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arteacactus · 5 years ago

Note

Can we get a sick fic Janus hiding in his room until someone else breaks down the door? Cause he thought no one would care

this is so out of nowhere bc i like never get fic requests here anymore it’s like always on my sideblog hissceit ,, but it’s 10000% welcome and appreciated JDFJFD thank u .. also i apologize for how needlessly wordy this is HAHA i strayed from the prompt like .. a lot

warnings for sickness , the coughs , vomiting, sore throat , etc , the whole shebang-- and some cursing

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It’s not that Janus had never been sick before, it’s just that...

Well, he’d never been sick before.

He wasn’t positive why (which irked him; he hated being in the dark about things, especially things concerning himself), but he had some theories- the most plausible one thus far simply being that while Thomas had always viewed the Light Sides as human, to some extent, he saw Janus as a two-faced snake; a monster kept hidden away in the shadows under his bed. And monsters didn’t get touched by things like disease. So while the others got touched with sickness occasionally, Janus never did.

But if Janus was getting sick now..

That implied that after he told them his name, Thomas started seeing him as somewhat human, too, with vulnerabilities like the rest.

He wasn’t sure just how he felt about that, but he didn’t love it (he liked being untouchable, okay?).

Ah, well, Janus supposed the why didn’t matter much at the moment. He could ponder that after the fact.

Right now was the time to think about how to end it, because it was pure torture.

He was too hot and too cold all at once, his head throbbed and his body ached in places he never knew could ache, his eyes were sore and oozing and his nose wasn’t faring much better. His throat was raw as if he’d spent hours and hours screaming at nothing, and even after trudging his way into the Dark Side’s kitchen for a cup of tea (though it was more like a cup of honey and lemon with a hint of green tea), it felt absolutely no better; in fact, he just felt worse, because he had to leave bed, go downstairs, spend twenty minutes standing around to make the tea, and then go back up the stairs to his room again.

He’d been fidgeting with his blankets for the past three hours; having them on made him too hot, having them off made him too cold, and so he settled for having one leg covered and nothing else (oddly enough, this was actually a good compromise). The air in his room was hot and stuffy which certainly didn’t help- nor did it help his sinuses any, as it made his headache pound worse and his airways were thoroughly blocked off. He dreaded drinking or swallowing anything as it sent the most uncomfortably painful sensation down his throat and rendered him to a groaning, pained mess.

He clutched his pillow weakly, pressing his head into the hot surface. He hated this. Usually, he thrived in the heat, as his room was typically colder than a jail cell, but this time he wanted it gone. He wished it was winter, just so he could full-body launch himself into a mound of snow and sleep for eternity.

He felt a slight tug, the distinct feeling of someone requesting his presence, and promptly shooed it away. Not only was he just wearing pants, but he was sick, and he’d rather die than show that level of weakness to anybody.

Three days before, when he’d first felt his symptoms come on, he’d briefly considered going to someone for help; perhaps Remus, because he was his best friend, or Logan, because surely he’d know how to handle diseases and how to cure them, or maybe even Patton, because he was a father figure and might have even made him soup- but he had quickly banished the thought. Sure, maybe they knew his name now, but they still really didn’t like him and had absolutely no reason to help him and not laugh at his predicament.

Well. Remus liked him well enough, but he would have just taken his morning star and bashed Janus across the head with it and called it good, so Janus had to pass on that.

Another tug came, a little more forcefully this time, and Janus dismissed it, just as forcefully. For a little precaution, he took a deep breath and waved his hand, locking up his room so no one could rise up/appear in it, nor could they come through his door. The strain it put on him to maintain that lock was almost enough to make him pass out, but he didn’t dare remove it; he couldn’t risk anybody seeing him in this state.

He forced his body to roll over to the side, pressing his face into his pillow and sighing in relief as his nose unplugged just enough to take a deep breath in. He found himself actually wishing he’d sneeze, just for the temporary relief it brought.

He pointedly ignored the next few tugs that hit him, though they weren’t as forceful and harsh as the past couple were. He could only assume the only reason they actually wanted him up there was to lecture him, because him being incapacitated like this surely was affecting Thomas in some way that they didn’t like.

Well, sucks to be them, Janus thought in mild frustration, I’m staying right here until this all goes away and I don’t want to die anymore.

Eventually, the incessant tugging slowed to a stop, and then they finally left him alone.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Janus curled his body into a tight ball, cringing at the sticky feeling of his sweaty skin against his silk sheets, and tried to fall asleep.

Thankfully, sleep claimed him easily, and he drifted off.

However easily it came, though, it certainly wasn’t very forgiving.

He didn't wake up randomly, but he kept getting thrown so many vivid nightmares and odd, fever-induced dreams that he almost wished he was waking up every few minutes, if only to get away from whatever things his mind kept throwing at him.

He wasn’t awake, but he was aware of his own constant tossing and turning, his bed creaking in protest every time he thrashed and threw his body around the mattress, and when he finally did open his eyes (his throbbing head wasn’t very appreciative of it), he realized he’d somehow twisted himself so his head was at the foot of his bead and his blankets had been fully tossed onto the floor. His pillows weren’t faring much better; only two of his usual six remained in place, and they were mangled to death, the rest on the floor with his blankets.

Janus truly couldn’t bring himself to give a damn- instead, he weakly pushed his body upright, trying not to topple over as his head swam, and fell right back down in the proper position. Thankfully, though, his head not touching the pillows in a while meant they were delightfully chilled, and he moaned aloud at the lovely sensation it brought him. Absently he wondered if he should gather the strength to get himself an ice pack or run an ice bath, but thought better of it. After all, he was still part snake; he’d rather not throw himself into a self-induced comatose state from the cold.

He blindly reached out and grabbed ahold of his bedside clock, a little antique thing he designed himself to fit his aesthetic despite being very poor at reading Roman numerals, and squinted as he tried to decipher how long he’d been asleep for.

He nearly dropped the thing upon realizing he’d slept for eleven straight hours.

He slid it back onto his nightstand and groaned loudly, though it quickly turned into a pained, chest-wracking cough. He couldn’t avoid it; he had to get up and eat something, or drink something, or get literally anything in his body, because whether he liked it or not, that was the only way he was going to get over this thing quicker.

He managed to move just enough to get up and off the bed (nevermind the fact he nearly fell straight on the floor the second he stood), and took a couple shaky steps towards the door. The moment he reached out to turn the knob, though, the knocking started.

He froze, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he stared wide-eyed at the piece of wood in front of him, the only thing separating him from them.

There was a call of ‘Janus?’ that was so soft, Janus didn’t actually know who it came from; but that didn’t matter now, because the doorknob was turning and fuck, when did he let go of his lock?

Janus snapped his fingers, and managed to summon all but his hat when the door opened and revealed- much to his surprise- Virgil.

Janus and Virgil blinked at each other for a moment, dumbfounded, but thankfully, Virgil didn’t seem to see anything off about him, and just lowered his gaze and shrunk into his hoodie, refusing to meet Janus’ eyes.

“We- uh, they were trying to call you earlier today, you know.” Virgil’s voice was low and gruff, and Janus could honestly say this was the best possible Side to come see him. Remus was loud and shrill, Patton was too cheery and Roman was boisterous- Logan probably wouldn’t have been awful, but with his insistence to look everyone in the eye as he spoke to them, Janus was sure he’d have deciphered what was going on in a second.

“I’m aware,” Janus replied, internally cringing at his rough tone. He cleared his throat, which was screaming in protest at speaking.

Virgil didn't seem to notice- or if he did, he didn’t care. “Well. You made them worry, and they sent me to come collect you.”

“Worr- Collect?” Janus echoed in confusion, taken off guard by everything Virgil said.

“Yeah, uh, you worried them so now they won’t take no for an answer. You’re gonna have to come with me.” Virgil, at least, seemed a little sheepish saying this, but he also has a particularly determined and frustrated look to him. Clearly, he wasn’t happy being the one picked to come ‘collect’ Janus, and he wasn’t going to take no from him as an answer, either.

“Wh-” Janus was cut off as Virgil gripped his arm, and any protests he could have made died on his tongue as they started moving. Dizziness attacked him with such ferocity that he was honestly astounded that he hadn’t immediately fallen over, and his stomach lurched at the speed they were moving. Of course, he didn’t bring this up, just took a deep breath and pushed through. After all, Virgil was the last person he wanted to know about his current state.

Once Virgil brought them across the line that separated the Dark Sides from the Light Sides, the immediate bright artificial light from the lamps and ceiling lights making his head pound in a way that was even worse than what the red light of the heat lamps in the snake terrariums in his room caused.

The air here, though, was clear and fresh, and he basked in the coolness of it as it surrounded him. If it wasn’t for the lights, he’d almost be tempted ask to stay for a while.

Once they made it to the living room, Virgil released him from his grasp, and slunk over into his own corner in the stairwell- and Janus found himself standing right next to Logan.

Unfortunately, they were all staring at him.

Time to put your acting skills to work, Janus, he thought to himself as he heaved an internal sigh, and plastered a toothy grin on his face that bared his sharp canines just enough to make them flinch away.

“So. I was summoned?” His throat protested speech, but thankfully his voice came out smooth and silky, not one bit of it hinting towards his predicament.

“Yeah, and you never answered..?” Thomas seemed more concerned than anything, but Janus definitely saw some suspicion on Roman’s expression (he couldn’t blame him, after how his name reveal went), and Patton was more fidgety than usual. Logan, bless him, didn’t seem to be acting any different, and Virgil looked just as bored as he usually was.

Remus, however...

Well, Remus was looking at Janus with a suspicious gaze similar to Roman’s but far more scrutinizing. Janus briefly felt a flare of panic. If there was anyone here to notice he was off, it would be his best friend, who he lived with and saw every day.

“I was resting, Thomas, would you blame your personification of self-preservation for taking a day off for self-care?” Janus’ tone was exasperated. He wasn’t lying, not really; he was resting, and he was taking a day off for self-care.

Just.. more than one day.

“Respectfully, I have to.. what is the term, ‘call bullshit’?” Came Logan’s voice next to him, and he hoped to God that Logan didn’t notice Janus’ feverish tremors. “You’ve been MIA for the past few days, and it’s escalated to the point where Thomas is beginning to react to it. There is something else going on, and we’d like to know what’s going on.”

Ah, yes, for the good of Thomas, Janus couldn’t help but think a little bitterly, Really, I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like they’d worry about my wellbeing. “I’m afraid I wasn’t bullshitting you, Logan,” Janus replied coolly, “It was the truth.”

“Then how come your room looked trashier than Remus’?” Virgil’s voice, where earlier it was comfortingly gruff, was now an offputting growl. Despite his words, though, Janus could tell he was trying to act like he didn’t actually care. He took note of that, because Virgil caring about him was odd.

“Rearranging,” Janus replied simply, and hoped they took that alone as an acceptable answer.

Of course, they didn’t.

“You never rearrange,” Virgil’s tone turned accusatory, and then Patton cut in.

“Well, maybe then that’s why he’s doing it now? For something fresh?” He sounded hopeful, as if he couldn’t wait for this entire conversation to be over. Janus felt similarly.

“I’ve lived with him, Patton, I know him, and it’s not something that happens.” Virgil argued, but this seemed to set off Remus as he cut in with, “And you left, so who are you to claim you ‘know him’?”

This sparked an argument amongst themselves, as they fought over the sudden new topic that thankfully centered around Virgil more than anything, and with Logan, Roman, and Thomas trying to mediate, there was no attention put on him anymore.

Janus took this momentary distraction to let out a sigh of relief, the mix of loud voices and trying to act like nothing was up was doing absolutely no good for his headache and exhaustion. He mourned the loss of his hat, because he could have used that to hide his face away from the lights that were bearing down on him and making his skin feel uncomfortably hot.

Though perhaps that was from all the layers of his outfit.

Unfortunately, though, as the seconds passed, the voices seemed to get louder, the lights got brighter, the clothes got hotter and his stomach was churning, his hands were sweating, his head was pounding his legs were getting shaky oh god his ears were ringing oh fuck fuck stop the noise please turn off the lights please stop please stop-

Distantly, he felt his throat start hurting intensely and he realized he was speaking out loud, stammering out pleads that were growing muffled as everything swamped him. His hands raised to cover his ears, trying to drown out the noise around him, and his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed, feeling something warm and wet trickle down his face- tears? Was he crying? No, surely he was just imagining the feeling- but before he hit the hard floor, he felt something grab a hold of him, long, spider-like fingers gripping the undersides of his arms like a lifeline. He felt sharp nails and soft ruffles and realized Remus had caught him, he must have run from his spot to catch him before he fell, and Janus felt the stinging gaze of everybody on him. He felt like a mouse that was dropped into a snake’s cage for feeding, cowering beneath the penetrating gaze of the predator before him. The roles were reversed, and he hated it.

He managed to pry open his own eyes- when had he shut them?- and the moment he saw the horrified gazes trained on him, he fled.

He forced himself from Remus’ arms and he vanished, retreating back to his room, where the lights were off and the curtains were shut and the only thing he had to deal with was the light of his snakes’ heat lamps.

The hot, stuffy air attacked him with a vengeance, though, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He stripped himself of his clothes again, his skin glistening, heat radiating off of his person.

He hurriedly locked up his room again, and fell to his knees beside his bed, and retched.

Thankfully, he’d managed to grab his trashcan, but it didn’t make him feel any less humiliated.

He thought he was doing himself a favor, hiding his state from all of them, but from not going to just one of them when he could, he had ended up breaking down in front of all of them.

Body trembling and chest heaving, Janus collapsed onto the hard floor beneath him, unable to pull himself onto his bed, and curled up into a tight ball.

He wanted this to end.

Janus was so caught up in his misery that he didn’t even notice pounding on his door, all of his senses wrapped up in himself, in his throbbing head and hot skin and burning throat and sore stomach and the sound of his blood pumping in his ears, until there was a deafening ‘crash’ and splinters of wood came flying into his room.

He flinched at the noise and forced himself to sit up, but the sudden movement made him gag, and he found himself panting like a dog trying to cool himself off and calm down his raging nausea.

There was a barrage of voices at first, but they were quickly hushed- from what, he didn’t know- and then a delightfully cold hand clutched his bicep, and he couldn’t hold back the relieved moan he let out in response.

“I’m gonna put you in bed, okay, Janus?” Came a soft voice- Remus- and Janus didn’t protest as he was gently lifted up by the Creative twin. Admittedly, he didn’t even know Remus could be that gentle, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

There was some quiet shuffling and the sound of a dull ‘smack’ and then someone cursing softly, but soon enough Janus was set down on a set of smooth cotton sheets, clean and cool, and an absolute blessing.

“Jan-Jan, why didn’t you tell us you were sick?” Remus’ tone was scolding, like a parent to a young child (ironic, considering Janus was the one who raised Remus), and Janus opened his eyes just enough to see Remus’ face swathed in the shadows of his room.

“Weak,” Janus croaked in reply, his voice wrecked, “Di’n.. wan’ see.”

“Your pride is going to be the death of you,” Remus sighed, and Janus heard some other voices pipe in.

“We would have helped you, Janus,” Thomas sounded sad, almost regretful. For what, Janus would never know.

“Indeed,” Logan’s voice was a comfort, Janus was willing to admit. “In fact, I will begin researching how to best care for this as soon as possible, so you are in utmost comfort while you recover.”

“I’ll make some soup,” Came Patton’s quiet promise, “And water, and tea.”

“I changed your bedsheets,” Roman seemed shy, “If you need me to, I can try and make a set that keeps you cooled down.”

Janus almost moaned aloud at the thought, and Roman must have seen it in his expression because he perked up right away.

“Sorry for, uh, dragging you away so forcefully,” Virgil muttered, and Janus just managed to flap his hand dismissively.

“You didn’ know.” He mumbled weakly, and he felt Remus’ cool touch brush away hair that clung to his sweaty forehead.

“And now we do. So we’re going to take care of you, because we care about you.” He promised in a tone with no room for argument, with the others murmuring in agreement behind him.

And for once, Janus believed him, and let himself be taken care of.

#vanna talks #ask #anonymous #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sickfic #fic #fanfic #sanders sides #tssides #thomas sanders #fanfiction #platonic dlamptr #with a slight focus on dukeceit i suppose #Anonymous

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lokimostly · 5 years ago

Text

Polaris (Ch.14/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU

Word Count: 4,013

Warnings: profanity, injury

Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: *evil laughter*

Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Eleven ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen

Waking up to you in his arms was everything Loki had imagined it would be.

After thoroughly and pleasurably exhausting yourselves, you and Loki slept through the worst of the storm. You were still sound asleep on his chest, your breath coming out soft and sweet against his skin. Your limbs were twined and tangled under the coarse blanket, head tucked under his chin. You murmured occasionally, prompted by something in your dreams, and he stroked your hair in a slow, comforting motion. It was still raining outside.

As pleasant as this moment was, Loki’s thoughts slowly drifted away from clear waters and turned to darker subjects. If the two of you ever got back to the world – and that was a rather presumptuous if – your lives would have to change in order to survive. Loki had planned and perfected his secret trade for years under the noses of Odin and Thor; everything was watertight, every trip checked and double-checked, alibis memorized and signatures forged, all so that his ledger would remain clean. Loki existed at the center of a beautifully orchestrated web of lies. Piracy was a hanging crime; to say that one had to be cautious was a gross understatement.

You shifted, and Loki held his breath, waiting for you to settle again. Your hair tickled beneath his chin and he smirked. How someone could be so endearing while unconscious was a mystery to him; but his smile faded again, replaced once more by a deep and pensive frown.

He had to figure out where you fit in his plan. Otherwise, unlikely salvation from deserted island life would land you right back in the hot water of an arranged marriage; one that Loki doubted he could save you from without simultaneously exposing himself.

“If,” Loki reminded himself aloud, sighing and closing his eyes. He would think of a solution; he always did.

Any remaining thoughts of his were disturbed by your soft yawn and stretch, limbs shaking when you extended them. He felt you stiffen when you realized where you were, and he chuckled when you relaxed again.

You reached up and tucked your hair back, sliding off his chest and sitting up. “Good morning,” you said softly, leaning on your arm and looking down at him. Loki opened one eye and smiled up at you.

“Not quite.”

Your brow furrowed. “It’s not good?”

He chuckled, closing his eye and taking your hand in his to hold against his chest; you could feel his steady heartbeat against your palm. “It’s very good,” he agreed, “But not morning. Closer to mid-afternoon, I believe.”

You hummed in understanding and looked out through the cracks in the wooden boards. “Still raining. Do you think it’ll let up soon?”

Loki sat up and ran his hand through his hair, pressing a slow kiss to the skin below your ear, and you shivered. “Do you have somewhere pressing to be?” You scoffed lightly and pushed his shoulder, which naturally didn’t budge. “No. We just have very little to do when the weather is bad.”

“One very entertaining article was recently added to the list.”

You looked at him flatly, and he captured your lips in a kiss while you were turned to face him. It was impossible not to melt against him, and it took a few seconds – and a few more insistent kisses – before you managed to pull yourself away.

“It was,” you admitted, pushing an errant wave of his raven hair back. “Though I think you’ll understand that I’m keen on keeping my ability to walk.”

Loki smirked and tilted his head back to watch as you stood to your feet, laughing when you had to catch yourself to stop your sore legs from wobbling. Your cheeks flushed and you glared at him, but his spirits weren’t dampened in the least, and he watched you walk away with a wolfish grin that you could feel even when turned around.

Loki dropped back down onto his elbows and sighed, stretching his legs languidly like a cat. “Very well,” he sighed, running one hand back through his thick hair. “What do you suggest for the time being?”

You picked up the pair of pants lying folded on one of the barrels and pulled them on, leaning against the stone wall to roll up the cuffs. “I’m not sure,” you admitted, straightening up and putting your weight back against the wall. You covered your mouth when you yawned. “Perhaps we could–”

There was a loud rumble as the stone shifted. Loki’s breath caught as he watched the wall you were leaning against suddenly give away. You fell back with a shriek and vanished.

He leapt up, calling your name running over. Loki’s feet skidded to a stop when he nearly fell through the same hole. It was dark all the way down to the bottom, easily twelve feet deep. What he now understood to be a false wall revealed a rickety, half-rotted wooden ladder descending to the base. He could see your silhouette sitting awkwardly and holding your leg.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” you called, in a high-pitched tone that wasn’t to be believed. Loki quickly snatched up a piece of driftwood and tore a piece of fabric, fashioning a torch and lighting a match. The flame sputtered to life, and Loki reached forward, testing his grip on the ladder. It was concerningly noisy, but held, and he descended without any further hesitation.

You listened to the sound of the ladder shaking and creaking, until his feet hit the packed earth floor. He knelt down next to you, brushing your hair back and pulling your hand away from your leg. “Let me see.”

You didn’t argue. Nothing was broken, but pulling up your pant leg revealed your shin to be reasonably beat up and bleeding. Loki reached under your arms and lifted you to your feet, holding you against him. You kept your weight on your good leg, inhaling through your teeth and trying to ignore the sting. “Well, this is lovely,” you mumbled, your arms wrapped around his torso.

Loki didn’t reply. He was staring curiously down the dirt tunnel that travelled further than the flickering light of his torch could illuminate. His seafoam eyes were dark and focused. You followed his gaze, and then looked up at him, tightening your grip. “What is it?”

“Why dig out something like this, and then put nothing in it?” He mused aloud, blinking in the dark. He seemed to remember that you were beside him and looked down. “Do you need to be carried?”

You hesitated, and then shook your head. Loki regarded you for a moment before nodding. He offered his hand, which you took, and started down the tunnel. It was cool and damp down here. Mangled roots stuck out of the dirt walls like hands reaching out to snag your clothes, and you gripped his hand a little tighter. It smelled deeply of soil and secrets.

You could tell the gears of Loki’s mind were turning. “Do you think…” You suggested. “That this was made by the same people who stowed goods in that hideaway by the trees?”

“I’d wager on it,” he agreed grimly. His face looked sharper in torchlight. Loki’s footsteps slowed to a stop as you reached the end of the tunnel: a wall of dirt, no different than any of the other walls.

You both stood and looked around silently until your leg started to ache. “Loki, there’s nothing here.”

He tightened his jaw, brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make sense,” he murmured. “The very least I’d expect is a body.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to you. You shuddered in the dark, trying not to dwell on the idea of something as unpleasant as a half-rotted skeleton below your feet. You shifted your weight. “Well, it’s not going anywhere,” you pointed out quietly.

This seemed to rouse Loki from his stupor, and he nodded. “Yes. You’re right.” He let out a breath, releasing his pent-up frustration at the current puzzle before him, and turned back around. The two of you walked back silently, accompanied by nothing but the sound of your footsteps and the torch flickering as it burned. You reached the ladder and put your weight on it with a degree of caution, feeling your heart jump into your throat when it creaked, but you made it safely back to the top.

You sat down on the stone floor of your hideaway and inhaled painfully through your teeth. Now that there was nothing to distract you, you were reminded of the cut on your shin.

You heard the ladder shake and creak as Loki climbed up to meet you. As soon as he reached the top, he leapt to his feet and strode quickly over to the neatly folded stacks of fabric, ripping a long piece of linen from one of the sheets. You watched him move, as always, with a certain cat-like gait: his movements were efficient, but unique to him. You admired him silently. He was still notably absent of a shirt. His strong, broad shoulders tapered to narrow tips; the muscles beneath his skin flexed when he moved. It was a welcome relief to stare without having to do it out of the corner of your eye, afraid that you’d be caught; you could take him in unashamedly.

Loki did catch your gaze, but when he did he only smirked, blowing air out of his nose. “Something on my face?” He asked, returning to you and kneeling down in front of your knees. Your stomach flipped involuntarily, suddenly reminded of the last time he’d been between your legs, and you forced yourself to focus on less explicit thoughts. “I’m allowed to look, aren’t I?” You countered.

“You’re allowed to do more than look,” he agreed lowly, holding your leg across his lap as he wrapped your shin with the strip of cloth. Despite the strength you knew they were capable of, his long fingers were notably tender as they brushed your skin. A strange feeling of possessiveness rose in your chest, and you leaned forward to kiss him, pressing your lips earnestly against his.

You felt his breath leave his chest and he cupped your chin in one hand, returning your heated kiss with equal enthusiasm. When you pulled away, he looked a bit starstruck: his pupils blown and expression slack, unable to move for a moment. You’d clearly caught him off guard. He shook his head to clear it and chuckled a little, returning his attention to wrapping your leg. “What was that for?”

You smirked, leaning back on your hands. “I felt like doing it.”

He raised an eyebrow and said nothing, though you could tell he was holding back a witty comment of some sort. He finished wrapping your leg and pressed a kiss to your forehead before standing up and walking towards the pit.

You followed him with your eyes. “What are you doing?”

He knelt down and lifted his legs over the edge. “I’m going back down,” he said, like it was obvious.

Anxiety rose in your throat at the thought of being parted from him. “What if the ladder breaks? And you’re stuck at the bottom?”

He looked back at you curiously, taking in your expression for a moment. His ocean eyes flickered, and the line of his mouth softened. He returned to you and knelt down, tucking an errant strand of your hair back.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Loki promised, addressing the unvoiced fear of yours that you hardly realized was there – but he had, in all his perceptiveness. “I won’t venture further than our voices allow. Though I know how loud you can be,” he added, smirking wickedly at the blush that rose to your cheeks.

You nodded. He stood again, walking over to the opening once more. He took up the torch in one hand, tested the ladder with the other, and descended into the dark without hesitation. You watched him disappear, and waited with bated breath.

A few seconds later, Loki called your name.

“I’m here!” you answered quickly. It was strange to talk to him without seeing his face, unable to read the micro-expressions that revealed the feelings behind his words.

“Good. Is it still raining?”

You turned your head and looked out, peering through the cracks in the wood. The giant palms were moving in the wind, but there was no sight nor sound of rain that you could tell. “I don’t think so.”

No answer. After a minute or so, you figured that Loki had ventured down the tunnel again. You sighed and laid back on the burlap, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. What is he expecting to find down there? You wondered, thinking once more of the image of a skeleton hidden half-buried in dirt. You shuddered. You liked adventure, but perhaps not that kind.

You were waiting so long that your breath started to slow. Your eyes stayed closed a few seconds longer with every blink. You were nearly asleep when Loki’s hand on your arm jolted you from rest with a surprised shriek.

He jerked back, holding his hands up in a gesture of good intention. “It’s just me.” At second glance, you realized his hands and chest were covered in dirt, and smudged on his face, too, making him look almost boyish. You sat up and pushed your hair back, rubbing the corners of your eyes. “What is it?”

He smiled excitedly, pressing his lips together, his sea-green eyes twinkling like the sun on cerulean waves. “I found something.”

A strange, contagious excitement filled your chest, and you gave him your hand. “Show me.”

Loki had left the torch at the end of the tunnel, which meant that your journey from the ladder was partly in the dark. You held tightly to his hand, which completely engulfed yours. Your eyes tried to make shapes in the dark, though you knew there was nothing but packed dirt ahead of you. When you spotted the light of the torch, flickering orange in the dark, it took all your self-control not to run towards it.

As you came closer to the end, you could see where Loki had dug into the earth. There was a pile of loose soil by one wall, and a knee-deep hole closer to the other. Loki let go of your hand and dropped to his knees, raising an eyebrow at you. “Well?”

You knelt down beside him and peered into the hole. Amidst the loose dirt and stones, there was the top of something solid, and wooden. The gears in your mind turned before suddenly coming to a conclusion, and you looked at Loki skeptically. “No. No, I don’t believe it.”

“What do you mean?” He laughed, gesturing to it. “You can open it if you like.”

“A buried treasure chest?” you said skeptically. The idea was entertaining, but that wasn’t something pirates actually did. Then again, Loki was a pirate. Wouldn’t he be the one to know?

Loki shrugged his shoulders and his raven hair fell forward. “Perhaps. Or it could be empty.” He shrugged. “What good would gold and riches do for us here, anyway?” His excitement seemed to fade at the thought, and your eyes widened in dismay. The last thing you wanted to do was dampen his spirits.

So you dropped into the hole and brushed the dirt off of the top of the wood, rapping it with your knuckles. It sounded hollow. You found the edges and dug around them, trying to find some kind of brass handle or other leverage point to lift it up. Loki stepped down beside you, his hands brushing against yours as he helped you finish digging it out. His nimble fingers found a handle on one side and pulled it up with a grunt, taking hold of both sides and setting it outside the hole. It was, sure enough, a box chest: made of old wood on its way to rotting, and metal clasps that had certainly seen better days. But the allure of what was inside it surpassed any outside impressions.

You lifted yourself out of the hole and waited for Loki to do the same, your fingers dancing to open it. He was clearly excited, too – you could see it in his eyes. He flipped the latch with a flair of drama, hovering above the lid, and with an exhale, moved to open it.

The cold and icy touch of a metal blade set itself on the back of your neck, and you froze.

“Thank you so much for doing all the hard work for us,” A low, unfamiliar voice drawled, raspy and nonchalant. Suddenly you felt like you were being suffocated by the dirt walls around you. Loki, who was within your line of sight, had a blade to his neck, too. His eyes were wide, hands raised in a sign of goodwill. You reached for him, and at your movement the blade against your skin dug painfully enough to draw a sliver of blood. You stopped with a short gasp.

“Ah, ah. I wouldn’t move without say-so. You look like the kind of woman who does what she’s told.”

Anger flared up in your chest, mingled with the bitter sting of the cut. You saw Loki stiffen and watched his jaw clench as he watched the blood bead and trail down the pillar of your neck. His eyes flashed dark with anger – but he didn’t move.

“Alright. Here’s how this’ll play out. The two of you will get to your feet, turn yourselves around, and head back up the ladder. Any questions?”

Both you and Loki stayed silent.

The voice hummed, and then turned hard. “On your feet.”

You rose so fast that you stumbled, and Loki caught you by the waist, quickly turning you around and setting you towards the exit before you could regain your sense of direction. You clung to his arm, breathing hard as panic set in. “Loki–” you began in a whisper.

He shook his head to silence you. He squeezed your arm, holding you steady, but that was all the comfort you received. Your heart was in your throat as you climbed up the ladder, shaking with every step.

When you reached the top, you were silently dismayed to find your hideaway occupied by several pirates, who were rummaging through your belongings with every sense of impertinence. They didn’t even notice you. Your anger flared again, momentarily burning the edges of your vision and turning your skin warm. This was your hideaway: you were the one who set out the fabrics, folded the clothes, helped put up the boards…

Loki was behind you, his hand on the small of your back. One glance at him told you that he felt incredibly agitated, if not as angry as you were: his gaze was hard and stormy, and he kept clenching his jaw. His muscles were taut and tense like coiled spring.

“Castaways,” the pirate behind you announced. You didn’t feel the blade of his sword, but you knew it wasn’t far from you. Everyone in the small space turned to look, unfriendly eyes set on you with malicious intent. They were all armed. You reached up without thinking to hold the neck of your shirt closed – but they weren’t looking at you.

“Bloody fucking hell,” One of the sailors said, breaking the silence, staring at Loki like he was looking at a ghost. Loki’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed in vague irritation, but he said nothing, letting the pirates observe him with heavy scrutiny. The sight of him clearly made them uneasy, and a few of them fingered the hilts of their swords. Panic tightened your throat.

Apparently, the one behind you was growing impatient. “You’ll have time to stare later, boys. Get a move on, and get back to the ship as quick as possible. Captain’s orders.”

The pirates resumed rummaging through your belongings. The man behind you, who seemed to be in charge, pushed Loki forward roughly to get him to move. He stumbled, catching himself on your shoulder with a grunt. You watched him tilt his chin and roll his shoulders, his fists clenched. He was going to strike him.

You quickly grabbed him by the arm, dragging him out of your hideaway, and ignoring the pirate when he laughed. “I knew you’d choose the right thing, lass.”

A thousand biting remarks were on the tip of your tongue, but you held them back. You and Loki walked through the grass, beneath the palms as they swayed in the wind. The clouds, flat-bottomed and grey, were running fast against the sky. This island, which had felt entirely like your own only hours ago, was now overcrowded and soiled by unfamiliar boot prints in the sand. There were two dinghies waiting on the shore, and a ship anchored past where the waves broke. Loki reached for your hand and held it tightly.

You got into one of the dinghies. There were two more pirates waiting there, who stared at you with hungry eyes, but neither said a word. You clasped your hands tightly in your lap until the knuckles whitened, staring at your bare feet against the floorboards. Loki sat beside you, his shoulder against yours, gazing at the ship with a stony expression.

A few minutes passed, until the rest of the crew returned with various items in tow: crates and barrels, and of course, the chest you and Loki had found. One of the sailors threw a black shirt at Loki; he caught it, pulling it on without comment. They set the cargo into the dinghies and pushed off. The man in charge – who looked just like you’d imagined him, with a black-bearded face and mean eyes – sat across from you, looking self-satisfied.

You weren’t sure if you felt like crying or not; you were in the hands of pirates, whose intentions were no doubt malicious. At least Loki was with you – but even he seemed on edge, and that was disconcerting. You watched your island grow smaller as you came closer and closer to the ship. Leaving it behind made your chest ache more than when you’d departed from St. Thomas. For all its shortcomings, being stranded on a desert island with Loki had felt more like home than your birthplace ever had.

You were so preoccupied by thought that you didn’t realize the dinghies had reached the ship until one of the pirates hauled you out of the boat. You landed on the deck and stumbled, regaining your balance and straightening your posture. This ship wasn’t so different from Loki’s – but the crew couldn’t have been starker in contrast. Every eye that turned on you felt wicked. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, telling you to run – but there was nowhere to go.

Loki’s hand gripped yours again, and you held onto it like an anchor.

The bearded man pushed him forward roughly, and once again Loki obliged. You could tell now that Loki understood himself to be outnumbered; fighting the pirates on the island would have been foolish. Fighting them here would be a death wish. As the rest of the crew unloaded the cargo, the bearded man directed you belowdecks, to a set of double doors ornately engraved. On a ship piloted by rough and rowdy-looking men, such a beautiful thing seemed out of place.

Maybe he could speak to the Captain and work out some kind of deal, you thought.

The doors swung open. Your eyes fell on the figure standing there, looking out the window, his face hidden from view. Tangled waves of raven hair, made wiry by years of ocean water, fell against broad shoulders. Dark blue sleeves were pushed up to the elbows. His scarred, weathered arms were clasped behind his back. Your heart fell with a heavy sense of foreboding: you knew, somehow, that you’d seen him before.

Or perhaps a younger version of him.

The Captain turned around, and you felt Loki freeze beside you. You watched his face pale with dread, with no sign of movement as he held his breath. You waited. The Captain smiled, wolfish and white-teethed, and your heart stopped entirely.

“Welcome aboard,” he greeted you, his words dripping with honey-coated poison. “I’m sure I need no introduction.”

~~~

Tag List (Closed): @neontiiger, @un-consider-it, @jessiejunebug, @nerdypisces160, @lokiisntdeadbitch, @e-wolf-90, @cursedmoonstone-blog, @kikaninchen-2, @bluebellhairpin, @evy-lyn, @midnight-queen-1, @travelingmypassion, @harrybpoetry, @adefectivedetective, @absolutecraziness13, @kumikokagato, @randomfangirl7, @timetraveler1978, @tarynkauai, @arcanethamin, @ornate-ribcage, @julianettedoe, @kinghiddlestonanddixon, @yespolkadotkitty, @befearlesslyauthenticc, @ladybugsfanfics, @thisisaclusterofablog, @groupies-do-it-better, @just-the-hiddles, @quenilla, @amyy-moonlightt, @pandacookieowo, @thatweirdwalangpake, @alexakeyloveloki, @littlemissporter, @yes-captainstark, @justawriterwithdreams, @beautyandflannel, @eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, @myoxisbroken, @rjohnson1280, @the-republic-and-face-of-texas, @snapessecretdiary, @sailortaylorfin, @cottoncandy1010, @androgynousdeputyfarmhero, @blackcherry26-blog, @saljstuff, @devilbat, @scarlettghost13, @arch-venus25, @wittysidecharacter, @lokislilslut, @far--and-away

#Loki #marvel #pirate!au #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x oc #loki x ofc #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #pirate!loki #au

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zukkatrash · 5 years ago

Text

A Mask to see me as I am

a modern zuko wears makeup au, 2k words, finished, read under the cut

Summary: Zuko tries to cover up his scar with make up, fails miserably but realizes that he doesn't have to cover his face to stand to look at it

(includes bad Haikus from someone who doesnt know shit about Haikus)

credit to @turtleduck-vibes for beta reading this (thanks again ur the best!!♡)

---

The first time Zuko remembered putting makeup on his face was when he was six.

His mother was painting Azula's face next to him for a festival. He couldn't help himself, just dipped his fingers into the small container of colour and smeared it on his face, trying to mimic the delicate lines mother had drawn on his sister. His mother had smiled at him as she wiped the paint off of his hands and tried her best to fix the greasepaint on him into something more put together. Zuko barely remembered the festival or even what was painted on his face, but he did remember the concentration in his mother's eyes. The dedication and love she put into every stroke of her brush and how she smiled when he giggled at the tickling sensation.

Ozai hated it.

Mother didn't paint his face

again, remembering screams.

---

The second time Zuko put makeup on was when he was thirteen, desperately trying to hide a hickey he could not and would not want to explain to anyone.

---

It didn't hide it.

Ozai found out easily.

It had hurt so much.

The third time Zuko put makeup on was when he was fifteen. He still couldn't stand looking into the mirror longer than it took to check if there was something between his teeth. So he skipped the mirror, grabbed the foundation and more or less smeared it onto his eye. The texture of it felt weird on his face, too clumpy and suffocating. So foreign from the salve he had used to heal the wound. The brush however, brought back the memory of his mother. Her death still stung in his heart — He suspected it always would. But when he stopped attacking his face with the pigment for a second and just let the brush glide along his face, he could only think of his mother's smile. He lifted his face to the mirror and couldn't help but hope that it wouldn't glare back at him with the mark of Ozai's hate.

It looked almost worse.

His eye still too small. The place where an eyebrow should be standing out starkly. The skin around his eye clumped with makeup in a harsh contrast to the smooth unmangled rest of his face.

It took exactly three and a half seconds for him to tear his face away from the mirror.

---

He could not hide it

Hatred burned into his skin

So he wiped it off

The next time Zuko put on makeup, he was a bit more prepared, having read up a bit on proper application and the like. He set his things on the desk in front of him, asking himself once again why he was even trying. The scar would always be there. Burned into his skin. Zuko had already spent his tips from the teashop on this, so he might as well try. But when he faced the mirror, he still couldn't hold his own gaze. He should be used to it by now, having lived with the scar for over two years. Having lived with Ozai’s contempt for as long as he could remember. But hope could be persistent. Zuko knew he could never earn his father’s love. That it wasn’t something a child could earn, that it should have been given to him from the second he came into his life. Zuko knew Ozai was wrong and hateful and abusive, but still he couldn’t help but hope on some days. Couldn’t help but hope that the mirror would show him something different than the truth

Hate.

Disappointment.

Condemnation.

He moved the mirror, only his right side visible to him now. Maybe he could practise there until he could finally stand seeing his own face again.

But what good would that do? If he wanted to hide his scar he had to put the makeup on his scar. He adjusted the mirror again. If he didn't move, all he could see was his cheek. The rough skin looked bad, but not as horrible as his eye. As my whole face- he couldn't help but think. He put some foundation on his brush and began spreading it. Unsure how to hold the brush, unsure how to move the brush, unsure why he was even trying.

But the brush felt nice and if he just focused on this small part of his face he almost forgot what he was trying to do. So he kept going, letting the brush glide over his skin, adjusting the mirror ever so slightly as he kept going. Scooting closer to it when his eye came into view, not wanting to see it compare to the other one. The normal one. The intact one. Before he knew it he had covered it all. He was done. He pulled back from the mirror.

---

But it still looked wrong

His skin the same colour, but

A mangled landscape

Zuko gave up on trying to cover his scar. The skin was too broken to ever look normal. The eye too broken to ever look normal. He was too- No, Uncle wouldn’t want him to think like that.

But he couldn't deny that he liked putting on the makeup. The method of painting, as if his face was just a sheet of paper and not a testament to Ozai's cruelty. The focus only on a part of his face, without time to criticise when there was art to be done. The memory of his mother smiling down at him as she tickled his nose with the brush. So Zuko didn’t give up on makeup. Only now, he stopped trying to hide something that would always be there.

At first he tried to emulate other people’s makeup, starting with simple things, or what he had thought to be simple things. More often than not, it didn’t come out looking any good. The soft green around his eyes, however, did look quite nice and he couldn't help but think of his uncle's work apron as he looked at his face in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, he could see his own smile look back at him.

---

The face still the same

His again with colours and

Memories of love

At seventeen Zuko’s weekend routine now had an addition. Instead of reading or studying, he would put on makeup after his shift at the jasmine dragon and wipe it off in time for dinner. He would lock the door, set the mirror on his desk and take out the small bag from where it was stuffed in his bottom drawer. He would see how different colours looked against his face, how the shapes accentuated different parts of his face, but he wouldn't cover up his scar anymore. Mostly he settled on leaving it alone altogether, since the pigment didn't tend to feel all that good on it. He got good at it though. Now he even took pictures of it, mostly just to track his progress, but the first one he had taken was a celebration. Of the first time his eyeliner looked not only even but good. Never to show anyone though. Not that he really could show anyone, since Jin would definitely tell his uncle. It wasn’t that she was a telltale, but only a few people managed to spend much time with Uncle without letting some secrets slip. Zuko still couldn’t quite believe how easy it had been to come out to his uncle, how accidental it had been.

So maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if Uncle knew. No it definitely wouldn’t be bad. But this wasn’t only a hobby, or something Zuko just was. This was something that helped him look in the mirror. Even if his face was bare he knew how well blue went with his eyes. Where to put highlighter to bring out his cheekbones. How to get the tail of his eyeliner just right. This was something that helped him see himself behind his face.

---

A way to separate

The now away from the past

Mask to see himself

There was a knock at his door.

"Just a moment." He called back. Uncle was early, usually Zuko would have at least another half hour until dinner. He grabbed a makeup wipe and almost scrubbed it at his face. But today he had finished the dishes early. Today he had been ambitious. Today there were delicate flowers on his cheekbone. Flowers he had drawn and cleaned off with a q-tip and redrawn over and over again until they were perfect. He couldn't just wipe them off.

“Do you need to come in?” Zuko asked before he could think better of it.

“Are you alright, nephew?” And there it was. He hated to worry his uncle, the man had done so much for him and Zuko still just served to make his life harder.

“Yes.” Everything was alright, he just didn’t want him to come inside and yet even Zuko could hear it in his own voice. The undertone that would tell Uncle that there was something.

“I only wanted to ask if you would like to join me on a walk before dinner” Uncle��s voice was as gentle as ever.

“Nope, I’m good.” Zuko could almost feel his Uncle’s disappointment through the door.

“I am worried about you.” There was hurt in his voice and there was nothing Zuko would hate more than hurting his Uncle. He had to tell him, or rather show him.

“Zuko,” Uncle paused and Zuko already knew what was coming, but he really was fine. But then again Uncle wouldn’t know that. Zuko had already thought of telling him, but this felt like it was his and only his. He was sure Uncle wouldn’t react badly. Hell, Zuko could probably come home with bags full of stolen stuff and Uncle wouldn’t be mad at him. But this had been the first skill he had ever honed that wasn’t for other people, not to convince them of his worth. It wasn’t even that he didn’t want to tell Uncle, he just didn’t want to tell anyone.

But then Uncle had continued talking.

Zuko took a deep breath, he knew he didn't have to worry. He knew Uncle loved him. He knew Uncle would never be mad at him for this. And yet the walk from his desk to his door had never felt longer. Zuko put his hand on the door and before he could think himself out of it he opened it.

His eyes were glued to the floor and his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not done yet.” Uncle took a second to react, which was to be expected but still Zuko couldn’t help his internal freak out at the silence.

“Oh, what lovely jasmine blossoms.” and Uncle’s words were filled with love and a split second later his arms were filled with a very relieved Zuko.

---

Flowers blooming free

Pressed against a smiling cheek

Honesty brings freedom

Uncle knew and despite Zuko's worries it still was his. He might be getting more pictures of flowers when Uncle went on a walk but he didn't pry. He never pried, only ever waited patiently with open arms and a cup of tea, and when the next Saturday came around, Zuko didn’t lock his door. But left it wide open as he settled in front of his desk. And he almost didn’t startle when the apartment door opened later and the sound of Uncle’s hum filled the space.

Zuko was about to pull out his phone when he realized something. He didn’t have to take the selfie in his room where the light didn’t reach in the evening. He could catch the sun as it set from the living room. Uncle didn’t look up from his book as he passed him on the way to the window. Zuko very much understood it as the gesture it was. That their home was a place for Zuko to be himself, that Uncle wouldn’t stare at him just for expressing himself. He very much appreciated it as well, even though he had shared his secret, didn’t mean he was quited ready to really talk about it.

Vulnerable trust

Held steadfast with time and pain

And wounds can still heal

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #zuko #atla modern au #zuko wears makeup #tw childhood trauma #tw child abuse mention #atla fanfic #zuko fanfic #zuko & iroh #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #this is my first fanfic so i really hope its okay #alsoif u have any thoughts abt this at all please tell me #like even if u hate it i want to /know/#and dont hide it in the tags idk how many notifs i get hhaa #thats a lie every notification gives me serotonin

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artemisspelledits · 4 years ago

Text

Yea or Nay?

Word Count: 3,600

Description: A short story I wrote for a college writing class that I’m super proud of. It isn’t related to any fandoms, so any similarities are coincidental. Hope you enjoy!

Warning: It gets pretty graphic at one point, so just be aware.

................................................................................................................................

Sophie was hosting a tea party. She had six guests sitting at her rich mahogany table, all of whom had complimented her hosting and tea making abilities. She was an attentive hostess, refilling cups and supplying more biscuits as needed.

Charlotte peered through the thick one-way window, watching the six year old play. She chuckled as Sophie lifted her imaginary teapot to offer more delicious tea to “Mr. Green.” Mr. Green laid propped up against a wad of clothing, wooden face frozen in an exuberant smile. Sophie had insisted on making all her toys herself: popsicle sticks tightly wound in strips of her bed sheets, originally eliciting a scandalized gasp from the maid who maintained the wing. For the faces of her toys, Sophie had requested specific colored markers in order to scrawl their features. She had constructed more than the ones she was currently playing with; extras were stashed under her mattress. When Charlotte had asked why she didn’t play with them, Sophie giggled like it was the most obvious answer. She explained, “I’m gonna play with them someday, I just haven’t met them yet!”

Touching the smooth glass, Charlotte felt wistful, but not for herself. Sophie had started from nothing but had so much potential. Sophie radiated power; anyone who was in tune with the magic of the world could feel it. Charlotte herself first felt Sophie’s aura before she even met her.

It had started as a scream, echoing though the street like a shockwave. Charlotte cocked her head, instantly aware that something was not right. Another scream followed the first, more desperate this time. She started running towards the sound, feet pounding though stinking puddles and through piles of trash. As she rounded a corner, she felt an impact that felt physical. She stumbled, sprawling into a mound of debris, under the impression some hard object had struck her in the chest. Reeling from the impact, Charlotte recognized the minty flavor of magic.

Slightly stunned, she saw a man in a grimy green sweater viciously dragging a small girl. She was screaming, and rightfully so, as he had her by the hair and was ferociously twisting his fist. Before Charlotte could regain her footing and help the child, the girl ceased her wailing. She had stopped thrashing and was looking directly at her captor. Confused by the sudden lack of struggle, the man looked down at the girl. Her neck twitched to the side, briefly touching her rag-covered shoulder. His neck followed suit, just at a much more violent pace. An arc of blood spurted from the spot his vertebrae had ripped through his skin, his eyes bright with shock. His grip loosened on the girl and she stood. His body had not yet realized this was the end and remained upright for much longer than Charlotte would have anticipated. As his body collapsed into a rubbish heap, Charlotte heard the girl let out a small chuckle. The girl then swayed, knees buckling, and joined the man in crumpling to the ground.

Now in a panic, Charlotte rushed to the scene, horrified at the sight of a large pool of blood blooming from the man’s mangled neck.

“Gone. He’s gone,” Charlotte whispered, hyperventilating at the display.

Adrenaline gushing through her system, she hastily removed her outer jacket and crouched to wrap the girl in it. She was so small, so frail, like a baby bird. Her matted hair was packed with dirt, her cheekbones so prominent it was clear she was malnourished, and her clothing threadbare and disintegrating. The girl moaned softly in obvious pain.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’ll help you, I’ll get you help.”

The words tumbled out of Charlotte’s mouth without her realizing what she was saying, only hoping to provide some kind of solace to the child. Quivering, she rose to her feet. Briefly glancing at the dark figure of the dead man, Charlotte turned and dashed away, clutching the small form of the girl to her chest.

That was two months ago. Charlotte brought the girl to her place of work, The Headquarters of Magical Testing and Enforcement, to have her tested, seeing as the girl had abilities. The Headquarters of Magical Testing and Enforcement, or HMTE, regulates, tracks, and trains magic use and magical families. Charlotte knew the HMTE would provide answers to the mystery girl she had found that day.

However, it was a bit of a debate as to whether they were legally allowed to perform testing on this girl. Seeing as she was a minor and could not legally give consent, as well as no family had come with her, it was a topic of heated discussion as to whether or not to test her. The Board of Directors came to the agreement that they would do rudimentary testing, just to lay the foundation of knowledge and to see if there were any blood relatives to notify.

The results of this simple test baffled the lab workers. The sample of blood extracted from the girl came back AB negative: exceptionally rare. The only recorded people to have AB negative blood were part of three powerful bloodlines, all of which have been extinct for at least seven generations. The HMTE owns the most extensive and detailed histories of family bloodlines, so it was unheard of for the company to have a shock like this. Obvious questions were raised: Who is this girl? Where did she come from? How is she here? Who are her parents?

More extensive tests were ordered, including a comparison of her DNA to the three bloodlines to which she could potentially belong. She was found to be a match with the most imposing of the three, the Drakter bloodline. Descendents of this particular lineage were more likely to have multiple powers, abilities that were not seen in other family members, as well as an overall increase in control and force of their magic.

With this knowledge, HMTE and Charlotte both knew they were dealing with something extraordinary. No one had interacted with the girl while she was conscious, seeing as she was still unresponsive from her encounter with the man in the alley. Charlotte stayed by her side as much as she could, waiting as the days turned into a week since she brought the girl in.

Finally, the girl awoke. She was initially frightened by her surroundings, panicked breath filling her tiny lungs. Charlotte was there in an instant, attempting to soothe the frightened child. Eventually, Charlotte became the only one who could calm the girl when she was having a fit. Charlotte learned the girl’s name was Sophie, not Sophia. Charlotte had accidentally said “Sophia” one day and paid the price by being hurled into the wall, all while Sophie was screaming and crying. From then on, Charlotte respected Sophie’s choice of name.

Charlotte began teaching Sophie how to read and write, and it was clear the child was exceedingly bright. Sophie squealed in delight when she first scrawled her name in squiggly six-year-old writing. She loved arts and crafts as well as singing along to songs Charlotte taught her, eventually falling asleep to the tune.

Charlotte smiled at the memories. A tap on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. Turning from the serene picture of the tea party, Charlotte greeted the interruption.

“Benjamin! I’m glad you could make it! How long has it been?” Smiling widely, she shook his hand.

“Long enough for me to finally have gotten my PhD! So five, six years now?” He laughed, curly hair bouncing with the movement.

“Well then, I should use your proper title,” doing an over-the-top genuflect, she declared, “Doctor Benjamin Lewis!”

“Why thank you, Miss Charlotte Moone,” he returned with an equal amount of flair. “Now, what is your proper title? I hear you’ve risen through the ranks as well!”

Clearing her throat from her fit of giggles, she managed to reply, “Head of the Department of Magical Enforcement, member of the Board of Directors, and Senior Operations Consultant, although I get mislabeled enough that one would think I’m just a desk worker!”

“So serious. And so much! That’s a lot for even you, and I remember you taking so many classes in college that you had to talk to the higher-ups to get your schedule permitted!”

“Yes, well I think my mental state has improved since college, so I’ve progressed,” she chuckled. “Anyway, now that we’ve caught up, to the subject at hand!” She clapped her hands and gestured to the girl. “This is Sophie, I’m sure you’ve heard about her and her power, seeing as you’re the resident nerd on this topic.” Charlotte snuck a sly look in Benjamin’s direction that he returned by sticking out his tongue. “She’s been fundamentally tested to measure her abilities, and the results came back like none we’ve ever seen. It turns out she’s a part of the Drakter lineage.” This statement elicited a small squeal of excitement from Benjamin. “Seeing as she’s a Drakter, little Sophie is one of the most powerful beings on earth, and as an adult, she will indubitably be number one. She seems to not understand or know her strength, having lashed out and accidentally hurt people before.” Charlotte thought back to the man in the alley and the bruise she sustained after being thrown against the wall. “She’s happy enough, enjoying make-believe games and normal six year old activities. You have been called because as an expert in the old bloodlines and their abilities, we need a more thorough examination in order to properly understand her future.”

More to himself than to Charlotte, Benjamin muttered something about being able to taste the magic through the walls and how that was impressive, especially for such young magic, scribbling on his clipboard of notes as he went. Nodding, Benjamin looked over the information and addressed Charlotte. “No parents? No known relations or anything that might help me?”

“Nope, she says she can’t remember her parents and we have scoured both records and the field for evidence of relatives. She’s as orphan as you can find them,” Charlotte paused, flexing her foot. “Will that be a problem? Should we run tests over again to see if anything new is found?”

“No, no, it’s just more of a challenge for me. Like a puzzle,” He looked up from his notes. “And boy do I love puzzles! I’ll do my usual questions; asking about interests, see how long she can use her magic, how long she’s known she’s magical, all that fun stuff. See if I can piece some things together to give HMTE something more to work with.”

Grinning at his childlike excitement, Charlotte felt reassured. Finally, answers. Benjamin grinned at his clipboard, then sharply sighed through his nose, as if to steel himself for his interaction with Sophie. Voice slightly giddy, he turned to Charlotte. “I’m like a six year old myself - I get to interact with a Drakter! Well, I better go in and do my examination!”

As he reached for the door handle, Charlotte remembered. “Ah ah ah, wait a moment. I forgot one thing. Do not call her Sophia. It’s the one thing she hates and will respond accordingly.” Answering the question carried by his gaze, she continued. “Sophie must have a negative relationship with the name ‘Sophia,’ enough to fling me into a wall for misnaming her. So just….don’t.”

“Duly noted.” Benjamin nodded curtly and pulled open the door.

Charlotte watched as he sat on the ground next to the girl. He introduced himself, shaking Sophie’s miniscule hand. She seemed to like him, seeing as she had offered him an imaginary teacup, from which he was taking a dainty sip.

Sighing softly, Charlotte turned to the pile of busy work sitting on one of the chairs. She had brought these documents to pass time during the examination, and she did not want to leave Benjamin alone in case he had more questions. Charlotte resolved herself to her fate. Minutes passed as she marked form after form, signing here and initialing there.

Sudden motion and a muffled thump made her flinch. Looking up from her lap, Charlotte leaped to her feet, papers flying.

A scene of chaos had erupted behind the glass. Benjamin had thrown himself onto the one-way mirror, palms splayed wildly against it. It was clear he was howling at the top of his lungs, yet Charlotte could hardly hear his screaming through the thick glass. His eyes wild with fear behind his skewed glasses, he pounded his fists upon the glass, breath fogging up the clear surface. Behind him, Sophie was looking straight up, eyes closed and face twisted into a smile. Slowly but with purpose, Sophie rose from the bundled up sheet that was her tea party table. Still smiling, she brought her head down, leveling her gaze on Benjamin that held the seething power of a wildfire.

“Oh no. Oh God, no!” A scream clawed its way from Charlotte’s throat, the sound enhanced by the barren white walls of the hallway. She was answered by shouts and the commotion of many pairs of feet charging towards her position.

Charlotte had seen that look on Sophie’s face but once before: the day she met her. Charlotte knew what was coming, but was incapable of moving. She mentally screamed for her muscles to budge, to let her intervene, but she had been fixed there against her will, not a nerve fiber twitching. Realization and horror crashed down on her. She was being forced to watch the scene unfold before her.

The taste of magic hit her tongue as she became aware of this. Sophie was still standing motionless, mirroring Charlotte’s inability to move. Suddenly, Sophie warped her body, neck twisting up while her back arched and coiled to the left. Like some kind of morbid puppet, Benjamin copied her movements, fear still palpable in his eyes as he stared helplessly at Charlotte. He was lifted off the ground by the force of his body’s contortion. His neck suddenly became much too long, accompanied by a crack that Charlotte could hear through the glass. His spine followed, snapping in the middle of his back so that when he landed he was folded in half, nape of his neck touching his heels.

Charlotte felt herself regain control of her body, like an icy grip had released her muscles, yet she still couldn’t move. Eyes wide with shock, she let out a shriek of pure fear and revulsion. How could she have…why did she…? What happened? Charlotte lurched to the door of Sophie’s room, fumbling with the handle.

Flinging the door open, she rushed to Benjamin’s side, knowing it was folly to hope he was still alive but needing confirmation. His body was crumpled and broken, with a dark splotch of blood beginning to ooze from his abdomen and onto his shirt. What looked like splinters of rib poked through the fabric.

Retching at the sight as well as the overpowering acrid taste of mint that clung to the air, Charlotte turned her attention to Sophie. She skipped to her bed and thrust a small hand under her mattress, pulling out one of her extra popsicle stick characters. Returning to her tea party, she propped up the new guest next to Mr. Green.

“Thank you for joining us, Dr. Lewis, would you like some tea?”

Charlotte blanched. Dr. Lewis? She numbly strode to Sophie’s side, placing a quivering hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Who did you say your new friend was?” She couldn’t keep her voice from trembling.

“Dr. Lewis!” Sophie replied, looking up at Charlotte with a cheerful smile. Nothing like the psychotic smile she wore moments earlier when controlling Benjamin’s movements.

Time seemed to slow down. Behind Charlotte, people were pouring into the room, clamoring to see what had happened and why they had heard screaming a minute before. But Charlotte did not hear or heed their questions. It felt as though her heart and intestines had flipped places in her body. Her breath hitched as she realized the meaning of Sophie’s words. All her tea party guests…“Mr. Green”…that man who had been dragging her was wearing green. Oh God. This child, this six year old child, was a killer. Not just a killer, but a cold-blooded murderer.

Voice breathy with dread, Charlotte tried her best to remain calm. “Why did you do that to Dr. Lewis?” She gestured to Benjamin’s unmoving heap.

Her face darkening, lips pulling up into a snarl, Sophie spat her response.

“He called me Sophia.”

Dammit, Benjamin. Charlotte closed her eyes in a grimace, clenching her jaw. I told you not to…. But that was it? That was all it took for her to be pushed over the edge? To murder someone? The thoughts ran through Charlotte’s head as Sophie’s face betrayed no signs of emotion or regret for her actions.

“Do you feel bad about what you did to him?”

“No, he called me Sophia. And I didn’t want to talk to him anymore.”

Her answer was startlingly nonchalant, like she was discussing lampshades or the color of a house. Charlotte searched Sophie’s expression for a hint of remorse, finding none. Starting to hyperventilate, Charlotte clasped a hand over her mouth, attempting to fight the nausea that threatened to overtake her. She backed away from the child, colliding with co-workers as she fled the room.

----------------------------------

Every time Charlotte closed her eyes, those images would play against her eyelids. Benjamin’s crumpled body, his neck, Sophie’s maniacal grin, the new popsicle toy named Dr. Lewis. She couldn’t get them out of her head. It had been six days, but the memories were still fresh and crisp.

An impatient voice cut through her thoughts.

“Miss Moone. I understand you have been through a traumatizing ordeal this past week, but you must focus on the task at hand.” It was the president of the company, irritation plainly visible on her plump features.

“Yes Mrs. President, I understand. I am sorry.”

“As I was saying, a problem has emerged that must be addressed. As members of the Board of Directors, it falls on us to make the appropriate decision, even if it is an unpleasant one.” She sighed, clasping her hands on the polished tabletop. “The girl in question. Sophie Drakter is extremely powerful, yes; however that power has only been observed to be used for nefarious purposes. If we are correct in believing Miss Moone’s deduction concerning Miss Drakter’s toys, she has taken the life of seven people. If this assumption is incorrect, the record still stands that Miss Drakter has killed two people.”

She looked around at the assembled six members. She sighed again. “It has come to this: we must vote. The options are as follows: exterminate the girl now to stop further destruction, or endeavor to control her abilities and hope she does not go down a dark path. There is justification for both arguments, including her age, the fact she is a Drakter, cost versus benefit analyses, time, and of course the overall impact of her power if she reaches adulthood. You will have ten minutes to arrive at your decision. You may talk amongst yourselves.”

Charlotte had known it would come to this. She had been thinking about her choice for the last six days. She desperately conferred with her fellow council members, and sooner than she thought possible, the president regained their attention.

The president cleared her throat. She did not look like she was going to enjoy this vote. “Say ‘yea’ if you agree with termination and ‘nay’ if you oppose.” She collected herself before continuing. “Yea. Ms. Lang?”

“Nay.”

“Mr. Simmons?”

“Yea.”

“Mrs. Dunne?”

“Yea.”

“Mr. Barclay?”

“Nay.”

“Mr. Holcomb?”

“Nay.”

“Miss Moone?”

“…nay.”

This single word was followed with gasps of relief and fear. “She’s dangerous! How could you – She’s just a girl! Six years – She’s old enough to know – She’s a killer!” The president pounded a fist on the table top, calling for order.

“She is just a girl and she is a killer!” Charlotte’s voice had reached a pitch that couldn’t be ignored. “She lashed out in a way that was wrong, yes, but there was a reason for it!” A scoff came from across the room. Charlotte flung out a pointer finger and continued. “Yes! Laugh at me! But I know what it’s like! All the women on this council know what it’s like! To be mislabeled! To be belittled! To be brushed over! Sophie only reacted that way because she wasn’t given the proper respect! ‘Sophie’ not ‘Sophia’ was all she asked! Did Dr. Lewis know? Yes, I told him myself! Should he have died because of it? No! But she’s six! That means she’s malleable and can be changed! We can work on her anger and violence, but the lack of respect for her name is not something she can change.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Charlotte hated that she had to validate her decision. Her fellow board members had gone silent, half staring at her through slits for eyes, half nodding in agreement.

“I apologize. It’s just…she has so much potential. And I know there are changes that she needs to make, but so does our society. Mrs. President…” Charlotte deferred to her superior.

“Thank you, Miss Moone for your insight.” An eyebrow cocked, the president ended the meeting, addressing the gathered council. “Thank you for your attendance. You are dismissed.”

Charlotte exited the board room, filing out with her fellow board members, praying she hadn’t made the wrong decision.

#artemisspelledits writing #short story #original story #writing #my writing #I'm hyped about it!#thanks for reading!

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dingletragedy · 5 years ago

Note

Could I request prompts 15 & 35 please? Xx

35 - “is it too late?”

in which ben and callum are both entering their final year of college, callum is new to the area and him n ben instantly become best friends.

(for anon & the wonderful @bencal who’s birthday it is today!!! katie deserves the world and a hell of a lot more than this fic, but i hope you’ve enjoyed your day and this year treats you with so much kindness and love <33)

Of course, it’s only fitting that the first day of British summertime begins with a downpour.

Ben has never been covered in so much mud in his life, and he’d much rather be tucked up in bed, thrashing Jay on Fifa, or watching a film, than tackling in puddles for a ball.

Callum, the little shit, is up in the stands, like he is every match, wearing a bright yellow raincoat and probably the ugliest beanie Ben has ever seen, looking like he’s just about drowning. He’s the only one up there too, and every time Ben looks at him he has to stop himself from doubling over with laughter at his huddled figure.

Ben knows he’s going to come out this match covered in bruises and the odd scrape, and he knows Callum will fuss over him for it, his own injury having ruled him out of the school team for the rest of the term. Ben doesn’t enjoy the football a great deal, not half as much as Callum does that’s for sure, and to be honest, he was days away from dropping out of the teams. But when Callum had picked up the injury, he was so down about not being able to play, and chase that promotion, and suddenly Ben wanted nothing more than to carry on, to win the league, for Callum.

Despite his devotion to the team, some of the lads are being particularly standoffish today, tackling hard and pushing Ben into the mud and laughing it off like it’s a joke. At the start, Ben let himself have a little fun and get muddy. Now though, his shins are fully coated and his hair is sticky with it.

It’s funny though, when Ben gets that last minute equaliser, 89th-minute screamer, how they all celebrate with him like he’s the hero of the league. Ben only has eyes for one celebration though, Callum’s cheers can be heard from down here, and the grin stretching his face enough to wash the grey clouds away.

After, Ben’s completely soaked and chilled to the bone, and it doesn’t help that the changing room feels like a literal freezer. Everything is concrete and metal and the boys all huff out tiny, stilted puffs of air as they change and shower.

Then, he remembers, Callum. He instantly warms.

Callum, Callum, Callum.

The mysterious new lad in town, the one every man and his dog wanted to befriend, but for some unbeknown reason, he’d chosen Ben to do so.

Slowly, over the past few months, since Callum and his brother had moved to Walford, Ben has begun to learn all the little things about Callum. He knows that his favourite colour is orange, that he doesn’t have a favourite album or song because he can’t choose, he likes to read more than he lets on, and he loves to sing, no matter how much he can’t.

They’re just little things, just the tiny pieces, and Ben begins to realise that as much as he’s learning about Callum now, he doesn’t know anything about him before he came to Walford College. There’s a whole seventeen years that Ben really has no idea about.

He has no idea what made Callum who he is now, this brilliant, yet shy and reserved boy, with a heart bigger than Ben could ever imagine.

He shakes himself from his trance, grabs his bag and runs outside. It’s still pissing rain, and across the grounds he can see Callum standing by the bike shed, wrestling with his umbrella. It’s folded completely out the wrong way in the wind, and Ben finds himself laughing as he makes a break for it, thoroughly soaked.

“Why aren’t you waiting inside!?” He shouts over the rain as he approaches. When Callum sees him, he shuffles under the tiny shelter quickly.

Ben follows, and when he sees Callum’s face, he slaps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

He looks utterly distressed, his hair wet and hanging wildly over his neck and eyes. His raincoat has been beaten spectacularly, and his umbrella is only just holding on.

“Where—” Callum starts on a shaky exhale, shivering, “have you been?”

Ben falls into hysterical laughter. “Oh, my God.”

“Ben!” Callum whines, but then he’s laughing too, his hands shaking roughly at his hair.

“You look like a drowned rat, mate,” Ben wheezes. “Not gonna lie.”

“Shut up,” Callum guffaws, shaking his hair out like a dog.

“Your umbrella,” Ben exclaims, cackling. “How did you even manage that?”

“I know, look at it,” Callum wipes at his eyes and holds it up, the whole thing mangled.

“You’re a nightmare, Cal,” Ben holds his stomach, shaking his head. “You want to come back to mine? Get you dry and then maybe I’ll let you have me on Fifa?”

“Oh, you’re finally admitting I’m better than you, then?” Callum says, and he looks pleased. “Yeah, that’d be nice, actually. Cheers.”

“Nah, it’s not that nice,” Ben says, and he tries to remember, frantically, if his room is in any state to be seen by another human, let alone Callum.

“Don’t be daft,” Callum shrugs. “I just want to get inside and get out of these disgusting clothes.”

“Come on then,” Ben says as he leans down to unlock his bike. Callum does the same, and they’re off.

It’s an absolute disaster from the word go.

It’s raining even harder than before, and Ben almost falls off his bike laughing when Callum attempts to shield himself with his umbrella as he rides, wobbling all over the places as the umbrella is pulled this way and that by the wind.

He should be hating every moment, should be angry about his idiot teammates, and his sodden clothes and annoyed about the weather. Instead, he smiles the whole way home, he and Callum laughing and shouting to each other as they pedal frantically, splashing each other with puddles and shaking out their hair.

When they finally make it back to Ben’s house, he hesitates for a moment, because his mum’s car is still in the driveway.

They kick off their muddy shoes outside the front door and attempt to shake any excess water off their bodies so they don’t drip everywhere. That, of course, proves entirely useless, and Ben attempts to make a beeline straight for his room as soon as they step inside.

“Oh, hello love.”

Ben flinches and turns quickly, seeing his mum in the doorframe leading to the kitchen, ready for work with a cup of coffee in her hands. She looks at Callum then looks questioningly at Ben.

“Mum, this is Callum. Cal, this is my mum, Kathy,” he presents. “Is it alright if Callum and I chill for a bit?”

“Sure,” Kathy blinks, looking between them again.

“Uh—hello,” Callum says, and he holds out his hand for her to shake, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Kathy.”

“You too,” she takes his hand eagerly. “Do you go to college with Ben?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty new there,” Callum affirms. Ben sighs internally as his mum looks Callum up and down again, quirk tilting at her lips. “Just been to watch the match, he was the star of the show. Again.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she shifts her weight, flicks her eyes back to Ben’s own. “Well I best going, don’t want to be late, can’t be dealing with your brothers moaning today.”

“Alright,” Ben says with a nod.

“There’s food in the fridge, beers too — although maybe it’s a little early for drinking? Help yourself to whatever you want, Callum.”

“Yeah, mum,” he says, suppressing a groan. “I ain’t going to starve him. Bye.”

He hurries upstairs, safely away from his Mum’s prying, and Callum following close behind. There’s a little pause before he opens the door to his bedroom, and he sends a silent prayer that it isn’t entirely awful.

“It’s not much, um,” he says awkwardly, as he opens the door slowly. Nothing seems too out of order, thankfully.

“Woah,” Callum says as he enters, going straight for Ben’s record player and vinyl collection.

For a moment, Ben pauses, looking at Callum standing here in his room, fingers trailing over the curves of his records. It’s a little surreal, a little too much. Ben clears his throat awkwardly.

“Didn’t know you were such a huge fan of musicals, Mitchell,” Callum teases as a blush heats Ben’s cheeks.

The sudden flash of lighting, and the booming clap of thunder that follows it makes them both jump and flinch towards the window.

Ben approaches carefully and looks out into the street. It’s raining so heavily he can barely see the house across the Square, everything a muddy mirage as the rain falls in thick, heavy sheets.

“Apparently this is going to go on all day, I ain’t letting you ride home in this,” Biting says, biting his lip.

There’s another flash of lightning, and the thunder rattles the room.

When he looks over his shoulder, Callum is just staring at him.

“What?” Ben says, pushing his hair off his forehead nervously.

Callum blinks once, twice, then looks away. “Nothing.”

“I’ll get you a towel, hang on,” Ben says. In the dark of the hall, he rubs a hand down his face.

Callum is in the same position when he returns. Ben tosses the towel at him.

“I don’t have any spare clothes on me,” he says.

“You can borrow some of mine,” Ben says, moving towards his dresser.

“They won’t fit,” Callum says, and Ben can hear the amusement in his voice. “I’m about six foot taller than you, Ben.”

He turns with a raised eyebrow in challenge. Callum dissolves into quiet laughter. Ben throws a pair of joggers at his face, and he splutters.

“I hate this,” Callum says as he changes into them. The joggers are predictably, definitely too small, cuffed around his ankles. And, they’re tight. So tight. God.

“Perfect fit,” Ben says enthusiastically. He lets his eyes linger, long enough to burn the imagine into his memory, but not long enough for Callum to notice.

“Shove over,” Callum says, patting at the space on the bed beside Ben. He furrows his brow, but does so anyway. Callum looks over Ben’s record collection again, rubbing a hand over his chin like he’s making some grand decision. Finally, he makes a tiny noise of affirmation and slots a vinyl out.

He throws Blur, Parklife, at Ben.

“Interesting choice,” Ben says with a raised brow.

“You remind me of him,” Callum says with a little smile. He shoves Ben over some more.

“Damon Albarn?” Ben’s eyebrows rise into his hairline. “That your way of telling me you fancy me, then? Because everyone fancies Damon.”

“Shut up,” Callum laughs off, but there’s no mistaking the peach blush that floods his check, it’s one Ben’s become familiar with.

It’s silent for a long time as Ben loses himself to his thoughts, just the sound of Girl & Boys and booming thunder, the pelting of the rain on the window and their breaths. Everything is washed in a soft yellow glow, and Ben tries not to glance at Callum every time he flips a page. His hair is gold tipped in the light.

“I like these lyrics,” Callum breathes. “I don’t usually care for the words over over-hyped rockstars, but these ones always stick with me,”

He rests his hand on Ben’s hip. Ben stares at the ceiling, wide-eyed, trying to regulate his breathing.

“Love in the nineties, is paranoid, on sunny beaches, take your chances,” Callum sings, slow and hushed and mixed with the rain. Ben’s slips his eyes closed. “Always should be someone you really love.”

Ben breathes in sharply, heart pounding in his chest. When Callum stops, voice losing out to the thunder, Ben feels himself sinking into the mattress. Callum’s hand burns like fire at his hip.

There’s another flash of lightning, and in that split second their eyes meet, white-hot.

Thunder rumbles.

The light flickers, and goes out.

“Oh,” Callum breathes. Ben feels him sit up slowly. His eyes haven’t yet adjusted to the light, so all he has is touch.

All he can feel is Callum.

“Cal?” Ben whispers. He’s so tired, but the thought of missing a moment of this, of him and Callum, alone and safe, together, is terrifying for reasons Ben doesn’t want to think too hard about.

“Mm,” Callum hums, chest shifting.

“Um,” Ben says and there’s so much, so much he wants to say, to ask, to confess. “I should—should see if I can find a flashlight downstairs, or something.”

He moves, reluctantly, and Callum’s hand falls away, replaced by cold air.

“It’s alright, we’ll just wait out the storm, I guess,” Callum’s voice says, close.

There’s so much heat radiating off of Callum’s body, and Ben looks up at his raindrop covered window, searching for some kind of thought other than the one screaming for him to reach out his hands.

It’s quiet for so long. With every passing second Ben feels his throat growing tighter and tighter.

He doesn’t know if he falls asleep, or falls entirely into his thoughts, but when he comes back to himself, feeling like he’s been in a deep sleep for days, his eyes are heavy and his body is warm. Callum is a deadweight beside him, breathing evenly. It’s still raining.

“Cal,” Ben whispers into the dark. There’s no response.

He sits up slowly and tries to maneuver himself over Callum’s legs without waking him. It doesn’t work as well as he’d planned.

Callum stirs with a huff of breath and a yawn. “Ben? What’re you doing?”

“Need a piss.”

“Oh,” Callum breathes. It’s quiet again, and Ben grabs his phone, flicking on the flashlight and guides himself across the hall.

Callum stumbles in a minute later, sleep rumpled and young-looking. In the barely there light, his eyes glow like hazy amber.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. He’s just standing there, leant against the towel rack, watching. Ben turns away, pulse pressing against his neck. “Ain’t much of a fan of the thunder, didn’t want to be alone.”

Ben ducks down to wash his hands, he lets icy water hit his skin, needing that shock to wake his mind. He hisses a little and pulls away, shaking out his hands. He can feel Callum’s eyes following him, burning into him, and as he moves to the towel rack, he doesn’t meet his gaze as he wipes his face.

But he’s right there, so close that Ben can feel his warmth, can smell his aftershave clinging.

Ben glances up slowly, his gaze lifting from Callum’s bare feet all the way up to his eyes.

The flashlight is so dim that everything is cast in shadow, so low that he can’t read Callum’s face. It feels as though they’re trapped in this sudden bubble of warmth, and Ben can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything, doesn't want to do anything, but look at Callum’s eyes and tremble.

“Ben,” he breathes, barely a sound. Ben swallows, electricity shocking through him, zapping his skin. There’s fear there too, gripping fear that holds him by the back of the neck.

But then Callum lifts a hand, his smooth, delicate hand, and runs a long finger down Ben’s cheek, coming to rest just by the hinge of his jaw. Ben stutters out a breath, gravitating closer, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as Callum touches him.

Callum rests their foreheads together gently, his thumb coming to rub at his jaw, his hand cupping the back of his neck and head. Ben’s body is covered in goosebumps, every inch of him shaking like a leaf, so nervous, so unused to this sort of touch.

Callum dips his mouth closer, their noses bumping. He can feel Callum’s warmth breath on his lips, and when he shifts, they brush together, just barely. Callum sucks in a deep breath, chest heaving, and leans down.

It’s so, so, unbelievably delicate. Their lips meet with a cautious press, and they stay that way for a few moments before Callum pulls away a little, then ducks down again. Ben lets him lead, lets him hold his face in his big hand, because his brain is a muddle of heat and jarred murmurs.

Callum presses in closer, both his hands cupping Ben’s face now as he kisses him slow and soft, pulling back every few moments to shudder in a breath, fingertips brushing through the soft wisps of hair by Ben’s ears. His hands slide down to his shoulders, down his front, and Ben’s stomach spikes.

He grabs Callum’s hands, pulls away slightly, eyes searching for something he’s not sure of.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Callum babbles as he meets Ben’s eyes, too loud in their little bubble. “Ben, I–I didn’t mean to–”

“Cal” Ben says, hoarsely. His hand finds Callum’s cheek, it’s hot to the touch, he slips it back into his hair. “Come here, yeah?”

“If you want me to go—” Callum whispers, and Ben feels it against his bottom lip, this barely-there buzz.

“Sh. Just–just come here.”

Their mouths touch again, and it’s molten, soft and melty and cautious, Ben’s bottom lip caught wetly between Callum’s. Ben has to let out a shudder of a breath, toes curling up so hard it hurts as he starts to twist his fingers in Callum’s hair. Ben feels out of body, like he can register each touch and press, he can hear the rain tapping heavy fingers on the rooftop and the low buzz of the record player and the rasp of Callum’s breathing but it doesn’t feel real.

But it is real, so real. And it’s the most intimate moment of Ben’s life, standing in the dark, holding the warm body of this soft boy, kissing him, tender and so full of feeling.

It’s Callum who pulls away the next time, and when he doesn’t duck straight back in, Ben peels his eyes open slowly to look up at him, panics.

Callum’s chest is rising and falling noticeably, his eyes intense and gentle all at once, hooded but so open. They’re locked together for a beat, and time seems to stand still for them. All of a sudden, the rain is gone, and there’s just silence. It’s just him and Callum, standing on this invincible plane, bound together.

“How long?” Callum asks, their faces still pressed up close. He’s so warm, burning up under Ben’s touch.

“So long,” Ben answers honestly. “So fucking long.”

“I’m sorry,” Callum breathes past his lips, muffled by another kiss. “‘M so clueless. Is it too late? Please tell me it ain’t too late?”

“No,” Ben hushes him, tries to pull him closer again with a nudge to his hip, but Callum shakes his head lightly and just stares down at Callum “It ain’t too late. It couldn’t ever be too late.”

They come back together on a sharp exhale, there’s little hesitancy now. Callum presses Ben against the wall, cradling his jaw and gripping at his hip, breathing heavily. Ben holds him close and tries to stop the little noises bubbling inside him from escaping. He doesn’t succeed.

“Shit,” Callum breathes, ducking down to bury his face into Ben’s neck, kissing the skin there over and over, breathing him in. “Shit, Ben.”

“Callum,” he shudders when Callum kisses wetly at the hinge of his jaw. He threads his hands into Ben’s hair again, so soft and silky beneath his fingers, and pulls him back up to his mouth. He’s never wanted anybody, anything more in his life than this, than the wet press of their mouths, the heat of Callum’s hands sliding down his back. It feels right.

“You’re beautiful,” Callum gasps out between kisses, pressing in hard. “I’ve wanted to tell you that every day since I moved to that damn school.”

“Callum,” Ben says again, because he can’t say anything else.

“You have no idea,” another searing kiss, a hot press of their bodies, “how amazing you are.”

Ben whines softly, and Callum shudders, grabbing his hand and pulling them backwards. They leave the flashlight, and they have to fumble blindly into Ben’s room. Callum’s hands are hot and possessive on his hips, squeezing him and moving him through the space. They finally find Ben’s bed, and Callum falls down first, pulling Ben on top of him.

“Oh, my God,” Ben sighs out at the press of their bodies, burying his face in Callum’s neck for a moment to try and form any coherent through.

“Kiss me,” Callum breathes. “Don’t stop kissing me.”

And so Callum kisses a line from Ben’s jaw to his lips. He cradles his jaw, presses his thumbs against the hinges, and Callum makes a throaty noise, opening his mouth wide and arching up. Ben gasps in response, and then Callum is flipping them over so quickly that Ben sees stars, reaching up blindly as Callum presses him down.

Ben likes it like this, he thinks, with Callum’s body covering him, caging him in close. The rain hits the window violently, and Callum licks into Ben’s mouth hotly. His first response is to grapple at Callum’s shirt in surprise. His second, is to open his mouth wider, keening. He’s got a hand in Callum’s hair now, tugging roughly. Callum groans, so deep and chesty. Ben is helpless against him, breathy and shaking.

When their hips brush together, Callum a steady weight on top of him, his stomach jumps and he pulls away involuntarily, before he can stop himself. Callum pauses, his breathing heavy, and searches his face.

“Y’alright?” He whispers thickly, brushing his thumb over Ben’s cheek, eyes sated and heavy.

Ben’s breath stutters in his chest, hands shaking. “I’m just—”

He lets out another shuddered breath, blinking up at Callum with wide eyes.

“I know,” Callum says, hushed. “I know.”

He kisses him again, soft and slow and honey-sweet, brushing his hair away from his forehead gently. He moves his mouth to his neck, just dragging his lips over Ben’s skin and breathing, occasionally kissing him delicately.

Callum falls sideways, coming to settle next to Ben as they kiss gently. He threads their fingers together, and Ben’s heart flutters in his chest, eyes threatening to grow wet.

“Cal,” he breathes, pressing their foreheads together.

Callum snuffles slightly, pecking Ben’s lips one more time before he tugs him in close, wrapping his arms around him to cuddle him. His chest is warm and cosy and Ben curls around his body willingly. Callum strokes his back, presses kisses to his forehead. It’s so lovely, so delicate and careful that Ben can feel his heart shaking in his chest.

“Goodnight,” Callum whispers.

Ben blinks up at him. They stare at each other for a moment, and Ben just lets it rush over him, lets himself go. He tells himself to stop thinking, to stop worrying, to put himself in the here and now; not tomorrow, not when they have to go back to school, when he knows he’ll have to go back to being Callum’s new friend, when he knows to football lads will be on his back and he’ll have to lie to Jay, when he’ll miss Callum so much it’ll make his heart ache.

Right now he’s got to let himself be happy. Callum’s mouth twitches, and Ben knows that he’s happy, too.

“Goodnight, Callum;”

#idk man IDK #its probs bad and very ooc and the plot is ALL OVER THE PLACE #bye #ben x callum #ballum #eastenders #fic #mywords #anon #long post /

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duker42 · 6 years ago

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Hi! How about where Levi gets a PTSD attack during the night and hurts his s/o. He calms down and realizes the damage that's been done. His s/o knew it wasn't his fault but was shaken up so she slept with the other girls for a while (which Levi respects but absolutely loathes himself for what he did). A few days later, there was a thunderstorm and he's scared of it. His s/o comes to him though, which surprised him. She held him while she sang a lullaby to help him fall asleep. Angsty fluff yeh

***Loved this request!!! 💕💕💕💕

💜Nights💜

Sleep had become a precious commodity to Levi. The few hours of rest he had managed was filled with nightmares and replaying events he would rather forget.

He was relieved the first time he slept beside Y/N. It was amazing that he had slept more than 3 hours without being jolted awake by some memory of the past or twisted version of the future his mind had decided to torment him with.

The nightmares never stopped completely, but they seemed to be muted by the loving girl’s presence. Her scent and warmth calming to him as he slumbered. Tonight however that was not the case.

Levi grunted in his sleep, twisting restlessly in the sheets as he once again flew past the bodies of his squad. Their mangled bodies a testament to his failure as a leader. As he entered the clearing, he spotted Isabel and Farlan, battling the Female Titan. Watched again as the cheerful redhead was beheaded by the Titan’s teeth. Pushing his body to move faster as he raced towards Farlan to try and save his friend, only to be too late. He was helpless as his friend waved in farewell as she bite down, flinging his torso across the clearing.

He screamed as he leapt up in bed, moving to destroy the monster that had stolen his friends, his family from him. A familiar voice cried out from under him as he fought the rapidly shrinking Titan. His eyes narrowed as they cleared, bringing the creature in his grasp into focus.

Y/N’s eyes were wide in terror as she was pinned beneath Levi’s tense form. Her arm was wrenched in a painful position as she struggled against the stronger man.

“Levi! Wake up!” Her voice trembled as she continued to try and wake her lover from him night terror. She had been abruptly woken as he attacked her. She knew that the horrible things he had lived through haunted his dreams, but this was the first time it had ever been this bad.

He scrambled off of her as he fully woke up, the haze of his dream wearing off. His expression one of abject horror as she move away from him. He hesitantly reached for her and then paused, pulling his hand back. He sat, unable to say anything more than “Sorry.”

Clutching her arm, Y/N couldn’t look at Levi as she mumbled about going to the infirmary. Slipping silently out of the room, she left Levi looking at the bed where he had accidentally hurt the woman he loved.

~~~~~

Y/N’s arm was in a sling when Levi walked into the Mess Hall. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at his feet as his stomach turned.

“Hey.....” She hesitantly approached him. “I’m okay...but, I think I’m going to sleep in the dorms for a little while. Let my arm heal.” She was speaking so gently to him, as if afraid he would break. His self loathing tripled, if it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have that wary look in her eyes, wouldn’t be wearing a sling.

“I see.” Nodding, he turned and fled, what little appetite he had, gone.

~~~~~

Three miserable days had passed since that morning. Three days of Levi berating himself for not being strong enough to save Y/N from himself. She hadn’t blamed him, per say, but he certainly did. He felt a fresh wave of guilt every time she walked into his office, the white cloth securing her arm to her a side a testament to his brutality. He no longer felt he deserved the vivacious girl.

That night the castle shook from the thunder as the rain beat against the windows. The wind howled, and the lightening lit up the room as he lay in the bed, closing his eyes against the fear creeping into his bones. He had always hated storms since the day his first expedition went so terribly wrong. Levi jumped slightly as the lightening and thunder crashed simultaneously, rendering the night a thing straight out of his nightmares.

He wanted to go to Y/N, beg her to let him hold her. Just until the storm had passed. He had always powered through his fears, his pain, but tonight he just wasn’t strong enough. Lifting the covers, he swung his legs off the bed as the door opened. He stared as his lover peeked around the door.

She had come to him. When the storm started shaking the castle, she knew that he was suffering. She had seen him curl into a ball, and try to block out the sounds during storms past. He would never show this weakness while outside the safety of his room, but within his own space, the tight grip he had on his emotions was released. Letting the girls know where she was going, she had slipped out of the dorms and made her way to Levi’s room.

Crossing the cold floor, she went to him. His eyes were wide with surprise at her appearance in his room. Wordlessly, she pushed the covers back and climbed into he bed beside him. She felt his stiff body beside hers as she reached for him. Her touch released the fear he had been holding on to and he wrapped his arms around her body, as if afraid she would disappear. His head was on her chest, using the loud thump of her heart to try and block out the sounds of the storm raging outside. She ran her hand through the inky black strands of his hair as she softly began to sing.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry

Go to sleep you little baby

When you wake, you will have cake

And all the pretty little horses

Blacks and bays, dapples and greys

A coach and six white horses

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry

Go to sleep you little baby

Way down yonder, down in the meadow

There's a poor little lamby

Bees and butterflies flitting 'round his eyes

He's crying out for his mammy

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry

Go to sleep you little baby

When you wake, you will have cake

And all the pretty little horses

Blacks and bays, dapples and greys

A coach and six white horses

Blacks and bays, dapples and greys

All the pretty little horses

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry

Go to sleep you little baby

All the pretty little horses

Levi felt his body relax as her soft soothing voice flowed around him. The overpowering anxiety in his chest began fade away as his eyes closed. He felt her kiss the top of his head as she whispered into the dark, “Sleep, Levi, I’ll spend my nights protecting you.”

Mobile MasterList

#captain levi #levi ackerman #snk levi #shingeki no kyojin #aot fanfiction #attack on titan #levi aot #levi ackerman x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #captain levi x reader #levi x reader #levi heichou #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin x reader #levi fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan x reader

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the-quiet-winds · 6 years ago

Text

Innocence is Beautiful to See, Won’t You Box it Up for Me?

[It ends as it began.]

Frankly, Katherine Howard had never been so afraid in her short life.

In that heated, dark moment, all she can see is Thomas Culpeper himself, a malice in his eyes as he backs away to reveal the executioner waiting for her outside, holding a sharpened ax that simply radiated hatred and evil. He stands atop a stage, a block by his knees as he watches her with cold, unfeeling eyes.

She does her best to hide her trembling as she is led to his feet, Henry and Thomas standing a mere few paces away. Katherine is forced to her knees before her king. Every muscle in her body is screaming, and she can feel a burning in her neck as she knows what’s coming.

“You filthy, wretched little whore,” Henry spits. “I hope you burn in Hell.”

Katherine doesn’t even have time to respond before a blindfold is roughly tied around her eyes and her head is forced onto the block, but it’s so unlike she had practiced the night before. She’s not even allowed to address the crowd. She waits.

She hears the swordsman raise his blade.

Then nothing.

“Katherine Howard.”

She hears the crowd roaring, some from anger and some from upset, but a soft voice cuts through.

Katherine lifts her head off of the block. “Mum?”

She can’t see, not with the blindfold, so if Jane nodded, she doesn’t see it. She continues, “they’re going to hurt me, mum.”

“I know.”

The voice is calm, too calm, as if she doesn’t care at all.

“Please help,” Kat pleads.

Something happens that she can’t see, signalled only by the roaring of the crowd.

Jane’s voice cries out, “off with her head!”

The crowd falls absolutely silent, enough so that Katherine can hear the executioner move the ax in his hand before hefting it up.

And it descends towards her neck.

With a mangled sort of cry, Katherine immediately becomes aware of the bed around her, sheets soft and warm. She bolts upright and comes face to face with Jane. The real Jane. Her legs, on instinct, shoot out and force her back against the headboard, and she hangs her head in shame.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” she mumbles.

“It’s no problem, love,” Jane assures her. She puts a light hand on one of Katherine’s knees. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, that’s all.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, so Jane just patiently waits. Katherine’s breathing hasn’t slowed since she realized there was in the room, which her mother notices, of course. “Kat,” Jane says quietly, moving closer, “I’m not going to hurt you.” She brushes some of Katherine’s hair out of her face and looks at her kindly. “You’re safe here, you know that, right?”

Katherine blushes, a bright red stain spreading through her cheeks, neck, and ears. She avoids eye contact, looking at messy sheets instead. Jane quietly clicks her tongue then reaches out, a hand coming to rest on Katherine’s warm cheek, pulling her to make eye contact. “It’s okay, love,” Jane assures her again. “I just want you to feel a bit better, yeah?”

A flicker of a smile, so quick and fleeting that Jane thought it must have been a sleep-deprived mirage, flashes faintly across Katherine’s lips. Before she can stop herself, she launches forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Jane’s waist and burying her face in her neck.

Jane, of course, catches her, pulling her close. “I’ve got you, love,” she whispers. “You’re safe here.”

Katherine gives a tiny whimper and presses closer. “They were going to hurt me,” she whispers.

“They can’t-”

“You were there too,” she says. The reminder of this causes her to pull away, nearly scrambling back across the bed to escape. “You were going to hurt me.”

“It wasn’t real,” Jane tries to soothe her. “It wasn’t me.”

Somewhere deep in Katherine’s mind, she knows this. It wasn’t the real Jane - not the woman who knows when she’s scared and reassures her she’s safe or who likes to playfully torment her with dotting kisses all over her cheeks until Kat is squirming to escape.

“I’m here,” Jane whispers. “I’m real.” She slowly moves closer until she can gently move some of Kat’s disheveled hair out of her face and cup her cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you. Ever.”

Katherine manages to nod. “You won’t hurt me,” she mumbles.

“That’s right,” Jane encourages. “I won’t. Not now, not ever.”

As if Jane was the only life raft on the sinking ship, Katherine throws herself at her mother, holding her tight around the waist.

“I know. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Jane’s whispered promises reach her ears and she smiles, just barely, into Jane’s neck. Tears well up in her eyes as she feels the familiar sensations of Jane’s fingers in her hair and the soft kisses pressed to her temple.

“Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Katherine detaches from Jane for long enough for them both to shuffle beneath the covers, but as soon as Jane has finished adjusting the comforter around them, Katherine is latched to her waist again, tucking her head under Jane’s chin and settling her ear over her mum’s heart. She gives a tiny, content sigh as she closes her eyes again, surprisingly calm after such a vivid nightmare.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Jane promises, her voice soft as velvet as it meets Kat’s ears. “No more nightmares, not while your mama is here.”

Katherine giggles, a barely there thing, and snuggles closer. “I love you, mama.”

Jane kisses the top of her head so softly. “I love you too, my little Seymour, and I always will.”

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tag list: @spookabeth @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

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Six months ago today, I posted the first part of It’s Always Darkest Before the Dawn. For every day since, I have posted writing, and, to my surprise, you all ate it up. I can’t remember the last time I felt that, if ever. I’ve been writing for six years now, and I have never had fans and friends like the lot of you.

This isn’t a goodbye, or even a see you later. It’s a thank you, for all of the support and love you all gave on a daily basis.

Drop an ask, send headcanons and fics, I’m still here.

And keep your eyes out for some new fun.

-Julie, the-quiet-winds, the proclaimed Queen / Mother of Six Fanfic

#six the musical #katherine howard #jane seymour #julie writes #innocence is beautiful to see won't you box it up for me

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antagonisms · 5 years ago

Photo

BASICS

Name: Evan Czarnecki

Gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him

Species: werewolf

Age: 27. Jokes about being 63, because he was a wolf for 6 years, which is 42 dog years + those 21 normal human years. Either way, age is a really weird concept now.

PERSONALITY

Traits: Pretends to be flippant to put the world at a distance. Vulgar as a means of distancing himself from genuine vulnerability. Perceptive, but won’t let you know that. More self-aware than he lets on. Self-absorbed. Self-destructive. Loves being seen, hates being known.

Moral alignment / MBTI / enneagram: Chaotic neutral. INTP-A. 5w6.

Values: In other people, he likes independence, open-mindedness, the ability to dress well, a lack of tolerance for bullshit, genuine altruism, and resilience.

Flaws: Judgmental. Narcissistic as a defense mechanism. Occasionally rude, but mostly just cheeky. Not a team player. Reckless. Hedonistic. The brokest bitch in Blackrock.

HISTORY

( shorter version is in the app. i just like details. trigger warnings for child abuse and sex as self harm.)

1) CHILDHOOD

You had a family, once. Your mother’s a piano teacher and your father is — you don’t know, really, but he’s got enough old money to buy nice things even if he’s stingy on principle. He’s polite, and she’s funny, and your fellow patrons at Sunday Mass love all three of you because you’re down-to-earth, surface-level beautiful — a perfect American family.

But they don’t know what happens inside the too-big house at the foot of the mountain. Your mother’s a pessimist, and your father’s a sniveling piece of shit who copes with his worthlessness by making everybody feel small. He’s kinda good at it. They’re both as loud as they are erratic and it’s all a matter of bracing yourself for when the floor inevitably falls through. You make do, mostly. You hide in your room. You lock the door. You put your ears behind headphones. You drown out their screaming matches and your too-loud mind.

It all falls apart when Mommy decides she hates Daddy more than she loves you. No goodbye. No explanation. She just leaves.

Her departure plants a lesson you will later find impossible to uproot: love is earned, Evan, you’re not working hard enough. At least your father stayed. At least he sometimes loved you. At least, you think so. He might have loved you when he took you fishing, or gave you that book you really liked, or when he buys you clothes that look really nice. You flip through your mother’s old sheet music and fumble through the piano keys, and you think he might love you when he watches you fill this house with her memory without saying anything.

But mostly, he’s not very kind. You don’t want to think about it anymore.

2) ADOLESCENCE

You inherit your mother’s cynicism and your father’s stingy heart. The skill you develop is as much a sense of humor as it is a safety net. If life’s a joke, beat it to the punchline. By the time you’re fifteen, you can no longer pretend that your world is worth saving. You keep it at arm’s length. Your mind makes a mockery of the darkness to keep its jaws at a distance, because if you couldn’t do that, your pitch-black pessimism would swallow you whole.

Growing up feels less like maturing and more like mutating. By the time you’re sixteen, you stop feigning perfection to earn the affection of a father who’s heart is colder than your Blackrock winter. Popular misconception claims control is a word you never learned, but that’s just what you let everyone think. The truth is: control is a lesson you pried out of your body when the need for acceptance evolved into a need to rebel. You’re an embarrassment, Evan. Adolescence meant insurrection. You’re a failure of a son. Pills and booze and boys and girls biting the hand that hit him. Your heart is a bullet and your mouth is a shotgun and you will make yourself repulsive if the alternative is admitting that — Evan, I wish you knew how difficult it is to love you.

You only apply yourself when it matters. You get into Stanford. You take a loan. You don’t let your father pay for tuition, because you’re not letting him control your life anymore. You leave your tar pit town the way your mother did, and it’s only a matter of time before your goodbye is permanent.

It gets better as much as it gets worse. You leave home, but home doesn’t really leave you, and you don’t recognize your body when it’s not in pain. You’re beautiful, though. People see you and want to make you theirs. You let it happen. Too-rough hands salve the ghosts of bruises your father left you. This is the ugliest way of putting it: you feel damaged. Every person you kiss has too-sharp teeth, and maybe that’s exactly how you want it, because if this body doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, then offer it up in a way that feels good.

You always leave first. You love much how it tears them apart. This is your inheritance: your Momma’s love of leaving, and your Daddy’s stingy, stingy heart.

3) THE BITE

Unlike your mother, you tried to come back. Your father called one night, asking if you wanted to return for Christmas, and the small, stupid flicker of hope that your pessimism couldn’t kill begged that you give him a chance.

He didn’t change. He argues about the degree you’re taking with the money you don’t have and insists on carving a future for you, his way. He doesn’t like your independence. He doesn’t like your protests. Your fights are explosive until they aren’t, until a raised fist reminds you exactly what violence he’s capable of.

At least he sometimes loves you. Maybe he loved you when he picked your wounded body up, carried you out of the woods, and bandaged up bite on your side. Maybe he loved you when he brought medicine to your room, and maybe he loved you when made you chicken soup just the way you liked it, even when you didn’t ask. Maybe he loved you when he sat by the side of your bed, and talked about his father, and his father’s father, and how none of them really knew how to grow up without making their sons feel small.

But the fever is strange. A new kind of anger tears out whatever capacity for forgiveness you might have had. Your bones are changing. Something wretched twists and grows inside you, and with a hot flash of pain, you’re something new entirely.

You have one last coherent thought before the wild takes your mind completely.

I have to kill him. So you do.

3.5) THE THINGS YOU DON’T KNOW

The news of your father’s death spreads like wildfire in Blackrock. It’s not your father’s mangled body that causes intrigue, it’s your disappearance. Wolf attacks, while uncommon, aren’t exactly rare, and everyone’s heard the folktales. Neighbors assure that you were there during the evidence, but the police find no evidence of carnage, not a pound of flesh nor drop of blood to support the fearful need to conclude that there’s nothing supernatural about this. You can’t prove the Czarnecki kid isn’t a werewolf, the gossipers say. Nobody can even prove that he’s dead.

4) WOLF-HOOD

You don’t know what strange circumstance landed you in your new body, but maybe you don’t care. Maybe the bite and the fever killed you, and the Buddhists were right. You don’t really know if you earned enough good karma to deserve this reincarnated form, but either way, you’re never letting it go. You hunt deer. You roll around in the snow. You snarl at any predator that dares to get near, and bite the ones that move into your space without permission. Sometimes you walk into the backyards of strangers and wait for children who aren’t afraid to try and approach you. You don’t eat them, because just because you’re a monster now doesn’t mean you don’t have principles.

You lie down. You let them rub your belly.

It’s a really nice life.

5) NOW

Six years after you thought you died, a woman drags you out of the woods you back into your body. Even a lifetime of pain couldn’t prepare you for the shift back. New bones tear your animal flesh apart, piercing your skin open to make room for your wretched old body. It aches in too many ways. The people — the wolves — the ones who did this to you, they tell you this is your home now.

So it wasn’t Buddhism. Maybe it’s the Catholics who’re right; eternal damnation does await the unrepentant sinner, and it looks like this: you’re here, trapped in a frat house for furries, without a cellphone, a car, or clothes of your own, or money to pay a doctor to confirm whether or not you’d acquired a tapeworm.

You realize you owe Stanford 213,000 dollars.

You are a very tired wolf.

TLDR:

Evan has a bad childhood. He becomes a wolf. He kills his father. He mistakes lycanthropy for reincarnation and lives in wolf-nirvana for six whole years. You drag him out of nirvana. The realization that he didn’t actually die puts him in a terrible mood.

CONNECTIONS

( So uhhh I wrote up possible prompts for the existing werewolf skeletons before I knew what anyone was like and I think they can be good jumping points! If you don’t feel this fits your character, or if you want a different sort of dynamic, just message me! )

1) WOLVES (AND BITTEN HUMAN)

ALDER: You’ve seen him at his ugliest — a small, scared creature writhing on the floor, that horrific cross between a howl and a screech leaving his shifting throat. Now there’s a flare of red-hot resentment in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it makes you wonder if he’s more monstrous as a human than he is a beast. You saved him from death. You realize you cannot save him from life. He’ll never forgive you for that.

HEMLOCK: You are a bootlicker and he does not like you.

HICKORY: It’s not your job to keep the feral wolf in line, but your brother seems to resent whatever circumstance it was that landed him the role of mongrel babysitter. Consider picking up the slack. The guy’s only half-terrible — sullen and strange but mostly manageable, and maybe earning his trust is only a matter of affording him the patience that nobody else wants to offer. If it’s an opportunity to prove this pack your worth, try taking it.

MAPLE: You’ve worked too hard to protect this pack, to earn your position. Now your lot has dragged some feral creature out of the woods, offered him their home, their humanity, and still, he has the nerve to be ungrateful. He makes it clear that he doesn’t trust you. He makes it even clearer that you cannot trust him. Maybe the demons in your head are concussed, but the new demon in your home now insists on giving you a migraine.

PINE: You are a mirror of lost days. You are the young flighty creature he once was and can never become again. Home is a word you might have both forgotten, but circumstance has offered you both a new roof over your heads, and a family to go with it. Maybe these similarities should draw you closer, but there’s a glimmer of resentment in his eyes whenever he looks at you. You don’t know why it’s there. It could be pity. It might be envy. It must be grief.

OAK: He had a father, once, and that shit didn’t end well. For some reason, he sees it fit to pass some unearned blame on you, and now years of buried resentment are yours to bear. Family’s a broken word, he seems to think, but you cannot let him break yours. Still, it’s evident that he lacks the capacity to be as self-sufficient as he’d like, and as long as that’s true, it’s your thumb he’ll be under. You know he needs you. Offer an open hand, or pull the leash tighter. The choice is yours.

REDCEDAR: He shows up at the bookstore to read a new title of Animorphs every other day and you don’t know how that makes you feel.

WILLOW: He might take more kindly to you than he does the others. You’re both new to a home you’re not sure will ever welcome you, and more importantly, you both wanted this. The bite. This beastliness. The difference is that he’s certain. Your condition is a new part of yourself that you have yet to fully love, but he seems to think he can teach you. Man and beast are equally monstrous, he tries to convince you. So let’s be the kind with bigger teeth.

2) OPEN CONNECTIONS

( Open to humans ) has taken an interest in the Czarnecki Werewolf Conspiracy. They’re familiar with the incident — a dead father, a missing son, and the wolf that allegedly kill them both. All the facts line up too neatly, and when somebody who looks to be the ghost of one Evan Czarnecki returns to haunt the streets of Blackrock, they think it’s finally time they get some answers.

( Open to humans ) once knew Evan. Yeah, the kid who always got straight A’s and played piano for Catholic mass? What the actual shit happened to him? They’re watched Evan go from familiar face to murder case overnight, but now, the town recluses have found a new adoptee — and he’s the splitting image of the boy they once knew. Maybe it’s time to reconnect.

3) VAGUE CONCEPTS

he uhhhh (spins wheel) flirted with ( open ) at last drop for free drinks and then realized that spending six years as a wolf made him de-acquire the taste of liquor and now he’s having a crisis

( open ) tells him he needs therapy. evan laughs

this is actually very hard he’s so unsociable

jsut message me... we’ll think of something

#shipper.#about.

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liathgray · 6 years ago

Note

Okay what about dick Almost drowning and one of the other boys saving him and then they have to sit in the cold for evac but its taking /so damn long/ and the batbro is trying so hard to keep dick (and themselves) awake and coherent and warm, of course only if you want to

The horribly familiar sound of a knife sinking into spun steel was like hearing a nail rammed into a coffin. Dick felt the give of his line, the one that was— will have been — wrapped firmly around the landing skid of a pitch-black helicopter packed full of stolen viruses and software that had to potential to collapse half the worlds economy in less then a year. As the machine rose higher, it’s blades beating gravity down with a vengeance, Dick could feel his line shiver under the stress. It was splintering and his stomach dropped at the sight of the dark expanse of water below him. They’d flown out of their way to get rid of him.Permanently.Dick’s rope was already at its end, there was no getting closer to lessen the impact onto the… the ice.Of course the water was half frozen over.Fucking Gotham.

The one night he agreed to cover for Tim and it might be his last.Wonderful.Frantically he started trying to pull a flare from his belt, hastily sending a distress beacon as he went about wrenching at the cap with his teeth.His arm was going numb as the last wire holding his aloft began to fray.Dick yanked off the activation tab and plummeted downwards.Wind pulled at his hair and lungs, stealing his breath as quickly as it did his ground above the harbour.He tried to aim his back downwards but the rushing air continually pushed his head towards to rapidly approaching tundra.It was getting closer.Too close.Way too close.And with the closeness of the freezings waters and sheet of ice came the dawning realization that he wasn’t getting out of this.With only meters between him and hypothermia, Dick let out a desperate shout, twisting near violently to get his feet under him before a sickening crunch reached his ears.He felt his bones shattering, not clean breaks, pressing hard against his skin.In the micro second before he was plunged beneath the surface, the sheer amount of immediate pain knocked any remaining breath from him.The ice broke on impact, sending him in chilled waters.Dick’s body went ridged to the cold and he felt the fatigue settling into his limbs at an unprecedented pace.He was sinking. Fast.He couldn’t even force himself to move as water bit into his skin and pulled him deeper.Would they ever find his body?Dick felt a burn in his lungs, and the panic of being unable to breath spurred his muscles to draw on some reserve of adrenaline he apparently had.It had been, what, two minutes under now? Three?He couldn’t think straight.Dick tried to kick upwards to the shrinking dot of moonlight.Bad move.Pain radiated up his form from his broken legs.He placed a hand over his mouth to keep from gagging from the sudden sickness bubbling in his throat.Everything felt hot inside and frostbitten outside.He was starting to curl in on himself, nearly choking on the water slipping between his teeth and into his lungs.Everything hurt.He was tired and his vision was tilted.Dick blinked hard, trying to focus on that pinpoint of dull light that was rapidly vanishing.He was pushing six minutes, vision tunnelling and hazy buzz filling his ears.Slowly Dick pulled his hand away from his mouth, watching with horrified amusement as little bubbles rose from his lips, leaving him to suffocate. Distantly he heard thumps tracking above him, like footsteps, but…But it‘s so dark.He‘s exhausted.If he just closes his eyes for a second… just for a second… just for… just…

———————————————————

Heavy boots pounded against the ice of Gotham Harbour, steel toes leaving a trail of cleaved footprints.It was thick ice, about three and a half inches, which means it was thin enough to break with too much force but dense enough to do serious damage if you were dropped from a helicopter roughly ten stories up. Like Dick had been.The distress call had come in about five minutes ago, Jason had been two away.He’d arrived just in time to see a trail of pale yellow smoke following after something small and dark as it slammed into the mix of ice and liquid nitrogen. Followed by dreaded silence.No shouts, no splashes or gasps.Just silence.The three and a half inches of ice wasn’t thick enough to support his bike so he went on foot, cursing all the way.They damned ‘copter had flown nearly eight hundred yards out to drown their tail.Dedication, he had to admit, but it was about to get Dick killed.Differences aside, Jason doesn’t hate his predecessor. Thats not to say he’d really go out of his way for him, but he cares. Enough to hang out together every few weeks, enough to give a hand on a case or raid, and enough to not want him dead.Jason skidded to a stop at the fracture in the sea of tinted ice. Spiderwebs of cracks splintered out several feet from the hole, ones that would definitely give way under Jason’s weight.“Crap.”He yanked off his helmet and started tugging frantically at the sleeves of his jacket.As he stripped off a sweatshirt, his eyes were roaming with determination (desperation) around the landscape, looking for something— anything —sturdy.His eyes settled on a buoy frozen in place not to many paces away. With the press of a button he extends the entirety of his grappling line, the hooked end of which was tied onto the thin metal railing of the buoy, and the grip held tightly in his palm.“Okay,”He kicked off his boots, “okay. This’ll work. This’ll- yeah. Okay.”He put a rebreather between his teeth and jumped.Through the stinging cold, Jason swam down, drawing in as measured breaths as were to be expected in a situation this stressful. It was getting harder to see, his hands were numbing in the water.And he couldn’t see Dick.Silt and murk were muddling his vision and he was starting to panic.He was running out of time.Frantically he kept plunging downwards, slowing losing all sense of ocular awareness and relying mostly on touch to search for Dick’s body- for Dick.His hand brushed something solid and cool.Jason grabbed hold and pulled upwards, feeling along the form ‘til he had one arm hooked under his shoulder and held steady against his own chest.His line went taunt and began dragging two up.They broke the surface unceremoniously without shouts of victories or even a sputtering gasp.Jason spat out the rebreather and hauled Dick out of the water.He wasn’t breathing.“Shit.”The younger man tore off his glove and held two fingers to his neck.Weak pulse. Definitely filled his lungs with water on the trip down.And he’s not fucking breathing-Jason pulled Dick further from the weakened ice.He tilted the older vigilantes head upwards, pinching his nose and blowing air back into his lungs.On some level, it felt like he was defiling his, well, his brother. He should’t have to be doing this, having to do fucking rescue breaths for a comrade. He should’t have to think about him drowning or anyone else being killed every night. He could feel just how cold Dick’s skin was and the unnatural paleness to his complexion looked ghastly.“C’mon, dickhead.” He huffed, hysteria edging into his voice.“You’re too stubborn to go out like this.” A wet, strangled cough jerked through Dick’s chest, water bubbling from his mouth as he lurched onto his side.A wave of relief washed over Jason.He placed one hand on Dick’s upwards facing shoulder and the other on the small of his back to keep him steady.For minutes he sat there, keeping his brother in place as he threw up what had to be several liters of water.It was only then that Jason realized Dick was missing his mask.Probably loosened and tugged away by the will of the harbour. When the sickness seemed to pass, Jason straightened.“Hey,” he said, tightening his grip in a hopes to ground the other, “you with me?”Dick was out of it, clearly. His eyes were clouded and expression blank, but communication is helpful even if half-ass and uncertain.“Y-yeah,” he responded shakily, bracing one hand beneath him and trying to sit up.“I- shit,” Dick turned to the side and heaved. Once the tension and strain in his muscles from emptying his stomach faded, Dick practically folded in on himself.“Hey!” Jason shot forward, only just managing to kept him upright, sorta, letting the older lean against his side, an arm wrap firmly around his shoulder, “Dick? Hey, Don’t black out on me.”He heard the dull, rattling breaths plowing through Dick’s chest. The intense shivers and chattering teeth.“W-w-won’t,” he forced out between the chills running through him.“Good, cause we really gotta go.“ He snatched his jacket and sweater and off the ground, hastily wrapping Dick in both and shoving his feet into his— blessedly —dry boots.“You were under way too long and I’d rather get back before someone jacks my bike-““J-jay.” Dick interrupted breathlessly, “I c-c-c,” he swallowed back a gag and tried again.“I can’t.”Jason looked down, startled and a little confused, “What?”“M-m-my legs. I… F-fuck.”“Your… Oh.”Jason looked and felt something heavy drop in his stomach. A stone, maybe an anvil.“Christ…”They weren’t just broken. They looked like straws that some kid had been using like pipe-cleaners.Jason could feel icy beads dripping from his face as he stared in— in horror —at the mangled limbs.Possible nerve damage, months in casts and double the time in rehab. A hand was weakly pulling at the sleeve of his shirt.“Can’t wa-walk.”Dick was practically panting from the effort it took to speak, looking at Jason with tired, hazy eyes. Jason had a tendency to get tunnel vision, that was no secret. Added to the fact that he had been trying to, in effect revive, a sibling and you’re gonna have a preoccupied and shortsighted Jason. But this was something he shouldn’t’ve missed.“That’s… that’s fine. It’s not too far out. I can pull your dumb ass back in, ‘kay?”Dick stared at him blearily, blinking hard like he couldn’t get things into focus before nodding.Jason, still sitting back on his knees, drew Dick’s arms around his neck, holding them together at his sternum.“This is probably gonna hurt like hell but try not to move.”He slowly dragged himself and his brother up, wincing all the while because he could feel Dick pressing his forehead into his back and gritting his teeth hard enough to chip them. His breaths were coming in choked gasps and his shoulders were shaking worse then before.“You alright?” Jason asked.“No,” Dick replied weakly, “go.”He complied, taking long strides across the ice and peppered snow, hoping once again that no one stole his bike because otherwise they were screwed.Jason did all he could to ignore the crescents being cut into Dick’s palm as to refrain from crying out.About halfway across, Jason stumbled. His stupid boot had dug a rut into the ground and he tripped.The epitome of grace.As he regained his footing, he heard the sound of a breath hitching from his passenger. “W-why’re you ca-arryin’…” Dick shifted in his hold, “I-“ Jason felt some of the, weight lifted off his shoulders. As in, the literal weight.“Wh- Shit! Stop it!” Dick dropped back down, with what was dangerously close to being a sob. “Your legs are fucked, idiot! Did you forget about that?!” Jason shouted, feeling the first inkling of fear-driven anger bubbling in his stomach.“My..? Oh.”The confusion rolling from Dick was palpable.Jason began to trudge forward, fixing his gaze ahead where he could see his bike waiting.“H-head h’rts…”Dick mumbled between the intense inhales racketing his chest. “I know man, I know. Just keep your eyes open.”Memory loss. Bad sign. He was getting less coherent, which meant the wet uniform was making Dick quite accommodating to hypothermia.He pressed on, almost smiling when they reached his bike.But before he had the chance, he notice something.Some sick, twisted version of karma, or the universe just messing with him. Playing a gross practical joke.The fucking tires were missing.“Damnit!” He growled, kicking the absolutely useless vehicle.“What..?”He breathed out hard, eyes darting about for any signs of civility.Apparently, not to many decent people are hanging around this particular abandoned waterfront at three am.“Nothing, it’s nothing we-… we’re just gonna have to wait a bit.” He spotted a small tackle shop, about the size of those ticket booths at carnivals. Quickly as he could, Jason made his way over and kicked in the door.It was covered with layers of dust and mostly empty, save pile of well-loved plaid shirts and an old sign. The letters were too faded to make out, but it didn’t really matter.He ducked inside and pushed the busted up door shut, leaning the sign against it to keep out unwanted wind.Cautiously he let down his brother, leaning his back against a wall in a mostly upright position.Luckily Dick was still conscious.And feeling ever ounce of pain Jason inadvertently inflicted.“J-j-jay.”He stuttered, looking frustrated all the while.“Dickhead.” He deadpanned, leaning over to inspect the damage on his legs, and boy was it bad.“Hell. We’re gonna have to immobilize your legs Dick.”He pulled out a knife and started tearing the dusty old shirts into long strips.“W-wait,” Dick protested, shaking his head, “jus-s-…”He put a hand behind him to stay upright.Jason happily ignored him, instead choosing to yank the trimming off the door and line them up with Dick’s leg.Who was currently glaring at him through the exhaustion.Jason sighed, shooting the older man an almost pleading look.“Listen we can’t just leave them like this,““Sh-sh-shock.” Dick intervened, “Jay I-… I’ll.” He closed his eyes and tried in vain to slow the volatile rasps coming from his throat. “M’c-cold.”Jason hated the feeling creeping up in him. Just- just helplessness. Utterly helplessness.He’d sent out his own beacon during the trek to the tackle shack, and all he could really do was hope that someone was on their way.He backed away from the mess of skin and shattered bone“Okay.” he raised his hands in a surrender, “Okay, Dick. Just… I’m not gonna touch ‘em, yeah?”He settled besides Dick, allowing their shoulders to press against one another for warmth and maybe his own reassurance.The shaking wasn’t coming in intervals of intensity anymore, it was just a constant hum of trembling.Every few seconds Jason found himself looking down to make sure Dick was still awake. After a while he started to ramble. Not about anything in particular, just because he knew even if he was completely fine and not slowly shutting down due to freezing temperatures, Dick would be falling asleep from the stillness and silence of the room.He draped an arm across Dick’s shoulder and leaned him into his side without a problem and that was kinda the scary part.Even as he pushed through some random idea he had a few nights ago, there was a growing discomfort. Because Dick was always the one talking. He was always the one to protest and make conversation. His brother was an insanely stubborn person. Had he been even a little coherent he would’ve insisted that Jason stay in his comfort zone of almost exclusively touch through combat and antagonist rather then this. This is what scared him.That and the fact that Dick’s lips were so blue they looked pained and his skin looked like wax. “M’tired.” A soft voice broke his train of speech and he was suddenly aware of the absence of gasps and shivering.“Shit,” Jason could feel panic skipping down his spine.Dick’s body is shutting down. “M’really tired.” Breathing is way too shallow. “shit.”Jason shook him slighting, “Don’t sleep.” He demanded, gripping Dicks shoulder tight enough to bruise. Dick didn’t even have the energy to pull away.“Jay… it’s c’ld.”Jason felt like throwing up. Or hitting something. Where the hell are the rest of this stupid towns vigilantes?!A hand weakly held the hem of his shirt, “H’rts…. tired..”“Don’t sleep. Dick, listen to me. Don’t fucking sleep.” He watched uselessly as Dick blinked, long and slow, turning his head to stare up at Jason. “S’rry.”He slumped forward.Jason fumbled to keep him from knocking his head against the floorboards.“Fuck.” He muttered, he voice shaking more then he would ever admit, pulling Dick’s limp form closer in a last ditch attempt to keep him warm.He tucked his brother’s head against his shoulder, keeping one hand against his neck, feeling his pulse as is slowed.He stayed like that, trying not to panic, keeping two fingers firmly pressed into Dick’s clammy skin.Counting the beat drumming gently beneath it. He doesn’t know how long he stayed frozen in place like that. He could barley concentrate on anything other then the cold dread seeping into his stomach.There was a timid knock as someone pushed the door open.“Cass,” he breathed, exhaustion and pent-up fear flooding out. “He’s not- I couldn’t- We gotta go.”She nodded silently, taking a little less then half of Dick’s weight, slinging his arm over her shoulder with an arm on his waist. They pulled him across the snow-specked ground towards an empty, very cracked, road. Jason could hear the roar of a car ringing through the air.“He’ll be okay.” Cass reassured, tapping his hand with her own.“You did what you could.” Jason drew in a sharp breath. “He’s hypothermic and busted to hell.”She huffed, “You did what you could.”“Yeah. Might not be enough.”He watched the Batmobile (still a stupid name…) pull up and he and Cassandra laid Dick inside alongside Jason who Cass insisted needed to go too.“You’re shaking,” she pointed out with a frustrated glare, “and you’re tired.”Jason grumbled but complied. She gave him a hard, somewhat understanding look as the car peeled away. She mouthed a single word as she began to fade from view. “Rest.”Jason sunk down into his seat miserably.Easier said then done.Fucking Gotham.

#jason todd #dick grayson #batfamily #NOT JAYDICK U FUCKS #hope this is good :)#anyways back to being a ball of sunshine #dc dcomics #red hood #nightwing #nightwing fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #i need a tag for asks so bam

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succinct-assbutt · 8 years ago

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Say I Love You...

Fandom: Supernatural.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Y/N finds herself stricken with grief over Dean’s self-loathing; meanwhile, the elder Winchester is trying to come to terms with a newfound revelation of his feelings and how he can voice them out.

Warnings: Dean finding it hard to voice out his feelings, fluff, maybe a bit of angst?? Not entirely.

A/N: Will probably be making this into a series because I’m a sucker for Dean.

The idea was born out of me watching a few fanvids with our favorite hunter which show just how much he has been through. I mean, both Winchester’s have had to deal with a lot of crap, but my soft spot for Dean is what drove me to writing this.

Enjoy!

~*~*~*~

The room is dead silent.

Save for the sound of hush snores and breaths and the whisper of window through vents and into the motel. Outside the sky spread across the city of Atlanta in a blanket of onyx, clusters of stars dotting it. Y/N lies still in her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to tame the inner turmoil in her chest. Beside her the sheets shift. Dean says something, something about going to wash up before Sam wakes up, but she doesn’t quite catch him.

“Y/N!” he calls, snapping her from her reverie.

The young girl turns to him, head lolling against the pillow. “Yeah?”

“I said you should probably, too, since we still have some time.” She can’t see his face hidden in the pitch dark; she can’t see anything but the silhouette of the elder Winchester sitting up, his hair a disheveled mess atop his head.

“I should probably what?”

“Wash up?” He says it like its obvious. But Y/n doesn’t reply. Only continues staring at him, wide eyes, the light from the moon cast down on her face through the window—and the elder Winchester obviously notices this. Y/N spots a shift in his demeanor: attentive. Concerned. Even if she can’t see them, she guesses the elder Winchester’s eyes soften as he reaches out, touching her bare shoulder.

“Y/N,” Dean speaks. “You okay?”

“You’re an amazing person, you know that?” She blurts out.

The room silences once more.

Between them hangs a surprised quiet. Y/N is still on her back, still hazy-minded and emotional and fighting a hurricane raging in her chest. She can feel it bubble up her throat, spreading through her lungs, suffocating her. Soon she won’t be able to breathe. Soon, in this dim-lit and quiet room perfumed with her emotions, she will turn blue-faced and asphyxiated, because it’s too much.

He’s too much.

He is selfish, and yet altruistic; he is stern and authoritative, as disciplined as a soldier, but kind; Dean is self-sacrificial and generous and swollen with love and yet such despondent and negative emotions picked up as souvenirs from the life he has had to live . He is human, and a paradox in itself and Dean is good and Dean has always been good…

And it hurts Y/N to know that he doesn’t see this…

A moment ago, as she’d lay in his embrace, having to listen to him tear himself down; berate his image, hate himself because of a hunt gone bad. Two teenagers whose parents were vampires. They hadn’t managed to stop them and the kids died, and Dean was mourning his failure and the loss of two innocents. Y/N listened attentively to him as he’d spoke, and felt a wound in her heart coming undone. She feels tears brimming at her eyes just looking at him, at this man who doesn’t feel the way she does about him. This man who sees himself as a completely polar opposite of the reality. Y/N has known Dean for a long time, and she knows what he thinks of himself, what he wrongly assumes he is, and it hurts her.

For he has done so much for her, he has proven his own assumptions wrong and been her light in the dark of their lives, and all she wants is to do the same for the man she loves.

“What?” Dean asks in a hushed tone. She sniffles. There are tears beginning to roll down her face and she’s pretty sure he can see them from the way the light shines through the window.

“I said…” Y/N starts. “That you are an amazing human being, Dean Winchester. You—you are…good, and genuine, and you are my best friend. It hurts me to know that you don’t see this in yourself.”

“Y/N….” Dean tries to speak, but she cuts him off.

“No, okay? …”

“I didn’t save them.” He says sternly. “I could have, but I didn’t and now they’re dead. Don’t try and make me feel better for not doing my job.”

“But you tried—dammit, Dean, you tried. You did your best and your heart was in the right place.” She sniffles, rubbing her palm across her burning eyes. God, she hates this—hates herself for letting it come to the point where she’s in tears, but that’s just how strongly she feels about this matter. “Dean, I’m telling you now—you are a good man. Stop beating yourself up over this, over everything. I’ve known you for what—five? Six years? I know that me telling you this might be useless, but…..”

Y/N bites her lip, trying to level her voice. Between them hangs a deafening silence, ominous, painful. Dean is crying, she soon realizes. Quiet, pained tears that she only knows about when she hears his breath wobble as inhales.

Sitting up, she shifts and moves closer to the elder Winchester, pulling him in. His head rests in the crook of her neck, and she feels him shudder—vulnerable. Dean never lets anyone see him vulnerable, but maybe he should, because the weight he carries on his shoulders is too much not to.

The elder Winchester gulps thickly. “Y/n…”

“It’s okay….”She whispers, cradling his head to her chest, tears running down her cheeks, and the green-eyed hunter sniffles, and his tears touch her skin and it takes all of Y/n’s strength to not shatter.

Dean.

Always good.

Leaning back against the headboard, she brings the elder Winchester’s head to rest on her shoulder and he lets her in the quiet. The night drawls on—they stay like that. Together; quiet; feeling. Y/N cards her fingers through his hair as he sleeps, and when he stirs a bit she stops. Her hand floats from his head and rests beside the pillow.

~*~*~*~

Morning breaks with a burst of light beaming into the motel room and onto the two hunters. Y/N is awake, still holding Dean as she had been through the entire night, still drunk off his kisses and her emotions.

Tilting her head, she peers down at him. His eyes are shut and his breath fans against her bare skin, tickling it. “Dean?” She whispers, tentative and hush and desperate to not shatter the intimacy around them. “Are you awake?”

She waits for a response that doesn’t come, until the elder Winchester lets out an incoherent mumble, and then lolls his head to the side lazily.

His eyes flutter open as Y/N’s face splits into smile, and she continues her strokes on his hair. “Morning.”

“Did you stay up all night?” Dean asks, and she nods. “Why? I could have managed without you watching over me while I slept.”

“I wanted to.” Y/N shrugs, smoothing out stubborn strands of sandy-hair that stick up in all directions. She says it so easy, like she’s telling him her hobby, like it’s his hobby too. Like the previous night they hadn’t made love and she hadn’t pulled him out of the pit of his melancholy.

And Dean looks at her, right here, right now—really looks at her.

At her eyes and the rim of y/e/c embellished with flecks of gold, at hers lips and her ears and the wrinkles and creases drawn out in her tired skin, telling her story. Their story. They’ve been together for so long, now. Have been through so much, and the scars and blemishes and cuts and bruises painting Y/N’s skin matching Dean’s is enough of an alibi.

They’ve spent years together. It feels like a lifetime. And Dean loves that, and he loves her, and he wouldn’t trade anything for it because….He…loves her.

He has loved Y/N for years and he will continue to love her.

The realization is sudden and daunting. Out of nowhere, the green-eyed hunter’s heart begins to race, and his palms begin to sweat and he’s panicking, God, he’s panicking because Dean loves her.

And she loves him.

They leave the motel within the next hour once Sam arrives. Y/N runs a quick shower then brushes her teeth and Sam tells them about the vampire nest he took out. Dean pretends to listen even though he isn’t. He can’t. He’s ruminating over this new earth-shattering realization.

They’ve been dating for months; they’ve been sleeping in the same bed. They’ve been touching—God, they’ve been touching—but it is only now that his heart has chosen to drop this bombshell on his. This feeling; this plague.

Love.

What is to him? What can it be for the two them? All this time being with Y/N, Dean has avoided the thought. But the truth is the truth—it’s been lurking in the back of his mind, nudging at his conscience, asking his what if; what if it’s possible, what if he’s the one, and now all these questions are answered.

They sit in the car and begin to drive. The entire journey is spent with their fingers intertwined as Dean drives and his heart a mangled mess hammering in his chest. Y/N and Sam are laughing and talking about the hunt and Cas. He’s waiting for them at home, apparently, but Dean can’t bring himself to care about anything right now, because God, this is torture.

“Feeling okay?” Y/N asks him. The elder Winchester casts a brief glance at her, taking his eyes off the road.

“Just tired.” He answers, nodding. Lying.

But Y/n doesn’t push. Instead, she gives him a sad smile, squeezes his hand in hers, and Dean has to resist from swerving off the road.

Disintegrated.

His entire body feels electric and like its buzzing when they get home. He kills the engine and Sam and Y/N hoist their things onto their backs and clamber out, making their way into the house. Dean follows suit.

In the library, Castiel sits in waiting, and then rises once he hears the sound of footsteps. They say their hellos. Dean gives him a hug—he’s truly happy to see him—, they exchange pleasantries, and then he retreats into his room, his alibi being that he’s not feeling good.

When he’s alone, finally, the elder Winchester shuts the door behind him and then leans against it, dropping his bags onto the floor. His head tips back and his eyes shut.

Finally.

Finally alone. Finally able to gather his thoughts. The hammering in his chest has slowed, and Dean immediately strips himself of his jacket and tosses it on the bed, left in nothing but his undershirt as he goes to sit at the edge. With his head bowed, he cards his fingers through his hair.

He needs to tell her.

Soon, as soon as possible. Dean has been a hunter all his life—he knows just how fleeting life is. He knows how one minute you’re there and the next you’re not, and thinking about Y/N never getting to hear him utter those three words to her makes his heart wrench. Not only once, either.

Dean wants to say it over and over.

To chant it, to sing it—his heart feels swollen with love and a craving and a peace that comes with knowing, and he wants to proclaim that, but how? He wonders.

That’s all he can do, for now. Wonder. Think. And that’s all he does for the rest of the evening, and that’s he does when he goes to sleep, and Dean wracks his mind over and over for the confidence he needs to utter those three words to Y/N, but it seems impossible.

He wonders how she does it so easily. ~*~*~*~

This is just a reminder to all of you: Dean is an absolutely complex and imperfectly perfect and sweet human being who is just trying to work through his emotions and get through this hell of a life; please don’t forget.

Likes and reblogs are always welcome! Also, feel free to follow me to keep updated when i post part 2, or maybe even have it dedicated to you..? Just message me and let me know :)

Hope you’re having a great day!

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cafebucheron-blog · 8 years ago

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Tips And Techniques To Help You Turn Meals Into Art!

Anyone can learn how to cook. Can you buy ingredients, follow recipes and operate a stove or oven? Is your kitchen stocked with the basic equipment necessary? That's all you need for cooking. To further your culinary skills, read the tips below so that you can create great dishes for your family and you.

If you've made sauce, you should place any that is leftover in an ice tray and freeze it. When you'd like to make a quick and easy meal later on, you just have to pop out a few cubes of sauce and reheat them in a pan. Sauce cubes made this way are safe and will taste great! If burgers get stuck to the grill, it will be difficult to flip them without mangling them in the process. Try brushing vegetable oil on the cooking surface prior to cooking so that food does not stick. If you must use oil in your cooking, choose extra virgin oil to reduce the amount of saturated fat in your dish. Oil or butter add more fat than necessary to your dishes. Consider giving non-stick cooking spray a shot. The end result is virtually the same, but these sprays are often fat-free and have ingredients that are more friendly to your diet. Always read labels thoroughly when shopping for a recipe. Many common cooking supplies contain hidden ingredients that can be unhealthy. Check the sugar and sodium levels in the ingredient, as over consumption of these items can cause health problems in certain people. When cooking a whole pumpkin, place the pumpkin upright first, then cut directly down its middle to create two halves. Place each half of the pumpkin on two separate baking sheets with the cut side facing down. Sprinkle your baking sheets with a little water, and roast the pumpkin halves for an hour at 350 degrees. Avoid using too much cooking oil by measuring it! To lower the quantity of fat you use when cooking, see to it that you measure the oil you are using, as opposed to just pouring it into the pan from the bottle. This allows you to keep a strict amount of oil, instead of overdoing it. It is crucial that you buy new spices around every six months. A lot of people keep spices too long, which makes them not taste very good. If you purchase a spice that you don't use very often, give some of it to friends or relatives. Place unripened fruits in a plastic bag that is perforated right after you buy them. Fruit produces ethylene gas as it ripens. When they are placed in a perforated bag, the air can circulate, which ensures the ethylene gas is absorbed, so the fruit retains its great taste.

When you are cooking, wash the dishes as you go along. If you have a double sink, be sure to keep one half filled with hot, soapy water and the other with clean rinse water. Most bowls, pots, pans and utensils are much easier to clean immediately after they're done being used, and this will ensure that they're ready go if you need them again during the preparation of your meal. If you are planning a complex meal, reduce your stress by doing the prep the night before. Gather all your ingredients together, chop what needs to be chopped, measure out all the required herbs and spices and make sure you have everything that you need on hand. When it's time to cook, you won't have to think about anything else. Do not forget to add salt to water for making pasta. This is so that the seasoning will set into the pasta. Pasta that has been salted after cooking may not retain the flavors used in the seasoning and sauce. To give your pasta sauce some additional flavor, use some of the water that the pasta was cooked in. Measure out one-fourth of a cup and place it to the side. When you are ready to mix your sauce and pasta together, incorporate some of this water. The water contains starch from the pasta, and will make your sauce nice and creamy. When chopping fresh herbs, you should shake some salt on a cutting board. The salt helps to keep the herbs on the cutting board during chopping and also adds some extra flavor. Do not add more salt as you are cutting the herbs. The salt you put on the board will stick to the herbs and add a bit of flavor. Proper preparation can save you a lot of time when you are cooking. Often times, you can prepare food prior to cooking by at least a couple days in advance. There are many cases in which the flavor of the ingredients is actually improved by early preparation. When you become used to preparing your cooking ingredients in advance, you will wonder how you ever managed to cook without this practice. Potatoes come in many different varieties, and you can't always substitute one for another. Waxy potatoes are great for boiling and potato salads while other potatoes are better for making french fries, baked potatoes and mashed potatoes. Russet potatoes are often recommended for making mashed, fried or baked potato recipes because they have high starch content. Try utilizing a stacking cooling rack. When you bake a lot of cookies or any other goods, your whole work area can get consumed. Space can be better used if you incorporate racks for cooling that have multiple layers. Using an area of vertical space rather than every available flat surface gives your cookies the space they need to cool and gives you the space you need to work. If you want to reheat a greasy dish, bake it again instead of making a mess in your microwave. Microwaves heat food very quickly and very intensely. Oil tends to heat up the fastest, and it will separate from the rest of the food as it does so. Baking will keep the ingredients more cohesive. Cooking is a skill, a profession, an art form, and a hobby. The advice of experienced cooks can lead a novice to a million different ways to cook outstanding meals. Make use of this advice next time you need to cook something!

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overly-affectionate-animatronics · 6 years ago

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Service With A Smile - Chap. 04

Title: Service With a Smile - Welcome to the Fazbear Hotel! Part: 4/?? Author: Murasaki Rose Beta: none Genre: AU/Romance/Adventure/Sci-Fi Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: None that I know Warnings: Slash~i.e. male x male pairings, swearing, suggestive language and humor Pairings: Golden Freddy x Phone Guy Minor Pairings: Foxy x Chica, Toy Bonnie x Mangle, Toy Freddy x Toy Chica

Summary: After being picked as the new general manager, Paul has one month to prove he’s the man for the job. But with xenophobic customers, jealous employees, a former employer out to sabotage him, and a flirty hotel owner, does the human stand a chance, or will he be sent back home?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Watching from across the room, Miss Jaloux scowled as the owner doted on the human General Manager. She'd been trying to catch the bear's attention for years and then this weak little alien shows up and steals him without even trying! It wasn't fair!

"Disgusting isn't it?" another Tieran muttered, having come up behind her.

"Ugh, I can't stand watching them!" the female bear snarled. "If only that little wretch wasn't here!"

"You know, he doesn't have the position yet," the other Tieran had a sly smile on her face, "...and I know a few others who would be willing to help."

Jaloux smirked, "See if they can meet with us later to plan."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Focused on his paperwork, Paul nearly leapt out of his skin when he was interrupted by a loud thump from the hall. Looking at his door he watched with mild irritation as the woman assigned to clean his office entered the room and started to work without so much as a word to him.

"Miss Trotzig, you're uh, cleaning my office rather early..." Paul commented. None of the management offices were supposed to be cleaned before six and it was only two in the afternoon.

"All the other offices I clean were empty, so I decided to get them done early since they're right here," she replied flippantly, not even bothering to face him as she spoke.

"I see. Well, unless Mrs. Blaireau authorizes a change, I expect you to show up at your normal time to clean my office and the others from now on, okay?"

Receiving no acknowledgement from the woman other than a shrug, Paul made a note to check-in with Mrs. Blaireau later.

The next day, just as Paul feared would happen, the cleaning woman came barging into his office just after two.

"Miss Trotzig."

The flat, almost commanding tone startled the Tieran enough she turned to face him and nearly quailed at the sight. The human's usual friendly and open expression had been replaced by a stern and closed one. In that instant, she remembered that human or not, he was the General Manager and her boss.

"Miss Trotzig, yesterday I told you that you were to show up at your normal time, unless Mrs. Blaireau authorized a change."

She nodded, even though he hadn't asked a question.

"I spoke with Mrs. Blaireau yesterday and she assured me that any change in the cleaning schedule, no matter how minor, must be approved by her or a housekeeping supervisor first. No exceptions."

Trotzig swallowed hard.

"She also mentioned that this was not the first time you have attempted to change your schedule without authorization...." He sighed softly and picked up a sheet of paper from his desk before walking over to her. "Given that, along with your past performance record, this will be the second write up for your employee file." Handing over the paper copy, he returned to his desk, "You are to report to Mrs. Blaireau for your re-assignment immediately."

Nodding again, the maid hurriedly grabbed her cart and left.

A few hours later Golden arrived outside Paul's office ready to follow his human through the evening building walk. To the bear's concern, his brown eyes seemed a bit dimmer than usual.

"Rough day?"

The red head smiled and shook his head, "Um, just had to deal with the more unpleasant side of the job, that's all. Nothing I can't handle."

Golden frowned, "If you're sure..."

"Yes, I'm sure. If I couldn't deal with days like this, then I'd have never made it this far you know."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Spring frowned as the guard made his report. This was bad. "Are you sure these are the ones you overheard?"

The dog nodded, "No doubt in my mind sir."

Steepling his fingers, Spring's brow furrowed as he thought over the best approach. On the one hand, they hadn't done anything yet and he doubted a warning would discourage them, on the other hand if Golden caught wind of their schemes....

"All right, here's what we're going to do...we'll pass this information on to every member of security as well as the senior staff members-"

"Even Mr. Fazbear and Mr. Cawthon?"

"No. It's Paul's last trial week and I don't want to add on to his stress." Spring shook his head, "and if Golden finds out all hell will break loose."

"Sir?"

"He's been verbally claiming Paul for the last couple weeks and I've already seen signs of him going feral at just the thought of Paul in danger." Silver eyes locked onto the guard, "Can you imagine his reaction should he find out someone is actively trying to sabotage his human?"

The guard felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought. He'd witnessed other Tierans going feral, but none as powerful as Golden Fazbear. All hell indeed.

"How will we keep them from finding out?"

The gold rabbit smirked, "Simple, by stopping the trouble before it starts."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

If he wasn't a patient bear by nature, Golden might have thrown something out a window.

He'd been aware for some time that there were several employees interested in him, it'd been that way since he'd come of age several years ago. The bolder ones would drop subtle hints or flirt in an attempt to catch his attention but never anything untoward or unprofessional enough to warrant any action. Unfortunately a female bear had decided to throw subtlety to the wind and was now blatantly flirting.

His father had warned him there'd be days like this.

By lunchtime his frustration was at an all-time high, the woman wouldn't leave him alone! He hadn't realized just how agitated he'd become until he stepped into Paul's office.

"Golden! What's wrong?"

The bear blinked in surprise as the human ran to his side, cautiously placing a hand on Golden's forearm. "I look that bad?"

Paul shook his head, "Not to anyone that doesn't uh, know you very well. Your posture was too stiff and you're, um-" he waved his other hand in a circular motion, "-closed off."

"Closed off?"

The human nodded, "It's hard to explaiiiaaan!" he yelped as Golden abruptly pulled him to his chest, holding him tight around the waist and burying his nose in his soft red hair. Hugging the bear in return, Paul enjoyed the embrace, happy that apparently he could help calm Golden just as the bear could calm him. "You uh, wanna talk about it?"

Heaving a sigh, Golden let go of Paul and plopped down onto the couch on far side of the office. Sitting next to him Paul listened patiently as the bear relayed the series of events that had gotten him so worked up. Seeing that Golden had tensed up again just thinking about it, the red-head decided to try something a little different to help.

Scooting over to the far end of the couch, he hid a smile when Golden pouted. "Lay your head down," he said patting his lap.

"Dare I ask why?" Golden asked, grinning at the human.

"I um, want to try something." A soft blush dusted his cheeks as he reached forward to card his fingers through the thick fur on Golden's scalp. When the bear nudged his head against Paul's hand, he took the hint and began to lightly scratch his scalp in circular motions.

Golden melted instantly, aqua eyes sliding closed as he let out a content murr. Peering through half-lidded eyes, the sight of Paul's deep blushing cheeks brought a lazy smile to his muzzle. They'd definitely have to do this again.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"No way!"

"Well, that's what I heard."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Mitzi walked over to the younger maids she was cleaning with. She'd forgotten how gossipy the newer employees were. "What's got you girls so excited?"

"One of the waiters said that they heard from one of the bell hops that they saw Mr. Cawthon hanging around another Tieran."

"Someone that doesn't work here at the hotel!" the other girl exclaimed in a hushed voice.

Raising an eyebrow, Mitzi gave them a skeptical look, "Which bell hop saw that? And what's the other Tieran look like?"

"Well, they didn't say..."

The older maid stifled a sigh, "Does this mystery bell hop even have a name? And if they really saw that, then why don't they have a good description of the other guy?" she crossed her arms and huffed. "Anyone with eyes knows that when he's not working Mr. Cawthon's always with Mr. Fazbear or one of their friends."

"So you're saying it's not true?"

Mitzi nodded firmly, "Absolutely. And if you hear any more of that nonsense from anyone else, you'd best tell them to stop spreading rumors."

"Will we get in trouble?"

"Not if you stop now. Can you imagine how angry Mr. Fazbear would be if he heard you?"

Both girls flinched at that. It hadn't occurred to them that the boss might overhear them.

"Now, let's get back to work...and no more gossiping!"

Satisfied that the younger maids would behave, at least for now, Mitzi dropped the subject and made a mental note to speak with Mrs. Blaireau later. She knew the rumor was utter nonsense but didn't want Mr. Cawthon or Mr. Fazbear hurt.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Thanks to the combined efforts of the senior staff and security working behind the scenes, most of the incidents were dealt with before anything really got started. A few of the rumors did work their way back to Golden and Paul, but were dispelled so quickly neither gave them much thought. Sadly, despite the success at stopping would-be saboteurs and troublemakers, there was one person no one had been able to reign in and it was on the last day of Paul's trial run that everything came to a head.

There was another large event scheduled at the end of the following month, one that both owner and general manager would attend, and they were having the first of many meetings with the hotel's event manager and planners, Jaloux being one of them.

From the moment Golden entered the room, Jaloux hadn't left his side, even going so far as to keep herself physically in-between the gold bear and Paul at all times. After dealing with her forward behavior all week, Golden was already on edge and was finding it difficult to keep a grip on his rapidly fraying control. By keeping his focus on the event manager and Paul, he'd been able to put up a calm front, but he was losing the battle. Finally he'd had enough and just as he was about to call for a break-

She touched him.

Paul inhaled sharply, struggling to maintain a neutral expression as he saw Jaloux run her paw down Golden's arm. He hadn't been prepared for the sharp pang of possessive anger that had lanced through his stomach and was having difficulty keeping himself from snapping at her like a jealous teenager.

"Jaloux!" the event manager shouted, paging the personnel manager with his tablet as he stormed over. In all the years he'd been working, he'd never had an employee over-step their boundaries so blatantly.

That flash of hurt in Paul's eyes was all it took to snap the fragile thread holding Golden's temper at bay. "Enough!" the bear snarled, freezing everyone in place. When the female bear didn't back away he bared his teeth, a menacing growl rumbling in his throat as he stared her down.

Eyes wide with fear Jaloux cowered in submission and cast her eyes to the ground, hoping she had not just seen what she thought she had. Golden snarled again and she curled up, praying for someone, anyone to help. That slim ring of black she'd seen around the other bear's iris had not been her imagination, in her arrogance she'd pushed her boss dangerously close to going feral.

"Golden, please! You need to calm down!"

Worried he might actually attack the other Tieran, Paul lightly placed a hand on Golden's bicep. When the bear didn't tense from his touch, the human slid his hand down to Golden's forearm, applying only the barest amount of pressure as he moved. After a long tense moment, Golden turned his attention from Jaloux to Paul, the black rings gone before the red-head ever saw them. Forcing down his nerves, the human moved his hand again, this time to the back of Golden's paw. This got a smile from Golden, which made Paul let out a relieved laugh. That had been close.

Peeking up at the pair, Jaloux watched as Golden scooped up the human and carried him off, the red-head protesting that they had work to do.

"You realize you probably owe Mr. Cawthon your life?"

Jaloux jumped and spun around to see the personnel manager, Kima Fazbear giving her a stern glare. She gave a shaky nod, nearly leaping out of her skin when one of the security guards took hold of her arm.

"We'll discuss this in my office." Kima turned on his heel, the guard following with Jaloux in tow. Unseen by either party, he allowed his stern expression to melt into one of relief. He was more grateful than ever that some of the ladies had been teaching Paul about courting Tierans or the whole situation could have ended tragically.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Sitting on the couch in his dorm room, Paul was attempting to distract himself with a book. It was too early in the day to call his brother and he had little else to do the next couple days except worry and second-guess his performance while Rolfe and the senior staff decided if he was going to stay.

He was fortunate that the previous night he'd been so exhausted that he'd fallen asleep the moment his head touched the pillows but now-

A short burst of knocks at this door broke his train of thought. Curiously, he got up and opened the door to the unexpected, but welcome sight of the Renard twins.

Foxy clapped Paul's shoulder, "So lad, Mangle n' I heard that ye need yerself a distraction."

"I wouldn't say I need one, but it uh, certainly couldn't hurt," the red-head replied, giving the foxes a weak smile.

"Well then, we've got just the thing in mind," Mangle grinned, her artificial eye flashing briefly in her excitement.

Paul yelped as the red fox suddenly tossed him over one shoulder, "W-w-wait Foxy! I-I can walk you know!"

"But you can't run like we can," Mangle replied as the twins raced out of the dorms and into the hotel, the white fox blowing her mate a kiss while Foxy gave Golden a roguish grin when they ran by them in the hotel's main lobby.

Golden blinked a couple times as his mind processed the bizarre scene he'd just witnessed.

"I'm sorry Asagi."

"What for?"

"If you would be so kind, pass my apologies on to Chica as well."

The blue rabbit struggled not to roll his eyes, that wasn't an answer. "Why are you apologizing?!" he yelled after Golden, who'd already started running after the foxes.

"I'm going to kill your mates!" he called back before disappearing out the door.

Asagi chuckled, he didn't know what was going to happen when they'd asked Mangle and Foxy to distract Paul for the weekend, but it was clear that whatever crazy idea the twins had come up with, at least Paul (and Golden) wouldn't be bored.

"Hahahahaha!" Laughing like he was, Foxy sounded more like a pirate than freighter captain, as he drove away from the hotel at top speed. He wanted to lose Golden before Paul noticed him chasing after them. Having left the top open on their vehicle, he'd tossed Paul inside then he and Mangle jumped in on either side of him. The confused human had barely righted himself before the fox had taken off.

"Whoa! Foxy slow down!" Paul yelled, worried the red fox would crash in his enthusiasm.

Mangle hugged his shoulders with one arm and laughed, "It's all right Paul, Foxy knows what he's doing."

"Aye lad, drivin' this is child's play compared ta our ship!"

Seeing that Foxy did indeed have full control of the vehicle, Paul started to relax when a worrisome thought occurred to him, "Oh! Did someone tell Golden what we were doing?" He didn't want the bear to worry...

"Don't ya worry lad, we made sure he knows yer wit' us."

After a tour of the foxes' main freighter and the shipyard, the twins took Paul to a diner deep in the heart of Luonto spaceport where the pilots and crew stopped in-between runs. In the dim lighting of the setting sun, the place had a seedy look about it and the thin-framed human felt a faint thrum of unease. This wasn't like any place he'd ever been, even back on the colony.

Catching the slight stiffening of Paul's posture, Foxy leaned into the human's field of view, the glow from his artificial eye quite visible in the low light, snaring the human's full attention. "It's a sight better in daylight an' even moreso inside."

On his other side, Mangle gave him a playful nudge forward, "Trust us."

With a rueful smile, Paul relaxed and followed them inside, of course they wouldn't take him anywhere dangerous. As promised, inside the diner was bright and warm, the delicious aromas of all sorts of foods, the patrons' conversations, and the sound of a busy kitchen came together to create a comfortable and inviting atmosphere.

"They make some o' tha best food you'll ever try," Foxy said as they were seated at a well-worn but clean and sturdy table. "Next 'ta Chica an' Kingen's o'course."

Instead of returning to the hotel that night, they stayed in a much smaller hotel close by and snagged breakfast from street vendors on their way. Originally, the twins had planned on taking Paul to another diner frequented by their crew, but Foxy had spotted Golden in the distance and knew they had to move fast.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind for the human. Foxy and Mangle seemed to know someone everywhere they went and had all sorts of interesting stories to tell about their childhood adventures. He was treated to incredible views that most people would never know existed, mostly due to the crazy paths you had to take to get to them, and learned so much more about the native Tierans that inhabited this world. It was so much fun and something he would never forget, but as happy as he was, the whole time he felt like something was missing.

"Paul!"

The human barely had time to register who had called his name before he was enveloped in a fierce hug.

"Golden?" Pressed tightly to the bear's chest, Paul could feel a faint tremor in the bear's frame, "Wh-what's wrong?"

"I couldn't find you."

The miserable tone in his voice broke Paul's heart and he hugged Golden back just as tight, "I'm so sorry! I-I thought you knew!"

"He knew I took ya lad, but he din' know where we were goin' or fer how long," Foxy said, making sure they both knew he was to blame. He knew Golden and Paul had grown close, but he hadn't realized they were so connected. They weren't even courting yet!

Mangle gently tugged her twin away, "we'll just leave you two alone."

Not satisfied with simply holding the man, Golden buried his nose in the crook of Paul's shoulder, taking deep breaths of his human's scent. Paul squeaked and squirmed in his arms as the sensitive skin was breathed on, but found himself doing the same against Golden's chest, the feeling of missing something now gone.

After a few moments Golden lifted his head and when Paul did the same, he placed one paw on the human's face, running a thumb across his cheekbone. Knowing how worried the bear must have been, the relieved smile on his muzzle was both heart-warming and heart-breaking to the red-head.

Soulful brown eyes gazed up at the bear as he held Golden's paw to his face. "W-were you um, really looking for me all weekend?"

Golden nodded, squeezing his waist with his other arm. Paul blushed and looked away, "I-I'm uh, sorry for causing you so much trouble."

Securing his grip around the human's waist with one paw and tilting his chin up with the other, Golden smiled down at him. "Don't be. It wasn't your fault."

Paul's face darkened to match his hair, "Still, I should have known something was up when they uh, ran off with me."

"I doubt it would have stopped them," Golden replied. Having grown up with them, he knew firsthand the Renard twins had always been a bit wild and impulsive. "Well, since we're already out, how about we have some dinner before we head home." The bear swore his heart skipped a beat when his human smiled up at him.

"That sounds wonderful."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The next morning when Golden came to get Paul for his meeting with Rolfe, the human had expected them to go to one of the offices or even a conference room. He never imagined the bear would take him to the very room where he'd been introduced to most of the staff. Opening the door with one paw, Golden smiled as Paul's confused expression shifted to one of surprise; just as before, the room was filled to capacity with the majority of the hotel's staff waiting inside, the managers sitting in the front row while Rolfe stood on the stage at the head of the room.

"Wh-what?"

Golden placed a paw on the back of the now shell-shocked human and gently pushed him inside.

Watching the young men, Rolfe smiled as the flustered human let himself be led up on stage, the poor boy clearly hadn't expected this.

"Now I know you're a bit bewildered Paul and let me assure you this is not how we usually do things-" he chuckled softly, "-but we've never been in a situation like this before either." Before Paul could wonder what the old wolf meant, Golden rested an arm across his shoulders. Oh, that situation.

"I have to say, watching you these last four weeks have been some of the most entertaining days I've had in some time. I'll admit at first I did have some misgivings, I've seen many an alien come to work here over the years, but I've never seen one fit in as naturally as you have."

A soft red dusted his cheeks as the human ever-so-slightly ducked his head. He hadn't done anything really, he was just comfortable here.

"Keeping that in mind, along with your remarkable performance, and the stellar reviews from the senior staff... I'm pleased to be the first to congratulate you. I know I'm leaving my position in good hands."

Paul's eyes sparkled in delight as he shook the old wolf's paw, his smile growing with every second. He'd done it!

"Good luck handling that lovesick cub," Rolfe murmured just before the crowd burst into applause.

The wolf backed up as the applause died down and Golden moved from Paul's side to stand in front of him. A few delighted squeals coming from the audience as the bear slid his paw down the red-head's arm until he was gripping the human's hand.

'He isn't-' Paul thought, then seeing the mischievous smile on Golden's muzzle, 'he is!'

"Paul, now that we all know you're going to be staying with us, I think this would be a good time for you to answer that question I asked last week."

"You're d-doing this now?! I-In front of everyone?!" the human hissed, glancing sideways at the crowd of employees in the room.

"Everyone who works here knows this was bound to happen eventually," the bear countered. "Letting most of them find out now will prevent rumors from cropping up."

Well, he couldn't fault that logic. Paul shook his head and gave the bear a wry smile, "Dating you is going to be very uh...interesting."

Recognizing the word "dating" as the human term for courting, Golden grinned like an idiot and drew a laughing Paul into an embrace. Pulling back, he bent down and gave the red-head a kiss on the cheek, watching in delight as an adorable blush spread across the bridge of Paul's nose.

Having forgotten about their audience, Paul placed his hands on Golden's chest for balance, then pushing up on his toes to reach, he returned the gesture. The sudden burst of applause and whistling from the watching staff startled them both out of their little bubble, Golden staring at them wide-eyed while Paul whined in embarrassment and buried his face in the bear's chest.

"C'mon lovely, you can't hide from them forever," Golden crooned, slowly coaxing the human into facing the crowd.

With a final, near-silent whine of defeat, a red-faced Paul looked out at the mass of approving smiles and as Golden's arm settled around his waist, he couldn't help but feel like he was finally home.

#fanfic #fnaf fanfic #golden freddy #phone guy #Hotel!AU

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bachanaliia · 6 years ago

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troublemaker.

PERSEPHONE, 2503

t r o u b l e for a friend of mine. it’s NOT fair they make you go to 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓁. let’s 𝘳𝘪𝘱 up ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪꜱᴛ tonight. of ａｌｌ the things things you are 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 to tell your ‘father’.

( tw: child abuse, violence, domestic abuse )

mrs park is a nice lady, around her late thirties, with a penchant for wearing anything purple. she’s one of those people who’s always in a rush, in a state of panic that makes her who she is. it must be troubling being in charge of so many children — iseul doesn’t think she is possibly alone in this, but he can’t be quite sure either. the people come and go, adults and children alike, and she is one of the few people who seems to stick around.

one thing iseul knows is that he isn’t her favourite. he isn’t a model student, perhaps the opposite — too much of a troublemaker, can’t concentrate properly, his grades seeming to drop rather than go up. there are many occasions he’s brought to her office, expecting disappointment when he enters the room.

she never says it out loud or voices anything negative. it’s just the lingering gazes, the sighs, that same talk over and over again. every time, iseul just digs his heels into the ground, his gaze focused on the same edge of the table and lets her words turn into white noise. there is no reason to fight, to stand his ground — not to her, not really. at first, he tried, tried telling that he doesn’t like sitting in a classroom all day, going over the same old things that he already knows. she just shook her head, telling them that he needed to learn to be a goodboy. that’s all it’s about after all — to be good.

she already has his opinion about him, and it’s not hard to guess he isn’t one of the good ones. it doesn’t help that since his best friend left for a new family, iseul has been more closed off than ever. the place is too crowded to take care of single cases, a constant string of children of all ages come and go, iseul doesn’t understand much. he’s eight, perhaps too young to feel so dejected about it — but how can he not? he never seems to be picked, the lessons are a bore — all he has is his puzzles. books he stole from older children, ones that he keeps hidden under the mattress.

it’s around seven in the morning when he’s called by mrs. park again. after breakfast, he’s preparing to head for lessons, too early to be scolded for doing something bad — or so he hopes. obediently, he puts his head down and his feet take him to her office upstairs. it’s one of those office rooms that has a glass wall, easy to see what’s going on inside. the children aren’t supposed to head up, only adults who are busy doing whatever adults do.

his head feels heavy as he turns the knob and looks up to see the inside of the office. to his surprise, she isn’t alone, and the telltale expression of disappointment isn’t there. there is a couple sitting on a pair of chairs, their back facing the windows. iseul has no idea what’s going on — but a fear bubbles up in his chest due to the unfamiliarity of it all. he wonders if he should just run back down, head for classes, act like he wasn’t told to meet with her. he doesn’t even have long to think before mrs. park looks up, and gives him a smile �� one that he hasn’t seen in a long, long time.

the next thing he knows is the little stuff he has is being packed; a pair of pajamas, a few shirts and pants. he’s given a phone number to call if anything goes wrong and that’s it. no one to say goodbye to. he gets inside a car and buckled to his seat by an unfamiliar woman, one that attempts to give him a smile. mrs. park looks teary, but the smile doesn’t leave her face.

the excitement comes slowly, then all at once, when the reality hits him hard. this is what he was looking to after all, wasn’t it? he’s going to finally have a family, a place to belong, not a bunk bed and a group of friends that never stop changing. he doesn’t know what to expect, but he crosses his fingers and promises himself to be a good boy. he can do this — he can be the person mr. & mrs. byun wants him to be.

he quickly learns that he has siblings, also adopted, but from another place rather than the one iseul came from. they are younger, ages three and five. both girls who look at him with wide eyes. he fights the urge to cower and step back at the sight, not knowing what to do. sharing a house he didn’t know he was going to have, suddenly sounds scarier, that ugly feeling resurfaces. but then his step-mother pats his back and tells him to be a good brother, and that’s what he tries to be.

a month in, he can’t stop the voice in his head, the one that say he doesn’t like these people. once the first rush of excitement passed, their military like routine was enough to scare iseul off. everything has to be done like asked. wake up at five. breakfast at six. help your father at the garage. go to school. iseul even tries to pay more attention to his new lessons, doing his utmost best to listen and not mess up again.

his hair is shaved off a few weeks after. iseul isn’t even given a choice when he is dragged to the bathroom, mr. byun telling him he’s looking too much like his sisters. he closes his mouth and nods, doing his best not to flinch when the razor hits the skin.

what tips him off is how they yell at the youngest when she cries — over something that iseul forgets too quickly. he has been on the short end of scoldings before at the orphanage, and they had never been like this. mr. byun yells and yells, so much that his face turns red and iseul fears that his sister has bit her own tongue. mrs. byun just watches, a cigarette in her hand, leaning against the counter.

hours later, when they are told to go to bed, he silently hushes her, and decides to call mrs. park. she’ll know what to do.

the day after, he skips lunch and heads to the payphone at the school, shaky hands pressing the buttons, ones that he has embedded into his memory.

it doesn’t go like he hoped — it never does. after his poor explanation to why he doesn’t like them — he is met with that familiar sigh. even over the phone, he knows what it means. it’s the same one that says; no, i know you must have began that fight. one that makes it clear that she isn’t believing in him. iseul’s heart drops to his stomach as he tries to explain, a mix of pauses, a mangled nonsense of words falling from his lips. she says she has work to do, and tells him to be a good boy, and then he won’t have any problems.

when she hangs up on him, iseul fights the urge to curl up into a ball and cry. he has lessons to go to — it seems like that’s all that matters to adults anyways.

a few months pass, with few incidents here and there, iseul tries to maintain peace as much as he can. he doesn’t talk out loud as he used to, just nods and apologizes, always speaking politely. he ushers the girls out of the room when mr. byun’s in a bad mood, trying to seem as invisible as he can.

it never goes according to plan, and it’s something that he learns very early on. it’s very, very hard to change, and with how stressful it is at home, iseul’s grades start to drop — which only adds to the stress. he promises the teacher to study more, and is promised in return that his parents won’t hear of it — not yet.

when that fire seems to have been put out, there comes a time where iseul feels like he simply can’t stop and watch anymore. it’s the sisters, the two girls that he has been told to be a big brother to. on a heated night, they seem to be taking the brunt of their father’s anger. it feels more explosive this time, he doesn’t have the right words to explain it - but it simmers, and even a few hours before, when he first entered the house, he felt like something was going to go wrong.

mr. byun seems to have a bad day at work, and when he comes back, reeking of alcohol and a scowl on his face, iseul begins to hold his breath. with the smallest of the siblings always crying, everything happens way too quickly. the yells from the first few weeks have turned into hits a few too times, but this time — mr. byun seems to look for an output for his anger. his face an angry shade of red, the veins in his neck pulse as he grabs a bottle from the neck, and swings it towards the girls.

next thing he knows is that he’s in front of them, the back of his scalp alarmingly wet before the cries grow louder and everything turns black.

mrs. park is sitting next to him when he wakes up, her eyes rimmed red, the purple mascara smudged on her cheeks. iseul feels drowsy, but attempts to sit up — too groggy to do so, a rush of breath leaves his mouth before he sits back.

the woman seems to be at a loss for words when she holds his hand tight, only managing to murmur apologies. it seems odd to be on the receiving end of those — is what he thinks, and apparently says out loud, which brings out a wet laughter from the woman. she promises him that he won’t ever go back to them again, his body a canvas enough to prove all that has gone down.

iseul doesn’t want to talk about that but unsurely asks about the girls, whether they will be alright. they are so young — and so is he, but after trying to take care of them, even for a few months, he feels the urge to know whether they are well — whether mrs. park will take them away as well.

he isn’t sure if it was the right thing to ask, with how it brings a new batch of tears from her eyes, but she nods vigorously, and begins to apologize again.

by then, iseul is too tired to stay awake and falls into a slumber. the bed feels so soft, almost calling him as he buries himself in the sheets.

a week later, he’s back in the same confinements of the orphanage. they have given his room to someone else, but mrs. park assigns him to a bigger room, an actual bed than the bunk bed he shared. she seems to revolve around him a lot more, but he doesn’t comment on it.

the routine is almost too easy to fall back into, and the only remnants of the last few months came back to him in form of nightmares. in his waking moments, he ignores the sheer reality of it all. he goes back to school, too silent to make trouble this time — or mrs. park decides to cut him some slack, he isn’t sure.

all he knows is that the orphanage is a lot nicer than the temporary parents he has had. and that maybe he’ll feel more content to live there until he becomes an adult. the thought of it scares him, that he is going to be one of those people —- but there isn’t much he can do. there never is.

when he think about where his best friend might have gone, where the girls have ended up — that fear bubbles up again, but with nothing else to do, he ignores it as well. pushes it to the back of his head, and tries his best not to stick out too much. just around ten years, and he can get out, and hopefully hide from adults forever.

almost a year later, he’s abruptly called into mrs. park’s office again. the two chairs with their backs to the windows are occupied. iseul doesn’t dare look up to meet mrs. park’s eyes.

#lynx.#self.

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rainbowdragonlair · 8 years ago

Text

Glowred Mine

The sound of metal grinding on metal filled the air as the old steam engine slowed to a halt; the destination of its passengers only a mine-track away. The group of people standing on the platform cleared a path, allowing those who were on the train to depart. A thin girl with tanned skin and auburn-brown hair stepped off, her blood-red eyes glittering with joy as she began humming.

“A sweet little light,

Carried far away;

Hear the whistle blowing,

From the iron train~”

Some of the people, mostly teens and young adults, smiled as they listened to the girl hum her little tune. A boy stepped out behind her, ashen hair and snow-paled skin glowing from the lantern light.

“Nice song Dennebee! But must you always sing when you come here?” The boy asked, a gentle smile showing he meant it in jest. A light flurry of snow began to fall, the tiny flakes melting as they touched the ground. “Man, I thought it was going to be clear for a little while.” The boy muttered, holding out his hand to catch a few flakes.

“It was, according to the radio-box. Not one can predict what the sky will do though.” The girl responded, walking toward the red glow that was the entrance to the mine.

The boy chuckled and followed the girl as they left the train platform and climbed into the large elevator; it wasn’t a long ride down, only into the bottom of a gorge which had a small section of track leading up to dispense the glowing red stones that were native to the land. The couple turned left and headed down into the cave-like mine, a dull red pulsing with the beat of pickaxes and hammers.

“You continuing work on the, um…” Dennebee trailed off, trying to think of the word.

“Rosterlein tunnel?” The boy picked up, grabbing a large sledgehammer from the rack of thousands. “Yes, I am. The tracks aren’t going to finish themselves!” He joked, nudging her lightly. “What about you?”

“I’m heading for the Churnchie tunnel. Be safe Maxwell!” Dennebee called to the boy as she grabbed a slender and very sharp pickaxe, and a light yellow helmet with a teal ribbon. The boy, Maxwell, jumped into a mine cart and headed down, deeper into the cavernous mine; Dennebee however, walked along a narrow ridge until she came to a small cave. She entered the cave and followed the pitch-black tunnel down until it was illuminated by the glow of burning stones.

She walked up to the back wall, gently nudging a smaller child out of the way. “Take a nap kid, you look like the Shadowman of the forest!” She joked to the ghostly pale child. “If you’re sick, tell the manager. He’ll let you stay in bed ‘till you’re better. A’right?” She smiled sweetly, her mangled way of normal conversation on full display. Her voice still held the elegance one would expect of a royal, but the only time her grammar and pronunciations were correct was when she was singing.

The child got the hint and muttered a quiet, if not very disgruntled “A’right” back at her before leaving. She picked up where the tiny human had left off, breaking off chunks of shimmering black rocks in search of the beautiful light of the Glowreds. She soon saw a small cluster of the glowing rocks, digging around them before removing the jagged variant. It was very light in color, but the shape was undesirable; its value wouldn’t be determined until much later. That’s how it was; and no one really cared to change it. Dennebee placed the cluster into a nearby bucket, waiting patiently for an empty mine-cart to come down the tracks.

The bucket was quickly filled with glowing red crystals, and a mine-cart came down the track just in time, allowing all the children to empty their buckets into the cart before sending it back up. This continued for five or six more hours before a whistle blew, signaling it was time for a break. Everyone carried their pickaxes and hammers up with them, to a large underground cafeteria; complete with lights, tables, and plenty of ways to get fresh air. Dennebee paid no mind to the food, though; instead continuing on to a stage, she gently tapped the old microphone to get everyone’s attention.

“Hello all. I’d ‘preciate your attention for few minutes. This is a re…uh…” She paused, trying to think of how to phrase this. Just then Maxwell jumped on the stage and whispered in her ear.

“Reminder, it’s a reminder of the Winter Festival Ball coming up in a month.”

“Right! This is a reminder of the Winter Festival Ball coming up in a month!” Dennebee parroted, smiling shyly. “So, uh, let’s all work hard now so we…you know…don’t gotta work that night…” She finished, fidgeting nervously.

A few giggles and ‘oh yeah’s emanated from the crowd. Dennebee smiled and removed herself from the small stage. She had no problem singing in front of a crowd of people, talking was completely different.

“Thanks for the help Maxwell!” Dennebee giggled, lightly pecking the pale boy on the cheek.

“Not an issue, always glad to help my favorite little miner.” He blushed, a smile giving away his happy-shyness.

Both teens got on the line to get food. It was a simple lunch of beef-and-broth-stew, a chunk of bread, and a cake-like brownie. It was always a simple lunch, but no one complained; it was food and food was good. They both quickly ate their lunches and milled about with the other kids, talking about possible decorations and a theme. The majority seemed to vote on the theme being the forest, as it was practically every year. They would drag in snow from above and hang garlands of white paper, and make trees out of old, unusable tracks. Since this was a common theme, most of the decorations were already available; they just needed to re-make the garlands and some lights.

“Perhaps we should start saving up the glowblues? The ones from last year are nearly extinguished.” Maxwell stated; though he usually laid tracks, he knew Dennebee would keep an eye out for the fragile blue stones.

“Yeah, though, we still gotta tell the boss the themey-thingy.” Dennebee muttered, pointing in the direction of the head-master’s office. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She said, trotting over to the office, skipping a few steps to reach the door before knocking loudly.

“Come in Dennebee.”

The short girl listened to the soft male’s voice and walked into the small office. The smell of cigarette smoke and warm oak flooded her senses, creating a unique, but pleasant aura.

“The theme for the Ball will be Forest again, correct?” The older man asked, swiveling around in his chair like some sort of super villain. His dark brown hair was slicked back and cut short, and he currently wore a deep blue suit with thin, lighter blue stripes covering it. He looked like someone from a mob movie.

“Yeppers!” The girl blushed, giggling happily. She had no idea why, but she loved the forest, even with the legends surrounding it. “We thought we ought to start collecting glowblues.”

“That’s a brilliant idea. I’ll make sure that all the other miners know and I’ll be sure to send extra carts down to collect them.” The boss wrote the notes down on a sheet of paper, smiling politely. “And I assume you will be singing and Maxwell will be dancing?”

“Probs.”

The man cleared his throat and gave the girl a stern look, making her quickly correct her sentence. “I mean-probably- but it may change for once.” The man laughed quietly at her shy look and shuffle. He usually didn’t mind his worker’s broken English, but he did make a conscious effort to teach them proper grammar and pronunciation.

The headmaster cleared his throat and snorted quietly before nodding, amused by Dennebee’s optimism. Even with all his workers being predictable as the weather, nobody in the small mining village got tired of the forest. It was one of those things that everyone was afraid of, but at the same time drew people into its depths.

Almost like a poisonous candy that isn’t deadly but could certainly harm an individual. Yes, it was sweet, but also something to stay away from. It was the forest.

“Alright; that sounds good. You may leave Dennebee.” The man nodded again and glanced at the door, which the girl quickly exited out of, letting go too early so it shut harshly.

“Sorry!” She shouted from the other side of the door, running off to go back to work.

“It’s alright.” The man chuckled to himself before looking over the profit sheets for the year so far and sighing; “Or not…oh boy…”

Dennebee continued back to the mineshaft, picking up her pointy pick-axe and her damaged helmet. Some people might be concerned with the ratty clothes the workers wear and the heavily damaged safety gear, but most paid it no mind. Over the years, the workers had learned tricks to get around safely and without too much worry; like how they would put a small cup of water over a cave to make sure it didn’t collapse in while someone was inside; or yelling ‘up’ or ‘down’ when using the harnesses; or setting up a dance-like-step while hammering in the tracks. Yes, they had their tricks.

Each cheap trick for safety had a purpose, and even though it brought great displeasure to the headmaster of the mine, none of the other wealthy ass-mats cared; in their minds, a penny saved by the workers was a dollar earned by the owner. But the owner of the mine didn’t think like that, he was sure that if you didn’t want a strike you had to keep your workers healthy and happy. Hence the reason he usually spent a lot on food and bedding, even if it wasn’t top-quality; he knew it would make a difference. All the workers knew he went out of the way to make sure they were comfortable, hence the reason for all the little tricks they picked up.

“Announcement, announcement! As you all have been made aware, the ball for the Winter Festival is coming up next month. In preparation, I would like you all to start collecting glowblues. Thank you” The intercom was silent again, allowing the workers to concentrate and be aware of any dangers.

Quiet mutter rang through the air as people began discussing what they could wear and where they would buy the needed supplies for their outfits. Most wanted to just update their dresses and suits, fixing anything that might have fallen off or torn while it was in storage.

“Behind you song-bird!” Maxwell yelled, walking up behind Dennebee and hugging her. “So, what do you plan to wear to the ball? We have to match after all, just in case no one else wants to do a combined song-and-dance-duo, as is customary during this festival.” Maxwell spoke, ignoring the girls’ half-hearted glare.

“Well, I was thinking of wearing a fuchsia fairy gown with royal-teal rhinestones tear-gassing down the back, and a train a mile long. Why?” The girl stated sarcastically, using her most pompous voice.

“Why, I think that would look wonderful darling.” The boy replied in an equally obnoxious voice. Both teens burst out into laughter after a moment of silence, rubbing invisible tears from their eyes. “Ah, hilarious. But seriously, what color do you plan to use as a base for your gown?” He questioned, clearing his throat and returning to his normal speaking pattern.

“Don’t know. I feel like red or purple would be best, but ‘m not real sure yet.” She muttered, going back to swinging her pick against the hard rocks.

“I’d go with the purple; you have that purple scarf after all. You can wear the scarf with the dress!” Maxwell offered. Everyone knew red fabric was exceeding expensive, but on really profitable years the headmaster would sometimes splurge for the blood-colored textile.

“That’s not a dress scarf and you know it. But I do agree, the red would probably be too expensive anyways. I swear the headmaster forgets I can read sometimes…” She trailed off, remembering the papers on the powerful man’s desk.

“That bad?” Maxwell asked, earning a silent nod from the girl. “Shit, they aren’t going to close the mine are they?” Dennebee simply shrugged in response.

“I didn’t see any statements, just warnings.”

“Those are the same thing pretty much in the business world Dennebee.”

“Oh…Shut up Maxwell. Don’t you have a track to lay?” She muttered, chipping off a large chunk of waste rock and exposing a particularly bright red crystal.

“Okay ‘Miss Fortune’, don’t get your undergarments in a twist.” He joked, patting her on the shoulder. “We finished laying the tracks, I know I had a break before, but I like watching you work.”

They both chuckled quietly and continued to talk until the end of the work day, waiting on the elevator until all the other workers were with them. Once everyone was on the elevator, the speaker crackled to life once again: “Announcement, announcement! The mine is to be empty for a few hours as we are leaving for town to gather supplies for the upcoming festival. Remember to dress warmly and bring your wallets, thank you.”

“Well that was fast.” A young man muttered, he appeared no older than nineteen, and clearly was a transfer from a different mine.

“Yeah, the headmaster guy is really nice! His rules are very basic! Don’t steal, be nice, no violence, work hard, stay at the camp when sick, and eat when food is given. Oh yeah, and he always yells about how some of us need more sleep. He actually smack my older brother once when he refused to go back to camp and sleep.” A young girl piped up; she was born into the mining business, so she knew the rules by heart as many of the other workers did.

“He also makes an effort to teach us reading and speaking. He says it’s for our own safety.” Another boy jumped in, nodding to a sign above. “You know what that says?”

The nineteen-year-old worker shook his head, causing Dennebee to sigh. Most headmasters didn’t care if their workers could read or speak properly. “It says that all of the workers gotta wear safety stuff. Like helmets and things.” Dennebee explained a sympathetic look in her eye.

“If you tell the boss that you can’t read, he’ll be happy to teach you. He taught all of us.” Maxwell spoke up, gently grabbing Dennebee’s shoulder as the rickety elevator started up. “His kindness is the reason we come up with all those tricks.”

The strange miner simply hummed in response, swaying slightly as the elevator quickly ascended to the surface. Once there, all the workers quickly boarded the train, eagerly awaiting their arrival into town. Their first stop was back at the housing district; they quickly departed and rushed into their shared dorm-like apartments to grab their wallets before leaping back onto the train, allowing for a quick departure to town.

The train whistle bellowed loudly as it pulled into the station, nobles and upper-class people stepping away from the rusty steam-powered creature as it lurched to a stop and opened its doors, allowing the scruffy passengers to depart.

“Lola’s Textiles?” Maxwell asked as he quirked his head towards Dennebee, raising an eyebrow to see if she agreed. They had four or five hours before they had to head back to the mine, and most workers were quick with their shopping, so spending time doing nonsensical things was common.

“Nah. I’m going to the button emporium. You go ahead, we do purple this year.” The girl responded, sighing and wrapping her scarf tighter around herself as a frigid wind shot past. “Curse this cold weather.” She hissed quietly, glaring at the direction the wind had come from. There was nothing there, but it made her feel better.

Maxwell laughed and pulled his coat tighter around himself, having been too lazy to ever fix the buttons. Buttons were cheaper than gems, but money didn’t fix a lack of desire to do something. “Alright; why not invest in a coat while you’re out?”

Dennebee laughed and shook her head, a smile gracing her lips. “Honestly Maxwell…”

“Wha-at~?”

The girl just laughed as she walked away, waving her had dismissively. The two were joking around and hadn’t done any harm, so most just ignored them; but Dennebee’s light and sweet laughter had caught a particular pedestrian’s attention. He looked around for the tiny pixie giggles and stared in shock at the ragged looking girl who the voice unmistakably belonged to. Her hair was filled with dirt and dust, but was clearly auburn in color; her skin was also covered in dust and dirt, with irritated patches here and there, and more than a few scars shining pink against the rust-like color. To him, it was clear. She was the light.

#Glowred Mine #Chapter #Glowred Mine Chapter #Chapter 1 #Chapter One #If I had to pick a word title for this #it would be #Don't trust fairy Tales #You will all see why later #as the story progesses

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chocobroobsession · 8 years ago

Text

The Red String - Chapter 2

Author’s Note: So, turns out, I cranked out 20 chapters to this fic. I’m going to try to post multiple a day so I can get it all out there rather than drag this out. I binge-watch shows and binge-read series, so I’d rather just throw this all out there. Time to meet my OC! Part 2 of my Ignis x fem!OC. 1300 Words

Chapter Masterlist

“I can’t go on like this,” Chandra groaned out.

“Shh, don’t let anyone hear you say that!” Celine berated her in a hushed voice.

“I’m just so damn tired,” Chandra whispered back. “Our hours got increased months ago and I still feel like I haven’t caught up on sleep. Do they really expect us to go on like this forever?”

“Apparently, yes. But you know they want us to crank out the new prototypes as soon as possible. Who needs sleep when you could be working? Why are you complaining, anyway? I thought you hardly slept to begin with?”

Chandra sighed. “That’s not the point. The point is, I’m sick of working. That’s all I ever did before, and that’s all I do now, only more so.”

“You know we can’t deviate from our assignments once we get them. Wasn’t this the lab you requested?”

“Yeah. But I don’t know. I’ve been feeling off lately. Like…” Chandra thought a moment. “I feel like shit is going to hit the fan pretty soon and I don’t want to be here when that happens.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Nothing exciting ever happens here. Besides, it’s not like we have any say in what we do exactly.”

“Fair enough,” Chandra sighed. She quickly got back to pouring over all of the data from the latest experiment. She had to turn in her report first thing in the morning and she still had a mountain of work to be done.

Deep in the labs of Zegnautus Keep, a facility in Gralea, scientists were forced to work night and day to serve Niflheim the only way they knew how: by creating ways to help the army continue to be an unstoppable force. Chandra and her coworker Celine were junior scientists slowly moving up in the ranks. Celine was there somewhat by choice, thinking that she had no other options in life but to serve Niflheim. Chandra, however, was there entirely against her will. Or, she was in the beginning. Now, she saw no reason not to be there.

Though she was only in her mid-twenties, Chandra had been working as a scientist since her late teenage years. The top student in her class in Tenebrae, she had excelled in the sciences. Not long after Tenebrae was overtaken, she managed to turn the heads of a group of Niflheim officials with her impressive potential. She was snatched out of school and placed in a rigorous program for future scientists in Niflheim. She graduated early and immediately went to work in the labs. What she did there, she was not at liberty to discuss, nor did she even wish to discuss it. It’s not like she had anyone to discuss it with anyway. Though she had Celine and a few others she spoke to at work, she didn’t have the luxury of family or friends.

After working a sixteen-hour day, Chandra trudged home to her tiny studio apartment and collapsed face-first onto her bed. At work, she maintained a tough attitude with some sarcasm thrown in, which was pretty close to the personality she grew up with, but deep down, she was a total wreck. Niflheim broke her, and as much as she didn’t want anyone to know that, she feared it would slip out eventually. Tears streamed forth from her eyes and she sobbed into her sheets. Why has my life come to this? Is this really all I’m meant to do? The questions kept bubbling up to the front of her mind. Surely she was meant for more? Her spirit had long since broken, and yet she still held on to some tiny sliver of hope with the shattered, mangled pieces.

As a child, she had heard the story of the red string of fate. The version she heard stated that everyone has several strings. One ties you to your soulmate while others tie you to important people in your life, such as best friends. One ties you to your purpose, whether it be another person or even your career. The Astrals did not do this for every person, however. Only those with great purposes in life who were destined for mighty things would be fortunate enough to find themselves intertwined with others. Chandra must not be one of those people. Here she was with no friends, no family, and a job she loathed. She didn’t serve a greater purpose. If anything, all she did was watch the world burn while adding fuel to the fire. A fire that was raging out of control and would soon cast the world into complete chaos. She knew all too well what Niflheim was capable of and what they were doing to the rest Eos. She was playing on the wrong team, the cheating team, but she didn’t have a choice. If only she could find a way to get herself taken out of the game…

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

Ignis learned from Noctis that they were to head out soon to meet with Lady Lunafreya for the upcoming nuptials. He was uneasy about the treaty with Niflheim, but he understood that King Regis had no other choice. The stipulation of the wedding—well that was suspicious of course, but he was powerless to say anything otherwise. He could sense the uneasiness radiating off of Noctis as they packed up his apartment.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this, Noct?” he asked as he neatly placed some of the prince’s comics into a box.

“Yeah, I mean what choice do I have, you know?” Noctis sighed.

“True. I just cannot help but worry about you,” Ignis replied.

“Thanks, Specs.”

A thought struck Ignis and he was reluctant to broach the topic, but he couldn’t help himself. “Noct?” he sheepishly asked.

“Yes?” Noctis responded as he continued to slowly move his belongings into piles.

“I…I was wondering what your thoughts were on fate?”

“Fate? Why? What brought this on?”

“Well…the others were meddling in my personal life. Well, actually, my lack of a personal life, and I recalled the story of the red string of fate from my childhood. I always thought it was silly. What are your thoughts?”

“I’m vaguely familiar with the story, and I guess it could be possible,” Noctis reasoned. “I mean, look at my life. Look at Luna’s. She’s the Oracle. She is destined to help the masses and aid me and I have to forge bonds to the Six and be some sort of great king. Isn’t that fate?”

“Well, yes, it is, and that makes sense,” Ignis replied, “But you’re Lucian royalty and that concerns a higher purpose. The Astrals have bigger things to worry about than who the rest of us fall in love with, don’t you think?”

Noctis chuckled. “I guess you have a point. Why do you worry about that all of a sudden? I mean, you’ve had plenty of opportunities to seek out a partner. Don’t hold back on my account.”

Ignis blushed. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s ridiculous. We have more important things to worry about right this moment. This apartment is abysmal and there’s still so much more to pack! Noct, you really need to quicken your pace.”

“Ah, we’ll get it, don’t worry. I have faith in us. Who knows, maybe on this trip you’ll end up finding a date to my wedding.” The prince grinned and plopped down on the floor to pour over some comics rather than pack them. Ignis sighed and continued picking up items around him.

He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Noctis was onto something. Maybe one day, when things had settled down some, he would find someone to call his own, to grow old with. That day, however, would not be coming anytime soon. Or, so he thought.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #ignis scientia #ignis stupeo scientia #ignis x oc #the red string #my writing

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