#you have almost constant lapses in memory and see something in your head that LOOKS really dangerous? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sinsbymanka · 3 years

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Hello! I uh. Got so many Fenders prompts guys. Like. A lot.

I combined three of them because I really wanted to try this ship and I really liked writing it a lot. I hope I did them justice! Thank you to @dalish-rogue, @morganlefaye79, and @wardenari for the prompts! This is for @dadrunkwriting!

Title: Not What Was Intended Ship: Anders/Fenris Rating: T Word Count: 1561 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crimes & Criminals, Bathing/Washing, Sharing a Bed, Bickering, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Fenris doesn't mean to go to the clinic. But when he sees the windows smashed in, he has to check it out. He is not doing it for himself, he is doing it for Hawke. It's a good lie. Almost believable.

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Fenris does not mean to stroll past the clinic.

It is nothing more than a momentary lapse in judgement. He is too used to walking these darkened streets so the chain link fences, the broken street lamps, they all weave a background tapestry he hardly notices. His feet drag him onwards down the path he usually walks with Hawke, despite the fact that Hawke is not with him.

Fenris could have gone home. Instead he turns the corner to find the clinic’s windows smashed, broken glass littering the cracked sidewalk. Fluorescent lights flicker inside, although whether the bulbs themselves are finally reaching the end of their life or Anders has not paid the bill again, Fenris can’t say.

He hesitates a moment, his contraband ammunition heavy against his chest where he tucked it inside his coat. If he is caught with it, the papers Varric somehow obtained will be useless. He’ll be back in Tevinter before he can blink, and for all Fenris knows Anders is about to be dragged out by the Templars kicking and screaming, blonde hair falling wildly about his face, eyes crackling…

That image forces him into movement. He ducks quietly through the ajar door, suspicious eyes darting into every corner. He tells himself he is there for Hawke, for Varric, for all those who for some reason believe the meddlesome doctor and his idealistic opinions are worth the wrath of the rich and powerful.

Fenris almost convinces himself. It is a good lie. One Varric himself would approve of.

But the truth shrivels it the moment Fenris slips past the abandoned reception desk and into the triage area. Because standing in the middle of the room is Anders, surrounded by debris and refuse.

Something loosens in Fenris’ chest immediately. He crosses the wreckage of the clinic easily, voice dropping to a low growl. “What have you done?”

Anders finally lifts his gaze from the trash littering the floor. Fenris expects a flash of irritation, a scowl to match his own, but it does not come. Instead Anders rubs his stubbled jaw and shakes his head.

“Just what I needed. A lecture. Andraste’s pillowy tits. Could this day get any worse?”

There’s a bitter thread of hurt in his voice that makes Fenris uneasy. He does not pull his gaze from Anders, jerking his chin to the destruction surrounding them. “You were raided?”

“I wish,” Anders snorts. “I expect the Templars to fuck me over cause of what I’m doing. Who I’m helping.”

“Varric pays the Coterie. And the Carta. This was not them.”

“I’ve told him to stop but you know how he is.” Anders puffs out his chest in mockery. “Me? Annoyingly taking care of your problems? I’d never do something so blighted risky and-”

Anders bends down, stumbling to stop in his impression as he picks up a long, ruined piece of unravelled gauze. He sighs hopelessly as he looks at it before he shakes his head and lets it drop in defeat.

“You’re right, you know.” Anders looks up, a bitter grin twisting his lips into something monstrous and out of place on his warm features. Something that brings the dread from when he saw the broken windows back tenfold. “I’m down here risking all our asses and for what?”

“Justice and the greater good, or so I’ve been told,” Fenris replies dryly.

“So a bunch of kids whose bullet wounds I stitched up last week, no Templars involved, could come back and steal thousands of dollars worth of medical supplies and ruin even more. All while I was out doing home visits for a solid thirty hours.”

Anders closes his eyes, agony breaking over his features, making him look three times his age. “Maker. I’ll never recover from this.”

The statement rings too loudly in the heavy silence. It stretches on and Fenris waits for the other man to crack a flippant joke, but it doesn’t come. It is up to Fenris to fill it as best he can.

“This is unnecessarily dramatic,” he sniffs. “Hawke will gladly resupply you.”

“I’m not living on Hawke’s charity,” Anders snaps.

“Then you’ll live on Varric’s. How long have you been awake?”

Anders finally shows some sign of his own temper, straightening up. “Sorry, should I call you daddy or-”

“Fasta vass, you are impossible.” Fenris surges forward and grabs Anders by the cuff of his coat. The other man is so dizzy from exhaustion it takes almost none of his strength to drag him from the triage area deep into the clinic.

Fenris himself has been stitched up in this location enough times to know it like the tattoos in his skin. He shoves Anders toward the showers with a growl. “You smell of disease and stale sweat. I will secure the clinic.”

“You say the nicest-”

Fenris slams the door shut behind the other man and turns grimly to the clinic to survey the damage. He doesn’t bother with the ruined supplies or the evidence of the ransacking. Instead, he begins the slow, methodical business of checking the exits. Securing the bolts. The windows are, of course, a problem. He drags clean sheets from the cupboards and pins them in place to keep out the wind and cold, but Anders needs new windows.

And perhaps an alarm system. Or a dog instead of the fifty stray cats that linger in the alley.

When he’s done what he can, he makes his way back to the bathroom. The water is running and Fenris thinks only to pop his head in and announce that he will return with boards for the windows.

He’s stopped short, once more, by the sight of Anders. No longer standing, but curled into the corner of the shower. Knobbly knees are pulled to his chest, sandy hair plastered to his skin. His shoulders shake with silent sobs.

Fenris should leave.

Yet again, he doesn’t.

He closes the bathroom door behind him and slips his coat from his shoulders. By the time Anders looks up, blinking water from his eyes, Fenris is laying it and his illegal purchases on the counter.

“What are you-”

“You are clearly incapable of taking care of yourself.” Fenis lifts the hem of his cotton shirt over his head, not daring to meet Anders eyes. He knows the other man is tracing the elaborate designs, a brutal reminder of his life before, and he doesn’t wish to see it. “If you drown in your own shower, I will have to explain it to Hawke.”

Anders’ silence is more maddening than his constant babble. Fenris braces himself to turn, only to find that instead of staring at him, Anders is gloomily examining the grout in the shower.

“I know you think I’m pathetic.”

Fenris climbs carefully into the shower and grabs one tiny bottle of expired shampoo donated from a cheap motel and a limp sponge. “I have never said that is the case.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do not have to justify things I have never said.”

Fenris squirts the sickly sweet shampoo on the sponge and rubs it between his fingers. Anders’ eyes latch onto the movement quietly. Fenris thinks his words over before he turns to Anders.

“I am envious of your desire to help others. I believe that is a part of me that is gone.”

It had been ruined, as so many things had. Before he can think too much about his past or about the pale freckled skin slicked with water, he brings the sponge to Anders’ chest and swipes it over his collarbone.

The motion is soothing. Dull. Repetitive. Soap beads on his skin and falls to the drain. Anders is silent, the only noise the lukewarm water streaming from above and the sound of their quiet breaths.

“They should not have abused your kindness,” Fenris finally says, flicking his eyes up to meet Anders’.

A moment of silence, fragile as the soap bubbles. Fenris takes hold of Anders’ thin, lithe arms and hauls him to his feet. He tries not to think of the way the other man sways on his feet, the brush of their chest together. He carefully does not look at the golden hair decorating his chest or the taut muscles beneath his skin.

Fenris tries not to hear the soft whisper against his ear as he drags the sponge down Anders’ stomach.

“They shouldn’t have abused yours.”

Everything passes in a blur. He does not remember how he finishes washing Anders, only the brief tantalizing flashes of skin and warmth that are seared into his memory. But the other man is almost limp with exhaustion as Fenris drags him to a cot.

Anders trips into it, taking Fenris with him. He curses under his breath and Anders chuckles, warm and real and so much better than the heartbroken man he found.

“You can’t stay here,” Anders murmurs sleepily, lips twitching in amusement.

“I have no wish to,” Fenris hisses between his teeth.

The cot is soft, just barely big enough for both of them, and his arm is trapped beneath a man who is rapidly letting exhaustion overtake him. Fenris means only to rest there until he can free himself without waking him.

He does not mean to fall asleep beside him, arm over his waist, face pressed into his shoulder.

Yet he does.

#manka writes #dadrunkwriting #anders showers bring mage flowers #fenris #anders #fenders #anders/fenris #fenris/anders #dragon age #dragon age 2 #alternate universe #modern

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years

Text

Of All the Places

Chapter 4

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: Loki continues to struggle with his emotions as he tries to figure out his bond with you. On top of all that stress, he finally learns what the rest of the world is hearing about New York. Chapter Warnings: long, angsty, and fluffy A/N: Woohoo! Fourth chapter is here! Totaling almost 5,000 words, the longest thing I have written to date. Any comments, questions, or predictions? I’d love to hear them and chat with you! Well, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, hope you enjoy :) Updates every Friday.

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiantfavs @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki hadn’t slept well in days. Between nightmares and dreams of you, his mind was a constant hub of activity. He didn’t need as much sleep as you mortals did, but after the whole ordeal with Thanos, the lack of rest was taking a toll on him. You were the first to notice, and started hovering even more than normal, something Loki was reluctant to admit he liked. In his final days on Asgard, he’d made himself a complete loner, going so far as to isolate himself from Frigga. It was nice to have some companionship again. That was as far as Loki ever let his mind wander, though, cutting himself off before he could deeper analyze the constant pull he felt toward you. Certainly there wasn’t even anything else to analyze anyway, he convinced himself. You were, after all, only human.

Before he could get lost in thought again, Loki refocused on Matt’s caramel blonde hair as he chased him between the barn and the house. The boy’s light curls were the only thing he’d inherited from his father and looked almost exactly like Ana otherwise. It made Loki wonder how he never guessed he was adopted, seeing as he looked nothing like either of his parents. This fresh air was really starting to get to him, he decided, because he was continuously going down these deep contemplative paths in his mind. It was a constant loop of his feelings for you, his true heritage, and how he was taking advantage of your family. Then again, it may have been the traumatic, near-death experiences and hours of torture that was doing this to him. That was the one thing he always liked to forget about.

“Tag, you’re it!” Loki cheered as he tapped Matt.

The challenge in this game, for Loki at least, was not to overtake Matt’s strides too quickly. It was the perfect balance of fake chasing and finding just the right moment to execute the tagging. Still, he was having almost as much fun as the child was.

“Now you’re it!” Matt declared a few minutes later when Loki let the boy catch up to him.

If there was anything to admire about the kid, it was his tireless energy. Loki was glad to have found someone to keep pace with him as far as that went. His mind, too, was kept plenty stimulated by late-night talks with you. Ever since you’d showed him the creek a few days ago, you seemed to talk into the wee hours of the morning. He’d never noticed before just how deep and intelligent mortals could be. It was quite the accomplishment that you were changing so many of his opinions in such a short time. Then he realized he was thinking of you yet again and cut off the train of thought before it could persist.

“Loki. Matt,” Ana called, waving at them from the front porch.

After scooping the boy up in his arms, Loki jogged over to where she was standing. Matt was happily transferred to his mother’s arms as he was carried into the kitchen for snack time. The God of Mischief looked out over your land, trying to give in to the feeling of contentment he was so close to achieving. If only he didn’t constantly have that voice in his head telling him he was a monster, he didn’t belong here. Maybe then he could be happy. A part of him wished he’d lost his memory for real.

“Oh, there you are,” you said, walking out of the house. “I’m heading into town if you want to come with me and see if anything jogs your memory.”

“Yes. I would like that very much.”

As the two of you made your way to the car, you repeatedly tossed and caught your keys in a nervous pattern. Loki held the door open for you as you got in and quickly hurried around to the other side. He stared at a weird strap by his seat as he sat down. You saw his look of befuddlement and couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

“Do you not remember how to use a seatbelt?” you asked kindly as he nodded his head yes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you came from an alien planet.”

Then you reached across his seat to buckle him in. Unfortunately, it was a bit farther than you realized, and you fell into Loki, hand splayed on his chest, his hands immediately reaching out to steady you. For a minute, the only sound in the vehicle was your pounding hearts. You cleared your throat in embarrassment as you finished your task. The air between you held a distinct awkwardness, and Loki realized that this was the first time you’d been truly alone since the creek. It sent a thrill down his spine, even as he tried to ignore his racing thoughts. Determined to look anywhere but in your direction, his eyes landed on Mama, scowling in the window. She’d made it clear that she wasn’t keen on him spending so much time with you and Matt. If he was any smarter, any braver, he would listen to her and just leave already.

“So,” you began, clearing your throat again and driving off, “how are you feeling today?”

“I am quite well, thank you. I do believe I am fully healed.”

“Promise to still take it easy, ok?”

“Alright.”

You lapsed into silence as you cruised along the road. Loki stared out the window, hoping to find some clarity in the scenery streaking by. You were a mortal, he should not have felt any sort of attachment to you. Then again, he hadn’t spent time with one since the Middle Ages. It had all been so dreadfully dull back then, but things had changed. You and your family were so exuberant, so captivating. But he was a god, and he should not concern himself with that. In fact, he should be on his way of this planet, which was maybe not so miserable, after all.

Before long, you reached town and pulled into a small parking lot of a building with a sign that said “24 Hour Convenience Store” and had many light-up neon signs, declaring they were open. You got out and Loki followed suit.

“Anything look familiar yet?” you asked. “I know you don’t live here, but maybe you passed through.”

Lying was his specialty, and it’s what he should have done now. He could hear himself in his head, his silver tongue weaving a tale about how things were coming back to him. Then he could pretend to contact someone and create an illusion, so you believed he had a happy reunion with his family. It would be prefect; he would leave and you wouldn’t worry about him. He truly wanted to believe it would perfect, anyway, but it wasn’t. Not if he never saw you again. There must be something special about you, he decided, and the Tesseract brought him here so he could figure it out. That was it. That had to be it.

“I am afraid not,” he replied. “Perhaps I came from the other way.”

“Yeah, maybe. Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out,” you comforted him with a hug, mistaking the reason for his sadness.

His body went stiff in your embrace. He hadn’t been hugged in centuries. Granted, that was in part his fault because he was afraid receiving hugs from his mother would hurt his carefully crafted image. Now here you were, holding his body against your warm frame. Once his mind cleared a bit, he awkwardly hugged you, too, and gave your back a few uncertain pats. He should not have been encouraging this behavior, but he was. Maybe if he caused some mischief he’d feel more like his old self. Or maybe he didn’t want to be that person anymore. It was all too much. He was exhausted by the incessant back and forth of his thoughts. He untangled himself from you and gestured to the store.

“After you,” he said.

You pushed open the glass doors and were greeted by the cashier as you walked in. Loki followed you to the back where the refrigerator section was, and he chivalrously held the milk that you’d come to pick up. You also grabbed some coffee grounds and then proceeded to checkout. After setting down the items on the counter, Loki turned over a chocolate bar in his hands, feeling like a child as you took it out of his hands and put it down with the other items. You grabbed a few other bars too, flashing a smile at Loki and keeping up a conversation with the clerk all the while.

“And who’s your new friend?” the cashier, whose name tag said Mr. Berkeley, asked you.

“This is Loki. He’s staying with me until... Well for a while,” you finished, not sure how much Loki felt comfortable revealing.

“Where’re you from, sonny?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot remember. It seems I had some kind of horrid accident,” Loki explained before you could fret anymore. He was very tired of being called son by people when he was a thousand years their senior, though. “I was very lucky to have found my way onto their farm.”

“Well, that’s quite a story. You should talk to the newspaper, get the word out.”

You shot an “I told you so” look at Loki to which he responded with one that said, “We’ll talk about this later.” Before either of you could say anything, though, the news came on the TV which Loki hadn’t realized was on.

“Do you have cable back?” you inquired as Loki began to panic. “It’s still out on the farm.”

“Nah. I got a satellite on the roof. Just got it set up again this morning.

You nodded along as the anchors began the next story. “New York is still reeling from damage, but the group of superheroes, going by the name of the Avengers, is leading clean-up efforts. The perpetrator has still not been caught-”

Loki discreetly turned the TV off with his powers before you could hear any more. He’d have to make sure the satellite took significant damage before leaving.

“Dang it. I just fixed that damned thing,” the cashier said.

“What was that all about?” you asked, completely bewildered by the sudden influx of information. “What happened in New York?”

“I guess you missed it in the paper last week,” Mr. Berkeley explained. “Some crazy group of aliens attacked, led by some power hungry god. Supposedly it was Thor’s brother, but they haven’t disclosed that information yet. Reckon they want to wait until he’s caught, avoid a panic.”

“Oh my god. That’s terrible! Gosh, you miss one paper,” you laughed, trying to keep the mood light.

A dark cloud passed over Loki’s features, even as Mr. Berkeley laughed along. Despite those SHIELD agents covering this up, word had still gotten out in some capacity. He had to be careful, or else he was going to get caught, and then you’d be in danger. He cursed under his breath. Your safety should be the last thing he was worrying about, and yet it was the first thought to come into his mind. A little kindness thrown his way should not make him into the mess he was. Of course, there were so many other things to like about you, too, and he kept finding more. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want any of this, but the Norns were punishing him for something. What would have happened, he wondered, if he’d listened to Thor and just held on that fateful day? If he hadn’t let go of the staff and fallen to what should have been his ultimate demise?

“Sonny, are you alright?” Mr. Berkeley asked as you laid a hand on his arm.

“Fine, but I think we should be going. I’ll meet you outside.”

He jerked away from your touch before you could do anything else and stalked outside. At least the satellite was hanging half off the roof with a huge dent in its side. He opened his door and got into the car as you unlocked it and raced over to him.

“Loki! Loki!” you called as you hurried over. “What was that? Are you ok?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all. Can’t you see I’m fine?” he snapped, struggling with the seatbelt. “I’m fine,” he whispered again.

“Hey, look at me,” you soothed, filled with compassion and placing a hand on his cheek. “Whatever it is, just let me know. I’m here for you. Talk to me.”

Loki’s eyes fluttered shut as he enjoyed the warmth from your palm. He let go of the seatbelt and took a few deep breaths, just like his mother had taught him. A part of him wanted to hang onto this anger, knowing that it might finally drive him to leave. He knew from experience, though, that acting in moments of blind rage would never lead to anything good.

“Is it New York? Did you remember something?” you gasped. “You had felt it was important in some way.”

“Perhaps,” he said after one last steadying breath. “It may have triggered something. But really, I am just a little tired. Maybe I am not as healed as I thought.”

He turned his head away and rested it against the window as your hand dejectedly fell into your lap. It’s not that he wanted to pull away, but he knew it’s what was safest for you.

“Ok then. We’ll go home.”

Loki whispered his thanks and succeeded in buckling up. He closed his eyes as the car started and a wave of emotions crashed over him. When you said home, he immediately pictured the farm. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did.

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

Loki holed himself up in his room for the rest of the day, working through the new information he’d learned. He pretended to be asleep when Ana came to bring him some dinner. Notably, you had not been the one taking care of him, and he cursed himself for pushing you away. He didn’t even bother trying to convince himself it was for the best; he knew it wasn’t. After so many years on his own, he finally had a friend, and he drove you away. Why he expected anything less from himself, he didn’t know.

At some point, he fell into a restless sleep. The food from last night was still on the bedside table, but it was now joined with the Snickers bar you’d bought for him yesterday. Someone had also come and tucked him in. Maybe he hadn’t lost his friend, after all. He opened the chocolate and took a bite, delighting in the sweet and nutty flavor. He polished it off, then waved a hand over the rest of the food, causing it to disappear. He wasn’t much in the mood for eating it, but didn’t want you to worry. He nearly ran into John as he walked into the hallway with the empty tray.

“There you are!” John exclaimed. “We were getting worried. Do you need the doctor?”

“No, I am quite alright, thank you. I think I just needed some good sleep,” Loki lied.

“Only if you’re sure. Take it easy today, though, ok?”

“That’s an order,” you said, appearing behind your brother-in-law and taking the tray from Loki. “Are you hungry? You missed breakfast, but I can heat up some leftovers from you.”

“I am fine,” Loki began, but noticed you frown. “Though, I suppose I could do with a small breakfast.”

“Great!” you said a little too brightly. “I’ll meet you down there.”

“Loki, can I talk to you for a minute?” John asked, pulling him aside. “What exactly happened yesterday? We heard about New York, but it seemed like there was something else bothering them.”

Loki felt a pang in his chest at the man’s words. As if the news weren’t upsetting enough, he’d been rude to you. He could only imagine how you would feel if you knew he was the one who had caused the mayhem. He wanted to pin the blame on someone else, but the blood was on his hands and he knew he had to take some responsibility. Doing that would help him change, which he recognized was absolutely necessary after all that had happened.

“I fear I may have upset them,” Loki started, shedding his old ways by telling the truth. “I was not feeling quite right, and I turned them away. Now they clearly blame themself for it. I deeply regret it, but I am not sure there is anything I can do.”

“Just talk to them. Apologize.”

Loki did his best not to look shocked, but the last time he said sorry was when his parents caught him playing tricks on Thor, and even then it was done begrudgingly. He wasn’t even sure he could make it sound sincere.

“Listen, I’ve got an idea,” John said. “We’re heading to the city today if you want to tag along. They’re off to get some gifts for Ana while I’ve got a few potential distributors to meet with. I’m sure they would be thrilled to have your company. Unless you’re not feeling well, of course.”

“No, I’m feeling fine. That is a great idea. You have my thanks, John.”

“No problem. Now, you’d better head down for breakfast before we both get in trouble,” he laughed.

With a final nod of gratitude, Loki took off down the stairs. His light footsteps went undetected as he neared the table, once again giving him the opportunity to eavesdrop on Mama’s suspicions.

“I know something else must’ve happened yesterday. You weren’t upset over nothing.”

“It’s just the New York thing,” you replied. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You tell me what that boy did right now or so help me I’ll kick him out of this house myself!”

“Mama! He didn’t do anything wrong. I get that what happened with James hurts, believe me I do, but you can’t let it run your life. You have to be able to trust others, to trust me,” you pleaded.

“How dare you drag your brother into this,” Mama shot back, her voice cracking. “How ’bout you trust my gut when it tells me that boy is trouble. I swear-”

She was cut off by Loki doubling back and thudding down the stairs, making his presence known. He’d heard more than enough of that conversation and wouldn’t allow you to feel any more hurt than you already were.

“Good morning,” he coldly said to Mama as he walked in, nostrils flaring slightly before he regained some composure. “I am not interrupting anything, am I.”

“Only our entire lives. Why don’t you go to the police, huh? And what about the missing person ad? Why haven’t we gotten that out yet? I don’t know what game your playing, but when I figure it out, believe me you’ll be sorry.”

“Fine! You want to know what I am doing here? I do not know. I have no idea why I ended up here or why I have stayed as long as I have. So when you ‘figure it out,’ by all means, please let me know.”

“Fine!” Mama shouted as she stormed off.

Loki was comforted by the fact that in his little outburst, he hadn’t technically told any lies to you. Half-truths? Most certainly, but no outright lies. Now that he was left alone with you, though, he felt embarrassed he lost his temper. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“I am sorry,” he said, not looking at you.

“Loki, you don’t have to say sorry for defending yourself. I understand.”

“That’s not what I’m apologizing for,” he confessed, now looking into your eyes. “Yesterday I was not feeling quite right, but I should not have snapped at you nor pushed you away like that. For that, you have my sincerest apologies.

“It’s really ok, it happens to everyone. I just care that you’re feeling alright.”

You stayed where you were standing, still hesitant to move toward Loki out of fear of being rejected again. So, it fell upon Loki to close the distance between you. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss to your knuckles as a light blush coated his cheeks.

“Thank you, darling. I assure you, I am feeling more than alright now.”

Whatever was about to happen between you next was cut off by the beeping of the microwave. You finished putting together his breakfast before sitting with him at the island. Though your relationship had been repaired, the conversation was still a bit choppy and awkward as you found your footing in the friendship again. John walked in just as you were cleaning up, whistling a happy tune.

“Ready to go whenever you guys are,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe.

“You’re coming?” you asked Loki, feeling worried for his health. “Are you sure you’re up for that? I can even stay behind with you if u want.”

“Please, do not change your plans on my account. I am in a great condition to go.”

You still seemed reluctant, but agreed he could come as long as he let you know the second he started feeling unwell. He conceded, and you went to fetch your jacket with the promise you’d be back in a minute. John gave Loki a thumbs up, to which he replied with a very self-assured smile, bolstered with confidence by your latest exchange.

A few minutes later you were all piling into the car, with Loki insisting you took the passenger seat and that he’d ride in the back. He was very pleased to get the seatbelt buckled on the first try, and the two of you shared a laugh at the little inside joke. His cheeks burned slightly, remembering how you’d fallen against him. Over the next few hours, you passed time by talking, laughing, and singing along to the radio. Just as you were entering the city, a troubling thought occurred to Loki; the people here had heard the news. Even if it hadn’t been officially announced that he was responsible for New York, those rumors about him had to have included a description. Sudden inspiration struck as John parked the car.

“You don’t happen to have a hair tie in here, do you?” he inquired.

“Yeah,” you replied, reaching into the glove compartment. “Ana keeps some in here for emergencies.”

Loki thanked you as you passed it to him and quickly put his hair up in a low bun. When he turned his attention back to you, you were staring at him, and he gave you a charming, lopsided grin that had you ducking your head in embarrassment.

“Ok,” John said with a clap of his hands once you were all on the sidewalk. “We’ll meet here in, say, about 5 hours.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, before waving goodbye.

Now it was just you and Loki again as you took off towards some stores to look at some baby gifts for Ana. It would still be half a year before the baby arrived, but you were always indecisive when it came to purchasing gifts. On the way, Loki ducked into a small shop and bought a pair of sunglasses, furthering his disguise. Between that, the new clothes, and the different hairstyle, he felt pretty confident in his ability to blend in.

After two-and-a-half hours of shopping, you’d found a bunch of things to maybe get, but hadn’t decided on anything. You would go back and look some more, but you were bone tired after all the walking around. The fact that you were so exhausted made you concerned for Loki’s condition, too, not entirely trusting that he would tell you if he was feeling ill, despite his promise to.

“How are you holding up?” you cautiously asked, afraid of a repeat of yesterday if you pushed too hard.

“I am doing quite well. You, however, seem to need to stop for a spell. Come, let us rest for a minute.”

He led you over to the food court of the mall you were at and pulled out a chair for you to sit in. He glanced around at the options and, though there was nothing there that appealed to him, there was certainly something that you liked. Besides, he didn’t need to eat, but your frail mortal body would need some sustenance sooner rather than later.

“Can I get something for you to eat?” he offered.

“How about we go see a movie instead?” you proposed, eyeing up the nearby theater.

“Only if you eat something.”

“Wow. Look at how the tables have turned,” you laughed. “Fine, but you have to also.”

After a minute’s debate, you and Loki agreed on a comedy starring your favorite actor. It wouldn’t have been Loki’d first pick, but after all the stress and angst of the last 24 hours, he figured he could use a laugh. You also convinced him to try some popcorn and Pepsi. He wasn’t much a fan of the soda, but the snack was tasty enough. Though, you did end up stealing half of his after finishing your own, which was fine with him. The best part of the whole experience, though, was getting to hear your laugh over and over again. Loki thought it might be the most beautiful sound he ever heard. Well, perhaps the best part was actually when your arms brushed each other as you both went to put them on the armrest at the same time. Loki filed away all these little mental notes to dwell on at a later date. Or, if he were lucky enough to rein in his hurricane of thoughts, never again.

“Well, that killed a lot of time,” you said after the movie ended and you were stretching out, aching from having sat for so long. “We’ve still got some left though. What do you want to do?”

“I believe there was a library over by where we parked. Let us go there,” he said, quickly thinking up a plan.

By the time you walked over, there was only about twenty minutes left for him to complete what he needed to do. He hurried over to where the computers were, and though he wasn’t particularly adept with modern Midgardian technology, the directions taped to the wall were clear enough that he was able to look up a book. He sent you off to get it, claiming that the title had just popped into his head and that he was certain he used to love it, and that he wanted to check on the status of a few others. You obliged, hoping that seeing the book would bring back some more of his supposedly lost memories.

Once you were gone Loki quickly searched for information on what he learned was being referred to as the Battle of New York. Thankfully, there was as little information about him circulating as Mr. Berkeley had said. Mostly, it was just speculation and stories from people claiming they’d been there. A great number of posts and photos had been deleted, too, and Loki assumed that they were ones with more valid claims and information. Knowing how SHIELD is, Loki was sure it was all removed almost immediately, so he felt relatively safe but decided he couldn’t be too careful.

“I found it!” you said, setting the book down as Loki closed out the tab he was on.

“Wonderful! Thank you,” he replied, flipping through it. “Most unfortunately, the other books were checked out.”

You leaned over shoulder to look at the book in his hands. “That’s too bad. What about this one, though? Triggering any memories?”

“Well, I think I enjoyed reading. Other than that, I am afraid not.”

“That’s ok. We’ll keep trying.”

Your hand slowly drifted over to rest on his, and he gave you a brilliant smile. It made him wish he’d found a friend in the universe far sooner than he had. Then maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the hands of Thanos, committing atrocities against his family and strangers alike. Then again, if none of that happened, he never would have met you. He was torn over which he preferred.

“There you guys are,” John said, walking up to where you were. “Ready to head back whenever you are.”

After putting the book back on the shelf, you were ready to leave. Loki hung back with John as you exited.

“Your plan has worked miracles, my good man. You have my sincerest gratitude,” he said.

“No problem, dude,” John said, patting Loki on the back. “Glad to bring a happy couple back together again.”

Loki’s steps faltered. Between his companion’s smirk and teasing tone, Loki knew it was meant as a joke. Mainly, anyway. John really was very off the mark, though. He and you were merely friends, nothing more. And surely that was just barely so, seeing as you were a human. There was no way you meant anything else to Loki. Right?

It wasn’t until you were back on the road, and Loki couldn’t stop looking at the back of your head, that he even began to realize just how much trouble he was in.

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kotosnoozy · 3 years

Text

「witness me, old man」

chp 1 - recollections of dinners in eden

1st in a series of yuraven oneshots for my favourite aus, both canon to the tales series and of my own creation. ao3 link in the replies.

1. tales of asteria | recollections of eden 2. modern/coffee shop au 3. tales of the rays | 'it's new years! brave vesperia' event 4. schwann brigade yuri au 5. zestiria setting au 6. modern/band au. ao3 link in the replies.

Claw truly is a fantastic cook.

It’s rare, in honesty, that he gets a chance to taste his food. It’s an offer rarely made - only on those seldom occasions where he comes to seek Raven’s information-gathering expertise, and even then only when he deems his work to have gone above and beyond his expectations. He’s a harsh critic, for a man who clearly knows he wouldn’t personally be able to do the job, though the quality of his food is certainly worth the extra effort Raven has to put in to pass the grade.

He has to chase Norma away from the office on nights like these. At times, that feels harder than the information gathering he has to do to get to this point - she’s stubborn as a mule, and has a good nose for his lies. She doesn’t know about his… side-job, so to speak, and he has no intention of telling her any time soon if he can help it. She’d only nag for a free meal herself anyway, and there’s something special about these evenings he gets to spend with Claw, just the two of them. The addition of a spunky teenager would kill the vibe - even if the teenager in question is technically mature enough to be his business partner.

The only consistent method he’s found is to send her off to the next town over on some errand he swears that only she can handle, that he couldn’t possibly join her and get in the way of her work. Of course, it’s tricky to convince her that there’s anything she could do that he couldn’t - the bulk of their work is, after all, odd jobs and chores for the elderly, but if he bitches and whines enough (“Oh Norma , you know how my back gets, ancient as I am!”) then she’ll finally give in and head off with little fuss.

He gets to put the ol’ bad back excuse to good work when Claw arrives too - he couldn’t possibly help out in the kitchen, he’s so old and slow that he’ll only get in the way, or else mess up the recipe.

Claw, unsurprisingly, is far more skeptical of his tall tales than Norma. But for whatever reason, he’s never once complained at Raven sitting on his lazy ass and watching instead of helping. If anything, he almost seems a little happy about it.

After he does his little dance around the kitchen - finely dicing onions with nary a tear, pulverising potatoes efficiently, mixing it all together with a meat Raven’s tastebuds can never quite place, and frying the little balls of the concoction after coating them in breadcrumbs - there’s a plate of perfectly crisp croquettes placed in the middle of the table. It feels almost criminal to allow them to sit in the same spot that they usually just throw cheap takeout and sloppily-made sandwiches, mouth-wateringly good as they look.

“I really don’t know how ya do it, Cap’n.” he says, polishing off his first and skewering a second with his fork. “Makin’ something as tasty as this with just a couple of ingredients… Y’ ever think ya might be in the wrong line of work?”

Claw snorts in amusement, simply resting his head in his hand with a roll of his eyes.

It’s always like this. He’ll cook enough for both of them (or maybe three, or even four people - Raven can’t deny that he’s a real glutton when it comes to Claw’s cooking), but never eats himself. He simply watches Raven from over his collar, expression indecipherable from just his eyes alone. If it wasn’t something of a routine by now, then he’s sure he’d find the constant dark-eyed gaze unnerving, to say the least.

Instead he just feels guilty - it feels unfair to be the only one eating.

“...why is it that ya never eat yerself while yer here?” he asks tentatively. He really can’t imagine such a high ranking member of Her Highness’s guard suffering from eating-related stage fright, but it certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’s ever heard of.

Claw quirks an eyebrow.

“You know as well as I do that Her Excellency forbids my face to be seen.”

Ah.

How did he let that slip his mind?

“That must be a hell of a pain when you’re on the road with your platoon, huh.” he quips instead to cover his lapse in memory.

There’s a slight change to Claw’s breathing that he doubts he’d notice if he wasn’t so good at his job - the tiniest of sighs. He remains otherwise silent.

G r o o o o w l

...Although the same cannot be said for his stomach, it seems, as it heartily voices its protests. Raven simply cannot stop the wide grin that rises to his face.

Claw’s eyes narrow, no doubt already anticipating what will come next.

“C’mon, Cap’n, you should try some yerself!”

He scoffs.

“It’s fine. I’ll just eat whatever’s leftover when I get back to the barracks later.”

“You know as well as I do that’s a hell of a waste - why let it go cold when you could just eat it right here and now?”

Claw’s gaze narrows further.

“Raven…” he drawls, warningly.

“C’monnnn, it’ll be our little secret! I promise, I won’t tell a soul!” he says, leaning over the table to wave a skewered croquette in his face. Claw’s eyes tick back and forth like a metronome as he watches the morsel, and he thinks he’s almost got him- and then he furrows his brows, eyes clenched shut like a baby rejecting a snack it doesn’t like the look of.

Raven sighs.

“Spoilsport. No one would’ve ever needed to know,” he whines. “‘m just thinkin’ about yer health, Cap’n. Nothin’ more, I swear.”

It happens as he goes to sit up straight - quick as lightning.

He snatches the hand Raven’s waving in front of his face, like a cat pouncing its prey, and hooks a finger over his high, wide collar. Scoops the bite Raven had thought was now destined for him into his own mouth. Replaces the collar as quickly as it left.

It’s maybe 3 seconds at the most. An absolutely miniscule amount of time. But more than enough for a man in Raven’s line of work to get a good look at his permanently-obscured face.

To take in his delicate features - nose long and beak-like, but cheeks far more rounded than he’d expected, pink lips thin yet surprisingly plump, a proud chin despite his round jaw - to be absolutely enraptured by how beautiful he is.

‘Do they hafta keep their faces covered,’ he wonders idly, ‘because they’re all this distractingly beautiful? Or is Claw just a special case?’

He can’t break his eyes away, even after Claw finishes his mouthful, looks up at him expectantly, once more quirks an eyebrow in confusion. His heart is pounding , stirring in a way that feels almost like nostalgia for some reason. He’s hot and cold all at once, cheeks burning but blood like ice, and he longs to reach out and touch him, pull the collar down for a better look, truly commit his face to memory. But then there’s a pain in his heart like a knife, pure grief , and it twists, makes him feel sick to the stomach, and his brain is fuzzy, he doesn’t understand-

“What’re you staring at, old man?”

It feels like being clocked around the head. He scrambles up straight, trying to put as much space between them as he can even as he yearns to be closer.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!”

Claw’s eyebrow climbs ever higher. Raven scrambles for something to say - whatever that was is definitely something to unpack later , if ever at all.

“Anyway, my darlin’ Claw,”

(‘Wait, darlin’??? Where the hell did that come from???’)

“How does it feel to get a taste of yer own food pipin’ hot for once?”

He swears he can see a gentle flush of red to his cheekbones where they peek above the collar.

“...I guess it’s better than when it’s cold.” he mumbles, gaze never meeting Raven’s.

He smiles, satisfied, and does his best to squash down the rest of that strange sensation as he tucks back into his meal.

Later, when Claw is gone and he’s alone with his thoughts, he’ll make a decision. That next time Claw cooks for him, he’ll persuade him to remove the collar again. And maybe he’ll figure out exactly what the lurching of his heart means. Who knows? He might even cook for Claw for a change.

(Something tells him he’s got a sweet tooth. Maybe he likes crepes?)

Little does he know that though certainly, he will receive the offer of Claw’s cooking in exchange for hard work at least once more, never again will he have the opportunity to actually sample it.

((it’s that night that the dreams start))

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strawberriestyles · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Heyyyyyaaaaaaa. I’m going to be honest with y’all. I have not been working on this story like I should have since I started posting. That being said, I do have a few more chapters completed but then things get a littleeeeee fuzzy bc I’ve been slacking. I’m going to try to keep up with the posting schedule I have rn, but if that doesn’t work out, please forgive me. I may need to pause for a few weeks to stack up some more chapters. BUT CROSS YOUR FINGERS I GET MY SHIT TOGETHER. As always, please like and reblog and leave me an ask if you can. :’) When you’re done reading, I would love for you guys to go find a petition you haven’t signed yet. All of my love. Xx

Melody still had nightmares. Horrible ones. Awful, haunting dreams that pressed at the edges of reality, blurring lines between sleeping and waking. But they somehow became less constant and more bearable within the next few weeks. Whether it was due to Harry’s constant, tender touches as she fell asleep every night, or to the ugly, unartistic paintings and incoherent writing she’d forced out, there were no clues. She thought Harry deserved the credit, but he thought it could be a mix of both.

Early snow dusted the city like powdered sugar, lightly enough to look pretty without making traffic a mess. Melody felt the cold dampen her mood, but Harry only seemed to brighten at the prospect of a blizzard warning. Snow dazzled him. Despite everything he’d experienced in his relatively short life, somehow winter had always remained a sort of sanctuary for him. And he’d softened himself toward everyone as a result.

“Ugh, do I have to go?” Melody asked aloud when she reentered the bedroom to find him laid out on her bed. He looked so cozy and warm in a pair of sweats with his hair mussed atop his head. She bent over him to plant a chaste kiss to his lips.

“No,” Harry said, “yeh don’.”

She smiled ruefully and stole another soft kiss from him. “Yes, I do.”

“Yeh don’ have to. Could stay here with me.”

“Harry.” Melody accepted his return kisses as he sat himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.

“Melody.” He ran a thumb over the curve of her chin and sighed.

“I need to go. Please, be nice to Bea.”

“Always am.”

“Sure you are.” She pressed her lips to his one final time and let them linger a few moments too long, until she felt his fingers sneaking around the back of her neck. If she let him touch her too much she’d end up late to her own match. “Okay, I’m leaving,” she insisted as she backed away. “I’m going. Bye.”

Harry watched her slip out of the room, collecting her gym bag on the way. He was relieved that she hadn’t told him she loved him. Every time he heard the words on her tongue he felt his very organs shift, felt them contort and fold in on themselves. He would never, ever tell her the way it made him feel, but he hoped that eventually, when he still wasn’t saying it back, she might just let the sentiment die. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Let’s go, Harry!” Bea called from the living room.

He sighed as he rose to his feet and lumbered out of the bedroom, his cane clicking on the hardwood. The door to the apartment closed before he made it past the threshold of the room. It was only him and Bea left. There was still an awkward air between them, but it was beginning to thin. Harry thought it was because of his help with Melody’s nightmares. He didn’t like the idea that Bea had ever thought he’d be useless in a situation like that. He didn’t like that doing the bare minimum to comfort Melody had somehow made Bea more open to him.

“You don’t look enthused.”

“I don’ like to bullshit,” Harry responded.

Bea grinned. She patted the cushion beside her and waited for him to sit. She didn’t seem bothered that he sat farther from her than necessary.

“Aren’t you wondering what we’re gonna watch?” Bea asked.

Harry shrugged. “Not really.”

“What if I picked a chick flick?”

“Then I’d just fall asleep.”

“You’re not falling asleep tonight,” Bea stated. “We’re watching The Silence of the Lambs.”

Harry’s lack of reaction seemed to deflate her. She clicked a button on the remote and the opening credits of the film began to roll.

“I have no clue how you’re with someone who writes and paints,” Bea murmured.

“If yeh figure it out, let me know.”

The pair lapsed into silence as the movie started. And didn’t even exchange a glance when Queenie appeared, curling up on the cushion between them.

Bea paused after a bit to take a call from Josie and microwave a bag of popcorn, and when she returned she found her cat sprawled across Harry’s lap, purring loudly, much to Harry’s chagrin. She had to consciously stop herself from spitting out laughter. Instead, she sat back in her seat and slid the bowl of popcorn into the spot that Queenie had abandoned.

***

“That was fucked up,” Harry eventually said, when the end credits of the movie had been rolling for a few minutes.

“Yes.”

“He wore the guy’s face.”

“He eats people. I feel like that’s the more fucked up of the two.”

Harry shook his limbs, as though he could expel the disturbing parts of the movie from his memory. Queenie, who hadn’t moved since she settled into his lap, took unkindly to his movement, stretched to the floor, and bounded into Bea’s bedroom.

“Glad Melody didn’t watch this one.”

Bea drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “Melody loves scary movies,” she informed him. "But that’s because she knows they’re not real. She’s not—It’s different when you live it, right?”

Harry fell silent. Whether she agreed or not, he was the one that had dragged Melody into a horror film of her own. Now she could barely sleep in her own bed because of his brother. And he didn’t know how else he could help, how else he could ward off the monsters.

“Speak of the devil,” Bea said as she caught sight of Harry’s phone, where it buzzed on the coffee table. “Mel” was spelled across the screen. Harry leaned forward to answer the call and bring the phone to his ear.

“Hi.”

“Hey, man.”

Sean’s voice sounded muffled and uneasy. Harry felt himself stiffen almost immediately, and his body language conveyed something to Bea. She unfolded her legs to place her feet flat on the floorboards.

“Wha’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Because yeh’re callin’ me from Melody’s phone and yeh sound like yeh’re about to get in trouble. Don’ fuck with me.”

There was a brief hiccup of a chuckle on the other end of the line. It was a nervous sound. Harry didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh, she lost her match.” Sean cleared his throat before he went on. “She’s about to get an X-ray of her torso done right now. I’m sure it’s just—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Sean! Yeh could’ve led with that.” Harry was already on his feet, reaching for the arm of the sofa to keep his balance when he realized he was forgetting his cane. He doubled back and waved off Bea’s desperate vie for information.

“She’s probably fine!” Sean defended. “I don’t think she broke anything or she would’ve been a little more hysterical.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Harry hung up before Sean could respond. “She’s gettin’ X-rays at the hospital,” he spat at Bea, who was following him around and demanding to know what was going on. “Might have a broken rib or somethin’.”

So much for this strange bonding experience that Melody had insisted on. It felt more like something sorority sisters might do on the weekends than anything else, anyway. And Harry didn’t wait for Bea as he hobbled down the complex stairs, struggling into a jacket while supporting himself with his cane. But somehow she ended up in the cab with him, and their mutual silence felt unifying.

***

“Floor two,” the woman at the lobby’s desk said. Harry was already crossing to the elevators, so she nearly shouted the room number to him. Bea, despite being in perfect health, had to rush to keep up with him. Her curls bounced with every hurried step.

“Harry, I’m sure she’s okay.” She tugged the zipper down on her jacket as they waited for an elevator and tried to catch her breath. This felt like exercise, and Bea hated exercise. “Not that you shouldn’t be worried,” she continued, “but don’t act like she’s on the brink of death. She’s used to injuries.”

Harry snorted humorlessly. Melody didn’t know what injuries were. She told him once that she’d never been to the hospital for herself. It was always a cousin giving birth or her father getting stitches. She had never split her skin open far enough to get stitched up herself, or been hit so hard that her insides were bleeding, or snapped a bone.

There was a musical ding as an elevator reached the ground floor. Harry didn’t wait for the family on it to exit before he shouldered past them and jammed his thumb into the button for the second story. Bea was more patient. She allowed everyone out before she stepped in beside Harry and watched him smash the button to close the elevator doors. It was almost endearing to see him so concerned, but it was also too intense for her tastes.

There was no elevator music to lull the pair of them. They waited in silence until they reached the floor that Melody was on and then navigated through the halls quickly until they found the correct room number. Sean was just inside the door.

“Ah, I thought you’d gotten lost or—”

“Fuck you,” Harry snapped as he stepped past his friend. Melody was laying in a hospital bed. This setting was so familiar to Harry, but with the roles reversed, it felt like he was having a nightmare of his own.

“You don’t have to be rude to him, you know,” Melody muttered.

She had an awful, swelling bruise on her forehead, so close to her temple that it could’ve made Harry sick. She was in a sports bra, and for the first time he noticed Vanessa, who was meticulously wrapping up Melody’s ribcage.

“‘S not broken?” was the first thing Harry said.

“No,” Vanessa answered.

“Bruised.” Sean took a step forward, trying to insert himself back into the conversation that he had been ejected from. “She was doing really well and then—”

“I don’ wanna hear from you,” Harry interrupted. Melody rolled her eyes. Sean sighed.

“Fine, I guess I’ll go home,” he said. “I’ll let Goodman know you’re out for at least a month.”

Melody’s eyes widened and when she moved, the pressure on her ribs made her flinch. “A month?”

“At least,” Sean repeated.

“It’s a bruise.”

“‘S a bruised rib, Melody,” Harry snapped.

Sean left without any goodbyes. Bea leaned up against the wall where he’d been standing and lifted an eyebrow. “Thought you had defenses like a brick wall,” she teased.

“Shut up,” Melody mumbled as Vanessa finished her work. The room fell silent.

“Do you want some ice for your face?” Vanessa asked eventually, when Melody had been avoiding everyone’s eyes and the rest of them were sick of looking at each other.

“No, I can just—”

“Yes, she’ll take some ice,” Harry cut in.

“You tend to interrupt people,” Melody informed him. She laid back gently against the pillows that had been propped up behind her. “Have you noticed?”

Bea snorted. “Pretty sure he does it on purpose,” she said before wandering out of the room. Vanessa glanced between Harry and Melody and then followed Bea. The tension that had already filled the air seemed to thicken, settling over the two of them like an unnavigable fog. Harry sliced through it first.

“This is why I don’ want yeh fighting,” he said.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Harry,” she muttered. Then her voice rose. “If you were still in the ring you’d be getting injured, too. And I—”

Harry ignored the sting that he felt, the knowledge that he couldn’t box in his current condition. What if she wasn’t able to write? These days it seemed just that she didn’t want to, but if she wasn’t able to, wouldn’t she feel this same sort of despair? “Mel, yeh bruised your fuckin’ rib.” He took a step further into the room. “A little more pressure and it breaks. A little less luck and it punctures a fuckin’ lung and yeh’re chokin’ on blood. These are not just injuries. Yeh didn’ just fall off a bike and scrape your knee.”

Melody paused. She didn’t know how to respond. That sounded like her own fears spit back in her face. A half inch to the left and that bullet would’ve killed you.

“Are you going to keep yelling?”

“‘M not fuckin’ yelling. Do yeh want me to yell?” Harry’s brows knitted together and he shook his head. “What did yeh expect, me to lay down next to yeh and tell yeh ‘m so glad yeh’re okay? ‘S not happenin’. Think I’ve made my feelings pretty clear when it comes to this.”

“Actually, I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t want to call you.” Melody licked her lips as she studied the anger etched into the lines of Harry’s face, and then the minuscule shift as he realized that Sean was on his side. At least in this moment. “It comes with being a boxer,” she said after a pause. “You told me that once.”

Harry sighed. “Yeh’re not a fuckin’ boxer, Mel. Yeh’re a writer. Yeh’re a painter.”

“I can be whatever the fuck I want to be, Harry. And you’re not going to tell me what that is.”

His features hardened for a moment and then he glanced out the window. There was snow falling, slowly and gently, without the force of the brutal wind that would arrive in the coming weeks. It was so peaceful out there, and Harry wondered how he’d let himself become so resentful.

He stared outside for a few long minutes and then let his eyes wander back to Melody, who was already picking absentmindedly at the wrappings of her ribcage. His legs were growing weary and he was on the verge of needing to sit. Melody glanced up when she felt the weight of his gaze.

“Can we go home now?” she asked, and her voice was so soft, so at odds with the way she’d spoken her last sentence, that Harry could feel himself physically jarred by the shift.

“I can’ help yeh walk,” he said, though the words tasted like acid. “Yeh’re gonna need Bea and I dunno where she went off to.”

Melody chewed on her lower lip. She felt guilty for the short argument they’d had, and she could see that same feeling reflected back at her. The match had tired her out, her bruised rib hurt with every expansive breath. In vain, tears began to collect at the corners of her reddening eyes.

“Don’,” Harry said, taking a shaky step forward. He could sense the shift even before he saw her chin trembling. “Please, don’.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she murmured, pressing her fingers to her eyelids, as if they could keep the water back like a dam. “Uh, how was the movie?”

“It was good,” Harry assured her, surprising himself. He hadn’t known that he enjoyed it until then, when he was put on the spot. Bea appeared like she’d been summoned.

“I heard that!” she nearly shouted. “He liked it!” Then her eyes fell to Melody and her snide grin tipped into a frown. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Melody said with a discrete sniffle. “Can someone ask Vanessa if we can leave?”

“She said you just need to take it easy for a few weeks.” Bea shuffled past Harry and pried Melody’s hands from her face. “Which means no training.”

“Perfect,” Melody mumbled. She allowed Bea to begin shifting her out of the bed, gently twisting her limbs, trying not to tweak her rib. Harry had to lower himself into the chair a few feet from where he had been standing to give his legs some relief.

“The wraps are just for you to get home.” Bea paused as Melody bit back a whimper, waiting for her to straighten her torso. “And she’s hooking you up with some pain meds.”

“Yeh’ll need ‘em,” Harry muttered. He stood back up as the girls made their way toward the door. They were a conspicuous group, with a cane, a wrapped ribcage, and shuffling footsteps. Eyes followed them through the halls, all the way to a cab.

***

Melody’s lips grew white as Harry helped her out of her wrappings. She screwed her eyes shut and her fingertips curled into his knee.

“Okay,” he whispered as he tugged the final loop of fabric loose, leaving her skin bare. The sight of her flesh made him hiss. “Who the fuck hit yeh, the Hulk?”

“Mmm.”

Harry pressed a hand to her cheek. Her skin was hot, damp, and he could feel her jaw twitching, like she might be grinding her teeth. Her breathing was shallow.

“Let’s get yeh some o’ those painkillers, yeah?”

“No, I’m okay,” she whispered, though her voice shook.

“Mel.” He pressed a kiss to one of her closed eyes. “I’ve had a bruised rib before.”

She didn’t respond. He heard her try to take a deeper breath and then felt her neck quiver beneath his fingertips. She shook with the effort of stifling a cough.

“Don’ do that.” He pressed her backward and she gasped, clinging to his arm and letting out an agonized sob at the sharp intake of breath. “‘M sorry,” he rushed. “Love, ‘m sorry. Just sit back for me.”

She let him lower her away from him, eyes still squeezed shut and chin beginning to tremble like it had in the hospital. Her eyelashes were wet and Harry touched his forehead to hers. “Okay?”

“No.”

He let out a short huff of acknowledgment and then lifted the pillow from beside them, holding it tenderly to her chest as he leaned back. “If yeh need to cough just hold this to your chest. ’S still gonna hurt but it’ll be better.”

There was a pause before she wrapped her arms around the pillow and sputtered out a few gentle coughs. Her eyelids fluttered, nails biting into her palms, lips curling into her mouth.

“Melody, yeh don’ have to pretend yeh’re not in fuckin’ pain,” Harry told her, pressing a hard kiss to her cheekbone. He brushed hair away from her forehead, carefully avoiding her bruise, and then used his thumb to pry her lips back into place before kissing them. “Not on my account. ‘M sorry I got angry. I don’ want yeh to fight. But if yeh’re hurtin’ like this ‘m not just gonna tell yeh to suck it up.”

Harry stroked her ear and her tensed facial muscles began to relax. Her lips parted. She opened her eyes to glance up at him and almost immediately let them fall closed again as she began to cry.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. He didn’t know whether it was for her or for himself. And he didn’t know if her tears were solely from the pain or for another reason entirely.

The mattress shifted despite his best efforts as Harry climbed off the bed. He hurried into the kitchen, gathering Melody’s prescription, a glass of water, and an ice pack. He almost didn’t even realize he’d forgotten his cane until he was laying himself down beside Melody, who had pulled the pillow up to cover the bottom half of her face, stifling her shallow sobs. But this wasn’t a moment to celebrate.

“All right, love, take some o’ these.” He shook out a few pills and reached across her for the glass he’d put on the night table. She lowered the pillow enough to toss the meds back and swallow a gulp of water, but Harry had to tug it from her grip so he could position the ice atop her angry, swelling bruise. Somehow, he’d finagled her bra over her head before attempting to unwrap her, and her breasts erupted in goosebumps at the cold touch.

“It fucking hurts,” she whimpered out.

“I know, I know.” Harry settled his hand over the ice pack, pressing his lips to Melody’s shoulder. “Give the pills a little bit o’ time.”

He fell silent and stroked her wrist with his free hand until her tears began to ebb. The clock read one in the morning. Bea had gone to bed as soon as they’d gotten home because she needed to work on a group project the next morning. Harry was beginning to feel tired himself, and he couldn’t imagine how exhausted Melody was.

“Just one problem after another,” he finally said. “Just can’ seem to catch a break, can we?”

“Wouldn’t life be so boring?”

He chuckled against her skin. “Just a little break would be nice, though.”

Melody didn’t respond. Her shallow breathing was beginning to slow. Harry kissed her cheek to check that she was truly asleep before he removed the ice pack from her side and very carefully covered her with the sheets. And he hoped that the rest of her healing would pass more smoothly than this first night.

Chapter 12

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles series #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x ofc #boxer!harry #boxer!au #harry styles au #harry styles ferocity

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tripleaxeldiaz · 4 years

Text

i will learn to love the skies i’m under

read on ao3

It’s been a minute since Eddie has been in such a bad mood.

A bad mood is annoying enough as it is, but this one in particular has been lurking for about a week too long, filtering into every part of his life so that he’s pissed from the minute he opens his eyes in the morning until he’s back in bed at night.

The worst part of it all is that nothing even happened to set him off in the first place. Chris is back from camp, the 118 has been miraculously tragedy-free recently, he and Buck have even been able to work a few date nights into their endlessly busy schedules. Everything is objectively perfect for the first time in a long time.

But still, these past few days, the very act of being a human has taken so much effort.

He smiles listening to Chris talk about the latest addition to his comic book collection, but he can feel that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and he knows he missed a bit in the middle about some big twist when he zoned out to stare at nothing. It takes extra energy to make sure he’s focused during shift, so any socializing in between calls just feels draining. The jokes, the carefree laughs, it all slowly grates on him, his skin itching like it’s trying to slide off his bones. He tries, still, laughs at all the right places, but by the end of the day he’s retreating to the bunks between calls instead of the loft, blaming it on a migraine or sore back when he’s questioned.

He’d had his bi-weekly with Frank shortly after it started, but even he couldn’t offer much help.

“I can prescribe you something if this keeps going on and starts interfering with work or family. Otherwise, try and focus on the positives in your life. It’s easier said than done, but sometimes it makes all the difference.”

So he was trying. He went out for drinks with the team, played with Chris in the backyard, had movie nights, the whole shebang. But everything was just off — he was off. And as much as he tried to act like he was fine, there was still that constant hum just under his skin, a constant reminder that his brain has decided hey man, I know your life is all peaches and cream right now, but that doesn’t mean shit. We’re gonna focus on the bad things instead.

What bad things? Hell if Eddie knows. He can’t focus on one good or bad thing long enough to pinpoint what exactly is making him feel like this. It just seems to be the general cloud of past traumas hanging over his brain, and it’s raining all the residual bad feelings down, and he doesn’t have an umbrella.

He sets his coffee cup down hard (harder than he meant to, really) before sitting down at the table, earning identical eyebrow raises from Hen and Chimney. He sees them look at each other out of the corner of his eye before they turn to him, pushing MCAT practice books out of the way.

“Everything alright, Eddie?” Hen asks, maternal and receptive as ever.

“Fine,” he says tightly, and great, he’s snapping at people now. His energy is so depleted that he can’t even keep his people skills in check.

“We’re here if you need us, man,” Chim says with his reassuring smile. “We won’t even tell Buck about it if you don’t want us to.”

Eddie can’t help smiling at that, though it’s still small. He does want to talk to Buck about it all, of course he does. But Buck has been pulling extra shifts this past week while Ortiz is out with a busted ankle. They’ve barely had a conversation about what groceries to get let alone the fact that Eddie feels completely out of sorts, like he’s screwing up everything he’s normally good at and can’t figure out how to do it right again. And he knows Buck will help him, knows he would want to if he knew, but he keeps convincing himself that he can figure it out on his own, that Buck is so overworked now that he shouldn’t unload any more stress onto him. That, at least, he can still control.

He wishes his brain wasn’t so damn loud.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face as Hen and Chim watch him with matching weariness. “I’m okay guys, I promise. Just been feeling a little off lately.”

Hen smiles sympathetically, reaches across the table to squeeze his wrist. Chim opens his mouth like he’s about to offer his patented sage advice, but he’s quickly cut off by the alarm. They rush to the truck, and Eddie feels just a bit relieved that for at least the next two hours, he’ll be humming with adrenaline rather than baseless uncertainty. He’ll forget the clouds and the rain and focus on saving lives, something he knows he can always do well.

He almost convinces himself that clouds will stay away this time.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of shift, Eddie’s whole body feels like lead. The last two calls of the day weren’t even remarkable, but he feels listless and slow, and he’s glad that he can basically drive home by muscle memory now, because the rain is pounding in his brain agan and it’s hard to focus on anything. As he sits in the driveway, willing his body to get up get up get the hell up, he allows himself to slip for a minute. Maybe if he lets some of the rain in, briefly succumbs to the ever brewing storm, it’ll release some of the pressure and it’ll be easier to breathe. Maybe he’ll feel like himself again for the first time in weeks.

10 minutes later, and he’s pretty sure he just feels worse.

He opens the front door and is greeted by darkness and silence. Christopher is at a sleepover, and the first thing he feels when he remembers is relieved, because now he can sit in his dark living room, alone, all night, and see if he’ll feel better if he stews a little longer. Maybe he can work it out of his system in a few hours instead of a few minutes.

He also feels a little guilty that he’s glad his son isn’t around, but he can just add that to all the other bad feelings. Might as well keep fueling the fire, at this point.

As he drops his bag in the entryway, he notices that it’s actually not totally dark in his house. There’s a soft glow coming through the sliding glass doors that lead to the patio, and he’s pretty sure he hears music too now that he’s paying attention. As he makes his way outside, he’s greeted by blankets and every pillow they own set up on the lawn, pad thai containers, and his boyfriend drenched in string lights and moonlight, adjusting the speakers set up around the yard.

Buck looks up as he hears the door slide closed, smiling brightly, and Eddie swears he can feel the rain lighten up. It’s still there, steady as ever, but the drops aren’t as heavy. Buck meets him at the door, drops a kiss on his cheek, and Eddie’s hands instinctively come up to rest on Buck’s hips.

“What’s all this?” Eddie asks as he continues surveying the yard. “I thought you were working tonight?”

Buck shrugs, his hands grabbing Eddie’s as he steers them to the pillow nest. “Ortiz got cleared for work a few days early, asked for her shifts back. Plus it’s a beautiful night, and I really just wanted to spend it with you.”

He kisses Eddie, warm and sweet, and pulls him down to sit next to him. They start to eat, chatting about everything they’ve missed since they’ve been on opposite shifts, and for a minute, Eddie can almost pretend like everything is normal, like a reset button has been pushed and he can breathe again. He always felt like Buck’s presence and love was a balm for his heart, but it’s moments like these where he’s reminded just how true that actually is.

But as they finish up, lying back and lapsing into comfortable silence, Eddie’s mind starts wandering again. All he wants to do is look at the stars, but the clouds are back, dark as ever, and he doesn’t have the strength to keep fighting them off. He just wants a minute of peace with his boyfriend, that really doesn’t seem like too much to ask.

“You wanna let me know what’s got you all huffy?” Buck asks, his fingers running through Eddie’s hair as his head rests on Buck’s chest. He thought he’d been keeping his irritation in his head. Or maybe he has, and Buck really can read his mind like Eddie’s always suspected he can.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, and he knows it’s not convincing. Buck doesn’t press though, just kisses the crown of his head and keeps his fingers moving.

And that’s it, for whatever reason. Buck allowing him to just be, not expecting him to put up a front or plaster on a smile. Letting him navigate the storm in his head on his own, silently supportive. No one else has really pried or made him talk either, but with Buck it’s different. Everything is different with Buck. Eddie knows that he can fully lean into himself and Buck won’t think any less of him or ask too much of him. And he’ll be there when he can finally articulate what the hell is going on.

Eddie shifts up, lying on his side so he and Buck are face to face. His eyes flit over Buck’s face, searching for...he’s not sure what. Just taking in the fact that he’s here for Eddie, in every way, and judging by the soft but determined look in his eyes, he doesn’t plan on going anywhere. Eddie closes his eyes, lets out a hard breath through his nose. He feels Buck’s hand come up to rest on his jaw, gentle and grounding.

“Everything just feels...bad. I feel bad. And I have no reason to feel like that, because this is the most solid my life has been in years, but that makes me feel even worse.” Buck’s thumb traces a soothing trail along his skin as he collects his thoughts. “It takes so much of me to function normally and it gets harder and harder every day. People keep asking if I’m fine and I am, I should be, but I don’t know how to say, ‘Things are going great but I still feel like garbage and I can’t stop blaming myself for not being able to be happy.’”

Buck’s hand moves down to Eddie’s waist and tugs, their bodies pressing together, his head resting on top of Eddie’s. Finally being able to put words to the noise in his brain helped, but he still feels the static at the surface of his skin, and everything still feels wrong.

“Honey, it is absolutely not your fault that you’re feeling like this,” Buck whispers as his hands start roaming up and down Eddie’s back. “As much as you try and control your emotions, sometimes we don’t get a say in the bullshit our brain makes up, and it can be hard to tell if it’s lying or not.”

Eddie sighs, feels his throat catch as he tries to talk. “I’m just tired of being mad for no reason. It’s one thing when I know specifically what’s pissing me off, but having it be everything and nothing at the same time is exhausting.”

“Then rest, baby. It’s just you and me now, you don’t have to pretend for me. I’m here for the ups and downs, no matter what.”

Eddie doesn’t know who or what blessed him with a man as good as Buck, but he’ll be paying them back until the day he dies. He’s never had someone he could fully let his guard down around, and now that he does, it’s strange and wonderful, something he hopes he never gets used to and never takes for granted.

He can’t find the words to thank Buck, so he kisses him instead. Long and slow, pouring every once of gratitude he has into it, hoping Buck feels it. He thinks he does as he feels him smile against his lips.

He takes Buck’s advice, shifting back to settle into his chest, lets his body get heavy, tries to force the tension away. Buck’s hands on his back and lips on his forehead help.

He’s not miraculously better, but he feels a little less weary. Left of center instead of all the way off course. The rain is still coming down in his mind, but Buck is there with strong arms, a warm heart, and an umbrella big enough for both of them.

He’ll always be there, Eddie knows that for sure. It makes weathering the storm a little easier.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #9-1-1 fox #buddie fic #sir that's my emotional support firefighter that i project my feelings onto #ficcery #soft eddie rights

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by-nina · 4 years

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For auld lang syne, my dear (Coda)

AO3 | FFN Part III of For auld lang syne, my dear Rating: K+ Genre: Romance Word Count: 1,796

A/N: While it’s still January, it’s still a new year. So here’s the end of this story about dancing into a new year! Thanks to everyone who has followed this series, and special thanks to @megthemighty for having old Royai on her wishlist. I couldn’t not do it.

Roy turns quickly to Riza; the sight of her is enough to answer all of his questions. Her hair is more silver than blonde now, and her face has earned wrinkles for all her trouble of working with him all these years, seeing each plan through until the end. More importantly, it is a face that has never left his life.

The years pass one after the other, a decade lapses into the next. Then, the day comes for Roy Mustang to welcome one final new year as the Führer of Amestris.

It passes like every New Year’s Eve that has come before. The streets come alive with high spirits at the stroke of midnight, the sky blooming into brilliant red and green and gold against deep black. Friends come together in an embrace, children are lifted onto their fathers’ shoulders so they could watch the fireworks over the crowd, lovers kiss. Lovers dance. The music is as it has always been; throughout Central, the same traditional song of many New Year’s Eves past echoes down every street and in every citizen’s voice. An accompaniment for memories gone by and new beginnings yet to come.

This all goes on for fifteen minutes before the Führer’s men usher him forward to deliver a message to the public. Without an introduction, the revelers fall into a reverent silence, gazing at him upon the stage at the head of the plaza. There it is for one last time, that quintessential image of Roy Mustang at the podium, sure to be armed with words that are all at once soothing, inspiring, rallying, and most of all sincere. The crowd waits in awe and melancholy.

“My dear fellow Amestrians…”

His voice has kept the verve of his youth, albeit roughened by the years gone by.

“… I am filled with many emotions as I stand here before you tonight. First, I am delighted to join you in celebration of New Year’s Day, even more so to see you with your loved ones on this joyous occasion, safe, healthy, and hopeful as we begin another year of traversing the road we have built together for our great country.”

He pauses, his next words catching in his throat. He allows himself a moment’s glance to his right where she stands at attention, the people’s beloved Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye. As always, she is quick to catch his hesitation and subtle about her response. She meets his gaze, gives a small, imperceptible nod, seeming to everyone else like she didn’t move at all. He sees it, of course, and so he offers her a smile for barely even a second before he looks out to the plaza again.

“At the same time, it is with a heavy heart that I am welcoming the new year with you as your Führer for the last time.” Even the air seems to have turned still. “These twenty years have been devoted to shaping Amestris into a country whose heart beats with its people and for its people. With your unwavering support and belief in a future that belongs to you and not to one single institution or person in power, we have made this possible, and in the spring, you will be electing your very first President as a democratic nation.”

He stops for the thunderous applause that erupts throughout the crowd. There is hollering, triumphant exclamations, fists pumped in the air and arms linked together. It lasts for a minute or two before gradually but not completely fading into silence, and he continues. “And though I long to serve you for many more years, I take comfort in the knowledge of what I leave in your hands to protect. An Amestris that stands for what is just and right, where man and woman, rich and poor, black and white may stand together. Living equally, studying equally, eating and drinking equally… and loving equally.” Another pause. “And this can only be nurtured through you, the upstanding servants that you will soon choose to lead you, and we cannot forget the Ishval Tribunal by whose hard work we shall soon truly mend our country’s wrongs.

“My deepest, sincerest thanks to you all, and a happy New Year.”

Roy makes his way home quietly two hours later, after the festivities have died down. It’s the quietest drive he has been on, and the first he’s had with Riza in a very long time. Being the Führer, he sits in the back, as was their arrangement for a time when she had just become his adjutant many years ago. From there, he watches her drive, her eyes clear with focus, her hands firm on the wheel.

“I hope I haven’t kept you from a good night’s rest,” he says.

“I’d appreciate your concern, Sir,” she replies, “if you had asked me that four decades ago.”

Their eyes meet for a moment in the rear-view mirror, sharing a knowing, laughing look. Riza turns her attention back onto the road, and Roy continues staring at her reflection long after. He pairs it with a fond smile.

“I’ll drop you off at the front steps.”

After a moment, he responds quietly, “The garden, please, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Her fingers flex on the wheel in recognition of the invitation beneath his order. Riza says nothing other than, “Of course.”

The Führer’s palace is largely surrounded by lush orchards that hide the estate from public view, but “the garden” is an open expanse of flowering shrubs over a well-manicured slope behind the palace. It offers a view of part of Central and has served as a hideaway for Roy on nights when he has been stressed about politics as well as bothered by other, more personal things. For the former, Riza has accompanied him as his confidante, an adviser, a friend. For the latter, Roy has needed only to think of her.

Alighting the car, they walk quietly into the garden, steps perfectly synchronized and the distance between them constant. Riza remains behind him, her eyes surely watching him as they always have—Roy knows exactly how her gaze feels on him, even when he isn’t returning it. He is tempted to, but he walks on, searching for a word to describe the feeling and how it relates to the shiver running through him, the warmth blooming in his chest, and then he stops in his tracks. Riza follows suit. He looks up at the view stretching up to the horizon, the city still aglow with the remnants of the night’s celebrations, and he lets out a breath of disbelief.

“I can’t believe how far we’ve come.”

The words, uttered barely under his breath, give Roy release and clarity. It’s as if it were much earlier in the night and he were more awake.

“This is all we have worked for,” he continues. “All these years… all the plans we made, the dreams we’ve had for this country… it’s what all this time has been for. All our work, all our…” His voice begins to quiver, and he sounds most like his younger self now. “… promises.”

Roy looks down, away from the view. “Is it true, Lieutenant Colonel?”

“What is?” Riza whispers.

“Have we really done all that we’ve meant to do? It’s just… it’s all too good to be true, isn’t it? Everything happened so fast, these twenty years as the Führer are all a blur. Have I done enough for our people? Will they be happy with all of it? The reforms, the tribunal, the elections, the…”

He trails off, the words sinking into him as something of a revelation. Roy turns quickly to Riza; the sight of her is enough to answer all of his questions. Her hair is more silver than blonde now, and her face has earned wrinkles for all her trouble of working with him all these years, seeing each plan through until the end. More importantly, it is a face that has never left his life. There he sees the twirling girl from Cameron, his young adjutant, the first woman he ever loved, and the most devoted Lieutenant Colonel in Amestris, his right hand, the only woman he has ever loved.

Riza looks at him with an understanding he has only ever known from her. She nods, smiling. “It’s true,” she says. “I should know. We’ve been together long enough.”

She could never lie to him, not after all this time.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye.”

“General Mustang.”

Roy steps forward, closer to her.

“Riza.” He whispers her name as though he were being careful with it.

“... Roy.”

He extends his hand to her.

“Will you dance with me?”

When she takes his hand, when they pull each other close, it feels natural, easy even without any kind of rehearsal. Roy moves as she does, following her steps and letting her follow his. Riza no longer hesitates to touch like she did in the past. It's a dance of mostly swaying and turning in place, perhaps because it's all their tired bodies can allow at the moment, or because it's all they need to make of it. The rhythm isn't any different from any of the other things they've been able to do together, anyway, like taking their places at the same table or walking side by side. They know each other in this moment just as well as they have in any other.

They dance quietly until he begins to sing the Amestris holiday song in her ear. It’s far from the rendition he first gave her all those years ago—his voice breaks off quite a bit, underscored by breaths and a rumble that wasn't there at seventeen—but the circumstances are so different that it feels like the first time once again. Then, he falters at the last note and fades back into silence, because by now he can only continue the song one other way.

The first kiss, he leaves on her hand, which he brings easily to his lips from their positions as they dance.

The second, he places on her cheek, almost like a whisper, even though there is no secret they need to keep anymore.

And the third—the third dissipates in the scant, delicate space between them, because he is overwhelmed just by being near her. All they do instead is face each other, foreheads touching, lips close but still apart. For the first time, they are physically close enough not to yearn to get closer, close enough to melt by a flame they cannot even see or touch.

Neither of them knows how long they dance or when they stop. It ends with them standing perfectly still and embracing each other under the deep blue sky between late night and dawn. They’ve always understood each other even without words, but for the first time they are quiet because there is nothing left to say, no more unkept promises—not to their country, not to each other.

Nothing, at least, except, "Happy New Year."

The words hold a new promise: a dance that will go on for the rest of their days.

#Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #FMA #FMAB #Royai #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #old Royai #fanfiction #fanfic #romance #writing #written by nina

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douxie-casperan · 4 years

Note

a memory of their father :)

The first few months behind the looming walls surrounding the castle’s innerworkings were proving stressful to say the least. Everything was so different to what Douxie had grown used to from the clothes he was expected to wear, the strict rules he was expected to follow and court manners which he was having additional instruction on multiple times a week on to ensure he could only ever give the best impression. When asked why this was so important the answer he received was a simple one, it is better to put your best foot forward than start on the back and have to work even harder to reach the same place. Prodding for clarification because that didn’t make much sense, after a small sigh he was informed that should anyone regardless of status discover his origins after he had already proved himself with a willingness to adapt it should not hurt his personal standing with them. Politics of the Court are like an ever evolving yet constant game of chess and by doing some of the leg work himself it would improve how people would interact with him more than relying entirely on his title of apprentice to carry him through.

To the now 10 year old it still sounded a bit silly but if it would help make life easier in the long run and given who said it, he didn’t see any reason to argue though he could not wait for those lessons to finally be over lest his head simply fall off from the amount of information he was being expected to memorise just to blend in.

Now for him the biggest novelty of being in Camelot as a citizen (?) was never having to worry about food after a lifetime of it being a constant worry and in how the kitchen staff sometimes snuck him a little bit extra for his plate or pouch and fussed as if he was one of their own. He always did try to be polite if he saw any of them, maybe that had something to do with it? Then he’d managed to try so many brand-new things already too! Lumbolls were possibly one of his favourites, those and the ryschewys though in both cases they are a bit on the special side in not being made often but whenever he got his hands on either after splitting them in half to share with Archie just like they used to while savouring each and every bite down to the last tiny pastry fleck.

His day to day duties when not indulging his ever growing sweet tooth weren’t quite what he had been expecting but he took to them with great enthusiasm anyway with an underlining fear of seeming ungrateful at the unique chance he’d been given accompanied if he did otherwise. These were often in the form of cleaning with a broom or scrubbing with a brush where directed, fetching enchantment ingredients required from the stores or occasionally elsewhere, sorting the books on shelves to finding one that might be needed and more often than not simply carrying things or acting as an extra pair of hands when the wizard needed. He didn’t mind particularly, it felt like he was being useful with the knowledge that if anybody asked he could truthfully respond that he was an errand helping the nerves. Sure they might have used the odd opportunity to do some exploring where they probably shouldn’t have been but knowing the terrain was important as was a quick escape route when knights are wandering around. Being a bit late from going the long way was a much better option than running into any of them, if the life before now had proved anything it was that being cautious was wise, the ones who disappeared were usually the ones that relied purely on luck and didn’t have at least three places to bolt for if things started to turn…

He wasn’t about to let his fear of where a mistake could lead him hold him back from doing anything but he wasn’t exactly about to ignore it completely either. Week by week his mental map was growing and most simply assumed he was getting better at navigating the halls which was true in a sense at least.

The other important note was how use of any form of magic was not permitted unless under the strict supervision of his regular lessons which included the cuff being held in Master Merlin’s workshop as a precaution both as much for himself and any who might realise it was more than for mere decoration. He was also told that if he stuck to this very important rule while being careful about how much he said beyond the closed door he would be allowed to keep his familiar with him if with an additional request that he posed as a cat. In both cases neither would be forever, it was simply important to keep up appearances and thus help ensure their safety in turn. Both figured the room they had been given Archie would be allowed to stretch his wings but they were always careful just in case someone might barge in and hoped might even be allowed to while being tutored as well soon. They were allowed to talk as long as there was no risk of being overheard mind, it was such an ingrained habit at this point neither could figure out why it needed to be brought up in the first place.

Today though was one of those that felt like the work was never done thanks to a chore list longer than a horse’s leg designed to keep him out of everyone’s hair while a big meeting was going on about things he didn’t have the privilege to hear even a hint of. Presently that left him on his hands and knees scrubbing away at the floor that had suffered more than it’s fair share of feet tracking through and was starting to become unsightly as a result with a cat, sans glasses just in case, pointing out any spot he missed while enjoying his own opportunity of being leisurely in the quiet afternoon sun. While he works it is the man who had been so curt in the morn who is currently occupying his thoughts, the same who felt like a as enigmatic now as he was the day they had first met.

"Hey Archie, is this what having a father is like?" Douxie asks suddenly out the blue whilst sounding a mite unsure, his previously focused expression turning into a frown that stares down at the brush he is holding.

"Or parent even, I don't really have any point of reference."

“Hmm? Ah, you are referring to the Master Wizard I presume.” He gets a nod in return and is given rapt attention by his charge.

“Certainly strict as one I would say and he does at least appear to have your interests at heart even if his methodology I cannot say I always agree with.”

“How so?”

“While there are times where your exact pronunciation matters such as spellwork for instance needing to be very precise and yours can lapse at times, he seems to act like any of the descriptions of usage is somehow beyond your reading comprehension unless a single sentence is stretched out by the syllable then repeated over and over until we’re all positively bored of hearing it. Quite a contrast given he still expects you to transcribe extracts to improve your handwriting ability,” comes an answer with a tail twitch.

“You will struggle to say some words in the expected manner which is more than fair but that does not mean you are unable to read anything put in front of you when it is the common language you are already used to.”

“Oh.” Douxie’s brow knits together in thought as it did make sense but there had to be a reason, never he did was without one, he’d come to realise that already.

“Unless it is something I should not be seeing yet?”

“Perhaps, it is not the impression he is giving me however. I do wonder however if he’s stalling deliberately? We are being kept in the dark there might be something else going on we are yet to be aware of.”

“Well he is the Master Wizard that must mean you have a few secrets and I am sure we will find out eventually!” He says taking a moment to give his arms a good stretch, a firm shake then goes back to scrubbing humming away a little as he does.

“It has only been a few months so far, maybe being mysterious is his big thing and it is all a test.”

“Indeed, we just might yet.”

It was late eve by the time he was finally finished with everything which had culminated in locating an older tome documenting the usage of tools from his sneaky glance at the first few pages though he darted away at the first sign of footsteps coming. Merlin had returning bringing a distinct lack of tension in his shoulders compared to what had been there for what felt like weeks causing the pair to look at one another confused not daring to say a word. The meeting is not mentioned nor is any question directed in regards to what had been accomplished either which was very unusual when he seemed to be keeping tabs on what sorts of things they had been up to when not under his feet. After checking that what he had asked was not sitting on the bench with a satisfied sound that could almost be taken as relieve, his cloak sweeps round as he takes the few steps to place a hand on the young boy’s head with a smile akin to the one he had once given at the gates causing him to blink a little bewildered.

“Well my boy, it would appear your patience has paid off. From tomorrow how do you feel in regards to learning some real magic?”

Douxie’s grin could not have been any wider if it tried.

#trollamulet #No facts truer than a good meme #Camelot of ages past

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ask-jaghatai-khan · 4 years

Text

Upsilon-28

A fanfic showing off my character, the Lord-Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28, from my Sect of the Revelation Mechanism.

Read below the cut, or on my other blog.

Image of Quartermaster Rho by TomisJB

“Are you assured of this procedure’s safety, my Lord-Archmagos?” the adept asked, his half-modulated voice subdued yet still retaining but a hint of mortal apprehension.

Archmagos Chertovsky did not respond. Not at once. Like an inert golem of tangled metal, he stood with his inhuman eyes fixed on the suspension tank in front of him. Within the amniotic fluid of that arcane structure floated a figure in stark contrast to the elder tech-priest’s own. Whereas Chertovsky Upsilon-28 was a hunched being with an ill-defined silhouette broken by so many layers of intricate augmetics, the being within the tank was an unadorned human. More than human, even – perfection. They stood a head taller than any typical mortal, with a muscled physique somewhere between the lithe form of a trained assassin and the unstoppable power of one of the Emperor’s own Angels of Death. A dormant face like the visage of a masterwork statue, pale with fresh tissue and possessing a bone structure more fearsome than any living man or woman lulled atop the divine form.

Not one of the myriad trusted adepts within the operating room would comprehend the thoughts going through the Archmagos’ mind. Beyond the simple fact that the processors supplementing their more “youthful” brains were insubstantial compared to Chertovsky’s own databanks, they couldn’t know the depth of emotion felt by that otherwise cold and impassive tech-priest.

It was him. The figure in the tank, for how much it resembled no human who had ever lived, was him. Within the enhanced and perfected features of that vegetative husk hid the subtle markers of what the Archmagos had once been. He could remember, however dim those memories were – the shape of his nose, of his brows, the fine details of bone structure in those areas which had seen the least amount of modification. It was like those depictions of Imperial saints crafted by artists long after their subjects had passed into legend, idealizing the forms of men and women who had been but scarred wretches in their true lives.

The strange feelings that Chertovsky wrestled with in silent contemplation were made all the more powerful by the knowledge of his own current degradation. He had not been as diligent of late with the upkeep of his augmetics. Chertovsky Upsilon-28 was a being who preferred careful symmetry, efficiency, and greater thought given over to the aesthetics of his bionic enhancements than some more utilitarian members of the Martian cult. Yet in recent months, at the leadup to this procedure, he had focused on nothing more than ensuring he had the right tools for whatever task was at hand, his cyberized form lapsing more and more into an ill-defined morass of mechadendrites and layered servos. Not even of the highest quality, either, just simple factory-standards. This was his sacrifice – he’d waited for so long, he’d saved up so much, in resources and knowledge and all that was needed to perfect this great transformation.

What a shame, Chertovsky thought then as he pushed such mortal sentiments from his mind for the time being, fixated on the task at hand. You shall not be whole for long, creature. He spoke to his own un-twin. However fine that flesh was, it was still but a foundation for far greater enhancements.

—

Looking like a diminutive pest, a waylaid rat, the youth stood in the corner of the whitewashed room. They were an adolescent, almost an adult, but the with way they seemed so out of place, so fearful of their surroundings – they could not have looked more like a child if they’d tried. Robes of Martian red covered their wastrel form, but they were not the holy vestments of a tech-priest.

This place was so much different from anywhere that young boy had ever seen. Far removed from the brutal, industrial maze that dominated any civilized tract of Mars, this room was clean, sterile, almost comforting in its soft and bare décor. The youth had seen medical rooms before, but a handful of times, yet the quality of the Mechanicus’ own facilities was astounding. A simple waiting room in a surgical center was as a cathedral to the boy.

Sunken, flitting eyes darted to the steel door at one end of the room, as a prominent beep announced the arrival of the individual he’d been waiting for.

“Chertovsky – Germani—” the figure spoke as they entered, in a voice that was near musical in its synthesized smoothness, “You are the last one today. It is good that you made it.”

Compared to the wiry young human known as Germani Chertovsky, the being which now dominated the waiting room held little to reflect that it had once been human itself. This was Ben-Sheva Stith, though the use of his full name was reserved as an honor for those aspirants who managed to gain acceptance into the Mechanicus. To all others, he was Stith-E200, Magos Biologis and Ordinator to those myriad souls who sought to find purpose within the Machine God’s holy embrace.

Stith was a monstrous being, made all the more freakish by what parts of him were still in facsimile of humanity. Yet his charges did not fear him. Rather, they envied him. Stith had assembled his body in a bulky form that almost evoked the might of one of the Emperor’s great power-armored warriors, looking like a bronze statue come to life. From his back sprouted a mantle of servo-arms like the branches of a metallic tree, and his unmoving face was a mask of polished marble-hued stone with eyes like gleaming aquamarines. Yet where the tech-priest might have had normal legs, instead between the gaps in his crimson robes could be seen glimpses of his almost insectoid lower half. Stith’s centaur-like form, both majestic and intimidating, was a testament to what any mere mortal could become through the grace of the Omnissiah.

“Ave Deus Mechanicus.” Germani bowed, looking even smaller next to the grand form of the Ordinator.

“Against all odds you have completed your training as a novice and shall soon be inducted as a Rassophore within the holy order of Mars. This is a time for rejoicing, if ever such mortal emotions are to be indulged, Chertovsky!” Stith counseled the boy, “You shall soon be free of the frailties of your crude flesh and brought into the mechadendrites of the Machine God.”

The boy just kept his gaze lowered, though he gave a vigorous nod of understanding. Truth was, he felt as if he were about to throw up. It wasn’t all fear – the knowledge that his long transformation from a being of flesh to a being of iron would soon start proper via the most direct means was daunting, for sure, but he was still enthusiastic. Beneath simple red robes there was the form of a human who had seen ails beyond their years, and Germani longed to be free of the limitations of his base tissue.

“So tell me, Chertovsky, what will you give up?” the Ordinator asked then, instruments whirling about his head on their hydraulic stalks, funneling myriad unknown data-readouts into Stith’s processors, analyzing the charge in front of him.

“What?” the novice asked, somewhat dumb in his tone.

“Come, mortal, you know,” Stith waved his brassy hand, “Upon your ordination you shall receive your first core bionics. Spinal enhancements and neuro-ports and those basics which shall see your path towards enlightenment eased in these initial steps. But this is not fully standardized. You must choose something else to give up. A sacrifice of flesh to the Machine God.”

Germani looked about the room as if the answer might be written on the wall somewhere. He had indeed thought long about this choice, though now just as it was to be made, his mind had been flushed clear of all thoughts.

“M-maybe – maybe my legs,” the novice gestured down, “Like the Skitarii.”

He spoke of the Tech-Guard, the line warriors of the Mechanicus. To a soul they replaced their lower legs with durable augmetics, to honor those first nomads of Mars whose flesh and bones had been scoured on their long treks through the red sands. Germani himself just thought about the acute pain in his own legs. He was often in pain, though to the point where he had long since adjusted to the constant aches within his body, dulling them into one subconscious sense of weakness. Beneath his sturdy work-boots was skin afflicted with sores and callouses, bones compressed and tendons strained from an upbringing within a Martian landscape which was holy to the tech-priests but near unlivable to any normal lifeforms.

“A noble choice, and a popular one,” Stith might have grinned were his face not set in stone, “The prerequisite enhancements to your spinal column shall ensure you will not be hindered by these replacements, and they shall be only of benefit to you. But can you think of nothing else?” he asked then, trying to beckon some zeal out of the timid boy.

Germani thought again and considered how even now the world seemed lopsided. His left eye, which had been singed by a plume of sparks when he’d been but a child, and even now gave him little more than vague shadows in place of genuine sight.

“My left eye?” the novice offered, “So that my sight might be more pure?”

“Also good, and also common,” the Ordinator approved, “We may do both surgeries, if that is the offering you are willing to make?”

But Germani’s mind was racing now, and he was so aware of all the acute pains and ills which he had put up with his whole life, brought about by his growth on a world of poison, ash, sand, and steel.

“My hands, maybe?” he suggested, “Or my lungs? Maybe my stomach so I’ll no longer be a slave to hunger?”

Stith raised his hand, and the boy stopped at once. Yet when the Magos spoke, his synthesized voice was absent anything but pride.

“There will be time for such things later on in your journey. This is but one offering, one ascension which you shall make today. Though your ardor is laudable. Nurture that feeling. Couple it to your lust for knowledge, and one day you might find unity with the divinity of the Omnissiah.”

With that, the tech-priest beckoned for the youth to follow him to the next room. Though he had not yet been given his new name, Germani thought many times after, as all of his order did, that his rebirth as Chertovsky Upsilon-28 began not when he donned his clergy robes, but when he laid down upon that operating table.

—

The Lord-Archmagos oversaw the dissection of his own homunculus with exacting rigor. Half the time, it was not the ministrations of his trusted adepts or the automated algorithms of the surgical servitors that progressed the operation, but his own sterilized mechadendrites. These younger tech-priests were some of the best available, to say nothing of their loyalty – Chertovsky had contracted their services from Set-E299, apprentice to his old Ordinator and one of the few individuals on Mars the Archmagos could count as a true “ally” – yet still their skills paled when put up to some of Chertovsky’s most ironclad specifications.

Layer by layer the unneeded tissue of the grandiose clone-body was stripped away in preparation for its encasement in divine metal. Like any experienced Magos Biologis would confirm, not all flesh was so impure or antithetical to the Machine God’s designs. It was but one aspect of the myriad systems through which that holy Order expressed itself, though prone to failure and degradation. As such, but a handful of organs and the like would be kept from this corpse – the simplistic efficiency of such structures as marrow, certain neurons, and hormonal regulators. In time they would be upgraded by supplements of steel and copper and glass, but they would be left intact. The rest – the muscle, the unneeded bones, the vestigial tracts – would be recycled.

Cloning was in itself not a difficult task if one was not looking to create life. To grow a shell was simple, and drew upon long traditions of Imperial science dating back to the Emperor himself. Still, the procedure that Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28 intended to undergo was not so standard. Radical, some might say. Yet it was necessary. All of his progress as a tech-priest had led to this moment. Some on Mars thought him dead, for how long he had been absorbed in his own calculations, cut off from the greater machinations of the Cult. It was time for his second rebirth. Like the emergence of the Omnissiah, and the crafting of the ancient warriors of Terra – Custodian, Space Marine, and the like – Chertovsky was preparing for a metamorphosis. Decades worth of valuable resources had gone into the gene-crafting and augmetic specs for this new body. It almost seemed like a waste, even to the Archmagos, but what was one masterwork body compared to all the industry of the Imperium? This was a form suitable to the ongoing work of someone as ambitious as Chertovsky Upsilon.

Flesh disappeared, replaced or covered by layers of technological augmentation. The corpse became a skeleton of metal and wire, before the outer plating was affixed. For how much the Archmagos had dwelled on this design, it was rather simple. At its core it kept a humanoid form, yet that was but the chassis for the true ingenuity of the shell. Numerous ports and mechadendrite-mountings would allow for all the adaptability and modularity a senior Magos would expect and demand, while the central unit retained a degree of strength, of majesty. This was enhanced further by the final addition – the Abeyant. Like the shell of an isopod, the outer casing loomed about the skull-like visage of the husk’s face, before arcing back in broad segmentae down to the waist. Not just a mechanism for locomotion and adaptation alone, equipped as it was with repulsor-stabilizers and even more servo-ports – it was the main housing of Chertovsky’s primary obsession…

A wise soul once said that the most key step along the Quest for Knowledge was in fact learning how to learn, and the Lord-Archmagos had taken that concept into his synthetic heart. Where other tech-priests might become enamored by more “impressive” technologies, Chertovsky’s earliest training had been as an augmeticist. Risking his very life, he had delved into the ways one could enhance their own brain, expanding databanks and supplementing processing power. From thereon, all other tasks had seemed simple by comparison. Once one could manipulate the very core of their being – their means of accruing knowledge – no further obstacles were ever so insurmountable.

As such, the Abeyant of Chertovsky’s awaiting shell was the home of its multi-brain. Not just a single casing with neuro-uplinks, but a chain of multiple wetware cogitators assembled with painstaking precision by the Archmagos himself. In a moment of rather base lust, Chertovsky wondered what that high would feel like – to leave behind this venerable but utilitarian body and jack-in to the computational power of that hardware.

It might kill him, but that was of little concern.

A great many hours later, and at least one changing-out of the assistant adepts, the work was at last complete. Or rather, everything but the final step.

The body had been crafted. From a being of cloned flesh had been forged a suitable masterwork of steel. Its core was almost reminiscent of a Skitarii warrior in its semi-skeletal armored form, though additional layers of plating in several sections gave the suit a more martial appearance. From a harness about the waist emerged the stumps of numerous ports that would soon be host to whatever tangle of mechadendrites the Archmagos might require, though still the body retained its arms and legs in honor of what it had once been. The face was like a hybrid between a skull and a gas mask, its goggle-like eyes unlit and dormant, flanked by several lenses to allow for an impressive range of enhanced sight. Despite being laid on its back within the operation-scaffold, the body was almost sat up due to the size of the Abeyant on its back, like an upended turtle. Coupled with the broad mantle of the form’s shoulders, the metallic hood of the mounted processor provided an impressive silhouette, while the port-studded and armored carapace gave the whole figure impressive size and solidity. It looked somewhat ungainly, but that would be fixed once all the needed mechadendrites were attached.

“It is time.” The Archmagos said, more to himself than the nearby assistants.

“A triumph of artifice, m’lord!” the lead adept lauded. His own form was reminiscent of a Sicarian guard, and far better assembled than the mess Chertovsky had allowed himself to become in his single-minded focus of late, yet even that younger tech-priest’s impressive shell could not hold a lumen to the creation that sat just behind a layer of sealed glass.

“Engage the final routines. I take my leave.” Chertovsky said, shambling over to the airlock.

“Are you assured of your safety, m’lord?” the adept pressed, though he did not stop his superior, “What are we to do in case of complications?”

“Irrelevant details. I have composed the final algorithms myself,” the Archmagos replied, stepping into the first hall of the sterilization chamber and turning to meet the glass eyes of his assistant, “The commendations for you and your associates have already been sent to Magos Set. If this operation results in my expiration, it shall not impact your rewards.”

There was a pause then, and so Chertovsky concluded that their exchange was over, and yet – quite against all etiquette of the Mechanicus – the adept asked a final question. A base question, but one that almost managed to halt the Archmagos in its sincerity.

“M’lord – are you afraid?”

Chertovsky paused for but half a second before he pushed the button to seal the airlock. Beneath a hooded miter of Martian red, a static face of wires and lenses could do nothing to convey emotion. Yet within the modulated voice of the Archmagos there was a timbre of something great. An almost human emotion.

“Not anymore.”

Lord-Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28 pressed the button, and was alone. Within the next room, an operating mounting awaited him. Bending to his neural inputs, Chertovsky saw his various supplemental readouts go dead as he detached the case that contained what remained of his brain from all ports but his locomotive motors. He proceeded into the surgery theater and entrusted his mind to the pre-programmed hands of his servitors.

—

It was an uncommon thing for a tech-priest to dream. Periods of dormancy might occur, but to dream required that the core cogitator – the brain – should slip into an unconscious state. If they so wished, a cyborg of the Mechanicus might “sleep” and awake an indefinite amount of time later as if no time had passed at all.

With this sacrifice are you brought into the fold of the Machine God. With this augmentation of your body is your soul made more pure.

But Chertovsky indulged himself. There was no real way to regulate his sensory inputs as his brain itself was handled, and so a quick injection of some anesthetic helped to ease the process along. His mind swam within currents that had been long forgotten to him – as if he could dip for but a moment into the cerebral waters of the Immaterium itself.

How long until I am like you?

Are there any limits to the Omnissiah’s path? You say I must keep some of my flesh – but when is flesh superior to iron?

To have one’s very grey matter manipulated, even while under sedative, was a surreal experience. One did not “feel” anything, and yet they felt even the slightest disturbance as if it touched at their very soul.

Are you afraid?

This is but one offering – one ascension – which you shall make today.

Man and Machine. This union between our two empires. For from humanity are our souls born, and through the godlike Machine are they made strong.

You do not understand. I see the true potential of this crude matter. This was my first step. I have learned how to learn.

There was a change. A switch. Something connected, something came online. Chertovsky could not know yet how long the surgery had taken, but it was as if his mind had forgotten its own senses. Bare inklings of readouts – felt more than seen – were like breaths of pure air to a forgotten prisoner.

Are you afraid?

The flesh is weak. It is pain.

By the Omnissiah you are anointed. By the Omnissiah are you reborn.

Are you dreaming?

Awake.

Beyond the glass of the surgical theater, the assisting adepts watched the servitor arms retreat from their charge. Hissing and clanging sounded as stabilizers and therapeutic regulators detached.

[CONNECTIONS ONLINE]

The monitor readout was confirmed by one of the adepts.

[CORE REACTOR EQUALIZED. NEURAL SIGNATURE STABLE.]

“Finalize.” The lead adept gave the one order needed, and his compatriot entered the code to end the automated routines and release the Archmagos’ shell from its bonds.

Within the sockets of Chertovsky’s silver, skull-like face, electric blue lights flickered to life.

#warhammer #40k #mechanicus #oc #cyborg #short story #fanfic #homebrew

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the-world-of-enterra · 4 years

Photo

The still, silent statue in the courtyard of the City of Tears stood glistening in the light of the lumafly lanterns amidst the constant pattering of rain. It brought mixed feelings to Kiolos, who stood in silence, leaning on his walking staff. He grew tired quickly, something that had not left him since his time in that… place. He didn’t even like thinking about the name of it. The darkness, the burning and mocking laughter of the Radiance in his mind, her cruel words picking away at him until…

“In the Black Vault far above. Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal.” The voice reading aloud was unnatural and guttural. More a strange, beastly growl forced into words than a voice. It startled Kiolos so much his claws skittered on the wet stone. His antennae tucked against his horns as he almost fell on his rear, only the walking staff keeping him upright.”Fat lot of good that did, eh?” The other finished. Kiolos turned to face the other, cautious with his head low. They were Vhessen, but thick and powerful in build, a little taller than him. Their right horn was broken off, revealing the dark bone beneath, a huge hole shattered in their mask, revealing one glowing white shade-eye staring fiercely from the blackness. Their cloak-like wings hung tattered behind them, their body riddled in scars of all sorts. They didn’t appear to carry a weapon, but with the Lumafly lantern light glinting off of long, wicked claws and jagged, powerful jaws, Kiolos doubted they needed one.

The look on the other’s face changed the instant Kiolos turned to face them. Recognition hit like a wall of cold water, sending a rush up their spine, ending in their head. “I ah.. I mean, I didn’t… uh.. I didn’t know that was you there.” They rumbled in the most awkward apology imaginable. This one clearly didn’t apologize often. Kiolos relaxed slightly once the startle wore off. ‘It’s … fine.’ Kiolos said, after a moment of silence. ‘You simply startled me. I… come back here, sometimes. Just to think.’

Void speech? That was something the big Vhessen didn’t hear often. “I just came to have a look at the place.” The big Vhessen shrugged their shoulders a bit. “Looks like it was quite the city, once.” ‘It was.’ Kiolos lapsed into silence again, his gaze still planted on that statue - the statue that had been the hope of the entire kingdom. The kingdom that he failed.. The storm of thoughts didn’t leave. “I bet you didn’t have a choice in the whole matter, eh?” Rumbled the other Vhessen, making Kiolos jump again. The other immediately looked apologetic again. ‘It’s…. Fine.’ Kiolos repeated, quietly. ‘It’s… complicated. I was chosen, pure. Without thought, or voice, or feeling..’ His voidspeech shook a bit. ‘I failed my fath.. The King. I failed the Kingdom, as well.’ It spilled out more readily than usual. Maybe because he didn’t know this strange Vhessen standing there at the memorial. He didn’t have to worry about disappointing them.

“And then used as a tool by your King, I take it?” Perhaps a hint of bitterness, but more than that a quiet understanding. ‘…. Yeah. A tool. Nothing more. A tool that failed.’ Kiolos said, his voidspeech so soft the other barely heard the end of it.

Kiolos jumped slightly once more when he felt the other’s hand lightly settle on his shoulder. It took his mind out of the swirling storm of thoughts that threatened to overtake his mind, though, so he didn’t mind. “Bah, fuck that.” The other commented, matter of factly. The loose use of swearing surprised Kiolos again, who turned to face the other, head tilted slightly to the side. “Kings will be Kings, fools who use others around them and never see their true worth. They never see you for who you are. All they see is what you can do for them. Don’t blame yourself for what that King forced you to do. I heard the story. He pissed off some Moth Bitch, Moth Bitch made a kingdom sick with some infection goo shit, and he thought he could use some Hollow Vessel to contain her. Bah… everybody knows you can’t have life without feeling. He should have known that. He should have found some other way to deal with the Moth Bitch.” A very soft huff came from Kiolos, a voiceless laugh, slightly amused by the other. ‘That’s… ah.. That’s a way to put it. While some call me Hollow, or the Hollow Knight, I simply go by Kiolos. You?’ “The name’s Vherra. Means Nothing. Trash. Worthless.” He smirked a bit, perhaps bitterly. He saw the look on Kiolos’ face, the position of his antennae, felt him place his remaining hand, so delicate and slender, on his. “I’m fine, though.” he added, a bit reassuringly as he withdrew his hand from Kiolos shoulder and rubbed at the back of his neck a bit. “Doesn’t bother me, really.” Vherra shook his head a few times, a few drops of water flying off, though the constant pattering rain replaced them immediately. ‘Let’s get somewhere a bit more dry.’ Kiolos offered, observing the other’s brief annoyance at the sopping, soaking wet that permeated the City of Tears. The walking staff left where he had set it, forgotten for the moment, he reached his one hand to take Vherra’s hand gently. Vherra took his hand and followed him through the remains of the city and into one of the still intact buildings, where the two settled quietly side by side to watch the rain streak against the large window, the constantly, softly falling rain the only sound to fill the silence of the quiet, still remains of what had been a great city.

#The Shadow of Doubt #Hollow Knight #TSoD #Kiolos #Vherra #THK #The Hollow Knight #City of Tears #They meet

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ashleyswrittenwords · 5 years

Text

Trials and Tribulations (I)

A ZeLink Fanfiction that was meant to be a oneshot.

Premise: The hero has successfully saved Hyrule from Calamity Ganon, but there’s a lingering problem that he desperately wants to abandon - the princess.

Small Note: Only two chapters! Thanks for the support! :)

Chapter Two

Word Count: 2853

-------

Trials and Tribulations: Chapter One

“Do you really remember me?”

He didn’t say anything.

The girl in front of him shimmered from the aftereffects of the goddess’s power and it slowly dimmed. With it, the weight of mortality drifted onto her consciousness. For the first time in a century, Zelda stumbled. Her knight attendant watched as she did, only moving when it was assured she was falling to the ground. Link’s hands wrapped around her forearm and shoulder. She expected an embrace, or even comforting words, but when she looked up at him there was a gaze devoid of affection. It was then all her fears were realized. Zelda swallowed the crushing wail that threatened to escape.

Zelda scorned herself for the remote hope she harbored. He had slept for a century, there was no hope to be had. A push to mourn filled her breast but pushed it down at the remembrance was what he still gained from this long year. Friends, happiness… independence from her. The times she was able to watch him smile once more was enough, wasn’t it? She had worried ongoingly about the effects of the shrine and what it would mean for him.

“You don’t,” Zelda stated, not entirely level-headed.

Link stared for a long moment at the girl in his grasp. The glow that shined from her skin had subsided to her pale, mortal complexion. Then, with indifference he said, “I remember enough.”

---

The weeks went by painstakingly. Between recovering from the Calamity’s downfall and trying to figure out what their next steps were, the hero and the princess were more than spent. However, as exhausted as they were, neither voiced it. Even more noteworthy was what remained unsaid other than what was strictly necessarily.

In the beginning, Zelda tried start small talk that wasn’t much different from when they had first met. As she was finally able to feel the sun’s rays and the cool soil, she would impulsively elaborate on the useless biology facts that surfaced in her memory. But unlike the Link who would once listen with silent interest to humor her, it seemed to only drive him away. Link wouldn’t say anything to stop her, but his eyes watched her with an icy stare so chilling that each time she would stop and struggle with what to say until her words failed them into quiet dissolution once more.

Even then, Zelda hadn’t been completely defeated in rekindling a connection. Anything to get more than one-word responses from him. It wasn’t until a night of rabbit stew and her incessant droning about mushrooms did in his resolve.

“I don’t care,” Link grumbled.

The princess paused her motions in stirring her bowl of soup, “I beg your pardon?”

He looked at her and through her all at once. Each word was spoken with emphasis, “I do not care, Princess.”

The watery look in her eyes boiled over the anger in his chest. Without another word he flung his bowl of soup to the side and stormed off into the brush. It wasn’t the first time he had left her alone, but it was the first time he had done it while she was awake. Link knew he would be fine if he dropped everything and started over; he had been forced to do it before and he could do it again. Would, Link always thought to himself every night the urge struck him. And he did, he left with nothing but the clothes on his back - sometimes even leaving the Master Sword in its sheath on the ground. And every time he would walk away, there would be a growing pain in him that stopped him in his tracks. In some instances, it would be a mere five minutes into his abandonment. In others, he would be miles away.

It never mattered. Each attempt would be thwarted by his heels digging in the dirt and pivoting for the direction he came from. His departure always ended with his return and Zelda’s weak performance of pretending to be asleep.

---

The day they arrived in Kakariko Village was the day the princess realized Link’s silence wasn’t a product of the Calamity. Almost immediately, he was tackled by a group of Sheikah children and joined them in their games. While Zelda spoke with Impa, he chatted extensively with the two guards at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t until she was in his presence did he revert back to the stoic man Zelda had grown accustomed to.

After supper, Impa had pulled Zelda aside.

“Is it correct to assume the obvious?” The elderly woman somberly said.

Zelda bit her lip. The rest of the attendants had already left, and it was safe to say that Link had already retired to one of the guest rooms. “Most likely,” was all she could say as Impa’s face fell.

They were seated on the cushioned floor and shared a pot of steaming tea between them. Impa pulled Zelda into a tight hug, “Oh, dear.” She sat back and smoothed out her robes and Zelda glared down at her hands, scrutinizing.

“When he first arrived, I knew his memory was fragmented. Not only from the research we did in the shrine, but also in his mannerisms. It seemed like he was agitated to finish something and didn’t know quite what it was.”

She didn’t need to be told. A century in isolation aside from the presence of an ancient demon left the Golden Princess lonely. Whether it was by her own discovery or a product of Hylia’s pity, it wasn’t but two decades in that she found the ability to watch the land grow from decay as an astral being during Calamity Ganon’s lapses.

Then, Link woke up and everything changed.

Impa breathed in her tea, “I prayed to Hylia every day afterward that he would remember you in the light you deserved.”

“He owes… he owes me nothing,” Zelda hesitantly put her cup down, not trusting her shaking hands. The Sheikah looked at her sharply, “You have been defending this land for lifetimes, Zelda. Surely-”

“He owes me nothing, Impa,” she said, this time more assuredly. It quelled the elder’s insisting. “We took Link’s memory. It’s the last thing I should expect of him.”

Silence washed over them. The only noises were the creaking of floorboards from the rooms above. Zelda stifled a sigh and quickly glanced about the room to realize that nothing much has changed over her absence. At least the Sheikah were a people that remained constant. It reminded the princess of another task altogether, “The castle.”

Impa hummed, closing her eyes to feel the warmth of her tea. “Yes, that,” she said, “Are you so itching to return?”

“A better question is, am I needed?” Zelda thanked Paya for the small blanket that was offered and wrapped it around her shoulders to stave away the Spring chill. “Hyrule has become an entirely new kingdom since Father passed. Perhaps another form of government is more appropriate.”

“Perhaps,” Impa resonated, “However you’re overlooking how fragmented we’ve become. Since the Calamity, trade has drastically decreased due to how dangerous the roads have become and Castle Town had always been the heart of commerce. They need a leader.”

“A matriarch, though?”

“I cannot think of a better candidate than a queen with the blood of a goddess,” she watched Zelda pull her knees to her chest and study the stairs that led up to the upper floor. “Are you unsure, Princess?”

The blonde could only wince at the title. The echo of Link’s patronizing tone reverberated in the back of her mind, making her bite the inside of her cheek. She had to be stronger. “No, but I need time.”

“We are in agreement, then. Be young, Zelda. Do what your heart has always yearned for and when you’re ready… Hyrule will be patiently waiting.”

Her old friend’s words made her smile genuinely.

The princess and her hero had been trekking across Hyrule Field for a day and a half. The grass seemed as wild as it has ever been. Free from snow and cold, it grew almost entirely to Link’s waist. Every now and again he attempted to cut it down with a swing with the Master Sword, but at the pace they were at it was a futile effort. Zelda slunk several feet behind him either looking at the back of his head or down at the Sheikah Slate’s screen. They were quiet without a true reason. Lately, Link’s fuse was cut short and he shot an annoyed glare her way for the smallest of mistakes.

Her biggest mistake as of late was her decision to stable the horses.

“We should have taken them,” he mumbled once more.

Zelda gripped the slate tight, but could no longer disagree with him with the growing soreness in her feet. “I’m sorry, I thought we would be fine.”

They were coming up on a lone tree. Its branches spread across the sky like a welcome haven and Link was apparently seeking just that. Just barely, he turned and glared.

“All I wanted was to see how different the terrain was on foot,” she swallowed her nerves and dared to say something she hadn’t in weeks. “Do you remember when you would take me out here? I would sketch for hours.” As she spoke, Link was setting down his sword and then… tensed. His rigidity paused Zelda’s movement towards him.

After a moment, he brought his hand to his hair and pulled. His voice was faint, “N-no… maybe? I don’t know, Zel.”

Zel.

It rung in her head like the first time he said it after a particularly nasty fight with a group of Bokoblins. Another time when he tenderly said the nickname as she tended to his wounds. The soft murmurings of the simple syllable as his warmth invaded her senses.

Then Link spun around fully, anger and uncertainty in his face. His piercing eyes met were wide green ones. “Have you found anything different, Princess?”

His words spat venom and hurt and an absence of explanation. Embarrassed, Zelda frowned.

“No.”

“Ah!” He flung his arms up at the exasperated outburst, “Then the issue with the horses was all for naught.”

“Link,” her brows furrowed together as frustration took hold. “You didn’t say a word of disapproval at the stable. I even asked you and you ignored me.”

The statement deepened the crease at his forehead, “You should have known since you know me so well. Come on, tell me how wrong I am about everything.”

“I do not do that. Why are you acting like this?” Zelda strapped the slate to her belt at the ferocity of Link’s attitude, her intentions with it were long forgotten.

He groaned, “There you go again. The way you act so innocent disgusts me.”

“I… I don’t understand, Link.” Her heart seized at the look of fire in his eyes. It was an expression he had been hiding after their reunion.

“Convenient as ever, Princess,” his voice dipped into the rage that burned in her direction. Then, it grew. “You took me from my family. You berated me for years! Hated me!”

Link took a step towards where she stood frozen and Zelda flushed. Her voice shook and for the first time she felt he would harm her. As he drew closer, she blinked at how much she had to crane her neck upwards to look at him. “I,” Zelda shook her head, “I could never hate you. Not even then.”

A hysterical laugh came from him as he raked a hand through his hair. She flinched as his volume reached new heights, “But you did! I followed you around like a dog, stupidly. I-I died because of it! Don’t you understand that I don’t remember who I was? I don’t know what my own father looked like. I’m a broken man because of you!”

Angry tears blurred his vision.

Zelda heaved a breath, “What don’t you remember? I can help you.” Her voice cracked at his mocking reaction. “I can! Please, I know it wasn’t fair to put you in the shrine. I know that. I was so afraid to lose you I-”

It was inevitable that anguish interrupted her pleas. She tried hiding her face from the man she thought she’d always run to.

“Don’t say that,” Link’s eyes bore through her in disgust. “Don’t lie so blatantly.”

“You are wrong.” A million thoughts ran through her head, but none made sense. Slowly, she folded her arms over herself and wanted nothing but to leave. For a split second, the princess who fought the Calamity for a century began to think she hadn’t won after all. Zelda’s voice ran cold under hot tears, “Is this why you’ve been so cruel to me? Because of delusions?”

Link’s brow twitched, “My distaste towards you pales in comparison to the consequences of your failures.”

“I saved you!” Her intonation sloped high, but his shout drowned all. The speed at which he gripped her forearms left her in shock.

“You should have let me die!”

The strong breeze of Hyrule field whipped by them as wild as the sorrow in her soul. Almost as fast as he took hold of her, Link let go and stared at his hands. Silence dominated other than the slight rustling of breeze running in tall grass. Zelda felt like caving in and sinking straight into the soil. The place he grabbed and shook pulsed vaguely and if she closed her eyes, she would be convinced he had never let go. So, she didn’t and gaped at him.

“I didn’t,” he stopped to look between his empty palms and the pain in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I…”

With shaking, limb fingers Zelda pulled ruthlessly at the silver band on her left hand. Red marks traced up the digit with each tug. The princess swallowed thickly, “Do you want this back?”

Confusion crossed him, but he lingered on the jewelry. “…What is that?”

Once she retched it free, an indent in her skin was left. It was a silver, shoddily made band that lacked the luster a princess would usually be drawn to. Zelda paused her outreach and looked longingly at it. Pithily, yet in reminiscence she spoke, “I hoped you would remember more than what I left. There was so little time and I couldn’t afford to act selfishly. Perhaps you remember more than that. Your family, our friends. I know it’s not enough.”

Zelda paused to hold a hand to her mouth to collect herself while Link stood motionless and watched as she mourned. Then, she inhaled forcefully, “I didn’t want to tell you about us. Not when you were so far away and still grieving. But now, I see you’ve grown to hate me. This is yours, Link. You should have it back.”

Her words grew taunt and thin. That pounding was back in his chest again. The same harsh beating that persisted at the thought of leaving her – that kept him by her side no matter how deeply he wanted isolation.

“What are you talking about?” He asked without a single trace of his previous anger, if anything it was a gentle plea. She lifted and dropped her shoulders in an exasperated shrug, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

When he didn’t take the ring, she briefly considered dropping it to be lost in the wild grasses of the planes. It didn’t hold the symbolism it once did and all that remained were bitter memories of a time long ago when they were two different people. An urge to feel his arms around her almost spurred her to give into the storm of tears that threatened to fall. Her lips moved to ask him if he could recall anything about their small union under the Rito willow trees, but she buried her need for him deep within. He didn’t want her.

Still, the thought losing of all physical traces of what Zelda had hurt more than any of his words. Her hand closed around the ring. It dug into her palm without abandon.

“You don’t need to come with me,” she started with a clear voice as she gathered up her bag.

They didn’t face each other now. Zelda began walking, only slowing at the sound of him. “Where will you go?”

Fingers fiddled at the band, “Impa’s. I was going to wait to start rebuilding efforts to explore Hyrule… with you, actually.” She paused for a moment and shook memories from her head, “Maybe I need to take the throne faster than we thought.”

She turned to face his back, “If you need anything… come find me. I’ll tell you everything I know about who you were, our friends, your family – just ask. I knew you better than you think, Link. I still love-”

The straps to her pack strained at her grip, “You always loved watching the valley from Mount Lanayru in the summertime. That’s a good place to start.”

Link didn’t reply and she didn’t wait.

#i love angst #delicious #ill post the next chapter in likeeee a day or 2 #i can't figure out the last sentence lmao #zelink #legend of zelda #ashleyswrittenwords #loz #zelda #link #fanfiction #zelink fanfiction #legend of zelda: breath of the wild #zelda x link #link x zelda #yah yeet

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inatowncalled-murphy · 4 years

Text

CIA-0014██ - CONFIDENTIAL

You step out of a government-issued vehicle, squinting at the shape in the distance, distorted by the heat emanating off the sweltering earth. The bright sun burns your eyes despite the sunglasses perched on your nose, but the shape on the horizon is unmistakable: a sparse little town with a tall, dark mass at its center. You duck back into the car and look over at the driver, nodding.

"That's it," you affirm, pressing the cigarette lighter on the dash. The man behind the wheel takes a deep breath, adjusts his spectacles, and turns the ignition. Irritation prickles across your scalp with the knowledge that the lighter wasn't getting hot until just now. However, the hot vexation behind your eyes quickly simmers into lukewarm bewilderment as the engine whines and fails to start; once, twice, thrice... You're soon out in front of the car and looking at its innards as though glaring at the great wad of tubes and chambers will spontaneously start the machine.

There is nothing wrong with the vehicle save the mysteriously unyielding engine. In a sudden fit of rage, you swear violently, kick the bumper and chuck your sunglasses as far as your arm allows, rousing your counterpart from the car. After a long pause, he gestures tentatively to the now half-buried sunglasses, small against the rippling sand,

"D'you want me to fetch those?" Your temper bubbles up in your head like a kettle, making your already very hot face even hotter and you shoot him a nasty look. Even so, you refrain from shouting at him because he doesn't deserve it; he isn't stupid and knows just as well as you do the situation that you're both in. You're stranded, with no transportation, in the middle of a desert with only one option in the face of death by heatstroke under the hateful sun.

You slam the hood of the car and peer over your shoulder at the horizon. The small, far off blob feels somehow sinister, a solitary monument in the oppressive, burning ocean. You steel yourself, beckoning to your partner, and abandoning the obstinate vehicle.

You follow your ill-tempered partner - his unlit cigarette now tucked behind his ear - less than 100 paces before you hear a long, pitched sound from the direction of the car. Your brain is computing in time-lapse as you command the attention of the stout man, now 10 paces ahead of you. He looks back at you scathingly and you feel safe enough to stop and look back at the car, still struggling for air in the near-distance. Just as you turn, the time-lapse of manuals, internet searches, and general knowledge flickering through your mind locates the most likely cause of the ghost-vehicle. As your head swivels, however, the solution slips from your mind like a bar of soap. The air is silent and heavy, and the car, which should have been well within line-of-sight, is gone as though it had never even been there. The desert before you now in that direction resembles nothing that you saw driving up. No dilapidated dirt road, no distant sign, not even the little boulder that would have been near the car - just the vast expanse of sand and heat as though you have always been here. You turn back to your partner and, to your dismay, he too is completely gone. The only thing in all directions is the inanimate undulations of the desert and the single far-off shape of your destination. You are alone now.

You get a strange unshakable feeling, as though you're underqualified to be here, like an archeologist standing before a great and terrible monument that whispers secrets about god. The world around you feels as though it's looking at you as you trudge onward.

The town can't be that far, can it?

You feel like you've been walking for hours upon hours – or has it only been 20 minutes... The sun hasn't budged from its boiling throne in the center of the sky and after so much time, patches of your exposed skin are feeling hot and tender beneath its glare.

It should at least be night by now, but the sun is anchored to its place high above you and you are so tired. Your feet sink deep into the sand and it takes all of your energy to push away again and keep walking, rather than sink further down, down into the dark, hot earth.

When you look down, your feet indent the sand the way they always have. You reassure yourself that you will not be pulled below the blistering waves and that there is nothing below you but dirt.

Blisters are rising on your hands and feet, and probably your face. The sun takes no pity and neither does your destination that grows no closer. You weep dry sobs with no tears, suppressed back into silence by the heavy air.

Every grain of sand, every particle of the cruel, heavy sky watches you like a suffocating beetle in a mason jar.

You awaken. When did you fall asleep? You stand still on hard, smooth sandstone at the edge of a precipice. It is so deep that you can't see the bottom even in the glaring sunlight, and a cool current can be felt brushing past you, down into the vast pit. It smells old.

The hole is a wide ring of near-white sandstone and from its bottomless depths rises a massive obelisk covered in small etchings that must be runes; however, you cannot discern what kind. The obelisk, also made of what seems to be sandstone, reaches high into the burning sky, it's long, dark shadow stark against the white sand.

You look at the shadow as the wireframe of your glasses burns hot against your already blistered skin, but something feels wrong about it. Something feels wrong about the entire monument. Voices echo distantly from the depths of the pit – you think.

You want to get a closer look. You feel like, perhaps, you may be able to see the bottom if you stand just a little closer to the edge – push your luck a little for the payoff of seeing just what's down there – maybe hear it a little more clearly.

The world is so loud. You can feel the particles of air moving past your ears, up to the sky from the searing sand beneath your tired feet - like rushing water.

You are so thirsty, the cool air flowing in and out of the chasm reminding you of what water must have once felt like against your now-cracked lips.

The tugging of dread in your stomach sends gooseflesh prickling down your arms and across the back of your scalp. You yearn desperately to step forward just a little and down, down into that cool dark abyss. The chilly upward flow of air as you fell would soothe your burns and at the bottom-

You would die.

Your gaze traces the tall pylon from its very point - silhouetted against the angry star, ever at its peak in the suffocating ocean above and around you - to what you think to be its midpoint where it disappears into the hole.

The distant overlapping voices from below continue their siren’s song and you allow your tired eyes to slide shut for just a moment.

Fractal shapes spiral in and out of existence behind your eyelids, imagery flickering through your mind. You take a deep breath of the cool air, opening your eyes again, and turning away from the site.

In all directions is the same bright, hot sand. You scan the horizon for your destination, finding nothing but dunes.

You once again begin to walk – a simple straight line away from the sculpture, returning to the oppressive heat.

You resume the repetitive trudge across the barren ocean, the flickering images and thoughts in your mind now slow, as though not thinking might preserve what little energy you have left.

After some time – you no longer worry yourself with such things as the exact amount of time that has passed – you come to a large dune and begin your steep and mindless ascent.

After a while, it becomes so steep that to keep your pace constant, you must crawl.

Your hands sink deep into the soft, hot sand, and below you can feel your fingers barely brushing something before you pull your hand out again and continue to climb.

You can feel your body getting tired. The scorching tomb coaxing you beneath the earth is somehow inviting. You could just lay down and sink beneath the sand.

But you get the feeling something awaits you at the top of the dune – not that your intuition has been much help thus far. Even so, you have nothing else, so you keep crawling.

At the apex of the massive sandbank, you stop and look forward across the desert.

However, there is no desert, and below you isn’t sand but concrete – asphalt, precisely. You look about you wildly enough to give yourself whiplash.

You now kneel in the middle of a long, paved road, and before you – albeit a little way down the road - is your destination: what appears to be a ghost town. From your position, it looks to be mostly residential except for some strangely shaped buildings surrounding what you and your partner initially came here for, the tall black cathedral at what looks like the center of the town.

As you shakily get to your feet, you can better see how the colossal basilica dwarfs the rest of the buildings in town, it's tall, skeletal spires puncturing the stifling heavens. You are instinctively afraid of the structure, even at this distance.

A door chimes and you look, startled and confused, to find a gas station only about 100 paces in front of you that you somehow overlooked. Exiting the gas station is your partner, looking exactly the way you last saw him. He holds a 99-cent lighter and a bag of chips and has a brooding sort of look on his face.

He spots you almost right away standing in the middle of the road, and drops his cigarette, begins swearing, then makes his way over as quickly as his stout frame will allow.

He begins to question you about where you’ve been for all these hours, and you stop him.

“I’ve been gone for days,” you assert, staring at him. He looks bewildered and shows you his watch, displaying the date you both arrived.

It feels like so long ago when you stopped to check on the car – more than a week. Could it have only been a few hours?

Your mind scans the events in your recent memory, and the sun begins to set behind you, a cool breeze blowing across your back and through your hair. You find no logic in the recesses made by your possibly imagined struggles, no rhyme or reason.

If you imagined all of that, then where were you? You stare down at your hands. They’re no longer blistered, but when you recall, you can remember the pain deep inside your skin – the hot tightness that rendered your fingers useless stubs.

You squeeze and release your hand, contemplating.

“It’s getting dark.” Your partner's voice pulls you from your thoughts. His cigarette is now lit and glowing in the dim twilight. The scent is the single familiar thing in this unfamiliar wasteland, and it grounds you.

You nod, gesturing down the road toward the town. You both begin to walk.

#writing #anthology #horror

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the19thduckpotato · 5 years

Text

The Ties That Bind Part 1 (MHA fanfic)

This is a LONG fic. But a completed one. And one that has personal headcanons between @my-favorite-aesthetics and myself. (Also, I’m sure I fudged hospital stuffs).

Have fun, enjoy the loving angst! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The waiting room chairs were not comfortable. It wasn't the hospital's fault. Not in the least. Public chairs were made with the average person in mind and he was anything but. His towering form squirmed as he tried to get comfortable, tried not to think about it, thought about it, thought about it a lot-- The PA system crackled its constant stream of commands for this doctor or announcements for families of that patient. He strained to catch the name he wanted to hear, grew slightly more irritated each time the name wasn't the right one Don’t pace, people will notice Don’t think about it, it'll only drive you mad. Don’t rub your hands together, they have ... The crimson stains. He hadn't washed his hands. Knew he would be asked to before he stepped farther into the hospital. He didn't want to, not just yet. Washing would be forgetting and he refused to let himself forget what just happened Don’t think about it Don’t don’t don’t Is don’t all you have to say?? He squirmed in the chair once more as another name was called. His throat ached with copper rawness, his arms sore, his head still throbbing. He felt separate from the rest of the world, a surreal sense of wondering how the world was still moving at its regular pace as he sat there in his own pit of misery. He stared at his bloodied hands, still waiting to hear his kid's name but tuning everything else out. Every moment was turning into a struggle not to leap up and loudly demand answers. And because he was All Might, they'd quickly jump to obey him. He leaned his head into the crooks of his arms, red fingers splayed in the air so as not to get blood in his hair. He had to wait. He needed to be patient. BUT--!!! Don’t think about it The heat The screaming Don’t think about it-- Izuku's stricken face Don’t-- As he had looked up to Toshi, blood streaming down his face DON’T-- As his tight grasp had weakened and slipped from Toshi's shirt His heart thudded painfully, remembering How he had knelt over the boy Thud How he watched his world crash down around him Thud How his fist formed quickly and tightly, nails biting deep into his palm. The pain hadn't deterred him, only spurred him Thud The brightness of the hospital took over once more and his throat constricted. His hands now throbbing in unison with his heart, hands covered in more than just his blood, hands that had acted with a single purpose To release the fury and the hate To unleash pain until they were numb He closed his eyes, horrified. ... Just let me see my boy A soft pleading prayer Spoken? Only thought? He didn’t know please just let me see him, let me know he's ok, please oh please oh please He forced his eyes open, stared at his hands in disgust just let me know he's ok, that'll make it Better? No. Worth it? Well... He had messed up. He had sworn he would never lose control like that, not since the first fight with All for One but Izuku A disdainful snort. The boy would not be his excuse. He would take responsibility for his lapse. And he knew he would shoulder that willingly a hundred times over if only oh God, please let him be ok His thoughts wound in jagged circles, cycling, cutting, replaying over and over. Shame Dismay Shock Fear They plucked at him, dragged him down, it was getting hard to think of anything else-- "--Midoriya, room--" His head snapped up, eyes wide and wild. He froze, making sure he had heard it right. And sure enough, amidst garbled static noises, he heard it again. Sprung to his feet and strode past the nurses' station to go see his boy, his dear wonderful-- "Excuse me!" A solid looking nurse blocked his way. "Sir, where do you think you are going?" Toshinori blinked at this unexpected deterrent (oh Lord, does Recovery Girl have extensive family?) and stammered out, "Midoriya, Room--" "Visiting? In THAT state? Oh no no no, come with me, you got to get cleaned up first!" An unwillingly Toshi was pulled in the opposite direction, casting his gaze over his shoulder down the hallway. Kid.... Ten minutes later found a confused but cleaned up Toshi standing in the hallway again. He wiggled his bandaged fingers experimentally (the nurse had been quite noisey once she discovered his busted knuckles under the dirt and blood). He remained where he was a moment then started reading room numbers, walking down the hallway. He soon found the room, hesitated, then tapped the door with his fingertips. Then, carefully, wondering if the door would creak, he pushed it open. He poked his head inside, unsure what he would find. Unsure of what to expect. Just knowing what he didn't want to see. "K-kid?" Izuku drifted in a dark haze, feeling little but the tingling of OfA’s power rushing through every inch of his body and the sense of his own heavy breathing through his mouth. Not wanting to wake up any further for fear of feeling something more painful. Something in the back of his mind told him that something terrible had happened, but he didn’t want to remember what it was. For now, he floated in half-sleep. A tapping noise pierced through the quiet of the hospital room. Izuku felt a spike of fear at the sudden noise, but his limbs remained heavy and still where they were, feeling glued in place. There was a soft hissing noise as the draught guard brushed against the floor. The door was opening. Izuku’s heart pounded even more than it already was. Gotta run gotta runrunrun someone’s HERE, THEY’RE HERE, STRANGER IN THE ROOM WHO IS IT ARE THEY GONNA KILL YOU they could stab you and you wouldn’t be able to escape unless you could MOVE, YOU HAVE TO BE ABLE TO MOVE, MOVE— He couldn’t move. “K-kid?” Izuku’s heart leapt. IT’S HIM, IT’S HIM, IT’S REALLY ALL MIGHT HE’S HERE— A powerful sense of relief washed over him. You don’t have to move, he’s safe. You’re safe now that he’s watching you. He’ll protect you. Protect me? All Might— Images flashed through his head rapidly. Fury. Blood. Rage and movement too fast to see and a twisted grimace and the horrible crunch and squish of bone and flesh and screams of— ....No. Izuku’s stomach turned. No....... please, no........... please don’t let that have happened, it was all a dream, all a hallucination, right...? One of them must have had... a Quirk... that... did that to me, that made me see that....... o-or, a... oh no.... they could have had a Quirk that.... amplifies.... rage...... that... oh no, did it really happen—?? I need to see my boy He couldn't open the door fast enough I have to see the kid He didn't want the door to open He forced his eyes open --and his breath caught painfully in his throat. Izuku lay still Dead he's dead he's oh God he's His mind picked up tiny details immediately to calm his blaring panic. Izuku's chest rose in slow, steady movement. A monitoring device beside him kept quietly beeping diction. A get well card signed "love mom" Oh God, Inko, Inko, I'm so sorry At least he was alive. ....at least? Toshi choked down a dismayed noise. Izuku looked so small, so still. The bandages he could handle; heroes often were in and out of bandages. But being in this room meant they had had to stabilize him. To ensure he had survi-- Another strangled noise. This is the reality for heroes, you know this. But not him. Toshi had never wanted this for him. Especially not after he had promised Inko. She had trusted him to keep her child safe, the only reason she had let Izuku return to UA. He looked for a chair, ready to take up a vigil, ready to tell Izuku ...what, exactly? Whatever he wants. Just please be ok. What happened what happened what happened Did they do that to him?? All Might would never... would never... no... please say no he would never do that to me-- FOR me, not to me, what?? No that's weird don't think that, he wouldn't hurt me, he wouldn't hurt anyone like that.... More memories of screams echoing in the dark alley where they fought. Had his own voice been one of them? But.... His breathing rose with his heart rate. ??? WHAT HAPPENED, WHY-- A tiny, impossibly-high-pitched whine escaped his half-asleep body. Toshi's ears pricked up and he stared imploring at the small frame that encapsulated his whole world. "....Izuku?" The softest breathing of his name. Spoken with concern, with trepidation, with please reassure me you're ok, please wake up sit up speak up The uncertainty scraped at his heart. The monitoring device beeped in slightly faster insistence and Toshi frowned in worry. Don’t panic don’t don’t don’t Don’t again Then do something He pulled the chair to Izuku's bedside, lowered himself into the seat, then reached out hesitantly. As if afraid to Contaminate Wake him too soon. His hand wavered then gently rested on the messy mossy mop. Brushed it once then grimaced as he found locks hardened together by dried blood. Reminders. Even so, his hand stayed.

Izuku's breath caught, the touch sending shockwaves of awareness through his body that had grown used to feeling nothing but the same still position. His eyebrows furrowed, and he groaned softly as he tried to move, only succeeding in shifting his shoulders a bit.

!! He's coming back around! "Easy," he murmured. He took the kid's hand in his own and gently squeezed. Small scarred flesh cradled in large dangerous hands. Large clean hands. He had even washed under his nails. No need for Izuku to see-- His face contorted and he almost yanked his hand back. Instead, he kept his watch. "Don’t rush it, take your time, I'm--" He swallowed hard. "...I-I'm here." "Easy." Izuku breathed deeply. In and out. I-I'm trying, I'll do it! I'll try.... More oxygen will wake me up. Just keep breathing deep.... One for All kept humming under his skin, wanting to pull him back into sleep. Into healing. It would be good for me to sleep though.... "Don't rush it, take your time, I'm--" Toshinori's voice sounded so shaky. So afraid. Of what? "...I-I'm here." I'm here too. A wave of determination swept through his heart, and he forced his hand to twitch in Toshinori's. His heart lurched as he felt the twitch. --Izuku my boy I'm here I'm so sorry please come back you can come back now oh please just He waited for further movement, his emphatic joy quickly dissolving. It...it was probably just an unconscious twitch, doesn't mean anything He gazed at the hand cupped in his palm, willed it to move again. This is your punishment for what you did. His head bent over the hands, his thoughts running darker and darker. And a single hot tear rained down, puddling in the folds of Izuku's palm.

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic #toshinori #yagi #sunflower dad #all might #dadmight #izuku #midoriya #deku #fanfic #angst #the ties that bind #tttb part 1

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kileyrose-2003 · 5 years

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Dan Torrance x Fem! Reader Part 3

A/N: Hi lovelies! Here comes another one of my extremely angsty psychological dive into Rose and Crow’s relationship. Lol. Very, very emotional write for me. Some of you might be wondering after you read this on just how exactly and I will simply say one thing: The relationship between Rose and Crow is very explicitly written and there while as in the film it is implied. In this AU I wanted there to be a reason why Rose and Crow seem more distant, hence why I am taking my own spin to them like this.

Anyways, I love you guys! I know there are a lot of people on Tumblr right now as well as myself dealing with the affects of COVID-19 in our every day lives. If you ever need anyone to talk to, my DM’s are always open. I might not be a therapist but I am willing to help :) I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe, lovelies!

Link to intro is here , pt. 1, and Pt. 2

Enjoy!

Warnings: Trigger warning for mentioned/implied child abuse, child death, baseball boy scene, blood, gore

“..Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me and especially don’t fucking touch me.”

“Crow-”

“No, Rosie! This is your fault. Not her fault, it’s yours. You hurt her! You hurt our baby!” In a rare display of emotion, hot tears were streaming down Crow’s face.

Rose chose her words very carefully before speaking. “..She is not our baby. We did not birth her into this world. She never belonged to us in the first place. And, no. I don’t hate her. I am not jealous of her either and I am not entirely to blame for all this. While maybe your way of thinking on this not being her fault may be correct, you are part of the reason to blame.” Her tone was calm and diligent like a mother trying to keep a tantrum prone toddler calm. “I told you from the start, that I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to be here. In general, our way of life is not fit for any child.”

“I-”

“Don’t talk! Just listen. You however insisted at keeping her here when I told you it wasn’t fair to her to live like this. Once she seen what we did, I did not want her to live like this. Had we of just-”

“Rose, I wasn’t just going to send her back to where she came from! Because-”

“Because you grew attached to her! When I told you not to get to fond of her too quick because it was supposed to be a trial thing. We don’t give affection to rubes, Crow. It’s a rule of thumb. That’s what we gave to her though. Not just you, but me too and I will admit with that I was wrong but yet you fail to recognize the reason I brought her into this in the first place was to make you happy and whether you think it’s right or wrong to do what I did to make you happy: I don’t care. To knock some sense into her was the only option. That was the only way she was going along with the whole thing though. So I did what I had to do, even if I didn’t like it. None of that would of happened though had you just let her go.”

Crow sat there on the ground, staring at the falling leaves around him while he processed every word that Rose said to him. “Comments?”

He had none. Yet. His head felt like a over boiling tea pot waiting to just spill over and burn the person closest to him. In that case, Rose. It wouldn’t be the first time he killed one of his lovers. His rage was infrequent but when it came out, it was a force to be reckon with like a blazing fire. It was what he related to most. It was the only thing that had passion that burned and grew as quick as he did until he met Rose. Rose burned as bright, if not brighter than he did. Crow wanted to kill Rose right then and there and she felt it. They all felt it.

Rose was quick to step away despite of her certainty he wouldn’t kill her. Yet something gave her the maybe, just maybe, he would one day. She’d make sure to keep that under control though and keep her dragon tamed.

Just like it wouldn’t be the first he killed a love, it wasn’t the first time he was a father either. Though that time was as far from him as the setting sun was near his finger tips, the memories though old and a little wishy washy, were engraved into his mind. The smell of smallpoxs immediately entering his nostrils at the thought of it. Just like he hadn’t forgotten the name and face of his own child, he was sure he wasn’t going to forget yours either. Or the way it made him the feel the last time he got to speak to you.

You felt stuck and he was stuck too. Except unlike the first child he lost, you didn’t feel scared to leave him. You felt almost relieved. Like you could breath now while the other felt like they were drowning in fear and pain. It was in that moment he realized you were scared of him. You were afraid he’d hurt you at one point

‘No, I wouldn’t hurt her,’ He told himself over and over. He would of never intentionally tried to make you scared of him or put you in a position where you felt uncomfortable. You adored him and he loved you just as much, if not more, than you loved him. You were his baby, even if it meant he had to kill to have you.

Finally he had his comment and the words came out full of fury and rage. “..Bullshit. You all fucking lie!”

…

He wouldn’t touch Rose for months let alone look at her until she forced him too and even then, that was a battle. He wasn’t the same after that. He became more cynical, more distant. Almost an empty shell of the person he was.

Any out spoken nature he had and was replaced by soft spoken snarkiness. There was no more The Irish Rose and her Crow. Only the remnants of a broken past and flings that occurred in the event of their primal feedings. Nothing more and nothing less.

While the stars shined down on you and Danny brightly as you were yet again acting out your passions in the privacy of your own home, Crow Daddy stood in the darkness of the abandoned ethanol plant in Bankerton, Iowa as he sharpened the blade of his knife. The only lights shining on him were the glares of The True Knot’s RV’S nearly blinding him.

He felt soft hands rub up and down the bare skin of his upper arm and a head press against his shoulder. Rose. “I’m excited. It’s been months since we’ve done our thing, you know?” She nipped the cartilage on his ear and fought the urge to push her away. “Sure,” He grunted.

Rose furrowed her brows. “Aren’t we testy tonight?” Crow fought the urge to laugh in her face. “When am I not lately?” She bit her lips. “You’re really going to do this. Right now?”

“It’s not like what’s been between us is exactly a secret to anyone in the family, Rosie.” She pulled away from him slightly repulsed and stretched her arms. “I’m ready.” The reply was snappy and quick and Barry was quick to obey.

'The boy is going to be the one to suffer for that reply but who am I care?’ Crow thought to himself as he looked at the bite mark the Baseball Boy left on his hand. 'The little bastard deserves it.’

“No! No! Please don’t! No..” The first couple of times he had to bare witness and participate in the unholy act after you left, he could hardly take. There was a slight lapse of faith and for a while he thought maybe he just didn’t deserve to have children. Now was different though. He felt numb.

After being in constant agony for over 20 years his sympathy began to decrease and soon he felt nothing for anyone. As Rose knelt down to Bradley Trevor’s level he took his position behind her, standing tall. To child on the ground, he was terrifying but the rest thought nothing of him.

Rose gestured for the knife and he handed it over immediately. “A-are you going to hurt me?” The reply was husky and menacing. “Yes.”

There were screams of protest but Crow took no mind to them. “Pain purifies steam. Fear too. So now you understand.” The Baseball Boy let out a scream of protest before Rose stabbed deeply into him.

…

Meanwhile as you laid in bed next to Danny who was in a dead coma, you felt someone poking at your mind. “Danny, stop it.” You elbowed him. He grunted and slapped your ass cheek. “W-wha?”

“You’re poking in my head again. Stop it.” He rolled over onto his side and shoved his face into the pillow. “I’m trying to sleep.” You rolled your eyes and as you went to wrap your arms around him, you felt the poke again. Accept this time it hurt. Like an electric shock.

(Hello?! Hello! Please tell me you can hear me.)

You paused before responding.

(I can hear you.)

(Good! They’re hurting him and they won’t stop.)

(Who is they?)

The response terrified you.

(The woman in the hat.)

All the sudden you felt nauseous and you gripped at bed sheets. You knew what was going to happen and you were terrified. The room began to slant on an angle and you gripped onto the head board tightly.

“Babe! What are you doing?” Dan sat up in bed and his face went flat at seeing the expression on your face. “Honey?”

You tried to respond to him physically but couldn’t so instead you turned to the person in your head.

(You’re mine and my husband’s pen pal, aren’t you?)

(Yeah.)

(Are you comfortable with telling me your name?)

(Yeah, it’s Abra.)

(Well Abra, can I ask you to do me a favor?)

The room began to tilt on an angle and you felt your grip on the head board becoming lose.

(Anything.)

(If I get stuck in here, tell Dan I love him.)

Your fingers lost their hold on the frame and you began to spiral down into a dark hole. 'This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.’ You prayed, silently hoping Abra was wrong but something told you she wasn’t. The dark hole began to reach it’s end and you had enough time to see trees and a sign that read 'NO TRESPASSING: BANKERTON ETHANOL PLANT’ When you felt the spiraling of your body stop.

Your astral body hit the ground hard and you had to spit the dirt out of your mouth. “Ugh, gross.” You attempted to reach forward to try and find something to grip onto that way you could stand up but your hand connected with human skin.

“Oh shit!” You scrambled back at the sight of Barry and you felt your body beginning to levitate upwards. “No! No! Please, please! I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see it!” Your body wouldn’t move though. You had to look. Unless you were going to get stuck here and hesitantly you opened your eyes. “Oh my god! Stop! Stop! Please stop!”

Your body began to lower and suddenly you felt eyes on you. One of them heard you. “No! No! No! No!” A hand ran itself through your long locks and you trembled.

“What is it?” You knew that voice and you didn’t have to open your eyes to know who was infront of you.

(Look at me.)

You shook your head but felt fingers lifting your head up to force you to look at them and slowly you opened them to see Rose. Her hands covered in blood and her eyes full of steamy lust.

(Well, hi there sweetie!)

Panic began to rise inside you and you reached out to Abra.

(Ru-)

Before you could even finish your thought, Rose plunged the knife back into the Baseball Boy and you let out a scream. “Holy shit! Holy shit!” You screeched feeling his pain.

(Funny how things come around isn’t it, Y/n?)

“Stop! Stop! Rose, please stop! Just stop!” Just as Danny was about to lay back down he jumped up in bed and gently shook your shoulders. “Y/n?! Baby? What’s wrong.”

(You got a friend there, Y/n? I want to see him.)

As Dan leaned over to caress your cheek, you pushed him back. “Y/n!” You could feel the rise Rose was getting out of your pain and it made you mad. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of getting kicks off your pain. “Get away from me, Danny! Get away!”

Instead of now just seeing Rose in your eyeshot all of them were in eyeshot with those haunting blue eyes staring at you and you slammed your head against the back of the bed. “Make it stop, Danny! Make it stop!”

This time when you tried to push him away, he held your arms down against your chest that way he could try to wake you up. “She’s going to see you Danny!”

(Yes, Danny. I am going to see you. That your little friend you made down in Florida?)

“Shut up!” You screamed. “Who’s going to see me?!”

“No!”

“God damn it, Y/n! Who do you see?”

BAM!

The room shook and Danny landed backwards onto the hardwood floor. Now he was pissed, not at you but whoever it was he couldn’t see. He grabbed your wrist to stop you from pushing him away. “Leave her alone!”

As Dan continued to shake your body and beg for you to wake up, the astral world around you began to slide. This time you were hanging upside down as you fell and as you did, yours and Crow Daddy’s eyes unintentionally interlocked though he would be aware enough to know it.

As you slammed back into your physical body, you rolled off the bed and hit your head on the dresser. “Oww!” You screeched and started sobbing. Dan tried to pull you into a hug but you kicked at him. “No! No!”

“Y/n-” You let out a scream. “Just leave me alone!” Danny backed away and you let out a sob. “What happened?” He asked gently as he scooped you up into his arms like you were a child. Normally you would protest said act but for right now, you didn’t care. You needed the comfort and that’s how he was giving it.

“They killed him..” You sobbed and you felt Danny let out a sigh as he ran his fingers through your hair. “They killed who?”

“That poor little boy!” You let out a screaming cry and buried your head in his shoulder. “Okay..okay.” You choked on your own sobs and nuzzled closely to him. “It’s alright.”

…

Meanwhile thousands of miles away, the lights of RV’s shined brightly in the darkness of the Iowa night on Crow and Rose as they buried the baseball boy.

As Rose finished throwing her scoop of dirt over Bradley Trevor’s glove she paused for a moment and looked at the ground. “We had a looker.” Crow stopped what he was doing and for the first time in years she actually seen a glint of what she would like to think was excitement in his dark eyes. “Tonight?”

“Yeah.” Rose dropped the shovel on the ground and Crow did the same. “East Coast, I think.” He furrowed his brows. “You’re saying someone looked in from I’ve 10,000 miles away?”

“Could of been farther. Could of been up in Canada, but it gets better. She wasn’t alone either.” Rose smirked slightly. “Y/n was with her.”

They say a picture is worth 1000 words but in that moment Crow Daddy’s face had an expression of infinite emotions. He tried tracking you down a few times after you ran but he honestly wondered what good it would do. He didn’t have to be in your mind to you were petrified of Rose and he figured you probably would want nothing to do with him. His mouth went dry and he felt like he wanted to throw up. “What?”

“Oh yeah and she wasn’t happy to see me either. The second she seen me stab into the kid she was out of there so fast and back to her man friend.”

“Man friend?” He looked boggled. “Oh yeah. Danny is his name. She wouldn’t let me get a look at him though..or the looker but I swear Crow Daddy, I haven’t felt power. Raw power like that off the looker than I’ve felt in so long..”

“Then do you think we should look into it? The sooner the better. Before her parents send her to a psychiatrist. Put her on pills. Muffle the steam and make her harder to find.”

“No, giving paxil to this kid is like putting a piece of saran wrap over a search light. And when either of them come back and trust me, I’ll know they’ll be back, I’ll be ready. Oh I’ll be ready..”

Crow dreaded the prospect though. He didn’t want to see you older. A little bit younger than him. It served as a reminder that time went comes and goes fast and there was no buying more of it. For the rubes at least.

“Besides,” Rose straightened her posture as if she was reflecting back on another thought. “What is tied can never be untied.” As Crow raised an eyebrow Rose met the look with a smirk.

…

Your hands shook as Danny handed you a cup of tea. “There we go.” He wrapped you up with a blanket from behind and hummed appreciatively “Thank you.” He nodded and there was an awkward moment of silence as he stared at the REDRUM on the wall in the next room. “So you going to tell me now or never?”

"Danny,“ You begged and he shushed you. "Just listen to me. I think it would help if you told me about it though.”

“There’s a reason why I don’t talk about my childhood, Dan.” He squeezed your hand. “I know.” You kissed the tops of his knuckles. “It’s painful.” Your voice started to crack.

“If you’re afraid of me thinking differently of you, I would never. I love you for you. Whatever they did, it’s not on you. Please baby, I know it’s hurting you. Just let me in.”

You sighed and looked down at your kitchen counter. “You remember when you met me all those years ago in Florida?” He nodded and rubbed the tops of your hands. “I was only there for a brief amount of time. I moved around alot as a kid. For a while I never really understood why.”

“You mentioned your family was pretty nomadic but what does this have to do with anything?” Dan asked softly and continued to caress your skin. “The people who raised me, they were special like us. They shined maybe as much, if not more than we did. There are things out there, dark things, that hurt people like us.” Tears started to well up in your eyes. “Y/n-”

“They make people like us never be seen again and they warned me about the dark things and told me to stay away from them but I didn’t know I really didn’t have to worry about them at the time.”

Dan wiped one of your tears away, trying to ignore the hairs sticking straight up on his arms. “Why?” Your teary eyes interlocked with his. “Because I was living with the dark things that hurt people like us.” His posture stiffened and he slowly let go of your face. “What?” You ignored his question, continuing to ramble on.

“They always looked the same. It was the strangest thing. My grandpa went from having a limp in his leg to walking without a cane over night and sometimes when they were near me, my one uncle always looked at me like he was hungry. I was nine and we were staying long term in Georgia for the winter because I was sick. It made my mom a nervous wreck, so she’d stay with me every night while I slept and the one night I woke up over night and she wasn’t there so I panicked and I just remember hearing these screams. They were awful. Like these husky barks and even though I was supposed to be in bed I got up to look for my mom and when I got up she was on top of this little boy and she was-” You choked up a little bit. “She was gutting into him like he was a fish and they were eating him.”

“Like Hannibal Lecter eating him or-” You shook your head. “His shine. They were drinking his screams and pain too.” Dan looked so upset. “Honey.” Your body wracked itself with sobs. “And I’ll never forget the look on his face! Like he was being violated.”

“W-what did they do when they seen you were there?” You tried to wipe some tears away but they just kept pouring rapidly. “Most of them didn’t care or notice at first. My dad on the other hand looked so mortified. I can’t remember if it was him or my mom that picked me up and kept telling me over and over again it was out of survival and that I wasn’t supposed to see it. That it was all for the better. That way they could live longer and be healthier and that they wouldn’t hurt me. They could never hurt me like that.”

“Please don’t tell me you believed them.” His tone almost sounded judgemental and you became defensive. “Dan! What was I supposed to do? They were my family and it’s not like I had any where to go to. Despite what they did, I still loved him even though part of me was scared of them.”

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m just trying to wrap my head around all this.” He kissed the top of your head and you had to supress the urge to just shove him away. “Could you live like that? Live a lie?”

“I kept my mouth shut, Danny and if you were in my shoes you would of done the same. For about 7 years we went on like that until my dad left for business for about a week and I finally couldn’t take it anymore and then truth came out about everything.”

You let out a screaming sob as Rose threw plates around you. “..They would of never of been able to provide for you the way your father and I did! Those rubes pigs were selfish and given the chance, they would of used you and abused you even more than they already did.”

You shook your head feverishly, trying to block out Rose’s word. “You were so desperate to have someone love you, that I barely even had to wipe your mind. You were so touch starved that we practically did nothing but hold you the first couple of weeks you were here. We loved you when no one else did! Not even your fucking mother.”

You choked on your own sobs and slumped down to the ground, not caring if the broken glass on the ground cut into your fragile skin. Rose knelt down to your level and began to pull some of the shards. “But don’t worry though, honey. Daddy fixed that issue.”

You felt your blood run cold and you tensed. “W-what do you mean?” Part of you knew the answer to that question though and you dreaded hearing it come out of her mouth. Rose reached up into a nearby drawer and pulled out an old Polaroid photograph. “Does that answer your question?”

“OH GOD!” You screamed and broke back into hysterics. “He never did it to hurt you. You wanted her dead. Trust me. It was all out of love, my sweet. Every single piece of it was out of love.”

"T-that’s not love!” You stuttered. “No?” Rose’s tone was cynical. “No!..”

“Y/n-”

“14 years, Danny. 14 fucking years, I let them scare me into thinking all people were bad besides them and I thought they were my family the whole time yet it was all just a lie!” Dan wrapped his arms around your waist and planted a kiss on your cheek, trying to process it all. Your water works started up all over again and Danny sighed. “Y/n..Y/n, it’s not your fault.”

“It is Danny! It fucking is! And then she started hitting because she knew I despised her for the truth and it hurt so bad because we went from being so close to so far apart.”

“Baby-”

“My trust with the rest of them too was so torn because they all knew what she was doing and they hid. Over two years I had to lie my dad because I didn’t want to make him upset because he was the only one of them that I trusted and then I let him kill my mother..”

“You were a child, honey. You couldn’t of known. It’s not your fault and that’s all over now. I’m here.” He rocked you back and forth as you cried into him. “And the worse part is that even after everything they’ve done to me, part of me still loves and misses them sometimes.”

Dan’s mind drifted back to his own father and he tensed, understand what it was like to still love the abuser even though they caused more damage than could be repaired. “I know, baby..I know. It’s a fucked up cycle.” You nuzzled close to him.

“Don’t leave me, Danny!” You begged. “I won’t..it’s okay.” As you wept into him, Danny looked off to the side room that had the ominous REDRUM scrawled on the walls and hugged you tight.

“We need to keep that little girl away from them Dan. They’ll hurt her.” He pulled away from you. “We? No! No there is no we in this. If anything, we should stay out of this.”

“Dan! You’re being selfish. We can’t just abandon this little girl.” He shook his head. “It’s not abandoning her if I tell her to keep her head down.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what we should do!” Dan huffed and you placed a kiss against his cheek, cradling his face in your hands. “Look, just listen with an open mind. Okay?”

He nodded and your eyes interlocked with his baby blue ones. “I know they work, Danny. That’s why they took me. To use my shine to find people. They’ll prey on people who put their heads down because it’s easier for them to seem like the good guys. It’ll make her more of a sitting duck. To make her hide this, all of this, it’ll just kill her self esteem and her herself. You have to encourage her.”

“Why me?”

“Because besides me, you’re probably the only person that hears her Dan. Who understands her. She knows you more than me because she turned to you first. You’re the only one who probably interacts with her the way people like us can.” You held his hands in yours. “Do you remember how lonely you felt being younger? We can’t let that happen to her.”

“And I can’t let you get hurt either. If these people, whatever the hell they’re called can find that little girl-”

“Abra. Her name is Abra,” You corrected but Dan only rolled his eyes. “-They probably can find you and I just-”

Dan visibly shivered. “I don’t want to even picture in my mind what things they’d do to you or what would happen you if they found you.” He cupped your face and took in all your features. “I-i’d never be able to live with myself, knowing I could of prevented it. I can’t- I won’t let them hurt you. They’ve done enough damage.”

“So that’s it? We’re just abandoning her?” Dan rubbed his face. “I wouldn’t call it that just..cutting ties for a while.” You pushed away from him and rolled your eyes. “Y/n, I’m sorry but I don’t want you getting killed!”

“Just don’t talk to me right now, Danny. I want to be alone.” You went back to yours and Danny’s bedroom and locked the door before he could get it. “Y/n..come on baby.”

“I told you I want to be alone.” You sat down with your back against the door and Danny did the same from the other side. “Okay..Honey?”

“Yes, Dan?” He laid his hand against the woods barrier between the both of you. “I love you.” Despite how mad you were, you smiled slightly and did the same. “I love you too..now go. Please.”

Dan did as you asked and as he made his walk to the guest room in the second floor of your house, he stopped at the spare room. Staring at the REDRUM on the wall before picking up a piece of chalk and scrawling a quick message. 'Abra: I hope you’re okay and you have a better day tomorrow. Your friends, Dan and Y/n.’

#doctor sleep #dr sleep #imagine #imagines #fanfiction #crow daddy #abra stone #rose the hat #Danny Torrance #dan torrance #x fem reader #x female reader #stephen king #The Shining #the true knot

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screamingatanemptyroom · 5 years

Text

I Can’t Eat Love pt 24

Here is the next part! Lenora and the Queen have a chance to talk!

Master Post Linked Here

Enjoy!

__________________________

“I’m so glad you could come and visit me!” Queen Amerande smiled excitedly at me while she poured tea.

I took my cup, one sip confirming that she had brewed it strong and sweet, exactly how I liked it. She had always taken small details like this into consideration, despite her high status. It was hard not to feel comfortable around her.

“Well, your letters were… delayed, and I felt I should apologize in person for my rudeness in not responding sooner.”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about rudeness, I’m just glad that you’re doing well! If I hadn’t heard anything soon I might have broken down the doors to your home to find you!”

__________________________

“Has the Queen answered any of my letters?” I hugged myself, sitting in the chair by the fire in my room.

Angela stared at me with a pitying expression. “No, Milady.”

“Do you think she might stop by?” My voice cracked on the last word, my distress all too obvious.

I felt a gentle hand pat my shoulder, offering little comfort. “Why should she? You’re no longer useful to her.”

I slumped in my seat. It made sense. That was why my own mother hated me after all.

__________________________

I pushed back the bitter memory, Looking at her enthusiastic expression, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I would have liked to see Hallers face on how to deal with the Queen breaking down the door.”

Queen Amerande grinned. “I suppose he would already have tea ready to serve, and would offer to brush the debris from my coat.”

We both laughed at that. Feeling refreshed, I bent forward, taking another sip from my tea.

“... You’ve changed, dear.”

Her soft statement caught my attention, and I paused in my action, almost burning myself. She was studying me with a happy look, seeming almost near tears.

“Changed?”

“You’re happier, more relaxed… That’s the first time you’ve given me a true smile in years.” She sighed. “I never wanted to push you, but I’m just so relieved we can spend time like this!”

I felt shocked. Had I changed? I thought about all the time we had spent together over the years, her unrelenting love and support. The contents of the letters she sent me after the engagement was broken, assuring that she still loved me as her own daughter, no matter what. Her relief and tears just at the sight of me smiling. Even now I wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but confusion held me back.

Why is this life so different?!

I felt torn, wanting to keep away from her, to protect myself of the agony I had gone through in my last life. But it was harder than I expected.

I wanted to believe her.

After all, Prince Ronan had dropped me, and here she was, just as loving as before.

Could I have misunderstood things in my last life?

A cold shard of pure terror pierced my chest at the thought. I shook my head, forcing my mind away from these thoughts, afraid that if I examined them too closely, all my defenses would fall apart.

And so my only response to the Queen’s declaration of my change was a silent shrug.

Her smile drooped a small amount, but she still looked happy. “Baby steps.” I heard a soft mutter as she moved to sit on the couch next to me, decreasing our distance. “Now tell me all about how you have been since Ronan’s horrible lapse in judgment.”

I only hesitated for a moment, but then decided to tell her everything. From Ronan’s proposal, to the attempted rumors, to the plot to bury the duchy in debt. The Queen’s face slowly became enraged, and by the end of my talk she had to set her tea down due to the trembling of her hands.

“THAT RAT OF A SON!” Her eyes were blazing with anger. “I’ll hold him down and let you punch him!”

I looked at her, bemused. “Isn’t he supposed to be my future king?”

She waved off my concerns. “Who cares, he needs a beating!”

I told her about the “Ronan the Ridiculous” song, and my suspicions about Hallers taking revenge for me. She cackled as I sang her a few verses.

“I’ll send him some suggestions for additional verses.” Her promise set me off and it was some time before either of us started laughing.

“Unfortunately, I believe His Majesty to be the driving force behind this.” I had tactfully left out my spying on the conversation between them, but even without this the Queen easily agreed.

“Yes, in the beginning, I was the one pushing for the engagement, but once he saw the chance to ally the Royal House to the Duchy of Armeny, he became obsessed with the opportunity to cement our family’s position.” She sighed, the cheerfulness gone. “I will speak to him, but I have rarely been able to change his mind once he has decided on a course of action.”

I noticed that her voice held no affection as she spoke of her husband, her eyes cold.

“Well, it has been a week since the last attempt, maybe they’ve given up?” I found myself wanting to comfort her.

“I hope so.” The queen murmured, before reaching out to hug me. “You’ve been through so much these past few weeks and I was completely useless. I’m sorry.”

I patted her shoulder, but she simply hugged me tighter. “It’s fine. I needed to handle it on my own.”

“You’ll ask if you need help?”

“I promise.”

After a few more moments of a rib crushing embrace, the Queen finally let go.

“Everyone seems to be hugging me lately.” I joked, sighing with relief.

Her eyes narrowed. “Who exactly has been hugging you?”

“Umm… Nate.” I had a brief feeling of regret as i spoke his name, wondering if I might have caused him some trouble.

The Queen chuckled, but her gaze remained intense “Did he now?” She laughed again, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. “Hugging my daughter? It seems he’s already forgotten about our little… chat. I’ll have to have him back for tea.” The last bit was barely audible, but still managed to be terrifying.

Wanting to change the subject to something more comfortable, I asked about her plans for her birthday.

“Oh I’m glad you reminded me!” She clapped her hands, her intense atmosphere disappearing, causing me to question if I had only imagined it. “They’re holding a two day banquet in a few weeks to celebrate, and I wanted to hand you your invitation in person as my letters have had trouble reaching you!”

Moving to her desk, she rummaged around until she pulled out a large envelope, beaming with pride.

I glanced at the address on the front and immediately understood. In large letters “To my beautiful daughter” was written.

“Your parents are invited as well…” She sounded much less excited about that. “As the banquet will last until quite late you will all be my guest in the palace for the night, will that be alright?”

I felt a moment of unease of staying in the palace with everything that had been going on. But looking at her expectant expression, I couldn’t’ bring myself to refuse. I sighed quietly.

“Of course I’ll be there.”

It took quite a while to calm Queen Amerande’s excitement down after that.

__________________________

I thought over the invitation as I walked through the gardens on the way back to my carriage. Given my feud with the king and the prince, staying at the palace wasn’t the smartest course of action. I considered turning around and telling the queen I had changed my mind, but… She had been so happy.

I idly rubbed my sternum, hoping the aching deep within my chest would go away. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts, unfortunately, that I didn’t pay enough attention to my surroundings.

An action that I greatly regretted, as I nearly ran straight into an unexpected and unpleasant surprise.

“Lenora!”

Edith, clutching Ronan’s arm between her hands, looked at me with a look of shock and embarrassment, her cheeks dyed with a light pink blush. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

I paused in my steps, caught off guard by their sudden appearance.

Letting go of the prince’s arm, she clasped her hands in front of her, staring at me with an imploring expression. “ I’m so sorry that you had to see this! It must be so… painful for you to witness our affection personally.” Her eyes glinted with satisfaction as her eyes searched my face, studying my reaction. “I never meant for you to be hurt like this, I wanted to give you time…” She wiped a non-existing tear from the corner of her eye, looking remorseful.

I let out a small sigh of relief.

Finally.

I had felt trapped, surrounded by people who insisted they cared about me, their constant presence and understanding support slowly undermining everything I had come to believe since my rebirth. I had begun to question my convictions, but here in front of me was a beautiful example of love. My former fiancé and my best friend, clutching each other in a way to express affection but both seeming more concerned with making sure I was hurt by their open display.

This, this is much easier to be around. I found myself smiling at them, feeling grateful for their petty minded and spiteful ways.

“Don’t feel bad. I have never been happier to see the both of you together!”

That took them both by surprise. Ronan’s eyes glanced around the garden as if suspecting a plot, his face betraying a discomfort at being near me. Edith, however… wasn’t nervous at all.

She continued to smile, but it was obvious from the stiffness of her posture and expression that she was furious. She didn’t look like someone who had gotten the reaction she had been trying to achieve.

Stepping away from Ronan, she patted me on the arm, twisting her lips into a more sympathetic grin. “What brings you here, Lenora? I wouldn’t expect to run into you now…” She broke off her words suddenly as if too embarrassed to continue.

“Now that my engagement to Prince Ronan is completely gone and will never be renewed?” I filled in happily. Ronan was now frowning, likely thinking of his father’s reactions to my words. I continued on, ignoring his displeasure. “I was visiting the Queen.”

“The Queen?” Edith’s smile faltered, her eyes burning with anger. “Why would you see her?”

I spread my hands, “What can I say, we’re very close. She treats me like a daughter.” They both looked unhappy with that. “Actually we were discussing the plans for the Queen’s birthday.”

“The Queen’s birthday plans?” Edith glanced at the prince with confusion clearly written on her face. Ronan was glaring at me, obviously wanting me to stop talking but I was having fun now.

“Oh, you didn’t know yet?” I sighed. “I probably spoiled the surprise, I’m sure the prince was planning on inviting you during your visit here today. The Queen is having a small banquet in honor of her birthday! We’re invited to spend the night in the castle as it’s expected to go quite late.”

Edith turned to Prince Ronan. “Why hadn’t you invited me yet?” Her tone was accusing, all pleasantness gone.

He glared again at me who grinned shamelessly. Obviously he hadn’t planned on inviting her as the King still wanted him to be pursuing my hand in marriage. But would he tell her that?

“I was just waiting until a more romantic spot in our walk, dearest!” He explained through clenched teeth.

“Oh of course! If only the surprise hadn’t been spoiled by outsiders.” She glanced over in my direction, as I struggled not to laugh.

“I look forward to seeing you both there together.”

Edith now looked confused at my continued positivity at their relationship, while Ronan was staring daggers at me. I tapped my chin thoughtfully, an evil thought forming deep in my head.

“That reminds me, have you seen His Majesty?” I looked around the garden. “I was hoping to speak to him.”

Ronan paled. “About what?”

“Oh nothing,” I shrugged, “The sights around the palace. I also wanted to express how we’ve spoken and how I support you two and hope you’ll be engaged soon.”

Edith now looked absolutely lost, while Ronan recognized my words for the threat they were.

“The King is visiting another city.” His answer was wary.

Of course he was. Ronan would never flaunt his new relationship so openly if he thought the king would see him. Of course, the king was the type to keep tabs on things, even when physically absent. I’m sure Ronan’s activities had already been reported in detail to his father.

But it might still be a chance to make some money.

“Perhaps I’ll write him a letter instead.” I started sticking out my hand in a now familiar gesture, preparing to demand hush money from my former fiancé now turned cash cow, but as soon as my hand moved, he jumped back, his hands reaching down reflexively to protect his pockets.

“I- we have something…. We have to go!” Grabbing Edith, he turned, almost running in the opposite direction.

“WHAT ARE YOU…?!” Edith started to shout indignantly, but was soon pulled around the corner and out of sight.

I stared after them, shocked, and then started to laugh.

I think I’ve scared him. I frowned. I only got to extort money from him twice and he had already wised up. Still, him running away in fear couldn’t be considered a bad outcome either…

Shaking my head, still chuckling, I headed home in the carriage.

__________________________

On my arrival I informed my father of the invitation, who sat back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Alright. I’ll write your mother to inform her.

His words surprised me. “You don’t have to.”

“…”

He stared at me silently for a few moments, his usually foolish expression gone. We had grown apart in the five years since I started this new lifetime. Initially I had only thought to take control of some of the Duchy’s inner workings, trying to weed out corruption and put us in a stable position. I hadn’t thought to completely take his responsibilities on, but he had willingly given up his role, content to focus on his own amusements. We spoke less and less over the years, and now with the exception of larger gatherings, parties, and occasionally having dinner together, for all intents and purposes we were practically strangers.

“She’s your mother.” Was his simple reply.

“Has anyone told Her that?” I snapped, irritated at even his paltry defense. She had been gone for years, and he had never once complained about her antics, never once stood up for himself or for me where she was concerned.

“I-… Dear… “ He paused for a long moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “It’s complicated.” He finished lamely, his expression uncomfortable.

“Seems very simple to me.” I smiled coldly. “She hates me, and makes a fool of you. Should I welcome her with open arms then?”

He winced at the word “fool,” shaking his head slowly. “I can’t excuse her behavior… but neither can I afford to judge her.”

What wonderful parents. I knew my face had grown even colder than before as he looked away rather than face my gaze. “There’s a lot you could not afford to do.”

I turned, thinking to walk away, but he called my name, stopping me.

“Was there something else?” I asked, feeling bitter.

“How is your friend?” He looked even more discomfited than before.

His question took me completely by surprise. “What friend?” I was honestly confused.

“The young woman you used to play with every day?” He swallowed, not meeting my gaze.

“Edith?” I stared at him. “Why?”

“I- I just don’t want you to always be alone! I worry about you!” He said beautiful sounding words, but they rang hollow in my ears.

“She spends her days with the prince now.” I watched his reaction, curious. “They should be announcing their engagement soon.”

“They…?” His voice trailed off, he stared at the wall, processing my words. He didn’t look shocked. “I’m sorry, it’s been hard for you dear.”

“Why are you apologizing?” I wanted to leave, his insincerity hurt more than if he had never spoken at all.

“We all have our sins, Lenora.” He whispered in reply. “Some of us are just still waiting to pay the price for them.”

I walked out, slamming the door behind me, leaving him to his thoughts without another word.

I felt regretful that I had spoken to him as long as I had. I already had enough to worry about with the upcoming party, and the possible plots and scheme from the monarchy, I shouldn’t have added to my stress. After all, nothing good had ever come of talking to either of my parents. My mother only saw me as a tool to achieve what she wanted, but my father…

He had never seen me at all.

#writing #i can't eat love #hopefully part 25 will follow shortly #the party is coming #plots and schemes #relationships

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lwoscar123 · 4 years

Text

Search for Closure

This is the full version of the short story. it is a work of fiction all characters and plot were created by me. I should probably warn you that this story has mentions of suicide and murder, so please read at your own risk. anyway i hope someone enjoys this. if you read this let me know what you think.

“Are you sure that this can’t wait until after I’m done with college? I don’t think I’m ready yet,” Alexandria said as she stood on the front porch of her childhood home.

“It’s better to get this over as soon as possible. Besides don’t you want to sell the house? People won’t always be interested in buying it,” her grandfather said putting his hand on her shoulder.

As she fumbled around in her bag to find the keys she tried not to think back to the last time she was in that house. She tried to find comfort in the fact that if she was able to get through this then the horrid house would no long be there to torment her.

“There you are”, she mumbled to herself as she felt the cold metal of the keys and pulled them out of the bag. After unlocking the door, she took a deep breath and slowly opened it letting the light devour the darkness that was locked inside for so long.

Alexandria paused in the doorway before turning to her grandparents. “If it’s okay with you guys I would prefer to do this alone.” Her voice heavy, was it fair to refuse her mother’s parents right to see the place where there child had spent her last moments before choosing to end her misery. “I’ll let you come in when I’m done. I’m so sorry.”

“Alright Dria, just know that we’ll be out here if you need us,” her grandmother said with a gentle nod of her head. Her grandfather nodded in agreement and understanding.

I’m back Ma, sorry it took me so long, she thought to herself as she walked in to the entryway almost being taken by surprise when she saw the shoe cubby and coat rack empty. The further that Alexandria walked into the house the smaller she felt. She was suddenly that stunted fifteen year old that was naïve enough to believe that she was enough to make her mother whole again. She tried to keep her gaze forward. She knew that if she acknowledged the silhouettes that they would lead her down the same path that her mother fell victim to.

The shadows were there to taunt her, to bring back feelings and memories that she would rather keep buried and forgotten. The memories that was only full of loneliness and other negative emotions. .

“Let it go, Andri. Don’t let it control you,” a voice that was warm and motherly said. The voice had startled Alexandria and she almost looked over what it had said when she looked around the empty room in search of the source of it.

Until she had realized what the voice had called her: Andri, it had referred to her using the nickname that her mother would use in the rare and precious moments where she would come back from whatever world she would escape to and recognize that Alexandria was a person with emotions and that she needed someone to be there for her too.

The voice that had been there to comfort them through the separation of her parents and had explained to her that it wasn’t her fault they split. The voice that told her they were going to be fine because even though her father had left them she’d at least got to keep the house. That day she had promised the young girl that they would make it just fine on their own and that they will always be together no matter what. A promise that her mother had broke so long ago. Alexandria spent a majority of her time trying to figure out when the promise had lost its meaning.

Alexandria remembered the first and last time she had spoken to her in that voice. God, she wished she could forget them, but they were burned into her mind like a brand.

The first time she heard that voice being on the night of her fifth birthday. A night that she never discussed with anyone, not even her mother. She was supposed to be tucked away in her bed fast asleep, but a sound had woke her up. It was the sound of the front door slamming closed and the heavy thudding of footsteps. Father, she thought rushing out of bed and out into the hallway. Her foot had just touched the landing at the top of the stairs before she was frozen in her place by a loud crashing sound and her mother’s angry voice.

“How dare you?” Alexandria had never heard her mother sound like this before today. “How dare you bring that man in our house?”

“That man is my brother and he has every right to come here. After all, this house belongs to my family and he is Alexandria’s rea-” my father said, he was rubbing the bridge of his nose something he did when he was trying not to explode. “You loved that man or did you forget that you planned to marry him and not me?”

“He lost that right long before Alexandria was born. When he decided to become a murderer. ” my mother screeched, she was holding a baseball bat using it to distance herself from him.

“The only reason he did what he did was because he was protecting you and you didn’t seem to mind it” my father remarked lip curving up at the end “I mean Alexandria is proof of that isn’t she”

“It was a lapse in judgment” she hesitated “Don’t act like you haven’t had any of those”

“Can’t we stop arguing for one day? I just wanted to do something nice for her.” He sighed, “Can’t we talk about this tomorrow. I just want to go to sleep.”

“Something nice? She doesn’t know him or who he is.” She said blocking his way to the stairs. Scared of being caught, Alexandria scrambled back to bed tucking herself in and closing her eyes.

Ten minutes felt like forever in the quiet darkness of her room before she heard the door slam and her mom make her way up the stairs. Her mother paused mumbling to herself before quietly making her way into Alexandria’s room and kneeling by the side of her bed. “I’m sorry. I can’t lose you again, I’m sorry. I love you, Andri” she whispered her soft voice clashing with the odd heaviness that came with those words.

Little did Alexandria know, but her mother cried herself to sleep that night. The more and more she looked back on that night over the years the more empty she felt inside and the more alone she realized she was. Who was that man that her father had brought to her birthday party? How did mom know him? What did her father mean when he said she was proof her mother didn’t hate him? Why did she get the idea that her mother wasn’t talking about her when she came into her room that night? These were some of the questions that have come up since that night; questions that she still didn’t have answers to.

She looked up seeing the silhouette of a young girl cower at the top of the stairs hoping that her parents wouldn’t catch her. Alexandria locked eyes with the girl and watched as the girl gasped and then darted into her room. Alexandria followed her up the stairs and opened the door to her child hood bedroom. Her eyes scanned the room looking for the girl, but it was like she had disappeared. Instead her she saw a desk with a chair in the corner of the room, the same chair that her father had sat in when he told her the history of the house

“Did you know that my great-grandfather built this house?” her father asked a six year old version of herself. To which she responded by shaking her head, her unruly auburn curls swaying along. It was back then that Alexandria thought she was the prettiest. Her skin was dusted with freckles and her bright blue eyes still filled with hope. Back when she was still filled with the innocence of a child.

“He built this house as a way to prove the strength of the love he had for my great-grandmother” he started “when he had first asked her to marry him all those years ago, she had told him that the only way she would marry him was to prove that his love was strong enough to last forever”

“But how did that prove anything it’s just a house? It’s not even that big.” She said, she wished she could go back just for a while. Her parents might of fought often, but at least she had someone who actually cared.

“It might not be big or even good looking but it serves its purpose doesn’t it. It has been here way before either of us and even though it has been through a lot it is still here” he explained with a soft smile. “My father and his siblings were raised in this house and so were his children. In fact my mother gave birth to my younger brother in this very room.”

“You forgot me.” The little girl says and her father raises his eyebrow “I’m growing up in this house too!” she says pointing to herself, her crooked smile on display.

“You remind me so much of my brother” his voice going soft

“What was he like?” She wondered “I didn’t know I had an uncle”“ Have, he is still alive you know” he corrected her “Believe it or not but you met him before. He came to one of your birthday -”

“Alexandria say goodbye to your father, it’s time for him to leave” her mother interrupting. Alexandria wasn’t at all surprised when her parents had begun arguing as soon as the door to her bedroom closed.

It wasn’t even a week after he told Alexandria that story that he just stopped coming to visit all together. She knew that he was tired of the constant arguing, but that didn’t mean he had to leave her all alone. There were plenty of ways for him to spend time with her without having to deal with her miserable mother. It was back then that she should have realized that it was just a house and that if it had a choice it would probably leave her too.

She waved her hand to disperse the shadows and the memory that had clouded up her train of thought. As she headed out the door and into the hallway she noticed that the door that led to her mother’s room was wide open for what felt like the first time in forever. She was never allowed to go into her mother’s room.

There’s no one to stop me anymore she thought to herself as she marched into the bedroom. Halfway into the room her march turned in to a jog and she jumped onto the bed. As she landed a cloud of dust flew up from the mattress and sheets.

“I should have really thought that through” she said going into a coughing fit. She looked around trying to spot anything out of the ordinary as her coughs died down and she waited for her breathing to return to normal. After finding nothing of interest she stood up from the bed and meant to head out of the room.

As soon as she took another step her foot got snagged on something and she face planted the hardwood floor. Regaining her composure she sat up and turned around looking for the culprit only to find a box labeled Andri.

“What are you doing under mom’s bed?” She questioned the box as if it could answer. “You should be in my room”

She grabbed either side of the box and was surprised when it offers more resistance than expected. “You’re a heavy little guy aren’t you?”

She pulled with all her might and still had to struggle, but she had finally pulled the box all the way out. She folded the flaps back and was surprised yet again when all she saw was photo albums. She pulled out the first one and used her sleeve to wipe the cover so that the cover was clear enough to read “The Martin-Arnott Family Album ….hmm”

As Alexandria opened the photo album she was greeted with a picture of a teenage girl in a hospital bed holding a baby that was wrapped in a blanket with a teenage boy sitting in the chair next to her. The teenage girl had shoulder length dark hair that was all over some strands stuck to her forehead due to copious amounts of sweat. Her slightly tan skin and clear complexion worked together to give her the illusion that she was glowing. She gave off this amazing energy that made you completely look over her messy and tired state. She was very petite and being combined with her baby face made her look slightly younger than she actually was. She still looked amazing even though she just spent hours giving birth. She knew the girl was her mother at least that much was obvious, but she looked so unfamiliar almost like a whole other person.

The teenage boy on the other hand was a completely different story. They looked like polar opposites. He was pale and his skin had a yellowish tint to it that made him appear to be anemic. His skin was dusted with an obnoxious amount of freckles no matter where you looked and his short hair was orange? He was of average height and build. He should have looked out of place sitting next to her mother but oddly enough they complimented each other. Instead of staring at the camera he was staring at the girl and Alexandria suddenly felt a pain in her chest.

Is this what she looked like when she was truly happy? Who was the boy next to her and why did he look to be related to her father. Under the picture was the caption “Emily Martin and Jacob Arnott with their new born Andri. (1989)” Emily? That was her mother’s name, but who was Jacob Arnott? Who was Andri? Did she have an older brother? She hastily flipped through page after page until she got to the middle of the photo album in her hands and saw another picture with the same people, but now they were older.

The same teenage boy was now a young man whose hair had been grown out and was styled in such a way that it reminded her of the long hair that James McAvoy had for his portrayal of a young Charles Xavier in X-men. His hair had now darkened to a nice auburn and his skin had finally reached a healthy color. He still had all those freckles though. In his arms was a toddler who also had bright orange hair that was all over the place. He looked almost exactly like the man holding him but instead of his father’s blue eyes his eyes were grey.

The young woman, who still had the appearance of a teen despite being older than the male in the picture, was sitting outside on the porch of the family house in the background as if she had been watching them run around. The caption under the picture read “Me and my two beautiful boys outside enjoying the summer breeze (1993)”

Alexandria placed the album to the side of the box and picked up the second photo album entitled “The Arnott Family Album #3”. She didn’t waste any time flipping through pages and just opened it to a random page to see a picture with my mother and father in cap and gowns it must have been their high school graduation. Jacob was also in frame carrying Andri in his arm the caption reads “Emily (17), Scott (18), Jacob (15), and baby Andri (10 months) (1990)”

She closed the album, placed it on top of the other one, and reached into the box once more this time her hand found a slip of paper. When she pulled it out and flipped it over to read it, Alexandria was suddenly overcome with a sick feeling. It was a news paper clipping and the headline read “serial murderer found dead after breaking into the Arnott family home 5 dead total, 1 severely injured”

On the night of February 5th, the serial killer ‘The Surgeon’ broke into the Arnott family home and wreaked havoc. By the time Emily had woken up and become aware of the fact that there was an intruder it was too late. He had just finished dissecting her 12 year old son and had already killed the other family members that were home at the time. She had called out for her fiancé Jacob forgetting that he had went out with his older brother Scott to drink and unknowingly alerted the man of her presence.

He was on the other side of the upstairs hallway and making his way to her, when Scott and Jacob arrived at the scene. They were alerted to the horrible situation when they saw that the door had been kicked in. Scott had decided to stay outside and call the police. Jacob worried about his fiancé and son entered the house and upon hearing Emily’s screams raced upstairs to their shared bedroom where the man was now standing over her about to strike. Jacob engaged in a struggle that resulted in him being stabbed twice and the suspect bleeding out from multiple stab wounds. By the time that the police arrived the suspect was dead and Jacob had gone into shock from excessive blood loss.

The list of dead in result of this break in is: Thomas Arnott (52), Edith Arnott (53), Faith Arnott (20), Andri Arnott (12), and Greg Barley (age unknown)

Alexandria didn’t know what to believe anymore she checked the date on the paper and it said February 7th 2001. She had been born February 9th of the following year. Was this Jacob person her real father? She thought turning to look into the mirror on her mother’s dresser, but this time instead of seeing her own reflection she saw a man’s. A man with long ginger hair, an abundance of freckles dotted his face and his grey eyes seemed to glare into her. You’re just a replacement it seemed to say.

Alexandria quickly looked through the box once more to see if there was anything else of importance and found a huge pile of letters addressed to her from her biological father. She picked up the bundle and stashed it in her purse, so she could read it in the privacy of her room back home later on.

“Please, just let it go and forgive me” The voice pleaded. Alexandria rolled her eyes

“Forgive you” Alexandria screamed as she desperately looked for something to throw or punch “you want me to forgive you for lying to me my whole life”

“Shut up. You’re not real. Shut up” she said and turned to the man in the mirror who seemed to be taunting her “you’re dead”

“Please Andri” the voice begged

“Don’t call me that” she roared and stormed out the room and down the stairs “I’m sorry” Alexandria’s eyes were drawn to the entry way.

The last time she had heard her mother use that voice was the morning of the day her mother died. Alexandria had woken up late and was rushing around trying to get ready quick enough to catch the bus. She had just finished stuffing her newly printed English paper into bag trying to be careful not to crumple it when she remembered.

“Oh! I almost forgot, you’ll be home later today right? I need your help filling out some information for applications for some summer programs I was interested in.” She called. She was now at the front door and in the process of shoving her feet in her shoes, when her mother responded.

“Yeah I will be, but maybe it would be better if you didn’t apply to any summer programs. Something might come up and it’ll look bad if you applied, but can’t attend”

Maybe if Alexandria had woken up on time and wasn’t rushing to get to the bus stop on time, she would have been able to catch what her mother had actually said and the double meaning behind it. But at last Alexandria didn’t she had just assumed that all she said was yeah. She didn’t realize what her mother had said it until she was in her math class and even then it was far too late to do anything because she was trapped in school for another five hours. When she had rushed home instead of being greeted by the smell of her mom’s cooking she was greeted by what she at first thought was an empty house

“Ma? Ma where are you?” she said as she checked the kitchen and then went to go look in her room.

“Ma.” She hoped that maybe she had gotten tired and went to take a nap.

“Ma!” or she was taking a shower and couldn’t hear her calling her.

“Mom” her heart was racing now as she reached for the curtain that separated the living room from the rest of the house. She closed her eyes slowly pulling the curtain to the side.

“Mo-”she choked on the word. She slowly opened her eyes and at first her heart dropped with disappointment, but soon that was washed away with anger. How could she be so selfish after all that we’ve been through? I thought she said she loved me? If that was true how could she just leave me?

Believe it or not she didn’t cry when she found her, not when she turned to go get her phone to call the police, nor when she had to explain what happened, not even when they cut down her body and covered her with tarp. No, Alexandria decided that 6 months later, when she was introducing herself to her classmates at her new school that that was the perfect time to cry.

“Come here” the voice called beckoning her to the living room. She walked on her shoes feeling heavier and heavier, until she was in the same spot she stood that night, the air feeling the thickest as if she reach out and hold it in her hands. She suddenly dropped to her knees feeling her throat constrict as if the air had turned tangible and shackled her in place.

Alexandria felt the atmosphere start to shift as she was finally beginning to see what her mother had been suffering through and understand that it wasn’t her fault that her mother took the actions that she did. It was just that she wasn’t able to cope and she couldn’t live with the guilt of forcing her problems onto her daughter and that it was crippling her growth.

“Just let it go, I’m sorry for everything,” the disembodied voice that Alexandria believed to be her mother’s begged her. By the end of apology the voice faded out and she knew it wouldn’t come back this time. The house was now the only physical remnant of her the mother and the relationship they had. This house had been here for her mother when she needed it and now it was here to support her. Alexandria knew that in order for her to truly begin to heal and be able to grow any further that she would have to let go of everything that burdened her. She had to first admit to the true feelings that were involved in her mother’s death and the relationship they had when she was alive. She had to acknowledge that she felt the tiniest bit of relief when she found her mother’s body hanging there when she had returned from school and that she had held a deep resentment toward her mother while she was alive and even a while after her death.

She had to forgive her mother because she now knew that it wasn’t her mother’s fault for abandoning her long before she had physically left the world. That her mother was too weak to mother a broken child. When she was a mother that refused to let go of the child that she had lost so long ago. Alexandria wished she could bring her mother back for just long enough to tell her she was sorry that she was so selfish and that she forgave her because she finally understood what she was going through. Alexandria walked out of the house with a new sense of purpose and a new understanding of her mother because she had gained the knowledge that she hadn’t failed to fill the role of a good daughter, there was just some problems that the love and support of a daughter couldn’t fix. She also left promising herself that she would find her real father if he was still around and find out if they shared any other similarities other than their physical appearance.

“You know what,” she said walking over to her grandparents who were patiently waiting for her to come back. “I’ve decide that I’m not going to sell the house. It holds too many important memories” The weight that she had been carrying for years had finally been lifted and her relationship with her mother repaired. She was going to keep the house in the family and return it to the man it truly belongs to, but they didn’t need to know that.

#something i wrote #commingofagestory #here's a short story #pls leave feedback

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