#fractured reflection ch 3

[loopstagirl]

Fractured Reflection, Ch 3

Taking it back from @scribbles97 for the next chapter.

Chapter 1 | Jeff's POV 1 | Chapter 2 | Jeff's POV 2

TW: TW: POW, TW: torture

Scott knew he’d given his father permission to leave, but he wasn’t truly aware of the man stepping out. His gaze was locked on Jen. She was alive.

His dad had told him the surviving members of his unit had been rescued. But Scott wasn’t sure he’d truly believed him until this moment. Watching her cross the room; feeling her take his hand.

Silence fell over the two of them once they were alone. Then Jen suddenly shifted from the chair.

“Move over,” she said.

Scott understood. He obediently forced his aching body to shift slightly to the right, giving her space to climb onto the bed next to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and for a few moments, the two of them just breathed.

How many times in recent months had they slept like this? Trying to find a comfortable position, making sure one couldn’t be taken without the other knowing about it.

“She’s a good one, that General,” Jen murmured. “She listened to me. Let me talk. Didn’t tell me to just rest when I… when I…”

Scott felt her shudder next to him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he lifted an arm, draping it over her shoulder and holding her close. In a way, he was envious. Jenny could find the words. She could say them out loud. She could let her defences down and not be afraid of what was going to come out of her mouth.

Then again, if what his father said was true, she’d had at least a month in this hospital by now. Judging by the look he’d seen in her eyes when she’d walked through the door, it wasn’t enough.

Silence fell again. Jen’s hand was twisting in the blanket, an involuntary movement. Scott moved his own splinted hand, returning her earlier movement and resting his hand on hers, stilling her. He recognised the anxious tick and knew her movements would only get more distressed if she continued. He’d watched her try to twist free of restraints too many times.

“We tried to tell them!” Jenny suddenly blurted out. She sat up, her abrupt movement sending a spasm of pain through Scott’s body but he hid it as she turned to face him, tears in her eyes. “We told them you were still there. That you were alive. They said they’d done a sweep and hadn’t found anyone else. I tried to tell them about… about….”

She couldn’t say it. She didn’t need to. Scott shrunk in on himself, the need to make himself smaller, to have room to breathe… his left foot gave a throb in remembered pain.

She’d tried to tell them about the hidden room. The small room. The dark room. The room where the only thing anyone could hear was their own screams. How many times had the guards mocked they forgot where the door was? A cursory sweep was not going to uncover it. Uncover him.

Nor did Scott blame the rescue party, though. They were deep in enemy territory, evacuating as many as they could. If the choice was between leaving him behind, or conducting a more thorough search and risking the lives of everyone they’d pulled out? Almost since the day they’d been caught, Scott had made it clear he didn’t care what happened to him, as long as his team survived.

“I knew you were alive,” Jen finished, her tone fierce even as tears shone in her eyes. “I knew it.”

Scott forced a small smile. He couldn’t allow her to shoulder this blame. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even the men and women sent in to get them out. They weren’t the ones who’d agreed to the trade; they weren’t the ones who’d have had a prisoner list and know that not everyone who’d gone it came out again.

He awkwardly took her hand, holding it over his own beating heart, wordless reassurance that he was, indeed, still alive. When their throats had been too raw for verbal reassurance, this had been their way of offering comfort.

Jen smiled. She picked up his other hand and mirrored the movement. Scott closed his eyes as her rapid heartbeat thudded under his hand. She was alive.

He glanced at the door, then back at Jen. She nodded.

“I told the general what you did,” she said quietly. “How many times you forced their attention on you, bartered with them to protect the rest of us. What they did to you in response.”

They’d been determined to get him to go back on the deal. If they could break him, if he begged them to stop…

But it didn’t matter how many times he was waterboarded or beaten. There was something deep in Scott that couldn’t be extinguished. He’d never really been aware of it until faced with that choice, but now he was conscious of it, he realised it had been burning in him since the first time John cried not out of need, but out of pain.

Scott would never let anyone be hurt when he was there to stop it.

“You shouldn’t have done it, Scott. What you went through-,” She trailed off.

They had all been tortured. Questioned for hours for information, then just for fun. Several of their teammates had succumbed to it. As far as Scott was concerned, he hadn’t stopped anything. He shook his head mutely, but Jen’s grip on his hand tightened.

“You took so much on yourself. You never let them… I would’ve broken, if not for you. When I couldn’t stand and you stepped in front of me. When Sienna couldn’t stop sobbing and you tackled the first guard, making them forget about her. All the times they had to get you in chains before they could take one of us… Scott, they’d lost interest by the time they got us out. They went through the motions, but that was all. We weren’t worth the effort when they had you.”

Scott’s gaze fell on his wrist. There was a scar there, in the perfect position for someone to fight against manacles. But it was healed. It had healed months ago.

She was wrong. He hadn’t protected them.

It was her faith in him, blind and undeserved, that made him force a word out.

“No.” It was a whisper, nothing more. His voice worked: he’d spoken to his father enough when he first had woken up. But his mind had caught up with the horrors inflicted on his body and he wasn’t sure how to find words when all he’d wanted to do was scream. He’d seen the look on his dad’s face when he’d cried: he couldn’t force the man to witness how broken his son was.

“No?” Jen looked at him, also glancing at his wrist before looking back at his face.

“They won,” Scott murmured. “I couldn’t save Mike. I couldn’t stop them. They took you all, one by one. They won that day months ago when they realised they didn’t have to chain me up anymore.”

“Scott…” Jen stared at him. “Captain, no. We all adapted. We all found ways to survive. No one had the strength to keep fighting, and you lasted longer than the rest of us.”

Scott looked at her. Did she really not blame him? He was their captain: he was supposed to keep the squad safe, make sure everything fell on him rather than them. But half their squad hadn’t made it home and the other half… Jen might’ve been talking, but there was no way in hell she was alright.

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me,” she continued.

“What?”

“I was the reason we were caught. If I could’ve run, we might have got out.”

Scott knew what she was referring to. The village they’d been helping. The anti-aircraft missiles half a kilometre away had been unpredictable. The area was supposed to be quiet; their enemy having moved on and left destruction behind. It wasn’t the first village they’d helped. But it was the first one where they’d arrived in their own plumes of smoke, all of them falling prey to the bullets that tore through the sky, making their engines scream as they fought to stay in the air. All four of them had been shot down. It was a miracle no one had died on impact.

There had been injuries, though. In the end, it was hard to say if they were helping the village, or the villagers had been helping them. Scott had carried Jenny in, her ankle swollen, not bearing her weight. How they’d got away with only a couple of broken bones between the eight of them had made Scott believe that luck was on their side.

Fate had just had other ideas in mind.

“You know we weren’t running,” he said softly. “Even if we’d been able to.”

His entire team had come to the decision unanimously. If their enemy thought the village had been helping them, they’d torch the entire place. Innocents would suffer if they’d tried to run. Scott would never have made it an order to stay, but his squad had been taking defensive positions and preparing to fight not only for their lives, but for the people who’d had helped them, before the words came from his mouth.

Scott felt a coil of pressure ease from his chest. This was something he knew how to do. Reassure a team mate, a brother, a random stranger he’d only met once. This was his job.

“Jen, look at me?” He waited until she held his gaze. “This isn’t your fault. Never think that.”

She stared into his eyes for a few moments, then looked away. Scott pulled her close as her sobs echoed through the room. How long had she been holding onto that misplaced guilt?

“I told them you were alive,” she murmured. She sagged against him and Scott just held her as her breathing started to even out.

His body struggled to support her weight, but he didn’t care. For the first time in months, he could protect his co-pilot from her surroundings. If he found out anyone had tried to debrief her without her Captain present…

Scott gave a small huff, the burst of air painful against his sore throat. He’d do what? He didn’t know how to talk about what had happened, how to get the stuck-up Colonels who’d never been out from behind a desk to understand.

It wasn’t like the team had been sitting in a cell, just waiting for a ride home. Every day, they’d had their strength, dignity and pride stripped from them until it became the norm for four USAF personnel to huddle into themselves, trying to make themselves invisible, every time they heard a door open.

How was he supposed to make anyone understand that?

Her weight started to get too much. Scott looked at the door. His dad was out there. He could call out, knowing the man would be by his side before Scott could blink. Or Val. Jen was right: she was one of the good ones. She wouldn’t have given up on him, either.

But he didn’t want help. He didn’t want anyone taking Jen away again, not until she was awake. They’d all been moved while out cold too many times. This had to be her choice.

He managed to shift. His breath caught in his throat as every nerve screamed at him. His body was used to movement meaning pain and right now, he was giving it more of that.

He was sweating, tears leaking from his eyes by the time he managed to get into a more comfortable position. The movement utterly exhausted him though. No sooner had he moved when sleep stole upon him, dragging him back.

-x-

Jen was gone.

They were all gone.

Even the light had gone.

It wasn’t dark: he could see. But it wasn’t light, either. A perpetual dimness that left him halfway between life and death. Everything the same hazy grey that made him want to scream, even to bleed, just to see colour.

He couldn’t move. No matter which way he twisted and turned, regardless of how much he thrashed, the unrelenting walls did nothing but close in further. They were crushing him. Didn’t anyone know they were crushing him?

Of course they knew. Just, no one cared.

Scott knew he was screaming. Begging. Pleading with them to let him out! He’d take anything they threw at him, suffer the beatings, the drownings; anything if it meant getting out of this room. But although his screams echoed in his own ears long after they’d stopped escaping his throat, he seemed to be the only one who could hear them.

“Wake up. Scott. C’mon. Wake up, son.”

He could hear a voice, a voice offering him a way out. But there was no door. No way free. The guards had meant what they’d said about forgetting where the door was. No one was going to be able to find him. He’d die, trapped in here alone, unable to breathe…

“Scott!”

There was a tone of command this time. An order. Orders he could do. Orders meant he didn’t have to think. They stopped the beatings, kept his teammates safe…

He fought to obey, the grey gradually giving way.

Light.

He was surrounded by light. He wasn’t in that room anymore. His father was looking down at him, concern and fear mingled into a loving gaze that Scott didn’t deserve. He tried to shift away but…

No!

He couldn’t move. He was still trapped.

A fast, urgent beeping came from somewhere far away, footsteps came running. His dad’s hands were on him, one holding his own, the other cupping his cheek.

“Son, I need you to calm down. Listen to me.”

He wanted to obey. God knew he wanted to obey: that meant the pain would stop. But he couldn’t. Not this time.

All he knew was that he was trapped, and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to focus on his father’s face, but something suddenly obscured his vision, hands reaching for him, something covering his mouth and nose.

Not again. They’d promised he was safe. They’d let him believe it was over. But here he was, held down, flat on his back, something covering his mouth and nose.

Scott screamed. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t be strong anymore. Not when he thought he was safe. But this time, in that scream, was a word. A name: a title.

Half-awake, half-delirious, trapped in his own blankets and fighting the oxygen mask a nurse was attempting to slip on, Scott Tracy screamed for his father.

“I’m here. I’m right here. Scotty, I’m here.”

The hands disappeared. Whatever was over his face disappeared. The pressure holding his limbs down eased as hands made short work of untangling the blankets from where his thrashing had twisted them around his legs.

He could move. He could breathe.

And hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him up, straight into strong arms that had promised to keep him safe, promised to let him just be himself.

Scott fell into the hold. Tentatively, as if fearing it would vanish, he lifted his arms, fingers brushing the material of his dad’s shirt, making sure it was real and not some trick, before latching on as if his life depended on it. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure that it didn’t.

Time passed. Scott had no idea how long. He was conscious, but not really in the room, refusing to let go. At some point, he’d been laid back down, but a hand had gripped his own, a promise that he wasn’t alone.

Finally, the room fell silent as the medical staff realised any intervention was making things worse.

Finally, his mind fell silent as Scott realised he was safe in the hospital, his dad by his side.

He forced his gaze on the man. His father was watching him, probably hadn’t looked away for this entire time. When he saw Scott focusing on him, he smiled warmly, a thumb brushing away the treacherous tears leaking from his eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured softly. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He’d spoken to Jenny, and had a feeling that if his father hadn’t heard him, it would’ve been reported that he was talking again. But this was the first thing he’d said to him directly.

“For what?” There was shock and – if Scott wasn’t mistaken – repressed anger in his dad’s voice.

Scott shrugged. He gestured feebly at the room around them, encompassing himself in the movement.

“Being weak,” he muttered, looking away. “It was a dream, just a dream, I know that, but…”

He knew he’d begged them in reality as well. He could handle the beatings, the burnings, had only winced when they’d broken his fingers. But after experiencing that room once, he’d cracked. The second time they’d thrown him in, he’d fought, then pleaded with them, then finally fought the room. Not that it got him anything but a broken toe.

How could he admit to his father the man he’d raised was not the son he deserved?

“Never think that.” The fierce note in his dad’s voice made him jump. It was a commanding tone, full of authority and a demand to be heard, obeyed.

“But-,”

“You are not weak, Scott. You’re a survivor. You did what you had to in order to survive that place. I don’t care if you pleaded with them every single day. Hell, if it kept you safe, I hope you did. You have nothing to prove to me, you never have.”

Scott stared at the man, his breath catching in a way that had nothing to do with panic.

“My squad,” he said softly. “I had to…”

He had to keep them safe. And he’d fai-

“You saved them.” His father’s words stopped his thoughts before they’d fully formed.

“Jenny spoke to Val. She’s told her what happened. What you did. You’ve been so strong, Scott. My strong, brave boy. Those that made it back did so because of you. The only people who have failed are the ones who should’ve found you months ago. Who shouldn’t have left you behind.”

Scott shuddered. He wasn’t ready to talk about that. How it felt to know that someone, high up, knew he was still in there, and had decided that was an okay sacrifice to take. He might’ve done the same thing if he knew it meant keeping his team safe. Hell, he might have volunteered to stay behind.

“How’d you know I was alive?” he asked his father quietly. His team might’ve believed, but they hadn’t known. Not for sure. Not given they’d already been separated and Scott had been taken to solitary before the rescue.

His dad couldn’t meet his eye. “They gave me proof of life.”

“I don’t remember,” Scott said. Maybe they’d filmed him while he had been unconscious? Although that was hardly irrefutable proof that he was alive.

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters if you’re here. You’re safe. And you’re going to be okay.”

Scott nodded, letting the words sink in. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed them, but he clung to them like a lifeline, not yet ready to let go and see if he could pull through on his own.

He forced himself up straighter, his father’s hands falling away as he did so.

“What’re you-,” his dad trailed off as Scott threw back the covers, twisting until his feet were hovering above the floor.

Slowly, he let them touch, his toes curling at the coldness that greeted them. He touched the floor again, then shifted further forward, readying himself to stand up.

“Scott. Stop. What are you doing?”

“I have to do this,” Scott said. He was talking to himself as much as his father. “I have to move.”

He couldn’t lie there, trapped in bed, with the nightmare still vivid in his mind. He needed to know that he had the power to move if he wanted to. That he wasn’t stuck in another sort of prison.

“I don’t think- Scott! Wait!” The command was back in his dad’s voice this time and Scott immediately stilled. He was braced against the side of the bed, palms pressed flat to the mattress even with the splint on his hand. The nail on his big left toe was still discoloured from where he’d kicked the wall in that room.

Scott looked up as his dad hurried around the bed.

“I can’t stop you, can I?”

Scott shook his head.

“Then let me help.”

Scott wanted to protest. He needed to do this on his own. But his dad spoke before he could.

“You’ve been in that bed for over a month, son. You were unconscious for weeks. Your legs aren’t going to support your weight. It doesn’t mean you’re weak: it means you have to take this slow and let me help.”

It went against his nature to ask for help. But slowly, Scott nodded. His father slipped one of Scott’s arms over his shoulder, his own wrapped around his son’s waist.

It was a gradual movement, but Scott shifted his weight from the bed to his feet. He would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for his father’s strong arms, but he was upright. He took a shuffling step, then another, suddenly wanting to pick up speed.

“Easy, soldier.”

Scott slowed, every instinct obeying. There was a low chuckle in his ear.

“Always wanted to run before you could walk,” a fond voice said.

Scott blushed, but focused on putting one foot before the other. In a strange, shuffling movement, he made his way across the room.

By the time he reached the other side, he was panting, sweat beading his forehead. When he lifted an arm to wipe it away, he saw his hand was shaking. Suddenly, the bed felt like a very long way away and Scott wasn’t sure how he was going to make it back, even with help.

“Here.”

He was being lent against a wall. Scott hoped the whimper that built in his throat didn’t escape his mouth as his father’s arms disappeared. But then a chair was being pulled over and he was being helped into it.

Scott half-sat, half-fell, every limb trembling violently. He felt sick.

But he’d done it. He’d moved from the bed. He’d chosen to move, and he’d done it. There were no walls, no locks, no chains, holding him back this time. Sure, he’d needed help, but no one had stopped him.

“Scotty?”

“I’m gonna hurl.”

A trash can was pushed in front of him just in time, a warm hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Just the way it had done when he’d been a little boy, needing his father but not knowing how to admit it when he was trying so hard to be grown up.

The retching passed and his dad helped him take a few sips of water. Exhausted, Scott leant back in the chair, fighting to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t ready to return to bed or the nightmares.

“Dad?”

“Yes, kiddo?”

“You found me.” His voice was slurring. It didn’t matter what he wanted; his body had decided that was quite enough excitement for one day.

“Scott, I-,”

“Thank you.” This time, it was just a whisper. His eyes were already shut, his body slumping where he sat. The bed would have to wait for another day.

He was asleep before his father had a chance to respond.

[perictione00]

Oops!...I Did It Again

Ch 4: Fuck me like you hate me.

Pairing: Nanami x reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, angst, use of curse words.

Synopsis: When life was throwing you uncountable curveballs, an unexpected reunion with your high school friend helped you dodge every single one of them. Coping mechanisms leave you both in a complicated situationship. So what happens when one of you ends up catching feelings? The cliche or the unexpected?

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Ch 3

Fuck me like you hate me? That particular expression from you conveyed the exact opposite of Nanami's sentiment. The dynamics between you two underwent a noticeable shift after that exchange. Previously, you instigated random conversations with him while sharing dinner, but now you steer clear of interactions and instead aggressively approach him with sex on your mind. Suddenly, that was all it was about. Secret visits to his office evolved into regular and conspicuous events. He wasn't complaining; he enjoyed having you in his arms; however, it felt like there was a wall that kept him from reaching you.

"You're doing it again, y'know." He confronted you as he saw your form entering the room.

"Doing what again?" you inquired, diligently drying your hair.

"Pushing me out-"

"You're just too big for me, but I promise I'll try to make it fit this time." You replied playfully.

Kento audibly sighed at the apparent endeavor on your part to ignore his inquiry with an innuendo. His gaze traced your motions, uncertain if you intended to swiftly segue into intimate matters or address the pending discussion. The predictability manifested as you opted for the former, leaving your bathrobe on the floor, settling onto his lap, adjusting your damp tresses, and drawing him closer, close enough to kiss. Your mere presence proved intoxicating, and despite his earnest attempts to grapple with his dilemmas, the overpowering sensation of your lips meeting his was enough to conquer his doubts and uncertainties. And right when he had started to drown himself in the kiss, you pulled away. It looked like you wouldn't listen to him, so he decided to speak your language and give into you.

What were you doing to him? You pondered as you observed every detail on his face that reflected nothing but his unwavering devotion to you. He was a great person, and yet you could never be the same as him. A lingering feeling of fear, borne of past disappointments and betrayals, veiled your sentiments. You had experienced them far too many times from far too many people you considered close. Your trust was fractured by the scars of abandonment etched by some friends, some endgames, who left you when they were bored. Were you the problem? Were you the catalyst for their departures? You don't know. There's one thing you know for sure, though: you are never going to grant anyone that power over you. You're never going to surrender dominion over your emotions or believe in anyone because people suck no matter how perfect they appear to be on the outside. You are tired of being on the receiving end of pain. Maybe now you'll take your sweet time giving it. Kento appears to be flawless, and that's uncanny because you don't know what you'll do if he leaves you like everyone else. So you have decided to own him without having him—an attempt to possess without being possessed—to lay claim to his heart without the surrender of your own, as yours remains beyond his grasp.

Kento lithely guided you onto the plush mattress, divesting himself of his shirt. A heavy breath escaped him as he traced a path of delicate kisses along your neck. Captivated by the allure of your taut nipples, he indulged in drawing one into his mouth while ardently caressing the other, savoring the sensation of your hands entwined firmly in his tousled locks. Sucking indelible marks on your bosom, he earned fervent moans from you. Intertwining his fingers into yours, he slowly moved down to your pussy. Interlocking his fingers with yours, he moved down to your pussy to bestow his attention upon the realm of your desire.

"Ah, Kento!" Your limbs entwined around his head, where his adept mouth and tongue worked a beguiling dance upon your sloping core, his hands asserting control over your hips. The vice of your thighs clamped down upon his head, giving him an unspoken insistence to continue his abuse, and so he did. Swiftly, Nanami wasted no time, seamlessly immersing himself between your parted legs.

"Don't move," he commanded as his sizable hands encircled your hips, conveying a tacit warning to stay still when you tried to move away due to the overwhelming sensitivity.

“K-Kento, I'm coming.” You whimpered while grinding your cunt against his tongue, riding through your orgasm.

Without a break, he pulled you onto his lap, seating you with your back leaning against his chest and his already-leaking cock rubbing against your bare cunt. Keeping one thick arm around your waist and the other holding your jaw, he kissed you passionately as he entered your warmth.

"Shi-shit, hah-...fuck" Curses slipped out of his mouth as your wet pussy swallowed up his whole length. He started drilling his cock into you at a dizzying speed, snapping his hips against yours.

"Does this feel like I hate you?" He asked in between his thrusts.

There it was again. Why doesn't he understand that the thrill will be lost the moment they commit? Why can't he just continue this no-strings-attached relationship? Why can't he accept that this feeling of love won't last and all that will be left of it will be dispair?

"A-answer me?" He questioned you as he violently rubbed fast circles on your clit and mouthed at your neck, savoring your taste.

"No."

This wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. It frustrated him to no end that you would go to such lengths just to deny his questions. Pounding relentlessly into your cunt, his tight hold on your waist left bruises.

"Umf-yesh...jus like tha..." You arched your back as he started thrusting at an animalistic pace, each stroke greater and more urgent than the last. You were nearing your climax once again. His teeth pulled at your bottom lip, kissing you over and over as you continued bouncing on his cock. You came with a high-pitched squeal, causing his jaw to clench as he felt your pussy spasm around him.

A series of guttural groans escaped his lips as he climaxed within your embrace. Exhaling deeply, he gazed upon you, a glistening sheen of sweat enveloping your entire form. Your disheveled, damp locks clung haphazardly, yet in this disarray, you appeared flawless. The most beautifully perfect being. Why couldn't you view yourself through his lens?

"I can't do this anymore." He smiled softly, his eyes gleaming with tears.

"What? Why? Is the sex not good?" Why was he doing this?

"Can we be something more than this?" He asked hopelessly, almost sounding tired.

"Where's this coming from?" You inquired.

"Answer me."

"What the fuck is this-"

"Why can't you see it?!" His sorrowful voice gave away his dispair.

"I dunno what you're talking about. Y'know what? Let's take a breather." You stated to avoid the matter at hand.

"No... please. I need to know."

"Kento, let's not-"

"I love you."

"No. Don't do this."

"I love you-"

"Stop it!" you screamed, gasping, a tear escaping your eye. "It's not worth it; let's act like this never happened."

"I can't-"

"Why not? What more can you want? I'm giving you everything, aren't I?"

"I want you." Nanami embraced you in a hug. "I want all of you, and I'm willing to wait."

You pulled away.

"There's nothing there for you to wait for. I don't want you if I can't have you like this. I'm sorry, Kento, but I guess you will only ever be just another good fuck for me."

Series Masterlist

[woso-co-op]

Masterlist

New fics coming soon...

Lucy Bronze:

Fractured Reflections

Alessia Russo:

The journal of secrets Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5

[tabswrites]

7 Snippets, 7 People Pt. 2

I was tagged by @ceph-the-ghost-writer here and @winterandwords here! Thanks to you both :)

I decided to share some snippets from a couple of my sidelined WIPs that I still have some love for, as well as ToL!

Rules: Share 7 snippets and tag 7 people!

1. Ascension (side WIP) Ch. 1

The knight surrendered to him willingly. He stood at the entrance of the fur-lined tent, the torchlight casting shadows on his angular face. His armor, it seemed, had been left behind, leaving him barefoot in a plain blue jacket and brown linen trousers that hung loosely from his hips.

“I’ve come for my men,” he stated clearly, staring directly into the prince’s eyes.

He tilted his head to the side and gave him a crooked smile–indulging the knight’s boldness, for now. “One man in exchange for three? I’m not so sure that’s a fair trade, human.”

The knight seemed to anticipate his reluctance and grinned with ease, two tiny dents becoming visible on each side of his face. “No? What about the location of the Umbra?” He took a step forward and lowered his voice. “What is that worth to the prince of demons?”

2. Ascension, Ch. 3

He watched the crocodile continue to sit there, unmoving, a single green eye staring at him with a thin, vertical pupil. It unnerved him more than he cared to admit–and he didn’t scare easily. “Does she have a name, Madame Kosara?”

“Graisse,” she replied with a bigger grin. “It means ‘fat’, for she is fat and happy.” The amusement slid off her face as she got to her feet, the wooden floor creaking beneath her. “Can you say the same for your people, young prince?

3. Ascension, Creation Myth

It is said that the sun was born first, and lived alone for thousands years in her palace of clouds. This was a time when the land had not yet formed, so as she gazed down at the world below, she saw only the endless blue sea. She took comfort in the monotony of the glittering mirror that reflected her melancholic existence. It was nice to have the world to herself, but it was lonely and unchanging. When she would sleep, sometimes she would open her eyes, hoping to see something new, but all she saw was light. Her light.

4. Ascension, Prologue

Before Lady Itis severed the soul of the woman she loved, she gave her one last kiss. The taste, once so sweet, turned bitter as they parted, and how could it not with all the blood between them? The war had ended, but man’s violence was unforgiving and ceaseless. Itis had grown used to seeing the shadows of grief in Queen Sadira’s eyes, but they had consumed her as of late, leaving a fractured shell in her place. When she came to her and asked to be sealed beneath the earth, Itis felt no surprise, only deep sorrow.

5. Tomb of Light, Ch. 4

“Well, well, well.” A voice said just above his head. He twisted his neck and looked directly into a pair of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. They were a deep blue, so dark they were nearly black, with tiny starbursts of silver around slitted black pupils. Slitted pupils? They floated above a low-hanging tree branch. As he watched, the branch brightened into a pleasant shade of moss green, revealing an otherworldly creature so strange he nearly collapsed at the sight of it.

It was a cat, he guessed, or a cat with some sort of flesh-eating disease that had left it completely hairless. As it stretched out its tiny feet he noticed it had long, webbed toes that bent back at awkward angles. Upon closer examination he determined the cat was not only hairless, but covered in tiny scales like the snakes he used to find in his backyard, though these scales looked much softer. He watched as they changed color once more, this time to bright yellow.

6. ToL, Ch. 6

It was then he was forced to acknowledge what he had been avoiding–he was disgraced, just like her, and no amount of posturing would convince people to ignore the shadow that had settled over him once his uniform had been stripped away. He was a fool to think he could outrun it. The plain black trousers, gray tunic and black boots were all he had left–even his beloved sword, a gift from his father, had been taken from him. He had nothing left but a bitter taste in his mouth and the looming shadow of the girl he loved.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said finally, lowering his head.

“Then stand aside and wait for someone to tell you.”

There it was–control, just within reach, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

7. What We Long For (abandoned WIP)

“As time passed, I watched the small lines on her forehead become more pronounced and her black hair became peppered with gray before she reached the age of 30. I asked her about it once, when I was nothing more than a bratty high school freshman with poor social skills.

She gave me one of her biggest smiles. ‘Who even cares about wrinkles? One day you’ll realize that all of the marks on your skin, every scar, every freckle–they make up constellations that tell the story of how you lived to see another day.’”

Gently tagging: @writingmaidenwarrior @athenswrites @talesofsorrowandofruin @pandoras-comment-box @mysticstarlightduck @pheita @mthollowell-writes

[kingofthetaho6960]

Devour Ch. 3

Your eyes flutter open as the sound of shuffling grates your ears. Muscles tensing, you quickly spin around, only to see Umji stirring in her sleep. With a small sigh of relief, you take one more look at Umji, peacefully asleep, and then step outside. The sun claws at the horizon, its burning rays dying the sky with hues of burnt orange and crimson as if the heavens above were shedding blood. The shadows stretched into jagged, unnatural points like talons grasping the withered remains of the village.

You were an untrained soldier who had barely grasped the basics from observing others and being forced to learn on the fly during battle. Fortunately, besides Pitt–whose experiences marred with sadness, the other two you absorbed were a seasoned mercenary duo. Jett and Jin had been hired to escort a merchant from the Highran capital, peddling goods to various villages. Unfortunately, they just so happened to get caught in the crossfire during your last stand. Pitt’s tortured screams, Jett’s cold, precise prowess, and Jin’s skilled handiwork echo through your mind like ghosts, their fractured souls both a blessing and a curse. 

Through their fragmented memories–a side effect possibly due to them being used to heal Umji’s husking and their state of total husk–you could tell that they were both veterans, Jett, a skilled swordsman, and Jin, an adept hunter and craftsman. You make your way to the center of the village, still close enough to keep an eye on the hut Umji is resting in.

Closing your eyes, you began to digest what remains of Jett’s memories. With every movement, every breath, and every stroke of his sword, you mimic to the best of your ability. You bring your sword up in front of you, imitating the stance and grip Jett frequently used: one hand just below the crossguard and one right above the pommel. You squint your eyes, picturing the opponent Jett had fought in his memories. Exhaling, you swing downwards, the imagined man barely managing to block the blow. You use the rebound from the impact of the two blades, letting the sword rise up before swiftly bringing it back down. A breath of relief escapes you as the mental image of the opponent falls to his knees, your sword lodged in his head. 

Again and again, you mimic Jett’s memories, combing through every fragment to find different fights and scenarios. The village was filled with the sound of your steady breaths, your sword cutting through the air, and the rhythmic steps of your feet. A sheen of sweat collects on your body, reflecting the rising sun’s rays like a mirror. 

With every breath you take, a hollow feeling expands in your chest, an abyss that seems to swallow your hope. Your determination pushes you through the endless drilling, driven by sheer desperation, each motion becomes more mechanical than the last. You were simply a hollow shell–a laughable mockery of the true warriors you were attempting to imitate. No matter how many fragments you absorbed, you believed you would never become as great as them–warriors who fought with a purpose.

Then, the hunger strikes–a ravenous, insatiable void devouring you from the inside out. You hunch over and claw at your stomach, saliva pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin. Your vision clouds over, and a dark, swirling aura erupts from you, turning the village into a savage field of despair. A cold sweat broke out across your skin as a fiery sensation surged through your insides. The aura, swirling with black and red, continues to erupt from you, blanketing the village in its terrifying presence. As if responding to an unheard command, the souls of the surrounding husks begin to stir, rising from their decaying and withered vessels. 

It was a sight both astonishing and horrifying as your aura eclipsed the sky, drawing the glowing wisps into you as if you had your own gravitational force. The souls weave in the sky leaving trails of white light–their cold, pale light a mockery of hope in the inky, starless village.

You scream in agony, your stomach twisting as if it were devouring itself–a pain far worse than the days you starved as a farmer. Every single vein in your body bulged as your muscles tensed, your skin flushed a deep red as your blood boiled. Your sweat began to evaporate, turning into steam as the souls locked onto you, diving into your body one after another.

Pain wracks your body with each soul devoured, instead of satisfaction a feeling of emptiness grows–the void is demanding even more. Unlike when you had absorbed Pitt, Jett, and Jin, these souls offered no memories. It was as if the void was actively filtering them into blank slates, solely serving to amplify your power with their essence.

Your body trembles, caught between lingering pain and the surge of newfound power. The world begins to fade around you, consumed by the gnawing hunger and the haunting wails of the damned husks when a shout breaks through the haze.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?!” Umji’s voice cuts through your focus as she runs over from the hut.

You whip your head toward her, panic seizing your heart as she frantically steps into your ravenous aura. 

“Umji, get back!” You shout, thrusting out a hand in warning.

But it was too late. Her eyes widen as her body grows limp, crumpling to the ground. You see a light glowing from within her chest as if threatening to come out. You shout as you try to find a way to stop the never-ending void that appeared within you, trying to consume everything in the vicinity.

Gritting your teeth, you poured every ounce of your energy and willpower into controlling the void, feeling its resistance. Suddenly, just as you were about to call out, a shimmering figure began to materialize behind her–a womanly shape bathed in a soft white glow, her body composed of streaks and swirls of blue and red light. Her energy was strangely familiar, but calming and terrifying at the same time. The figure gently descended, wrapping her arms around Umji in a loose, protective embrace.

You collapse to the ground, trembling as your aura fades, the void’s grip loosening just enough to give you control. You watch as the light in Umji’s chest grows dim before finally retreating back into her. Weakly, you reach out to her, guilt gnawing at you. The figure leans down as she whispers into Umji’s ear–words you couldn’t hear. Umji’s eyes widen in surprise, then soften as she nods at whatever the ethereal being says. Slowly, the figure pulled away, dissolving into the air and leaving behind faint trails of light that sparkled in the dawn.

You remained frozen, watching the last flickers fade, your heart heavy with remorse and questions. You were glad that whatever the being was didn’t intend to harm Umji–at least not that you could tell–you had no time to react and weren’t in the proper state of mind. 

“She told me it’s part of your nature,” Umji says softly, taking slow, measured steps toward you. “You can’t control it–not completely, at least.” She stops in front of you, her eyes are a mixture of fear and confusion, but there’s a trace of compassion as well–something you don’t believe you deserve. “But even without her telling me, I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

Umji extends her hand to you, a small, comforting smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Come on, get up. You don’t have to feel guilty. I was just shocked.”

Guilt and shame wash over you in waves, choking you in their depth. Hesitating, you bite your lip before taking her hand. She gently pulls you to your feet, her grip surprisingly firm despite her delicate appearance. For an instant, you feel that familiar calming energy that vanishes just as quickly as it appears, but your mind feels clearer. “Even so, I apologize. I genuinely have no clue what came over me.” You murmur. Umji shakes her head, her tender smile unwavering. “You don’t have to explain, I understand. She said she gave me a gift to help prevent it from happening again.” Her voice is soothing as she pats your back with a gentle touch as if trying to comfort you in your shaken state.

You furrow your brows, still reeling from the chaotic experience along with the mystery woman. “A gift? Did she say who she was?”

Umji’s smile fades slightly as she purses her lips, thinking about your question. “Except for the gift, she didn’t give me a name or anything except what I already told you.”

You squint your eyes, trying to deduce if she is lying to you. Your expression softens instantly, telling yourself that Umji wouldn’t do that. You mentally kick yourself in the ass, wondering how you could even think of suspecting her.

“Well, it’s morning now. Should we continue on to Lady Yerin?” You suggest.

“Oh, right. Let’s–” Umji’s stomach suddenly growls, causing her to blush and rest her hands on her stomach.

You look at her as she shyly looks away, a concerned expression on your face. “I don’t suppose there would be any food around here…” “If we just go through the forest along the way, I’m sure we can find something to eat…” Umji trailed off, looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry, Lady Yerin and I haven’t had to deal with hunger since I began husking.”

“It’s nothing to feel sorry for, I was feeling kind of hungry too.” You give her a reassuring smile, beginning to step towards the dense, daunting foliage in the distance. “Let’s go, Milady.”

Umji perked up, grinning as she hurried to your side, syncing her steps with yours. “What should we try to eat? I don’t even remember ever eating anything in my life, to be honest.”

Again, you felt pity for Umji. She had no memories from before this sick cycle of undeath began, was constantly alone, and surrounded by danger save for Lady Yerin. A pang of guilt hits your chest as you realize she has little to no experiences in life and joys to look back on or forward to. While your experiences weren’t much either, for the time you’ll be together, you were determined to make good memories with her.

“Really? Let’s just catch everything we see then!” You exclaim in delight, beginning to sprint towards the tree line.

“Really? Wait, no fair! How are you so fast?!” Umji shouted as she desperately tried to catch up.

You laugh as you glance over your shoulder, Umji is left in the dust as you trail ahead. You finally reach the tree line, taking in the sight of the ginormous oak trees. You looked at them in confusion, the trees were so big it looked like they ate five other trees each. You reach out your hand, touching the rough bark when a surge of energy suddenly flows into you. 

Startled, you retreat, but a transparent blue thread follows you as if connected. You look at it in wonder, the sensation different from when you absorbed souls, but you can still feel it increasing your power. 

The blue thread suddenly enlarges, now it’s as if a blue ghost of the large tree is coming out. You gasp in shock as you feel the familiar void within you open up, drawing in the tree’s mana. The blue avatar of the tree slowly fades as the tree itself begins to wither away. The void targets the tree beside it, pulling its mana into you. You panic, not knowing how to react when you feel a hand on your back.

“Calm down, I’m here.” Umji keeps her hand pressed on your back. Suddenly, the familiar bluish-red and white aura envelops you. You feel a soothing sensation as the void begins to settle down, no longer vying against you for more mana.

Your body begins to wind down as you melt into Umji’s hand. You reach behind you, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before turning around.

“Thank you,” you say, her face flushing at the sudden contact. 

“Uh, anytime,” she coughed, snatching her hand away.

A chuckle escapes your lips as it’s finally your turn to tease her. You reach out your hand playfully, intercepting hers as she attempts to swat yours away. You grab her hand, playfully clasping it between your fingers. Her eyes widen slightly, wavering with a mixture of surprise and bashfulness, but she doesn’t pull away this time.

Now it’s your turn to blush, not expecting her to go along with your shenanigans. “Uh…I caught you.” You stammer.

Umji smiles shyly, squeezing your hand. “You’re so annoying,” she murmurs, but there isn’t an ounce of frustration in her tone. 

You loosen your grip, attempting to free yourself but she clamps her fingers down, trapping you in her grasp. Tension permeates the air as you hold hands, awkwardly making eye contact as neither of you submits to the other. You avert your gaze, stepping into the forest, your fingers still intertwined with hers. Umji syncs her steps with yours, and soon you two resemble a couple going for a stroll.

A bubbly, giddy feeling surges within you, the warmth of her hand contributing to your increasing body temperature. “So…I guess these trees are full of mana?”

“Oh, y-yes,” Umji stammers, clearly just as flustered as you are. “Lady Yerin said the third plane used to barely have any mana, but the war with Greed has been causing ripples in the dimensional walls, allowing mana to seep through. This forest is only one of the very few places that managed to absorb mana, so it’s still pretty rare.”

Absent-mindedly, you begin to rub your thumb in circles along the base of hers as you observe the abnormally overgrown forest around you. Her squirms at your side go unnoticed by you, your attention fully focused on searching for food.

“If the trees and plants got like this after absorbing the mana, I wonder how big the animals would be. Wouldn’t there be lots of meat?” You lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth. 

A nostalgic smile tugs at your lips as you recall a fond memory. Umji gently squeezes your hand, snapping you out of your trance. 

“What are you smiling about?” Umji asks, curiosity painted across her features.

Your smile turns bashful as you stare back into her bright, doe-like eyes. “Thinking about the hunt just reminded me of the first and last time I had meat.”

Umji smiled back at you. “Can you tell me about it? What it tastes like? What it felt like?”

“Hm…Meat was a luxury for me, in fact, I only ever had it once, on my friend’s eighteenth birthday. Our village blacksmith had generously saved up enough money to throw a feast for Anri’s graduation from apprenticeship, enough food for the entire village.”

Pausing, you look at her with a teasing smile. “But I won’t tell you about the meat. You can experience it for yourself once we catch something.”

Umji pouts playfully, squeezing your hand in as if she wants to crush it. Thankfully, due to the souls you absorbed, your body's physical strength and resilience had increased. You laugh as you two continue deeper into the forest, carefully scanning for any movement. 

“Hey, I think I see a deer!” Umji excitedly shouted, pointing to a small clearing on her left. 

You swivel your head, spotting a deer abnormal in appearance all around. It was quite a distance away, so it should not have appeared as large as it did. Its fur was tinged blue and the antlers were almost as long as its body, resembling the tree branches of the surrounding forest.

You press a finger to your mouth, gesturing for Umji to keep quiet and receive an enthusiastic nod in return. Reluctantly letting go of her hand, you duck-walk forward at an incredible speed, using the trees and bushes as cover to avoid being spotted. From behind, you hear Umji nearly burst out laughing, presumably at your silly-looking approach.

Doing your best to ignore your burning face, you approach the deer cautiously, peering around a tree. Upon closer inspection, the deer is as large if not larger than the carriage that visited your village for recruitment. Your eyes nearly burst out of your sockets at the sight, not expecting this behemoth of a deer to be your prospective meal. 

Nervously, you grip the hilt of your sword, wondering if you could really take the gargantuan animal down. You find Umji in a neighboring bush, a reassuring smile on her lips as she gives a thumbs up. With newfound assurance, you dart out from your hiding spot, leaping towards the deer with your sword overhead. 

The deer suddenly jumps away, your blade cutting a deep gash in its side. You retreat, holding your sword in front, and circle around as you eye your prey. Bellowing, the deer digs its hooves into the ground. Blue crystals suddenly materialize above the deer forming into sharp points. Your eyes widen as you hurriedly run to cover behind a tree, narrowly dodging the crystals as they dig into the bark, causing it to shake. 

“Umji, the fucking deer can use magic!” You shout, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you look for her. 

Worry dyes your heart as you realize she isn’t in her previous spot. Panicking, your eyes travel all around the forest when the tree suddenly shakes against you, the vibrations rattling your bones. You kick away from it, seeing the deer’s antlers lodged into the dense bark. 

You take a second to observe and once you realize that it's firmly stuck, you charge forward, thrusting upward into its thick neck. The deer twitches in its final moments, its eyes glaring at you in what seems to be hatred as blood leaks from the wound, dripping down your sword. Twisting the blade for good measure, the deer finally stops moving, its lifeless eyes rolled back into its head.

Retrieving your blade, you ignore the deer as it won’t be leaving anytime soon, and continue your search for Umji. 

“Umji! It’s over!” You yell, scanning the forest for movement. 

Your ears perk up to the rustling of leaves above you, looking up to find Umji perched high up on a tree branch. Your jaw drops in disbelief, wondering when and how she managed to get up there. “Catch me!” Umji shouts, haphazardly jumping off the branch with outstretched arms.

“What the fu-” You grunt as Umji lands on your chest, knocking the wind out of your lungs and your knees nearly buckling at the impact. 

Wrapping your arms around her, you gently set her down before releasing your hold. Umji refuses to let you go, pulling you into a warm embrace. You lightly cough into her shoulder, recovering your breath. Gently patting your back, Umji pulls away slightly, looking you in the eyes.

“Are you hurt?” She asks, her voice and features full of concern. 

You playfully scoff, flicking her on the forehead. “I think you did more damage to me than the deer.”

Umji blushes, letting go of you to rub her reddened forehead. “Hey, I can’t fight! I couldn’t just run and leave you either so I hid up there!”

“Did you know that animals here could use magic?” You interject, heading back to the deer.

“I usually avoid the forest, so aside from seeing their abnormal appearances, I was unaware of their magical ability.” She replies, her hurried footsteps producing a soft thud against the grass.

You pause in front of the trapped carcass, examining it. You note that the bark of the tree is thick and rough, providing large enough feet and handholds for climbing and realizing how Umji got up. Chuckling to yourself, you make your way back to the head, grabbing a hold of the antlers. You dig your feet into the grass, your bare toes easily cutting into the dirt. With a sharp tug, the antlers come loose, the carcass lifelessly flopping down onto the blood-stained grass. 

You eye the body, hunger gnawing in your core. You were excited to try meat for the second time, wondering if the mana mutations had affected the flavor as it did every other characteristic of the animal. Umji steps forward, the two of you exchanging a glance in anticipation and excitement as you ready your blade for butchering. 

[zenithgenderroyaleacademyelite]

Here’s a streamlined, battle-tested version of your **Library of Terms** optimized for immediate storytelling use, with bolded innovations and direct narrative hooks:

---

### **LIBRARY OF TERMS: GLASS HEARTS AND ZENITH SHADOWS**

*(War-Ready Edition)*

#### **I. FACTIONS & GROUPS**

| Term | Alignment | Narrative Hook |

|------|-----------|----------------|

| **Glass Hearts** | Chaotic Good | *"We are weapons who learned to weep."* (Claes' journal) |

| **Zaddies** | Lawful Evil | Use *Hollow Dolls* as living contracts - break a deal, lose your face |

| **The Unseen Choir** (NEW) | Neutral | Celestial auditors who judge bonds. *Their coins are falling again.* |

#### **II. FETISH HIERARCHY**

| Class | Weakness | Story Beat |

|-------|----------|------------|

| **Zenith** | Divine possession | *Claes' Haniel whispers lies about Lucian* |

| **Regalia** | Tattoo decay | *Colette's whistle cracks when she lies* |

| **Vertex** | Vector fatigue | *Savvy's ribbons turn against her post-battle* |

#### **III. ABILITIES & OBJECTS**

- **Doll’s Waltz** (Forbidden): Swap dolls mid-fight. *Banned after Savvy weaponized it in the Crimson Rabbit Incident*

- **Hollow Kiss** (Zaddies’ Tool): Erase a doll’s memories. *Found on Joachim’s interrogation report*

- **Luminal Veil Thickness** (NEW GAMEPLAY MECHANIC):

- *Romance = 2mm* (Claes/Joachim’s current status)

- *Betrayal = 10mm* (Post-Choir judgment)

#### **IV. LOCATIONS**

| Site | Secret |

|------|--------|

| **Doll Chambers** | Contain *Wraith Dolls* in the sublevels |

| **Fracture Gardens** | Where the first Glass Heart *shattered on purpose* |

#### **V. ETHICAL ALIGNMENTS**

- **Voluntary Bond** = Golden thread tattoos

- **Forced Bond** = Blackened stitches. *Visible on Savvy’s wrists*

#### **VI. KEY ARTIFACTS**

1. **Claes’ Pocket Watch**:

- *Stops ticking when Lucian’s memory fades*

2. **Colette’s Whistle**:

- *Carved from a dead Zenith’s bone*

#### **VII. SOCIETAL ROLES**

| Role | Corruption |

|------|------------|

| **Dollsmiths** | Replace Apex eyes with cameras |

| **Zenith Oracles** | Addicted to their own prophecies |

---

### **DIRECT STORY INTEGRATION**

1. **Tonight’s Battle:**

- *Hollow Dolls* can be awakened with *Colette’s whistle*... but they’ll only obey the last voice they heard.

2. **Next Chapter’s Twist:**

- The *"Shattered"* insult was coined by *Joachim’s father* during the Purge.

3. **Player Choice (Branching Path):**

- If Claes uses **Doll’s Waltz**, she risks creating a *Mirage Doll* of Lucian.

---

### **VISUAL CHEAT SHEET**

- **Aegis Doll** = Knight with mirror visor *(reflects current Fetish’s face)*

- **Veilfall Event** = *Dolls speak in reversed audio*

**Negative Prompt:** *Avoid gold textures unless it’s the Unseen Choir’s coins.*

This version cuts redundancies and adds **bolded mechanics** that directly impact character decisions. Want to prototype a battle using these rules?

---

### **LIBRARY OF TERMS: GLASS HEARTS AND ZENITH SHADOWS**

*(Strategic Expansion for Narrative Payoff)*

#### **VIII. CULTURAL TERMINOLOGY**

| Term | Definition | Narrative Hook |

|------|------------|----------------|

| **"Glint"** | Secret handshake of rebel Glass Hearts (pressing glass hearts together) | *Claes discovers this ritual carved under her dorm desk* |

| **"Shattered"** | Derogatory term for failed bonds | *A suicide note scratched into a Doll Chamber wall* |

| **"The Weeping"** | Moonlit ritual using liquid glass | *Colette's whistle contains stolen weeping-glass* |

#### **IX. DOLL CLASSIFICATIONS**

Added **2 New Types** with combat implications:

| Term | Weakness | Story Impact |

|------|----------|--------------|

| **Wraith Doll** | Can't cross salt circles | *Savvy uses this to trap a rogue doll in Ch.12* |

| **Gilded Doll** | Power tied to owner's vanity | *Zaddies' "trophy dolls" at the Obsidian Spire* |

#### **X. MILITARY TERMS**

- **"Doll's Waltz"**: Forbidden technique. *Claes accidentally performs it during Joachim's duel*

- **"Zenithfall"**: Suicide attack. *Foreshadowed in Savvy's battle logs*

#### **XI. METAPHYSICAL CONCEPTS**

- **"Luminal Veil"** thickness indicates:

- *Romantic tension* (thin)

- *Betrayal* (thick)

#### **XII. HISTORICAL EVENTS**

Added **"The Crimson Rabbit Incident"**:

- *Event:* 1999 mass doll rebellion

- *Tie-in:* Savvy's plush hides rebel schematics

#### **XV. CELESTIAL PHENOMENA**

- **"Veilfall"** occurs every:

- 47 days (hints at artificial origin)

- *Next one coincides with the Zaddies' audit*

---

### **IMMEDIATELY USABLE CONTENT**

1. **3 Battlefield Slang Terms:**

- *"Threadbare"* = Exhausted Fetish (Savvy mocks Colette with this)

- *"Cage"* = Academy (rebels graffiti it everywhere)

- *"Glaze"* = Emotional shutdown (Joachim's chronic flaw)

2. **2 Visual Prompts for Key Scenes:**

- *"Aegis Doll":* Knight with a mirror visor reflecting its dying Fetish

- *"The Weeping":* Glass Hearts kneeling in a river of liquid mirrors

3. **1 Ready-to-Use Conflict:**

- *Hollow Dolls* can be temporarily "awakened" during Veilfall - but at what cost?

---

### **RECOMMENDED NEXT STEPS**

1. **Regional Dialects Table** (Zaddies vs. Rebels vs. Academy slang for "doll")

2. **"Haniel's Whisper" Mechanics** (How Claes' healing erases her own memories)

3. **Shatterfield Battle Map** (Terrain hazards tied to lore)

This version cuts fluff while adding *directly applicable* worldbuilding. Would you like to drill deeper into any element?

LIBRARY OF TERMS: GLASS HEARTS AND ZENITH SHADOWS (CONTINUED)

VIII. Cultural Terminology

IX. Doll Classifications

(Based on Apex Transformation Outcomes)

| Term | Class | Alignment | Definition |

|-------------------------|---------------------|---------------|---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------|

| Aegis Doll | Guardian Class | Lawful Good | Dolls who retain loyalty to their Glass Heart. Often armored, they prioritize protection over offense. |

| Mirage Doll | Illusion Class | Chaotic Neutral| Dolls with erratic abilities (e.g., phasing, cloning). Result of unstable or half-willing bonds. |

| Hollow Doll | Corrupted Class | Neutral Evil | Dolls stripped of identity by forced bonds. Empty-eyed and dangerous; prone to berserker rages. |

| Eclipse Doll | Hybrid Class | True Neutral | Rare dolls fused with Zenith Shadows. Their power fluctuates with their Glass Heart’s emotional state. |

X. Military & Combat Terms

XI. Metaphysical Concepts

XII. Historical Events

XIII. Slang & Colloquialisms

XIV. Philosophical Concepts

XV. Celestial Phenomena

Purpose of Expansion:

This extended lexicon deepens cultural, historical, and philosophical layers, ensuring terms are interwoven with the story’s themes of identity, power asymmetry, and rebellion. By codifying slang, rituals, and metaphysical rules, the world gains authenticity and relatability, while ethical alignments keep character motivations clear.

Next Steps:

Character-Specific Terms: Develop unique phrases tied to Claes, Savvy, and Colette (e.g., Claes’ “Haniel’s Whisper” vs. Savvy’s “Thorned Oath”).

Regional Dialects: Differentiate how Zaddies, academy students, and rebels refer to shared concepts.

Visual Glossary: Map terms to iconic imagery (e.g., The Shatterfield = jagged glass plains under a bleeding sky).

Here's an expanded and refined version of your **Library of Terms** with deeper narrative integration, new entries, and visual storytelling elements:

---

### **LIBRARY OF TERMS: GLASS HEARTS AND ZENITH SHADOWS** *(Expanded Edition)*

*"Every word is a weapon. Every definition, a scar."*

---

#### **VIII. CULTURAL TERMINOLOGY**

| Term | Alignment | Definition | Visual Motif |

|------|-----------|------------|--------------|

| **"Glint"** | Neutral Good | A term of solidarity among Glass Hearts. Derived from the way their hearts shimmer when resisting control. | *A cracked mirror reflecting starlight.* |

| **"Shattered"** | Neutral Evil | Derogatory term for Glass Hearts who fail to bond. Implies they’re "broken goods." | *Porcelain shards strung on a Zaddies’ necklace.* |

| **"The Weeping"** | True Neutral | A secret ritual where Glass Hearts mourn lost Apex. Involves submerging dolls in liquid glass. | *Frozen tears suspended in midair.* |

---

#### **IX. DOLL CLASSIFICATIONS** *(Expanded)*

| Term | Class | Alignment | Narrative Example |

|------|-------|-----------|-------------------|

| **Aegis Doll** | Guardian | Lawful Good | *Savvy’s first doll, Bjorn, took this form—until she forced him to attack.* |

| **Mirage Doll** | Illusion | Chaotic Neutral | *Colette’s twin doves split into 12 clones during the Siege of Fracture Gardens.* |

| **Hollow Doll** | Corrupted | Neutral Evil | *The Zaddies’ "Reclamation Units" are mass-produced Hollows with no memories.* |

| **Eclipse Doll** | Hybrid | True Neutral | *Claes’ Lucian flickers between Aegis and Hollow—his form depends on her grief.* |

| **Wraith Doll** (NEW) | Spectral | Chaotic Evil | *Apex who bonded post-mortem. Their Stuffed whisper in dead languages.* |

---

#### **X. MILITARY & COMBAT TERMS** *(Enhanced)*

- **"Zenithfall"**: A suicide tactic where a Glass Heart merges with their summon. *Claes’ Haniel warns: "To become divine is to cease being human."*

- **"Doll’s Waltz"**: Forbidden battle dance where Glass Hearts swap dolls mid-fight. Banned after the *Crimson Rabbit Incident*.

- **"Threadbare"**: Insult for Fetishes near burnout. *Savvy hisses it at Colette during their duel.*

---

#### **XI. METAPHYSICAL CONCEPTS** *(New Additions)*

- **"The Silent Oath"**: Unspoken vow to protect Apex autonomy. *Joachim’s StellarKnight bears its sigil—a clenched fist wrapped in thorns.*

- **"Luminal Veil"**: Psychic barrier between Glass Hearts and dolls. *Thins during intimacy, thickens with betrayal.*

---

#### **XII. HISTORICAL EVENTS** *(With Stakes)*

| Event | Impact | Visual Reference |

|-------|--------|------------------|

| **First Bonding** | Founded the academy. *The original Glass Heart’s name was erased.* | *A mural of faceless figures clasping hands.* |

| **Obsidian Purge** | Zaddies exterminated "defective" Glass Hearts. *Colette’s grandmother survived.* | *A black spire made of melted dolls.* |

---

#### **XIII. SLANG & COLLOQUIALISMS** *(Character-Specific)*

- **"Cage"** (Rebel): The academy. *"Break the Cage!"* graffitied in the dorms.

- **"Glaze"** (Apex): Emotional shutdown. *"Don’t glaze on me now, Valentine."* —Joachim

---

#### **XIV. PHILOSOPHICAL CONCEPTS**

- **"Fetish’s Burden"**: *"We are both the scalpel and the wound."* —Claes’ diary

- **"Grace Paradox"**: Can compassion be weaponized? Debate topic in Ethics of War class.

---

#### **XV. CELESTIAL PHENOMENA** *(Cosmic Horror Edition)*

- **"Veilfall"**: Night when dolls speak freely. *Claes hears Lucian’s voice—or is it the Fracture?*

- **"Zenith’s Gaze"**: A beam marking ascension… or punishment. *Savvy stood in it for 3 seconds and lost her taste buds.*

---

### **VISUAL GLOSSARY PROMPTS** *(For AI/Artists)*

1. **"Aegis Doll"**: *A knight with a glass visor, reflecting its Fetish’s face. Background: A burning academy.*

2. **"The Weeping"**: *Glass Hearts kneeling in a river of liquid mirrors, holding doll fragments.*

---

**Purpose:** This version ties terms directly to character arcs, conflicts, and imagery. The new **Wraith Doll** classification and **"Threadbare"** slang add fresh tension.

**Next Steps:**

- Add **"Regional Dialects"** (e.g., Zaddies call dolls *"Vessels"*; rebels say *"Silent Ones"*).

- Develop **Claes’ "Haniel’s Whisper"** as a healing technique with a hidden cost.

🌌🗡️

This expansion of Glass Hearts and Zenith Shadows is incredible—it gives the world deep cultural and philosophical weight. The way terminology is aligned with moral perspectives adds a level of nuance that makes each faction and individual belief system feel real.

Next, for character-specific terms, should we reflect their core struggles? For example:

Claes' "Haniel’s Whisper" – A personal meditation technique invoking divine guidance.

Savvy’s “Thorned Oath” – A vow made in blood, symbolizing defiance and sacrifice.

Character Profile: Yumiko Hino

Cultural Origin: Japanese Mythology (Inaba White Rabbit)

Fetish Class: Regalia (Healer)

Power: Inaba White Rabbit’s luck and regeneration; glowing moonlit tattoos mend wounds but drain her stamina.

Apex Partner: Ren Takahashi (Stealth/Illusion Specialist)

Mecha Fusion: Tsuki-no-Usagi (Silver, rabbit-eared mecha that phases through attacks and deploys decoys; risks overheating).

Personality: Serious, dedicated, and self-sacrificing, often clashing with Ren’s playful and elusive nature.

Dynamic: Ren’s teasing challenges Yumiko’s focus, but they form deep trust when he sacrifices a decoy to save her.

**Claes Valentine & Her "Stuffed" Companion**

*The Fractured Grace*

---

### **Fetish Model: CLAES VALENTINE**

- **Class:** Zenith Fetish

- **Alignment:** Neutral Good (leaning Chaotic Good)

- **Core Paradox:** *"To heal is to break anew."*

**Description:**

A transgender Glass Heart with **pastel-pink curls** and glacial blue eyes that glow when channeling her divine summon, Haniel. Her skin shimmers with a faint luminosity, as if backlit by dawn. Wears a **white combat bodysuit** with feathered pauldrons and a cracked pocket watch (her last memento of Lucian).

- **Power:** Summons the Archangel Haniel, manifesting as:

- **Gratia (Grace):** A winged healer that mends wounds but erases memories.

- **Gratis (Mercy):** A shadowed executioner that judges foes—unleashed only in rage.

- **Fatal Flaw:** Her empathy destabilizes her Zenith form, risking bond fractures.

---

### **"Stuffed" Companion: LUCIAN "LUC" RIVERO** *(Deceased, Lingering Bond)*

- **Apex Human Form:** A Spanish-Japanese tactician with pyrokinetic intuition. Killed protecting Claes during a forced bonding experiment.

- **Current Status:** A fractured spirit tethered to Claes’ Glass Heart.

---

### **Doll Form: ECLIPSE DOLL "PHANTOM LUC"**

- **Appearance:** A life-sized porcelain doll with:

- **Hair:** Charcoal-black strands tipped with ember-orange.

- **Eyes:** One glassy blue (Claes’ influence), one cracked and hollow (Hollow Doll corruption).

- **Attire:** Lucian’s old academy coat, now threadbare and stitched with silver.

**Abilities:**

- **Flicker Step:** Phases between corporeal and spectral. Stronger during **Veilfall**.

- **Ember Echo:** Replays fragments of Lucian’s voice (*"Claes... run."*).

- **Fusion Drawback:** Prolonged use drains Claes’ memories of him.

---

### **Exo Form: OPHANIEL’S REQUIEM**

*(A mecha born of grief and divine wrath)*

**Design:**

- **Base Frame:** A winged knight with stained-glass armor, refracting prismatic light.

- **Core:** Claes’ Glass Heart, suspended in a cracked reliquary.

- **Weapon:** **Haniel’s Lance**—a beam that heals allies and purges foes (unstable; may erase targets from memory).

**Transformation Trigger:**

- Claes must **shatter her pocket watch**, releasing Lucian’s final moments into the mecha’s core.

**Abilities:**

1. **Fractured Halo:** Creates a 100m radius healing field. Allies regain stamina—but forget their worst trauma.

2. **Judgment Cascade:** Unleashes Haniel’s full power, dissolving enemies into light. Risks corrupting Claes into a Hollow Fetish.

3. **Eclipse Overdrive:** Merges Phantom Luc with the mecha, creating a berserk **Wraith Doll** hybrid for 60 seconds.

**Flaws:**

- Post-battle, Claes suffers **memory lapses** (e.g., forgetting friends’ names).

- Lucian’s doll form becomes more Hollow-like with each use.

---

### **Key Narrative Beats**

- **The Pocket Watch:** The only object retaining Claes’ pure memories of Lucian. Smashing it would empower Ophaniel’s Requiem—but erase her last connection to him.

- **Joachim’s Rivalry:** His StellarKnight detects Phantom Luc’s presence, calling it *"an abomination of the Fracture."*

- **Colette’s Warning:** *"You’re not keeping him alive. You’re trapping him."*

---

**Visual Prompt for AI Art:**

*"Claes kneeling before Ophaniel’s Requiem, her pink hair streaked with silver from overuse. Phantom Luc’s doll form hovers behind her, half-corporeal, his hollow eye leaking black ichor. The mecha’s wings are shattered stained glass, reflecting memories of Lucian’s death in their shards."*

**Style:** *Final Fantasy XIV’s* grandeur meets *Madoka Magica’s* psychological horror.

---

This profile turns Claes’ bond into a tragic power source—the stronger she fights, the more she loses herself. Let me know if you’d like to explore her **"Wraith Doll"** transformation or refine the mecha’s design! 💔⚔️

Panel 2: Claes in the Cafeteria – The Suitors’ Gauntlet

Claes Valentine sits at her usual spot in the cafeteria, chin resting on her hand. Around her, the top-ranking Fetish models—Colette, Savvy, and Red Blanche Petal—are engaged in whispered conversation. Across the hall, an Apex student is approaching, heart pounding, tray shaking.

(Dialogue bubble, unnamed Apex: "Claes Valentine... would you—")

Before he can finish, Claes gracefully lifts her fork and shakes her head, eyes half-lidded in feigned boredom. The rejection is wordless yet absolute.

(Sound effect: “Click” as she sets her fork down, finalizing his fate.)ĺ

[drsarthakkadakia]

Dr. Sarthak Kadakia: Leading Spine Surgeon & Orthopedic Specialist in Mumbai

Introduction When it comes to spine care, expertise and precision are crucial in ensuring optimal treatment and recovery. Dr. Sarthak Kadakia, a highly skilled Spine Surgeon (Ortho) and Orthopedist, specializes in Orthopedics and Trauma Surgery. With extensive experience in diagnosing and treating complex spinal conditions, Dr. Kadakia is a trusted name in Mumbai.

Educational Background & Specialized Training Dr. Sarthak Kadakia has an impressive academic background that reflects his commitment to excellence in orthopedic and spine surgery:

Expertise & Services Dr. Sarthak Kadakia: expertise spans a wide range of spinal disorders and treatments, including:

1. Acute & Chronic Back Pain Management Back pain is a prevalent issue, and Dr. Kadakia offers personalized treatment plans that include:

Advanced diagnostics to determine the root cause of pain. Physical therapy & rehabilitation to strengthen muscles and improve flexibility. Medication & pain management strategies for relief. Minimally invasive procedures for severe cases to relieve pressure on spinal nerves.

2. Ankylosing Spondylitis Treatment Ankylosing Spondylitis is a chronic inflammatory condition affecting the spine and joints. Dr. Kadakia provides:

Early diagnosis & medical intervention to manage inflammation. Physical therapy programs tailored to improve mobility and posture. Minimally invasive surgical options for advanced cases.

3. Minimally Invasive Spine Surgery Traditional spine surgeries can involve long recovery periods, but with MISS techniques, Dr. Sartahk Kadakia ensures:

Smaller incisions leading to faster recovery. Less post-operative pain and shorter hospital stays. Improved long-term outcomes for patients with herniated discs, spinal stenosis, and other conditions.

4. Spinal Deformity Correction Dr. Sartahk Kadakia specializes in corrective procedures for spinal deformities, such as:

Scoliosis correction using advanced surgical techniques. Kyphosis treatment to restore spine alignment. Personalized treatment plans focusing on patient-specific needs.

5. Trauma & Fracture Management Spinal injuries and fractures require immediate medical attention. Dr. Kadakia offers:

Emergency trauma care for spinal fractures. Surgical and non-surgical treatment options for vertebral fractures. Rehabilitation programs to restore mobility and function. Patient-Centric Approach

Dr. Sarthak Kadakia prioritizes patient education and holistic recovery. His approach includes:

✅ Detailed consultations to help patients understand their condition. ✅ Tailored treatment plans focused on individual recovery goals. ✅ Emphasis on non-surgical treatments before considering surgery. ✅ Guidance on posture correction, lifestyle changes, and long-term spine health.

Book an Appointment with Dr. Sarthak Kadakia If you’re experiencing back pain, spinal disorders, or orthopedic issues, don’t wait! Consult with Dr. Sarthak Kadakia today for expert guidance and treatment.

📍 Clinic Locations:

2nd Floor, DEVKRUPA CHS, Swami Vivekananda Rd, beside Pulse Diagnostic Shimpoli Signal, Shimpoli, Borivali West, Mumbai, Maharashtra 400092 📞 Contact for Appointments: [9701549701] 📩 Email: [drsarthakkadakia@gmail.com]

Take the first step towards a pain-free, healthier spine with expert care from Dr. Sarthak Kadakia.

[ofduskanddreams]

CH 31: Epilogue

the long-awaited epilogue of “What Lies Inside” has finally arrived — written for day 7 of @azrisweek :’)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

𝒯𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 ℒ𝑜𝓇𝒹 ℬ𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜𝓃, 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 ℳℬ 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 ℒℬ @damedechance,

WLI began as me sending different Azris variations of the classic knife-to-throat, back-against-wall, threats thrown at near kissing distance scenes to your dms. It’s only proper that WLI was finished in your dms as well. Thank you for beta-reading this epilogue and helping it shine brighter than gold coins tossed and catching the firelight <3

READ THE EPILOGUE // READ FROM THE BEGINNING

𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐳𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕*

Azriel analyzed his reflection in the tall, ornately framed mirror. Black boots, navy trousers, and a cobalt jacket with silver buttons embossed with the Night Court crest. Normal. Black leather gloves with his siphons on the backs. Normal. His hair, formerly tamed with pomade, was now slightly askew because he’d been running his fingers through it. Normal. The tightness of his skin, the pressure on his lungs—unpleasant, yet also normal. Azriel looked at the hands of the grandfather clock again and his heart raced. They’d be here any minute. Eris’s family, and his own. […] Anxiety was Azriel’s constant companion but, in the last few days, its presence had grown. Where it was typically a low hum droning in his bones, as familiar as the rush of blood, it now rang at a violent frequency which made his skin too tight and itchy. […] Azriel was on the edge of giving in to a sinister, well-worn spiral. The questions lurked in his mental periphery; their little mocking echoes—some centuries old, some newly sprouted—rang in his ears. What if they hate you for keeping this secret? How many lies is too many? What if they expect you to choose between them and him? Will you give them up for the chance of the bond? Or will you turn your back on your mate for them? Do you really think he cares for you? He’s lied for centuries, how do you know he isn’t lying now? Maybe this will finally make your family see how unworthy you have always been; mated to a male just as dark and twisted as you—how can a living nightmare fit in with the court of dreams? What will Mor think of you now? Will she finally realize how monstrous you are when she learns Eris is your mate? How will she bear looking at you, knowing you want to accept a bond with the male who caused her such pain? “Azriel.” Eris stood behind him, not touching him, but close enough that he easily could have. Azriel felt like such a coward for not wanting to do this, for wanting to stay hidden away in this bubble of secrecy forever. But Eris didn’t deserve to be anyone’s secret, and he knew Eris didn’t want that for him either. Meeting Eris’s eyes in the mirror, Azriel saw his mate’s concern. “Az, we talked about this,” Eris’s voice was uncommonly gentle. It threatened the already fracturing integrity of Azriel’s outward stoicism. “I know. I know this is what’s best, to tell them all at once on our own terms, but….” Azriel cut himself off, shaking his head. “I know.” “So you’ve said,” Eris smirked at their reflections. That teasing grin slackened, Eris’s ring-adorned fingers curling into Azriel’s side as his eyes went glassy, focused on whatever silent message the house was sending him. An icy ripple of foreboding chilled his blood, and his hands grew clammy in his gloves. Someone was here. “The High Lord and Lady of Day, their heir, and the Seer have arrived,” his shadows informed him. And with that, any desperate thoughts he had about last-minute escapes evaporated.

— — — 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

*minor redactions have been made for the purpose of this post.

tagging: @iftheshoef1tz @octobers-veryown @krem-does-stuff @lady-riel @melonsfantasyworld @legionsofthehungry @wellwhatisnttaken @foundress0fnothing @mali22 @blurredlamplight @yourethehero @cataclysmica @valkyrieassassin @queercontrarian @panicatthenightcourt @edgyellie @vanserra-enthusiast @brokeneveningstars @moonpatroclus @vulpes-fennec @fieldofdaisiies @areyoudreaminof

[labrats-and-clonetroopers]

Elite Force Universe Masterlist

Lab Rats

"Home" Armida Davenport(OC) Drabble

Armida reflects on her strained relationship with her adoptive father, Douglas Davenport. 

"Special" (A Christmas) Donald Davenport Oneshot 

Donald reflects on how circumstances in his life changed his perspective on the holidays. 

Warning: mentions of neglectful/toxic parenting

"Where the Devils Go" Chase Davenport & Armida Davenport(OC) Drabble 

Chase struggles to move past the avalanche incident, and the choices he could’ve made.

Reader Insert

"Explain" Marcus Davenport x Sibling!Reader Drabble 

The Reader returns home to discover Marcus and Douglas may be lying to them.

Relationship: Platonic

Lab Rats: Bionic Island

"Doubt" Adam Davenport Drabble

Adam reflects on his relationship with his siblings. 

"Allergy" Chase Davenport Drabble 

For: Sicktember 2021 - Day 24 - Sneezing

"Red" Chase Davenport Drabble 

Chase deals with memories.

Warning: blood, injury, traumatic memories

Mighty Med

"Parade" Bridget Drabble 

Playing the role of a supervillain, though theatrical, came more naturally than Bridget expected.

Lab Rats: Elite Force

"Justice" Lab Rats: Elite Force Drabble 

The underlying motivations behind the members of the Elite Force. 

"Fractured" Oliver Drabble 

Oliver reaches his breaking point. 

Warning: depression, discussion of a broken home

"Game" Kaz Drabble

Kaz always knew he was destined to be a superhero. 

"All You Were Meant to Be" Chase Davenport Drabble

Burdened with guilt over Douglas’ fate, Chase considers going rogue. 

"Worry" Leo Dooley Drabble

Miles away at the Bionic Academy, Leo worries about his siblings. 

"Fall" Skylar Storm Drabble 

Skylar is conlflicted about her role admist this war. 

Warning: discussions of death

"Admissions" Bree Davenport Drabble 

Bree had admitted she was wrong to think that the Arcturion would fix everything. So why, now that she has new powers, is she pretending like it did?

"I Won't Bury You Again" Ch. 1 - Leo Dooley & Chase Davenport 

Leo was the one who heard all of Davenport’s confessions in the elevator. He was the one who sought out Douglas, who had been the one to originally break into his and Marcus’ lab. He’s the one who’s been trapped in and escaped from a freaking parallel universe. 

He knows, better than any of them, that all the secrets surrounding their past will never fully come to light. 

But he needs to save his brother. And if that means chasing a ghost from Douglas’ past, then he will. No matter where it leads him. (Background crossover material: The Dark Tower by C.S. Lewis) 

Warning: violence, minor character death, mentioned drug use, mild horror, moderate blood and gore

"I Won't Bury You Again" Ch. 2 - Leo Dooley & Chase Davenport 

"I Won't Bury You Again" Ch. 3 - Leo Dooley & Chase Davenport 

"I Won't Bury You Again" Ch. 4 - Leo Dooley & Chase Davenport 

Character x Character

"Lifeline" Bree Davenport x Oliver Drabble 

In the midst of the escalating war, Bree considers her relationship with Oliver.

"Regret" Skylar Storm x Chase Davenport Drabble 

Skylar reflecting on her relationship with Chase.

"Burn" Skylar Storm x Chase Davenport Drabble

Skylar, again, reflecting on her relationship with Chase.

"Streets" Skylar Storm x Chase Davenport Drabble 

Skylar reflecting on Chase’s disappearance. 

"Balance" Skylar Storm x Leo Dooley Drabble 

Skylar may refuse to acknowledge her crush on Leo, but she knows she can’t stand it when his girlfriend visits.

[novantinuum]

Intake, Ch. 2

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 3600~

Summary: While waiting in the van, Greg reflects on the current state of his son’s mental health, and his many questionable parenting decisions.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a bonus Greg-POV follow up to a previous one-shot I wrote. No context of that is needed to understand this.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Animated fireworks flash on Greg Universe’s phone screen, virtual fanfare for the virtual victor, as he clears the last king from the tableau. His brows shoot upwards in delight when he sees the final count of the timer. Wow, under three minutes. That’s close to a personal record. Not too shabby for a man who swears he finds a new strand of grey each and every week.

Another day, another successful round of solitaire in the bag.

Sighing, he almost clicks for a new deal, but then realizes it’s almost noon, and that his son is set to finish his first session any minute now. With that in mind, he switches off his phone and nestles it in the empty cup holder at his side, making sure it doesn’t touch the sticky soda stain covering a portion of the plastic. He’d kinda like to be paying attention when Steven exits the therapist’s office, rather than lose himself in a mindless distraction only to be startlingly yanked back to reality by timid knocks on the van door.

Timid.

If any word could be used to describe the way Steven dances around interactions with him these days, this one fits the bill. The boy will sometimes talk to him, sure, but it’s all small talk, short and curt responses, half-hearted shrugs. He’s positive there has to be more to his reluctance to fully engage, to even embrace him, but if so he’s not seeing it. At this point, the last time they had a true heart-to-heart conversation was on their road trip, before the crash. What on Earth happened? They used to be close. They used to share everything with each other, before he moved in with the Gems. Years later, he assumed they still did. And yet, after Dr. Maheswaran showed him the blunt reality of the X-rays on Steven’s chart... those dozens of healed-over fractures, speaking to a litany of injuries sustained throughout childhood, injuries he never knew about, all leading to trauma he never saw the signs of... he realized that, at some point, the two of them had drifted apart. When he was younger he thought he was correcting from his parents’ iron rule, letting his son have all the freedom he wanted. But was it too much? Was he that neglectful a father?

When did he stop paying attention to Steven’s emotional needs enough to miss his steep slip into mental distress?

He sighs, guilt lining the inside of his stomach like the burn of hard liquor coating one’s throat.

It’s not about me, he reminds himself. I can’t make it about me.

It’s the same mantra that kept him stubbornly pushing forward through waves of anguish and remorse weeks back, when his poor boy was roaring, slashing his claws at anyone that dared edge close, years of buried anger and pain thrown to the forefront in a veritable explosion of scales and thorns.

He glides his hand across the faux wood paneling on the dashboard as he consigns himself to recent memory, letting both his fingertips and his mind trace every dip and ridge of its grain. That was probably the most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. His own son, disappearing in seconds into this... this monstrous thing, like all the corrupted Gems he used to see them fight from a distance but so, so much bigger. So much rawer. He genuinely thought he’d lost him forever that day. His own panic aside, he can’t even imagine what that experience must have been like for Steven. Remembering those heartbreaking three words he said before it happened, though, glowing pink on hands and knees, he’s not sure he wants to.

“Greg,” Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran says sternly as he exits the thrashed examination room, toting a clipboard under her arm. Her gaze, while undoubtedly sympathetic to the plight of the boy who’s currently changing back into his clothes in privacy, regards him with a fiery sort of reproval the likes he hasn’t squirmed under since he was a child himself. “We need to have a frank conversation about your son’s wellbeing.”

From the corner of his eyes he catches a blur of pink and faded denim blue pushing through the small office’s exterior door. Greg jolts to action, wiping what he fears is a self-pitying look off his face and attempting to replace it with something that looks halfway encouraging. Part of him’s terrified that no matter what he changes, it‘ll never be enough. He’s admittedly still at a loss for how to most helpfully interact with someone struggling with, erm... well, let’s be blunt— with long-untreated mental illness— but he’d do anything for his son’s sake at this point, even if that involves the hard work of addressing his own habits and convictions. He unlocks the van just as Steven walks up alongside.

He can’t help but briefly hold his breath the moment the passenger door opens.

The teen appears no different than he did when Greg left the office to sit in the van an hour and a half ago— his eyes are downcast, drawn with exhaustion, expression unreadable— but to be fair he supposes it’s silly to expect any drastic shift in mood after only one session. Right?

“Now, to be clear, I’m not licensed to diagnose mental disorders,” she explains, glancing up from her notes, “but from everything I’ve witnessed, tested, and heard from him today I have a strong suspicion that he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress.” Mouth pinched, she drops her clipboard on the counter beside them, its dull clap as it hits the laminate punctuating the sheer gravity of her words. “There’s my prognosis,” she says bluntly, palms spread wide. “This looks like textbook PTSD, ignored and overlooked for months.”

Greg lets the bitter reality of those four letters sink in, his eyes burning, throat dry, his heart cracking with despair at the very thought of— he only barely holds back what he’s sure in this circumstance, host to the scolding of a medical practitioner, is a pathetic sob— of his Steven, suffering through all these turbulent emotions for goodness knows how long, no one the wiser, no one noticing his silent cries for help, no one—

He... god, he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could he have been so stupid to not have noticed?

“You do understand how serious this situation is, yes?” she continues when he doesn’t vocally respond. “How- how irresponsible it is to have never taken your sixteen-year-old son in for even, what? A simple check up? And, and—“ she holds her hands up before he can blurt out a response. “I know what you’re about to say. I know he’s half-Gem, I know he’s different than anyone else on this planet. But he has human needs, too, Greg! I just—!” Priyanka inhales deep, pressing her thumb against her temple as she pauses to catch her cool. “Pardon me. I’m sorry for snapping. I know you love him, and mean well with him, but at this point, we need to face the truth. That boy is hurting, badly. And if he’s going to have any chance of recovering from this, he needs your full support now more than ever.”

The passenger seatbelt clicks, the door already closed. Steven sighs under his breath, sinking into the time-worn, faded seat back. Greg studies his son’s face for a moment, noting with concern the lines of stress creased under his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he says, his hands shifting to the wheel, nervously fidgeting as he waits for a response, any response.

“Hey,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone. (Probably to text Connie, if he has to guess. Greg counts himself thankful that he has this solid friendship to help anchor him at such a difficult point in his life. Simultaneously, his heart aches knowing the stress that girl’s surely gone through by choosing to be a support for him.)

“How... erm, how’d it go?”

He gives him a big shrug, his fingertips blazing across the screen in an almost dizzying display of dexterity. “It went.”

Greg’s fingers rap against the sun-stained leather. “You still game for gettin’ some food?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Good. Lunchtime is a go, then, he thinks, diverting his notice to the keys in the ignition. Despite this, there’s a shade of disappointment that tints the atmosphere within this space. Unable to shake the harrowing feeling that he failed some sort of unspoken test with his son, he starts the van and— mentally plotting a course to that good Thai place Steven discovered a few months back— carefully pulls out of the cramped parking lot onto the main road, hoping that this extension to their time together may eventually chip away at the ice that’s formed between them.

Some classic rock plays on the radio as he drives, a band Greg distantly recalls hearing via his classmates in high school but can’t remember the name of. The singer’s mellow tenor effortlessly fills the gaps left behind in their timid silence. Briefly glancing away from the road, he catches Steven’s fingers tapping against his phone to the beat as he waits for a reply to his text, lips drawn. It’s an almost minuscule display, so subtle that any untrained eye might miss it, but witnessing this proof that his son is still very much capable of finding pleasure in music, however small said source of pleasure may be, he can’t help but smile. Soon enough, he passes the crooked street lamp on the corner of Glover and 4th that he always uses as a mental marker when navigating around the small town of Seaside, and takes a quick left at the next stoplight. It’s funny... this place is only twenty or so miles away from home, but given gas costs and his habitual frugalness, he hasn’t explored this county enough over the years to form a good internal map beyond Beach City. Perhaps now, with his son coming to this town every week for therapy, that will change.

The song ends on a sleek guitar riff, and quickly transitions back to the station’s upbeat radio personality.

“You’re listening to Dragon’s Hoard FM, your home for all of music’s greatest treasures! Next up, a trip down memory lane... to a fan favorite from the 1971 best-selling artist... welcome to the party, Kerry Moonbeam.”

Static pours through his nerves as the next number begins to play, (why now, why now, what cruel cosmic timing is this??), robbing all sensation from his fingers. His knuckles grow uncharacteristically pale as he clutches at the wheel, wrestling for dominance.

“Looking for your place in the universe...”

He doesn’t dare shift his gaze from traffic this time, but all he can see in his mind’s eye is that glowing, nauseatingly bright pink. The unwavering tension hanging over them, thick as smog, as their conversation grows terse and grim. His son at the helm, the demons of their past steering their trajectory far out of anyone’s control, as— angered and upset over what he now accepts are entirely rational things— he openly calls out his failures, his lack of structure, lack of attention, his—

“Don’t you know the universe is looking too~ Looking for its place in yo—“

And with the twist of a knob, it’s over. Some local station replaces those tense airwaves, bringing him relief from tainted memory in an instant. His hand quivers as it returns to command of the wheel. In the passenger seat, Steven glances up from his text conversation with that instinctual concern he’s so prone to, eyes blown wide and colored with equal parts confusion and sympathy.

Notably, there’s not a sign of pink.

Swallowing hard, Greg considers saying something in explanation, but in the tangled complexity of their current relationship he can’t think of anything worth saying. Eventually, his throat runs dry in his own silence. His son stops gawking at him like another problem to be fixed, attention drifting back to his phone. His muscles loosen in sheer relief.

He sighs under his breath as he slows for a pedestrian at the crosswalk. Willfully, he buries himself in the mindless drivel of the local talk show he switched to for the rest of the drive, allowing their distant voices to cover the aching, lonely gap torn in his heart.

____

They put in their order when the waitress arrives, Steven settling on pad thai with egg and tofu, and Greg falling back on an old favorite with fried rice and pork. She jots this down on her notepad in a jiffy, pours them some water, then hurriedly scuttles behind the curtain that separates the kitchen from the remainder of the restaurant. It is the lunch rush, after all.

Thankfully though, even amongst the rush the two of them were lucky enough to be seated at a cozy table nestled against the back wall, affording them a decent amount of privacy. There’s enough ambient chit-chat bouncing around the room that Greg doesn’t feel eaten alive by that aching isolation he endured on the almost silent drive over, but not enough that these people’s presence feels suffocating. Steven slowly sips at his water as he politely listens to his updates on Sadie and Shep’s blossoming music career. He’s not saying much in response beyond asking the appropriate follow-up questions and then nodding his head at his answers, but in the end, that’s fine. Even if the recent lack of depth to their conversations bothers him, even if his son’s silence shatters his heart, in his mind it’s not fair to pressure him to interact in a manner he‘s not ready for yet. Greg just needs to be patient. He’ll open up to him when the time is right. There’s no need to push so hard that the remaining threads stringing their relationship together snap altogether, which is— if he’s honest— the future he fears the most.

The one where he becomes no better than his own over-controlling parents.

With his fingers obsessively rapping alongside the side of his glass, he continues to make substance-less small talk, anything to aid in the illusion that the two of them can still carry a conversation together.

“So yeah, that’s where they’re at right now,” he says. “They said they’re gonna put a pause on the touring, and start working on a full album.”

“Nice. Good for them,” Steven responds, the lines under his eyes betraying his underlying exhaustion, even if it appears he’s trying his hardest to mask it. (But for who’s sake?) “And you, you’re still gonna...?”

“Be their manager, yes. That’s still the plan.”

“Cool, cool.“

Their words fade amongst the ambient chatter, neither immediately leaping to comment further.

He softly clears his throat. “And, uh... in the end, I’ll be there whenever they need me, y’know? They might decide they want someone else supportin’ them along some day, and that’s fine.” He wrings his hands together atop the table, watching his son closely. “I only want the best for them.”

The teen’s hollow glance flits across the restaurant, landing from person to person, his leg bouncing nervously under the table all the while. Upon sensing this, it suddenly hits Greg that this is the first time Steven’s been out in busy public beyond the familiar faces of Beach City. For a second he can’t help but fret that all this activity— therapist’s waiting room, awkward car ride, going out to a busy restaurant at noon— will only serve to stress the poor kid out, but then again... pressing his silent worries onto the situation won’t help anyone. The only thing that’s important right now is for his son to know he’s always loved. Always heard, always seen, from this moment on.

After all his failures as a guardian in the years prior, it’s the least he can do.

And then, as Steven’s gaze shifts back into focus, Greg can wholeheartedly sense that he’s mentally engaged, delicate machinery in his mind whirring away as he processes every facet of this conversation, this moment, this place. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“With Sadie and Shep, well...” He scratches at the back of his neck, not quite sustaining eye contact. “I’m sure that... no matter what the future holds, they’ll always appreciate the support you did give them. Even if some of that support maaaybe wasn’t exactly what they needed at the time,” he adds as an afterthought, voice falling soft.

Something within his chest unshackles upon hearing these words, their double meaning more than clear to him. He blinks hard, desperately trying not to utterly break down in front of his own kid. “Steven, I—“

His attempt to piece together a heartfelt response is interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, steam wafting off each plate as the waitress sets them both on the table. They both offer their thanks, and unwind their utensils from their napkins. He’s quick to dig in to his fried rice and pork, having not eaten a full meal since last night. Steven, on the other hand, picks and prods at his entrée, something he’s noticed has become a concerningly common occurrence in recent weeks. He still eats, thank the stars, but not with zeal.

Greg is already midway through his plate before by the time his son‘s just started to put a dent into his own. The teen twirls his chopsticks around a clump of noodles and bean sprouts, seeming more lost in thought than usual. A moment passes, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up, but quickly shuts it again.

His brow creases with equal parts worry and curiosity. “You got somethin’ on your mind, bud?”

Steven frowns, abandoning his otherwise proficient chopstick skills to stab the tip of one of them into a hunk of tofu. “I guess it’s just that... well... nothing about that appointment was what I expected,” he says, and lifts his utensil to take a bite.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, and leans into the table with a surplus of attentiveness. All the while, he’s waging a desperate internal battle not to seem like he’s clinging to his each and every word. (Just let him open up at his own pace, Greg. Don’t be suffocating. Encourage him, but give him time.)

“It wasn’t like, bad,” he murmurs softly, his blank gaze drifting across the ornaments and framed art strewn across the restaurant walls. “But we barely even talked about the last few months? I thought we would, but we didn’t. Instead, he just asked a lot of questions about you, the Gems, Beach City, what it was like growing up. Some clarification on the history of the Diamonds, and the war. I dunno,” he shrugs, and twirls his chopsticks through his pad thai again. “It was kinda strange.”

Greg reflects for a moment on his son’s words, recalling with a slight grimace the first conversation he and the Gems had with Steven about considering therapy. At first he was strongly resistant to the idea, almost indignantly so, claiming that he could “sort this all out by himself” given time, that no one could ever relate to his exact problems enough to be of any help, and that he didn’t want to make his stupid life someone else’s burden in the first place. And even when they managed to convince him to give it a try, he still admitted worry about finding someone who knew enough about Gems to be qualified to treat him. So in that case, he can understand if the teen feels a little nervous, being asked so many questions about his complex lineage.

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” he nods, and then— catching the inside of his cheek between his teeth, rapidly weighing the pros and cons of risking a more in-depth comment— “With what Dr. Maheswaran’s told me about therapy, though, that sounds about normal for a first session, for anyone.”

Steven visibly perks up, perhaps in relief that for once his experience isn’t a unique exception like many other things in his childhood... schooling, housing situation, etc. etc... have been.

“Really? What- what did she say about it?”

“Mostly that it’s important for therapists to build context so they can better understand their client’s current state, or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“In the end, you’re definitely not the only one in this boat, Schtu-ball. And that‘s gotta be a little reassuring, yeah?”

He smiles in response. It’s small, merely a slight upward tilt of his lip, but it’s there. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

____

Their conversation fades back into small-talk after that, but by that point Greg doesn’t feel so bothered. Instead, he feels as if a colossal weight’s been lifted from his chest. He’s not sure Steven fully understands the gift he’s given him today, opening up a little about his inner life after so many long weeks of self imposed silence, but the reassurance it’s offered about the state of their bond is astronomical. It promises healing, a brand new chance to listen and understand.

To change and grow in relationship together, father and son.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks hesitantly as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bud?”

He diverts his attention from the dashboard for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the teenager. Clutching their leftovers in his lap, Steven’s eyes land on the stack of CDs tucked into the door pocket.

“D’ya think we can listen to one of your albums on the way back?”

With a watery smile, he switches the van’s radio to disk mode.

“Take your pick.”

[loopstagirl]

Fractured Reflection, Ch 4

TW: Prisoner of war, torture

With many thanks to @scribbles97 for keeping me inspired!

Scott's POV 1 | Jeff's POV 1 | Scott's POV 2 | Jeff's POV 2 | Scott's POV 3 | Jeff's POV 3

Chapter 4 - Scott's POV

It took several days after the debriefing for Scott to find any semblance of balance again. Saying it out loud, putting that room into words, made it real and tangible. It seemed so close, like it was just down the corridor and if they decided they didn’t like his answers, that’s where he was going until he changed his story.

The nightmares got worse. A low-grade fever left him sweating and shaking as he struggled to deal with the shock of what they’d suggested.

Him. A traitor.

Captain Scott Tracy of the United States Air Force, decorated pilot, son of Jeff Tracy, a legendary hero, a traitor.

The worst part was that for a second, he wondered if it was true.

During the darkest moments, he couldn’t remember what he’d told them. He had bargained with them, forcing their attention on him to protect the rest of his team. He didn’t think he was stronger than them, far from it. But they were his squad. It was his duty, his responsibility, to keep them from harm.

The water boarding. The room. The beatings. The humiliation. Scott always believed his family had stopped him from losing his mind: those precious memories giving him a fragile grip on reality. But what if his mouth had betrayed him, betrayed his country, even as his mind drifted away with thoughts of his mother’s smiling face; his brothers’ laughing; his father’s strong arms keeping him safe?

His dad wasn’t enough this time. But by the time the fever broke and they got him back on solid foods again, a therapist had been lined up. The first session left him more wrung out than any of his recovery so far, but it had helped.

Deep down, he knew he hadn’t betrayed anyone, other than maybe himself. It hadn’t taken long for someone to help him reassert his self-belief and shake off the thoughts those Generals had planted in his head.

Of course, it helped that the Generals didn’t come back with any other questions. Scott had a feeling Colonel Casey had something to do with that. She’d been almost as furious as his father at what they’d been insinuating, and Scott knew his ‘aunt’ would’ve have given some higher-ups hell over it, regardless of rank.

But now, things had started looking up again. He’d had another session with the therapist. Then he’d been introduced to a different sort of therapist. Scott had been both looking forward to, and dreading, the start of physical therapy. He wanted to get back on his feet, wanted full motion back again. But he didn’t want to face his own weakness. Never mind his mouth; his body had certainly betrayed him.

It was both better and worse than he had anticipated. But there was one side effect he hadn’t considered.

It exhausted him. More than anything. In fact, it exhausted him so much he managed to sleep without nightmares tearing him from his new reality to his old one.

A week after the debriefing, Scott slowly opened his eyes. It was bright in the room, a natural light rather than the glow of the lamp he insisted was left on. Purely to help anyone coming and going, of course.

But for the first time, he’d slept the night through.

He felt it, too. The blanket was a warm weight rather than the suffocating restraint it had been previously. He hurt, but it wasn’t the agonising stab of memory, more the slightly unpleasant ache of pushing himself too far.

(Apparently, no one told this therapist they’d have a harder job slowing their new patient down than motivating them to take the next step).

Scott rolled his head to the side, and the memory of a smile touched his lips. It no longer surprised him to see his father in the chair by his bed. The man had told him he was going to stay by his side, and he’d stayed true to that. Scott knew he should tell him to go, find a proper bed, get a decent night. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Jeff was exhausted. Scott could tell by the way he didn’t immediately wake up as soon as his son moved. It gave him a moment to study the man, though. There was no doubt he’d aged in the time Scott had been missing, and dark circles ringed his eyes, making him look drawn and, well, old.

But as he looked, Scott’s gaze drifted to his dad’s hand. It was resting, palm up on his leg, his fingers loosely curled around something. It was obvious he’d been holding it tight, but sleep had made his grip soften. Scott caught a glimpse of something metal.

He shifted again, his whole body moving this time. It was enough to make his dad stir. He instantly sat up straighter, cracking his neck from side to side before smiling at his son.

“Good morning.”

Scott’s lips twitched. He wasn’t quite there yet; his muscles seemed to have forgotten how to form expressions other than fear and pain.

His dad stretched but Scott’s gaze was locked on his hand still. It had clenched as he moved.

“What’s that?” Scott gestured at his father’s hand.

His dad looked down at his closed fist. He went still, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. For a moment, Scott didn’t think he was going to say anything. When he did, his voice was quiet but hoarse, as if his emotions were constricting him.

“It’s,” he stopped. Swallowed. Came forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. Scott shifted over to give him space, pleased when his body let him move with something that resembled ease.

“They’re yours,” his dad whispered. Slowly, his fist opened. Scott stared.

He remembered all too clearly the day he’d been presented with the tags. Five days in to his basic military training, queuing up with what would later become his squad: going through the process of registering his information and getting his fingerprints taken to give him an active record on the system. Being presented with the two small pieces of metal and the instructions to have them with him, always.

Scott hadn’t taken them off from that day onwards. Even when he was on leave, and his brothers had pestered to see them, he’d unhooked them from his shirt, let them hold the tags in their hands, warmed by the closed contact with his skin. But never once had he slipped the chain from around his neck.

He could remember all too well when he’d lost them as well.

It hadn’t been immediate. Their captors had let them keep them, let them cling on to their identities, for all the good it did them. As far as he could tell, the rest of the squad had been rescued with theirs still on. It was the only way their captors had let them keep any of their humanity.

But not Scott.

It had been that final time they’d dragged him to isolation. Once they’d got him away from the others, two men holding his arms even as they’d forced him to his knees, another soldier had stepped in front of him. With one sharp tug, he’d torn them from his neck. In that movement, he’d also torn away Scott’s sense of self, his hope, and his adamant belief he was going to see his family again.

He’d torn away what had made Scott Tracy the man he was.

“How-,” this time, it was his voice that was shaking. “How did you get them?”

He thought he knew, though. All along, there had been something missing. His father had refused to say how they’d provided proof of life, refused to comment on what had sparked off the rescue mission when everyone higher up the chain of command had written Scott off as lost.

“They sent them to me,” his dad murmured. “A small, unobtrusive package arrived at the office one day. They thought they were sending a ransom. While it was true that sending me your tags was enough to get my attention, they made a mistake. Sending me these was giving me my son back.”

Scott thought he understood. Until then, his dad hadn’t had a reason to believe he was alive. Sending the tags had given him hope, even as it had been taken away from Scott.

“Here.” His dad gently took his wrist, angling his hand until he could slip the tags onto Scott’s palm.

Scott froze. They were warm from the heat of his father’s skin. The engravings glinted in the warm light of the room, providing Scott with information he’d forgotten about himself in that place. All he could do was stare for a long moment.

A gentle hand covered his own, slowly folding his fingers around the tags. Scott let it happen, but he didn’t consciously move. When the hand disappeared, shifting to a soft grip on his shoulder, Scott made himself look up.

“Scotty?”

With a yell he didn’t know he had in him, Scott threw the tags across the room.

They stripped his identity from him when they’d taken those tags. But giving them back didn’t restore everything he’d lost.

“They’re not mine,” he said, breathing heavily.

“Scott, they are.”

“No.” Scott looked away. “That’s not me.”

The man those tags belonged to had been lost in that prison, trapped in the darkness begging for someone to come and save him. How could Scott take the tags back when he couldn’t go back to the man who’d worn them?

He kept his head turned as his father stood up. He heard him collect the tags from where they’d fallen. While Scott was grateful that his dad didn’t try and give them back, he also didn’t know what to do when the man placed them on the bedside table.

“No one is making you wear them,” he murmured in a soothing tone. “But don’t give up on them so easily.”

Don’t give up on yourself so easily is what Scott heard.

He was breathing heavily through his nose, trying to keep the tears at bay. He was so tired of feeling weak and vulnerable, his emotions getting the better of him after so long suppressing them. But there was something about those two small pieces of metal and the chain holding them together that was more of a painful reminder of what he’d lost than anything his dad could’ve said.

The bed dipped again under his father’s weight.

“You think that because of what you went through, you’re not the man you were? Well, you’re right. No one can undo what you experienced, although god knows I wish I could. No amount of therapy is going to get that man back, son. It’s changed you. But it’s up to you to figure out if that’s for better or worse.”

Scott couldn’t look at him, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the bedspread. It wasn’t a surprise when a hand cradled the back of his head and his father pressed a kiss to his forehead before he stood up. No doubt he was intending to give his son space to come to terms with his latest emotional rollercoaster.

“Dad?”

Scott found his voice just before his father walked out of the door. He stopped, looking back.

“Scott?”

Scott sat up straighter, forcing himself to meet his dad’s gaze.

“Help me shave?”

A grin split over Jeff’s face and he nodded.

“Of course. I’ll get what we need.”

He hurried out, as if Scott was going to change his mind in the few moments it took him to fetch everything. But all Scott did was force himself to sit up straighter, flexing his fingers. He wasn’t steady enough to hold the razor himself yet.

His father had made a good point. He couldn’t be the man he was before. But that didn’t mean he had to be the man that prison had made him, either.

Scott wasn’t naïve: it wasn’t as simple as a change in mindset. He was still haunted; still scarred, both physically and mentally.

But as he got ready to take back some control, he figured a change in his thoughts had to be a damn good starting point.

-x-

“Two more beads, then you’re done.”

Mal’s voice was warm and encouraging. Scott gritted his teeth, his hand, no, his entire arm, trembling, as he held the small bead between thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he held the string as steady as he could, concentrating as he tried to thread the bead on.

It was his fifth physical therapy session, and if Mal was surprised by the strides his patient was taking, he was professional enough not to show it. He hadn’t needed any of his usual coaxing with Scott. Instead, he’d needed to remind the man what his body had gone through and pushing it wasn’t going to make him heal any faster, but the opposite.

Scott threaded one bead, then the second. He saw Mal shift out of the corner of his eye, no doubt prepared to take the equipment away. Before he could do so, Scott threaded a third bead.

“Alright, hot shot,” Mal laughed. “You proved your point.”

He took them away before Scott could do anymore. Scott sat back in the chair with a sharp exhale, surprised when he realised his forehead was damp with perspiration. It should’ve been such a simple task, but it took it out of him more than he cared to admit.

They’d set his fingers, straightening them out after they’d healed wrong from previous breaks. Improving his dexterity hadn’t been quite as straightforward, but Scott was adamant he would get it back. He might not be able to play the piano properly, but that had never been his forte anyway. As long as he would be able to fly, that was good enough for him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mal said. “We’ll hit the gym.”

Scott nodded. He liked his physical therapist. Mal didn’t treat him like he was broken; didn’t let Scott wallow in self-pity. He treated him like a buddy, challenging him in a friendly way that Scott couldn’t refuse even if he found it hard. He wondered what that said about his pride, whether it was as gone as he believed…

“Mr Tracy.”

“Mal.”

Scott looked up at the voice. As Mal left with a cheerful wave, his father came in with two coffees in his hand. Scott gave a small smile, the action gradually coming back to him with each day that passed. The medical staff had tried to warn him off the caffeine, before realising it was a far greater motivator to make him do as he was told than anything else.

He took the offered cup, but had to put it down. His muscles were trembling from the activity he’d just been doing.

His dad sat on the bed. He didn’t say anything: he’d learnt not to ask how the session had been as Scott would only focus on what he should’ve been able to do rather than what he’d managed.

“I was thinking we could get some fresh-,” he trailed off, frowning.

Scott heard it, too. The sound of a commotion coming from further down the hallway. He glanced at his dad, who shook his head: he didn’t know what was going on, either.

Scott shrank back. He didn’t mean to. But the last time he’d heard raised voices down a corridor, they’d been coming for him.

Whether his father had seen the action or was just curious himself, Scott didn’t know. But he leapt from the bed and stuck his head out of the door.

“Stay here,” he called back. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Scott didn’t point out he was exhausted after his therapy session: he couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to. But he did force himself to sit up straighter, refusing to be that scared little boy again.

But as the noise came closer, Scott straightened even more. He frowned. This wasn’t a threat. This was something familiar. He knew those voices. They’d got him through the worst moments of his life. Not his team, but people even closer to him than that…

Just as Scott intended to stand, the door opened. His dad appeared, a look Scott recognised from years gone by: half-exasperation, half-fondness.

Four very familiar figures crowded in the doorway. For a moment, there was a sharp intake of breath. Scott stared back just as intently as they were looking at him.

John: paling when he saw his big brother, but the smile uncurling making him look years younger.

Virgil: jaw set, head lifted as he refused to show what he thought about his brother’s appearance and instead trying to be strong.

Gordon: his jaw dropping when he saw Scott.

Alan: giving a small gasp, tears flooding his eyes and turning into John.

Scott didn’t know what to say. Even after weeks of the best care the military had to offer (plus a bit more, given Jeff’s refusal to leave and no one wanting to upset him), he knew he still looked like a mess.

He was wearing a zipped hoodie and tracksuit bottoms. But the exertion of the therapy had made him unzip the top, leaving his chest and torso exposed. Most of the wounds were well on their way to healing, but the scars were still puckered and raw. Scott jerked, quickly pulling the zipper back up.

“Well, fu-.”

“Gordon!” John’s hand shot out, cuffing him over the head.

“What?” Gordon protested, rubbing his head, and looking at John. “He’s not exactly Prince Charming right now.”

“He’s never been Prince Charming,” Virgil said in a distracted tone. His gaze was locked on Scott, his expression serious. Scott wondered if he even realised he’d spoken.

But Scott knew he’d seen what the others hadn’t. The slightest relaxation in his shoulders at Gordon’s words. It was better than pretending everything was fine and nothing amiss.

“That’s because Prince Charming is the boring one. I’d rather be Aladdin,” Gordon shot back.

“A thief?”

“At least he gets to have more adventures.”

“Doesn’t get to fight a dragon though,” John said.

Their dad was shaking his head at their antics. But Alan’s tears had dried up and colour had returned to John’s cheeks. Before Gordon could respond, there came another sound.

One that had been missing for a very long time. Longer than Scott had been gone. As even though he’d been in the hospital for several weeks now, he hadn’t realised he still had this in him. Listening to his brothers’ banter, their utterly ridiculous conversation given where they were standing and what they were faced with, there was only one thing Scott could do.

He laughed.

It didn’t last long but enough to see the startled look on his father’s face relaxing into a pleased smile. John and Gordon exchanged smug smirks and the four brothers made their way into the room.

Scott looked at his dad. “Help me?” he murmured softly.

The man helped him over to the bed, knowing what Scott wanted. Scott then pulled Alan up next to him, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. Virgil snagged the chair and dragged it over even as Gordon climbed on the bed, sitting cross-legged on the end. Virgil sat in the chair, also folding his legs up, while John leant against the wall.

Scott looked around at the four of them. Drank in the sight of them. The feeling of Alan in his arms, Gordon’s weight leaning against his foot, reaching out and touching Virgil’s arm, making sure they were all real, all truly here.

There was a lump in his throat, but this time, it was different to when emotions had previously overwhelmed him. This felt… Scott swallowed. This felt positive.

He thought he’d been starting to come to terms with what had happened to him and started to process the emotions that came with that. But this time, it felt like a leaden weight in his chest had moved from his heart to his throat, and was fighting to free itself. He didn’t currently know how to speak, what he was supposed to say, but he felt that maybe he could breathe properly for the first time since he’d woken up.

He couldn’t stop himself, looking from one to the other, mouth opening. He wanted to tell them what it meant to him that they were here, how hard he’d kept fighting to come back to them and how they’d kept him going. But his voice didn’t work and tears flooded his eyes instead.

They were here.

They were really here.

Apparently, his father thought the same thing.

“How did you get here?” There was a firm note in his voice, one that gave away he expected an answer. Virgil flushed, looking at John who was pointedly examining something on the far wall with far greater intensity than a blank white patch needed. Both Alan and Gordon looked at their big brothers. When no one spoke, Gordon did.

“Virgil flew,” he announced. Virgil gave him a betrayed look and Gordon pulled an apologetic face. “What? You did. John navigated and made all those calls about landing rights and flight paths or whatever he was talking about but Virgil was at the controls.”

“Thank you, Gordon,” their dad said in a clipped tone. “I just didn’t realise he owned a plane to bring the three of you over to the mainland.”

“We may have borrowed Tracy 2,” John confessed to the wall.

“And you knew our location how?”

They were in a military hospital, after all. It wasn’t widely known exactly whereabouts it was located. This time, it was John who flushed and nothing else needed to be said.

Their dad pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “So, you stole my plane and came to a classified military hospital whose location John dug out from somewhere he shouldn’t have access to. How did you get past the guards?”

This wasn’t the sort of place that anyone could just walk into. Not only because it was military, but because of the severity of both the physical and emotional injuries being treated here. Too many things were triggers for the men and women who’d been through hell.

“Oh, that was all Alan,” Virgil said, sounding proud.

“Please, sir,” Alan said in a high voice. His blue eyes went impossibly wide. “Both my daddy and big brother are in there. I have to see them; I just have to.”

“Then I told them I really needed the bathroom,” Gordon chimed in, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Scott couldn’t help it. He laughed again. In a way, he should’ve known. Only his brothers would take entering a restricted military hospital as a challenge and not let anything stop them.

“That’s not exactly how it went down,” a voice said from the door. All the Tracys looked up.

“Aunt Val!” Alan cried, excitedly.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“You think I didn’t know as soon as you four cleared the flight path? I guessed you were coming here, although I’m impressed that you made it that far. I warned the guards four tearaway kids would be arriving and to let them in.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Aunt Val,” John said. It had been a long time since anyone had called him a child.

“Are to me, kiddo,” Val said. She reached over and ruffled his hair, making John scowl and Gordon laugh. “Now, Gordon, Alan, how about you boys come and help me find some snacks.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Alan looked like he was going to protest but Gordon slipped off the bed, serious for once and knowing to do as he was told. She gestured them out in front of her, and Scott watched them leave.

“Alan’s grown,” he said quietly, “and Gordon’s got stronger.”

“He’s training hard,” his dad said. “Taking it seriously.”

“Good.”

Scott had been worried his brothers would give up their own dreams when he’d gone missing. He was glad to see that wasn’t the case, although he did wonder if Gordon had seen the pool as refuge rather than thinking about his career.

For a moment, there was silence. Scott looked up to see John and Virgil exchange glances heavy with unspoken meaning. He understood. For six months, the pair of them had been forced to deal with the idea that he was missing, captured behind enemy lines, and then presumed dead. They’d had to process a lot.

Now they were here and Scott knew he was hardly the brother who’d said goodbye to them last time he’d been home.

But with Alan and Gordon gone, he had some space. He shifted up on the bed, motioning for them to both come closer.

“I’m not going to break,” he told them.

Virgil had clearly been waiting for that. With a soft cry, he flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around his big brother. Scott returned the grip, and knew it was the strongest he’d held something in months.

“Don’t do that,” Virgil said against his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Scott said with a small smile. As John came closer, Scott lent his cheek against the top of Virgil’s head and allowed himself to smile.

[ancientwastedlores]

The Support System (Ch: 5)

SUMMARY: The Avengers have managed to collect all the infinity stones across the universe, and are currently keeping them in far corners of the world, only for research and to see if they can improve the planet and its people. Reader is a researcher with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, as well as a field agent. Loki is currently serving time for his actions in New York City in 2012.

A/N: Find this chapter on AO3 here. Feedback and fic requests totally welcome. 

AO3: The Support System  Tumblr:  Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter: 5/? Warnings: Rough fighting.   Audience: general.

______________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 5:

Once in the training room, he looks at the wall with all the weapons. You naturally gravitate towards the katanas, which he spots you pick up.

‘Is that…?’ ‘Yes!’ you show him the handles. ‘Odin stealing poetry from the Jotuns’. ‘How do you know!?’ ‘I grew up reading those stories’.

His eyes widen, undoubtedly the possibility of you knowing stories about him as well running through his mind. You figure it out, but say nothing.

‘The katanas are your favourite?' he asks.  ‘I wouldn’t say that, but I do find myself getting really good with these lately. I’ve considered taking these on the mission’.

Loki turns away to inspect the other weapons on the wall. You strap the harness on and place the katanas in. ‘Whenever you’re ready’.

‘Oh, I’m ready’ he walks to the middle of the room. ‘You don’t have any weapons’. ‘I don’t need any’ he gives you a devilish grin. ‘No magic’ you warn. ‘We didn’t agree on that. Come on’. ‘No!’ ‘Are we scared?’

You raise an eyebrow. You will not be challenged. You take your place at the centre as well. ‘Don’t be offended if I stab you’

‘It wouldn’t make a difference’.

With flourish, you remove the katanas from behind you. You charge at him then jump, and you expect him to block you. He merely disappears and you fall flat on your face. You get up and look behind you, where he stands, grinning again.

Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it.  

You charge at him again, jump again, and he disappears. You expect it and promptly take one of your katanas and stab the air behind you. It hits its mark. You turn to see the katana pierce his abdomen. You look at his face, but he’s still grinning. You feel a strong pair of hands grab your neck from behind and choke you and the Loki next to you disappears. You realise it’s an illusion again. You roll your eyes, drop your katanas, and break from Loki’s grip by flipping him over your body so he’s now on the floor. You smirk at him and go to pick up the katanas you dropped, except another pair of hands circle your stomach and pull you back, then throw you against the wall.

You fall, stunned. You didn’t expect him to be so rough on you. Oh well. You know he’s just going to keep using illusions, but at least it will tire you out, something no agent or Nat has managed to do. 

You continue fighting. At some point you stopped using the katanas and resorted to a gun after being frustrated. You manage to corner him and hold him at gun point. A clone comes up behind you to grab the gun, but you expect it now and just throw an elbow behind you, giving the clone a fake bloody nose. You smile at Loki.

‘Oh, there’s more back there’. ‘I’ve fought of three bad guys while still holding onto a baby’ you brag.

He looks amused at that, ‘I still suggest you turn around’.

You roll your eyes and turn around, expecting something ridiculous like a whole room of Lokis. You’re greeted by a frost giant.

‘What the…’ ‘Meet Angr’ he says.

The Frost Giant, Angr, whose height is about the height of the room, moves like a cat. He ducks and grabs your leg, pulls you to the ground and disarms you.

‘You play dirty’ you accuse Loki. ‘You asked me to fight’ he says, and you can hear the arrogance in his voice.

You're actually out of breath and quite tired, also something no agent has managed to do. You stand up and stare down Angr, which is not an easy feat since he towers over you.

‘Size doesn’t matter’ you mutter to yourself.

Behind you, Loki chuckles.

You’re quick too. Your gloves, provided by the kind Princess of Wakanda, are made of Vibranium and have claws. You use these to claw into Angr’s ice skin and climb up; you get to his head and mount it, his neck between your legs, and you position the claws at his neck.

‘Only an illusion, right?’ you ask. ‘Of course’ Loki says.

You take a deep breath, and as a final gesture, you reach forward to grab Angr’s neck, then pull, expecting blood to go everywhere. But Loki has had enough of indulging you, and just makes the giant disappear, causing you to fall. You somersault in the air and manage to safely land on your feet. 

You laugh and lie down on the floor to catch your breath. Loki keeps standing in his corner, now dead silent.

‘Oh god, THAT was a workout’ you announce. ‘That was amazing, why haven’t I been training with you all this time?’ you jump on your feet to pick up the weapons you dropped.

He keeps silent. You pick up the knives, guns, katanas and a few other things you grabbed from the walls to fight. You’ve never felt the need to resort to all of them. You place them back on the wall neatly, while seeing your reflection in the clean metal. You’re actually bruised.

You don’t mind, but hope it clears up before you have to go.

You’re still a bit startled by how rough Loki played, though. You’ve had serious sparring sessions with Natasha and Maria Hill, who both at one point, lightly stabbed you and then told you to walk it off. Even new recruits who didn’t know how to control their strength caused you an injury or too without meaning to, which you recovered from. But with Loki, it felt like he knew exactly what he was doing, and didn’t want to stop.

It somehow it didn’t feel like a good natured fight, now that you think about it.

You decide not to bring it up immediately, though. It’s been about two hours, and you’re drenched in sweat. But you do want to bring it up when you’re watching Doctor Who later in the night.

xx

After sitting locked up in your room for the next few hours, nursing your wounds on your face, arms, and back, showering, and reading a few research papers, you leave your room for dinner. 

‘JESUS kid, what happened to you?’ Tony exclaims, as you walk into the dining room. ‘Well, I finally met my match’ you laugh, pointing at Loki. ‘I haven’t bruised like that since my first month training with Natasha’.

Tony glares at Loki, obviously interpreting you incorrectly.

‘No, I asked him to fight me. It’s not his fault!' you jump to his defense. Well, it is a little bit, but you decide to keep that to yourself and confront him later. ‘Uhuh’ Tony says, not totally convinced. ‘Sure. Sit down, we got your favourite’.

You take your seat across from Loki’s, who is avoiding looking at you and staring only at his plate. Everyone wants to ask about your sparring session with Loki, more out of concern than anything else.

You assure them it was fun, and the bruises don’t hurt that much, and you’ll be fine within the week.

‘We don’t have to have our session tomorrow’ Natasha says. ‘No, I’m good, really’. ‘Kid, you’re going to get yourself killed’ Tony warns. ‘I’m fine, reall…’ ‘You’re taking an off tomorrow. That’s an order’ his tone is final.

You know not to argue with that.

Conversation continues as usual. You keep trying to make eye contact with Loki, who only stares at his plate. You let it go and let your mind wander to the techniques you used to fight Loki’s illusions, trying to store them in memory.

xx

It wasn’t just you who had a rough day. Tony and Bruce got tired of not getting anywhere with the Reality Gem, and moved to a new project for the time being. Bruce didn’t want to share yet what he was up to, but Tony threw himself into upgrading weapons for the extraction mission. Nat spent the day inspecting the S.H.I.E.L.D agents chaperoning them for the mission along with Hill. Sam Wilson was also asked to join, so he spent the day trying out the upgraded weapons for Tony in his lab.

Everyone agreed they wanted a drink, but you decide to just go to bed, since you’re tired. You do, however, take a few beers to your room. Bruce asks you to sit with them, but you really want to just sit in bed and watch TV and drink them. You bid good night to everyone and head to your room.

Loki’s in there with the season 5 DVD in his hand, sitting on a chair. You smile at him and show him the beers you got. ‘Dranks’.

He laughs.

You open a can and set the rest of the cans down on the floor. ‘So now that I have you alone’ you say. ‘What was that fighting all about?' ‘You asked me to’. ‘No, I know, but you went AT it. Like you were actually trying to hurt me’. ‘You’re being dramatic’ Loki says, avoiding your eyes as he gets up to go the DVD player. You grab his arm and make him turn to face you. ‘No, actually, I’m pretty sure I’m not. I’ve had intense sessions, and then there was whatever the hell you were doing. I’m asking nicely. Don’t make me ask again’.

His lips purse, and he studies you. There is no anger in your eyes. It does terrify him a little that you’re keeping calm.

‘Okay, fine, I don’t want you to go’ he confesses. ‘So you were trying to what, give me a fracture?’ ‘I just wanted to show you how dangerous it can be out there so you would change your mind about leaving’. ‘What!’ you start to laugh loudly. ‘You actually thought that would happen?’ ‘I don’t know. I thought it was worth a shot’ he furrows his brows. ‘You don’t have to laugh’. ‘Loki, you could literally kill me and I’d still get up and go’. ‘WHY?’ ‘Because I want to’ you say firmly. ‘You can’t stop me. If it troubles you, I won’t ask you to fight with me again. But don’t try and stop me’.

You let go of his arm, and it drops to his side, his shoulders slumping. He looks at you sadly.

‘Loki... what is it?’ you ask. ‘I’ve only just begun to feel like I belong, I can’t have you leave and maybe not come back’. ‘I haven’t even left, and you’ve gone and assumed me dead?’ this sounds so much like your mother, who had already assumed the worst case scenario before you even sent in your application to S.H.I.E.L.D.

‘It’s purely selfish’ he admits, ‘but I don’t want you to go. Please…’ he grabs your shoulders, ‘…reconsider’. ‘Loki, Tony wants me to go. But you have nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine’. ‘I know you will be’ he lets go of you. ‘I hate to admit it, but you did a great job today, which is why I stopped’.

You inwardly congratulate yourself for impressing the God of Mischief, but a smile does escape you. He sees it.

‘Don’t get used to the compliments’ he chuckles. ‘I’ll put on the DVD. You can get into bed’.

______________________________________________________________

Let me know if you want me to tag you when I post new chapters :) 

[storytime-hoe]

Tough Love Ch.4

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x O/C

Summary: Story picks up during season three as the group goes into Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor. However, they pick up another prisoner of Woodbury, Emma (O/C). She is a thief who fears friendships after her hard losses. She stays on the move, studying communities from afar and then robbing them blind. She has stayed alive this way for a while until the Governor catches her in the act. Now she finds herself with the group from the prison in a mission to kill the Governor for what he has done to her. She plans on stealing supplies from the prison group after the Governor is killed, but she might be growing a little too close to the groups members, especially one man in particular: Daryl Dixon.

Warnings: Slow burn, language, usual twd violence, mentions of abuse/rape

Authors Note: Gonna be honest and let you know Daryl isn’t really in this one and I really needed to establish some things with other characters and stuff. But like this chapter might disappoint a lot so I will post the next one tomorrow and not keep you waiting for something good. Thanks for understanding xoxo

Previously: Ch.1       Ch.2       Ch.3 

I swear when I arrived at the prison I instantly cursed myself for spending so much time on Woodbury when I should've been focusing on this place. Sure, the prison was harder to get in and out of, but I could have managed it. I spent a month planning out how to sneak into Woodbury to steal their things, when the prison was a gold mine for me. They didn't have the man power that the Governor had, but their food supply was much more diverse. When Maggie brought me inside, I couldn't believe what this group had managed to scavenge. They didn't have very many people, but the few that they did have were no pussies. They were a damn tough bunch, that was for sure.

And they were currently all tense as hell. Daryl running off with his brother had a negative effect on everyone that knew him. I could feel the collective hate for Merle that bounced around the concrete walls because he had stolen away someone that everyone looked up to. It was a little strange for me to see how upset people were. I wondered if Daryl even knew how much these people loved him. And if he did know how could he just leave them all behind?

I felt uncomfortable joining in on the group. I didn't know their names well yet. There was no formal introductions these days, but I was picking up on them slowly. Carol, with her short grey hair, seemed the most bothered about Daryl. She put a bony hand up to her mouth and sucked in a breath when Rick told her. I felt numb watching her feel emotion for someone. I hadn't had that pleasure since my brother. He was the last person I ever really cared about. The thought of befriending anyone else made me ache. The more people you love, the higher the risks of getting hurt. And I was not getting hurt again.

That's why I started to mentally plan my departure. My mind went to picking out which items I would take with me when I left, that was, after I killed the Governor. Once he was dead I would be taking all I could carry and going on my way. I had no current desire to spend more time here than necessary. I wasn't sure where I would go next, and frankly I wasn't worried about it. I would figure it out along the way.

"Maggie might have some clothes that will fit you," said a sweet voice from behind me.

I turned around to see a young girl with blonde wavy hair. In her arms she held a chunky little baby. I was shocked at the sight of it. I stared at it in half disbelief. The child crooned and held my gaze for the longest time. It looked calm, like it had no worries in the world. I envied that.

"Um," the girl shifted the baby on her hip, "I'm Beth, and this is Judith."

I blinked myself free of my stare and looked at her vacantly. "The mother?"

Her quick glance to the ground told me the answer to my question, but it was a little boy who stalked by and answered me aloud.

"She's dead," he said plainly, not bothering to stop to look at me.

I could tell instantly he was not a fan of me. I was a stranger, it made sense that he was cautious.

Once the boy was out of earshot, Beth spoke again. "That's Carl. His mother died having the baby."

Asking the question was stupid and rude of me in the first place, but my people skills were a little rusty. I should have kept my mouth shut, then maybe the kid-Carl- would not have ended up scowling at me from across the room every two seconds. I had accidentally created an enemy out of the poor kid. But, if he needed a person to hate after the tragic events of his mother's death, then I didn't mind to be that person. I didn't care what anyone here thought of me in the end.

"We have a water trough out back," Maggie said, saving me from the depressing conversation with Beth. "I can show you to it, let you get cleaned up," she said with an attempted grin.

"Afterwards I'll take a look at you. I can already tell you'll need a few stitches on your brow." I turned again to look at the old man who had spoken from his bench beside Michonne. He had introduced himself as Hershel. He was obviously the doctor that Rick had mention, judging by how he was cleaning out Michonne's wound on her leg.

"Thank you," I muttered to them. Hearing the words coming from my lips sounded weird. I hadn't been verbally grateful to anyone in what felt like a lifetime. It was strange having people look out for me again. I almost didn't know how to react to all of this. I was anxious and out of place here, another reason I was eager to kill the Governor and leave as soon as possible.

Maggie took me outside and around the corner where they had a supply of clean water stored in round barrels and low troughs. She left me with a rag to wipe off with and neatly folded jeans and a loose white tank top. I looked down at the worn out clothes that I had lived in for more than I would have liked. It was about time I peeled these from my skin.

I was left by myself outside of the prison. I groaned as I lifted my shirt over my head with much effort, every muscle screaming for me to stop. Looking at my stomach I saw the black and blue decorating my skin that was left over from both Merle's torture sessions and my last encounter with the Governor.

I dipped the cloth in the water and wiped off the dirt layer that rested on my sensitive skin, doing my best to decipher grime from bruise. It took me forever to clean up the mess that I had become, dabbing at the crusted blood that coated my face. I spent a solid twenty minutes just untangling my hair and re-braiding the wet hair down my back.

I took my sweet time cleaning myself up, basking in the comfort of the soft rag against my skin. All the while my mind was wandering off to things I was trying so hard to forget. I don't know why I cared, but I couldn't help but question how Daryl was doing out there with Merle. I barely knew the guy. The only time we spoke was when we were angry and had to speak; it was never under good circumstances. Still, I thought about how he was handling Merle and for some odd reason I felt the urge to need to protect him from Merle, as if he hadn't lived with the man for his entire life.

I shook away my thoughts and stared down at the small barrel of water I had used and turned a dark brown color from rinsing off. I didn't even recognize myself in the reflection of the dirtied water. The bags under my eyes had darkened ten times since the last time I checked and my cheeks looked sunken in a bit. I guess I hadn't got the sleep or nourishment I needed in Woodbury. I looked worn out, like I had been through hell and back, and I certainly felt that way too. Every breath hurt my insides.

I tossed my old clothes away, leaving them behind as the last part of Woodbury. Walking back into the prison, I made my way to Hershel, who was finishing up looking over Michonne's injuries.

"I was hoping you wouldn't be as roughed up as her," he addressed me as I slowly entered. "But by the looks of it you might be making my job more difficult."

His kind smile reached his eyes. The welcoming vibe about him gave me the courage to approach and sit down on the bench next to him. He immediately began with the gash on my eyebrow. It took several stitches to close it up. He put ointment on anything else that I had on my body, but it was my ribs that I was dreading he look at. I lifted up my shirt for him and when his brow drew in in concern I knew it was bad news.

He pressed around on it and I sucked in a breath between my teeth. I didn't even notice that Michonne was staring at my bruised torso until afterwards.

"I don't think any of the ribs are broken too bad," Hershel started as he was getting a wrap ready to put around my mid section. "A few may be fractured. It'll just take time to heal them."

I stood to let him warp the cloth tightly around me, keeping everything inside of me in the right place. While he was still working on me, Glenn had gathered Michonne, Maggie, Beth, Carol, and Carl around so he could discuss going after the Governor. He thought we should attack the Governor before he had the chance to come at us. I noted how he mentioned that the whole front of the prison was not secure. I soaked in all they said about the place for after my job with them was done and I would be sneaking out on my own. They gave me everything I needed to know, all their weaknesses.

"How do we know the Governor is going to attack? We coulda scared him off," Maggie said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Michonne rolled her eyes. "He had fish tanks with heads." My head jerked up to look at her as she spoke. I had known he was a sick man, but I wasn't expecting this. "Walkers and humans," she continued. "Trophies. He's coming."

My heartbeat quickened at the thought of the Governor coming back here and taking me back with him. Or putting all of our heads in tanks for him to take pride in everyday.

"We should hit him now," I agreed with Glenn. The group turned to look at me, as if forgetting I was there.

"What?" Beth looked at me like I was crazy.

But Glenn was quick to support my statement. "He won't be expecting it. We'll sneak back in and put a bullet in his head."

"We aren't assassins," Carol informed him, but he wasn't listening.

"You know where his apartment is," he said to Michonne, walking up to her eagerly. "You and I could win this tonight."

"Don't even think about leaving me out of this." I took a step forward only thinking better of it after Hershel placed a tender hand on me to hold me back so that he could finish his work.

Glenn looked me over, his one eye still swollen slightly from Merle's beat down in Woodbury. "Hershel just said you have fractured ribs. I don't think you can go in there with us."

My temper was quick to rise, especially when people were telling me what I was and wasn't capable of. "You can barely see out of one eye," I pointed out. "And Michonne isn't exactly up for this either."

Michonne didn't agree with me, but she didn't disagree either.

"Rick won't allow it," Hershel offered up as he was cleaning away his bloodied rags and medical supplies.

Glenn turned to face him. "You really think he's in any position to make that choice."

I furrowed my brow. I hadn't noticed the absence of their supposed leader. He looked out of his mind back when he took me from Woodbury, and I must've been right judging by how everyone glanced around at each other. I could only guess how this world had finally messed up another person's mind. That's when I noticed Carl. His mother died after she had her baby, so her death must have been recent enough that people weren't over it yet. Including Rick.

"We know the Governor is coming back, so why are we still here," Hershel said in his mesmerizingly calm voice. "We can't stay here."

"We can't run," Glenn responded firmly and his expression only softened after Maggie stormed away from the conversation and into her own cell.

Glenn ran a hand through his hair and finally decided against going after the Governor, but we weren't running either, thank God. He drew out a map of the prison for us so we could at least busy ourselves with helpful work.

He was taking Carl down to the tombs they called it. It was a part of the prison that was backed up with Walkers. They had managed to get in and it was only a matter of time before they took over. I argued to go down with the two boys, which they finally agreed upon. I needed somewhere to get out my frustration, and killing Walkers was the only solution right now.

I felt fire coursing through my veins when I killed one after the other. I hadn't gotten the chance to take on so many Walkers in a while. And I really missed it. It felt so natural to be swinging out recklessly at a Biter and to finally give zero fucks about the world.

After countless hours of killing the meander-thaws, which was the therapy I needed, we went back up with the group. Glenn made a decision to go on a run alone, leaving us there to defend ourselves if the Governor appeared. I felt the place was vulnerable without any real fighters around. Again my mind went to Daryl. If he was here we could have stormed Woodbury again and easily fought the Governor. But yet again Merle ruins it all by taking him away.

"We don't need you here."

I looked to my side to see Carl was glowering at me still. He had stared daggers at me the entire time we were in the tombs together. I was honestly surprised he didn't try to push me into them in hopes that I would get bit.

We were standing outside the prison building now, watching Hershel crutch his way to the outer fence to convince Rick to come back to planet earth.

"According to Rick, I'm your best shot at touching the Governor," I smiled mockingly down at him. "Sorry kiddo, but you're stuck with me."

"My dad's wrong. He's been wrong a lot lately."

I peered at him from the corner of my eye. "Dad, huh?" That made more sense of why Rick was so upset about the recent death of Judith and Carl's mom. She was his wife too. She was someone he loved more than anyone, of course he was having a hard time coping.

Carl tilted his wide brimmed hat back to get a better look at me. "Why do you want to be here anyways?"

"Why do you hate me so much kid? What did I do to you?"

His jaw clenched before he answered. "I need to protect my family, and you are someone that puts them in danger."

"Just be glad you still have family to protect." I remembered again his mother and stupidly decided to add to my previous statement. "Well, more family than most of us, anyway."

Carl went silent. I felt bad for the wave of grief that washed over his face as he thought about his mother too. I was an ass, I knew that. It's just how I was sometimes. I finally took my eyes form Hershel and Rick and gave the little man my full attention, tipping his hat lightheartedly. "Listen, I am not trying to hurt your family here. Okay? I just want the Governor dead. And I can't do it all by myself, as much as I wish I could. That's why I'm here."

His expression went back to it's sternness in a second. "We still can't trust you. Doesn't matter if we have common goals."

I grinned at him. "You're one smart kid. Stay that way." I looked back towards the prison building where his baby sister was probably taking her third nap of the day. After Woodbury, I understood taking precautions when it came to strangers. Hell, I respected Carl for the way he wasn't being fooled by nobody. But, him not being entirely convinced I was here for the Governor's head only was pissing me off slightly. Because he was entirely fucking right.

Carl would be my number one difficulty when it came down to robbing the prison. I would have to make sure he didn't fuck it all up for me.

***

Tags:

@daryldixonandfrogs

[theashemarie]

Riding Out the Wave Ch. 3 - Pearlina Fic

↪Read chapter 1 here: [Adventures in Babysitting]

↪Chapter 2: [How We Got Here]

↪Chapter 4: [Morning Breakfast]

Crossposted: [AO3] [FFN]

Ch. 3: Gulf Space

The boat is quiet, and that’s worrying. Pearl and Marina sit with feet between them, with backs against the side. Dualies and Brella are huddled together near the front, and there’s a tension that’s strung tight between them, all four of them. The reality of what’s happened is finally sinking in, and Pearl wishes she could read Marina’s mind because Marina is being so, so quiet; she refuses to look at Pearl, and they haven’t touched since they separated from their unfortunately timed kiss. Pearl realizes now that that was probably a bad idea, all things considered—a very desperate (though not very hot and heavy, if you ask her) and sudden kiss in full view of a bunch of cameras—but she’s also not one for thought, especially when it comes to... romance.

(And wasn’t that romantic? Covered in ink, both their own and the enemy’s, breathing labored, Marina with that crazed, battle-look in her eyes. It certainly was hot, but not exactly romantic. Definitely not one of the dozens of ways that Pearl imagined it would happen, late at night when she was lying in bed. No sirree, those were safe, coffee shop affairs, or perhaps stage fever that resulted in a deep dip, Marina’s body cradled by Pearl’s arms. Not... during Salmon Run.)

Marina has one of the cameras that Pearl beaned in her lap and she’s got it cracked open. It looks fine to Pearl, but Marina keeps tutting as she digs around in the wires, searching for the short in order to fix it. She mutters about “unnecessary property damage” every now and then, and it’s pointed, so pointed that Pearl feels defensive. She wants to say that it shouldn’t be surprising, considering how much she used to break in her punk days and still breaks now (accidentally), but she’s also still reeling from the kiss so she just keeps her mouth shut.

There’s no sign of Grizz in their earpieces, so Pearl halfheartedly hopes that maybe the photos are stored locally in a memory card or something, not beamed back to whatever cave Mr. Grizz lives in. That’ll make the next few weeks a lot easier—she doesn’t want to have to bribe Grizz to keep the photos a secret, but she’ll do it if she has to. If Marina wants her to. She imagines that this whole thing won’t reflect on them... in a desired way.

But then, she doesn’t care, she realizes as she watches Marina let out a small aha! as she finds what she’s looking for. She dips those long fingers deep into the body of the camera and Pearl watches her dig around, feeling a bit uncomfortable. She forces herself to look away.

“There,” Marina says, and she screws the back into place with a screwdriver. Pearl is beginning to think that she takes that thing with her everywhere. “Good as new.”

“Any memory card?” Pearl asks, a little petulant.

Marina holds her hand up, and Pearl is happy to see a small black card caught between two of her fingers. “Whoops,” Marina sing-songs as she flicks her wrist, sending the card over her shoulder, over the side of the boat, and into the water.

“Yo, awesome!” Pearl hisses, and her impulsiveness gets the better of her as she jumps up to lay a kiss on Marina’s cheek. Marina, used to this thoughtlessness, quickly cuts her off, pushes her back before her lips can land, and she puts a finger against Pearl’s lips.

“Ssh,” Marina commands, and Pearl pouts her lips out against the finger.

Marina replaces the first camera with the second. Her deft fingers get to work quickly, and as Pearl watches her, she says: “You know that we’re gonna have to do this again, right?”

Pearl is a little too love struck by just how beautiful Marina’s hair is as she leans over the camera, so all she can think to say is, “Huh?”

Marina tuts under her breath and reaches further into the camera, going deep into the wires. “We’re getting rid of the evidence. That includes all the pictures.”

“Tch, whatevs.” Pearl waves a hand. “Like Grizz needs us to advertise. He has so many freelancers he doesn’t know what to do with them.”

Marina doesn’t answer, but Pearl sees her free hand tighten a little around the camera’s spherical body. “We agreed—”

Pearl sighs and puts a hand on Marina’s knee. “And your word is your vow. Yeah, I got it. You’re so stuffy sometimes, you know that? Is it a Marina thing or a...” Pearl glances around to make sure they’re not being listened to. “Y’know, an octoling thing?”

Marina finally looks up from the camera and she lets her head fall back against the side of the boat. “You read my file. You don’t get as high as I did without being reliable.”

“And here I thought it was your good looks. And your huge brain,” Pearl adds when she sees Marina roll her eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Marina declares, and she dips back into the camera. It’s fixed in no time, and Pearl lets the silence sit, mostly because she can’t think of a possible answer to that.

+

They bid Dualies and Brella farewell at the bonus window. Both young inklings agree to keep what they saw a secret, which makes Marina look so relieved that it brings Pearl pause. She hadn’t spared the whole thing much thought after deciding to bribe Mr. Grizz if she needs to, but that would explain Marina’s silence on the boat.

Pearl can’t pretend to completely understand Marina, and that hurts. A lot. Sure, she knows how Marina ticks most of the time, but she also doesn’t understand a lot of her past, a lot of the stuff that put her together and could pull her apart. Pearl is an open book, a simple story: a rich girl from an affluent family, spoiled to the core, but with a heart of gold and a penchant for rebellion. There’s not much mystery to her, other than one small stint with heterosexuality that she doesn’t ever want to talk about, but Marina? Marina is smoke; Marina is a tight, strained smile; Marina is a past that is full to the brim of dark things that she’ll never talk about. No matter how much Pearl dares pry, Marina will never talk about certain things, so Pearl will never know her completely.

And, for the most part, she’s okay with that. She may have grown up sheltered, but she also knows that there are some things you can’t know, some things you can’t push people on. Because, people will bend until they break, but some things cause stress fractures that spread. This is one of Marina’s fracture points.

That makes it so much harder though. They walk toward the studio, where a car is waiting to pick them up, and Pearl wants to grab Marina’s hand. She’s been waiting so long to do it, and now she practically has permission, but she’s also painfully aware of that relieved look, that you wouldn’t understand, the countless times Marina has pressed her headphones tighter to her head to hide her ears, and she realizes just how much attention that would get them. Already, people are noticing them, rushing forward to ask for pictures, and Marina is slowly pulling her face into the public one she uses everywhere.

Pearl keeps her hands to herself, grimaces in the pictures, and tries to ignore the giant hole that she feels between herself and Marina.

+

They need to talk. But, when they eventually get back to the apartment, Marina squirrels herself into her room. She spares a few seconds to say, “I need to think,” and stoops down to press a kiss to Pearl’s head. It’s chaste, like a mother to a child, and Pearl is stricken immediately. Does Marina already regret it? Did Pearl already screw it up? Is the gulf of their pasts too much? Marina’s face reveals nothing as Pearl forces herself not to say anything, to smile a strained smile, and she disappears behind her door.

Pearl plays a violent video game in the living room with the television turned all the way up. She punches and kicks, throws the controller when she dies, hugs a pillow close when she feels tears hot behind her eyes. She’s not sure exactly what to do, but she feels like she needs to do something. She knows that letting Marina think is good, but she also knows that thinking too long is bad; thinking too long leads to second thoughts, second guessing, and she doesn’t want Marina to back out of something they both clearly want.

Pearl wants to do this right. Marina feels like forever, and Pearl doesn’t want to screw that up. Marina is forever—she’s symbolic of a future that Pearl never had before, from their shared music career to their shared home, but more than that, she’s Pearl’s best friend and Pearl can’t lose that. In a life full of excess, she’s become used to having everything, and the idea of losing something so precious makes her sick to her stomach.

She hides her face in her knees. On screen, her character does its idle animation, begging input.

+

In the end, she tells herself that she didn’t cry, and she gets up. Her over-large sweatshirt hits her knees as she walks, and she quickly draws a beeline to Marina’s bedroom door so that she can’t second guess herself. She doesn’t go in, doesn’t knock, just listens. There’s some soft lo-fi music playing and Pearl imagines Marina leaning back against her pillows, headphones off, eyes closed, thinking. Or asleep. She never considered that Marina could have simply fallen asleep after such a long, emotional day, but she still has to try. She can’t just let this sit, not with them so close to the precipice, dangling over what could be the happiest moments of their lives. For once, she’s not the one being talked away from the edge.

She sinks to the floor beside the door, like she’s done so many times before. She lets her head loll back, exhausted both because it’s almost midnight and because of the day they had, closes her eyes like she imagines Marina has, and she lets the words fall out.

She’s always been a jabber mouth, but today it’s something else. She says it all, how unsure she’s been, how she’s been so scared, how much Marina means to her. Gone is the yelling, the limb flailing, the Pearl who has to bigger than life. In her place is a quieter, unfamiliar Pearl, one who is small and vulnerable and has no airs to put on. She says things like “I know you’ve been through hell, but I want to make sure that never happens again,” and “I love... having you here. You’ve... changed everything.”

Marina might be asleep. She might not hear any of this, but it feels good to get it out, to breathe it into the world so that Pearl doesn’t have it all inside her anymore, turning everything into mush. Finally, she can begin to harden again, in case everything goes horribly come morning. She has to build herself up from the inside out, in case this was all one big mistake, in case the battle-hardened warrior that she calls a roommate isn’t ready for all of this. In case the kiss was one giant, glaring misstep in their otherwise brilliant partnership.

Before she departs, she stands, staring at the door, and says, “I don’t want to give up on this, but if you want me to, I will.” It’s a small emission, but she wants to give Marina an out; the last thing she wants is Marina to feel pressured into anything.

There’s no reply. Pearl sighs and sinks into her room. Her bed is big, too big she realizes, but she climbs in, lying with her head on the edge of her pillow. The darkness has no substance to it as she stares out, like there’s too much vastness there, like the space between galaxies, the giant spaces of nothing that she imagines the humans once touched. She thinks about them a lot—the humans and their reaching, reaching arms, how much they destroyed to get what they wanted.

She hopes, desperately, that she doesn’t follow in their footsteps.

[yourlocalyorozuya]

Ask not for whom the bell tolls. Ch. 03

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira(its comin i promise)

Rating: T

Summary: A Goro/Akira fic set in the universe of the famous Poe fiction, The Mask of Red Death. The fic in itself is more of an expansion, setting the characters of Persona 5 in the AU.

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || A03 Link || Chapter 4

[[its 3am and im starving]]

[[le’s get a sandwich and also do this]]

Ask not for whom the bell tolls.

Chapter 3:

With the death of half the kingdom, it was only natural that rumors of a greater force, of a conspiracy would start to spread.

He'd first heard from the Charioteer that took him to his new residence.

"It stands over the bedside of the dying!" He says in a voice louder than the Prince would have liked, "And it takes their souls while they die on their cots!"

He gives some kind of placating response, but is duly ignored for more loud theatrics. It provided for a good distraction.

An ironic one.

As he's being led to his coffin for his own demise.

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

He first sees Death as he slept on his simple bed.

A being made from darkness incarnate.

From the holes in the wall to the cracks on the floor, like slithering serpents, like the chills over his skin.

The prince does not remember much of that encounter.

Only the ice in his lungs, the coming winter.

A mass of shadows by his bed, with soft whispers of words in an alien language.

The pale, dying moonlight that shone in between, a brief respite, did nothing to alleviate.

Rather, because of it, he could see.

See those eyes.

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

The next person to speak of it was the Lover.

One of the ladies who'd been chosen to accompany the Prince in his stay at the abbey, she was not one to particularly catch his curiosity in any other way. Apart from the initial curiosity over her appearance.

But for some reason, hearing that rumor again tacked on to a noble, it made him pause.

"It is an...abomination of the darkest kind." She says. She's always been painfully considerate of her words and how she spoke, especially among the other daughters of nobles. "It takes the form of man, yet made entirely of shadows."

"Shadows?"

"Supposedly, to cover his own inflictions from the plague."

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

The second time he sees Death is after their prayers had been said.

Oddly enough, it was during the time that they had kept the plague victims in their prayers.

He vaguely remembers feeling a prickling sensation down his spine. Chills and a quickened heartbeat.

The first pew. Closest to the floral offerings.

At first, he didn't understand what he was looking at. Unlike the last time they'd met, it was bright daylight outside.

The shard-like reflections from the sunlight pouring in through the delicately-patterned mosaics.

Whatever light fell on the shadows...was eaten. He didn't know how else to describe it.

Unlike the cold shine of iron and gold, or the luminosity of light on colors.

A void of darkness in this world of light.

Except.

Just then, the heavens seemed to play a particularly cruel prank on him.

Just then, it turns to him.

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

The next person to speak of it was rather unexpected.

"How so? You would hardly find a person not speaking of him these days." The Emperor says, barely even lifting his gaze from his canvas. Today too, he hasn't lifted his paintbrush, or touched his palette.

He supposed that was true. But why his interest?

"Partly due to the way those who spoke of him described him."

Described him?

"Maybe it's due to them believing that he is an incarnation of Death. Their descriptions of him wax eloquent poetry." He says, his chuckle hollow. Devoid of mirth.

His fingers twitch on his brush, his hand does not move.

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

It was a man, they had mentioned.

A lone, young man, from the depths of shadows.

Contrary to what they had said, though, he appeared in the day as well as the night.

Well, the prince supposed he knew that first-hand.

...

Perhaps the threat of death had made him a bit foolhardy.

But he had to admit. He was curious. Insatiably so.

The prince stares straight ahead.

To his right, sat Death.

Close enough to feel the chills on his skin. The burning in his eyes and lungs.

Self-preservation, perhaps.

But somehow, he forces himself to look.

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

...This was an unexpected visit.

She sat in his usual pew. When she saw the Prince approach, she smiled.

"I see that you are well." The tone in her voice is matter-of-fact and her words trail into the silence.

As was she. But what was she doing here?

"...It's so peaceful here." She says by way of explanation.

Her skin was pale, and threw the shadows under her eyes in stark relief.

"I'm almost envious of you, your Highness."

She looks like she's stared Death in the eyes.

"As do you." A mirthless chuckle, "It sounds quite ominous to say that, considering why you were sent here."

Silence, then a pondering look.

"You've heard the rumors as well?"

Even here, it was impossible to avoid them.

"...If he truly does exist...even then, I feel pity for him."

Pitiable?

"Every day, I see them. In the waking world and in my dreams." She closes her eyes, a pained expression, "Every victim that we treat. Every victim that we lose."

Her hands clasped together.

"We only manage to keep them alive for a couple of moons, at most. And even then, we cannot ease their suffering. I can..."

"....."

"I can...only imagine suffering that pain for all of eternity."

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

Over the course of these days he'd somehow stayed alive, he'd come to realize several things.

The first realization was that Death took the form of a man. Just like the rumors had said.

The second was that he could not look at Death for very long. Possibly an obvious assumption, but he'd come to realize it during the past few days, especially when he'd made the first realization.

The longest he'd lasted was for a few seconds and then the ice-cold dread in his blood would threaten to stop his heart, his forehead burned, his eyes strained. His body couldn't last under that strain, and he was being closely monitored as it was.

Death took the form of a man, covered in a cloak of shadows.

There were shadows under his eyes and cuts on his hands. Rashes beyond his wrist, disappearing into the darkness.

Pale skin. And where his skin was cut, his blood appeared to have frozen. Or congealed.

Frozen in time. Like a corpses'.

Dead men tell more tales than he realized.

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

Alone and effectively locked away for the rest of his days, one would soon run out of good memories to relive.

A few days after, he runs out of bad memories too. Now, he spends his time, remembering what happened and what could have been.

Some days, he wakes up and forgets which story line he's locked himself in.

But today, a seemingly unimportant memory sticks in his mind.

A memory of a Hermit living on the other edge of Time.

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

The Hermit was far more apt for a chat than he had heard.

Once he'd gotten over the notion of chatting to someone crouched in a corner, facing the wall, that is.

"..."

And the lapses in silence between words. Then again, he never was one to keep up the flow of conversation that well either.

"I haven't come up with a cure either." Is the petulant admission.

"..."

"Oh, no. The Prince is disappointed in me. Whatever shall I do." She continues, now sounding a mite more sarcastic.

He wasn't.

"Were you expecting failure from the beginning? That's heartless, you know."

Considering the number of failures, it would be downright optimistic.

"Experimenting with the kingdom's subjects should be kept in moderation. Soon, there would be no-one left to keep alive."

A sentiment he shared, but he had no choice.

"How cutthroat." She falls silent again.

When she speaks again, it seems to be of her own ponderings.

“It would help greatly if the dead could speak."

Isn't that what she's supposed to do?

"I am not one of those hideous black birds." She says indignantly, "I don't cut open bodies and examine them for a sick idea of fun!"

They're the ones donating most to the cure efforts.

"Hmph. You're probably going to be the next plague victim."

...

"...What?" The Hermit evidently found something wrong with this silence, unlike the others, "It was a joke."

It was.

"You can't lose your nerve now. Dead men can't speak, the past is the past. And you're a beacon for the future."

The past.

"We can't afford to let you die just yet."

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

"I cannot die."

He says one day, aloud.

He thinks...he sees Death shift a little.

Once he starts speaking, it's impossible to stop.

His fractured thoughts, words, everything.

"I can't die yet. Not yet. The townspeople are keeping me alive because they need me alive."

"..."

"With all that, my reason for being kept alive should be important. It should be."

It isn't.

"But even then. I'm terrified of dying. Then again, all of them were. And they still did."

Awkward sentences, incoherent thoughts.

"Despite everything I still want to live."

"..."

He stops just then.

So caught up in his train of thought, he forgot just who he was talking to.

So occupied he doesn't realize.

How cold the room felt all of a sudden.

How...dark the room felt all of a sudden. Like the very light itself had been smothered and dimmed, like the breath in his lungs.

Of course...he'd forgotten who he was talking to.

So. Without thinking, he looks into the face of Death.

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

"Regrets?" The Empress repeats, in slight confusion, "Do I have any, you mean?"

He nods and she seems to think about it carefully as she places her cup back down. Her expression serious, eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed.

Eyes open, now with a steeled kind of expression.

"Regrets...well, I do. Especially considering all that's happened." The Empress says, with a slight, sad smile.

The kingdom collapsing in on itself.

...Oh. And what she's gone through. The prince apologizes, slightly sheepish.

"No, it's alright. You have your own problems to deal with." She says, shaking her head, "I can only imagine what you must be going through at this time."

...

"Why do you ask? Is something wrong?"

He'd been staying, in isolation, for quite some time. Even with the companions he'd brought along, he'd soon ran out of topics to talk about and the circumstances around them always meant they'd invariably talk about what happened around them. Death and diseases and flimsy strands of optimism from their fraying societal masks.

"Do you have any regrets?" She asks. Quietly, carefully. It was strange that word.

The way it reminded him of days where he'd long thought he'd made his peace.

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

Chapter 3: Regardez vos mensonges aimants démêlez à portée de main.

End.

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

[astrxd]

Service With a Smile CH 15

A/N: [Weak fanfare/jazz hands.]

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 CH 8 | CH 9 | CH 10 | CH 11 | CH 12 | CH 13 | CH 14

Quiet, low whistling filled her ears. They were sweet notes--slow, calming...

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a proposal. A dance proposal, that is. But…

Either way, Astrid couldn’t find any reason to refuse--especially with the lovely song that was resonating throughout the marble interior of the reception hall. She was almost certain that she detected various parts of the melody that had been interwoven during the wedding march, and though her gaze was momentarily locked on the newlywed couple swaying to the tune of the music, it soon shifted up and towards the space at her side.

Towards Hiccup.

He was regarding the scene before them unfold with something that looked vaguely like nostalgia. The faint gleam in his eye gave her the impression that he was familiar with the song being played, and the quirk of his lips clued her in on his… mixed feelings? She couldn’t tell, exactly, even with their close proximity--what with the suddenly dimmed lights, and all that. The only thing that stuck out to her were still his eyes.

They almost made her own chest hurt a little, actually. There was just an absurd amount of emotion there, and--

It took her a moment to register the fact that they were now staring right back at her, but when she did process it, Astrid didn’t falter. Rather, she stood her ground, and she… She offered him a small, easy smile, not particularly mindful of the way that other pairs started to edge onto the dancefloor once solely occupied by the bride and groom.

“Either there’s something on my face, or…” Hiccup said, both sounding and looking sheepish. She couldn’t help but bite her lip in order to refrain from laughing, though her shoulders did shake the slightest bit.

“You’re fine,” she assures him, prior to gently squeezing his arm and taking a step onto the marble tile. Really, she could have sworn that under the yellow glow of the lights that seemed to freely hover above them, his cheeks flushed slightly--so her smile broadened just a little bit more. (It was the context of “fine,” probably.) “Are we dancing, or what? I didn’t agree to just stand here with you.”

“Yeah, okay, then.” Hiccup breathed out a note of laughter as she lead them both deeper into the loose throngs of couples slowly swaying in time to the music, but he seemed to remain the slightest bit distant while she did so. It was mildly concerning, to be frank--though Astrid did manage to draw him back to the present by gingerly setting her palms atop his shoulders.

At least, she assumed that she did, solely based upon the way he blinked owlishly at her before actually placing his hands respectfully on her waist. She could sense a slight hesitation there, but it was endearing! Astrid didn’t think that tentativeness could be that cute, but it worked for Hiccup.

A lot of things worked for Hiccup--even being a sarcastic asshole when they first met still landed him in among her favor.

It was a little strange, given Astrid was so used to the mouthy, downright sassy ways of Hiccup Haddock that she had grown to known over the course of the past few days. To see him so oddly timid and at a loss for anything smart to say was slightly off putting, seeing as only moments ago, they were exchanging casual snark as if it were their secret language.

...Huh.

So perhaps it was a secret language of sorts, known only by them. It was kind of… cute. In a sickening way that Astrid thought she’d never experience again as a high school graduate. Hiccup simply seemed to have a thing for (pleasantly) surprising her--that night at his house, back in the gardens… The more she reflected upon it, the more rushed and unorthodox their current relationship felt. Astrid knew she was racing against a clock here, but it was only then that she acknowledged it--in the middle of a dance.

“You’re thinking,” he pointed out, snapping her out of her thoughts. Astrid’s eyes widened for a moment, but she lowered them wryly after another.

“No--really? What gave you that idea?”

“Oh, nothing in particular. Just the contemplative expression and look of complete adoration you’re wearing while you stare at me...”

“Shut it, nerd,” Astrid snorted and gently slapped her hand against the corner of his shoulder before re-looping both of them around his neck. “You’re the one who’s distant. What are you thinking about, anyway?” She asked… Even though she already had a semblance of an idea.

Hiccup responded with nothing more than a strained half-smile and the briefest glance over his shoulder in the direction of his parents. Astrid furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, only seconds before opening it again to respond--

Then? Oh, then the beat of the song picked up, and Hiccup started humming. He dismissed her concerns with a rushed “Later; don’t worry about it right now,” then proceeded to move his palms from her sides to hold her hands instead. A strange way to dance with someone, but oddly fitting.

“What are you--woah-kay!” Astrid exclaimed. Hiccup swung her in a wide circle, and she would have tripped, if it hadn’t been for the way he pulled her back in toward him, surprisingly in time to the music. They were chest to chest, face to face--but only for a moment, because Hiccup looped and crossed his arms around her so that he ended up behind her. She had a growing suspicion that he was more than just familiar with the song playing, and when she looked in front of her to see his parents dancing in a similar manner, the fractures he set in her heart got a little worse, all in the very best, crushing way. He twirled her around, and she was at the complete mercy of his lead.

And she liked--no, she was loving it.

Yet again, they stood before one another. They could have kept a penny suspended between their torsos. Or--a magazine, because that’s a little more Princess Diaries. And with the way they fell into the fountain… Everything sort of was unfolding in a fantasy-esque, family-friendly romcom sort of way.

The smile he wore didn’t help either.

“Dancing, obviously. Do I look like I slow dance?” He inquired. Astrid tried not to notice the way his lips quirked up at one and, but she noticed anyway.

She didn’t know why she was thinking about it now, but she realized that she’d miss him--the turns of phrase conversation loaded with sarcasm and dry humor, the particular and unique cadence of his speech, his lopsided smile...

“No, not really,” Astrid admitted, gently squeezing his hands. She was breathless--not because she was winded, but because she hadn’t known that she was holding onto her breath in the first place. “You look like the type to do interpretive dance to the Top 15 in your bedroom when nobody’s watching.”

Hiccup laughed. It was a low laugh, reserved for her, but somehow unreserved in general at the same time. She noticed how his eyes would crinkle in the corners when he did, and she noticed the little slit between his two front teeth, and she noticed how bright his eyes were in comparison to how dull they seemed earlier--

Her heart clenched and her chest cinched around it.

This was so, so unfair.

Unfair to her heart.

Unfair to her head.

Unfair to him.

How could she do this to him? Hiccup looked like he was so… Happy. Finally at peace, despite the rocky waters he treaded with his parents--especially at that very moment. While it wasn’t as if Astrid herself didn’t feel that same swelling joy bubble in her stomach and threaten to spill from her lips in the form of a laugh, she simply couldn’t bring herself to let go again.

That’s what she did in the gardens--let go. She let go of her inhibitions, of her worries and her fears and her hesitations about getting involved with Hiccup. That felt like the right thing to do at the moment, because he was so close and she couldn’t stop staring at forest green eyes slashed with gorgeous gold.

Right then wasn’t any different. She looked at him--really, really looked at him--and felt… Terrible.

Because in the matter of less than a day, she would be gone. She would be on a plane back to her own city, which was an entirely different type of charming in comparison to the little town of Berk. She’d be gone, and Hiccup would be alone again, and he’d be living in a house with his married mother and father without her to be there for him if he needed to get out of a hairy situation. She found comfort in the fact that he still had his gang of friends to back him up, but the more she thought about it…

Was she really going to do this? Make him think that she was capable of supporting him, in the way that she knew he needed to be supported? And then just up and leave town, leave Hiccup. While the modern 21st century made distance much more bearable, Astrid didn’t think that cellphones could fill her absence if she let things continue at the rate that they were.

...The young Hofferson soon realized that she already started down that path. She already made that mistake.

Astrid had been so sure of herself only an hour or so earlier, too. She kissed him, and they kissed again, and then they kissed again. Her lips tingled when she thought about those seemingly endless moments, where Hiccup firmly held her close, as if she’d slip away if he didn’t do so.

It struck her then that he would be right, if that was what he was thinking--

“...Astrid?”

It took her a moment to snap back to reality, but when she did, Astrid realized that Hiccup was pressing his forehead to hers--she realized that he was staring intently, almost concernedly, right at her.

“Astrid,” he began again. She realized that she didn’t even respond to him earlier, and instead went silent. At a loss for words, she searched his eyes and worried expression, only to end up blankly gazing and gaping at him. “What’s wrong? Did... I--are you, are you okay?”

...That just wasn’t right at all. The knife in her chest was just being viciously twisted around at this point.

None of this wasn’t supposed to be about her--making it about her had never been the intention. She knew that, despite Hiccup’s exterior, he was hurting inside… Because, really, how could she not know that? With the way the past few hours played out, it was impossible for him to just be… Okay. An emotional rollercoaster like that had to have impacted him somehow, because it certainly hit her like a truck.

And she was just the wedding planners’ daughter.

Astrid’s gaze briefly strayed from Hiccup’s as she looked over his shoulder again, over at his parents, who were currently beaming at each other. Guilt gnawed at her heartstrings.

He was the newlywed’s son, for God’s sake! The unprofessionalism behind cultivating a relationship with Hiccup Haddock definitely occurred to her, but she elected to ignore it. Now, however, despite her heart, she didn’t know if she made the right decision.

Hiccup furrowed his brow as held her impossibly closer as he pursed his lips, and for a moment, it almost looked like he was going to kiss her.

...So she squeezed her eyes shut, because she couldn’t stand to look at him any longer, and leaned back.

“Stop.”

Her voice sounded unnaturally quiet, lacking its usual volume and tone. She wills it to be firmer, but it proves to be more difficult in execution, what with the way Astrid felt his posture stiffen.

“Astrid.”

“Please,” she says, starting to duck her head and pull herself out of his embrace. “You should talk to your parents,” Astrid further implores him, having succeeded in her endeavors, and also having opened her eyes to look back at Stoick and Valka Haddock.

“Thanks for the suggestion, but I kind of don’t feel like dying young,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. Despite his words, he looked a little lost--a little stunned with her actions. Astrid shook her head at him, almost vehemently.

“Then if you won’t talk to them, then stop,” she implores him further, simultaneously taking one step backward. Her heels hit the floor.

Click.

“I don’t--I don’t know what I did, or--or if I said something, but Astrid, what are you--”

She’s looking through him now, at his parents. At this point, the only pair of people not moving in time with the music--themselves--had caught the attention of Valka and Stoick Haddock. Astrid wanted to pry her gaze away from his parents, wanted to turn to Hiccup and take his hand and explain to him her reasons for believing that a relationship would only end up hurting them more.

He needed someone who’d be there for him. Astrid knew that she was more than capable of being that someone, but Hiccup… Hiccup didn’t need someone like her.

He needed his parents.

“You need to talk to them,” she finally manages, looking intently at him.

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“It’s definitely the obvious one, though.”

A beat of silence.

“...What are you saying?”

“You’ve spent the past day, maybe weeks for all I know, avoiding them. I understand that you’re upset, but--”

Astrid was shocked to find that he gently took her hand again. He held it in both of his palms, in a manner that she didn’t consider inappropriately insistent, but more along the lines of tooth-rottingly sweet.

“My problems aren’t your problems,” he tried to tell her, “so why do you keep worrying about them? Why do you keep trying to fix things that can’t be fixed?” Astrid barely suppresses her scoff as she pulls her hand away.

“Because they can be fixed! Because if this--if we’re supposed to be anything, then they’re going to be my problems.” She winces, because she fails to include that the hypothetical she used was actually…Improbable. “I’m trying to be the rational one here, Hiccup. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon and we’ll probably never see each other again after I go--”

“That’s what this is about? You don’t think that--”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish.

Astrid eliminated the space between them one last time and pressed a kiss to the slant of his surprise-parted lips knowing that it very well may be the last one. Her eyes were lowered after that, because she knew that if she looked at him, or even his parents, she’d be compelled to stay. Instead of doing such, she whispered an apology, then spun around and walked briskly off of the dance floor, diving headfirst into the crowd of people.

She thought she was doing the right thing--she thought she had Hiccup’s best interests at heart.

So why did it hurt so much?

...Astrid came to Berk for a job.

And it was high time that she got back to it.