannot discern his greasy, spotted features, his bleak, empty eyes. She cannot imagine that this is a person who was brought into the world, held by a mother. She cannot fathom what his life has looked like.

“I thought you said your daughter was blonde,” the man says.

“My eldest is blonde,” Gus says, hoarsely.

Lexi cowers closer to her father, a stupid, stupid instinct, and she wants to cry, she wants to laugh at her psychology, her biology, whatever wretched part of her is looking to this man for security, whatever foolish part of her holds onto hope.

This can only end badly. This can only end really, really badly.

“Really did a number on her, then, Gus?” he says, with a cruel little laugh. “Shacked up with a drug dealer, I hear, little lady? Let’s hope he can come through, for your daddy’s sake.”

It is quick and violent, the way it unravels, the way realisation comes. Lexi can feel the horror humming in her blood, can feel the breath catch in her throat, but there’s no time, there’s no time to be devastated, there’s no luxury of fear.

Lexi whirls on her father. “How did you even - ?”

“I’m sorry, Lexi, I’m so sorry,” Gus says, and she can hear the pain in his voice, but it doesn’t mean anything, it can’t. “You know I wouldn’t do this if there was another option. But, it’s just - we’re running low, and I need to stay here, and we - well, I ran into your friend Rue, and she’s - she’s not doing too good, I’m sorry, I know what a good friend you are to her. But, she’s not, and she mentioned that she’s only hanging around these parts because your boyfriend cut her off - ”

He is babbling. This is where Lexi gets her habit from, she knows, and she is struck by a memory, the way her mother used to affectionately call her husband and youngest daughter worry warts. That was the dynamic - Gus and Lexi were passive, Suze and Cassie were assertive. And though being similar to her dad in this way didn’t make him love Lexi as much as Cassie - the way Gus used to love Cassie was otherworldly, to an extent of love Lexi hadn’t been on the receiving end of until she met Fezco - it felt like something special. Something for them to share.

Tears prickle in Lexi’s eyes, and it scares her. She doesn’t want to seem any more childish than she already does. She has to be stern if she wants a chance of making it out of this place, this place of depravity where she does not want to die.

Could she die? It seems very possible that she will die.

“You have to let me go,” Lexi says, trying to sound firm, but it comes out desperate.

Gus tightens his grip on her elbow, rubbing his thumb over her sweater sleeve.

Fez does this, her heart whispers. The memory comes crashing through the scene, incongruous. She knows what his thumb feels like, and it’s bigger than her father’s, softer, which is absurd, because Fez has calloused hands, but they’re nothing compared to a junkie’s scarred fingers. The thought of Fez’s touch is what drives her over the edge, and the first tear dribbles. A sniffle escapes her, unbidden.

“No, don’t cry,” Gus croons. She hears it in a voice from ten years earlier, a voice asking about nightmares, a voice that soothed instead of inspired bitterness in her throat.

Lexi chokes on citrus terror. She shakes her head, she squirms in his hold.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby,” her father insists. “I’m just gonna need you to call your boyfriend, and give me the phone, so I can talk to him for a minute. That’s it. Then we can get you out of here, okay?”

“No, no, no,” she rambles, yanking her arm, trying to pull away. “No, I’m not going to give you my phone, I’m not going to involve him in whatever this is - ”

“Lexi, come on. It’s not like he’d be a stranger to a situation like this.”

“Yes he fucking is! He’s never had to give product away to save someone from being held hostage before!” Lexi bursts, suddenly yelling, her chest heaving, and it’s like the dirt enshrouding her, she can’t breathe, she’s being squeezed. “He’s never had me involved in his business before, he’s kept it completely - c-completely separate from me!”

Everybody has been so worried for her. Supportive, because they all love Fezco, and nobody wants to incite the wrath of protective Lexi - but they have been worried, too.

Worried about entanglement in this world. This dark, dark world. Lexi had no idea just how bleak it was until now. Until her father brought her here, to this hollow he has dubbed as a better home than the one he once shared with his children, brought her here to try to use her as leverage for free drugs.

“I’m your daughter,” she whispers. “I’m your daughter.”

She means to say something different, she thinks, but it’s all that comes out.

Gus turns away from her. Abhorrence twists on his face, and it’s not enough, the knowledge that he hates himself. It doesn’t change what he’s doing.

But it does change who is in charge.

From nowhere, the other man is in front of her, yellow teeth glinting in her face. He almost makes for a less formidable foe - unfamiliar, in the least, and so not quite as jarring. Except, his claws are already around her throat, and he’s slamming her against the nearest wall. It caves under her weight, his force - plaster crumbles around her skull, and white speckles fall in her face, blinding her.

“For fuck’s sake, hand over the phone,” the man growls, and he sounds annoyed, as though he’s merely been inconvenienced. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No,” Lexi chokes out, because she isn’t going to drag Fezco here. She knows how vulnerable his business is, since his house was raided, since what happened with Mouse. She isn’t going to have him hand over free drugs to her runaway father.

It is a line of reasoning she could never regret, but still, she recognises the stupidity of her stubbornness. She recognises the futility of her fight. She knows her hands to be small, but they have never looked quite so powerless, quite so fragile, as they grapple at the sweat stained shirt of this man who is not a man, swatting at him uselessly as he keeps slamming her against the wall, as he lifts a fist and drives it into her face.

Blood floods her vision. It is thick in her eyes, pouring down her face. It’s like crying, but heavier, rustier. The monster lets go of her, and she crumples.

Something inside her crunches when she hits the ground. She writhes on the floor, amidst all of the empty beer bottles and garbage bags and heroin needles, and she cringes, scrunches herself up so her bare legs won’t touch anything diseased.

Her head is pounding. Her eyes are half open, trying to be alert, but the best they can muster is minimal. Nothing exists except for the throbbing pain in her sides. Lexi is wincing with it, inching along the floor, trying to reach the door.

She hears arguing voices in the background - “No, no, that’s my daughter, she’s seventeen, she’s only a baby!” - and doesn’t understand what they’re talking about. She thinks she might be concussed. Her mind oozes with vagueness - get to the door, get to the door, get to the door. If she breaks it down into steps, she can escape.

“Lexi,” her father is murmuring to her. He is crouched on the floor, his hands moving in the space around her. “Lexi, let me help you - ”

“Don’t touch me!” she gasps.

It is important that she doesn’t let him come anywhere near her. Her mind is aware enough for this. Funny, when just the opposite has been coveted for so long. Now, her desperation to keep away from him is enough to get her upright.

Lexi scrambles, falls into another pile of rubbish, and lifts herself off the floor. Her ribs scream with protest, and she groans, grabs hold of her sides, as if to keep the organs in place. Not that the organs are the problem - she knows it’s the bones. Frail ivory, turned in on itself, the shell protecting her heart having come undone.

“Let me drive you home, sweetheart,” Gus pleads.

She can’t see him, there is so much blood in her eyes, so much fog in her mind. But she knows how pathetic he looks. She knows how unkempt he is. She knows what he is.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” she says, and stumbles out the door.

Lexi gets lost on the way home. She had paid attention during the drive to the drug den, but her thoughts are far from coherent, now. She does her best, staggering in the late afternoon sun, coughing crimson everywhere she goes. Every time she finds herself at a dead end, she can turn back to the path of her blood, a red carpet of her own design - it is the sickest trail of breadcrumbs she could imagine.

She supposes she is ostentatious about her state, because it doesn’t take long for someone to pull up on the sidewalk, to call out an inquiry about her wellbeing.

“I’m fine!” she calls, trying for a smile. She might not have bothered, had she known that her eyes are red, her teeth are red, her neck is purple.

The car parks, and Lexi recoils, terrified, but she isn’t fast enough to escape the stranger who approaches her. She has been walking long enough that she is at the edge of the suburbs, and the woman touches her with gentle fingers.

It’s as though she blacks out.

Lexi opens her eyes, and everything is different. There is no blaring sun, there is no blood in her mouth. The pain in her side is mitigated.

“What happened?” she slurs.

“You fainted, dear,” comes a kind voice. “You’re in the hospital. Is there someone we can call to pick you up and take care of you? They found your phone in your pocket, but it’s flat, and you weren’t carrying any ID.”

She tries to remember where her bag is. Then she remembers, remembers looking over her shoulder at her bike and her school bag, left crumpled in the front yard, discarded where her father left them, before kidnapping her. If Lexi weren’t so stupid, she would’ve put up a better fight to being kidnapped - instead, she had gaped at him like a fish, and surrendered. She decides that she deserves to have her laptop and money stolen from her backpack, as punishment for the detriment of her foolishness.

“Your parents, maybe?” the woman prompts.

“Can you call Fez?” she mumbles, because she’s too out of it to understand that her saviour does not know who that is.

“Fez?” she repeats, sounding confused.

Lexi’s gaze flickers to the source of the voice, and she understands. The kind lady is elderly. She seems to be quite robust, but it still surprises her that someone so wrinkled has apparently managed to get her deadweight body into the car after she had passed out, and then out of it again to take her to the ER.

“My boyfriend,” Lexi murmurs. She takes pleasure in the title, most of the time. She feels possessive of it, she feels normal for it, like a teenage girl in love. But now it seems like very little to say about him. He is the only person who can fix this, she is certain, and there is a weight to that.

It means more than what this woman must think - this teenage girl she has found, beaten and bruised and bloody, coming conscious and deflecting suggestions about calling her parents to ask for her boyfriend instead.

But the lady is not judgemental about her inquiry.

She hands over her phone, asks, “Do you know the number?”

Lexi does. Her fingers shake as she types it in. She almost wishes that she didn’t have to be the one to call, and didn’t have to be the one to tell him. She still remembers that night when he got home late from collecting, and she had meant to stay awake for him but she had fallen asleep on the couch. He had gotten home, and told her that he would kill anybody who ever tried to hurt her. She recalls his anguish.

She knows that this will kill him.

“Hello?”

It is his voice. It is so beautiful that Lexi starts to cry.

“Lexi?” Fez asks, recognising her, somehow.

“Fez,” Lexi murmurs, and then she is crying too much to speak.

It hits her hard. She’s safe. She got away. Now, she has Fez in her hands, his voice in her ear. He’s going to come and get her, he’s going to take care of her.

She still cannot breathe, but the taste of lemon is gone.

#Fexi fic

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sugawara-sweetheart · 3 years

Text

𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔟

❥summary: what started off as sweet, innocent teenage love turned into a dark trap

❥warnings: tw physical abuse, tw emotional abuse, tw possessiveness, tw noncon (implied), abusive relationships, some mention of blood, cheating, suicide ideation

❥word count: 4.9k

thank you @obscureamor for helping me with a lot of the ideas for this fic, you’re my fave degen to lewd w ily <33

the first time daichi told you he loved you you were both sixteen. innocent, sheepish, naive but flattered as you stood under those spring cherry blossom trees, a breeze billowing, the sky a clear cerulean and pink petals showering down, clinging to your hair. he told you you looked beautiful, kissing the back of your hand and holding it with gentle fingers and the single rose he handed to you smelled so sweet. you didn’t care if the thorns pricked your fingers till you bled.

he still tells you he loves you. you just don’t know if he means it.

you’re not sure when it started to sour. maybe it was when daichi’s soft eyes became hard and his soft voice became deep, low growls instead. he was still kind and loving- but it was rather when he wanted to be. when you were being the perfect girlfriend, not the slutty whore that spoke too much to asahi and laughed at sugawara’s jokes, not the bitch wearing a short skirt and a tight top for every animalistic man on the streets to see- after all, did you want their attention or daichi’s? his fits of anger and snarls were unpredictable but time taught you lessons- answer his phone calls and messages straight away, let him choose what he wants to see you in, tell him who you’re going out and where and you dare make friends with people he disapproves of? it’s like you don’t even care about him! can’t you see it’s for your own good?

but daichi still loved you. each piercing scratch from his sharp words were always soothed with a contrasting kindness, care.

“i just want what’s best for you. don’t you trust me, don’t you trust your boyfriend?”

seeing the softness in his eyes, the hurt in his voice, you couldn’t help your heart wrenching with guilt. of course you shouldn’t have complimented asahi on his spike and you shouldn’t have let sugawara hug you and you shouldn’t have gone away for that weekend camping trip with your family without telling daichi- of course he’d panic when you returned his insistent calls hours later. you just should’ve been a good girlfriend, just like he wanted.

it never occurred to you that maybe daichi’s grips on your arm were too bruising, his words too venomous, his narrowed eyes too malicious till it’s too late.

when you’re holding that cursed stick in your trembling hands, those two pink lines blurring with the hot tears in your eyes stinging, daichi holds you. he holds you as you shake with each heavy sob, his lips pressed against your temple.

“it’s okay, y/n, it’s okay.” he whispers soothingly but you still can’t quell your rising panic, the horrible dread heavy in the pits of your stomach.

“it’s not okay!” you sob, shoving the pregnancy test stick to daichi to bury your tear-stained face in your hands. “we’re still at college, how can we have a baby?! it’s not the right time!” there’s words you don’t choke out. words that you know would reduce him to a screaming mess. maybe he’d throw around some of your belongings like the last time, maybe he’d even back you into a wall, trapping you with his taller, broader body.

“we’ve got this.” he says calmly, a gentle smile on his face as he rubs your back. “you can quit college till the baby’s older and by that time i’ll be a cop so i can support us. it’ll work out.” he kisses away your tears as he pulls you into his lap. “don’t cry, this will all work out. it’s our perfect family, a little earlier than we expected but just as good.” it sounds too well-planned. you don’t reciprocate when he presses his lips against yours, sighing slightly. “i love you.” you don’t say it back. you’re drained, your bloodshot eyes feeling heavy as you rest your head against his chest, cursing that thing inside you- his child- that has condemned you to a life tied to him. what a shame. maybe if you were smarter you’d have realised that since daichi started going to the pharmacy for you, those small ivory pills were a slightly yellower shade and sweeter than usual.

four years had passed. things only got worse.

you wake up to a prison. you’re bounded by the gold band on your left hand and the small child who you wake up with loving kisses, trying not to see your husband in those identical round brown eyes and short brunette hair. you’re locked in daichi’s grip every day of your life from the moment you wake up with his strong arm wrapped around your waist, pinning you down in his grip even when he sleeps.

it’s suffocating to live in a world of just daichi and your son. friends and family faded into a faraway dream. but it turns out he was right along.

“your friends are a bad influence.” he used tell you, pulling you to sit beside him on the couch with your infant son cradled in your arms. he kisses your cheek, a soft gesture that contrasts with the iron grip he has on your arm. “what sort of mother would you be to our son if you’re always out with your friends instead of being home with us?” you look down at the little baby, his soft, chubby, rosy cheeks, his round chin, his button nose, the brown tufts of hair. you hate the initial bitterness that consumes you like poisonous vines when you stare down at your son- daichi’s son- his warmth feeling icy cold in your arms before you push it away, daichi’s words ringing in your head. you have to be a good mother. you have to be a good mother.

eventually your friends stop leaving missed calls and unanswered messages.

the first time you’re lying on the floor, a crumpled, sobbing heap you threaten to leave. your face is numb, your vision blurred with hot tears as nothing but pain sears in the tender skin. you can barely breathe, hysterical with choked sobs rising in your tight throat and your body shivering as daichi towers over you. you scramble away when he crouches down to your cowering body, his face stoic.

“try it.” he says calmly, his cold eyes flickering down to your growing baby bump. “you’ve already disgraced your family by getting pregnant during college, do you really think they’ll ever look at you the same?” your blood runs cold as his fingers press on your chin, his touch oddly gentle compared to the bone-crunching punch he gave you moments ago. “they don’t care about you, y/n. not like i do.”

“b-but you hurt me.” daichi grimaces, his hand gently stroking the sore, reddened skin that he caused.

“i didn’t mean to. it was an accident, you know i love you.” his thumb wipes away your wet tears. “i’m sorry, let’s start over. you can’t leave me, we’re having a baby together- don’t take our son away from his dad. don’t let me be all alone.” his other hand tenderly presses on the swell of your stomach, stroking his child. “y/n?” your eyes flutter shut, taking a deep breath to calm your pounding heart as you try to relax into his touch.

“it won’t happen again?”

“never. i’m sorry.” you nod, trying not to let those stinging tears fall anymore as he kisses your pounding head.

but it happens again. and again. and again.

sometimes you lie awake at night after daichi’s fucked you. your throat pulsates with the forming bruises, a deep ache settling between your legs and every inch of your skin feeling tainted from the way your husband has fucked you so roughly, using you for his sole pleasure like a doll with the way he had your sobbing face pressed into the mattress, the grip on your hair burning. he sleeps soundly beside you now, that possessive arm still wrapped around your waist.

maybe you could leave.

bright fantasy burns in the back of your eyelids. a life where you’re happy, free to have friends and family, free to leave the house without the creeping paranoia of his eyes watching you. a life where you don’t have your phone checked every night, anxiety creeping in you just in case there’s a number in there that isn’t his. a life where you don’t flinch every time he reaches out to touch you, sometimes with a slap, sometimes with tender touch.

but you need money. and you’ve never worked a day in your life- the idea of a job is as much of a fantasy to you as freedom is. the cash you get is from daichi’s wallet but there’s not much to spend on: you only go out with him and your child and he’s the one to swipe his card for the bill and he takes you grocery shopping after you took too long the first few times, resulting in him interrogating you, hands pushing you up against the wall as your toddler wailed in the doorway. you don’t even buy makeup, pretty clothes, shoes or handbags because what if daichi doesn’t like them? what if he asks you why you want to dress like that, is there someone else’s attention you’re vying for?

you remember one of the times you brought up a job. it was at breakfast, your child had just turned two and was sat in his high-chair, babbling as you tried to feed him his porridge. daichi was sat opposite, sipping his coffee as he scrolled through his phone.

“hey, daichi.” he hums at you, glancing up briefly as you lower the bowl of porridge, nervously mixing the lumpy mixture around. “you know how he's older now? i was thinking, i have more time and…” your throat goes dry as he looks up at you, a small crease deepening between his brows. “well, i could do with a job. it’d be good for us to have some extra money a-and it’ll be a nice thing for me to do so i’m not stuck in the house bored all day.” you’re not sure what daichi’s thinking, his eyes trained on you as your son coos to himself.

“what’s wrong with me and our son that you want to leave this house so much?” his voice is ice cold. it makes your heart sink, the spoon clattering against the bowl from your trembling hands.

“n-nothing, i-i didn’t mean it like that.” his jaw clenches, the vein in his temple throbbing and you hate yourself for bringing it up. stupid. pathetic. stupid. what were you thinking?

“i provide for this family, okay? your only job is to be a good housewife and a good mum. do you understand?” you’re silent for a second too long and pain sears in you as he grips your jaw, yanking you forward roughly with his fingers pressing in so hard, his brutal strength excruciating. “i said, do you understand?”

“yes!” it’s a meek whimper with the hot tears that fill your ears. but daichi doesn’t look at all sympathetic or sorry as he pushes you back forcefully. the bowl falls from your hands, smashing over the tiles, the shards jagged and ugly. the loud crack startles your son, making him cry loudly. daichi lifts him out of the high chair before you can, cooing gently and kissing his chubby cheeks but his face becomes a cold, unforgiving glare as he looks down at you.

“clean up the mess.”

you never bring up the topic ever again.

your son beginning preschool is a gift. for the first time in years, there’s a lightness in your chest to be able to leave the house, holding your son’s small hands as you walk him to school. it’s liberating, feeling the breeze ripple through your hair, the sweet fragrance of flowers and pollen hanging in the air, the bustle of passing cars without the shadow of daichi looming. it’s an excuse to leave the house, to walk through longer streets and go into shops and buy the fruits you want with the money you pretend is yours and to be able to smile and speak to the shopkeeper yourself. for the first time in over ten years you feel some facade of independence. you almost feel free, like daichi isn’t your husband and you don’t have his son weighing you down, when you return to your empty home and get hours of being able to watch television and do your makeup and wear those beautiful clothes stuffed at the back of the wardrobe you thought you’d never be able to wear again. it’s empowering to catch people’s eyes for the first time in so long, to have other parents approach you with bright smiles. daichi was wrong, you think when you’re laughing with your new mum and dad friends. he’s wrong when you call your mother for the first time in years and she cries when she hears your voice, begging you to come home. other people can love you! he isn’t the only person you have.

you still scrub off the makeup and push your clothes to the back of the wardrobe every evening before daichi’s car pulls up in the driveway.

when you meet your son’s teacher, the darkness in your world fades. it’s like looking into the past, back at a time when life was brighter, when daichi wasn’t...daichi.

sugawara embraces you in a warm, gentle hug the day your son tugs you into his classroom after school. he’s grinning so wide, his hazel eyes crinkled and his grey hair still messy, his soft scent of lavender and soap still the same from all those years ago.

“it’s so good to see you, it’s been years!” he laughs, eyes taking in all of your features, scrutinising the way time has changed you.

“i don’t think i’ve seen you since the wedding.” you smile, tilting your head to admire how well sugawara had grown since you last saw him just almost seven years ago. he’s still as handsome, still smiling so vibrantly.

“i know, has daichi been keeping you locked up or something?” it’s a light-hearted chuckle but your stomach still jolts. “every time he comes out with us, he never brings you. even kiyoko said she hasn’t seen you for ages.” you force a smile, glancing away from his narrowed eyes to glance at your son waiting patiently by the doorway, his wide eyes watching with intrigue.

“someone has to stay home and look after that one.” sugawara laughs.

“he looks exactly like daichi, doesn’t he? as soon as i saw the surname and his face, i just knew he was yours.”

he opens his mouth to speak further but he’s cut off by the buzzing of your phone. you hope sugawara doesn’t notice how your hand trembles or how you blanch at seeing daichi’s name flash across the screen. he wasn’t home early, was he? would he be waiting at the front door waiting for you to walk in...in your tight dress, makeup plastered on your face and late? what would he do to you?

“i’m sorry. i have to go, i’ll see you tomorrow, sugawara.” he nods, opening up his arms in a hug which immediately you melt into, clinging to his warmth and breathing in his warm scent that just seems to make your thumping heart and churning stomach slow down, lulling you into serenity and safety. you hope he doesn’t realise you’re clinging to him for too long, hating how it hurts to pull away.

on the way home, your son asks you how you know sugawara sensei and you smile, admiring the pink blossom that flutters through the air as you tell him your stories of high school. as you approach your front door, the heavy weight in your stomach dissipates when you see daichi’s car isn’t parked out front.

“listen,” you tell your son. “don’t tell daddy your teacher is sugawara sensei. it’ll be a surprise for him.” you force a shaky smile and the innocent little boy nods, his eyes wide. he doesn’t question it.

your days become brighter. long conversations with a number saved as ‘pizza shop’ during the middle of the day when you know your son spends his lunchtimes on a playground and you’re at home, giggling and laughing away on the phone. sometimes they grow lustful and your hand sneaks between your legs, gasping and seeing white so much harder than you do with your own husband. it’s not fun not being able to see sugawara as much as you wish with daichi keeping you shackled but it only makes the moments you see him so much better. you enjoy the days daichi works later hours because then you have enough time to go into sugawara’s classroom once all the students have gone home. sometimes he lets your son sit in the reading nook in the corner of the classroom whilst the two of you sit by his desk, laughing as you feel the safety to open yourself up to him. he’s just kind. sweet and caring and his jokes always make you laugh so hard. there’s no anxiety, no tension, your body never feels the need to flinch at any of his sudden movements and you aren’t scared of saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things. other times he’ll take you and your son out to cute diners and ice cream shops where everything feels bright, natural and just happy.

all the darkness daichi keeps you in fades away with the light sugawara brings.

that’s until you mess up.

you’re trembling when you see daichi’s car in the driveway. nothing but utter fear consumes you, tears stinging your eyes with fear and feeling like you’re going to be fucking sick as your son tugs you closer down the garden path to the front door.

“come on, mummy!” he cries. he’s so innocent, he doesn’t understand the fright or why your hands shake so much you can’t even force the key into the lock. but you don’t need to. the door opens and daichi stands in the doorway. in all the years you’ve spent looking into his eyes, they’ve never looked so dark. so empty.

“daddy, you’re home early!” your son exclaims as he skips into the house, his eyes sparkling extra bright. you don’t want to meet daichi’s eyes as you watch his narrowed orbs follow the little boy. there’s sticky ice cream stains clinging to his chin and the shirt of his uniform. he doesn’t say anything, turning to you as he gestures with his head and holds the door open.

“aren’t you going to come in?”

it’s like walking to your own death.

you can’t help the involuntary flinch when he closes the door behind you, your body shaking uncontrollably as the door snaps shut. the lock clicks, the bolt sliding as he does the chain. a prison.

“why don’t you go to your room?” daichi says, brushing past you as he approaches his son and ruffles his hair. “daddy’s bought you a new toy car.”

“a police one?” the little boy gasps, his eyes widening and sparkling with adoration for his father. his father that traps you in his web of death like an evil, deathly spider. daichi smiles.

“yeah, a police car because you want to be like daddy when you’re older, right?” the boy nods and runs up the stairs, not even looking back to you sinking in on yourself. daichi’s looking up the stairs till the bedroom door snaps shut.

“please-” you don’t even get a chance to speak. you gasp, stumbling and blinking hard as tears fill your eyes, gasping as nothing but utter pain sears through your cheek. it’s warm and tender to touch, the force of daichi’s hand enough to send blood pounding in your ears, your skin throbbing. “daichi-” he does it again, a cry of anguish escaping you as his hand meets the sore skin of your cheek again. and again.

you sob as you crumple on the floor, tears and snot dribbling down your face and ruining the makeup you prepared so beautifully that day. sugawara told you you looked beautiful. happy. not anymore.

“p-please, daichi- i-i’m begging you!” your hand trembles and your body flinches as you try to shield yourself from daichi’s raised one but he pushes it away, like a feeble nothing. his eyes are fiery blackness, teeth gritted together and his cheeks flushed with the redness of his anger.

“what the fuck is this?” he hisses, harsh fingers slapping at the exposed thigh of your short dress and shoving against the shoulders of your low neckline. “what sort of whore do you think you’re dressing like? who are you dressing like this for?” you’re choking on sobs as you try to force out the words, your trembling hands trying to cling to daichi’s but he’s strong and harsher, smacking them away with stinging pain.

“n-no one- daichi, please!”

he laughs at you, mirthless and cruel as he grabs you by your hair, the pain burning in your scalp as you try to prise his hands off you, wailing out for help as he drags you into the living room.

“stop crying.” he hisses as he shoves you against the hard floor. he stands in the doorway, his eyes wide and gleaming as you scramble away from him, begging for mercy yet crying for help. “no one can help you.”

“i-i’ll tell the police.” it’s an empty threat and daichi’s harsh laugh echoes in the room, leaving you trembling as your back hits the wall. adrenaline is pumping through you, your mind screaming that you need to get out! he approaches closer, smiling calmly even though his hands are curled into fists.

“we live in the countryside, y/n. the police are my colleagues- who do you think they’d believe, a respectable officer of the law or some dumb housewife who’s been cheating on her dutiful husband with her son’s teacher?”

your heart stops. he knows. that’s murder and malice in his face and your body feels cold with every shiver. you need to get out.

it’s a flash of bravery when you get to your feet and run, your heart pounding in your chest but daichi’s too quick. too strong. he easily overpowers you, arms locking around your waist as he pushes you to the hardwood floor, your back smacking against the panels and leaving you immobilised with horrible pain wracking through your bones.

“did you not think i’d find out?” he hisses. you don’t even register his knuckles smashing against your face till pain spasms through it, your eyes tearing up and hot blood trickles from your throbbing nose, leaking into your mouth as you sob. the metallic taste makes you sick. “imagine how embarrassing it was for me to have one of the rookies come up to me and tell me they’d seen you getting all cosy with my old friend. in front of my own son.” he grips you by the scruff of your clothes only to slam you down onto the floor. every nerve in your body is alight with pain but it’s not over yet.

“you don’t realise you’re my wife. i’m not letting you leave me, i can’t be alone.” his eyes look dead. “i own you.”

he drills it into you. fucking you dry and tearing apart your walls, every thrust leaving you with nothing but pain and the possessive grip on your throat harsh and the slaps on your cheeks relentless. you can only cry that you’re sorry, beg for him to stop, beg for mercy but daichi doesn’t stop still you’re a broken mess on the floor, bruised legs spread and your wrecked cunt leaking his cum.

daichi’s eyes are softer but his face still cold and emotionless as he tucks himself into his pants, staring down at you lying pathetically on the floor.

“you need to clean yourself up.” he says, voice calmer as he pats your knee. “i’ll order a pizza for dinner.” he says it casually as he walks out of the door, snapping the door shut behind him.

you don’t see daylight again. all hours of the day are spent cooped in the house, staring at the same walls. you don’t even get to take your son to school anymore, the task being completed by daichi now and it always make you shiver when he comes home angrier after seeing the face of his former best friend- your former lover. you don’t know what he said to sugawara but the grey-haired man that was your only source of solace doesn’t show in your empty, darkened days again. it hurts, to think of how much happiness he brought to you, how heavy he made your heart beat and your world warm and now he’s nothing, just a distant memory.

does he not care? did he even ever love you? or were you just nothing to him?

the questions swirl in your mind every day spent in the same way: doing the laundry, cooking a hot meal for daichi, cleaning up every room in the house and trying not to cry when you dust photo frames of your quick, shotgun wedding- the legal trap daichi ensnared you in- and when you tidy away your son’s clothes, resisting the urge to destroy his bedroom because that small, innocent child, a mixture of your and daichi’s bloods, was the emotional trap that binds you to your captor for life. the same son that can’t even look at you now that daichi has left you ugly and bruised, the skin of your cheek welted and your nose and eyes purpled.

“do you see i’m the only one for you? you're mine- you belong to me- i love you.” daichi grunts the same words in your ear every night he fucks you. it’s always for him, his hips snapping into yours as he uses you for his own pleasure, one hand always locked around your throat, reminding that you’re stuck here, you’re going nowhere. it makes you feel dirty, tainted as he ruts into you but he’s all you have. sugawara isn’t here, your son is too young, family and friends long faded when daichi handed you the scissors to sever your ties all those years ago. all you can do is be silent and agree, doing whatever he wants you to because you’re worried one day he won’t be punching his fist into a wall- it could be your head.

you’re thankful for the day daichi forgets to lock the front door after dropping your son off to school and leaving for work. you're almost scared to pull it open, worried he’ll be standing by the gates but his car is gone. he isn’t there and the sky looks so blue despite the thick clouds, the smell of crisp, fresh air so relaxing to inhale.

it’s a chance to run.

your stomach churns with anxiety as you sit in the police station, staring at the uniformed officers who pass you by. each brunette one makes your heart jump and your body jolt before their face turns and you can breathe again because it isn’t him, it isn’t daichi and you’re still close to safety, you’re almost there to finally being free after so many countless days of just trying to survive. you can finally sleep safe without your body aching and your mind craving any source of freedom- your family, sugawara, even death would surely be better than this. maybe now once you’re free you could look at your son and see him without seeing daichi in his eyes, see him as your innocent child and not the one who chained you to your husband.

you don’t notice the narrowed eyes of the old officer at the desk.

that’s until you notice the familiar figure walking in through the doors, his brow deeply furrowed and his clenched fists hidden in his pockets.

“w-wait- what’s going on?” you’re begging, standing up as you turn to the officer who sighs as he scratches his head. he ignores you, looking straight at daichi.

“i thought it’d be best for you both to sort out.” is all he lazily says as daichi nods his head respectfully, thanking the man. but his eyes are trained on you.

“please- don’t let him take me!” you sob but daichi just sighs and the officer looks uncomfortable like he’s caught up in just a simple case of a husband and wife arguing. if only it was that simple.

“y/n, stop causing such a fuss.” daichi says, his voice gentle but you know the sharpness it can hold. his dark eyes are a warning. you can’t fight anymore. you can’t resist anymore. you already tried it and it was futile.

you’re going to die. you think it when daichi’s hand grips your arm, tighter and more bruising than it needs to be as he walks you to his car.

you’re going to die. you think it as your head knocks repeatedly against the window, your teary eyes just staring out at the empty, quiet hills that surround you as daichi fucks you. the glass of the car window is cold against the fresh welts on your cheek but each thrust is hard, forceful, punishing.

“you’re nothing.”

“i own you.”

“you’re going to regret ever thinking you can leave me.”

you’re going to die.

781 notes · View notes

rvmmm21 · 3 years

Note

Would you comsider a steamy wenrene where irene is gentle with her wannie? you can make it yandere but please I just need to see irene be nice to wendy for a change 😢😢😢😢

considered. written. how does it feel to get a whole bunch of NOTHING. hahaha. i tried, but what am i if not a frustrating pit of maybes. have your 50%.

tw: wendy’s LIES.

– – – – –

“Wan–ah, don’t be ridiculous.” Joohyun calls back as Seungwan’s hand reaches for the door, patting the mattress beside her in that totally–not–demanding–but–demanding voice of hers. “I know you’ve been having nightmares. Sleep with me tonight.”

Seungwan freezes, then dips her gaze. Damn, the duvet on Joohyun’s side suddenly looks ten times fluffier than hers. It… can’t hurt, right? Just one night. After a visible deliberation, Seungwan edges her way over and gingerly settles down, lifting the duvet and artlessly snuggling under it with a nervous chuckle. Gosh, it’s even warmer than she’d expected. Or… wait, is that just her own body heat from how fast her heart is going? She has no idea. And it’s not like she can think of much other than the whiffs of that crisp fabric conditioner Joohyun loves to use.

“Night, Wannie. Sweet dreams. I hope you—”

“G’night unnie,” Seungwan accidentally interjects Joohyun while she’s bidding her goodnight. She half expects an eye-roll for that awkward timing but Joohyun simply huffs fondly and turns to face away from her.

Wow, good job. No, seriously. Way to go, Seungwan. Jesus.

The older is out like a light, leaving the other sweating in the dark with a racing heart and an embarrassingly explicit reel of thoughts.

It’s fine, it’s not like she’ll know, right? I’ll just stay up, Seungwan thinks, pulling the duvet up under her chin. For a good two minutes, all she can hear is the sound of the soft snoring next to her. She focuses on her own mechanical breathing, staring up into the darkness.

The gentle draft from the ceiling fan is drying her eyes out. That’s fine, though. Because she has no intention of sleeping.

As much as Seungwan is determined, so is the fatigue. And it isn’t long before she’s drifting off into the first proper sleep she’s had in forever. Thank god they established the mandatory ten inches of space between them before Joohyun knocked out. There’s no way Seungwan’s crossing that boundary anytime soon; invisible as it may be, and as loudly as Joohyun may have laughed at her when she suggested it.

What was it Joohyun called her? A weirdo? Whatever, she isn’t about to take any chances. Especially not when she’s almost four hundred percent sure Joohyun doesn’t know about the… little crush she’s harbouring.

A little later on into the night Seungwan feels a distant tapping on her shoulder, and then she’s opening her eyes to a gentle smile nudging her awake. It’s only her side profile, but Joohyun’s beauty is dazzling, even through the filter of the night. Seungwan unconsciously licks her lips.

“Wan–ah, it’s nice but—” the older woman pauses for a soft yawn, “bit looser please… hard to breathe.”

Once Seungwan shakes herself awake enough to make sense of what she’s hearing, she barely manages to keep from having a heart attack right there and then. She is— to her absolute horror— curled right into Joohyun’s back, practically nuzzling into the nape of her neck with her arms wrapped (breath–takingly snugly, apparently) around her waist, like a little puppy snuggled up to the warmth of its mother.

“Oh!” she yelps, reeling back in shock and doing her best to let Joohyun know she’s repulsed at herself, not her.

I— I thought you were my bolster, unnie?! She wants to scream.

Too bad she’s so preoccupied in berating herself to notice the look on Joohyun’s face. The one that screams she anything but minded. Seungwan tries to detach herself from Joohyun’s back, but to her surprise, Joohyun stops her with a firm— “It’s okay. Stay.”— and an arm on top of hers, holding it there.

Guess they’re spooning tonight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They’re kissing. Joohyun’s kissing her. Electrified dewdrops on grass blades catch between Seungwan’s prying fingertips, cool and wet. One by one, they’re absentmindedly plucked out of the soil when Joohyun connects their smiles in the humid summer air, murakami flowers embroidering their hearts together.

The scent of vanilla–mint shampoo is cloying her nose. She’s tasting her, fingers are tangling in her hair, tilting her back slightly…

“J–Joohyun unnie…”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“W—Wannie?”

A perfect voice cuts through her dream, a hand on her shoulder already gingerly rousing her from her sleep.

Again.

“Wan—ah… you said my name.” And of course, Joohyun’s groggy voice sounds good enough to kiss, damn it. “Are you having a bad dream?”

“Mm… sorry unnie, sorry…” Seungwan mumbles softly, rolling onto her back with a huff and palming her eyes, trying to adjust to reality.

Joohyun shimmies closer. Her vision is fuzzy, but she can still see Seungwan. Gosh, she thinks, giving her a once over, that dream must’ve been horrible. The poor thing is sweating.

If only Joohyun knew the truth, the warmth in Seungwan’s cheeks might’ve been raised several degrees… alongside the warmth below her waistband.

Suddenly the room is far, far too hot. Suddenly, Seungwan wishes she wasn’t trapped under Joohyun’s incredibly comfortable duvet with the most attractive woman on the planet. She tries to stretch her legs, tries to create a small air pocket to let some of that suffocating heat escape, but it does little to cool anything down. Ironically, it garners more of Joohyun’s attention, feeling the other girl shift so uncomfortably like that. After a couple of tense, silent moments, Seungwan’s tolerance snaps and she moves to get up. But Joohyun catches this instinctively and snakes an arm around her waist, tugging her down, stopping her from leaving again.

Seungwan seems adamant this time, though. “Unnie… I should go back to my room—”

Joohyun isn’t listening, choosing instead to press her with a question of her own. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you were dreaming about?”

Whatever, Seungwan thinks, just give her the sparknotes version. There’s no need for her to know everything.

“We…” she admits slowly, “… we were in the grassy patch under the tree… you— you know, where we usually…?”

She pauses to make sure Joohyun is following. Sure enough, that patient nod gives her the answer she needs to nervously clear her throat.

“And it was raining but it stopped, and then… and then. Ahh, I don’t know. I think I need to cool off, unnie, I need to pee anyway,” Seungwan lies. She barely manages to pull the covers off her and push her hands into the mattress before Joohyun is gently holding her down to it, hovering over her in a way that has her airways clogged and her heartbeat an irregular mess.

“You’re sweating,” Joohyun points out the one thing Seungwan’s trying to hide. “You’re overheated. Are you feeling alright?”

Seungwan wants to say yes. So, so badly. But she shakes her head. It’s not a definitive shake, but it’s one vague enough that Joohyun remains inquisitive. Seungwan curses herself for being so honest. Why couldn’t she just push her out of the way? And did she have to agree to sleeping with her tonight? Why couldn’t she just have said it was a nightmare?

Why can she never lie to Joohyun? Even if it’s to preserve her own dignity?

“I’m going to the bathroom. I really have to pee.” Seungwan insists, and Joohyun is all but convinced. She looks down at the girl under her with such gentleness. And then she leans over, supporting herself on one elbow beside Seungwan’s head while she brings her other hand up to caress her cheek.

There’s a tiny gasp from the girl at the sudden (but not entirely unwelcome) closeness. “... unnie… you— you’re too close.”

Joohyun gracefully ignores her, moving her fingers from Seungwan’s face to trace the loose neckline of her t-shirt, showing her exactly what she means. “I think you want me closer, don’t you, Wannie?”

“You’re blushing all over. Look, here…” Joohyun starts with a cold finger on Seungwan’s lower abdomen, sending a heated chill up her spine. She sucks in a sharp breath when Joohyun folds the hem of her sleep shirt up, exposing the flushed skin on her stomach. “... and here, too…”

“U-Unnie… please…”

But her unnie’s hand wanders wherever it pleases, ignorant to Seungwan’s helpless pleas. It strays further and further south and the younger girl isn’t even aware of what’s going on until there are fingers teasing at the waistband of her shorts.

“Seungwan?”

— who has been subconsciously licking her lips, stops as soon as she realises Joohyun’s eyes have been following the movements of her tongue the entire time.

“Seungwan,” Joohyun repeats, resting a hand on her thigh, “what happened next, in your dream…”

Ah, what’s the worst that could happen? Seungwan tells Joohyun the truth and spontaneously combusts. That, or they never speak or look each other in the eyes ever again. Joohyun’s already gotten this far, Seungwan thinks she has nothing else to lose.

Her voice is hardly louder than a whisper. “We… kissed. You— you kissed me.”

She isn’t sure if the older woman is actually paying attention to the highlight of her dream anymore, because the feathery touch that had been resting on her hip bone is now skimming down, seeking the heat emanating from between her legs. She lets out an embarrassed squeak that dissolves into a strangled whimper when Joohyun strokes over her panties.

“And did you like it, Wannie? Was I good?”

“Wha— huh? Unnie, what do you m—”

Joohyun doesn’t wait for a coherent answer. She leans down and shushes Seungwan’s stutter with a kiss, and a fierce new blush scribbles across the blonde’s cheeks as her eyes instinctively flutter closed.

Right now, Seungwan can’t deny it no matter how much she wants to.

“You’re amazing, unnie.”

Joohyun smiles. “Don’t worry Wannie, everything’s going to be alright. Let me take care of you now, okay?”

With bashful eyes, Seungwan nods. If Joohyun says it’ll be okay, she has no doubt that it will.

#anon #ask #red velvet #smut?????#implied or whatever #so sorry im not programmed that way #wenrene #this sat in my drafts for half a year too #and you can probably see why #nfsw????????#soft smut might not be for me.#WHAT IF WENDY REALLY HAD TO PEE THO

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the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon · 3 years

Text

• Randvi x female reader 💋

• Warnings: mild adult content (fantasies).

a sapphire for your heart, part III

On the very first day of your arrival, you travelled on horseback all the way to Cent. There, one of Reda’s eyes was waiting to offer you a tent to sleep in and a complete refill of your rations. Dover Cliffs called to you, especially at night, when the moon's pallid glow reflected off those abrupt, chalky shores. Somewhere within those narrow crevices in the mountain, a deep energy pulsed with life; a tear of mother nature, hidden and forgotten among piles and piles of sand and pebbles. You followed that silent lull, and by sunrise, you exited those pristine canyons with a bag full of colorful gems.

Several days after your find, you returned to Ravensthorpe to meet Reda again. You’ve been so focused on your treasure-digging tasks that you’ve forgotten all about the residents of that growing little village. However, the closer you rode to Randvi, the more she crossed your mind. You nearly stopped several times when you heard a voice similar to hers calling in Norwegian. And when you’d catch a glimpse of a woman’s beautiful auburn hair, your gaze would naturally follow. Of course, it wasn’t her; but oh… how much you secretly wished it was.

As you spotted the longhouse in the distance, your heart begun to race and flutter all at once. In the back of your mind, you’ve always thought of her; but now, without any tasks to distract you from your fantasies, you were suddenly overwhelmed by a deep, burning desire to be in her presence again.

Gods, if only she knew…

“Hello again. Back so soon?”

Reda called from beneath the large sage tree, where he’d gathered all the village children to tell them stories. You smiled as you dismounted your horse.

“Soon? With a map so well-drawn, I’d be embarrassed to take a moment longer.”

By evening, everyone was gathered in the longhouse for supper. Cheers and traditional music echoed off those tall wooden walls, creating a pleasant atmosphere to enjoy a drink with close friends and family. You were ravenous from your long trip back, and yet you took your time to savor your meal as you told stories of your travels. The children were flocking around your table, and some adults eventually turned to watch you whilst the music played a little softer.

“A dragon?! You really saw a real, talking, flaming dragon?”

A little boy asked, and you had to bite back laughter. Your story did have a grain of truth, but perhaps not as fantastic as their wild imagination made it to be. You wiped your mouth with a handkerchief and continued.

“It was asleep when I got there. Petrified. Yet his scales shimmered like little drops of gold, and his wings were made of millions of precious stones. All of them were red, like poppies.”

“Oh, oh! I know! They’re called rubies!” A small girl exclaimed as she shifted on her seat with vivid excitement. You confirmed with a nod as you smiled at her warmly, but then, your gaze seemed to naturally find that familiar figure which never left you mind.

Randvi was there, leaning against a pillar with her strong arms crossed over her chest. While she was a small distance away, she seemed to have been listening to your tales with great interest, her dazzling eyes affixed on you. You couldn’t look away. The sight of her was something to behold; a rough kind of beauty you’ve never seen before, a warrior enveloped in sensual feminine charms. There was a hint of a smile on her rosy lips, and her gaze softened the more you peered into her beckoning eyes. She motioned with her head for you to follow her into the map room, and without question, you did.

The creaking floor boards disheveled your nerves, like little ripples on the surface of a very still lake. Heat rushed to your cheeks as Randvi suddenly turned to face you, leaning back against the large table. A particular kind of charm lingered about her – a deep, sultry energy. It was her beautiful blue eyes, the way she looked at you, silently inviting.

“I interrupted you, I’m sorry.” She spoke and you quickly shook your head. It was fine. For her, anything was fine.

“I recently came across something that might interest you. It belonged to a group of raiders which attempted an attack on Ravensthorpe, and of course, greatly failed.” And she reached across the table to produce a neatly folded map, carefully opening it. You stood still, silent and in awe, finding it more and more difficult to focus on anything but her.

Were you bewitched? Was this fate mercilessly tossing you into a bottomless pit of beautiful despair? You couldn’t quite tell why you were feeling so weak all of a sudden. She was indeed enthralling, but it was more than her ravishing appearance which pulled you in. She was full of secrets. Hidden beneath that strong, stoic shield, there were raw emotions and passions waiting to be discovered. And they called for you, just like mother nature’s precious treasures called to be unearthed.

“Come here, have a better look.” Randvi motioned for you gently, and you followed like a moth to a flame. By Gods, you must’ve been a hopeless cause.

“Ah, I see.” You took in a sharp breath as you scanned the new map quickly. For you, those symbols and roads were easy to read and interpret, like second nature. You could already picture the real landscape, the ruins, the earth which hid those treasures well. That energy vibrating from beneath stone and soil, waiting to be found.

“If you help us find it, we will fairly spread it in half.” The beautiful warrior murmured quietly, and when her arm draped over your narrow shoulders to pull you in, you thought your legs would crumble. Her hand was heavy, her grip strong as she cupped your arm; yet she was careful not to hurt, gentle like a dove. She whispered details of the treasures only for you to hear, mindful of the many people still indulging in the plentiful dinner. You nodded, absorbing each word that rolled so gracefully off her lips as you followed the trail of her finger on the map. Surely, her intention was not to stir you up like this, but the closeness was overwhelming, suffocating, making you burn all over.

You slowly shifted away from beneath her large, strong arm, and dared to find her gaze in the glowing light of the ceiling. Her beautiful, thick eyebrows rose and she appeared surprised that you pulled away. Whether it was just your naïve mind giving false meaning to a woman’s innocent acts, you couldn’t tell, but if what you saw in Randvi was true, then your feelings were reciprocated. Quickly, you nodded.

“I accept. In two days we can start our journey.” You spoke with newfound confidence, pulling yourself together.

***

The warmth of that beautiful Norse goddess’s touch left a deep, burning imprint on your shoulder.

Albeit it was harshly storming and the winds were crisp, you felt hot and sleep refused to pull you in the land of dreams. The bedding was heavy, tangling in your limbs as you shifted from side to side restlessly. Each time your tired eyelids fell closed, you saw the image of her; handsome cheekbones glowing, a piercing pair of eyes shimmering like Larimar and Azurite, and lips like dew dripping off wild rose petals.

Your chest heaved with a deep sigh as you slowly relaxed your body. There was a smouldering feeling between your legs, pulsing, making you shift and press your knees together. The thought of Randvi aroused you, filled your mind with unholy thoughts. You suddenly craved her rough grip, imagining how good those powerful viking hands would feel on your breasts, on your throat, and on your hips… How skillfully that beautiful mouth of hers would stir your desires as it would dance across your lips…

Thunder struck by your window, abruptly pulling you from your dirty fantasies, and you sat up. Rain came in heavy waves, drenching the little village. It called to you, like many of mother nature’s wonderful things did, and so you left your hut to sit beneath that heavy pour, trusting those cold drops to chase the devil out of you. And you spun, with arms outstretched, welcoming that freezing sensation which enveloped your body. As you slowly danced in the rain, thoroughly running your hands through your long hair, you briefly noticed light in the longhouse. It must’ve been the hearth which burned continuously – a never-dying flame of warmth and soothing, homely comfort. Curiosity pushed you towards that enormous structure, unarmed and barefoot as you were, and with your night dress heavily dripping with rainwater.

The cold was beginning to settle in your bones, and so, as you reached the warm entrance to the longhouse, you stood beneath its majestic threshold to bask in that golden light. The scent of fire and old wood lingered in the air pleasantly. As you guessed, no one was around at that ungodly hour of the night – but you heard it again… that deep, heart wrenching, muffled sob.

It was her; Randvi.

However, instead of weeping over ‘Eivor', she was faintly calling her husband’s name in between soft cries and suffocated breaths. That feeble voice impaled your heart, twisting and turning in your chest as if her pain was your own. Oh, how much you wished to break those walls down and wrap her in your arms, to kiss the anguish off her heated cheeks and never see a single tear of suffering in those precious azure gems. But as you heard heavy steps echo into the map chamber, you rushed back to your hut, terrified of being caught.

- To be continued…

*part IV.

#randvi x reader #randvi fanfiction #valhalla #randvi #lesbian fanfic #lesbian love #sapphic love

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prismatales · 4 years

Text

Phonecall

Anon asked: Hi I was wondering if I could request an ~angsty~ fic where Todo finds out his s/o got severely injured in a fight, since they intern under a pro hero?

OOoooh! My first Angsty request! Let's see how this turns out! *cracks knuckles* Since you didn't specify the pronouns I'm going for a gender neutral character.

The mission had been a success, or so had everyone thought the moment the Pros, sidekicks and interns -including you- had finally apprehended all members of the Hallow Brotherhood, one of the most dangerous organizations to be known in the underground all over Japan.

The outcome of the raid had been expected, the organization's dealings with the black market, human trafficking and drugs dealings had been discovered and dealt with, ending their vicious rule once an for all.

Unfortunately success always comes with a price.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye, the mission was supposed to go effortlessly, that was the sole reason only a few sidekicks and you had been sent to a reckon mission during the raid on the other side of the building, for an operation which was meant to be done in a matter of minutes:

Scout the perimeter, find as much additional evidence you could about the organization; Their leaders, suppliers and connections all around the black market and go back to the meeting point in three hours...Easy, right?

But nothing's simple when it comes to success and hero work, your team found out the hard way...

...

To say Todoroki was worried was but a mere minimization of his current emotions, he was shaking from anxiety, he had been on edge since you started the internship and were called to assist with this mission. While Midoriya, Kirishima, Tsuyu and Uraraka were on their own assignment, you had been requested by another group of Pros, alongside Setsuna Tokage from class 1-B for a different operation, but still as top secret and high-priority as theirs.

After their run in with Stain in Hosu, Todoroki didn't hear the end of it from his s/o, the moment he stepped inside the classroom. The agitated look in their eyes made it crystal clear that (Y/N) had been worried sick the instant the news of the hero killer injuring three students of U.A. had been released to the public.

Yes, hero work was not and would never be a walk in the park, someone was always bound to get hurt, everybody knew that, and yet it didn't pacify your nerves after hearing about your boyfriend and friend's altercation with one of the most dangerous villains in Japan.

An agreement had been made between you both, now matter what you were doing; training, exams, internships, official hero work once you graduated, you'd always call each other as soon as the mission was over.

"Promise me you'll call?"

He remembered those puppy eyes and that pout he just couldn't bring himself to refuse, of course he wasn't going to say no to begin with. Gently grabbing your hands and kissing the knuckles softly, Todoroki let out a reassuring smile that helped calm down the small pit of concern growing inside your stomach.

"I promise"

That was months ago, and he remembered every single time you both called each other if anything happened.

The time of the training camp? You were the first one to call him in the middle of the attack to make sure he was fine.

When he followed Midoriya and the other to rescue Bakugo? He called you once everyone was safe and sound.

Your very first day on patrol during your current internship? He got a call as soon as you were done and back at the agency.

And yet he couldn't stop the uneasiness slowly accumulating inside of him, you said the mission would take long, but he never thought it would be this long. The air around him was tense, anyone that got close enough to him could sense the suffocating feeling inside the dorm.

Iida was the first one to approach, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder in hopes of helping calm down the heterochromatic guy's nerves.

"Todoroki, I understand that you're worried but remember, (Y/N) is quite a competent hero, there's no reason to be worried about" His hand moved on its own, making his signature gestures as he attempted to help his classmate and close friend.

Nobody was prepared to hear Mina gasp from her spot on the tables were she and the girls were studying together. Her hands covered her mouth in horror at the scene that appeared on her laptop. The others quickly went to see what had left the pink haired girl in a state of dread.

Their reaction varying from horror to shock, but the one feeling everyone shared in that moment along with the silence was the unease to look back at Todoroki, whom seemed to realize something was terribly wrong.

"What happened?" he walked up to their spot, noticing some of his classmates didn't really wanted to answer him, more than one actually trying to take the laptop away before he could catch sight of the screen. It was Momo who started talking to him.

"Todoroki-san...you might want to sit down first" she asked before he could get closer, concern on her features as everyone looked at him worriedly. He only squinted at everyone in the room before approaching to see what had rilled everyone up.

Someone had streamed the aftermath of a fight, it was the city where you had gone for the internship. The scenario was like the apocalypse had occurred.

A building had exploded, the pros were rescuing people caught in the explosion, paramedics had been called in order to help. The sound of screaming and cries could be heard all around the footage as people were being rescued from debris, unfortunately some people didn't made it.

That's when they saw an agitated Tokage hugging herself in the background, body covered in dirt and bruises as she talked to the Pro you were working with, she was shaking as the both gazed upon something laid before their feet, something that left Shoto so distressed he unconsciously activated his flames.

Even from afar the sight of a body covered by a sheet was visible with a stain of blood nearly soaking the fabric. His legs nearly gave up on him and the voices of his friends became static.

That couldn't be (Y/N), you said you'd be careful...it couldn't be you!

All of the memories of you and him together came back to mind...The day you guys awkwardly confessed to eachother at the same time, the day you met his mother, the mess the both of you had made in the kitchen the first time you tried to make homemade soba.

"We found another one!" Someone's voice cried loudly in the video, causing him to slowly look up at the screen, and his breath got caught in his throat when he realized the person being carried in a stretcher was his (Y/N).

You were alright....You were alright!....right?

That's what he wanted to believe, but the sight of your battered body, and the wound on your abdomen that slowly soaked the front of your costume with blood made the paranoia overpower his senses as he saw the ambulance take you away as quickly as they could.

Accordingly to the time the video was recorded everything happened nearly 30 minutes ago, that meant you were already at the hospital. He wouldn't just stay there and wait, he was going to see you, no matter what.

......

"We managed to stabilize them just in time, had they arrived a minute later I don't think we could have done anything" The doctor informed your parents, Shoto had run into them when he arrived to the hospital. Your mother had been hysteric while she was comforted by your father, until Todoroki arrived and she saw him, quickly embracing the boy in a tight grip and thanking him for coming to see you. Todoroki slowly embraced the older woman back.

That's when the doctor walked out of the room and gave a final explanation. Mentioning it would take a while for you to go back to normal, Recovery girl could help speed up the healing process, but you'd still need some time to rest before doing any physical effort.

"You may go inside to see them but I would suggest only two people should at a time"

It was a relief for everyone they moment the doctor mentioned you were already out of danger, Shoto and your parents nearly fell on the floor at the reassurance that everything would be alright.

He wanted to see you, he really wanted to...but seeing the look on your parent's faces...would it be selfish if he asked to see you first? It was like they knew what he was thinking because you mother smiled sweetly at him, the fear in her eyes long forgotten.

"You should see them first Shoto, we can go in later so don't worry about us" her words left him quiet for a minute, until he finally nodded gratefully before opening the door of your room. You were laying in bed in such a relaxed manner that if it wasn't for the bandages covering the right side of your face and the ones peaking out from the top of hospital gown it would seem like you were just taking a nap.

Silence filled the room except for the soft noise of your breathing, Todoroki quietly pulled a chair to sit besides the bed, he couldn't be thankful enough as he softly grabbed one of your hands and brought it closer to lay his face on the soft skin.

"Don't ever scare me like that again (Y/N)..." He didn't notice as your eyes slowly fluttered open or the way you looked at him with a confused expression.

"...Shoto...?"

It wasn't his imagination, was it? did he just hear you talk?

His face quickly turning up made him realize it was not a dream, there you were looking at him with a tired smile on your features, the hand he had been holding slowly caressed his cheek with a warm touch he just couldn't help but get addicted to.

"Hey...sorry I couldn't call you right away"

Todoroki couldn't help himself from leaning towards your touch with a broken laugh, even near the brink of death you still kept thinking about your promise.

"It's alright" He gripped the hand still caressing his cheek "All that matters is that you're safe"

That day he made a promise. He'd become a hero that would always be there to protect you. A hero that would keep everybody safe.

I hope you guys enjoy my first attempt on angst!

MASTERLIST

@t-amajiki @undead0relived @shoobirino @godtieruwu @bnha-ra @mysticalite

#bnha imagine #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha imagine #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #mha imagines #todoroki shoto x reader #Todoroki shoto #bnha shoto todoroki #bnha hcs #mha hcs #reader insert #tw:blood #tw: mention of drugs #tw: mentions of death #shouto todoroki

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oh-theres-a-woman · 4 years

Text

War Melodies on the Gramophone

A/N: Once more, the attention on my stories are greatly appreciated and bring fullness to my heart. Today, I give you another story. Maybe one more tonight if I’m feeling inspired enough. This one is set before the time of season one, in the beginning, then finishes at the start of season two. Please feel free to share, comment or request something else. Much love! xxx

Taglist: @zodiyack , @itsfrancisneptun , @shelbys-we-get-the-job-done & @fandom-fucking-shit

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby X Female Reader

Word Count: 1733

Edit: PART 2 is available now! Enjoy everyone. Thank you for all the love! It really means the world and so much more.

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You were a combat nurse on the Western Front, through the muddy earth that was mixed so heavily with blood. Time was spent patching up the boy’s and broken men to be blown back to hell once more. Shooing them away to meet the bullets and fire of the enemy. Ones that were too far gone were buried or sent home to your mother England.

How you longed to see the homeland once more, to be away from the thick smell of death, blood, rot and mud. To sleep a full night without being awoken by the shaking earth. When shells hit. Cries and wailing men who longed to be home like yourself. If one ever thought that war brought glory again, you’d daringly and happily throw them in the cot to drown. This war had already reaped too much to bestow glory and make one enjoy the angst and grief felt.

You stood outside on one of your rare breaks, lighting a cigarette. Prescribed by yourself for the clear nerves and torment that was suffered here. It was at that point you didn’t quite know what the white apron looked like anymore. So stained with blood and no matter how much you tried to wash it. Forever the bloody thing seemed stained an awful shade between red and pink. Hands quaked as you held your stick, inhaling taking in a momentary taste of nicotine instead of the dense air. Flicking ash off onto the sodding earth, where your eyes wandered out to the men that were working away carrying wounded up to the field hospital.

“How bad are they today, boys?” You asked on approach, tucking the fast-burning cigarette with no filter between sore chapped lips. Wisps of your hair bellowed around your face in the cool winds. Whipping the scent of strong sulphur into your nostrils. Making them burn more than they did with the smoke.

“Pretty bad, [y/n].” Said one of the lads guiding men into tents to be seen. What was one to expect? That they had been less torn than others? It seemed no longer hope to see men in one piece. Accustomed to the horrors of the lame, limbless and insane. Every day was another picture printed in your memory saying otherwise.

Snubbing out the cigarette out with the heel of your boot. You watched as the embers tried to dart outward but were suffocated by the mud. That mud suffocated everything, even yourself…

Stepping back into the tent, your eyes wandered to the bodies laid out on beds. Nurses and doctors hurrying around making this expendable. Every effort to save a life meant something. Thrown back into the line of rapid work. You didn’t even notice how the tent dulled the sound of everything going on outside.

You were stationed in the bed of another English man. Working on the shot wound in his chest. Removing the piece of metal from him with excellent care. Honestly, it was a wonder what your little hands could do when they stopped shaking and got to work. He was a tunneler by the way he was dressed and how dirt, not mud, clung to his body. “What’s your name, soldier?” You asked in a country accent telling the man you hailed near his birthplace of Birmingham.

“Thomas, Thomas Shelby.” He commented in a weak voice, it was dry and rough. Like a voice after having a few too many cigarettes or held up in a state of grief. You knew there was certainly enough of them both here. “What’s yours?” He asked as you began to clean the wound that had been inflicted on the flesh of the man’s physical body. Moments in these, people would normally say a prayer muttering that his spiritual form won’t be maimed and infection wouldn’t take root and rot his soul. However, spiritually be damned in your eyes.

It had caused too much pain and hurt to believe in a place like this. Surely the man below you didn’t believe either. It was too hard to believe in them all. All of you were going to meet a grim end or be taken prisoner, that’s what you thought. A lot of little boys playing soldier and big boy heroes were going to be left broken and shaken. A scar on the generation and age of which you come from. Likewise. You’d go home broken if you did at all.

Lulled back into the context of the conversation, but the man’s dry smoker’s cough. You looked into his crystal blue eyes and then spoke. “Miss [y/n], a pleasure to meet you, Mister Shelby.” You did speak honestly, it was always nice to meet the soldiers, just a pity in what manner of meeting them. The pains they must suffer to be bought into the off-white field hospital tent. Carefully, slipping a tablet under the man’s tongue. “That’s for the pain, we’ll have you patched up in a jiffy, I promise.” You told him calmly. He only weakly gave a nod then grunted in pain.

Delicate fingers and tools finally released the bullet, tossing it onto a tray. Then working quickly on the mend. Cleaning thoroughly, and stitching the wound. Pressing the area to stop the final bleed. You left him to rest for a time before they sent the officer away in need to the bed again. No one seemed to have the luxury of resting too long in a war. Instead, you made your mind up to watch over the man and make sure that the wound was healing.

Often climbing down the deep pits of the tunnels, you met with a lot of the men down there. Checking on their wounds and health. Doing the assessment in rare sparing time. It made a bond grow between you and the Birmingham man known as Tommy or Tom by friends. He gave you a pet name too. It was sweet and made you feel somewhat more alive in the fuss and pain. Seeing the tunnelers began to be something you itched for every day. A breakaway from the noise-cancelling tent or the sulphur thick air above ground. To be hidden down in the humid tunnels underground. Talking with men, making sure all was well.

At war’s end, you stood with many young women and men. Watching as the last of the bullets were fired. Shells rattling the earth. It happened to be some time since you’d seen the likes of Thomas Shelby. All the tunneler boys in truth. Shelby left a soft place in the final piece of softness in your heart though. He held the merit and dreams of most men that had been fighting in the beginning. However, France had killed the boy within him with made your soul mourn for the boy-child spirit that would be left in the bloody mud of the Western Front.

---

Goodbyes of that day still remain even over a year on from war’s end. Some paranoid people believe another war is to come from this one. Of course, you hope not. Yet, the state of the tied up affairs in the war wasn’t neat and tidy. Germany did suffer harsher conditions than most. Mostly due to the prejudice caused by the cousin nation, losses made people angry and craving blood. The blood you still spent long wholes mopping up and cleaning as a stationed nurse in a London hospital.

Preparing however for the new transfer to Small Heath, Birmingham a place that you’d long forgotten. But not that man that still weighed heavy on your heart. Come Saturday evening, the train into Birmingham wasn’t packed, nor quiet. It had been situated that there would be a small townhouse that you’d be staying at with other registered nurses in the area. The unmarried ones, at least. Holding your bags you walked to the address, shown to a room by one of the lovely ladies you were living with. All present had proposed a night at the Garrison for drinks in celebration of your arrival.

The jolly frolic in the evening didn’t seem at all a bad idea. More so, refreshing. You hadn’t taken many chances to enjoy yourself anymore after the war. So, this would be an ample opportunity. So, all dolled up and pampered. You strolled down the streets with the ladies gushing and giggling with the Small Heath gossips. Many fans of the bad boys in town, the Peaky Blinders.

You didn’t remember why this name meant anything. Shaking away the thought, in the time of being merry and joyous. Listening to tales and laughs from the girls. Sipping on your drink, the air alive with cheerful drunkards or the occasional fight that had the girls and yourself pushed up against the bar to get out of the crossfire. Unknown to you who was watching from the private booth door. Struck dead like he’d seen a ghost after all this time. A time when the war left a feeling of wanting to forget in his soul.

Thomas Shelby swallowed the bile rising in his throat, stepping out of the salvation and privacy of his private booth. With one goal at that moment. To come to you. At wars end, he came searching for you. But never had a name to go off. He remembered the little pet-name he gave you. Nothing else. Well, he remembered your beauty but not your full name.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in dusty ol’ Birmingham, aye?” He asked with a cock of his brow, a rise in his voice. Holding a sure hope. A wilder smile tugged on your cheek. Truer than anything expressed for the entirety of the whole night. Stepping forward daring you touched him, then followed with a sincere searing kiss. That shocked most of you company, patrons and Tommy’s family in the private booth.

“Off to pick up a man I left down in a dark hole,” you said smoothly. Voice sweeter than the drink on your lips. The smell of tobacco, lilac perfume and drink clung to you. Tommy looked smart and handsome. Just as you pictured him if you saw him again one day. In the following moments, no one spoke when the pair left the bar, once more in the cool of the night. Walking hand in hand. No desired destination. Just anywhere away from people. Just you and Thomas focking Shelby.

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lordbord · 3 years

Text

*cross posted on Wattpad*

First story

*This is a alternate version of the main show*

We all know how this story goes, Midoriya is born quirkless, gets bullied by his childhood friend for 10 years. He saves Bakugou from suffocating in slime after All might stepped on his dream, All Might changes his mind, offers his quirk and then trains Midoriya for the entrance exam, he gets in and then his story begins.

In the main story, Most of Izukus life was spent being picked on and bullied by peers and so called friends, with no one not even his own mother believing in his dream.

What if that were to change?

What if someone did believe in him?

What if at one point he gained a brother who helped him through thick and thin?

This is that story. A story of two brothers related in all but blood going on a journey to become hero's together. Watch as the bond they have moves mountains and see how far they go for one another in the events of their life.

Watch as they become the symbol of hope: Deku

and the symbol of change: Black Light

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heroic duo

Chapter 1

Childhood beginnings

"Not all men are created equal." that was the sad truth of the world I learned at the age of four.

One day the world had changed, after a baby started to glow brightly it was the first recorded citing of a superpower, soon enough more and more people have ended up developing these gifts and 200 years later, superpowers became the norm. 80% of the population had developed superpowers called quirks and with them a new profession, Hero's. like all kids my age I wanted nothing more than to be a hero unfortunately....

"Sorry kid it isn't going to happen."

"Im sorry Izuku!!"

"Didn't you hear, he's..."

Quirkless, I became one of the 20% who don't develop a quirk. The door to my dream was locked before I could even open it, as for my friend Katsuki Bakugou, who I call Kacchan...

"You really are useless, deku." A ash blond said to a downed green haired boy with pops coming out of his hands.

He became my number one tormentor, I should have told mom but after dad left us she has been working hard for the both of us to live a comfortable life, not to mention that Mitsuki Bakugou is Kacchan mother and her best friend since college.

So I didn't say anything as to not burden her more than I already do and for two years I will have endured beatings, bruises, cuts and burns from my former friend.

I thought that was how my life was going to be, just a useless deku with a too big dream.

Then that day happened.

It was the afternoon in Musutafu, Japan and school just got out, at a nearby park five children were near a sand pit, three kids were standing just outside the pit with an ash blond standing in front of the trio while a green haired boy with green eyes had his arms in front of him, standing in-front of a brunette girl with brown eyes who is on the floor rubbing a bruised cheek from the hit she took from the blond.

"Stop it Kacchan! Can't you see she hurt!" Said the green eyed boy trying to protect the girl.

"She thinks she can be a hero like me with a weak quirk like that!! She had it coming, Deku!" The ash blond now known as Kacchan says, while the girl starts to tear up a bit from the rude boys words.

The green haired boy now known as Deku gets angry at his old friend, he doesn't know why and probably never will but he instinctively responds back to the blonds cruel words.

"Who cares if her quirk is weak right now! If she trains hard it can be a great quirk, and m-maybe she'll be a b-better hero than y-you!!"

There were four reactions that took place from that statement.

One being from the girl who looked up in astonishment and a bit of gratitude.

The two lackeys of the ash blond who can't believe that useless Deku yelled at Bakugou.

Deku himself, who just realized what he just said is slowly losing the confidence before his outburst,

And Bakugou himself who had veins sprouting around his face slowly, hair covering his eyes and shaking in quickly building fury.

Knowing whats about to come from the volatile blond, Deku backs up a bit to the girl and kneels on a knee, while picking up some sand discreetly

"Listen, go get some h-help while I distract him I'll be fine but he might focus back on you if your still here." Deku says with what ever confidence he has left.

The girl was about to protest but then saw the look in his emerald eyes and reluctantly agreed.

Deku smiled a little knowing she didn't want to leave him alone so attempts to reassure her.

"D-Don't worry I-I'll be f-fine" while giving wide shaky smile before turning back around to the sounds of popping.

"Why?" Barely above a whisper from the blond

"Why?" louder this time with explosions popping starting to pop from his hands faster and faster.

"WHY DOES A USELESS DEKU LIKE YOU THINK YOUR BETTER THAN ME!?!?" He yells before charging at the green and brown eyed children.

"RUN!!" Deku yells just before throwing the sand into Kacchans face, blinding him temporarily and catching his ire, while the girl gets up and runs fast trying to look for her parents to gets some help.

Meanwhile the two lackeys grab either arm of the greeny to hold him down for their boss, waiting until he clears the sand from his eyes.

Once Kacchan cleans the sand and can see, his pupils dilate as they zero in on deku and charge at him again and with uncontrolledly rage, he hits him with an explosion right in the chest above the heart, blasting Deku out of the lackeys hold and onto his back, with a new hole in his shirt. The blast could be heard all over the park.

While fading out of consciousness, footsteps can be heard running towards him all he can think about was that he successfully got the girl away from harm.

(??? Pov)

A minute earlier....

"How did I fall for such a obvious scam" I say to myself while walking past a park, just a couple of minutes ago I was talking with a guy who was asking for directions for a specific store, he was unbelievable vague and this distracted me long enough for his buddy to rob me with his quirk and get away. as I walk by the gate to the park a girl crashes into me, knocking both of us over, I was a knocked on my back while I can only assume the girl was as well from the soft "ow" that I heard

"Im so so sorry!" she apologizes loudly while offering to help me up.

"It's fine, why are you in such a rush?" I grunt out as I accept the help up.

She was about to say before we heard a loud "BOOM" coming from the park, we here this and she then freezes on the spot, before bolting to the sounds origins. I was both concerned and confused about what just happened so I ran after hoping to gain an answer.

I was not prepared for what I saw next.

I saw a green haired boy my age on the ground with smoke coming of his chest, the girl is freaking out above him trying to see what she can do before turning to the right to see a angry blond with a grin shouting at the unconscious boy before walking over menacingly with smoke coming from his hands.

Acting quick I pull on the shadow from a nearby bench and made a circular shield before sliding in between the two people, blocking the EXPLOSION?!? EXCUSE ME WHAT?!? The angry blond seemed surprised seeing that he didn't hit the two behind me. I stand to my full height, as I am a little taller and put away the shield.

"Now I don't know what happened and personally I don't care but can you please leave them alone or do I have to use force?" For added effect I absorbed some shadows, then made it into a giant broadsword with an eire purple glow, with one of my eyes having a purple glow, I then hung the sword over my shoulder, while glaring at the three in front of me.

Needless to say it worked, the two behind the blond with smug expressions prior to me showing up are now turning heel and running away, the blond however clicks his teeth dissatisfied with the outcome before walking away.

After getting rid of my sword I turn around and see the girl with tears in her eyes about to rip a piece of her shirt for the green boy.

"Hey, you don't need to do that I got some spare clothes in my bag." She stops what shes doing and proceeds to help me tear a T-shirt from my bag. After wrapping the guy up, she floats the green haired boy and brought him to the bench where we lay him down, there was a bit of a silence before she spoke up finally.

"He was hurt cause of me" she said just above a whisper, I let her continue since she seemed to need to get it out of her system.

"I was punched by that blond guy from before, he p-pushed me down and started saying things, how I wouldn't be a hero with my quirk, then he showed up" she was starting to tear up again.

"He got in front of him, he defended me and helped me run away so I can get help." She says the tears coming faster now her voice starting to shake.

"If I knew that blond guy would have done this I would have stayed, I wouldn't have let him got him hurt because of me and n-now h-he's.." she was openly crying now I didn't know what to do so I just went up to her and gave a hug, she froze at first but then just let everything out, after a bit she calmed down and pulled away, looking back at the boy who helped her

"Its not your fault, you know" I spoke up finally. She turned to look at me and I took that as a sign to continue.

"Look I don't know either of you but from how you reacted to finding him hurt in the first place I can honestly says that this was not something you could have known, if anyone is to blame its the blond guy's fault, for doing this in the first place." I finish talking hoping that she will take my words to heart, from the slight nod of her head I can only assume she understood.

"My name is Ochako Uraraka, by the way thanks for helping us." She says with a small smile.

"Well its nice to meet you Uraraka my name is-" I was interrupted by a small groan, turning back we see the green boy starting to wake up.

(3rd person POV)

As Midoriya wakes up, he slowly gets his senses back, which left him groaning when he started feeling pain again and as he opens his eyes he is first see brown eyes blinking down at him.

'Kacchan's eyes aren't brown' he thinks to himself. He then tries to sit up only to wince in pain before lying back down as Midoriya looks at his surroundings he realizes he's not only on a park bench but also has two people in front of him, one the short brown hair and eyed girl that he defended from before and another one being a boy he has never seen before. He was a bit taller than Midoriya , with a bit of a round face and a dark skin tone with hair split down the middle with white on the right and black on the left, the most noticeable part were his eyes which seem to be purple on one side and light blue on the other with a bit of bags underneath. Midoriya being the intelligent human being he breaks the silence in the most eloquent way possible.

"Uhhh.... Hi."

The next thing Midoriya know Uraraka hugs him, now if this was a un-injured Midoriya he would have froze from his brain not processing physical affection from people other than his mother. Sadly, this Midoriya is injured and as such he winces from pain on contact which causes Uraraka to pull back and start apologizing while flailing her arms, with Midoriya saying its alright. After that comedic scene Midoriya decides to ask the million dollar questions.

"Uh.. sooo, who are you guys and what happened after I passed out?" izuku asks too confused by his situation to care about his anxiety.

"My name is Ochako Uraraka and this is.."

Midoriya look over to the boy as he starts talking.

"My name is Felix Richmond, she kinda crashed into me while running out the park, we then heard a big boom and she ran inside, I followed her a bit after, I took care of the blond guy and then we ripped one of my shirts and wrapped it around your burn, we moved you to the bench and we were just waiting for you to wake up." He finishes explaining.

"We were worried after you got knocked out but you woke up so at least we know you'll be okay." Uraraka says her tone going from worried to happy mid-sentence.

"Also thanks for saving me from that blond guy..." she pauses realizing she doesn't know his name.

"Oh I-I'm M-Midoriya Izuku" he says a bit shakily.

"Well it's nice to meet you both, but I feel like we should get going since it almost evening" Richmond says while pointing at the sky.

'Oh no mom/my parents are gonna kill me' went through both Midoriya's and Uraraka's mind as they internally panicked.

"Uraraka why don't you get home, I can help Midoriya here get home, since I doubted you can move all that well." Richmond says first addressing Uraraka before switching his attention to Midoriya who is startled by the offer, he was going to reject...

"Before you say anything I don't have to worry about my p-parent so you either agree and I piggy back you to your home or I princess carry you, if you don't agree." Richmond says with the last part stated with a smirk.

Midoriya, who would definitely be a strawberry if he was princess carried, nodded in defeat, saying their goodbyes to Uraraka and a promise to meet up again at a later date the two boy head onwards to Midoriya's place, it was silent till Richmond asked a question.

"So why did you do it?” Richmond asked.

"Why, what?" Asked Izuku confused by the question.

"Why did you protect her, from what she told me, you were nowhere near involved in the one sided fight so why did you help?" Richmond says.

Midoriya thinks about it before speaking again "I don't know, I guess my legs moved on there own, one second I was looking at her being pushed the next thing I knew I'm standing up to Kacchan and his friends." Midoriya finishes upset now realizing his old friend is the one who scared him.

"Kacchan?!" Richmond asked surprised such a cute name was given to someone so aggressive.

"T-thats the nickname I gave him, I couldn't pronounce his name when we were younger so I called him that, his name is Katsuki Bakugou, we are- were friends but that was before he got his quirk." Midoriya finishes once again lamenting the lose of his old friend.

Richmond in a attempt to lighten the mood jokes. "And let me guess he's a mean dandelion jealous of your quirk?" Richmond says hoping it worked.

It didn't.

"I actually don't have a quirk." Midoriya says in a soft whisper, if he wasn't on Richmonds back he probably wouldn't have been heard, but Richmond hearing Midoriya regrets the joke instantly, and says something that shocks Midoriya.

"And whats wrong with being quirkless?" Richmond ask.

Midoriya who was still a bit upset answered "Since I'm quirkless, I can't become a hero." Tears starting to well up.

"You saved Uraraka today, so I think you already are a hero." Richmond answer backs.

"Do you really think I can be a hero?" Midoriya asks, hoping beyond hope he gets the answer he was waiting for.

"Definitely." Richmond says, unknowingly opening the floodgates that are Midoriya's tear ducts.

Midoriya was overwhelmed by emotion and could only feel gratitude to the split haired person for giving him some form of hope.

After calming down they finally arrived at Midoriya's house knocking on the door, upon opening it the worried mother see a peculiar site of a child holding her baby on their back with a bag worn on the front of their body.

After some explaining of what happened, Why it happened, who caused it, and some waterfalls from both Midoriya's 'is this genetic?' Richmond thinks before the conversation switches to him.

"Thank you for helping him." The Elder Midoriya says while giving a hug to Felix who flinches slightly before relaxing again.

"It's no problem Miss Midoriya." Richmond reply's awkwardly patting the back of the women.

"You can just call me Inko." She says as she pulls herself back from the hug.

"But I can't help but ask, don't you need to go back to your home, it's getting rather late." She asks the innocent question.

Richmond's freezing doesn't go unnoticed by the Midoriya's, as he looked down at his hands he starts to remember everything he escaped from, the beatings, yells, him begging for it to stop, the crash.

"I-I d-don't h-have a-a ho-me." Richmond says still looking down, tears start going down his face.

Inko shocked by the once smiling teen froze for a moment, in that moment only Midoriya moves to start hugging the boy.

Richmond caught of guard by the hug flinches a bit but quickly returns it letting the tears flow, finally dropping his guard and relaxing slightly, he was still on edge but the Midoriya’s were very....... calming to the split haired teen.

"You can stay with us if you want." Midoriya says after a while. Surprised by his words, Richmond looks at Izuku before directing his gaze to Inko, who just smiles softly and nods to the unasked question.

Allowing himself a small smile Felix looks back to Izuku and says "I guess that makes us brothers now." He says before getting two hugs on either side of him, laughing at how his life changed in a minute.

No one knew that the two boys would grow up to become something greater than themselves.

But where's the fun in that right?

#bnha #fanfic #my fic #wattpad #bnha oc #not entirely focused on OC #everyone gets attention #Izuocha #oc likes puns

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catxmendoza · 3 years

Text

a girl named chiqui.

self para. a prison in southern texas, six hours away from olympus.

tw. anxiety, death, grief, imprisonment, prison, mentions of murder, drug use

**ooc. any reference to mexican culture has been thoroughly researched, and the mun has also spoken with latinx, mexican and tejanx individuals to verify that references are handled in a respectful manner. of course, the mun is always open to suggestions, criticisms and directions.**

Her road trip was almost spontaneous.

She hadn’t been able to sleep since the explosion. Most of her nights in the past month had been spent tossing and turning until the sun came up and gave her a reprieve from her own head. Boxing didn’t help, neither did smoking or drinking or running. Her mind raced with thoughts, what ifs and memories she believed she had buried years ago. Every time she closed her eyes though, they struck her like lightening. Her mother’s smile, the smell of her abuela’s quilt draped over their couch, the sound of birds outside their kitchen window, even her father’s voice teaching her his many lessons about life. A waking dream, a nightmare, she wasn’t sure what she was suffering through, but that explosion had rattled her in more ways than one.

The memories became suffocating faster than she thought they would, until every other thought was drowned by her life from before it was ripped apart. Every memory was tied up in a chest-clenching feeling of anger and grief, shaking her to her core. There was no escaping it, no running or smoking or drinking it away until she was left numb.

Cat hid her dilemma well enough, she thought, but behind closed doors she paced the floor with a joint in her hand just thinking. Her mother’s altar, situated in the far corner of her living room, seemed to mock her. It was ironic, considering she had set up that altar herself, and lit candles donning Jesús Malverde image just that morning. But every time Cat looked at it, she swore she could practically hear her mother’s voice whispering to her/

Go see him.

He would be worried.

He must be worried.

What are you afraid of, mi amor?

Everything. Catalina Mendoza, who marched around Olympus like she had hell on her heels and relished in it, was absolutely terrified. Of what, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she could feel it in her bones. Olympus was ripping itself apart and she had a feeling -call it a hunch- that when all was said and done, there wouldn’t be anyone to truly watch her back. No family to fall back on, no friends close enough to understand- mierda, not even her uncle would take her back after the shit she pulled. Knowing him, he’d let her get killed just to be done with it. There was no one... except him.

It was that thought that propelled her to her room, pulling out a duffle bag and some clothes for a couple days away.

Cat was on the road to Texas the next morning. The first few hours were spent singing as loud as she could with her playlist - “ Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles!” - however the closer she got to her destination, the deeper the pit in her stomach became. She had been there once before, right after the funeral. It had been nothing but vicious words -from her- and silence -mostly him. She had sworn it would be the first and last time, and yet here she was, pulling up to a desolate looking building surrounded by towers and barbed wire lined fences.

It probably wasn’t smart to walk into a prison, what with her activities in the past year, but she was mostly free of suspicion. If they were going to arrest her, they would have done so back in Louisiana. There was also the possibility that he just didn’t want to see her. She wouldn’t blame him. She sat in her car for a good twenty minutes staring at the entrance marked Visitors, trying to calm her racing heart and the swell of emotions in her chest. There was the strong urge to say fuck it and drive her six hours back to Olympus, Louisiana and forget about this entire thing, but something else, something just as strong, grounded her to the moment. Cat took a deep breath, and gave herself a determined look in the mirror.

“Get your shit together, Mendoza.”

And she did. She got out of her car and walked into the prison before she could tell herself to turn around again. The sign in process was as brutal as she remembered it- metal detectors, pat downs, the bleak and stark reminder of her current circumstances.

They herded her and a few others into the visitor’s hall, where plastic round tables sat with with two chairs on either side. Guards were stationed at every exit, and she could see cell bars from her view of the door where they kept the prisoners. She felt strangely exposed sitting there waiting, only idly listening to people reconnecting with their loved ones around her. Cat tried to tell herself that it was only a few minutes, but a part of her was already convinced that he wasn’t going to show up. He had made it clear the last time she visited that it should be her last, that he didn’t want her coming to see him for one reason or another. Those words had cut deep, especially considering she had just buried her mother. The one person she needed most in the entire world simply... gave up on her, and everything else for that matter.

Just when she was ready to get up and leave, the door opened once more and he appeared. It struck her how familiar his face was, yet he had changed. He was a little skinnier, and weathered. There were wrinkles and gray hairs that hadn’t been there the last time she saw him, and a full beard that only served to make him seem older. But he was still her Papá.

He stopped short when his eyes landed on her, as if he had seen a ghost. There was no expression on his stony face, and she tried her best to keep hers still as well as she observed him. The orange jumpsuit was such a stark difference from the dark green overalls he used to wear whenever he worked on his truck, but then again, he was a different man than the person who came sit before her.

It was silent between them for a moment, with him staring at her and her staring at him It occurred to her that in the many nights that she had sent thinking about this visit and the hours she had driven there, she hadn’t once thought about what she would say when she finally sat in front of him. Hola didn’t seem appropriate, nor did It’s nice to see you, because frankly it wasn’t. There was so much she wanted to say, all flooding to the surface, she couldn’t decide which words mattered more.

“Se supone que debes estar en mexico. [You’re supposed to be in Mexico.]” He said, quipped and to the point.

Catalina blinked at him for a moment, thrown by the statement. It had been 10 years since she had seen him, ten years without so much as a phone call to see how she was doing. And that was what he decided on? She couldn’t decide if she was angry, shocked, or completely exasperated with how typical it was of the big bad Sicario who plagued their city to demand things of her.

The drug dealer adjusted herself in her seat before she raised a brow at him. “Bueno, no lo estoy. [Well, I’m not.]”

“No jodas. [Don’t fuck around.]” He sounded tired, in no mood for whatever sarcasm would surely pour out of her mouth. She was his kid, no matter how much she liked to deny it every chance she could get. He knew her, even years later. “¿Tu Tío sabe que estás aquí? [Your Uncle know you’re here?]”

She shook her head. “No. We’re not really on speaking terms these days.”

“...Hm.”

He was silent again, looking at her from beneath scruffy brows and crows feet. She could see the remnants of laugh lines poking out from beneath his beard, remnants of a life he lived with her and her mama. She couldn’t imagine that he smiled much these days.

Catalina’s gaze went down to her hands, focusing on her dark nails and the scar that wound down around her wrist. The arm she had broken in the explosion was still a little skinny, but it was slowly returning to normal. She looked at him once more, pursing her lips. “Nosotros tuvimos un desacuerdo. [We had a disagreement.]”

He scoffed softly. “Tu Tío no tiene desacuerdos, los termina. [Your Uncle doesn’t have disagreements, he ends them.]” Carlos Luis leaned forward on her forearms, cocking his brow in a way Catalina did quite often. “¿Qué hiciste? [What did you do?]”

Of course, it was Catalina who did something. God forbid, Sebastian Ramirez ever take responsibility for anything, even when he wasn’t here. She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “What did I do? Mierda, Carlos, diez años. Diez años y todavía estás defendiendo a Sebas como si fuera un santo o un Dios. [Shit, Carlos, ten years. Ten years and you’re still defending Sebas like he’s some kind of saint or God.]”

“Hey,” Carlos warned, low and in his throat. “¿Has venido desde donde sea que estuviste para discutir sobre tu tío? ¿Perder mi tiempo, perder el tuyo? [So you came all this way from wherever you been to argue about your uncle? Waste my time, waste yours?]”

Cat rolled her eyes, anger twisting her stomach in knots. “You know what, I don’t know why I even bothered-”

She stood up, fully prepared to march out of that room and never look back. She was only a few steps away when his voice cut through the air.

“Catalina.”

Her entire body froze as his voice echoed off the walls, drawing looks from people around them. For a moment she felt like a little kid again getting caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. As angry as he sounded, as angry as he was, he could never stay mad at her for long. This? This was different.

“Wait...” He said with a clear struggle and a heavy sigh. She turned back to look at him, taking in his sagging shoulders and the “Por favor, sit down. [Please, sit down.]”

It took her a moment more to decide whether or not to stay. He gave her another imploring look, one that was mixed with irritation at her defiance.

“Por favor, Catalina.”

Cat sighed and begrudgingly slid back into her seat with knitted brows. They were silent again, stewing in their own anger and frustration like two petulant children. Usually, this was the time when her mother would demand a truce from them both. Stubborn is as stubborn does, she would claim, and damn, was she blessed with a husband and daughter with extremely hard heads.

Her mother would want them to get along. No matter how angry they were, no matter what they said before, she would want them to be okay. Even in their circumstances.

Carlos eyed her a moment, almost as if he were analyzing him. “¿Dónde te has estado guardando? [Where you been keeping yourself?]”

“Louisiana.” She answered, without digging into specifics. “Joined up with some associates there. They treat me good enough.”

He gave her a strange look. “Louisiana? ¿Qué diablos te traería a Louisiana? [What the hell would bring you to Louisiana?]”

She could try to rebuild the bridge she burned with him, at least. She had driven far enough, she might as well have something to show for it. Cat cleared her throat, not lifting her gaze to meet his eye. “I found them.” She confessed, earning a confused look from them. “Those men. Esos monstruos que se llevaron a mi mamá. [Those monsters who took my mother.]”

Carlos frowned deeply at her, the implications of what she was saying dawning on him. His eyes darted to the guard as he leaned forward. “¿Cómo? [How?]”

“Recibí una propina, seguí y terminé un estado. [I got a tip, followed up and wound up a state over.]” Cat told him in a low voice. “Sebas didn’t agree.”

“No, he wouldn’t. I don’t blame him.” Carlos clicked thoughtfully. “Si desentierras a los muertos, seguramente atraerás buitres. [You dig up the dead, and you're bound to draw vultures.]”

“Yeah, he said that same stupid shit. Did Abuelo tell you that?”

Instead of getting angry at her crassness, he actually chuckled. Instead of a smile though, his lips twisted into an almost snarl, as if the actual pained him. “Tu abuelo era un borracho y una amenaza. Nunca dijo nada significativo en su vida. [Your grandfather was a drunk and a menace. He never said anything meaningful in his life.]

“Like father, like son.”

Again, Carlos didn’t become enraged at the blatant disrespect. He just sat there, taking it in. Cat almost felt bad about the jabs, but a part of her liked how it felt to take out her frustration on him. The part of her that implicated him in her mother’s death and still, to this day, laid blame at his feet. It was his enemies, after all, who had come to kill him in the night and instead found she and her mother. Any memory she had of that night was nonexistent, she only knew what she was told. But it was enough to stir a fire of anger in her.

“...No estoy de acuerdo con tu tío. [I don’t agree with your uncle.]” Carlos confessed with a weary look. “If I was free, if I had the chance...” He didn’t need to say it. If he was free, those men would have been dead years ago. If he had been free, they wouldn’t have even been memories, because that was how good he was at what he did. His skill, however, led him to where he was now. Widowed. Imprisoned for life. What he would have done was inconsequential. Carlos shook his head. “Tu madre querría que te impida hacer lo que creo que vas a hacer... [Your mother would want me to stop you from doing what I think you're gonna do...]

Cat scoffed. “I don’t want you to-”

“Déjame terminar... [Let me finish...]” Carlos said, closing his eyes and shaking his head solemnly. God, he really did look so much older than he did. Gaunt, like a shell or a ghost of the man he was. “Conozco esa rabia que supura en ti. Eso es lo único que obtuviste de mí. Tu cabello, tu cara bonita, tu cerebro, lo obtuviste de tu madre. Pero esa rabia, ese soy yo. [I know that anger that festers in you. That's the one thing you got from me. Your hair, your pretty face, your brain, you got that from your mother. But that rage, that's me.]”

Catalina stared at him with knitted brows, taking in his words. It occurred to her that she didn’t have anyone else to talk about her mother with. He was the only only other person who remembered their life when it was happy and good. He was the only other person who understood how frustrated and pissed off she was at everything and everyone for what life had stripped from her. He knew, and perhaps that was why she felt the urge to visit in the first place. To not feel alone in the feelings she was stewing in.

Carlos breathed deep through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Vas a hacer lo que tienes que hacer, y no te voy a decir que te detengas o bajes la velocidad porque eso sería jodidamente estúpido.” [You're gonna do what you have to do, and I'm not going to tell you to stop or slow down because that would be fucking stupid.]” He shook his head. “But I am gonna tell you to watch your back, and when you’re finished, corre como que te sigue el diablo. [run like the devil’s behind you.]

Run. For as long as Catalina had an itch for revenge, she had always known it would end in a few ways. Death, imprisonment, maybe worse. But running? An escape plan had never been in her purview. She was perfectly content believing that the path she walked had an early and abrupt end.

Or maybe she was simply lying to herself.

Her father didn’t run. He had stayed when the police showed, too engrossed in grief to know better. His was a cautionary tale of many different kinds, love and life being at the top of that list. If anything, she would want to do everything he didn’t. Yet, they still walked a similar path.

“¿Qué pasa si ya no quiero correr? [What if I don't want to run anymore?]” Catalina sighed, starting to sound as exhausted as she felt.

Carlos chuckled bitterly. “What, you think you got a choice? Ay Chiqui, you’re supposed to be smarter than me.”

She smiled. “I am smarter than you.” She murmured, sniffing lightly.

Chiqui, the nickname she held when she was tiny and braver than she should be.

She was sure visiting hours were ending soon, and they would have to part. However she thought this would end, she didn’t expect... well, an uneasy truce. It was probably in the name of people they no longer were, but in the end, she doubted that really mattered. “There are things happening in the place I’m staying in. Shit is stirring and I don’t know if I’ll be able to do anything before then, but when I do...”

“Quiero saber. [I want to know.]” He said with a twinge of a plea in his tone.

Cat nodded. “Okay.” It was less than perfect and not at all a promise, but more like an invitation. An open door into the family they had once been. The afternoons spent boxing in their back yard and shooting bottles in the woods. The speeches about being strong and proud in the face of adversity, and the way he used to sing to her mama. It was slowly edging through the anger and resentment she had built around his name and image in her mind. The blame she placed upon him .

And even those images fluttered through her mind and steadied her heart, it didn’t ebb away the anger. If anything, it deepened it to her soul. It was not one parent she was robbed of, after all, but two.

The guards soon announced that they should all say their goodbyes. It didn’t seem like enough time, but she supposed that was point. Catalina stared at Carlos, unsure of what to say or do. He stood and she followed, her fingers brushing against the plastic table between them.

“Take care of yourself.” He said.

She nodded. “You too.”

Another moment passed by with the two of them simply standing there. And then Carlos was around the table, his arms around her in a tight hug. It brought her back to when she was a kid, and those same arms lifted her high in the sky and helped her fend off imaginary monsters. Her father, her Papá, the only thing she had left on this planet. He kissed the top of her head and stepped back before the guards could warn them.

“Ve por ellas, chiqui. [Go get them, chiqui.]

With that, he disappeared out the door he came, leaving her behind at the table. She blinked as the sting of tears swept down her cheeks, the weight that had been on her chest for weeks still prevalent, but less so. She even felt like taking a good nap. But above all, she felt a renewed spirit well in her, hungry and angry.

She had work to do.

#tw anxiety #tw alcohol #tw self medicating #sort of #tw murder #tw grief #tw death #tw drug use #tw prison #tw imprisonment

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scribblesofanaricat · 4 years

Text

Crossed Out

(an older version has been posted here before, but I’ve finally gotten round to making a fully edited version with an altered ending (and hopefully a bit more of an explanation), so I hope you guys like)

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It’s not a crime to be curious.

That simple fact is what’s led him to end up stuffing his knapsack with an assortment of things that normally have no business being in there. Normally. A scarf that just so happens to be ideal for somebody who’d rather their face went unseen. A chunk of nut and raisin-infused bread snuck- borrowed from the loaf his mam keeps wrapped up in the kitchen (which he can never resist sampling at the best of times). And the battered old woodcutter’s axe he can barely raise any higher than his shoulder - just in case.

That bag’s been packed for days now, wedged out of sight in a corner of his clothes chest. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to do anything more than that. Until now, that is.

His teeth clench at every telltale creak of the floorboards under his bare feet, even though he isn’t really doing anything wrong…yet. He gives them a hard prod with his toes all the same. Traitors.

As he fervently hoped, the front room is clear of any mother-shaped obstacles when he slinks his way downstairs. Just the rough-hewn table and chairs sitting in their usual corner and the mismatched sideboards pushed up against their usual walls, although one of them now has what looks like fresh creamy milk waiting patiently atop it.

Right on cue, a distinctive voice swells from beneath the threadbare carpet.

“Arlo, that milk was just delivered this morning! Don’t you go drinking it straight from the bottle!”

“No, Mam,” he half-mutters, setting down the glass bottle he definitely hasn’t just been raising to his lips.

This is okay. Perfect, really. If she’s down in the cellar, that means she’s probably busy making preserves to sell at the market or something again. By the time she notices he’s neither in the house nor working in the garden, he’ll be well away. And then…then he’ll have some answers, whether she likes it or not. Satisfaction curls in his chest like a languid cat.

Arlo inches out of the door shoulder-first, lifting and lowering the latch as noiselessly as his fingers can manage - the same fingers that nearly drop the scarf twice when he knots the stained grey fabric over the lower half of his face, cursing the pit of his stomach for the uncomfy feeling spreading through it like so much spilled mead. What does he even have to feel guilty about? It’s not a crime.

Enough of that. Enough of it all.

He darts one glance over his shoulder, back at the rusty rooftop and their patch of garden, a weather-beaten face spotted with a mishmash of flowery freckles (except for the bit with his mother’s favourite lilies arranged on it, obviously. Those, she keeps spick and span and never lets him go anywhere near, though he has no idea what she thinks he’ll do to them). Then he starts to run. His legs set about their task in earnest, without taking directions from his mind. He already knows the kinds of places where he can find them…not that it’s any huge secret anyway. Or rather, it’s a secret to everybody; the type little kids hear all about as soon as they can toddle a few steps. Then they get their ears bruised with dire warnings to stay well away from it. Stupid. As if that won’t just put ideas into their tiny heads.

He’s not a kid anyway, Arlo reminds himself, puffing his chest out a little despite how short his bursts of breath are growing. This is no daft childish game. It’s something important. Something that goes hand in hand with the way he’s been jolting awake lately. Gagging around a yell jammed in his throat; a weird sort of dread tying his insides into hard knots. Or opening his eyes to find a stupid wetness spilling down his cheeks…or (he stifles a groan at the memory, heat rushing to his face) soaking his bedsheets.

He doesn’t know if he’s having nightmares...hallucinations, terrors, whatever. How can he? They float away like soap bubbles on washing day every time he tries to latch onto them. But it feels familiar to him, in all the places where it shouldn’t. One morning, he even woke up with the ghost of a name on his tongue and of blood suffocating him with its metallic tang. That’s all they were, though. Ghosts. And they vanished just like that, leaving nothing behind but a dragging weight in his chest.

Arlo just doesn’t know. Yet he’s sure- he’s sure he remembers, no matter how dimly.

To make matters weirder, talking to his mam hasn’t been any use whatsoever. No sooner do the words leave his lips than she butts in to set him some chore or another, or else shifts the topic in a way that curls his hands into fists. The last time Arlo tried to ask her about it, she had her own grilling ready for him – “Who have you been talking to? Who’s put all of this in your head?” – and something in her tone, something strange and strained, made him drop the subject like a hot coal.

He supposes some part of him wanted her to laugh at these dreams that he can’t even remember and at him for ever confusing them with real memories. That’d be better than having this brush-off tossed his way instead. Anything’s better than that.

So this is all her fault, if anything. All she has to do is be straight with him, just like she is with everything else…but no. Instead, he’s been left to flail in the dark. And driven to a straggle of shacks, several miles apart from any other dwelling.

At least, any human dwellings.

Arlo’s foot chooses just the wrong moment to catch on a particularly mean-spirited tussock. He stumbles as gracefully as a sledgehammer in a knife fight, the scrubland sailing up to greet his face. It’s not until after he clambers back up (along with a muttered spate of the words his mam indulges in when she thinks he’s out of earshot) that he gets back to reflecting on the rumours that’ve flown thick for as long as he can remember.

The Hexes. The…things that hushed voices regularly call witches, demigods, monsters, spirits, fae, devils and everything in between. And the only ones in this world who can shed any light on what’s happening to him.

As far as Arlo’s concerned, Hexes are the sort of stuff that everyone acts so certain about, like they know everything that is to know. Yet when they’re asked if they’ve ever even seen one for themselves, their faces flap like fish caught up in a net. And that’s the thing with all these rumours. His mam’s market customers insist they’ve spoken to others who’ve seen Hexes melding with slivers of moonlight and devouring the stars. Somebody has a relative whose neighbour knows someone who swears blind that the lot of them are descended from the legendary Ironflayer clan – that kind of thing.

None of them really know anything.

Before long, Arlo will.

Their shadow’s just slightly out of sync. Maybe it’s the gloom playing tricks, or maybe all those tales have made Arlo ridiculously paranoid. But he could swear that the very silhouette of the Hex is something a little too slow, a little too disjointed. Something that breathes.

Arlo tries to keep his head fearlessly raised, his eyes darting from corner to corner as the Hex breathes life into a candle wick, birthing yet more shadows, and shadows of shadows, from everything it casts its azure-tinged flame upon. The grip on his bag tightens all the same, clenching around the long bump of the axe’s handle.

He can’t make out their face. Not really. Every time he attempts to get a glimpse, it melts away somehow. In the end, he resigns himself to running his fingers in a weird erratic rhythm along the splintery surface of the table, not unlike his mam’s at home. He has to wrench his mind away from the thought of what her face would look like if she knew where he is right now.

Arlo doesn’t see the Hex placing the mixture down in front of him. One moment there’s nothing there but the elaborate symbols (probably occult-y hieroglyphs or something) carved into the tabletop; the next, kaleidoscopic light spills out over its surface from inside a vial. Specks of gold dance in its contents, rising and falling, swallowing the colours and spitting them back out.

His brow furrows, one hand coming up to rake through damp hair.

“You want…me to drink that?” The question rasps in his throat.

The shadow opens its eyes, two acid-green spots burning into Arlo’s face. But the Hex doesn’t so much as turn their head, let alone halt. ‘Not a crime, neophyte, I’m sure?’ they ask at length, words emerging as though they’ve drawn them out from some deep well. They echo off cold damp stone that isn’t there; they drip down his neck like icy, brackish water. ‘And neither are such answers as you seek. Drink.’

Arlo stares at the unknown mixture. Just like the Hex’s shadow, it stares back, pressing spectral hands against its crystal prison. Drink.

He shouldn’t.

He has to. Doesn’t he have every right?

His fingers obviously agree. Despite the stupid tremor running through them, they greedily close around the vial and prise out the cork, letting loose vapours that ghost over his skin.

The brew blazes its way down his throat and sets his stomach alight. Cough after cough rattles deep in his chest. He isn’t sure whether he’s been forced to his knees or not. Those gold spots have returned to swarm his vision, scratching out everything before him.

Arlo’s head rolls from side to side, trying to find where the Hex has disappeared to, trying to get some sign that this is what’s meant to happen. All that comes out is a mangled noise (has his tongue always been this heavy?) before it snakes into his head and swallows him whole. And the floor beneath his feet - or is it the entire world? - caves like a house of cards…

and tips him down, down, down into a slough of phantoms lurking,

living,

breathing,

waiting to snare him in its murky waters. A quicksilver voice sings him to his fall.

‘Memories don’t sleep, neophyte. They only like to pretend that they do.’

Cold. Cold biting at his skin like a million tiny pinpricks. Cold tendrils creeping around his heart, around the very flow of blood through his veins. And the kind of silence that comes when time itself is suspended.

Even so, the masses of limbs and soulless white eyes watch him.

He watches them right back, as empty of fear as they are of flesh and blood. How can they live here? What do they feed on?

Whatever your head offers us, is their answer, as they bare bloodied teeth in a gory grin.

As if in explanation, the golden scratches swimming at the edges of his vision fall away, only to be replaced with a face he feels like he knows. A face that cradles him in its familiarity yet crushes him beneath the expression etched deep in every line of it. He can’t place that expression. But the voice belonging to that face (didn’t that voice once call something to him about a milk bottle, a million years ago?) drips with it.

“What’s going to happen to him?”

Him. Him, him, him.

He stares at the place where that disembodied face hangs long after it’s flaked away like a butterfly drawn on a wall. Is he the reason for that shattered look in her eyes?

That’s when a twisted symphony – blurry and broken but somehow sharp enough to pierce him over and over again – awakens from the depths of some excruciating black hole spreading through his head.

Screams of a name. That name isn’t his own. It’s a name that once slept in a little bed next to his and proudly showed him the worms it had dug up with a stick behind the house. Once. It’s gone now. But also not gone at all.

It’s still there, out in the garden - only this time, it’s below the earth. He never saw that happen. A whisper in his heart knows it did, all the same, and knows exactly where (don’t ever touch the lily patch).

A wasted limb ending in long yellow claws stretching out from underneath his mattress…its grey splinter teeth, the smaller body leaping in front of him and trying to wrestle its grip from his ankle…the blood. So much blood, splattered so far. He remembers wondering how such a small person could hold that much.

He remembers.

And everyone kept it hidden from him, she kept it hidden from him, his mother- no, their mother, theirs-

That clawed arm, those teeth-

It’s coming back.

It’s coming to finish what it couldn’t before.

His cry seems to come from across an ocean. The pain explodes, taking every spectre with it, as his fingernails dig into his scalp like they can tear it away.

Gone is any idea of who he is, where he came from, what he was searching for in the first place. All of it is crossed out, scrubbed from existence, until only a blank wall remains. With one thing painted on it in burning black letters.

It’s coming.

It’s not a crime either, to want to be sure. To have to be sure, to know. The second the rough wooden lid is prised open with numb fingers, something cold and black grips his heart anyway - and he wouldn’t care if it struck him down where he stands.

The lid slips, joining the shovel on the lilies beneath his feet. Its fall could almost be called soft, if that wasn’t so wrong. But how could anything be more wrong than- than this?

He isn’t sure how long his gut chokes him, burning his throat, nostrils, eyes. When they finally give up, he drags a sleeve across his mouth. Huddles in the hole that seems to be opening into a bottomless chasm even as he clenches himself against its side, blurrily aware of the damp earth pressing into his forehead. Just like the nothingness seeping through his soul.

Little by little, one arm raises until barely two inches separates it from the arm in the box. One so alive. The other so grey, like the shadow they’ve become to him. And small. And folded with withered flowers over a sunken chest.

The gashes. So many. He wonders if it’ll do the same to him.

(It’s coming.)

Those phantoms laugh. Play in his head.

(It’s coming.)

#my scribbles #mine #fantasy #supernatural elements #monster #tw nightmares #tw blood #tw implied vomit #tw implied corpse #original writing #writeblr

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hanahaki-disease · 1 year

Text

Haven't I Given Enough?

Hermit! Tommy DSMP x Hermitcraft Crossover

Chapter 1 | Prepare the Diving Bell

Summary: Tired from the life he's living, Tommy wonders if the grass is truly greener on the other side, though in this case at the bottom of a lake.

Word Count: 2544

Notes: Chapter title comes from the song "Diving Bell" by Starset

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It was strange to be sixteen, Tommy thought. Nothing changed much. He didn’t wake up feeling any different than the day before, if anything dread sunk deeper into his stomach than the realization of aging a year. But none of that mattered anymore, not from where he sat. Below him was his little campsite of logdsteshire. He could see his shack and the pit where his items would go when Dream visited. He could see the horizon line. Where the blue sky meets the blue of the sea surrounding him, where the sun disappeared and onto the other side of the world. The side where the rest of his friends and those he considered family lived, far from his misery and the corruption he causes (as Dream would say.)

Tommy wondered how his mother faired over the years. Having not seen her since he was seven years old, his mind often daydreamed and thought of all the different ways her life could’ve gone without him. He wondered if she was still alive, ten years have passed and he wouldn’t know how she passed or why. He wondered if she moved on and begun a new family, one without him. Was she happier with them? Did she love her other children more than him? Probably not. Tommy doesn’t remember much of his childhood before Philza, he does remember her bright smile and laughing. He remembers the warmth of her hugs and the taste of the sweet buns she would get for the holidays.

He remembers feeling happy back then, an emotion that seems to never stay with Tommy long these days.

So, with nothing left to lose, Tommy leaned back and fell off the edge of the pillar.

–

With the start of the new season rush still coursing in her veins, Stress happily worked on the walls of her megabase in the Dark Oak forest just outside of spawn. Despite the sun blaring down on her, the canopy of leaves around her kept her cool while working. The wind flowing through the trees was fresh enough for her to keep her signature pink cardigan on (it also let Iskall know where she was, just in case he wanted to mess with her.) Having planned her megabase meticulously this season, Stress wanted to return to her roots. She decided to make a fairytale-like, forest kingdom; something to let the fae magic within her settle and quit being so restless.

It was a blessing, but she can’t let her guard down so easily. The mobs that took shelter under the canopy during the night were safe and could still attack her.

A second later the familiar bright green of his shirt flew overhead, “Stress! Wha-what's going on?!”

“Get over ‘ere and help!”

“C’mon,” Stress stood up, wrapping one of the kid’s arms around her shoulders. “We’ve got to take him inside, he doesn’t look too good.”

“I got a bed over here,” Stress lead them to a magenta bed tucked away in a secluded corner of the castle. “Easy, easy, easy Iskall! You’re going to hurt him!”

“I barely put him on the bed!” He shot back. “How’d he even get here?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But we need to get Xisuma over here because there’s no chat message saying that he joined the server.”

“You think he glitched here?”

“Only X would know.”

“I’ll go get him.” Iskall launched a rocket and flew off, the admin’s base in mind.

“Stress, who is this?” Her admin’s voice shook Stress out of her thoughts.

The other two hermits in the room gave a pointed look to the swede. “It was supposed to be a joke.”

Xisuma searched his pockets, hoping that a certain device was with him. “Stress, did you guys know if the kid had a Comm with him?”

“You’re not gonna search through his code are you?” Stress stood up. “You know that’s an invasion of player privacy! He has to be awake for you to access that, and you know it!”

“What if none of that’s true?” Iskall asks.

“Just do what you can,” Xisuma says. “I’ll tell Doc to bring some more potions on his way over here.”

*************************************************

Reminder! this is also cross-posted on ao3 if you wanna head over there instead, but I'll still upload chapters here as well!

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#hermit!tommy au #hc x dsmp #hermitcraft #hermitblr #dsmp #dsmp fic #watcher! grian #watcher!pearlescentmoon #hc xisuma #stressmonster101 #iskall85 #tommyinnit

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memoriesofkpop · 4 years

Text

Always There

Bang Chan (stray kids) x (Y/N) Female Reader

Genre: Angst

TW: mention of death and suicide

Word Count: 1276

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Heart racing. Cold sweats forming. The feeling of suffocation and terror. Nothing but darkness surrounded him. All of the sudden, he was falling.

Sitting straight up with heavy breaths, Chan woke from his sleep. Taking a moment to look around and regain his sense of reality, he sighed. Despite knowing that his dream was nothing but an illusion, his heart refused to slow to a normal pace.

Chan reached for his bedside table and took hold of his phone. 3:04am.

He ran his fingers through his hair as another sigh left his heavy body. He gently tossed his phone onto the bed when it suddenly lit up. The bright screen caught his attention but what made him freeze in his tracks was the notification that had popped up.

Immediately, he reached for the phone, fumbling throughout the whole process. With a quick swipe of the thumb, the text appeared before him.

“ChannNNnnnN heyee threer”

Worry began to fill him from the pit of his stomach. “Hey. Are you okay? Where are you?” he replied.

“hEehhe imm jsut dribnking”

“Are you with someone?”

“watttt. Wjhy wouldl I bee wihtt sommeonee”

“Where are you at? I’ll come get you”

“hehhhe yoouo alwys takkee suchhs goofds cares off mee”

“Send me your location. Are you sober enough to do that?” Something didn’t feel right to him. Something told him to call.

“ii jsut wantts to tells you thattt you areee coosllls and I love you”

“where are you?” he sent. Waiting just 30 seconds before placing the phone to his ear and listening to the dial tone. No answer.

“hey. Are you okay?” he sent again.

Read.

“Hello?” he tried again.

Read.

“????” trying a third time. The three dots appeared on his screen and relief filled him. At least you were still here. They would disappear and reappear for a bit. Giving you a chance to reply, he simply waited with his eyes glued to his phone. After a moment, three words popped up that filled him with panic and dread.

“bye bye Chan”

He tried calling again right as he read those words but it was obvious that you were declining the calls with how quick it brought him to voicemail. Two….three….four calls. All declined. He got out of bed and went to find shoes with the phone pinned between his shoulder and ear and the dial tone rang. This time the familiar sound rang more than just two times. Having hope in you picking up, he waited impatiently.

“please… pick up… come on… pick up…” he began whispering to himself as he fumbled with his house keys.

He ran into the abandoned streets with the dial tone still going, cursing his lack of a car or even any faster modes of transportation. His feet took him to the local clubs where he desperately scanned for your familiar face. Clubs to bars, there were no signs of you. He then headed to the playground where you had always loved to stargaze from the slides. Something about how the walls of the cold plastic made you feel just a bit warmer. All throughout, the constant calls and drawn out dial tone began to numb his ear. Or maybe it was the cold night breeze and the darkness that made him feel so.

With his lungs beginning to fail him, he sat down on the lonely set of swings. His hand fell from the side of his head as he lowered the device. His phone had never felt so heavy, much like the feeling that consumed him.

“Y/N (63)” shone brightly on his recently called list. He glanced up and noticed a small on the playground that connected various parts of the whole.

It hit him. It hit him like a truck as adrenaline began to course through his veins.

He immediately stood up from the swing, causing the metal to clang against one another noisily. Breaking into a sprint, he headed towards the bridge where you had first met.

As he neared the tall bridge that overlooked a beautiful, and grand, river that felt like an ocean of its own, he caught sight of a familiar figure. Yours. Sat calmly on top of the edge. The wind gently blowing through your hair as you gazed up at the bright moon up above.

“Y/N!” Chan called out as he made a mad dash towards you. Hearing the distant call, you turned towards him only to see him just a few feet away. A smile lit up your face as the tears in your eyes made them twinkle and shine like they had never before.

But then he saw a pile of blood red right by you and the panic in him rose even more.

Immediately Chan grabbed for you to pull you out of a potentially harmful place but his hands went right through you. Confused, he stared at his arms. He looked back up only to find you gone but the red remained. Everything was so red.

“Wh…what?” he stuttered, stepping back but tripping over his own feet. He fell with a thud but he didn’t care. He was beyond confused. The blood began to creep onto his hands and climb onto his arms.

Without a moments noticed, a rush of memories rushed him, causing him to grip onto his head tightly.

“..an!....Chan!... I found him! He’s over here!” a voiced rang through the barren streets, followed quickly by a stampede of footsteps. He ignored them. He couldn’t do anything else but ignore them. The voices. The sounds. Everything was too much for him right now. A scream escaped from his throat that he didn’t even recognize as his own.

Strong arms gripped onto his body and pulled him up and away from the rushing waters below.

“Chan! You can’t keep running off like that! Did you know how worried we all were? Your mother will be livid when she hears that you ran off again!” an older lady scolded. Two men held tightly onto his arms, helping him stand but also keeping him in place. “You really shouldn’t be back here again. You’re not ready” she continued with saddened eyes.

“What…? What happened…” Chan’s weak voice murmured. The world spinning before him.

“Come on. Let’s go back home. The doctor will change your medicine by morning so this doesn’t happen again,” she stated, turning on her heels as the men pushed him forward to quickly follow the nurse.

“No! I don’t want to! Don’t make me go back!” he began screaming and fighting but his heavy body was nothing compared to the two that held him in place.

“Please! Don’t take me back!” he cried out, remembering more and more as reality set in. They ignored his pleas and his fights as they moved away from a pile of red roses and some candles that marked the end of your existence on Earth.

“I killed her! I should have been there for her but I wasn’t! I killed her. It’s all my fault!” he sobbed between heavy breaths.

“It’s not your fault Chan. She made a choice,” the woman said, finally speaking up after some time.

His sobs were endless. “She jumped right as she saw me! If I wasn’t there then-”

“It’s not your fault. Here. How about we sleep for now and all of this will be over by morning, okay?” she said as she stopped and turned to face him. She motioned to the men and one pulled out a syringe fitted with a needle. Before he could refuse, a sharp pain entered his neck and his world once again, was consumed with darkness.

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shardminds · 4 years

Text

The Swan that fell for the Sea (2/3)

Thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo for being so patient with me! This story, at this chapter, clocks in at 10k which is the longest thing I’ve ever written and there’s still one chapter to go! Your gift, my sweet, will continue on into 2020 as work and Christmas and other commitments have kept me from it :( I’m sorry for keeping you waiting but hope you continue to enjoy where this is going ♥ It’s been a pleasure to write for you!

Another big thanks to @cssecretsanta2k19 for running this fantastic event! You ROCK!

And, last but not least, we ALL owe a round of applause to @thisonesatellite for 1) putting up with me, 2) calling me out when things don’t make sense and 3) being an unwavering pillar of support through this whole process. THANKS LOVE!

Emma Swan falls for a man of the sea. She doesn’t mean to but she does all the same. The scent of salt and leather and rum lingers on her skin long after he’s gone and, as the warm summer breeze makes way for winter’s icy chill, she wonders if he’ll ever return.

He does, and things will never be the same again.

Part 1 ¦ Also available on AO3 ♠

Emma waits for him.

She waits and waits, dismissing any rational thought that tells her to stop. Four months is a long time but, despite the fallen leaves turning to mulch on beaten passageways in the town, she waits. Sweet ale in her tankard. The memory of a kiss on her lips.

She sneaks out of the palace nearly every night, dressed in plain skirts. The ones that now had her fading into the background, not to be noticed other than by those that looked too closely.

Ruby tries her best to bring the smile back to Emma’s eyes. Sometimes it works; dragging her up to dance and sing, around the people she’d come so close to, unlikely friends among the dirt, slamming tankards together in cheers and living in the moment. Those moments helped, patching up the longing in her heart, however temporarily.

The docks die down in the cold, the revelries of summer no longer calling forth traders and night markets, performers and tourists, or pirates. Emma still visits, hoping to see The Jolly Roger moored up, the crewmen she’d grown familiar with greeting her with fond smiles and the Captain she loves wrapping her in his warm arms, fighting off the ache in her chest that had settled when he left.

It hurts to see it empty.

After such time apart, their summer together seems like a dream. If it weren’t for the chain at her neck, she’d wonder if it happened at all.

She’ll know soon enough. Solstice is tomorrow.

The preparations spread throughout the palace with the first frost; wreaths and garlands adorning the entire place in swaths of green, red and gold, fireplaces eternally lit in an attempt to warm the cold stone floors to no avail. On the rare nights Emma didn’t venture down to the tavern by the shore, burrowed into soft blankets and furs smelling of woodsmoke and frost, she wishes that she wasn’t alone.

A giant spruce, felled recently, lays in the courtyard, a smattering of snow covering its evergreen foliage.

Emma uses it as cover, walking behind it’s thickest part to obscure herself from the prying eyes of servants whose whispers would inevitably make their way back to the ears of her mother. She hasn’t been caught yet, in her months of running away to the docks at the fall of night and crawling back home in the early mornings, but she dreads what would happen if she did.

She dips past the thick shrub along the palace wall that hides a long forgotten passage up, up and up until it reaches just shy of her chambers. In the past, they’d probably been used for more important things – escaping assassinations, fleeing coups but those days were long gone. Misthaven was at peace; her father made sure of that.

She climbs the staircase in the dark. It takes minutes to get to the tapestry-covered exit but, in the pitch black, it stretches seemingly into hours. The sensory deprivation is all-consuming, but she continues on. Exhaustion tugs at Emma’s limbs, causing her to almost lose her footing a couple of times, grabbing the cool stone walls for balance. How long has it been since she slept? Two days? Three? Between fulfilling royal duties and drowning the dull ache in her chest, there isn’t a lot of time for sleep.

When he returns. That’s when she’ll sleep.

Before she can reach to pull the tapestry aside, it’s already gone.

In its place, the Queen.

She’s cast entirely in shadow, light from the corridor outlining her in an ethereal glow but Emma would know that silhouette anywhere.

Fuck.

“If you don’t want your Father to chain you up, I would suggest using the south entrance to sneak in, far less prying eyes this time of year. People are getting wise to your ways.”

Her mother, cinched into an opulent gown that makes Emma’s threadbare and frayed skirts look like rags, fixes her with a questioning look. Despite her age, Queen Snow has always been beautiful, once holding the title of fairest in all the realm for both her rule and her appearance. As her daughter, Emma held a biased opinion, of course, but now, with one groomed eyebrow hiked up, she cultivates the seed of anxiety in Emma’s stomach until its vines wind around her limbs, rooting her in place.

“Mother, I–”

Snow’s expression softens, a cheeky knowing smile replacing any animosity Emma could’ve sworn had been there not seconds earlier. It knocks her back like an unexpected wave.

“Hush, Emma.” She steps to the side, allowing space for Emma to emerge into the empty corridor. Hesitantly, she takes it. The light, albeit dim, is still enough to be blinding after the total void in the passageway. “I too was young once. Come along now.”

“I think the circumstances were slightly different then,” They fall into step together, heading in the direction of Emma’s chambers. Nerves still tingle in the pit of her stomach, sharper and heavier than the crown her mother wears. She hadn’t expected such a… non-issue. If her father found her, she’d be having an entirely different conversation right now. “You were running from a power-hungry sorceress who tried to turn the kingdom against you. I, on the other hand, am under no such duress.”

“My stepmother was– yes. I suppose you’re right.” She muses, looking off into the middle distance as Emma pushes against the dark wood of her bedroom door.

The whole room is immaculately kept, further evidence that it had not been slept in for some time, but the hearth is lit, embers glowing, warmth only spreading as far as the dressing table and doing nothing to bite off the bone-deep chill that settled in Emma’s bones from the walk. On the bed, atop furs and throws and soft pillows, is a dress.

“I assume Father expects me to wear that.” She sighs, picking up the offending article between two fingers. It’s softer to the touch than she expected, pleated silk and silver beads, with elaborate lace sleeves that flare at the wrists.

“You assume correctly.” Her mother nods, taking a seat by the fire and swiping an apple from the fruit basket on her way. “Johanna prepared you a bath so you can make yourself a little more presentable for later.”

“Later?”

“Yes, your Father has requested our presence in one of his meetings this morning, which is why I was so anxious for you to arrive,” Emma rolls her eyes and starts towards the bath, peeling off her outer shirts and leaving a trail of clothes on the floor, leaving her undergarments until she’s safely behind the screen separating the clawfoot tub from the rest of the room. Snow tuts at the mess. “but enough about all that, I do believe I am owed an explanation.”

The water is just a touch cooler than scalding when she steps in, but her mother’s words send a spike of fear down her spine. The girl that exists there, at the docks and taverns, she has no place in this palace. Emma tries her best to shove her down, letting only the Princess remain.

“In order to rule the people, one must know the people.”

“Oh, how diplomatic! We’ll make a Queen of you yet.” Snow calls back, voice laden with sarcasm. “Now, the truth, if you will.”

Emma pauses, letting the heat from the bath sink deeper into her bones. How does she even begin to explain?

Oh yes, Mother. I spend most of my nights at the docks staring at the horizon, waiting for a Pirate, who I seem to have fallen in love with, to return from a voyage I regret refusing to join him on and when it all gets a bit too much, I find solace in drink and frantically attempt to sober myself up on the walk back to the palace at sunrise because I fear you and Father finding out the truth of my whereabouts.

“That is the truth, partly.” Letting her head sink under the water’s embrace, she sighs. The bubbles rise and pop, words she wishes she could say. She trusts her mother implicitly.

She doesn’t, however, trust her father, who would see Killian’s head on a spike if he ever found out.

Her lungs burn when she comes up for air.

“I’m suffocating here.” Emma can’t stop herself, words spilling forth like a burst dam. “My duties are limited to appearances and dinners, where all anyone wants to talk about is who I’m going to marry. I’m the fucking Princess, adored by all and all that rubbish, but I’ve never felt more alone than when I wear that tiara. I’m nowhere near ready to rule. I don’t know the first thing about defending my country and that scares me, but when I’m down there with the people– our people, I can be someone else, even if it’s just for a night.”

For a second, the only sound in the room is the gentle splash of bathwater and the faint crackle of embers.

“Emma–” There’s a creak of furniture followed by the soft clack of heels on the stone floor. Her mother pauses and Emma can see her shadow against the screen.

“Please, Mother.” She pleads, voice unbroken. “Don’t take this from me.”

Snow emerges from behind the screen, an apologetic look casting her face in a sad smile, and reaches for one of the perfumed soaps that had been laid out for Emma to bathe with. Unperturbed by Emma’s nudity, she comes to kneel behind her daughter’s head.

“I spent so much of my youth fighting to get into a palace that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be trapped inside one.” Her fingers, small and dexterous as they are, massage the soap into Emma’s scalp, forming a liberal lather. Tension leaks out of Emma’s shoulders with each touch and, before long, she’s completely lax. They don’t speak, but Killian’s name sticks in her throat, a lump she can’t shift. In another life, were she not a Princess, perhaps she would have the courage to speak it.

Her mother and father have so many tales, stretched across years of rebellion and revolt; of the Evil Queen, of the dwarves sworn to fight by her side, of banditry and betrayals and true love– that’s what Emma had been searching for each night, between dirt and flame and ale. A story, an adventure, something for people to talk about in hushed whispers, of the Swan that fell for the sea.

They don’t have to know that the Swan is their Princess.

Not yet.

Her fingers are pruning in the lukewarm water, body lulled half to sleep, by the time her hair is washed and towel-dried. Her mother sighs, knees creaking as she stands – age has been kind to both her parents but it creeps in slowly, in the silver gracing their temples hidden by golden crowns. It comes for everyone eventually.

“I’ll ask Graham to scale back patrols on the south gate and Johanna to fetch you a better cloak than that which you’ve taken to using,” She starts, placing a fresh towel by the bath side. The satin skirt of her gown is darkened with damp spots from the water, but she pays them no mind, pressing a kiss to the centre of Emma’s forehead. “and please remember that I am always here for you, Emma. I mean it.”

There’s sincerity in her eyes, sincerity and love— so much love, more than Emma can even begin to comprehend, but she trusts it. In the list of moments she would pause for an eternity, this is one of them.

“Mother.”

“Yes, dear?”

Her voice catches, a soft hopeful smile making its way to her lips. “I love you.”

“And I you.” Snow nods, making her way behind the screen, leaving Emma to dress alone. “Meet us in the great hall in an hour.”

When the door shuts softly, confirming her mother’s exit, she emerges from the water.

Cold stone walls, cast-iron chandeliers with tall flickering candles, fires in every hearth, stained glass effigies of past kings and queens lit with the late morning sun, eaves decorated with garlands of holly and ivy, and, raised on marble steps, three golden thrones. The great hall really is just that. Great.

Emma grew up here, excited to be involved at first, to wear the tiara her father said she was born to wear.

As time moved on, so did she.

“Emma!” A voice rings out, echoing against stone.

Her father, the King.

Seeing him smiling, lines of age forming around his eyes and mouth, has her own smile falling into place as he walks across the great hall to embrace her, posture never slipping.

As much as she may not enjoy the formalities of her role within the court or the isolation that it’s afforded her, she holds nothing but love and respect for her father. Love and respect and a sliver of fear.

“I was wondering where you managed to run off to.” Emma leans into his embrace, letting herself be wrapped up in his arms. One hand cradles the base of her skull, the way it always does when her father holds her. He pulls back to adjust the silver circlet woven into her curls. “I take it you like the dress, then?”

He takes a step back, admiring the fabric with its delicate drapery and flowing skirts, letting Emma twirl for him to better view the garment. Killian’s ring, tucked between what cleavage her bodice creates, threatens to come free, the weight of it tugging as she turns at her Father’s request. It longs to be free. “I do, Father. Thank you.”

“Excellent.” He nods, holding his arm out for her to take, and she does. “There’s only one audience today so this should be short but I wanted you here as a witness.”

Arm in arm, they walk the carpet running the centre of the room, ascending the marble steps to where their thrones, forged by the finest smiths in Agrabah, stand tall and proud. Emma slides into hers, the metal cold against her legs. It’s the first time in weeks she’s had to be present for an audience, usually boring affairs, with very little involvement on her own part and more just an excuse for David to assure the people of their strong and unified family. It’s true, for the most part.

“I must apologise, Emma,” Kneeling by her feet, David starts. Like this, she can see just how much age has crept into his features, how it lingers in his eyes and in the recede of his hairline and the grey and white peppered throughout his dark blond. “I feel like I’ve been lax on preparing you for what will inevitably be yours.”

“Father–”

He takes her hand in both of his, squeezing reassuringly as Emma’s face changes from confusion to acceptance.

“The crown will be yours, Emma, and I won’t be here to guide you forever. I should’ve done this sooner. From now on, I want you to shadow me in all audiences, all council meetings, everything. If I’m there, I want you by my side. I want you to speak up, to learn, to build your own opinions. I hope I can save you the struggle of finding your feet so, when the crown does come, you’ll hit the ground running.”

The thought of ruling is terrifying.

The thought of ruling without her father’s guidance? Even more so.

If she agrees—

She will never be Swan again.

She looks down at him, a smile, soft as the fur around his neck, meets her there.

“I’d like that.” She nods, wondering if he’s convinced by the lie that comes so naturally.

“Wonderful!” Her father beams, pulling her in for a hug. It’s an awkward angle but it doesn’t last for long. “We’ll start proper preparations after Solstice.”

Soon, David is standing, smoothing the wrinkles from his slacks and shirt before righting the fur edged robe around his shoulders. He’s a picture of opulence and authority. If Emma hadn’t seen him wear his royal garb over a thousand times already, she’d be in awe of it. Privileges of royal life, such as fancy silks and furs, didn’t draw her as they once had. She craved leather and linen and simplicity.

Summer had changed her.

“Who is it that’s requested an audience then?” Tracing the indentations in the arm of her throne, she probed, noting that her father had not divulged that particular information.

“Ah, yes.” He starts, lips pulling into a tight line as he paces before his throne. “I hired some external support on retrieving an item of extreme value from the edge of our kingdom. Upon my wake this morning, I received word that they’d returned and had requested to meet. That’s why I wanted you here today, Emma. To show you that, sometimes, even Kings have to convene with miscreants.” His voice drips with venom on the tail end of his sentence, as if the words burn as they leave his mouth.

She stays silent, the admission, dying on her tongue, that sometimes Princesses convene with miscreants too.

“Your mother will be here soon,” Taking his own seat, her father continues, picking invisible traces of lint from the flowing fur of his robe. “She’s just overseeing Graham’s security detail for the festival, you know how it is.”

That is not, in fact, what her mother is discussing with Graham but it doesn’t seem appropriate to mention it now.

They make idle conversation, discussing alliances and trade deals and all the politics that Emma is expected to learn when she takes her father’s throne. Most of it, she knows from the tutors of her youth but there are intricacies she’s not privy to that David is keen for her to learn. Agrabah will trade wine and jewels for grain when the harsh summers perish their harvests, Arendelle will trade furs, silks and meats when the arctic winters perish theirs. They will reach out in times of bountiful harvest too, offering to send what exotic fruit and spices will survive the voyage. Neverland rarely makes trade requests, their young ruler too stubborn to accept the aid of those his senior.

“Is it true his court is filled with children? I imagine that’s difficult come nap time.” Emma jokes, curiosity sparked by the mention of their most mysterious neighbour.

“Emma!” David scoffs, trying to stifle the laugh that breaks free. Like this, unconcealed laughter causing him to squint, crows feet deep and apparent at the corners, he’s no longer the King. He’s the man that wrapped her up in his furs after she’d fallen through the frozen lake as a child, who smudged cake on her nose every birthday until she was old enough to evade it, who would do anything to see her safe, no matter the consequences. “Wherever did you hear such a thing?”

Killian had told her. They’d been looking through his maps, his shirt covering her modesty and his arms circled around her waist. They hadn’t even made it to the tavern that night, need too prevalent, and after, when they were fully sated, she’d explored his cabin. He let her, watching from the bed as she went from shelf to shelf, admiring his treasures. He’d joined her by the time she reached his desk, never a fan of the distance between them. The maps outlined each realm, annotated with notes in Killian’s own cursive script.

“Neverland,” He’d said, pressing a kiss to her bare neck. “Would be far less treacherous if it wasn’t governed by children.”

She’d raised an eyebrow at him, reluctant to believe, the silent How? written all over her face. He shrugged in response, a smug smirk peering back at her.

“Magic, love.” He’d punctuated the words with a wink and they’d fallen together again, maps forgotten beneath them.

Emma can’t help her own laugh, partially at the memory but mostly at her father. It joins with his, ringing out in the echo of the hall. It’s been a long time since she’s been able to laugh with her father. It feels good.

Her mother appears, hurrying along the carpeted walkway with a determined look on her face. Their laughter dies down as Emma and her father both take her in. She’s flustered, taking the marble steps two at a time before sitting back in her spot on the King’s right. Emma gives her a questioning look at the same time David does. She smooths down flyaways at her temples and adjusts her dress to sit better against the throne before looking up at her family and nodding.

“He’s here.”

As if summoned, there’s a loud knock against the grand wooden doors directly ahead of them, at the foot of the great hall. It echoes against the stone walls, causing the chandeliers to shift slightly with the power of it.

The King straightens up, matching his posture to that of his title, and bellows in response.

“ENTER!”

Emma can feel the creak of the door in her bones as it screeches from the protesting hinges, it swings open slowly, only enough to let through one man before shutting with a slam. The man does not flinch; instead, he begins his walk towards their thrones. He’s familiar in a way that has her on the edge of her seat but his head is hung, thick dark hair touched with grey and white and the angle of her position obscuring his face.

With each step he takes, her heart stutters, he looks like– no, it can’t be. She’d been at the docks the night prior, The Jolly Roger nowhere among its moorings. She’d asked countless merchants and fishermen over the months for news of its return but none could provide any more than Killian had provided her on his departure.

I’ll be back when solstice comes.

Yet, this man, with his battered leather overcoat and dark embroidered waistcoat, strikes a pang of similarity in her she’s never quite felt. If it weren’t for the hook in place of his left hand, she’d have been entirely convinced that the man before them is, in fact–

When at the foot of the marble steps, he raises his head.

David tuts. “Captain Jones. You’re late.”

Emma’s breath catches.

It is him. Killian.

Her Killian.

Here.

She fights– oh, she fights – to keep her face void of emotion, praying the well of tears that threatens to spill at the sight of her love to lay dormant. He’s here. he’s here he’sherehe’sherehe’sherehe’s–

He’s here?

Joy turns to terror in her blood, clawing away until it’s consumed her entirely. He hasn’t yet noticed her or, if he has, he shows no indication of it. His eyes, as tempestuous as the day they met, are rage and fury and fixed only on her father.

Why is he here?

“Apologies, your Majesty.” He bites out, voice clipped and sarcastic. She has to bite the inside of her mouth to stop from smiling. “I’ve had to adjust to captaining a ship with one hand as the bloody dragon you neglected to warn me of seemed to enjoy slicing off my other one.”

He holds up his left arm, from under the wind-battered leather sleeve of his overcoat, the awkward brace of the prosthetic sits, a vicious curved hook attached to its end.

Emma gasps. The Swan he loves writhes beneath the surface of her skin, itching to be free.

“You knew the risks, Captain.” Her father adds, flippantly. “Treasure troves often acquire pests.”

Killian’s stare is fire and daggers, meant for no one but the King. It fills her veins with ice in a way she never knew he was capable of. In their time together, this was a side of him he’d never had to reveal. Emma wants nothing more than to go to him but she’s stuck on her throne, it’s golden embrace holding her tight as she watches steel form in her lover’s eyes.

“I have cleared you of all outstanding sentences, bounties and warrants held against you and your men and there’s five hundred gold ready to be transported to your ship,” David continues, motioning to the same doors Killian had entered through. His tone is terse, sharp as a blade’s edge. “I have upheld my end of our agreement.”

Killian scoffs, his eyes glance at her for less than a second and Emma’s stomach drops, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on who she is, refocusing his sights on the King.

She’s not sure what would hurt more, for him to know she lied or for him to not recognise her at all.

“I lost four men and a hand. Aye, we knew the risks, but the situation was not as you’d explained. We walked in unprepared and were almost destroyed because of it.”

“I trusted you with the information from my scouts, Captain. I hid nothing from you. Your lack of preparation is through no fault of mine.”

“Had I known the truth, I would not have lead my crew like lambs to the slaughter!” He shouts, looking for somewhere, anywhere to plant the seed of his own mistake. Beneath it all, Emma knows he’s in pain. She can hear it. She longs to soothe it. She cannot.

The King matches his shout, standing in the process. “That was your decision to make!”

A low growl rumbles between them and Emma doesn’t need to see it to know it’s Killian’s. The sound of it has imprinted itself in her mind, from when times were much simpler. He takes a step forward, but before his boot can even make contact with the polished marble step, David reacts.

Time slows to a halt with the familiar sing of unsheathed metal as her Father trains his sword on the approaching threat, poised to strike at a seconds notice. The breath leaves Emma’s lungs, stolen by the deadly sheen of steel forged in the belly of a long-dead beast. She wants to scream, to put herself between her lover and her father, she wants to but her feet are lead and her tongue is ash and all she can do is watch as Killian stares down the length of the King’s blade.

Killian’s eyes widen momentarily, fixed to the point mere inches from his face. It reaches almost to his throat, barely a step separating the tip of the blade from its target. Her father, the King, is power and justice with calculating eyes and, in that moment, Emma is afraid.

“One more step, Pirate.” The King spits, blade unwavering in his palm.

Emma’s heart stops, or maybe it’s racing, anxiety permeating every pump as it speeds faster and faster, fight or flight response triggered by the furrow forming in Killian’s brow. He does not step back and his eyes do not leave David’s.

“Don’t think the presence of my wife or daughter will impede me.”

“Father.” Her voice catches before she can even think to stop it, more forceful than she anticipates. David turns to her in complete silence, his gaze smouldering anger and his sword still trained mere inches from Killian’s throat. He’s met with her own powerful stare. One day, he expects her to rule this kingdom. One day, she will. It’s frightening and her stomach churns as the urge to bend to her father’s– no, the King’s will stirs within her.

Emma ignores it.

“Be rational, there’s been too much blood spilt already.”

The King’s fury softens, but doesn’t disappear completely. She half expects a reprimand for her outburst or at least a look to convey his disapproval but it never comes. He turns back to Killian, allowing Emma to do the same.

If he had been ignorant of her identity before, there’s no way to hide it now.

She can see the cogs turning in Killian’s mind as he takes her in; the top of her head and the circlet glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows, her face and the sad eyes he’ll find there, her neck and his own thick chain tucked beneath lace. He goes no further. At the sight of his own ring, something breaks within him. Emma can almost hear the shatter from where she sits. He is here but he’s never been further away and it’s killing her.

So many things she should’ve said cross her mind all at once, screaming inside her skull, begging to be freed.

Despair and disbelief flash across his features–

And then it’s gone.

He faces David once again, the fire and fury he once held now calm and cold.

“I apologise for my manners, your Majesty,” He begins, his voice is controlled and a vision of decorum. Not Killian. Not her Killian. “I am not myself. Those men, they were brothers to me. It’s– It’s my fault. I could not protect them.” Taking two steps back, he bows, low and deliberate. David lowers his sword but doesn’t sheath it.

“My daughter thinks you’re deserving of mercy.” He muses, waving a hand towards her that Killian’s eyes don’t follow. It hurts a little. “I suggest you take your gold and leave before I ask my wife what she thinks.”

The Queen, sitting silently throughout the whole exchange, raises a single brow at Killian.

He nods, opening his mouth as if to speak before thinking better of it and turning away, coat billowing behind him, footsteps muffled by the carpeted walkway.

“I thought you a better man than most, Captain, agreeing to undertake such a perilous task for the chance to pardon your crew, give them clean slates. I admired you for it.” David shouts after him, returning his sword to its place at his hip. Killian stops in his tracks, turning only slightly to look upon the King’s face. For a second, there’s grief in his eyes, genuine hurt that Emma knows she put there. He blinks it away without acknowledging it ever existed.

“I am truly sorry for your loss.” David continues, all traces of anger gone from his voice. “But, disrespect me again and I’ll have you hanged.”

The slam of the door shatters the paralysis she’d fallen under, lips parted and eyes wide, watching the space where Killian had been not seconds before. The weight of David’s words hang in the silence.

#csssecretsanta2k19 #itsfabianadocarmo #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain duckling #ficminds #the swan that fell for the sea

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moonlightstars16 · 4 years

Photo

Chapter 9 ~ Beneath The Surface

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days, Connie trained under Pearl. Learning everything she could about being a knight. Harnessing her skills with potential even she was surprised of having. However it didn't slip past her mind that she was training with Steven's second in command. He treated her a bit more like she had a higher ranking than other Pearls. But it didn't exclude the fact that she was still his second. Pearl seemed to be a bit cold on the outside, firm as well as intelligent. But she also had a gentler kindness to her deep down. She had seen it before a few times but that was rare. It was like Pearl had a wall between her feelings and everything else in the world.

"Pearl, if you know that what Steven does is wrong, why do you allow it to happen?" The question didn't seem to phase her, until Connie was on the floor, sword knocked out of hand.

"What did I say about your concentration?" Pearl stated a bit more firmly than usual. Connie quickly stood to her feet and picked up her sword. Immediately they were back combating one another. The question still lingered in her mind. No matter how hard she tried, those words flashed across her mind. Over and over as she found herself on the ground multiple times. "I supposed I assumed wrong about you." Pearl stated before putting her own sword back into the scabbard.

"No! I can do this!" Connie responded in determination, getting up once more and tightening her grip on her sword.

"You have no idea what I've been through." Pearl spoke making Connie's expression turn to confusion. "You don't understand what I had to do to make sure I am where I am now! To see the boy change into what he is! To see him suffer!" Her voice became louder and louder with every word. Connie then began to realize what should've been obvious.

Steven was not who he was now since birth, apparently. And with everything that has happened, Pearl was right. She could never even begin to understand why they stay by his side. Still he had done horrible things on his own and that didn't sit right. "To see him become someone so....monstrous..." Pearl turned around and sighed. "That will be all for today, return tomorrow for your next session." With that she disappeared into the shadows. Leaving Connie alone on the dimly lit area they just sparred upon. 'Is she hoping for him to be the boy he once was? To be there for when it happens?'

Though a part of this still didn't fit right, Connie let the matter aside for now. Focusing on the skills she obtained through her training. A routine of sorts developed from it. Each morning she would train with Pearl, then for the rest of the day she would help around the palace, then spent time reading either in the library or outside in the garden. At night she would write reports, the traditional way, for when she would visit back on earth. It was a nice routine that certainly distracted her between meetings.

Though her first meeting was beyond anxiety inducing, the rest were followed as she had originally thought it would be. Standing by Pearl and taking her notes. Though the other Diamonds were used to it, she could feel their gaze's as if throwing daggers at her back. Overtime she had build an immunity to the feeling, though remained cautious of it. And while White Diamond only appeared through her puppet, on a couple rare occasions afterwords, the feeling she gave Connie was the worst of them all. As if a ghost, the spirit of death itself and a cruel dictator wrapped up into one haunted her.

This made her focus more on what she was writing, her only distraction amongst everything around her. Perhaps that's all her activities were. Distractions. Couldn't bare to think about the arrangement she willing agreed too....twice over. That alone made her feel worse about the entire situation. Not only was she here voluntarily, but with a responsibility of protecting the entire human race. Whether liking it or not, it laid on her shoulders. Weighing her down into a deep pit she couldn't escape from.

Whenever those thoughts creeped into her mind during the day, she pushed them back. Reminding herself that it was for humanity. Fighting for them. If she were to back out, then every single human, soul, on the planet would cease to exist. And if his Zoo were to grow, then it was only a matter of time; before those who were added would loose there identity. She had to stand up for them. But the nights were the most hard to avoid. Dreams turned into nightmares until that was the only thing left. One particular night seemed the most cruel. Though she had dreamt the same thing over and over.

She was back on earth, journal in hand and ready to give her report. However there wasn't anyone around. No human in sight, no sounds of liveliness coming from the tiny city. Not even natural wildlife could be found. Still it seemed that didn't matter as she tugged her written report close to her. Suddenly a familiar yell echoed in the area. The only thing giving off a sound besides the wind. Running closer and closer, reaching over the top of the hill. Screaming as soon as her eyes landed on a horrible site.

"FATHER!!!!" Connie shouted, trying to reach his side. A pink lion stood on top of him. Claws almost digging into his flesh, just below his chin. Seeing that he was suffocating as lion bared his sharp fangs. He looked upon his daughter with tears in his eyes and a weak smile. She tried reaching out for him, but chains tied to her ankles and wrists pulled her back. Screaming as her heartbeat rang out faster and faster. The next thing she saw in her vision was red. Blood Red.

"NO!!!!!" A scream so loud it almost cracked the glass echoed across the room. She sat up quickly as if reaching out for someone. Breathing deeply as her eyes flickered around the room. Reminding herself where she was. Tears poured and stained her cheeks as she brought her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around herself and head down. Sobbing what felt like for an eternity.

"Father...I'm so sorry... please.. forgive me..." On earth he was safe, alive and hopefully surviving. But she would never see him again if she were to stay. Even if she could visit him on a new home planet, would he want to look upon the face of his own daughter? Soon to be married to a murderer for the rest of her life, even if it was to save everyone else's? Shame crept in as she sank down into the mattress.

So lost in her cries she barely noticed two firm, yet gentle, arms wrapping around her frame. Steven had sat right behind her, tenderly stroking through her hair and back. Pulling her close until she was crying into his chest. He had heard her screams and instantly was there to see if she was alright. Upon hearing her heart-wrenching sobs, something inside, compelled him to be there for her. Feeling her trying to calm herself, and failing as more tears fell from her eyes.

"Shhh" He whispered as he rested his head over hers. Within minutes Connie was calm again and had fallen asleep in his arms. He watched as she breathed in and out. Wondering if she ever realized he was there. Her expression calm and serene. 'You truly are a mystery... What are you doing to me?'

'You're falling for her. We are falling for her. That's why you can hear me much more clearly now, don't you see?'

'What does that have to do with her being here?'

'Think, you allowed a connection within you. To connect to me. She is bringing out the better side of you, the goodness in you. The side of us we need. What we once had.'

'Be reasonable here!'

'Shh not so loud or you will wake her...'

Connie stirred in her sleep for a moment before returning to a peaceful state. A smile appeared on his face as he remembered she could probably hear them, though maybe it was different in her current state. The matter of how remained a mystery.

'See? You want to see her. Let alone being by her side.'

'So what if I am? Doesn't it mean that I'm just winning the bet?'

'Forget that stupid bet! It means nothing. We shouldn't have made it in the first place... Look if you truly want to win her heart, reveal to her what's inside of your's. Let her know the true you...the real us. You want to understand is that right?'

'You say all this as if we know the future.' Steven frowned burrowing his brows together for a moment.

'We know she would've said the same thing-'

'SHUT UP! I don't want to hear or think about this. I will win the bet and she will be mine regardless, so stop talking!' With that the voice went silent, his gem dimmed. Taking a deep breathe he laid Connie gently back in his bed. Lifting the covers over her shoulders, smiling as he watched over her sleeping form. Shaking his head he walked out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him. Sighing he ran his fingers through his hair and thought about what his gem half told him.

'If I am to win her heart...' He then began to think about what it more and more. Walking down the dimly lit hallways, he came up with an idea. He had once heard tales of how his father and mother met and fell in love. A swoon, a smile and she will be his forever. All he needed to do was recreate a romantic scene. His idea was simple but it would do the trick. Calling upon Pearl, she was there almost instantly.

"Yes Steven?"

"I want the main garden to be cleared up and looking a bit more tended too. By tomorrow night and no later."

"Of course, but may I ask why?" It was an awfully strange request. Especially since he had just put his own father in charge of the garden. Not wanting anything to do with it in the first place. The sudden interest was a bit odd, however she was used to him doing whatever he pleases. Even if it didn't make much sense to everyone else.

"Just be sure it gets done. Oh and make sure to inform Lapis to create a picnic supper at the pavilion." He added before walking away and leaving a very confused Pearl to complete his request.

'I won't loose this bet'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay Peridot all the books, with the authors last name, starting with F in the science fiction section are all completed!" Hand cupping the side of her cheek as she leaned over the railing and shouted down below. 'Until we have some more books showing up to add to it.'

"Affirmative Connie, Thank you!" A voice from down below a level replied as Peridot typed away on her keyboard. Connie walked down the steps feeling a bit tired from carrying books all over the place, for hours upon hours on end. She sat down on a chair, sighing deeply while looking around at the work before them.

"I wonder... Why does Steven have all this, what some might call, vintage, historical and almost renaissance like style? Especially since the technology around here is vastly superior in comparison." Her voice was quiet but was oh so heard.

"Well it's not one hundred percent accurate since all HomeWorld tech is incorporated within the architecture. But I suppose it's just a way to remind himself of what he was before." Bismuth stated putting the books she was carrying on the desk.

"I don't understand...." Turing to face her with a confused expression on her face.

"Well I mean he is part human. Growing up on earth for the first ten years of his life. He loved hearing about the past and soon developed a love for all this. It began with stuff from the 1980's and just continued from there. I suppose apart of him wants to keep that human connection alive."

"Even though he's willing to destroy the planet entirely instead of saving it." Her voice was a tad bitter. If he cared for certain human historical oddities, culture and such, why was he so willing on throwing away all that has evolved over time. Yes it was never perfect, but all that humanity strove for shouldn't be going to waste... However that was the reason why she was here, she supposed. To keep humanities spirit alive as well as making sure he held his end.

"Even so, with everything that happened to him, This scenery, this palace, it's like a visual sanctuary. But then again what do I know." Bismuth added laughing before taking another big stack of books in arms before heading upstairs. Connie smiled shaking her head to get rid of the bad thoughts. She did have a point, since knowing Steven pretty much all of her life. In fact the earthly mannerisms they all picked up made her giggle. If any gems deserved to be an honorary human, it would be them.

Sometime later Lapis soon came in bringing water and snacks for all of them, mostly for Connie's benefit. Within thirty seconds Connie had to refill her cup, dehydration wasn't a good idea when reorganizing books. Peridot took this opportunity to read aloud all the progress and what they still had to go. It seemed it was a never ending project but it was doable. Even though his highness kept adding to it; when he would have some scouts go along and grab a few oddities from years ago. Since being unable to do it himself because of the Diamonds.

She sighed and gripped the glass in hand, watching the water swirl around whilst getting lost in thought. He still was a tyrant of sorts, but she had gathered it wasn't just a random choice he made to do that day. Suddenly Bismuth looked up and frowned at what was ahead. Connie's eyes followed as she saw Lapis, carrying the tray back to the kitchen, stopping in her tracks.

In the doorway Jasper made eye contact with the blue gem, smirking whilst staring her down. Though her back was turned slightly, She could see Lapis' hands gripping the tray so tightly it was if she could snap it in half at any moment. Then, after a moment or two, Jasper walked away. Lapis stood still for a moment, head downwards briefly, before continuing to leave in the opposite direction.

It was apparent that something had happened between them. Even Peridot stopped giving her report the moment Jasper was in view. Bismuth sighed and slowly undid her fists she formed from earlier.

"That little minded gem should be careful about where to pick a fight."

"Why does she even care anymore? Lapis was right breaking it off in the first place. She should take a hint, seriously." Peridot added continuing to type on her tablet.

"Breaking it off?" Knowing it was wrong to pry, but once again her curiosity couldn't be helped. Beginning to think it was a problem. Still she couldn't help but be worried about her friend. Both gems before her looked at each other, as if contemplating to spill some sort of secret. It was Peridot who spoke first.

"It was because of Malachite."

"Peridot!" Bismuth stated slapping her upside the head.

"OW! Hey she might as well know!"

"Really if it's private I don't have to know. My curiosity got the better of me again, I'm afraid. I suppose it's just a reaction to worrying about a friend is all. But like I said if it's that personal, and by the sounds of it horrible too, then don't feel like you have to tell me." Connie lowered her hands after a sort of surrender gesture to let them know she didn't mind the secrecy. Sometimes personal events are secret for a reason. Peridot looked at Bismuth with puppy dog eyes, even though she had already made up her mind to tell a dark secret from the past.

"Horrible couldn't even begin to describe what had happened. It was about a year before the Diamonds came and took us all way..."

The Homeworld scouting/retrieval ship had crashed into the ground. The crystals gems used all there strength to bring it back to Earth, before having the chance to leave the atmosphere. Through all the debris and rubble, the crystal gems looked about to make sure everyone was okay. Though separated, Steven used his powers to create multiple bubbles to shield them from the impact. But before anyone could double check they were all here, a huge Homeworld gem sprung up from the ground, almost throwing a boulder that laid on top of her. Seeing the Crystal gems before her snapped something inside.

"You. Will. PAY!" Jasper shouted. Suddenly from the rubble right next to where Jasper came out of, was Lapis. Coughing she tried walking towards the others before Jasper caught her wrist, bringing her to her side.

"Let go of me!"

"Lapis, fuse with me! Or I will shatter you! And you're friends as well. But fuse with me, and I will spare them." Gasping the others tried to race towards her but stopped when they saw Jasper's hand on Lazuli's gemstone. "One more step, and she's gone!" Lapis looked at all the Crystal gems, landing on Steven and sighing. Knowing it was all a ruse. When suddenly an idea formed in her head.

"Wait!" She sighed and looked at Jasper, head held high. "I'll fuse with you."

And with that they formed the most horrific gem, Malachite.

However Lapis wasn't done with her. Using all the powers of the water, she chained them down on to the bottom of the sea and gained control over both. For six months they were trapped. Both fighting for control. Lapis's love for the Crystal Gems, her family, out-powered Jasper. Although she knew it wasn't going to last. She was becoming weaker and weaker.

Suddenly they were both enveloped in a bright flash of Pink light. A sharp shield slashing Malachite right down the middle. Causing her to be poofed as both gems fell to the ocean floor. Jasper was placed into a pink bubble, sent to the temple until the proper punishment could occur, and Lapis' cradled into Steven's, now glowing pink, arm.

"Wait, Steven saved her?" Bewilderment written clearly across her face.

"Well yes, that year he had discovered the Diamond like powers, inherited from his mother. But controlling them was a bit tough for him to do. Still once they discovered where they were hiding, that's when he first began to fully glow. A side affect to his powers you could say." Bismuth explained "He did care for her. Lapis was a good friend to him. In many strange ways they still are. That goes for all of us too I suppose." Connie watched as she shook her head from a past memory no doubt.

"Anyways, after that Lapis immediately went to recover. But that discorded fusion did more than took her strength, it affected her mentally. That process was long and much needed but it was worth it in the end. She soon returned to her normal self, but of course different, in a good way."

"But how did Jasper get out of the bubble?"

"Oh well that's thanks to the Diamonds." Peridot added in. "They took all the bubbles filled with corrupted and horrible gems and one by one unbubbled them. Though not all at once. In fact Jasper was apart of the first group of gems to reform back. And well after all Steven went through, they assigned her to be his solder.

Since he did defeat her, I calculated, was the reason why. And when we all were 'assigned' to be apart of Steven's "subjects", Lapis avoided Jasper like an earth plaque. But it wasn't long before Jasper begged her to reform Malachite again. It was pathetic, on her knees and grasping her hand in both of hers. Going on and on about how strong they were together, and blah blah blah."

"But I thought fusion between different gems was forbidden on HomeWorld?"

"Oh they are, but Jasper did have a tendency to break the rules. Malachite probably was the experience that affected her mindset about it."

"What did Lapis do? Surely not fuse with her again."

"Oh of course not. But after rejecting her, they almost got into a fight. Steven stood to the side and watched it all happen. When his shield stopped Jasper's punch, he walked up and pushed her back. Telling her to leave her alone or else. Jasper, full of fear in her eyes for a split second, obeyed and never spoke to Lapis again. Still though, that didn't stop the attempts to taunt her."

"That's horrible...."

"Another complicated event on the long similar thematic list here." Bismuth shrugged, getting up to continue the work load. Connie sat for a minute longer, taking everything in before getting back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The story went through her mind for the rest of her day. So much so she had a hard time writing her report of sorts. Specifically the part where Steven saved Lapis twice. If what Bismuth said was true, then there was a time where he wasn't who he was now. She knew that somewhat before, but it was becoming more and more real to her every passing moment. After everything with Pearl and now her friends, it was so much to take in. Setting down her pen, she sighed and stretched her arms out. Closing the journal and standing up when she heard a knock on her door. Opening it up she was surprised to see Steven there. A slight chill ran down her spine at the sight of him and yet she didn't falter.

"Am I disturbing you?" The question was quite out of the ordinary for him. She wondered if this was his old self reappearing for a moment. But she nodded slightly, answering the question.

"No, not at all."

"Then perhaps you would permit me to escort you for a walk in the courtyard?" With his hand extended forward slightly, something inside compelled her to accept. After all she had a million questions about him, perhaps it was time for answers.

With his hand wrapped around hers, they began to walk outside under the starry sky.

#shatteredbloodsufau #evil steven #connie maheswaran #steven universe #steven universe future #steven and connie #stevenxconnie #connverse #garnet #amethyst #pearl #greg universe #spinel #the diamonds #pink diamond #pink steven

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enccrypted · 4 years

Text

@timerotted {

💖 from wraith !!

} // ⨳ — SEND 💖 TO HOLD MY MUSE’S HAND; — wraith .

he’d known from the start that he was in over his head. But just how far had he sunken into this terrible mess with Mila and the algorithm? ... with his desperate turn to the black market augmentations in an impulsive, short-sighted effort to escape Syndicate eyes? ... and with his too-elaborate plan to topple the Repulsor Tower and to insert himself into the Games, right under the noses of the very people who want him dead? No, Crypto wasn’t in over his head — he’s practically dug his own grave.

With every match he survived and with each moment he spent biding his time among the Legends, he could feel it: the beginnings of six feet worth of dirt trickling down on him and piling atop his skull. That same thickheaded skull to which Ms Tik often delivered a firm but gentle whack!, accompanied by rolling eyes and that exasperated sigh of ‘smarty-pants’ she gave whenever he got too cheeky with her.

She had been worried for him when he’d gotten into the Games’ database and when he took down the Tower. She understood his intentions, understood it was necessary if he wanted a chance of ever reclaiming his life and his innocence — but could he handle it? she’d asked him over a letter cleverly disguised across adverts in the Apex Games’ email service. He sensed that maternal distress even in split, discreetly coded messages: her covert plea for him to consider his life above the pursuit of justice.

‘Trust me,’ he’d written back the only time he was able, just before he departed to Talos. ‘This won’t be the last time you hear from me. I’ll be all right — I always am. Mila and I didn’t learn resourcefulness from just anyone, did we? You're not going to lose a son.’

(Not again.)

‘I’ll see you again soon... Family forever.’ He’d signed off then with a simple C, packaging the encoded letter into the innocuous survey response that Mystik had supplied him. (It had been linked in hex code, hidden away within the banner image on the advertised site that she’d set up for their temporary communications... Mystik’s strays had to get their cleverness from someone, indeed.)

He’d survived this long. There was nothing left for him to lose.

And yet, he finds himself wondering more and more if this was a mistake, after all. He’d known, when he first hatched his plan, that he had no chance to wrestle his way into the Apex Games through the qualifying tournaments. Even with fresh tech driven into his skin that would let him see anything in the arena, he’d had no interest in trying his luck against the likes of McCormick and Newcastle. And of course, he thinks to himself bitterly now as he grits his teeth, digging calloused fingers harder into the rock above. How the hell would he have survived qualifiers if it's a piece of loose pavement that's going to send him to a pitiful death?

He thought he’d become good at running, if nothing else. And run he did throughout this entire match, falling further and further behind Wraith and Pathfinder as he ducked into side paths and crammed himself into tight cracks in Lava City’s cave walls. (He nearly suffocated there as he waited with bated breath for Bloodhound to scurry past, hoping to God that his EMP had fried their trackers enough to mask his trail. But at least he’d escaped the fate of being speared on their knife.) His detour took him, once he’d squeezed himself out of the rock wall, next through what’s left of the crumbling Capitol City. In hindsight, he should’ve known better — Capitol is never empty.

He’d swerved into the ruins of a nearby building to avoid coming under fire and clambered down into what he knew is a still-intact level bridging the west and east of Capitol over the rift that split the city in two, with bullets streaking narrowly past his head...

And he’d tripped over uneven cracked cement and tumbled down a sharp incline, straight down towards the molten pit below. By some luck, in his twisting and his clawing at the ground above, his fingers found purchase amongst the broken rock and metal. He was stupid, so stupid...! Of course sheer luck was the only reason he’s made it this far. It’s the only reason he’s still alive now, hanging on for dear life with bleeding hands as he curses his own idiocy.

Glass digs into his palms and the underside of his fingers, the heat rising from the magma below hot on the soles of his dangling feet. He’s not going to last much longer. Crypto clenches his jaw and screws his eyes shut as his grip, damp with sweat, loosens — and the block of cement gives in to his weight, crumbling away from where it attaches to steady ground.

He falls, screaming.

As it turns out, life isn’t what flashes before your eyes when gravity’s sending you hurtling, at 50 metres per second, down towards the molten rock bubbling thickly below. Unless life was nothing but regret: all the opportunities gained (too few) and all the countless more he’s lost; all the failures (too many) that haunted his restless dreams, those same dreams that blur nebulously into his early waking hours; Mystik’s smile and the warmth of her hand against the back of his neck; his mother’s face...

Something snatches at his hand, wrapping his wrist in a vice grip and wrenching him up against the inevitability of gravity. Crypto gasps, the air fleeing his lungs as his weight protests the impossible counter-force. His shoulder flares hot, threatening to pop his arm out from its socket, and he thinks he hears himself shouting as he swings to a stop in mid-air. There’s a roaring from somewhere above him, one that deafens even the blood that’s rushing through his head. Accompanying it is a strangeness — a potent and insidious energy unlike anything he knows in this world. As he sways dangerously above scalding heat, his mind shrieks with fear, thrashing helplessly against whatever’s opened up above him even more than it protested the fate that waits for him below.

But instinct surges above the blood surging hot in his veins and head. Crypto latches on without another thought, curling fingers tight around the sudden anchor and grasping hard.

As soon as he finds his grip, he’s jerked up towards that terrible potency, and something heavy and dark and cold swallows him whole. His stomach lurches as he’s dragged forward, up and down, thrown about, weighed down and crushed beneath the pressure of the space that’s devoured him, pulled in every direction all at once. He forces his eyes open, through the swelling tears, to flashes of blinding white and blue shimmering through the blackness. The dizzying reality around him swirls uncontrollably, familiar and yet shapeless, without form —

And then he topples face-down into cracked ground, his arm burning and chest heaving for air that won’t come. He pushes himself up with his uninjured arm, forcing himself up onto his back with a gasp as his lungs finally learn how to breathe again. He’s alive. He squints up into the sun, his eyes burning as they rekindle a briefly-lost acquaintance with light and colour.

He thinks he’s dreaming it at first. But as he lifts his head, his blurring vision shifting back into focus, he sees it clearly: a still-lingering void, murky and shimmering between his eyes and the skies. As soon as Crypto catches sight of it, the portal vanishes, leaving nothing but a cloudless afternoon blue above. He lets his head fall back, wincing as his skull hits the ground with a hard thud, and heaves a sigh.

Wraith.

There’s a stinging burn in his torso. Crypto looks down to see the jagged, dark tearing across the front of his shirt and the skin of his chest. He presses a metal-padded fingertip against the wound, wincing as it comes away slick with blood. At least a half a centimetre deep. The steel in the reinforced concrete must have caught onto flesh and sliced him through in his tumble. Teaches you to look where you’re going next time! a voice snickers in his hazy mind, tossing a mane of red hair in its wake as it retreats again to the back of his head.

It takes a minute or two. But the throbbing in his temples and the beat of his thundering heart finally slows as the adrenaline of near-death ebbs out of his system. As the thrill bleeds away, every scrape and ache flares to the forefront of his consciousness. His chest is on fire, his arms like lead and his right shoulder almost certainly dislocated. He tries, experimentally, to flex the fingers of his right hand... and realises he’s still clutching tightly to Wraith, his thumb and fingers encircling her wrist in a tight, still-trembling grip. Crypto’s eyes dart up to hers, mouth falling open as he searches, dumbly, for the words to form some sort of apology.

Finding none, he glances away, loosening his fingers quickly and making to tug his hand out of her grasp. But, too caught between the fogginess of blood-loss and the agonising throb of his entire body, he doesn’t quite manage to free himself.

“S... sorry,” he mumbles, turning away to peer dazedly towards the edge of the crevasse he’d narrowly avoided dropping into. He’s not so sure what it is that he’s apologising for. Finding himself separated from the squad when he’d spent too long easing his drone into unexplored territories, searching for some place or something that screamed ‘Syndicate secrets’? Nearly taking the most pathetic exit from the Games possible? Or making her chase him all the way out here to make sure he didn’t take that fall?

... Right. “Thank you.” He drags the back of his sleeve across his upper lip, wiping away the damp of sweat. Hopefully that, and his gratitude, will be enough to distract her from the shame burning red-hot in his cheeks. He lets out a hollow chuckle, squeezing her hand dazedly, and blinks over his sleeve and up into the skies. “I was... I — I guess I was being an idiot, huh.”

#you're just a messenger. 그래도 넌 죽었어. \` * file: ask.#timerotted #long post cw #'an idiot'?? u dont say.#this is.. unnecessarily long. I KNOW... but i just love using asks to write lil mini atmospheric essays... settings and all :')) hope its ok #am sure there's lots of mistakes but at this point i cannot be assed to fix them until tomorrow. praying the premise is clear tho #crypto: holds a girls hand in order to escape from imminent death ; also crypto: am i. holding a girls hand. rn .. oh g o d #feel free to respond or not respond but u dont gotta match any length in any way.. id hope that you wouldn't LMAO !!

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