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lil-pine-mha-drabbles · 4 years ago

Note

Can u please write a Shoto fanfic (or could be for multiple characters) inspired by Murders by Miracle Musical? 😭😭😭 The line "all for nothing at all" hits very VERY hard for me. Can u make it as angst as possible too?

Todoroki Shoto x Murderer Reader

I listened to that song a bunch and still my brain didn’t process all of the story in that song, I hope that you will still enjoy this. I did work hard and I think I did ok, but I put my own spin on it.

TW: A LOT of blood, a few swear words, and heavy(ish) angst.

I got too into the storyline I forgot all the actual angst I was supposed to put in.

Here are some people that inspire me, @alpha-bnha-boys and @random-mha-thoughts

There are 2567 words to read below the line!

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Were the woods always this scary?

The leaves rustled and the wind whistled as it sifted through the dark branches. It would have been a peaceful day if it weren’t for the darkness that had been put over the woods. You looked up through the cracks in the leaves to see that the sky was beginning to darken as well. You picked up your axe and wiped of the blood of the animal laying dead on the ground, the blood pooling around your feet. The smell was enticingly sweet, the scent of blood always fascinated you. As you grew older you figured out your favorite type of blood was human, there was something about the fact that there was no fur to get matted when the liquid gushed out leaving you in excitement to see the beautiful color on the white or chocolate skin.

You may be a murderer but you didn’t discriminate. You hoped desperately to find another human in these woods to harvest but you would wait and kill others patiently. The hunt is what you enjoyed; the feeling of raw adrenaline as you ran after your prey.

You had a quirk, and that quirk was a shifting quirk. You could change into any animal; real or fantasy that you could think of, but... whatever you choose you keep the appetite and diet of that chosen creature for a week.

If say, you wanted to be a horse, you would eat grass for a week, even after shifting back, if you wanted to be a dragon, you would be eating meat and spewing fire all week.

But, if you shifted into a herbivore then into a carnivore, you would not only be eating meat AND plants, you would have double the hunger for blood. To most people that would horrify them, but since you drank blood like apple juice, you had no problem going on a killing spree to sedate your desire.

You picked up the blood in the buckets you brought and rang out the already mangled body over the container. Finally you grabbed your shovel and dug by a dried tree. Soil that has a calcium deficiency ate up bodies quickly. If you buried and animal under a tree, the roots would wrap around the white bones in haste to receive their needed vitamin.

After the burial was complete you picked up the two buckets and walked to your cabin.

Now, these woods were special. There was a fountain of mirrors which showed your true inner self but only few have seen it. Those who have are trapped in the woods forever to guard the fountain from others who wish to see themselves.

You sniffed the air and quietly put down your buckets when you smelled it. Fresh prey.

Someone was in the woods whether they’re lost or they’re looking for the fountain, you don’t care, you’ll drink them up either way and leave their bones to the trees of the forest.

You turned into a bunny and jumped over boulders and bushes to reach the heavenly smell. It was sweeter then any human you have ever smelled, but it was surrounded by two other people. Well, you could eat two and save the sweetest for later, like a dessert.

There was a girl and two boys walking with picnic baskets through your woods. The girl was wearing bright pink, easy to spot. One boy had green hair that just made you want to rip out and watch the blood fall from the open scalp.

The last was the sweetest one. His hair was red and white, he would be easy to track down. If he ran you could sniff him out, or look through the darkness for his bright self.

The girl would be easiest to lure, you thought. She would like to chase the cute little bunny, but would ultimately get eaten by the big bad wolf.

You hopped out in front of the girl and her eyes went wide as she squealed to the boys next her how cute you were.

“Hoe, I am gorgeous, not cute.” You thought to yourself bitterly.

You hopped a little father away and the white and red haired boy tried to stop her.

“Uraraka, it’s dangerous in these woods, I wouldn’t recommend chasing the bunny.” He looked through you like he knew everything about you and you shook with anticipation.

Oh, this would be fun.

“Look, it’s cold. It’s shaking so much... please, I gotta help it.” You rolled your eyes and hopped away looking like you were limping. Your sweetest prey just sighed and waved her off like he knew she would be killed by you. The girl smiled and ran after you while the boys waited on the path for her.

When you lead her far enough that the boys wouldn’t see your smallest dragon form, you changed rapidly, stretching over her, your head curled around to the other side so she couldn’t run. You let her scream and then bit.

The blood squelched in your mouth as the neck snapped and your eyes rolled back at how good the flavor was. You sucked and sucked until she was nothing but a dried carcass on the floor.

You flew to the trees in your terrifying black creature form. “The Black Chaos.” The only way to describe this form is it looks like the chupacabra. Black fur that looked like porcupine quills, tail covered in spikes, claws as thin and as sharp as the sharpest knife, and wings that could cut through the thickest tree trunks in your way.

The two boys ran as fast as they could to where they heard the scream only for the green one to start bawling about his love, and your sweet, sweet prey looked around to assess the situation. He looked at all the trees till he locked eyes with you. His left side covered it self in flames and his right put a field of ice around his now screaming friend. You smiled at him, teeth glistening with the blood of the girl. Your eyes stayed on him as you flew up and over the trees.

He breathed a small sigh of relief, thinking you had left until he heard his ice shatter and you fly out, holding his last friend’s neck between your teeth. He was paralyzed with fear while sucked all of the blood from his friend while you locked eyes.

He couldn’t maintain eye contact much longer and turned to the side to throw up. You changed your form into your human body and watched from a distance curiously. Why did he feel sick? You were only eating a meal. Did he dislike you?

You had never felt this feeling before. It was one of dread and confusion, maybe, guilt. You watched him spill his guts for a bit more before he wiped his mouth and looked at you sitting on the ground, legs crossed, head tilted like a confused child.

“Why do you come to my woods, red one?” You asked.

“Why did you eat my friends?!”

“I was just having dinner, what’s the big deal? I’d rather have meals then friends.” You stated to him plainly.

He looked at you funny.

“I’m not afraid of death. When will you kill me?”

“Rather bold of you to think I was going to eat my dessert on a full stomach.” You looked at your black claw-like nails in thought.

“Dessert?”

“Dessert, your starting to get on my nerves. I might just keep you as punishment.”

“Is this some kind of sick twisted flirting?!” Tears streamed down his face, his eyes puffy red, and the darkness around him made you almost purr he looked so gorgeous.

“Is it working?” This time you did purr, your words surprised the boy as he flopped down onto the floor in defeat. “Well?” You asked again.

“Maybe you should have come up like a normal person and asked me on a date instead of EATING MY FRIENDS!?”

“I can see why you’re mad, but what is ‘date’?”

“A date, like where you take someone you might want to marry out to dinner or something.”

“Like a courtship then?”

“How old are you?” He asked curiosity lacing his voice as you purred because of the lovely sound.

“I was born in 1823. Lovely time I must admit, until they tried to burn me at the stake because I was the only person with a quirk.” You rolled your eyes then smile suddenly at the boy in front of you.

“How,” he coughed, “how old were you when you were killed?”

“Oh dear me, no, I wasn’t killed! I escaped into these woods, of course!!” Your smile must’ve grown larger because he looked like he became more uncomfortable. “Sorry, I smile too much.”

“No, you don’t smile too much, I just became uncomfortable because I’m sitting right next to my best friends’ corpses. No biggie.” He said with what you believed was sarcasm.

“I remember the first time I sat next to my best friend’s dead corpse, my father killed her when he found us kissing behind the barn! He wasn’t pleased that his daughter was becoming a ‘whore’. But! I showed him, after years of abuse from that bastard, I sucked his brains right out of his empty eye sockets! Good times, good times!” You laughed bitterly. “You probably think I’m some freak right? A girl can’t like girls and guys, it’s immoral.”

“Well, that’s not why I find you a freak, but you’re fine. It’s called being a bisexual. It’s not super new but it’s definitely more widely excepted now days.” He smiled at you slightly which made you smile a bit.

You two talked through the night like that. He explained that his father was emotionally and physically abusing him, and he had problems with showing emotion because of it. He wasn’t exactly “okay” with you killing his friends but he seemed more excepting then anyone you could think of.

You’d been with Shoto for months now. He was forever forced to stay in the woods. (With you not letting him leave only to go back to his father, it could be quite difficult.)

You talked about everything and anything, he taught you how to cook meat and how to prepare a meal without drinking blood. You stayed in your human form for the rest of the time he was with you and the only animals you were ever allowed to transform into were herbivores, which made sense. You hadn’t eaten raw meat in months and you thought you were doing better.

You thought.

You warned him. “Full moon is coming, stay in the cabin when I’m out, don’t leave. I won’t be able to control myself.” You told him, over, and over, and OVER. He didn’t LISTEN.

You were out in your most dangerous form, the Black Chaos. Wings spread out you hunted without being able to stop yourself. This was the only time of year you physically couldn’t restrain yourself from hurting others, and killing, and hunting.

Over the past hundreds of years that you’ve roamed these woods, this was the only time you were scared of yourself. You hated the way you couldn’t control yourself when you smell the slightest bit of sweet blood.

You had hunted ninety-nine beasts in the forest, bears, wolves, bunnies, foxes, dogs, dear, frogs, if they had meat on them, they were dead. Every time you hunt like this you count how many you kill.

It’s always a hundred. Exactly.

The moon was falling fast and you felt yourself slowly come back but something wasn’t right, you had seen a few animals pass you but you had no intention of killing them, yet you only had ninety-nine.

What was your body waiting for?

You looked out towards where the sun was rising and felt yourself stay on edge. Whatever was happening, Black Chaos still held the rains of your body.

That’s when it hit. The sweetest scent, Shoto.

He must’ve left the cabin looking for you now that the sun had risen, you wanted to call out to him, scream, “run!!! Stay away!!” But no words left your mouth as your body surged forward, bounding on all fours, not even utilizing your wings.

You saw the head of red and white hair in the distance and you finally let out and agonizing scream. “RUN!!!” That was all you could say before your eyes turned red and he turned and ran.

The chase was on.

You could hear his breathy huffs as he ran you could hear the leaves crunch under his feet, his sobs that wracked his body as his tears fell. He was terrified, of YOU.

You were screaming and crying and trying to stop this mess but the thing inside you wouldn’t stop seeking blood, his blood.

Finally after twenty minutes of running and crying on both parts, he tripped and you loomed over him, your long black tongue lolled out and touched his face, caressing it sweetly, wiping his tears as his chest rose and fell rapidly. Not only from all of the running, but also the fear of you.

He always said he wasn’t afraid of death but after looking into your eyes, your eyes that held death, he realized something. He was afraid, but he was in love with death. He loved you. YOU. The one who comforted him and joked with him and learned how to be human from him.

“I love you!” He yelled out as your long tentacle tongue wrapped around his neck, your teeth inches away from biting down.

“I love you so much it aches! I want to live with you forever! I want to teach you to be human and hug you when you’re sad!” He cried and cried and watched as your own tears fell for your eyes.

Then you bit down.

You screamed in agonizing pain as your only love was ripped from you by yourself. You did this. Your human form came back to you and you slammed you fists on Shoto’s chest.

“I love you so fucking much!”

“I’m so sorry!!! I’m so sorry!! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry... I’m so—“ your laid your head on his chest and cried and cried and cried.

Shoto’s hands moved to your face and wiped your tears.

“I love you too. You’re wonderful.”

You hugged him tightly crying harder in relief. How was he alive?

“It’s cliché to say that your love woke me up, but look at where we are.”

You look around and a smile made it’s way to your face. You were in the Fountain of Mirrors. The water had already healed Shoto’s neck.

He had tripped into the shallow pool when you were chasing him and you were too worried about him to see that you were surrounded by the water.

“You’re a guardian now. Of the woods, I mean.” You laughed threw your sobs.

“I know. And I will be forever.”

And so, you and Shoto live in the forest of Murder for the rest of the days of the earth. You looked into the mirror to see yourself a beautiful swan, you were no longer Black Chaos, you were White Savior, helping all people away from the fountain instead of gobbling them up.

The End.

#anime #mha drabbles #mha headcanons #mha imagines #mha x reader #mha todoroki #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x you #angst #murder #mha fanfiction #monster reader #witch reader #mha todoroki x reader #mha todoroki shouto #shouto todoroki #shoto todoroki

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stones-x-bones · 4 years ago

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Faeted End || Rio and Bex (ft. A Special Guest)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @3starsquinn and @inbextween, Jim the Warden (written by Virginia) SUMMARY: Rio wants to keep his friend safe, and Bex has had enough of people hurting Mina. CONTENT: Head injury, Memory Loss, Gun mention (but no usage), Domestic abuse mentions

Anger wasn’t a feeling Bex was used to, but how could she not be angry? Someone had hurt Mina, badly, and they were still out there. They were still allowed to walk around, unscathed, unpunished, unjustly. Rio had told her all about it, even if Mina wouldn’t, and the second she’d heard that it was someone like Frank, someone who hurt people specifically like Mina, the rage had begun to build in her stomach. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Why were there people out there who specifically hunted others? It was disgusting. That man needed to be stopped. She’d decided that the instant she’d talked to Rio. He needed to be stopped, and Bex now had the tools to do that. You can stop the fight before it even begins. Nell had taught her a bit more since she’d last exploded that doll, and Bex knew she was right-- she was going to stop this man before he hurt anyone again. Before he hurt Mina again.

It was with that boiling rage inside of her-- that fear, that worry, that pain-- that she ended up in the Outskirts with Rio. Apparently the man was at a bar down here, as Rio had told her. It just made her more angry. Was Adam like this? Was Dani? Was Mina supposed to be like this? She pushed the thoughts down and tried to calm herself, gathering her energy in the pit of her stomach, readying it for when she’d need it most. “Should we just go inside?” she asked in a hushed voice to Rio, “Or wait for him to come out?”

It was very possible that Orion had made a mistake. He had almost died on two separate occasions now, ironically with two girls that were dating. Once he knew, he couldn’t keep it to himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about the hunter that would almost undoubtedly go after Mina again. But he didn’t know how to stop him. When he first told Bex about the man, it was more as a warning than anything else. Just so they could keep an eye out for him. Now, he stood in front of the worst places in town.

His arms were crossed, a very deliberate attempt to hide his goosebumps. He rocked back and forth on his feet to hide any shaking. He hadn’t been inside of this bar in a long time. But all of the horrible memories were too vivid. He used to sit at the same table with his parents and sister, headphones in but still unable to block the conversations other hunters had. Terrible, evil conversations about the supernatural creatures Rio wanted only to protect. “Going in is a very bad idea.” Rio answered as soon as it was suggested. They never stood a chance against a group of hunters. They barely stood a chance against one. “He’s dangerous. And we don’t exactly want to attract any attention.” He hadn’t exactly mentioned that this bar was almost exclusively hunters. Well, besides that one guy. He seemed nice. “That wouldn’t be good for us.”

“Yeah, well,” Bex spat, surprised at her own ire, “I’m dangerous, too.” The power inside her stomach was dangerous. She didn’t want to wait for this man, but Rio was right-- going inside was a bad idea. She could recognize that much. So they would wait. “Fine, we’ll wait.” She ushered Rio over to one of the stores that was across the street from the innocuous looking bar. They’d have to keep a close watch, to see when he left. Not wanting to make a scene also meant they’d have to follow him a little distance away until they could get him well and truly alone. Just like he’d had Mina. Just like he’d probably had so many others. Bex felt her anger growing again and the window beside her cracked a little. She looked back at Rio. “You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to,” she told him. He looked absolutely frightened, which Bex was sure was fair. From what he’d told her, this man had attacked him, too, and there were still signs of that evident on his skin. Her eyes lingered on the bruises around his neck. She needed to calm down before she exploded too soon. “I’ll be okay on my own.”

The two perched in a nearby store, Bex seemingly intent on watching the entrance to the Silver Bullet at all times, while Orion barely wanted to see the place at all. The longer the two waited, the more anxious Rio was going to get. But there was no way he was going to leave Bex alone to try to talk to the man. Besides, he had no interest in anyone dying tonight. It was clear the warden had no issues killing non-fae. And the only examples of Bex’s magic that Rio had seen so far was her blowing things up. It was a hostile mixture.

“It’s fine. Just keep your eye out for the door okay? I’m going to go get him” He hated the words even has he said them, but pulled his jacket tighter shut and left quickly. His legs were going to give out quickly if he fought it off any longer. His choice now was to get in and get out quickly. He hoped that the sight of Rio would peak the hunter’s interest enough to follow him. As long as he didn’t call him out in front of the entire bar, this would probably end in no death.

The place hadn’t changed a bit, right down to the nausea Rio felt being inside of it. He stood in the entrance way for a while, looking past the prying eyes turning to see who had just walked in. Many faces were familiar, and from the look on their faces Rio could tell they recognized him too. The kid whose parents got offed by the supernatural last year. The news had spread through the hunter community that had known his parents. He didn’t want to give them a chance to start a conversation, so he pushed on his tippy toes and glanced around the bar as if looking for someone. Rio spotted him in the corner of the bar, eyes staring directly in Rio’s direction. So he noticed me too. Great. Though this was technically according to plan, he still hated the feeling of that man looking at him. When the man stood up, Rio spun in place and pushed out the door, glancing at the shop window and pointing in the direction down the street before high tailing away from the bar.

Since coming to this shitstain of a town, Jim’d learned two things: the people were fucking crazy, and what the Silver Bullet lacked in company and good beer, it made up for in information. And interesting sightings. He’d been feeling like shit since those two kids handed him his ass on a platter. One twerpy boy and an already injured fae should’ve been cake to take down, but somehow they’d gotten the better of him, and he couldn’t stand it, trying to swallow down the bitterness of it with watery beer. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. He’d thought maybe the boy had been brainwashed, promised into protecting the fae, but that hadn’t appeared to be the case. Then he’d thought the fae might try to flee while he took care of the boy, but she’d stuck around, and the two of them had managed to wail on him until he hadn’t been able to stand. Fucking kids. He’d kill the boy just for interrupting with his hunt, but not before he made the little punk tell him where the fae was. He’d make a pretty penny off of her, he just knew it. Somebody was always in the market for nix teeth and scales, and hers had been a nice, silvery color from what he could remember of her goddamn hand and claws ripping into him. He’d kill her slow, make it hurt. He’d be doing the world a service, too.

It was Jim’s lucky night, too. Not the fae; of course it’d be too easy to give him the fae, but the punk was in the Silver Bullet of all places, locking eyes with Jim and then scurrying a way like the fucking pest that he was. Jim grinned at the bartender and laid down his money. “Duty call, pal.” He headed out the door, following the kid and his weird gestures. Maybe the fae was around here after all, though he couldn’t sense her. He allow a bit of iron to concentrate in his hands, though, before reaching for the gun holstered under his jacket. No sword, this time. No point in losing another fine weapon when iron bullets did their job on all kinds of targets. “Hey, Peter Pan!” Jim called out. “Where are you, boy? I just wanna talk about your friend from the other day.”

Bex watched Rio scurry off and stilled herself, watching the door. She wasn’t a hunter or anyone who hurt people by a long shot-- she wasn’t like Nell, her magic wasn’t the kind you used to fight, and she wasn’t like Mina, she wasn’t strong or capable-- but Nell had given her the tools to do what neither of them could. Stop it before it even started. And oh, would she. She wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Mina again. Not like this. Not with broken bones and hand-shaped burns, and black-eyes. She could protect people, too.

Her eyes locked with Rio’s when he exited the bar. The man was coming. Rio darted towards an emptier part of the street, and Bex dropped whatever distraction she’d been holding and followed after, watching the man leave the bar in a hurry, trailing Rio towards the abandoned bits of town. Bex looked as innocent as a flower, with her pretty, blue dress, her hair tied up nice, and her matching purse. She followed casually behind the man, despite the anger in her stomach making her fingers feel like they were on fire. Somehow, there was no fear. No worry. No anxiety. Just anger.

The man turned off behind one of the buildings after Rio and Bex followed close behind them. He called out, but Rio didn’t answer. Bex cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, clicking her heels on the cement, “are you looking for someone?”

This had been Orion’s own idea, yet his heart exploded in his chest as he rushed out of the bar and down the street. He could hear the hunter behind him, the heavy footsteps loud enough that Rio’s hunter senses weren’t even necessary. He dipped into the alleyway, dipping behind a dumpster and pressing his back against it. The hunter would find him. Rio knew that much. He couldn’t hide forever. He looked for anything he could to defend himself, eventually settling on a broken piece of wood from a nearby pallet board. He gripped the wood tightly and held it against his chest, waiting for the footsteps. They drew closer and closer, feet away from him now until he heard Bex’s voice cut through the quiet of the night. Jesus. She really had no fears. Rio inched closer to the dumpster. He needed to be ready to jump in if the hunter lunged for her.

Jim was expecting a boy, not a girl to start talking to him. He turned around to face the voice and relaxed. Easy. Just a girl, no fae, just a kid in a dress with a purse to match it. “Heya, little lady. Yeah, yeah, I’m looking for a boy about,” he put up his hand, guessing the size of the kid from when he’d last seen him, “yay high?” Runty looking, he almost said, but he was playing nice. Girl was probably a normie. “Might look a little skittish. Kid owes me something, and I need to talk to him real bad.” He put his thumbs in his front pockets, his posture loose, easy. Then he said, “Or he might have a friend with him? Been needing to talk to her, too. She’s about your height, wide eyes.” Doesn’t fucking belong here. “I just need to talk to them both like you believe. Saw them the other day, but they just ran off before we could have our chat, can you believe that? You’re not rude like that, are you, sweetheart? You’d tell me if you saw them?”

She hated the way he talked. So many men had talked to her like that in her life already. It only made her more sure of what she was going to do. What that was? Even Bex wasn’t sure yet, but it was going to be something. Her magic could mess with people’s heads, that’s what she knew for sure. She’d given Eddie her memories of Kyle, had linked her and Kyle’s thoughts, had jumped through Hina’s dreams-- whatever she was going to do to this man, he was going to be left wishing he’d never laid a hand on Mina, or Rio. She smiled pleasantly. “Oh! You must mean Rio,” she said, grinning wider. “He owes you something? That’s strange. He usually always makes sure he follows up on that kinda stuff.” She tapped the strap of her purse, as if in thought. “A girl?” she tilted her head, innocently. All those years of pretending to be proper, pretending to be a good girl were paying off, weren’t they? She knew exactly how to be sweet and unassuming to old men who would never even guess that she hid a power they couldn’t fight again. “Do you mean...Mina? Brown hair, beautiful hazel eyes? A voice that sounds like a babbling brook?” She kept the innocent look on her face. “Are those the two you mean? My friends?” Her voice grew dark in a way she hadn’t known possible of herself, but she couldn't hold it back. “Do you mean the friends of mine you tried to kill, simply because, what?” she held her hand out in a shrugging gesture, “you’re human and they’re not?”

Well, this was… confusing. Jim furrowed his brow, lips dragging down into a frown as he looked at the girl in front of him. “Well, now, I don’t know names or anything like that, but--” Well, huh. Jim relaxed his face, looking at this girl with new eyes. Little lady had bite, then. “Like I said, don’t know names. And I don’t know if I’d say ‘babbling brook.’” He laughed, finding irony in the descriptor. Of course this girl would say that the water nymph sounded like a goddamn stream. “She did babble, though, on and on about shit I just didn’t care about until I shut her up. Got to give it to her, though. Wretch didn’t cry out when I snapped her arm.” This one wasn’t fae, but, just like the boy, she was a liability. Pixy-led, they called them, led astray or promise bound, tricked by the trickiest of the supernaturals. This girl was just like the boy, a fool to fall for a pretty facade. Beautiful hazel eyes. Jim wondered if this girl would think they were so beautiful if they were the last thing she saw as she got dragged under the waves. “I’m like pest control, girl. That’s all there is to it. I’m getting rid of dangerous things. Things you might think you understand, but that you just don’t. Now, you can tell me where this Rio is, this Mina is, or you can stay the hell out of my way. We clear?”

It wasn’t the way he talked to her that set Bex off, no. It wasn’t even the things he was saying, or the way in which he talked down to her, like she knew nothing and was nothing, the same way her parents did. No, it was the casualty with which he talked about snapping Mina’s arm. Bex couldn’t help the release of anger that erupted from her. The windows next to the man cracked and shattered. The dumpster Rio hid behind caved in as if by some invisible force, crashing into it. Bex’s chest flared and she breathed in deeply, holding it. How dare he hold that memory like a laugh in his mind. How dare he think about Mina as if she were prey, a pest. Her teeth clenched so hard together she heard her jaw pop. “Stop,” she hissed through her teeth, and a pulse of magic went out and it commanded him, whether he wanted to or not, to stop. Stop talking, stop moving, stop thinking. “You get her name out of your mouth.” Her hand tightened on the strap of her purse, and, slowly, she removed it from her shoulder, setting it on the ground. Inside it, the ingredients she’d used for the spell, red hot on the palm of her hands. She locked eyes with Rio behind the man. Her entire body was shaking, and she couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear, but she began her path forward, towards the man. Her hands were tingling with what felt like fire, all of her energy concentrated in them. She’d rip the memories from his head if she had to. She’d decided-- she would not let this man hurt anyone, ever again. “She is not a pest,” she said with shaky conviction in her voice, “and right now, she’s not the dangerous one.” She reached out her hands, placed them on the man’s head. “I am.”

Jim immediately realized that something was fucked up when he couldn’t move. He couldn’t flinch as the glass rained down on him, couldn’t blink, could even move his eyes from where they were focused on this goddamn child in front of him. Motherfucking witches. He didn’t think that witches gave two shits about fae, but what the hell did he know about these fucking kids? All of them had gone off the deep end. His brain felt like the cogs in it had grinded to a stop before they sputtered back to life, and he started to regain pieces of himself the closer the girl walked to him. He could move his eyes. He could twitch his fingers. He could grit his teeth. When she reached her hand out, Jim jerked his up. “Nice try, kid,” he grunted out, taking her hand before she could touch his head. “But I’ve dealt with fae mind magic my whole goddamn life. You’re gonna have to be better than that.” He grinned, savagely. What an important little fae this must be if she had not one but two humans at her beck and call. “Mina, Mina, Mina,” he drawled out mockingly. “What a fucking whiny name. Can’t believe something like that’s got a witch on her side, of all things.” He brought her hands down to her waist. “You’re not dangerous, sweetheart. You’re just fucking annoying.”

The movement caught Bex by surprise. She probably should have been afraid-- this man had ruthlessly attacked Mina, had even tried to go through Rio to get to her-- but she couldn’t feel her fear through all of the anger coursing through her. It was an unstoppable energy now, even as her hands were yanked down to her sides and she was held in place. She tried to pull from his grip, but he was too strong, and she couldn’t move. Her eyes went to Rio behind them. She wanted to call for his help, but her magic was volatile, he might get hurt. “Stay back!” she shouted instead. She hoped it would distract him enough to look away, but the fact of the matter was that she didn’t need him to look away. Instead, she threw her head forward, like they had taught her in those self-defense classes, and slammed her head as hard as she could into his nose. She could hear it crack. Her head splintered with pain-- oh, yeah, she had a cut on her head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She saw the gun on his hip and it just didn’t matter. What mattered was Mina. And how he kept saying her name and how he kept thinking about killing her and Bex wanted it to stop. She wanted him to suffer, to feel the pain and hurt and agony he had caused every fae he’d met up until this moment. And she wanted him to crumble to his knees. And she let go of all of her energy, eyes flashing, and let it pour into his head as she focused on everything she wanted this man to feel. And when he crumpled, she would take everything else from him. She would tear Mina’s name from his mouth and his mind and she would make him wish he’d never met them.

Hunter reflexes or not, Orion knew that Bex’s magic was keeping him preoccupied. He took the opportunity when it prevented itself, sliding out from the dumpster and swinging his makeshift weapon like a bat, bringing the board against the back of the warden’s neck. If Bex’s magic was already overpowering him, then that would just add some extra fuel to the fire. The act of violence triggered a wave of unease in Rio, but he tried to remind himself of how passionately the man had tried to kill Mina and Rio just days ago. He just needed to remember that they weren’t here to kill him. Unlike him, they weren’t monsters. Rio reached for his holster, unclipping and pulling the gun free. He hated the way it fit into his palm. He had always hated guns even more than usual weaponry, but he knew how to work one. His parents had made sure of that. He pressed the magazine release, dropping the round from the gun and then cocking back the slide to release the last bullet from the barrel. Once the gun was dismantled, he tossed the pieces aside. He had no plans of using the gun and he definitely didn’t want the hunter getting to it. “Unlike you, we don’t plan on killing you. We just want to make sure you’re going to leave our friend alone.”

“Fuck!” Jim managed to shout as the girl jerked her head against his nose, blood pouring out. It didn’t do anything more than piss him off, and he was about to tell this goddamn brat that before he felt something whack him against the back of the head. He stumbled, enraged like a bull with a red flag waving out in front of him. He was pissed off, and somebody was about to suffer for it, fae or not. Nobody taught their goddamn kids the rules anymore. Nobody taught their fucking offspring to stay out of a hunter’s way. As he was about to speak, Jim felt warm, like he tended to when he brought iron to the surface of his skin. Then he felt hot, burning, like he’d been sliced and burned and cut and scorched, an agonizing burn that started under his skin and in his brain, and he screamed out, as if he was on fire, but he wasn’t. He looked at his shaky hands, but they were fine. But Jim was on fire. He couldn’t even comprehend what the boy, the one from the woods and the one who hit him with a goddamn board, was saying to him. He couldn’t comprehend the sound of the magazine hitting the ground, and he couldn’t comprehend the sound of the gun being thrown. He could only comprehend the feeling of burning on his skin, and the smell of iron in his nose, and the screams that he recognized, vaguely, as ones that he’d caused melding with the sounds that came out of his clenched teeth as the realization that this is what cold iron felt like on the skin of a fae overwhelmed him. Jim fell to his knees, clawing at his skin. “Please,” he said, voice ragged, choked. “Make it stop, witch. Make it fucking stop.”

Bex stumbled and fell from his grip. Blood dripped down her head, the cut gashed back open. She fell to her knees, shaking. She’d used a lot of energy, she could feel it aching in her bones. But she wasn’t done. He was still able to feel and walk and talk and that wasn’t fair, was it? That wasn’t fair. He’d snapped Mina’s arm and tried to strangle Rio and if he was left to walk away from this unscatched, he’d do it again. She heaved a breath and stood back up on shaky legs, stumbling one step before catching herself. She locked eyes with Rio for a moment, breathing heavy, before she let her eyes fall back to the man on the ground, writhing in invisible pain. She’d done that. Nell was right. She had so much power. She managed to walk the few steps over to the man before she fell back to her knees in front of him. “Did you ever stop?” was all she asked, making sure he knew his fate before she reached her hand back out and placed it on his forehead. Just like in the books, she closed her eyes and concentrated on whatever memories he had of Mina, of Rio. Of hurting anyone who was fae. And she heaved with exhaustion as she cried out and ripped them from his head, her hand pulling back as if on fire, palm blazing red.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Orion stole glances back and forth between the man and Bex. His breathing quickened as he looked away from the visible pain the man was in. He knew hunters exactly like him, had grown up with them. They valued pride above anything else. He would be doing everything in his power to remain stoic if he could. Whatever Bex was doing, it hurt. The thought made Rio uncomfortable, shifting back and forth in an attempt to clear his head from it. He thought about the way his vision began to blur as he was held underwater. This man was a monster. A murderer. If they didn’t do something, he would kill again. If the scene didn’t look so painfully cruel, Rio might almost be fascinated by what she was doing. Instead he tried to think about the fae that would be safer in the world.

Jim managed to look up at this witch, this fucking child, who held so much distaste for him just from doing his goddamn job. He could just barely make out her question, but he couldn’t be bothered to be moved by it. Of course he hadn’t stopped, he wanted to say, but there were no words on his tongue. Why would he stop? He was doing his duty, and if that meant that he took a few extra lives that got in his way, then it didn’t matter. They were beyond saying. Fae were dangerous, they were cruel, and they would twist everything they could get their hands on until it was a perversion of itself. This girl would find that out eventually. The boy would, too. He couldn’t really voice that, though. Couldn’t really voice anything, and, as the girl cried out, Jim did, too, as he watched with his mind’s eye as all the parts of him that made him got dragged out, scrambled, distorted. Was it his mama that gave him his first knife or his pop? Was it a knife or a gun? Was it anything at all? Was he anything at all? He didn’t know. He slumped a bit, head bowed, and blood dripped from his nose onto the ground in front of him. Glassy eyes stared at it but didn’t see. He didn’t know anything at all, really.

Bex’s lungs heaved for air as she fell away from the man, a coughing fit overcoming her; she laid out in the alley on her back, just trying to breathe. She’d used too much, she knew that, but she didn’t care. She tasted iron in the back of her throat, on her tongue, wiped it from her lips once she’d stopped hacking up air. She sat up, the world was spinning, the road was stretching out before her, Rio somewhere down it, staring wide eyed. Visions of the man’s memories played behind her eyes and she blinked heavily several times to make them go away, speckles of light dotting her vision. “Is he…” she started to say, lightheaded and dizzy as she tried to climb to her feet, stumbling into a dumpster and collapsing back to the ground. She looked back at the man’s slumped form and knew that he was. He was gone. He wasn’t going to be hurting anyone, anytime soon. She’d done it. Blood trickled from her nose down over her lips as she smiled. “I did it,” she mumbled, before her world went black and she slumped backwards onto the pavement.

Eventually, the man stopped fighting against the magic and went still on his knees. Orion tilted his head slightly at the sight. He was breathing, Rio could hear it. But he didn’t look aware of his surroundings. He took a step toward the man, “You did it?” Rio asked, unsure exactly what she had just done exactly. But Rio wasn’t going to get an answer. He heard the rush of air and turned as Bex started to fall backwards. His reflexes kicked into effect quickly, his arm shooting forward so he could grab onto her wrist just before she hit the pavement. He breathed a quick sigh of relief that his hunter reflexes had at least been good for something tonight. “Uh… Bex?” Rio asked quietly, slowly lowering her against the ground. She was probably fine, right? He knew that spells could be draining. It must be that. He couldn’t stop himself from looking back at the hunter. It was a weird feeling, knowing that the two had just taken on a hunter. Even if Rio didn’t do much besides play bait. He took a small step back and patted the hunter’s shoulder, “I’m uh- sure that you’ll be fine here.” He mostly said to reassure himself before squatting down to lift Bex up and toss her over his shoulders. And she called him scrawny. He supposed he was responsible for getting her home now.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: rio #rio #domestic abuse mention tw #gun tw #head injury tw #memory loss tw #//pls feel free to message if u need a tw free summary!

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darkh0wl · 4 years ago

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Bad dog. || Solo (ft. Morgan)

TIMING: The day after Where is your body? SUMMARY: Kyle reflects on his actions, past and present, and makes a decision to leave. CONTENT: medical blood tw (stitches and injuries), domestic abuse (implied), head trauma tw (brief mention), gun use tw (brief mention), suicide tw (implied), car accident tw (hit and run), PTSD cw (flashback) **PLEASE do not hesitate to let me know if I missed anything**

The floor was hard. Uncomfortable. Kyle slept fitfully, but he slept deeply. He awoke for the first time in over a week, to a silent mind. The silence carried the weight of his guilty conscience. The bright light of midafternoon shone across his face, and Kyle squinted and covered his eyes. When had he gone to sleep? He couldn’t properly remember. Stiffly, carefully, he sat up and began assessing the condition of his injuries. He knew that wolves healed fast in theory, but to feel it happening was something entirely different. Still, he could feel that his ribs had been broken when the car struck his side. As he stretched, he could feel the road rash that left his skin feeling taut. Kyle hissed in pain and took a moment to breathe. He didn’t want to overdo anything, but he was hungry.

For the first time, Kyle looked around and really assessed his surroundings. The care with which he’d been tucked in under a thick, warm blanket had to be Morgan’s doing. He ran his fingers along the edge of the blanket and frowned. He didn’t deserve this respect. Looking around the room, instantly he knew he wasn’t downstairs anymore, but he couldn’t clearly remember moving from the basement. Actually, come to think of it, he couldn’t clearly remember most of the night. Was that because his mind had been feral for over half of the night? Or was that because he had struck his head at some point? The way his skull seemed to pulse dully, he guessed it was the latter. Looking around, Kyle’s eyes met the cold, glassy stare of a stuffed opossum and he couldn’t hold in the startled gasp that left him. What the fuck? The possum wasn’t the end of it. There were bones, a squirrel, a rat… Where was he? Was this meant to be a thinly veiled threat? Kyle chuckled at the idea of that. Maybe he’d have ended up a pelt in this room if things had gone differently.

Kyle gritted his teeth and hoisted himself to his feet with a muffled groan. That hadn’t felt very good. Hopefully Bex was feeling better. Bex. Where was she? How was she doing? Kyle limped to the door to peek out, and realized the building he was in wasn’t actually connected to the house. It made sense; they didn’t trust him. This meant there would be no sneaking to see Bex and check on her. He sighed and turned back toward the room. Spotting a crisply folded pile of clean laundry, Kyle wandered over. On top was a note from Morgan.

“Kyle,

There's food in the mini fridge. Don't touch your bandages. Don't touch any of the tools. Please hydrate. Mind the cats if they come exploring. I'll come check on you later.

-Morgan”

He crushed the note in his fist and slammed his fist down against the counter. How could he have been so reckless? How could he have let himself get so worked up that he nearly killed someone? Not someone, Bex. He’d only just started getting to know the girl, through her own thoughts no less, and now he owed her a lifetime of apologies. He could still feel how easy it had been to sink his claws into her chest. He had liked it. He had wanted her dead. Kyle’s stomach growled and he had to shake his head to stop the thoughts of how he had nearly eaten Bex. Food. Mini fridge. Got it.

Hands shaking, Kyle pulled the clean clothes on and wandered to the mini fridge. He found pizza rolls and honestly had to smile. Had they gotten these for him, or did Morgan have the same taste in microwavables? His smile faded slowly into a scowl. He didn’t deserve this kindness. They were treating him so well and for what? Kyle wished Nell had just sunk the blade into his throat. He wished that she had just decided that he was enough of a threat to-- Again, Kyle shook his head to get rid of the thoughts. His vision swam when he did so, and his head throbbed again. Pizza rolls. Water. Eat. Drink. He just had to focus on one thing at a time and he could stay calm, stay human. But his mind kept wandering back over and over. Bex. Claws. Headlights. Bex. Claws. Headli-- The beeping of the microwave startled Kyle out of his thoughts. He took the molten pizza bites out of the microwave and immediately popped one into his mouth, burning it. Something about the pain distracted him from the growing urge to shift in his panic.

After his stomach had something in it, Kyle felt a little better. He explored the art studio, if that’s what this was meant to be, opening cabinets and drawers and ignoring Morgan’s request to not touch the tools. He found a bin of small animal bones and sat at a desk, taking them out and looking them over. It was strange to see himself in the bones in a sense. This was essentially what he was, was it not? Absently, he started forming the pile of bones into shapes and letters. First an I, then an M. Next was the S and the O, and soon, he’d spelled out “I’M SORRY.” Kyle sighed and rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t tired anymore, but he didn’t want to think right now. He laid down again, curling up beneath the blanket again. He stared at the wall without seeing it until he drifted back off to sleep.

When Kyle woke back up, it was dark and he was stiff. He got up again with some effort and caught the sound of a phone vibrating across the room. Stumbling over to the counter, he realized it was his phone. Bex was texting him. What should he say? Should he respond to her? Would she hate him? All she’d said was “hi,” and he was losing his mind about it. He wanted to tell her that he was glad she was alive and he couldn’t believe it. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and he didn’t expect or want her forgiveness. He wanted to tell her to leave him alone; not for his sake, but for hers. He wanted to tell her he was dangerous. If Bex could tell how upset he was, she didn’t show it. Was she upset with him? She had to be. She would be crazy if she wasn’t. Bex was so level-headed with him; so calm.

But then Nell fucking Vural was texting him, and Kyle saw red. How dare she call him irresponsible when she didn’t know how hard it had been to stay calm with Bex in his head. The audacity of Nell to call out his relationship with his mother. What did she know about his family life? Nell hadn’t even known Kyle back then; they weren’t friends in high school. Kyle paced back and forth across the art studio, limping the whole way. His gut coiled with seething anger and he had to focus on breathing steadily. How dare Nell suggest he wanted to hurt Bex? How dare she call him irresponsible!

Kyle’s fist connected with the wall before he had thought about what he was doing. The drywall crumbled away and he had to yank his hand back out of the wall. His knuckles were split and bloody and he cradled his hand against his chest, sinking to the floor. Tears pricked at his eyes and he had to blink them away. The pain in his hand grounded him, but it also reminded him of a time when he was young and his mother would kiss his pains away and hug him so tightly that he forgot he’d even been hurt. That was a long time ago. Before he disappointed them with everything he did. He couldn’t stop the tears, as they finally fell. His grades slipped, he hung out with the wrong people, his parents fell out of love. When they divorced, they had argued over who he’d live with; it wasn’t because they had both wanted custody, but because he’d been a problematic child and neither of them wanted custody. When he was attacked by that wolf in the woods, Kyle had almost convinced himself that this would somehow bring his parents back together. They were both worried about him, so maybe it would make things better. It hadn’t.

That first moon, Kyle wasn’t even aware he was a werewolf yet. It had been shortly before his dad moved to Castle Rock. His parents were arguing in the living room while Kyle’s body ripped itself apart. God, had it hurt. He didn’t remember attacking his mom; he wasn’t in control of himself that night. But he could clearly remember his dad firing a gun at him. He’d missed and Kyle couldn’t tell if it had been on purpose or not. Kyle woke the next morning in the woods; cold, naked, and scared out of his mind. When his parents found him, they told him they’d figure this out together. His mother had had rows of stitches on the outside of both of her arms. Defensive wounds, clearly made by claws.

Kyle curled in on himself on the floor, tightly gripping his middle as he shook with his sobs. He didn’t know how long he sat there, letting himself cry, but he had to get out of there. He had to go. He didn’t want to do that again, not to anyone, and the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance of a repeat. Through his tears, Kyle sent Bex a text, promising to pay for the damages. He grabbed his things, a water bottle, and the bag of pizza bites, and Kyle stumbled into the darkness; barefoot, limping, and feeling more alone than he could remember feeling in his life.

#please read tw carefully <3 #wickedswriting #solo

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thebrotherssalvatore321 · 4 years ago

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Keeping Secrets Ch. 37

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

Katie woke up to find herself standing on black marble covered in an inch of water that she was somehow on top of. A sky of black hung over her head. Not the beautiful kind speckled with bright stars, but a glossy, inky darkness that caused her chest to tighten.

As she stood up she saw that she was wearing a plain white long sleeved off the shoulder cotton dress that flowed down to her feet. A child’s laughter drew her eyes down into the water to see that a thousand shards of glass were scattered around her feet. The laughter came from one of the shards and she looked down to see within it a little boy around seven or eight with blond, bowl cut hair and innocent green eyes running through the woods.

As Katie reached down to pick up the shard, the little boy jumped, popping out of the glass as the vast darkness turned into a bright forest that smelled of pine needles and warm soil. She didn’t know why, but the scent made her feel at home. “Don’t be scared Momma, it’s just me.”

“And you are…?”Katie asked with a frown.

“Fun.” The little boy bounced on his feet, full of energy. “Wanna play hide and seek?” he asked, perking up with a smile.

“No. What I want is to know where the hell I am.” Kate told him then looked around them.

“Hey!” the boy picked up a pine cone and threw it at her chest. “No swearing.”

Katie leaned down to look the little boy in the eyes. “Look, you little brat, I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I just want to get out of here.”

The boy glared at her. “Be nice!” he ran off making Katie run after him. “Nanna nanna boo boo. I can outrun you.” the boy sang as he ran. Something about the phrase made Katie start laughing as she caught up to the boy and scooped him up in her arms.

“I remember you now.” Katie told him as she made a claw motion with her hand and attacked his stomach, making him giggle from her tickling him. “Hello my sweet little Jonah.” She told him as she set him down then kneeled down in front of him.

“Hello momma.” He told her as he placed his little hand on her cheek with a smile. When she smiled back he evaporated into a mist that swirled around in the air forming a bright yellow ball. It sank into her chest causing a feeling or motherly love, caring and compassion overtake her.

With him gone the forest faded away and she was back in the dark place, standing in the center of the shattered glass again. “Phasmatos Tribum,” Katie heard someone say and looked down at a piece of glass to see a beautiful almond skinned woman standing at a table in the bedroom of an old Irish homestead, working a spell. This time as Katie reached down for the glass, she got sucked into it and she found herself sitting on a bed while another, slightly younger woman that looked a lot like the woman working the spell, pressed a cloth to Katie’s back making her hiss in pain.

“Sorry.” The young girl told her. “Someone needs to show that man how it feels.”

“Fiona.” The woman working the spell snapped at the young woman. “Mind your tongue. If someone should over hear you it will be you on the receiving end of that whip.”

“Yes mother.” Fiona told her quietly. Fiona finished cleaning the wounds then sat down on the bed in front of Katie. “Hannah, promise me when we get old enough we will leave this place, both of us. I know you do not want to live under your fathers thumb forever and I don’t either. Promise me that when you find a good man you will take me with you.”

Katie had been sitting quietly on the bed, trying to remember this and when she looked into Fiona’s dark brown eyes she did. She remembered that when she married Ronan she stole money from her father’s office and ran with Ronan. They used the money to start Fiona’s shop in the town they moved to. “I promise, Fiona. You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t dare leave this place without you.”

Fiona wrapped her arms around Katie who wrapped her arms around her first best friend’s shoulders feeling friendship and loyalty sink into her and when she opened her eyes she was back in the black place.

“Okay I see what’s going on here. These pieces are me, I’m a mother and a friend.” She said looking around at the shattered glass around her. “This is going to take a while.”

“Not as long as you might think, Doormat.” A voice came from one of the pieces and Katie looked over to see a woman pop up from the floor, joining her in the black place.

Katie looked at her, taking in her blond hair streaked with red, pulled back in a Vikings ponytail. A leather corset with buckles covered her torso while a leather Viking’s skirt wrapped around her hips. There was a fire in her eyes and a spear in her hand. “Why are we still here? Aren’t you supposed to take me to a memory or something?”

“I’m not a memory, I'm a feeling.” The warrior told her with a voice full of strength. “But if you insist on memories…here.” The woman walked across the water with an eye roll and plopped her hand down on top of Katie’s head. Katie telling Alaric about Mayor Lockwood abusing Tyler, telling her grandfather off and telling Elena off when Caroline made them all have a sit down flashed through her head. The last memory was Katie fighting the werewolves that were holding Caroline hostage in a camper.

“You’re my fight, my strength to keep going.” Katie said as she lifted her eyes. “My inner warrior.”

“You often forget I exist and quite frankly I’m tired of it. You need to learn to be a big girl and pull yourself up by your bootstraps if you have to. We’re stronger than you think we are.” She told her and Katie swallowed hard. “And if we’re going to survive in this hard world you need me.” she held her hand out to Katie who grabbed it and gave it a shake. The warrior pulled her into a hug and sank into her filling Katie with strength and power. Most of the other shards of glass floated up, turned into a big ball of mist that floated over her head then dropped, filling her with all the memories she had lost when she shattered.

After she absorbed it all she looked down at the last, large piece of glass and picked it up to see within it an auburn haired woman in a black, form fitting tank top, short black shorts and thigh high stiletto boots standing in the middle of a street as a man strolled past, the woman grabbed him around the neck and spun him around for Katie to see his face, he was an older man, too tan and too buff for his age. It was her grandfather. The woman’s eyes turned red and fangs appeared in her smile before she bit his neck, killing him before she tossed him to the side giving Katie an unforgiving smile.

Katie watched from an aerial view as people came to the woman as if drawn to her like flies to a honey. Each of them were either drained of blood or got their hearts ripped out. The last person to come to the woman was a little girl that looked no older than six and a man. Fear was clear in the girls little eyes as she watched the woman rip out the man’s heart. The dark ruthless girl placed it in the girls hands making the girl scream and run. The woman looked up at Katie and hissed, showing off the blood on her fanged mouth and the veins under her red eyes.

With a hard face and fight surging through her she threw the glass away from her like a throwing star. The glass stopped in mid air a few feet away from her and materialized into the haunting, monstrous version of herself. She reeked of anger, hatred, danger and most of all an overpowering thirst for human blood. “I won’t accept you.” Katie told her.

The dark, terrifying woman whooshed over to her grabbed her by her neck and body slammed her into the granite. “Then you…will die.” Her words came out as an angry growling hiss.

“No.” Katie brought her feet up and kicked her in the chest sending her flying through the darkness. Darkness landed in what Katie called the superhero landing and skid backward splashing water up around her. Katie flung herself up and held her fists in front of herself.

“You think you can survive without me?” Darkness asked as she whooshed back over and threw a punch that Katie dodged.

“I will be better off without you.” Katie told her, making her laugh.

“Look at yourself.” Katie looked down at herself to see she was now wearing a white ribbed racer back tank top, jeans shorts and black and white converse, but her arms were purple all the way up to her shoulders and spreading fast. While she was distracted Darkness threw a punch, catching Katie’s jaw and she stumbled back from the blow.

“It will stop when I get out of here.” Katie threw a punch that Darkness dodged.

“You get out of here without me and you will die within seconds.” Darkness threw a punch and Katie dodged it then threw one of her own catching Darkness in the jaw then kicked her in the chest knocking her to the granite.

She grabbed Darkness up by her black tank top and glared at her. “I said no.”

“And I said…” Darkness breathed hard from the blow to her chest, “You will die if you don’t. You may be stronger than me, you may be able to keep me at bay, but if you go back to your body without me…without a piece of who you are…you…will…die.” Darkness looked at her with a dead serious face. “No more Elijah. No more Klaus. You can kiss your friends goodbye too.” Katie’s eyes grew wide remembering everything everyone told her in the video Caroline made for her. “Accept me.”

She blinked, tears slipping from her eyes. “If I accept you…I accept that I am not a good person.”

“You’ve never been a good person.” Darkness told her as she jumped up. “When we were known as Hannah did we not think of a million different ways to turn that whip on Father, or to poison him? You even thought about running away in the night and abandoning your poor little sister. Then as Katie…you contemplated killing your grandfather in his sleep. You thought about tying him to a chair and breaking every bone in his body then slitting his throat for ever letting Mayor Lockwood touch you. You cheated on Tyler with Damon and yeah you knew it was wrong, you felt a little bad about it, but you weren’t sorry. You slept with Klaus knowing that Elijah still loves you. Then of course there are all those people you killed after you flipped your switch. You don’t feel sorry about that. You don’t care that they had family and kids. Their blood tasted better than any blood bag ever did. You have power over humans and you revel in it. There has, and always will be, a darkness in you whether you want it or not. The only thing you regret is what you did to that poor little girl.”

“I don’t want you. Suppressing you is tiring. I managed to hold it back as a human, but now…every day is torture.” Katie said with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Then maybe it is time you accept me…accept the darkness in you…and find a way to embrace me instead of suppress me.” She told Katie with a glare. “You have to accept me or need I remind you. You’ll. Die.”

As much as Katie hated the darkness in her, she loved her friends. And she loved Elijah and Klaus. She still wanted all the things she always did out of life…she wanted to live. “I accept you…”

As soon as the words left her mouth the woman threw herself into Katie, not sinking into her gently like the others had, but invasively inserting herself into her. Like the splitting of cells, but reversed. Katie threw her head back and screamed out in pain as the darkness seeped into her, fangs formed in her mouth and veins popped under her eyes, pumping the whites of them full of blood. She squeezed her eyes shut and fell to her knees. After a while the pain subsided and she fell back in relief.

She expected to hit granite; instead she started falling down a black tunnel. She felt like she had been falling for forever when out of nowhere she stopped mid air and a woman appeared in front of her holding her hand out as if she was keeping Katie from falling further even though she was floating too. “Who are you?” Katie asked, taking in the woman’s long brown hair and blue eyes. She looked to be in her late forties.

“Dahlia.” She answered. “It seems fated that you should end up here in the place of my slumber.” Katie gave the woman a confused shake of her head. “Your soul shattered, landing you neither on earth, passed on or on the other side. That’s not something that happens often.” Katie just glared at the woman. “When you shattered, your memories scattered throughout this place. While you were putting yourself back together I was looking at them and I’ve seen enough to know you’ve been intimate with my nephew.”

“Look I don’t know who you are, but I’m pretty sure my memories and who I’m intimate with are none of your business and I’d like nothing more to continue my journey back to my body.” She told her with an attitude induced sway of her head. “So if you could kindly put me down it would be highly appreciated.”

“Before I put you down I’m going to give you a gift.” She told her still holding her hand out in front of her.

“What?” Katie asked.

Dahlia flicked her wrist causing an odd tingling feeling to spread over and sink into Katie’s lower abdomen. “You’re welcome.” Dahlia dropped Katie and as she fell she looked up to see Dahlia disappear.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie shot straight up in bed taking in a deep breath. She looked around to see her friends in the doorway of her bedroom at Klaus’s house, “What the hell happened?” she asked then looked up at the blood bag hanging on an iv that was stuck in her arm. “I’m starving.”

As her friends came back into the room Elijah took the blood bag off the pole while she pulled the needle out of her arm. He disconnected the tube then handed her the bag. She grabbed it and sucked it down, the color returning to her skin as she did. “What is the last thing that you remember?” Elijah asked as he took the empty bag from her.

“You…making me feel with our link.” Katie answered, then realized that she didn’t feel the pull in her stomach that she usually did when he was near. “Our link…” she sighed, looking Elijah in his brown eyes. “It’s gone.”

“I assume you are relieved.” He told her bluntly as he looked down at the tube in his hand.

She frowned remembering she had told him that she’d hoped it would break when she turned off her humanity. “I-” she was cut off when something started burning her chest and she grabbed it and pulled it off to see the necklace Damon had given her hanging from the chain in her hand. “Ouch.” She sighed and put it down on the bed beside her seeing the picture Stefan had framed for her and the drawing of her in her ball gown that Klaus had made. “Seriously someone tell me what the hell’s going on.” She said as she took the necklace Elijah had given her off her wrist and set it on the bed next to Damon’s. She noticed the bracelet her friends had given her and decided to leave it on.

“We thought you were dead, Katie Cat.” Damon told her from where he leaned against the white post of her footboard.

“Huh?” Katie asked.

“When Elijah reached out to you with your link he overpowered your soul and shattered it.” Bonnie answered. “Without a soul, your body started dying.”

Katie looked over at Elijah. “Did you know that would happen?”

“No.” he answered simply. “If I did I never would have reached out to you like that.”

“Okay, I’m out of here.” Elena said and left the room.

“Good to see you up, Katie Cat.” Damon said as he walked over to her and kissed the top of her head. “Try not to die again, okay?” he told her then rushed after Elena.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go.” Stefan spoke up feeling awkward since he and Katie hadn’t been on good terms for some time now.

He started to leave ,but Katie spoke up. “Hey Stefan?” he turned and looked back at her. “I don’t hate you, just do you know. You weren’t really yourself and you rightfully wanted revenge. I just happened to be on the bad side of that.” Stefan just looked at her. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” He told her with a closed lipped smile and a nod then left the room.

Katie looked at Bonnie and Caroline, “Is a fresh start too much to ask for?”

“No, we’re good too.” Bonnie told her with a teary eyed smile.

“So we’re all friends again?” Caroline asked with a bright smile that made Katie smile.

“Yes.” Katie answered. “Well, the three of us are. I’m not sure what was up with Elena.”

“She flipped her switch, but that’s a long story for another time.” Bonnie told her looking sad all of a sudden.

Caroline looked at Katie, sitting on the bed with both Elijah and Klaus at her side. “We’ll give you three some space.” She hit Bonnie’s shoulder with the back of her hand to get her attention then jerked her head to the door. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” Caroline asked Katie who nodded.

With them gone Katie looked back and forth between Klaus and Elijah. “I need a drink.” She slid off the bed and headed downstairs. She grabbed a bottle of bourbon out of the liquor cabinet and a glass. When she turned from the fridge from putting ice in the glass she found Klaus and Elijah sitting at the bar behind her. “I have no idea what to say to either of you. Somehow I’m sorry just doesn’t seem to cut it.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Elijah told her and she sighed.

“Yes, I do. I shouldn’t have told you about me and Klaus.” Klaus blinked at her and tilted his head to the side. “Not like that anyway.” She poured some bourbon over the ice and capped the bottle. “But you know what?” she picked up the glass and pointed her finger at Elijah. “My love life stopped being your business when you…what did you call it again?” she asked looking around in thought even though she remembered exactly what he’d said. “Right, you let me go. Like a bird that wasn’t perfectly fine with the cage she was in.”

“Niklaus, will you give us a minute?” Elijah asked with a look at Klaus. Klaus looked at Katie and she gave him a nod. So he walked away. “I left because I thought it was what was best for you.” he told her and she opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand and she closed her mouth. “But as you pointed out before we passed out, you’ve had enough people telling you what to do. I will forever regret becoming one of them. All I can do is hope that you will one day forgive me both for leaving you and shattering your soul.”

Katie took a drink then set the glass down. “You hurt me, Elijah. You broke me, my trust and my belief in love.” She took a drink as she watched him straighten the place mat in front of him. “And yes, I’m relieved that our link is broken.” he stopped and looked up at her with a frown. “But it’s not because I hate you for leaving me or any other malicious untrue reason. It’s because the whole time I was with you I didn’t know if what I felt for you was real or if it was the link pushing me to feel something for you. I blindly trusted it and jumped in feet first because I wanted so badly to feel loved and wanted.” She paused to take a breath and another drink.

“I will admit it was unfair of me to expect us to simply pick up where we left off. I just missed you so much and waited so long to find you again that I overlooked that while you are exceptionally similar to the woman I fell in love with you are also vastly different.” He told her, not looking her in the eyes.

Katie threw back what was left of her drink and poured another. “I told you that I would always love you, link or no link and I meant it.” she walked around the bar to stand in front of him.

“As did I.” he told her and she smiled a little then let it fall.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I was hoping when that link broke that I wouldn’t feel anything for you. That I could have an easy out of the pain that loving someone inevitably brings. But I look into your eyes and I feel that pain and heartbreak. So I know it was real.”

“So what does that mean for us?” he asked as he propped his elbow up on the bar.

“It means that while I still love you and I always will, I can’t overlook that you chose to leave me. It means I can’t just…jump back into it with you. However what I can do is forgive you for leaving me and shattering my soul. We both need to let go of the past and move on.” She told him.

He looked back down at the place matt, tapping it with his fingertips. “And do you intend to move on with Klaus?” he asked quietly.

She sighed and leaned her hip on the bar. “If he will still have me, yes.” She saw a pained look flash across his face. “I hope you know it wasn’t my intention to hurt you by sleeping with him. I never intended on having feelings for him at all, it just kind of happened.”

“You do not have to explain yourself to me.” He told her as he took his hand off the bar and stood up. He looked around with squinted eyes and pursed lips before he sighed and placed his hand on Katie’s cheek, touching her for the first time since she woke up. Her eyes slipped closed from the comforting, familiar touch before she opened them and looked at him. “Does he make you happy?”

She picked up her foot and started tapping the toe of it into the hardwood floor. “Yes.”

“Then you have nothing to feel bad about.” He told her then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead as her eyes slipped shut. “Goodbye, Katie.” By the time she opened her eyes he was gone.

She was getting a blood bag out of the icebox when Klaus found her. “I see Elijah is gone.”

“Yep.” She said as she ripped the corner of the bag off with her teeth and spit it onto the bar then poured the blood into a clear glass.

“And you’re still here.” He observed.

“Is that okay with you?” she asked as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a drink.

“You are kidding right?” he asked as he walked around the bar and picked her up by her hips making her yelp and attempt to not spill her drink as he set her on the counter. She set the glass to the side and wrapped her legs around him as she rested her hands on his broad and toned yet kind of skinny shoulders. These actions told him all he needed to know before he pressed his lips to hers in a slow passionate kiss. After a few seconds it broke and he pressed his forehead to hers. “Do you know how hard it was to not kiss you the second you opened your eyes?”

“Not a clue. I’ve never wanted to kiss myself.” She popped off and he pulled back to give her a get-serious look that made her smile a cheeky smile at him. “How long have I been out?”

“Three weeks.” He answered.

“And how long since I flipped my switch?” she asked. “I kind of lost track of time in that horrible windowless room you and Elijah locked me in.”

“Around three months.” He answered and she slipped her hands down his chest.

“A lot can change in three months,” She pointed out looking him in the eyes.

“A lot has changed.” he told her as he looked into her eyes and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, “I’m hoping we haven’t?”

She smiled and bit her lip. “We haven’t.” As soon as the words left her lips he kissed her hungrily and slipped his hands under her white tank top. She pulled away. “Whoa, hey, what about Rebekah?” Katie asked.

“She has her own house now.” he told her then started kissing her neck. “We had a bit of a falling out.”

“Something tells me a dagger was involved.” He rolled his eyes at her then started kissing her neck. “Slow your roll there Big Bad Wolf.” she told him as she pulled back and smiled at the aggravated sigh that left his lips. “Before I get too lost in you can I have a few minutes to myself to shower and just…take a beat?”

“Of course.” He told her then back up.

She hopped down, grabbed her glass of blood and down it. “I’ll find you when I’m done.” She told him with a flirty look as she headed upstairs.

Since they had the house to themselves she didn’t bother grabbing clean clothes before she went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, waited for the water to warm up then stepped inside. As the warm water cascaded down her shoulders and back she thought about everything that she’d done since she flipped the switch, every kill, every person she compelled to do her bidding...none of it bothered her. She knew she should be weeping at the thought of taking someone’s family away from them, of how many grieving people there were in the world thanks to her and her blood lust, but she didn’t feel the need to. Yes she shouldn’t have killed them, but she couldn’t beat herself up about it.

Then she remembered the horrified look on the little girl's face as she placed her dead father’s still warm heart in her little hands. The thought of her face being the stuff of that little girl’s nightmares, how much therapy that little girl was going to need just to function as a human. The realization that she single handedly crushed that little girl’s innocence broke her. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she pressed her back against the shower wall and slid down wrapping her arms around her wet knees as she let it all out.

Eventually though she realized crying wouldn’t make it any better. So she stood up, finished showering then wrapped her towel around herself and went to her room. After throwing on her usual lounging around outfit of a tank top and shorts she found Klaus in his room, lying shirtless in bed, reading a green faux leather book. “So this is your room huh?” she asked from the doorway as she looked around. Brown and cream sheer curtains hung over the windows, a brown and cream bedspread covered Klaus’s lower half and a round dining table sat under a crystal chandelier that matched one of the chandeliers that had been in her holding room. Several framed handwritten letters hung on the wall over the head of the bed. A lamp that sat on the bedside table dimly lit the room.

“How was your shower?” he asked, having heard her crying. She walked over to his side of the bed and hopped up on it then straddled him. Instead of answering him she pressed her face into his neck and wrapped her arms around his waist. The hug surprised him. Yes, they were close, they spoke intimately and had sex, and he’d hugged her when she cried about Elijah leaving her, but this hug was something more. This hug showed a certain amount of neediness and that wasn’t something he’d felt from her before. She cared about him, she wanted him, but he never thought she needed him. The fact that she did shook him to his core as he wrapped an arm around her waist and held the back of her neck with the other hand. The words I love you almost slipped over his lips, but he kept it to himself. Her soul had just shattered and in doing so flipped her switch back on, she was dealing with enough emotionally without him adding to it.

So instead of saying it, he slid down in the bed, keeping her on top of him as he grabbed a pillow and put it under his head. In an attempt to further comfort her he started playing with her damp hair. She hummed, closed her eyes and started lazily sliding her fingertips up and down his side. “That feels good.” Her words made him smile. “Klaus?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, Sweetheart?” he asked, still playing with her hair.

She found herself wanting to say those three little words, but she couldn’t let herself. If she said it out loud she’d be letting him in. If she let him in, he could hurt her and if he said it back…she could hurt him. He was the last person she’d ever want to hurt. So instead of I love you she simply said, “Thank you.”

“Any time.” He told her, making her smile. Then she opened her eyes and saw the green book on the bedside table.

“Is that my journal?” she asked, putting her hand on his chest as she pushed herself up.

“Yes.” He answered and she sat up to straddle him.

“Why were you reading it?” she drawled with suspicious eyes.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” He answered and she glared at him. “I’m the reason you abandoned your humanity, I wanted to be the one to help you find your way back.”

“So what did you find out from reading the melodramatic bull crap that is my journal?” she asked as she started drawing nonsensical shapes on his chest.

“I know you like Italian food, hate chocolate and love cheesecake and strawberry ice cream. I found out that you lost your virginity to Damon, poor choice if you ask me, as well as a plethora of other things, but what caught my attention most was the poetry.”

“Ugh.” She made a disgusted noise and wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

“Because it’s good.” He told her, giving her thigh a light squeeze. “And I like poetry.”

“So…” she sighed, deciding to change the subject before he decided to start filling her head with compliments. “Fill me in on what I’ve missed, please.”

He pushed himself up to lean against the headboard then moved her around to sit between his legs leaning back on him with his arms wrapped around her.

From there he told her everything that happened since she flipped her switch. How, when he found out about Katie flipping her switch, he made Bonnie put him back into his body that hadn’t been completely burned because the casket he was in when he was stabbed got closed and extinguished the flame.

How the hunter named Connor showed up in town. He was part of a group of five supernaturally gifted vampire hunters whose mission was to find the original immortal, Silas, and the cure to immortality, cure Silas then kill him. Klaus had to leave Katie with Elijah to help control the hunter. The freshly turned Elena killed the hunter and therefore became haunted by the hunter's curse. When Elena killed the hunter, the tattoo that only hunters and potential hunters could see, showed up on Jeremy and the only way for Elena’s hallucinations to stop was for Jeremy to kill a vampire. Caroline talked Klaus into letting Jeremy kill one of his hybrids.

Some guy named Shane who was a professor that took over the college class that Grams used to teach, started teaching Bonnie a type of magic called expression not telling her that it was dark magic. Stefan and Elena broke up. Klaus and Stefan started working together to grow Jeremy’s tattoo that would lead to the location of the cure to immortality. They both want it for Elena.

They found out that Elena was sire bound to Damon. Meaning she was in love with him before she turned. Klaus found out when they all tried to neutralize him that his hybrids had broken their sire bonds to him and Tyler had led the rebellion. Klaus killed all of his hybrids and Tyler’s mom. Kol found out about them trying to find the cure and knew that if they did Silas would unleash hell on earth so he tried to thwart any attempt to find Silas. Klaus turned a bar full of people for Jeremy to kill and complete his mark, but Kol killed them before Jeremy could. Elena asked Klaus to help keep Jeremy safe from Kol who was trying to kill him to keep them from following the hunters mark. Kol also compelled Damon to kill Jeremy so he got locked up in the basement for a little while.

Kol tried to cut Jeremy’s arms off to keep the tattoo from spreading, so Elena killed him. Klaus was going to burn them both in the house, but Bonnie managed to trap him in Elena’s living room with a spell. Because Kol’s whole sire line died, it completed Jeremy’s mark. Klaus was stuck there while the others, besides Caroline and Tyler, went to Nova Scotia to find Silas and the cure. Tyler told Klaus that his plan was to cure Klaus and kill him. Caroline cleaned up Kol’s body while Tyler taunted Klaus on exactly how he was going to kill him. Klaus took his anger at Tyler out on Caroline by biting her. Tyler left Caroline there to make Klaus watch her die. Klaus couldn’t let her die and cured her. The next day Klaus, Caroline and Tyler used a hunter’s sword to decode Jeremy's tattoo, revealing that there is only one dose of the cure. Because Tyler tried to kill him, Klaus ran him out of town. Katherine killed Jeremy by feeding Silas his blood in order to get the cure out of his mummified hands.

Jeremy’s death put Elena in unbearable pain and Damon told her to turn her humanity off not knowing it would break the sire bond. She burned her house down with Jeremy in it.

“Can’t say I haven’t thought about burning my house down.” She commented.

“After everything I just told you that’s what you comment on?” he asked, putting his chin on her shoulder as he looked at her face. She just shrugged. “No comments on the fact that I slaughtered my hybrids and killed your ex-boyfriends mother?”

“I get why you killed your hybrids, but on the flip side I get why they tried to kill you.” he poked her in the side. “What? For someone who wanted them for a back up family you kind of treated them like slaves.” She told him bluntly. “As for Tyler’s mom…she had her nice moments like trying to help me win Miss Mystic, and she loved her son, but mostly she was just a bitch. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard her call me trash. Pretty sure if you didn’t kill her I would have eventually.” She told him then turned around and straddled his lap.

Things were comfortably quiet for a little while as they both just enjoyed being with each other. “Happy birthday, by the way, I’m sorry I did not get you anything.”

“You’re the only birthday present I need.” She told him then wrinkled her nose. “That sounded far less cheesy in my head.”

He smiled. “I do not mind cheesy.”

She glared at him playfully. “You secretly love romantic chick flicks don’t you?”

He laughed looking a little embarrassed. “Maybe.” Katie smiled and looked at her hands exploring his torso. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Nope. I like it.” she told him then leaned down and kissed his neck.

“So what do you want for your birthday?” he asked as she kept placing random kisses over his neck and chest.

“An art lesson.” She answered, surprising him.

“The woman that colored in a coloring book to pass art class wants a lesson?” he asked and she stopped showering him with kisses to look at his face.

“I would have liked to learn, but the teacher sucked and it was kind of nice to have a break from my other, harder, classes.” She told him as her hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms to his hands that rested on her thighs and grabbed them in hers. “I want to know more about the things you’re passionate about.” She admitted as she pressed her palms to his.

He threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her into him catching her lips with his in a kiss that slowly deepened. After a few minutes of making out he let go of her hands, grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head. He looked into her eyes as his hands found her breasts and kneaded them as he kissed her neck, his actions pulling a sigh from her as he slid down to lay on his back. She grabbed his chin and kissed his lips then kissed down his jaw line to his neck, pulling a sigh out of him with her touch. Her hands explored his torso as she kissed his collarbone, the hollow of his neck, the center of his chest then surprised him as she kept kissing lower, making his breath quicken when she threw the covers over her head and took him into her mouth. The grunt her action pulled out of him made her laugh only giving him that much more pleasure.

She was just starting to have fun when he threw the covers off of her, grabbed her chin and pulled her up for a heated kiss. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” he asked between peppering kisses over her neck and shoulders and his hand caressed her back.

“Show me?” she asked and he pulled away from kissing her to look her in the eyes as he rolled them over. She wrapped one arm around his torso while her other hand held the back of his neck. As he hovered over her, braced on his hand on the bed next to her head, he slipped his hand down her chest. He didn’t break eye contact as he moved his hand to her breast, kneading it before he pinched her nipple making her moan and dig her fingertips into his back. Desperate to have his lips back on her she pulled him to her for a needy passionate kiss. As they kissed his hand moved down her stomach then slipped into her shorts and panties. His talented fingers pulled a whimper from her that made him pull back and look her in the eyes as he pleasured her.

After a minute she pushed off the rest of her clothes, grabbed his wrist, pulled his hand away, rolled them over then sat up. When she slipped his slick fingers into her mouth he thought he was going to lose it, but he managed to hold back as he slipped them out and sat up. He grabbed her beast in his hand as she slid her hands over his toned arms. A growl left his lips as he attacked neck with kisses and nibbles making her laugh then sigh before he whooshed them around and sank into her.

A sigh left her lips as she squeezed her eyes closed and wrapped her legs around him. His sighs and groans only fueled her fire just as her whimpers and moans fueled his. He could tell she was getting close and as if on cue she sighed, “God, Klaus.”

“Come for me, sweetheart.” His words tipped her over the edge making her dig her fingernails into his back and tighten her legs around him. The slight pain of her nails in his back and intense pleasure of her orgasm sent him tumbling after her and pulled a loud grunt from him, making her smile as he let his head fall to her chest.

After they had both come down from the high he picked up his head and looked her in the eyes. As she moved her hands from his back to his chest she saw the blood on her fingernails and her smile faded. “Did I scratch you?” she asked, taking her hand off of him a little shocked at what she had done.

“Mmhmm.” he hummed and started kissing her chest absentmindedly.

“Did it hurt?” she asked, still looking at the blood on her fingertips.

“Only a little.” He answered.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never done anything like that before.” She told him.

He stopped kissing her to look her in the eyes. “Pain and pleasure sometimes go hand in hand.” She just looked at him with a frown. “It’s fine. I liked it.” he assured her.

“If you say so.” She told him deciding not to harp on it. He rolled off of her to lie on his side, turned off the lamp then pulled the covers over them. He smiled to himself when she tucked herself into his chest, intertwined her legs with his and wrapped an arm around his waist. She was being clingier than usual and he couldn’t help but love it.

He thought she was just reveling in the calm after the storm like she used to, but after a few minutes her breathing changed and he looked down to see that she had fallen asleep. So he kissed the top of her head and let sleep overcome him, happy that she was back in his arms.

15 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

I’ve Got These Scars, But I Think They’re Pretty

Category: Angst, General Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Dabi

Additional Tags: Role Swap AU

The bright white waiting room hummed with hushed conversations of waiting patients, worried family, and chatting nurses. Dabi sat hunched in a chair, leg bouncing and hands clasped tight, but not because he was awaiting treatment. His aquamarine eyes scanned the room to observe the comings and goings, the brightly-colored spandex suits and the fluttering capes as the local heroes made their rounds visiting the various tenants of the pediatric intensive care ward.

By all rights, Dabi should be among them— but he didn’t exactly fit the mold of hero , even if he was a member of a bonafide agency. With a quiet sigh, he sat up to observe the dark purple scars and silver staples adorning his marred skin. No, children shrieked and cried at the sight of him and his scarred body. He’d only undo the optimism the other heroes were instilling in the ailing children if he strutted around pretending like he wasn’t some kind of patchwork monster.

Sighing heavily, Dabi leaned forward to cradle his head in his hands.

It was times like this that he loathed his father the most. So easily, Dabi could have turned to the path of vengeance and brought retribution in the form of a fiery inferno, but he hadn’t. He’d persevered; he’d endured the trauma and abuse and his own goddamn skin melting off his bones as he lived in his own circle of Hell until Shoto came around. He’d overcome all the urges and temptations to become a hero— but he still couldn’t be normal . They always wondered in the back of their minds if he was unhinged or a villain spy because of these scars he was forced to bear.

Dabi clenched his teeth and curled his fingers into his hair, fingernails scoring into his scalp as he struggled to reign his volatile emotions back in. Oh, how he hated Endeavor, but he hated himself more for slipping back into these spirals of thought time and time again. Frustrated tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he seethed in self-loathing and resentment and struggled not to let the negative feelings swallow him whole.

I shouldn’t be here.

“Hey, mister, are you here to get treatment?”

Dabi jerked up with a small gasp as a sweet little voice yanked him out of his depressive spiral. He blinked rapidly, his teary eyes blurring his vision into hazy watercolors for a few seconds, until the form of a small child materialized into view. Her eyes were bright and wide as she regarded him curiously, a half-eaten chocolate bar in one hand and the other bundled to her chest in a thick cast. Gauze covered two-thirds of her body, making her seem like a little baby mummy standing before him.

He straightened up in the chair and rubbed his sweaty palms across the fabric of his ripped jeans.

“Oh, um… No.”

“Are you visiting someone?” she asked, chomping down on the chocolate bar. Dabi grimaced slightly as she kept her stare fixed upon him while chewing open-mouthed on the sweet confection. It was a little unsettling, as he was so used to the wrong kind of stares; the little girl didn’t seem to register his scars at all, just gazing unblinkingly at him out of nothing but pure curiosity.

“Um… Sort of. I’m with the hero agency visiting today,” he explained. The girl cocked her head to the side with a slow blink.

“Then what’re you doin’ sittin’ out here? Are you tired?”

Somebody come get this kid! Dabi thought as he shifted uncomfortably. Though he’d deeply desired for a kid to be able to converse openly with him like this, now that it was happening, it was such a foreign sensation that it was deeply unnerving. He cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced around to find someone who could serve as a decent excuse. Unfortunately, all the heroes were busy in patient rooms— leaving Dabi to fend for himself.

“Look, kid, aren’t you supposed to be in a room somewhere?” he evaded. The little girl shrugged and took another bite of the chocolate. The piece broke off with a loud snap before she chewed avidly on it.

“Yeah, but I wanted some candy, so I took some of my allowance and went to one of the vending machines. I don’t remember what room I’m s’posed to be in, though, so now I’m lost.”

Dabi had to snicker at her completely emotionless analysis of the situation. The tyke reminded him of Shoto, almost, with that dispassionate disposition and monotone voice. Dabi’s head lolled on his neck as he took another look around. The nurses and doctors were nowhere to be found now, either. Well, he thought as he pushed himself out of the chair, I guess I should do the “heroic” thing and escort her back to her room.

“What’s your name, squirt?”

“Katsumi.”

“All right, Katsumi. Let’s go find your room, huh?” he said as he strode off. The girl obediently trotted to keep up, continuing to munch on her chocolate bar and smearing it a little across her lips. The ICU of the children’s hospital was the largest of the facility, so realistically, it could take a considerable amount of time for Dabi to find Katsumi’s room in the sea of beds. He slipped his hands in his pockets as he strolled along, icy blue eyes flicking between the name placards adorning the closed doors. Dabi was more than content to tread along in total silence, but the little girl— not so much.

“Hey, mister, where’d you get those scars?”

Dabi glanced down to see her gaping at the purple patchwork decorating the visible parts of his body. However, what startled him and stuttered his steps was the look on Katsumi’s face; rather than disgust, fascination adorned her features, and there was a strange sparkle in her eyes. He stood frozen as she tucked the chocolate bar under her armpit so she could run her fingers over the wrinkled, stitched skin of his forearm.

“They’re burn scars, aren’t they?”

Dabi’s expression softened as Katsumi’s eyes grew lidded. She ran her fingers over the marred areas a few more times, then reached back to claw at the bandages swathing half her body. “So when I’m all better, will I look like this?”

Dabi’s throat closed up as he felt the oddest sense of shame washing over him. I shouldn’t be here, he thought again. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do as Katsumi studied his injuries and envisioned herself like him— barely held together by staples and prayers? He bit down on his lip as it grew hard to breathe, and once again, the hate began to well up inside of him, a geyser threatening to explode and arch into the sky in frightening brilliance.

“Your scars are so pretty.”

Dabi almost fell over.

“Do— do what ?” he cried as he looked down at her in shock. Katsumi gave him a sweet, innocent smile as if what she’d just uttered wasn’t insanely weird. She shyly rocked her hips back and forth as she placed her hand on his arm again.

“Purple is my favorite color!” she explained with a giddy laugh. Dabi’s face wasn’t sure what kind of expression to make, but it made something. He sagged in disbelief— and a whole lot of relief — as Katsumi continued to admire the disfigured skin painting his forearm. Her eyes were lidded again, but this time in a childlike hopefulness.

“That’s what happened to me, y’know. A house fire,” she said and raised her arm as much as she could in the cast. Dabi refrained from contradicting her; it was easier for her to believe something simple like a house fire and not years on years of pushing his Quirk beyond his body’s physical limits. “The nurses and doctors are all super nice, but… I hear them talking about how it’s such a shame that I’ll be scarred for life, a pretty girl like me.” When she looked back up at him, tears bubbled in her eyes before rolling down her plump cheeks, rosy with life and pain. “I’ll still be pretty even with these scars, right? Right ? Just because I have them, people can still love me, can’t they ?”

Dabi breathed sharply through his nose as he ran a hand through his dyed hair. Of all the things he’d thought would come of today, comforting a crying child in the middle of a hallway wasn’t one of them. Yet he couldn’t help but feel glad for it. This little girl echoed the same things he’d felt after his incident.

At least, unlike Dabi, Katsumi had someone to put her fears to rest.

“Of course they can,” he said as he crouched down. His coat brushed against the white tiled floor as he kneeled beside Katsumi and rested a hand atop her head to ruffle her hair. “If anything, the scars’ll make you even prettier. They’re a sign that you overcame everything and came out still standing, yeah?” Dabi was never the best with words, so he hoped that Katsumi understood.

She stared at him for a moment, still sniffling petulantly. However, little by little, a smile wormed its way onto her face.

“Really?”

Dabi’s smile broadened and gave her hair another ruffle, making her giggle.

“Really. Don’t listen to what those nurses say. Anybody who has any sense’ll know that those scars don’t make you anything less.”

“Thanks, mister,” she preened, and Dabi swore the smile she gave him was brighter than the sun itself. As he stood, she lunged forward to take his hand and lace their fingers, still probably feeling a little emotionally vulnerable. Dabi didn’t make any move to rebuke her, only tugged on her slim arm so they could resume walking down the hall. Soon she was swinging his arm back and forth as she pranced along, much more animated and happy that she had been previously.

Dabi felt a sense of pride welling up inside him, knowing that just a few words of encouragement had illuminated Katsumi so brightly.

Suddenly, he was very glad he came.

Eventually, they located Katsumi’s room. The nurse nearly bowled Dabi over when they meandered up, screeching at him about kidnapping and not listening to a damn word he had to say. Though Katsumi brightly attempted to explain that Dabi was a kind hero who had led her back, the nurse was about to call the authorities on him until Hawks sauntered up and slapped his gloved hands on Dabi’s shoulders to give her a brilliant grin.

“It seems there’s been a big understanding. Ma’am, this is one of the heroes working at my agency, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t call the authorities on him.”

The nurse dropped the phone with a series of confused sputters, pointing at Dabi as if that was all the evidence she needed. Dabi sagged into the bird-man’s grip, irritation bubbling up inside him. For a moment, he had forgotten how much of a ruffian he looked to the general populace. Hawks continued to diffuse the situation with practiced grace.

“I know he looks like a thug, but I promise, Dabi here is a bonafide hero! He even brought your little lost dove back, yeah~?”

“Yep! We had a great talk,” Katsumi chirped as she clambered back into her hospital bed. She finally remembered her chocolate bar and removed it from her armpit, frowning when she discovered that it was half-melted and squished. After scrutinizing it for a moment, she shrugged and chomped down on it. Dabi smirked as he watched her, very entertained.

Hawks’ honeyed words had placated the nurse, who begrudgingly offered Dabi a half-hearted and wary apology. He shrugged her off and walked over to Katsumi, who was enjoying the remains of her chocolate bar.

“All right, squirt. I’m off. Got lots of important hero business to attend to and all.”

“Will you come back and see me?” she asked, looking up at him with a chocolate-smeared pout. Dabi snorted and pushed her head a little, making her laugh giddily.

“Of course. I’ll see ya next week.”

“Okay! Bring some chocolate bars!”

“You got it,” he waved as he strolled out of the hospital room. Hawks followed suit after cheerfully bidding farewell to the nurse. They both sighed deeply as he closed the door behind him.

“Well,” Hawks smiled as he strode up beside Dabi and nudged him with an elbow. “Lookit you, gettin’ friendly with the kiddos. I didn’t know you had it in ya, Dabs.”

“Shut up, you great big chicken wing,” Dabi growled and flashed him a scowl. Hawks laughed good-naturedly, feathers ruffling in mirth.

“Oh, come on now! It’s progress!” Hawks insisted. Dabi left him standing there with his arms held up like the great big winged moron he was. Hawks pouted and whined after him, but he continued off to the vending machines, suddenly craving chocolate. As the wrapped candy bar thunked down into the receptacle and he leaned down to retrieve it, a serene smile decorated his face as he caught the reflection of his scars in the glass.

“Yeah, I’ve got scars, but I think they’re pretty!” He could just hear Katsumi bleating to the ignorant nurses. As he straightened back up with the chocolate bar in hand, he rolled up the long sleeves of his coat, exposing more of the purple patchwork skin to the cold air of the hospital.

“Yeah. Me too, kid.”

As he walked out of the hospital into the sunshine, he glanced up at the sky and smiled.

I’m glad I came.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#dabi #touya todoroki #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years ago

Text

Fractal Scarring

[Broadway Kids]

FINALLY THIS IS FINISHED. two days to write 12,000 words? that’s so shameful :/

also i hate writing in present tense

Word count: 12,029

Prompt: “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

Tw: Abuse, waterboarding

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

The sound of the doorbell ringing rudely interrupts the heated kiss between Lynn and her girlfriend, Estelle. Lynn pulls back with a growl of frustration, waiting a moment before leaning into Estelle again.

“You’re not going to get that?” Estelle asks.

“No need,” Lynn says dismissively. “It’s probably just the Amazon guy.”

“What did you order this time? More sneakers? Special energy drinks?” Estelle says teasingly.

“Oh, hush,” Lynn bats at her. “Just because I’m a coach doesn’t mean everything revolves around sports. You, for example.” And then she leans in again, locking her lips with Estelle’s and falling back into the warm, buzzing trance of kissing.

And then the doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again, until it was going off every second in a rapid fire cacophony of chiming.

“Persistent Amazon guy,” Estelle observes.

“Oh my god!!” Lynn yells. She rips off the blankets, nearly exposing her girlfriend’s own naked body in the process, snatches her robe from the bathroom door (although she had considered flashing the solicitors to scare them off), and marches to the front door. There was a glass window at the very top, but was too high to see who it was, so she had no idea who was ruining her time with her girlfriend until she yanks open the door with force.

“Sue?!”

Her student blinks at her from the stoop, trying very hard to not look at the white robe she was swathed in and put the pieces together. The way she clears her throat and then proceeds to say absolutely nothing didn’t help the situation be any less awkward, either. A halo of raindrops from the drizzle falling from the grey-blue sky twinkles on the crown of her head like dozens of silver spider eyes that seemed to stare straight through Lynn’s fluffy covering.

“What-” Lynn finds her voice, although it came out tight and strangled from embarrassment for a moment. “What are you DOING here?! How do you know where I LIVE?!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, Sue says, “Chris knows a guy.”

THAT Lynn didn’t doubt. She wonders if this “guy” was Billy Nolan or her father tracking her or someone else entirely. Feeling like there were several more eyes on her, Lynn shifts uncomfortably and pulls the laces around her stomach even tighter.

“Why are you here?” She demands with her Coach Voice. It made Sue jump, but then she realized that it wasn’t in fear like she was hoping, but some sort of jolt of remembrance.

“Oh! Right!” Sue looks over her shoulder. Dismayed, Lynn saw that Tommy was there, too, but he was halfway hunched in his Jeep, fumbling with something. “Miss Gardener, you are the most trusted adult we know. Something happened- something really bad, and we need you.”

Usually, Lynn would instantly mount the problem that one of her students was facing and bring it down, but right now, she really rather be mounting something else and be brought down on a bed, so this was not her top priority at the moment. If none of her loved ones were dead, then she really didn’t want to hear it.

“What about your PARENTS?” Lynn says, shooing Sue backwards. “Go to them!”

“No, Miss Gardener, you don’t understand!” Sue cries. “It’s Carrie!”

Lynn froze.

And, at that moment, Tommy pulled out a bloody, beaten Carrie out of the backseat of the Jeep and into sight.

“Bring her inside.” Lynn says without a shred of resistance. “Sue. Tell me everything.”

------

“How do I look?” Tommy asked. “Good? Good enough? Christian-like?”

Sue giggled. “You look great, you dork. There’s no need to worry. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It absolutely IS a big deal!” Tommy squawked.

It really was, Sue had to admit. It was the first time Carrie White was EVER having people over at her house.

She said she had begged her mother for hours, swearing up and down that she would be the best daughter and never ever complain ever again if she could have her friends over, and her mother had finally relented. So, now Tommy and Sue were parked outside a cottage as old as time itself. It’s swathed by tendrils of ivy climbing their way towards the roof that was missing several shingles and splotched with patches of emerald green moss. The weathered wood is a chalk color, paint peeling and flaking off, and black peppering along its breast. The windows are tinted a deep brown and covered up by drapes, many of them cracked. The yard was a sea of weeds and the walkway leading up to the house was lined with deceased trees; their ebony branches bore no leaves. The very age of the cottage is shown in its deterioration.

This was no place for any child to be raised.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The street was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the gentle rumble of the Jeep’s engine. Black tires trampled over the dead blades scattered on the edge of the poorly-kept street, the crunching of their filaments like bones beneath a hammer. A flurry of brown leaves swept across the windshield.

The couple slid out of Tommy’s car after Tommy checked his neatly-combed hair for the tenth time. He was acting like he did the day he met Sue’s parents for the first time in junior year, which was actually quite polite of him to do so. He was taking this very seriously.

Above, the sky was awash with low churning clouds. Towering trees with ebony branches reached down far, almost blocking the way. Their naked twigs grabbed like fingers, clawing at their faces as they trekked up the driveway. The brittle limbs snapped and fell as kindling onto the ground when brushed away. They too cracked beneath footfalls as Sue and Tommy made their way up to the stoop, across the cracked sidewalk and through reaching snarls of weeds sprouting from the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath their weight, and for a split second they feared it might cave in, but the old wood held together firmly despite its age. Tommy knocked on the door; there were cracks inside the frame and the hinges were green. It looked like it would fall over if the curved door knob was yanked too hard.

There was a shuffling sound from inside and the tumblers of a locking mechanism fell away with a grinding crack. When the front door was pulled open, the hinges protested with a deafening creak, sounding as though the rotten wood was splintering even as the heavy door scraped along the floor. Carrie peered out at them like a lime green macaw in a tunnel of darkness in the overalls she was wearing, beaming.

“Hello!” She greeted eagerly. “Come in!”

They stepped inside and entered a world that reeked of religion.

Wall-to-wall there were crosses ranging in various sizes and made of many different materials. There were wooden crosses, metal crosses, crosses made of twigs twisted together and crosses created from woven tangles of barbed wire. Among them were pictures of Bible scenes, like The Last Supper and Noah’s Ark and Jesus doing something with a staff and water- or was that Moses? Sue wasn’t very up to speed on Christianity, so she didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the bearded dude was definitely doing /something/ with water.

Aside from the paintings and crosses and some candles, there didn’t appear to be any other decorations. No photos of Carrie as a little girl, no potted plants, no big wooden letters spelling out “WHITE” on the wall- there were only religious adornments.

Carrie led Tommy and Sue through the cramped front room, passing a closet door and a small circular table with a single red candle on it, and into the living room. The smell of baking bread wafted strongly in this room, flowing from the nearby kitchen. A large crucifix was poised menacingly over the ancient fireplace mantle, Jesus’s face frozen in a permanent expression of agony. Each rivulet of blood, every cut opened up on his skull from the Crown of Thorns held so much detail that it almost looked like a real person nailed to the giant wooden cross instead of just precisely carved plastic.

There’s no TV, not that either Sue or Tommy were surprised, so the scuffed, fraying leather sofa taking up a large space in the room was just sitting in front of the fireplace with only a grotesque crucifix to watch. The coffee table in front of it held a Bible that looked like it would crumble into dust if picked up and a well kept nativity set of baby Jesus’s birth. It was probably the nicest thing in the living room, maybe even the entire house, with all the animals shined to perfection and the humans not bearing a single scratch upon their porcelain flesh. There was also a washed out velvet lounge chair with intricate golden designs across the fabric, where a woman sat sewing an article of clothing and watching the new arrivals intently.

Mrs. White was as mangy as her daughter, but not quite as filled out as Carrie was. She was thin and bony, with sunken facial features and spindly fingers like the hands of a skeleton. Tangles of chocolate brown hair were tied up in a messy ponytail, revealing her pale, narrow neck to the light of the several lit candles around the house, and Sue and Tommy both concluded that Carrie must have gotten most of her features from her father because she looked nothing like this banshee of a woman dressed in a grey-blue gown sitting before them. The only noticeable thing they had in common were their brown eyes, which were so dark they were nearly black. Mrs. White’s were piercing, yet tired and haunted, and she was looking at Tommy and Sue like she already hated them.

This woman had done terrible things that tormented her, Sue could tell.

------

“That definitely sounds like Margaret.”

Sue and Tommy’s head whip around, but Lynn’s whips faster. She stares at her girlfriend, fully dressed, standing in the hallway spitting out into the rest of the house from the master bedroom. Her blonde hair is combed neatly, leaving no evidence of...things...having been going on. Her grey eyes are troubled.

“You know Margaret White?” Sue asks.

“Who are you?” Tommy says at the same time.

“Estelle Horan,” Estelle answers the nosy teenagers. “And, yes, I knew her.”

She strides across the floor and into the living room. Carrie is lying on one of the couches, expression pinched even in unconsciousness. Sweat is beaded on her forehead and she breathes raggedly.

“How do you know her?” Sue prods further.

Estelle looks at her, then says, “I was their neighbor.”

A beat of silence passes. A pin dropping would be the loudest sound in the room. And then-

“WHAT?” Lynn yelps.

Estelle gives her an amused look. “Did I never tell you?”

“No!”

“Oh.” Estelle shrugs. “There wasn’t ever a good time to bring it up. And I’ve tried to put it out of my mind…” She trails off, a haunted expression flickering in her eyes, like something had shaken her. She looks at Carrie’s frail, bruised body and frowns. “I--never thought she would live this long.”

Lynn gets a terrified look on her face. She didn’t exactly like showing so much fear and weakness around her students, but she couldn’t help it. There’s no way Carrie’s life was as bad as everyone was making it out to be. There’s no way she had suffered so much for so long and she hadn’t done anything to help her.

“What-- what do you mean?” Tommy asks softly. His expression is a mix of horror and rage and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

Estelle reaches out and gently touches Carrie’s head. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew of Carrie’s treatment. But nobody did anything. And then, one day when I was seventeen, Carrie came up to me while I was tanning. She was five? Maybe six? Anyway, she-” She laughs, “-she pointed to my breasts and asked me what they were. I told her and she said she wished she had some and then said how good girls wouldn’t. She said that her mother was ‘bad when she made her.’ Margaret called them ‘dirty pillows’ or something stupid.”

Tommy snorts. Sue elbows him lightly. Estelle shoots him a quick, agreeing smile, then continues.

“Then her mother came out and snapped at her to come back inside. Margaret called me a whore, I called her a cow- I was a very mature and polite seventeen year old.” Estelle chuckles. Her expression soon darkens, however. “I could hear--her screams--from inside the house. After Margaret dragged her back in. Carrie started screaming and crying so loud that I could hear them from outside. Everyone started coming out, but--” She sighs, looking ashamed. “--we didn’t help. Not after the meteor shower. We all ran.”

“Wait-” Sue says. “Did you say ‘meteor shower’?”

“Yeah,” Estelle says. “These rocks just started falling from the sky, but they only hit the White’s house for some reason. It was so weird.”

Tommy and Sue exchange looks.

“Carrie mentioned something about stones…” Tommy says.

Estelle furrows her eyebrows. Lynn kneels down next to her and takes one of her hands, not caring about secrecy around her students anymore.

“Sue,” She says to the girl, “continue the story. What happened next?”

------

“Mama,” Carrie said, and the sound of her voice startled both Sue and Tommy. They don’t know why they had assumed Carrie would sign at home; her mother didn’t exactly seem like the type to put up with sign language. “These are my friends! Tommy and Sue!” She beamed at them both, radiating with pride. Her voice was so sweet and youthful.

“Hmm,” Mrs. White merely said. Her hands are still working a needle and thread through the pale purple fabric, and Sue can see muscles rippling beneath the skin.

Tommy stepped forward first, gathering his shoulders up into a straightened position and marching smoothly across the room. Carrie skittered after him and stood beside one side of the chair, and then Sue followed.

“Tommy Ross,” Tommy extended a hand and flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. White looked at Tommy’s hand with visible disgust, but she shook it firmly when Carrie nudged her arm. She did the same with Sue, but with less reluctance. Sue guessed that she probably had something against men, which was something she never had a problem with, there were MANY reasons to hate men, but this woman looked like she wanted to chop off the penis of every male in existence and violently choke them with it.

Or, perhaps, do something even worse.

“It’s nice to meet you both, too,” Mrs. White finally said in a voice that could crack an iceberg in two. She sized Tommy and Sue up silently, sneering at Sue’s skirt, which barely reached her knees, but didn’t comment about it. “It’s so...wonderful...to see my precious angel with people she can trust.” She lifted a hand and Carrie eagerly ducked her head beneath it. It was quite cute to see her blissfully get affection, but Sue got a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach when she noticed that the action made Carrie look like a trained dog. And Mrs. White was her owner.

“Carrie is a lot of fun to have around,” Tommy said, and Carrie grinned brightly at him. “Your daughter is amazing!”

“Hmm,” Mrs. White said again. She looked at Carrie and a smile tugged on her lips. “She is, isn’t she?” She patted Carrie’s cheek. “Run along, my darling. Go play.”

Carrie nodded and her face scrunched up adorably with giddiness when she got a kiss on the forehead. She jumped up a moment later, darting past Tommy and Sue and to the staircase. She waved to them to follow her eagerly, grinning her head off and doing a little dance on the first step.

“We’re coming, we’re coming!” Sue laughed as she and Tommy walked over. “Calm down!”

They ascended the stairs, and Sue could feel Margaret’s burning gaze scorch holes into her back with every step she took.

The first thing Sue and Tommy noticed upon entering the bedroom were the bars over the window.

Carrie’s room was plain. Plain cream walls, plain scuffed hardwood floor, plain white bed sheets and blankets (no pillow, as she had once mentioned before). There was a nightstand next to her bed with a lamp and a small Bible on it and a splintering bookshelf with very few books set up neatly. A chest at the end of the bed had ribbons of colorful fabric overflowing from the closed lid and a desk had a current sewing project spread out over its surface. A small table in the corner held a few old stuffed animals stacked neatly in a fuzzy pyramid.

“Welcome,” Carrie signed with a grand gesture with outstretched arms. She spun around once, looking around her room, then centered to Tommy and Sue again with a sheepish expression. “I--don’t know what to do now.”

Sue tilted her head, not understanding her hand movements, and Tommy translated. It made her pause in thought- what WAS there to do at Carrie’s house? There was no TV to watch movies on or teach her how to play video games like Tommy usually did. The place was actually quite...boring. Sue couldn’t bear to live in such a bare place.

“Sorry…” Carrie lowered her head in shame.

“Hey, no, it’s okay!” Tommy said quickly. “No worries!”

Sue looked around, trying to find something that would hopefully ease Carrie’s tension. She spotted the piece of fabric on the desk, which was a plum color with frills along the breast. She nodded at it.

“That’s pretty.” She said.

“Oh!” Carrie skittered over to it. “Thank you. It’s not finished yet, but it’s going to be a dress!”

Tommy translated her signs and Sue smiled. “Do you make all your clothes?”

“Most of them,” Carrie nodded.

“That’s so cool!” Sue said.

Carrie blushed. “Thank you.” She lightly brushed her project. “I can--teach you how to. If you want.”

------

“And then we started sewing,” Sue says. She stares into the cup of water Lynn had gotten for her with a deeply troubled look.

“I made a scarf.” Tommy states in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“It was supposed to be a sweater.” Sue manages a giggle, although it was tight and slightly strangled.

Lynn wants to smile, she really does, but as she is pressing a wet rag to a welt on her young student’s stomach, watching blood seep into the white fabric, such an action feels impossible.

If Carrie had looked worrisome when Lynn first saw her, then the removal of most of her clothes has only increased that concern tenfold. The few injuries that had been visible when she first got there were bad enough, but the skin on her torso and back were splattered with impossibly dark colors that were split open in the center of each mark, like she had been beaten with a thin object. Cuts and scrapes marred her tanned skin, which was now horribly pale.

Carrie is stripped down to the black shorts and white tank top she had been wearing underneath her green overalls, which were stained in her blood (not that it was much of a loss- those things were hideous). Her face is tight with pain and all her muscles were tense as if she wanted to run, but couldn’t. Each breath she took came out shallow and ragged.

There’s too many wounds. There’s too many injuries on her little body. She isn’t going to live. Carrie will die.

A touch on her shoulder brought Lynn out of her morbid thoughts. She looks up to see Estelle, still kneeling next to her, a worried, but “I’m here for you” look on her face. She leans against her and a sick feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Her mind is a jumbled mess, a tornado of disconnected thoughts and overwhelming stress.

Sue takes a deep breath and all eyes turn to her again. She pries her gaze away from her cup, rests her head against Tommy’s shoulder for support, and begins the story again.

------

“WHAT is THAT?” Carrie signed.

“IT is a SCARF!” Tommy declared defensively, holding the long piece of red wool fabric as if it were a live snake. “And it’s very stylish!” He flicked it around his neck and lifted his nose in a very haughty, pompous manner. Carrie flopped backwards, giggling and kicking her legs in the air. Tommy looked delighted at her reaction.

“I thought we were making sweaters…” Sue said, blinking down at the misshapen purple blob in her hands. Carrie giggled louder.

She giggled and giggled, such a pleasant, relieving sound.

And then the bedroom door opened.

And a thunderous voice that could shatter a glacier spoke up.

“What is going on in here?”

Tommy, Sue, and Carrie all jumped and twisted around to see Mrs. White slithering inside, growing bigger and more menacing with every step she took. Tommy and Sue both straightened up, trying to look like model guests, while Carrie scrambled up off of her back and to her feet. She was still beaming, however.

“Hello, Mama,” She greeted sweetly. “I was just teaching Tommy and Sue how to sew! They’re not very good.”

“I made a scarf,” Tommy said, holding up the droopy ends of his silly creation for Mrs. White to see. She looked at it as if it were the serpent that had bewitched Eve. “Also, oi! Rude!” He poked Carrie in the leg, then glanced up at Mrs. White again, like he was saying, Look at how good I am with your daughter! Look at how nice I am to her! Please like me!

“Hmm.” Mrs. White merely said. She looked very suspicious of all three of them, even her own daughter. She looked around the room like she was searching for a shred of impurity that would give her a reason to throw Tommy and Sue out. This process, however, was halted when Carrie hopped forward and latched onto her arm.

“Mama, I finished the dress,” She said. She bumped her head against her mother’s shoulder and smiled up at her.

She really does love her mom. Sue thought. But does Mrs. White love her back?

“Did you?” Mrs. White said, half distracted. She was trying to not take her eyes off of the guests, Tommy the most in particular.

“Mhm!” Carrie ran and grabbed the dress she had finished while she was giving the sewing lessons. She presented it to Mrs. White proudly. “See?”

Mrs. White delicately ran her bony fingers along the stitching and frills. Then, she looked up and smiled at Carrie. “Very good, darling.”

That smile flickered away, however, when she looked back to her daughter’s friends. She frowned at Sue, who was rigid next to Tommy. She wasn’t trying to suck up to her like he was.

“You.” She said. “What are you making?”

“Oh, uh--” Sue looked down at the malformed, barely-sewn sweater flopped pathetically in her hands. “A-a sweater.” She wanted to kick herself for stammering. Why was she so nervous around this lady? “I think?”

“My scarf is better.” Tommy muttered, then flashed a smile at Mrs. White. She blinked at him slowly. Even she was curious about his adamant attempt to get on her good side.

Mrs. White sniffed. The edges of her eyes crinkled in distaste. “Maybe you should try lengthening that skirt. You’ll be burning in hell in no time looking like that.”

Sue stiffened. She suddenly felt like her clothes were paper thin--or maybe not even there at all. Mrs. White was staring at her like she had just finished having sex with every man in the entire world and was currently dripping semen all over her floor. Sue struggled not to squirm as silence descended upon the room.

At her side, Tommy’s mouth was half open in shock that an adult would talk to a kid, especially a guest in their house, like that. He kept looking from Sue, to Mrs. White, and then back to Sue, conflicted on whether he should defend his girlfriend and risk Mrs. White hating him even more or not say anything and have Sue possibly hate him (but she wouldn’t hate him. if it were him essentially being called a man slut, she would probably be too scared to say anything, too).

Mrs. White was stood up straight and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smirk. She may be thin and ragged, but she was alight with disgust, like a flame that would never go out. Beside her, Carrie was rigid, but didn’t seem very surprised by her mother’s comment. Her head was lowered, dark eyes flitting towards Sue with an apologetic look. And then, she moved, slotting herself between Sue and Mrs. White.

“Mama, Sue is the nicest girl I know.” She said, and Sue felt a flutter of guilt inside her stomach. At one point, she had participated in all the teasing Carrie got. She had been in on schemes to humiliate her and had looked at her like she was the most awful creature to ever walk the earth, and Carrie knew this, she had known it, and yet she still defended her. “If she doesn’t go to heaven, then heaven is wrong.”

Crack, went something in Mrs. White’s head.

Carrie noticed it first, the way her mother’s twisted expression twitched and rippled on her face like a melting wax mask, the way a diseased light flickered behind her eyes, the way her nostrils flared with a silent breath, and then Sue and Tommy followed. They could see it now, too, how Mrs. White still had the same look on her face as she had when she insulted Sue, but just slightly lopsided. It was like a wrinkled photograph cut from a magazine or a blurry movie still. There was something awful swimming behind those beetle-black eyes, and Carrie had accidentally awakened it.

Sue wondered for a fleeting second if she were infected with the same parasite as her mother.

Carrie was very tense, so much so that Sue could see the muscles in her neck bunching up and popping out painfully. Her knees were shaking and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face slowly. Sue and Tommy had both seen her scared before, but this was nothing like the fear that came from bullying at school or being called on in class or getting humiliated somehow.

Carrie looked terrified. Genuinely terrified. Like she thought she was going to die.

“Carrie.” Mrs. White said calmly, but they all still shivered. The weight of the fury in that one simple word--Sue hoped she would never have to hear anyone say her name like that. She might as well have called her daughter ‘Disappointment.’ “Dear. Come here.”

But Carrie didn’t move. Her breathing starts to become more ragged.

“No, mama,” She whispered, and Sue had never heard so much fear in her voice before.

Twitch, went something on Mrs. White’s expression.

“M-my friends--” Carrie went on shakily, trying to give a good reason for her to talk back. “Th-they’re here. C-can’t we wait…” But her words trailed off into meaninglessness when she met her mother’s sharp gaze and she fell into helpless silence.

Mrs. White stretched her neck to the left and there was a series of pops that reverberated around the room. She seemed to be swelling up like a venomous snake.

“Hey--” Tommy leapt to his feet, the tail of his sweater-scarf wagging lazily in front of him. “It’s not Carrie’s fault. She was just being a good friend.”

Mrs. White snapped her smoldering gaze over to Tommy, and that was enough to send him slamming right back to the floor in a rigid sitting position. Sue had never seen him obey so much like a trained dog before. It was horrifying how much this single woman could strike so much terror into all of them.

“Carietta Nancy White.” Mrs. White hissed, her voice dripping with icicles. “I will not tell you again.”

She knows she could just grab Carrie. Sue realized with a twist in her stomach. She wants the satisfaction of Carrie obeying her.

Carrie moved slowly, dragging her feet as if they were weighed down by chains, head bowed in a submissive way. The moment she was in reach, Mrs. White snatched her by the forearm and dug her nails in so deep tiny jewels of blood bubbled up around her fingers. Tommy twitched at Sue’s side, like he wanted to jump up and tackle Mrs. White, but his nerves were holding him back.

“I’m sorry…” Carrie whispered, although Sue doesn’t know if it’s directed to her and Tommy or to her mother. She’s briskly guided out of the room a moment later, so fast that she actually clipped her forehead on the doorframe, but Mrs. White doesn’t stop to let her recover. Their footsteps shuffle and stomp down the hallway, down the steps, and then disappear downstairs.

Silence.

Sue and Tommy waited for yelling, crashing, banging, fighting to break out, but there was nothing. They could only hear the distant sound of Mrs. White’s voice, but neither of them dared to move to listen closer. They just sat there in Carrie’s room, surrounded by scraps of colorful fabric and sewing needles, not speaking a word.

Mrs. White came to get them five minutes later. Her eyes were filled with disgust and hatred and her mouth was twisted in a sneer.

“Get out.” Was all she said in a voice filled with malice.

Sue and Tommy leapt to their feet and scampered out of the house with metaphorical tails tucked between their legs as fast they could. Mrs. White followed close behind them, like the devil on their heels, until they were out on the stoop. She slammed the door so hard Sue was surprised the entire house didn’t come crumbling down and they heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Silence.

“That...was eventful.” Sue said.

Tommy doesn’t answer. He just began to pace up and down the front walkway, crunching gravel and pebbles underneath his shoes.

“Tommy?”

“We have to do something.” Tommy blurted.

Surprised, Sue said, “What?”

“We can’t just leave her in there!” Tommy said, then quickly quieted his voice. He looked around. “We have to save her.”

Sue knew they had to, even if the thought scared her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep that night knowing Carrie was probably thrashed for the skirt her friend had been wearing.

The two of them wait a moment, then sneak around the side of the house, romping through overgrown weeds and grass and knowing full well that they’ll get hell rained upon them if they’re caught. Tommy peeked in through a back window with a crack in it and saw the fleeting figure of Margaret ascending the staircase, giving him and Sue a chance to slip in through the back door and re-enter the house.

Being inside that place felt wrong, like they were intruding on sacred grounds. But the house was anything but sacred, especially with the muffled sniffles echoing from somewhere they couldn’t see.

Sue and Tommy ducked into a small closet that was cluttered with moth-eaten blankets and boxes. They were at the end of the main downstairs hallway and it was dark enough for them to crack open the door and peek out without being seen. There, they waited, peering out of the barely-open door. Sue’s back was just starting to hurt from hunching over when footsteps stomped down the staircase. She and Tommy watched as Mrs. White unlocked what they thought had just been a coat closet, reached in, and pulled Carrie out.

“I’m sorry, Mama!” Carrie blurted instantly, as submissive as always.

Mrs. White answered in a low rumbling noise. She dragged Carrie into the den and out of sight.

“Mama, please talk to me.” Sue and Tommy heard Carrie beg. “Please, I’m sorry! I just-- they’re my friends and I don’t like when people are mean to them. I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

Mrs. White snorted. “Friends.” She repeated the word as if it were a curse. “They aren’t your friends.”

“They are!” Carrie said. “They are, Mama! And they’re really nice, too, you’ll see!”

Mrs. White huffed out a breath and Sue thought she may be shaking her head. “Nobody is friends with you, Carrie. You don’t have friends. You know why.”

Sue winced. That felt like it was needlessly cruel to the poor girl.

“No, Mama,” Carrie said, this time much softer.

“If I told them what you are--what you can do, they’ll run for the hills. Or worse: they’d lock you up and use your gifts. But me? I’ve always accepted and loved you the way you are, my sweet girl.” Mrs. White crooned. “You’re different, Carrie. And you know people love to destroy what is not like them.”

“I don’t have to be,” Carrie said. “Tommy says I can be whoever I want!”

“Oh. That BOY.” Mrs. White said with great disgust. “You know how boys are, Carrie. Do I need to remind you of your father?”

“No, Mama.” Carrie replied with a shudder in her voice.

Sue and Tommy exchanged looks. They had both wondered on their own about Carrie’s father, but neither ever brought it up to her. By the sound of it, whatever happened to him wasn’t very good.

“They’re good, Mama,” Carrie was saying when focus was brought back to the conversation. “I promise! I’m sorry for talking back, but Tommy and Sue are good people!”

“They’ve entranced you,” Mrs. White said, not even listening to her daughters. “They are imps sent from the devil!”

“No, Mama!” There’s a rustle of fabric and the scuffing of feet against the floor- Carrie must have been standing up. “They aren’t! Don’t you dare say that about them! They’re not imps, YOU are!”

The sound of a hand smashing against flesh filled the house; Carrie’s body fell backwards into sight on her stomach. She’s frozen in shock for a moment before pushing herself up on her hands. A second later, one of her legs was grappled and she was dragged backwards into the den, screaming and clawing helplessly at the floor.

It was like a scene ripped straight out of a horror movie.

“Mama, stop! Stop it, Mama! I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to repent, you vile little beast--”

Another slap reverberated through the house, followed by a sharp yelp reminiscent of a puppy getting its foot stepped on.

“Mama! Mama, no! Please, no! I’m sorry!”

“You must be washed clean of the filth they put on you.”

There’s the sound of fabric scraping against the floor that traveled into the kitchen. A clatter of a body being thrown into a chair echoed from that room, followed by a stern, “Stay.”

“Mama, please,” Carrie pleaded. “I don’t want to, Mama, I don’t want to be cleaned--”

Sue heard the sink running in the kitchen. What was going on?

A hand yanked her head backwards by the hair. Water hit the over her face cloth- small drips and then a heavy torrent. It flooded into her nose. She instinctively opened her mouth to gasp for a breath, and the water poured in. Her heart was racing, and her whole body was frozen. She could feel the freezing water trickling down her throat. She tried to toss her head to escape the torrent, but she couldn't even twitch. The only part of her that was moving was her chest as her body fought frantically to cough, to escape, to breathe, to survive.

“Don’t like that, do you?” Mama’s voice was crowing as she lifted the cloth. She smirked at the way her daughter gasped for air, taking in quick, rapid breaths to soothe her lungs. “No, you don’t.” She felt her shake her hand beneath her hand. “Admit it, my darling. Admit that that boy and girl are sent from the devil and dirtied you. Admit it and it will end.”

Desperate to retain at least a shred of her dignity, Carrie said, “No.”

The cloth drops back down over her face with a wet plop.

She felt the moment the water hit her lungs this time around- there was a lot more poured over her. There was a sickening chill, so at odds with the burning pain. And then her arms and legs were tugging against the ropes as sheer panic enveloped her. She wasn't thinking of twisting her wrists to try to free them; her arms moved of their own accord, tearing the skin. She wasn't thinking of kicking out with all her strength; her legs jerked and tugged against the restraints, wrenching their own muscles. She wasn't thinking of trying to get away from whatever was pinning her down; her body writhed and shifted as panic and fear pulsed through it.

When Mama lifted the cloth again, water was spit up from Carrie’s lips. She lowered it, not giving her much room to breathe. She whined sharply, pathetically when she just inhaled a wet rag.

“Please, please, Mama...” Carrie begged through breathless sobs.

“Tell me the truth. Admit it. You know you want to. You want to damn their souls to hell for cursing you.”

“No, Mama, I don’t--”

Carrie cut herself off with a horrid gag and water rushed down her throat, choking her.

Dying. Dying. Dying. She could feel it. Her very bones were vibrating with the knowledge that she couldn't survive. That oxygen, held away from her by nothing more than a piece of fabric, was still too far away for her to reach. That every frantic heave of her chest was drawing the water further and further down, pulling in more and more liquid.

Every fiber of her being wanted to fight, was trying to fight, but it wasn't a fight she could win. There was nothing she could do.

Unless…

“I--”

Carrie’s squeal ended in an intense dry heave that twisted her stomach so badly she began to feel nauseous. Her head spun and the crying was adding to the extreme pain that infected her chest and abdomen.

“Mama--”

A whimper, a whine, a keen of helplessness as Carrie’s limbs began to go limp.

“I do!”

The bowl clattered to the ground. Mama removed the rag from her face, stared deep into her teary eyes.

“What was that?”

“I--” A weak sob shook Carrie, “I do. I do want to send them to hell. They made me dirty.”

She thought she’s having to lie to get out alive, but her mind is too fuzzy to know for sure... Maybe she does want them to burn for all eternity in hell.

“You do?”

“Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama.” Carrie bobbed her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry. I should have listened.”

Mama knelt down beside her and began wiping her face off with a dry cloth. When fresh tears streamed from her eyes, she gently dabbed them away. Carrie couldn’t help but press into his touch.

“Is this the truth, Carietta? Are you really sorry?”

“Yes, Mama,” Carrie said with a sob. “Yes, yes, I am. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“Good girl,” Mama crooned, continuing to dry off her face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I’m glad you know to tell the truth, but that doesn’t change what you did.”

Ice cold fear shot through Carrie’s veins.

“I took your gun.” She was desperate now.

“You still have to be punished, little jade.”

She lets out a whimper.

“You know what you did.”

The dry cloth is put over her face.

Water sloshed above her.

She wanted to say she was sorry. She was sorry. She was so sorry. She wanted to be a good, obedient daughter. She wanted to make Mama happy. She wanted her to be proud.

Drip-drip-drip

The cloth soaked up the water, slowly this time, to drag out her punishment. Carrie took a shuddering breath of air, fills her lungs as far as they can go, fills them so full she feels like they’re going to burst.

Mama’s voice echoed.

You need to be punished

The water soaked the cloth. The cloth clung to Carrie’s nose as she inhaled, clung when she exhaled, and the panic exploded in her chest. Water slid down her throat, over her neck and into her hair, over her shoulders. So cold it burns.

She’s drowning. She’s dying. She’s suffocating.

Screaming.

Her throat hurts. There’s no air in her mouth, in her lungs. She can feel the water trickling into her nose. Can’t breathe. No air. No air. No air.

The ropes on her arms loosen and then are gone. She wanted to die. She can’t breathe past the panic in her chest. She was shaking. She was dying. She wanted it to end.

Oh god, please keep pouring. Please. Please. Please. You can kill me right now.

But then the faces of Tommy and Sue and Miss Gardener flash in her head and she thought, Do I really want to die?

Sue and Tommy didn’t think anything could get worse than Mrs. White waterboarding her own child, but then she raised a wicked-looking switch when Carrie lurched out of the chair she had been punished in. She coughed violently and slipped in the water coating the kitchen floor, falling to her hands and knees, but jolted forward as the switch swung down at her. It just barely missed her left leg.

“I’ll thrash the devil out of you!!” Mrs. White screeched.

Carrie catapulted herself over the dining room table to get away from her and her switch. Sue and Tommy watched as she clambered over the top, scattering porcelain plates and cups, before tipping over in a very ungraceful landing. After hitting the ground, she scrambled up again to flee, but her mother was already upon her.

“Ma--!!”

Before she could get the word completely out, the switch connected with her back with a horrible CRACK.

Carrie doesn’t scream, but she does whine sharply at the burning sensation that had to be blazing through her shoulder blades, even with her shirt on. She scampered around like a mouse below Mrs. White, as she had easily been sent to her knees by the blow. She’s fidgeting and fumbling, trying to speak up without sounding pained, as that would make her seem even weaker.

“Mama, please, I--”

Another lash streaked across her lower back and Carrie gritted her teeth through the pain. Her fingernails claw and catch into the floorboards, but she would have much preferred splinters uprooting her nails than this beating.

“Worthless girl! When will you learn to obey me?!” Mrs. White roared overhead before cracking the switch against her daughter’s waist.

Carrie’s arms gave in and she toppled over onto her side. She squirmed helplessly, pushing her heels against the ground in an attempt to get away, mouth agape as she watched Mrs. White raised her arm yet again.

“Mama--”

This time, Carrie does scream.

She does scream because the switch lashed right across her belly. Her head threw itself backwards, knocking her skull against the floorboards, but it’s not enough to lessen the searing sensation burning itself through her midsection. For a moment, she can only choke and cry out, but then the incomprehensible wail turns into words.

“MOMMY, STOP IT!! PLEASE, MOMMY, STOP!!!”

But Mrs. White doesn’t stop. She just kept on lashing her daughter until blood is soaking through green overalls and Carrie is a shuddering, whimpering ball at her feet. Even then, she does not stop.

Not until a voice cried out.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!!” Tommy barreled out into the den, absolutely fuming and seeing red. It surprised Sue, who had been recording the abuse on her phone in shocked silence. She followed after him quickly.

“Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” Tommy warned. His fingers were clenched and shaking, teeth bared, eyes alight with rage.

“Tommy,” Carrie coughed out weakly.

Tommy looked down at Carrie and his eyes softened instantly. He looked anguished about how he wasn’t able to go to her, not with Mrs. White poising the switch over her back.

“I’m here, Caz,” He murmured. “I’m here.”

Carrie made a feeble whimpering sound. She tried to look up at him, blinking through tears and water and sweat and blood, but she was exhausted from the beating and her head flopped uselessly to the ground. She panted heavily, trying to curl away from her mother.

“I thought I threw you both out.” Mrs. White said.

“We would never leave Carrie.” Tommy said. “Not so devilish now, huh?”

Mrs. White snorted. “You think this proves anything? I know what you people are like.”

“I got what you did on video,” Sue said, holding up her phone. “Just so you know.”

Mrs. White laughed an awful laugh. “Oh, you empty-headed whore,” She cackled. “You think evidence is going to change anything? Everyone in the neighborhood, new and old, have heard Carrie’s cries for years and they have never done anything. Not even when police are called. Nothing is ever done, and you want to know why?” She smirked wickedly. “It’s because nobody cares.”

Sue felt a sinking feeling of dread. Would really nothing be done to save Carrie even with video evidence?

“I care.” Tommy said. “Sue cares. So does Miss Gardener.”

------

“I do,” Lynn murmurs, gently touching one of Carrie’s hands. Tommy and Sue both give her tight smiles, then Sue continues telling the story.

------

Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “No you don’t! You’re lying!” She nudged Carrie with her foot and Carrie moaned weakly in response. Her daughter rolled over slightly, blood squelching beneath her, and gave her her full attention, even after being beaten to a bloody pulp. “I’m the only one who cares about you. No one will ever love you except me. You’ll always be a monster to everyone else.”

Sue shivered. It sounded like some kind of chant or curse, like something Mrs. White had repeated this to Carrie several times before.

Carrie whimpered. She craned her neck slowly, wincing in pain, and looked at Sue and Tommy desperately. Mrs. White nudged her again, prodding her foot against one of the cuts along her lower back and making her look back at her.

“She’s not a monster.” Sue spoke up, glaring at Mrs. White.

Mrs. White barked a laugh. She looked down at Carrie quivering beneath her. “Is that what you’ve made them think? That you’re just some shy, innocent little mouse?” She laughed again and turned her blistering gaze back to Tommy and Sue. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into, children.”

What did she do? Sue thought. What has Carrie done to make her own mother call her a monster?

And will she do the same thing to us?

“Don’t you DARE talk about Carrie like that!” Tommy growled. “You have no right!”

“I have every right,” Mrs. White said airily. “I am her mother.” She spread her arms in a grand gesture. Droplets of sparkling red blood twinkle on the edges of the switch she was still holding. “And I am just trying to cleanse the little devil he put inside of me.”

A tense silence descended upon the den, only broken by Carrie’s soft gasps and sniffles.

“Who?” Sue asked quietly, reluctantly.

Mrs. White began to pace around the room, swinging the switch at her side and sending blood flying through the air in glittering crimson arcs. “I didn’t want him to put it in me. I tried to fight him.” She said.

“Mama, please don’t,” Carrie begged weakly. She covered her ears and curled up tighter.

“But he didn’t listen.” Mrs. White hissed, ignoring her daughter’s pleas. “He made me enjoy it. Satan gave him sin and, in return, he put a devil child inside of me.”

Oh. Sue realized with a jolt. She was raped.

Mrs. White shook her head. “I don’t hate Carrie. Far from it. If I did, she would be long dead.” She looked down at her daughter with a strange look in her eyes. “I just...have to cleanse her. Remove all her sin.” She tilted her head like Carrie was a new plastic body to decorate the crucifixes with. “And then--she will be--perfect.”

There was something very, very wrong with Margaret White. And Sue didn’t feel safe being around her any longer.

How could Carrie live with such a mother?

Mrs. White looked up at Tommy and Sue, scrutinizing them. “Does that make sense?”

Sue nodded a tiny bit and Mrs. White gave her an appraising look. Tommy, however, only fumed even more.

“What the fuck?” He seethed. “No! Not only no, but HELL NO!” He glared at Mrs. White. “You are fucking psychotic! You can’t treat people like that! Why did I want you to like me? You’re insane!”

Mrs. White glared right back at him. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Men.” She nudged Carrie, who tentatively removed her hands from her ears. “Why don’t I show you why purification is necessary? Carrie, my darling little creature, show them.”

Carrie doesn’t move. Mrs. White exasperatedly rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the top of the head, throwing her to Sue and Tommy’s feet. Carrie landed with a heavy thud and a soft grunt. She looked up at the pair with guilty black-brown eyes so eerily like her mother’s. Sue shivered, finding it difficult to look at her anymore.

“Go on.” Mrs. White waved a hand.

“No, Mama,” Carrie whispered. She tried to make herself as small as possible.

“Why not?” Mrs. White smirked. “Is it because you know they’ll hate you for it?”

Carrie whimpered. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She began to rock herself back and forth on her knees.

“Look at that,” Mrs. White mused. “She doesn’t trust either of you at all. How sad. Some great friends you are if she can’t tell secrets to you.”

Sue felt a smudge of betrayal streak through her. What was so important that Carrie couldn’t tell her and Tommy about? Did the best friend's oath she once made them take mean nothing? She looked to Tommy to see his reaction, but there wasn’t a hint of hurt on his face. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Mrs. White.

“It’s her business,” He said. “She can tell us when she’s ready. I wouldn’t admit anything while being pressured, either.”

I should have reacted like that, Sue thought with a twist of guilt. Not immediately assume Carrie is a bad person. She looked at Mrs. White. She’s...so cunning. And convincing. It’s scary.

“Tommy,” Carrie gasped from below. She gripped tightly to one of his pant legs. “Tommy, it hurts.”

Tommy dropped to his knees in front of Carrie and bundled her protectively in his arms. Blood smeared against his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to care much. Mrs. White watched with a murderous look in her eyes.

“Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Tommy whispered to her soothingly.

“And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” She spat.

Tommy glared right back up at her. “I’m protecting her from you.” He said.

“Foolish boy,” Mrs. White shook her head. “You don’t know what she could do to you.”

“Carrie would never hurt me.” Tommy said.

Mrs. White laughed. “That’s what you think! But she could! She easily could!”

“Mama,” Carrie wheedled.

“Release my daughter.” Mrs. White said. “This instant.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her and said, “No.”

Mrs. White’s face twisted in fury. She gripped the switch in her hands tightly and, for a moment, Sue worried she was going to strike Tommy with it.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t move.

“Mama, please stop.” Carrie begged. She had her head twisted around to stare at her mother. Most of her wounds have stopped bleeding by now; dried blood clashed horribly with her green overalls.

“You devil,” Mrs. White hissed lowly.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Mama.” Carrie whispered. Her body had gone worryingly cold in Tommy’s arms. Her voice was the sound of dead leaves rustling against pavement. “Please don’t make me hurt you…”

Mrs. White was stiff in her spot, arm half raised. The muscles were contracted tightly beneath her skin. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she scared of Carrie? And if so...why? Carrie was anything but threatening.

The next words Carrie spoke made her mother go deathly pale.

“I’ll bring the stones again.”

Mrs. White staggered backwards, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.” She whispered.

Thunder rumbled deeply, then cracked across the darkening sky outside like a warning. Lightning flickered in through the tightly-drawn drapes, illuminating Carrie’s eyes like ebony flames, and Sue realized they weren’t as black as she thought. There were hues of amber and red-brown, and they glowed intensely in her skull. Her gaze was hard and cold.

“I will, Mama.” Carrie said. Her voice was drained and dry; she sounded so tired. “If you touch them-- If you dare--” She was shaking like a newborn baby goat in Tommy’s arms. She looked up at her mother with the same diseased light that had been in her mother’s eyes. “I will bring the fire down on you.”

Mrs. White dropped to her knees, falling like a bird with broken wings. She clasped her hands together and began to pray loudly, although her words were wavering and slurring together. She rocked back and forth, shaking her head like she was trying to ward off sinful thoughts from worming their way into her brain.

Carrie sucked in a sharp breath, her body shuddering in an awful, bone-shattering way. Her head flopped limply onto one of Tommy’s shoulders, panting heavily. Sweat was soaking her brow and a feverish expression contorted her face.

“Tommy,” She gasped weakly.

“Grab her.” Sue ordered. “Grab her, Tommy! Let’s go!”

Tommy scooped Carrie up into his arms and ran for the door, Sue tailing right behind him.

Mrs. White did not stop them.

------

“And then we got in the car and drove here.” Sue concludes with a frown.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the house, only broken by the pattering of rain on the window and low rumbles of thunder. Tommy shifts closer to the couch, casting Carrie yet another worried glance. His gaze practically screamed, Wake up. Please wake up.

“That can’t--that can’t be true,” Lynn whispers. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror. There was just no way. No parent could possibly be that cruel to their own child. She didn’t want to believe it.

“It is.” Sue says sadly. She slips her phone out of her pocket and hands it to Lynn. Estelle leans over her shoulder to see. A video is displayed on the screen. With a quaking finger, Lynn presses the play button.

And it all fell away.

Hope that the story wasn’t true, hope that Margaret wasn’t as bad as Sue and Tommy made her out to be, hope that Carrie wasn’t getting brutally abused this whole time, right under her nose, and she never did anything to help her.

Because on the screen, clear as day, is Margaret White lashing her young daughter with a whip-thin switch, splattering blood everywhere. And the agonized yowls of Carrie will echo in her ears, haunt her nightmares, for years to come, always reminding her that it was very, very real.

Lynn’s vision blurs and she realizes she is tearing up. She blinks and claws away the tears hopefully before anyone would notice, trying her best to be strong, trying to not let her facade fall and reveal that she was actually horrified. Horrified and sickened and shocked and livid. She would not let her mask fall, and not just because she was supposed to be a tough-as-nails gym coach that would make numerous students vomit during Suicides and never flinch when bones broke savagely during games. But because she has to be strong for Carrie’s sake.

And then she looks up and sees blank onyx eyes peering at her blankly and tears cloud her vision all over again.

“Carrie!”

Tommy is the first one to react, lunging to his friend’s side in an instant, nearly falling face-first into the rug in the process. He clasps one of her hands with both of his.

“Carrie,” He says again, this time quieter. “How are you feeling?”

“Everything hurts,” Carrie replies in a soft, hoarse voice. She sighs. “But what else is new?”

She...doesn’t sound very surprised, Lynn realizes with an awful twist in her stomach. Like this has happened before.

Like she’s gotten used to it. Waking up in pain.

Carrie lifts her head slightly, wincing, and looks around the room. “Where am I? Why is Miss Gardener here?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Lynn smiles at her warmly.

“We brought you here.” Sue says.

“Oh.” Carrie’s dark eyes dart around again, searching, and then fall on Estelle. Her brow pinches together. “I know you.” She whispers.

Estelle moves closer. “Hello, Carrie. It’s been a long time.”

“You were my neighbor,” Carrie says. “I asked you what breasts were. Estelle.”

Despite the situation, light laughter ripples through the room. It almost, almost eases the weight pressing on Lynn’s heart.

“Yes, that’s me,” Estelle chuckles. “It’s good to see you again, Carrie.”

“You called Mama a cow,” Carrie muses, slightly dazed. Sue gets up to grab the painkillers Lynn left on the kitchen counter.

Lynn gives Estelle a look that says, “You what?” Estelle returns with a crooked smile.

“Where is she?” Carrie asks. She’s looking around more fervently now and trying to get up. “Where’s my Mama?”

Lynn feels that awful twist in her heart again. Even after what Margaret did to her, Carrie is still so attached to her mother. But after living with such a treatment all her life, she must have gotten used to it. Maybe she even learns to overlook it.

“She’s at your house, Caz.” Tommy says, brushing back a loose fringe of hair from Carrie’s face.

“Is she alive?” Carrie asks. Then, more softly, “Did I hurt her?”

The beat of silence and exchange of worried glances is just a bit too long; Carrie begins to whimper and cry. Tommy soothes her quickly, brushing her tears away with gentle hands.

“She’s okay, Caz. She’s alive, I promise.” He assures her. “Shh… It’s okay.”

Carrie looks up at him and calms slightly. Lynn is impressed- out of everyone in the room, she would have thought Tommy would be the least comforting, but here he was, treating Carrie so tenderly. Perhaps the most awkward one with comfort, at least with Carrie, would be Sue, who was standing listlessly with the bottle of Ibuprofen gripped tightly in her hands. Lynn takes it from her and she and Tommy are able to convince Carrie to swallow two of the pills.

“They’ll make you feel better,” Tommy tells her, stroking her hair.

“Do you ever take medicine?” Sue asks curiously.

Carrie shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. Mama didn’t--believe--in that kind of stuff.”

With weak arms, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, despite the several arguments for her to stay laying down. She sucks in a sharp breath, the cuts along her belly straining and stinging in the open air, and she stubbornly tugs her shirt back down to shield the expanse of scarred flesh. Lynn makes a clucking noise of disapproval.

“You shouldn’t have your clothes covering them,” She says. “They could get infected.”

Carrie gives her a wry smile, “I haven’t got any awful infections yet, have I?”

Lynn’s heart wrenched once again, like a claw was dug inside her chest and turning it to mush. Carrie looks so used to this, so used to getting up and shaking off wounds from abuse, and she hates it. She wants to take her away from that kind of lifestyle so badly.

For a long few minutes, the house is silent. Carrie is looking down, her eyes clouded and haunted; Sue is over near the window, hands gripping the sill firmly, peering out at the storm with a deeply troubled expression, like she was considering leaping out into the tempest so the rain could wash away the chill rattling through her body; Tommy has climbed up onto the couch beside Carrie and kept squeezing her hand like he was trying to remind himself that she was still there with him and still alive; Estelle’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s considering Carrie in thoughtful silence, most likely straining her memories back to the days when she was the White’s neighbor; Lynn is currently getting her heart turned into pulp, emotions tumbling over themselves in the whirlwind that was her mind- anger, guilt, shock, fear, maternal instincts, anger again, then guilt...it was all mixing together.

Everyone was lost in their individual thoughts, listlessly wandering the winding corridors of their own minds.

The one who speaks first is Sue.

“Carrie,” She says slowly, turning away from the window, “why do you love your mother?”

“Sue!” Tommy hisses, then whips his head around to see Carrie’s reaction.

For just a moment, there is a flash of anger, and Lynn so badly wants to see it come out. She wants to see Carrie get mad at her mother for the treatment she got. But it is chased off by deep sadness and confusion, like Carrie herself didn’t know why she was so attached to such a wicked woman.

“How much do you know about her?” Carrie asks instead of answering. She looks around, including everyone in the question. “Aside from her being an extremist, how much do you know?”

Looks were exchanged as minds were dug through for any information on Margaret White that weren’t rumors. Carrie waits patiently, a tiny, sad smile ghosting her lips.

“You once said,” Estelle starts slowly, “that she was ‘bad when she made you.’”

Carrie nods, her smile twitching up a little more. “My Mama,” She says, “is a delusional, accursed witch.”

Stunned silence. Carrie tilts her head at them, as if to say, “What? I thought you were waiting for me to say something mean about her?” She shakes herself out, like she was getting rid of evil spirits clinging to her, then went on, “She hates everything about the world. Men, most girls, people who follow different religions, even churches. She doesn’t trust them, so we hold our own ceremonies at the house. She’s the preacher, I’m the congregation…” She splays open her hands and looks at them as if they had nails lanced through the palms. “She hates my father the most, I think. Even though I believe she does love him still, despite what happened. And that makes her hate him even more.” She closes her fists and looks up with dark eyes. “She hates me, too. She says she doesn’t but I know. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I remind her of him.”

“Have you seen him before?” Sue asks softly. “Your dad?”

“Only once,” Carrie answers. “In a picture. I look like him.”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie runs a hand thoughtfully over her bottom jaw, looking horrifyingly calm while speaking of her home life. But there was fear in her eyes. Lynn could see it flickering in her hugely dilated red-brown-black pupils, very much there, but being stamped down. It was honestly quite startling to see her young student, who would flinch when someone simply raised their hand to ask a question, who always tried to make herself seem smaller when teams were picked for games, who had to use sign language to speak to people because she was too anxious to even verbally talk, be so reserved and nonchalant.

That was another thing- Carrie speaking so many words. Lynn doesn’t think she’s ever heard her talk so much before. She’s wanted to hear her talk, yes, but not like this.

“If a prayer was said just a little wrong,” Carrie begins again, “if a cross was bumped and became crooked, it all fell apart for her.” She leans back, staring out the window. What is that look in her eyes? Disdain, fear, anxiety, relief about finally telling about this? “And she took it out on me over...”

“…and over…”

Carrie’s eyes became vacant, darkening until they looked completely black, lost in the abuse that gripped her so tightly. The calm demeanor only then breaks and is replaced by intense terror and anxiety. At her side, Tommy is too stunned to react, so Lynn lunges forward, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. As soon as contact is made, Carrie begins to thrash and cries out, “…AND OVER!”

Lynn’s grip on Carrie’s shoulders does not break, even when the girl swats fearfully at her arms in a panic. She could only stare as she seized out of control. It was like watching an exorcism happen right in front of her.

“Carrie, stop!” Tommy pleads.

With a start, Carrie stops breathing and tightens every muscle in her body. Prolonged contact with someone who wouldn’t hurt her is starting to have an effect. Her eyes close and her spasms slow. Silence fell around the group.

Then, Carrie expels her breath and sucks in another. She grasps Lynn’s hands and gently pries them away from her shoulders; her touch is like ice.

Sue beseeches her, “What happened to you?”

And on the inside, Lynn thinks, “Is this the girl I want to take in?”

Carrie didn’t look at anyone. Shame carves deep grooves in her face.

“Mama says I’m different,” Carrie smolders. “That I was born from my father’s sin and that’s why--I’m the way I am. And she believes that she has to purify me and remove the devil from inside of me.”

After a second, Carrie turns her head back ever so slightly and peers at the group around her out of the corner of her vision. There was pain in that bloody ebony eye.

Her next three words were tight with humiliation.

“She broke me.”

The pit in Lynn’s stomach dropped until it was a chasm. She can’t speak. Nobody could speak. Carrie looks away again, hiding her disgrace from sight.

“My Mama damaged me in a way that cannot ever be repaired. No matter how many decades pass, I will always be just as broken as I am now. I can’t become whole again.” Her voice cracked as she mourned. “She passed her sickness onto me.”

Tommy reaches over, slowly bridging the gap between him and his dear little sister figure, but Carrie shrinks away from the hand, shaking her head and whimpering, “It’s like a curse that spreads from people to people.”

Tommy swiftly retracts his hand, and the speed at which he does so causes guilt to bloom all over his face. Carrie looks up at him with an understanding frown.

“I will never let anyone share in my sickness. I can’t.” She shakes her head miserably. “I have to--stay away--from people. To protect them. That’s what Mama says.” She clenches her fingers into claws and anger, pain, longing, shame all flash in her eyes.

“But Carrie, how could you pass that sickness onto other people? Onto us?” Tommy asks. “You wouldn’t hurt us!”

Suddenly, a guilt-ridden sob tears out of Carrie’s throat and she doubles over, face buried in her hands.

Quivering, Tommy whispers, “You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

Carrie wails.

Everything is falling to pieces, to ashes. Lynn is frozen, unable to think straight. At her side, Estelle is frowning--like she’s seen this before.

“You don’t want to hurt us.” Estelle says. “You don’t want to hurt anyone at all.”

Carrie sniffles and looks up from her hands. She looks absolutely miserable.

“Would it matter if I did?” She shakes her head and looks at her hands with so much hatred. “I’m a monster. Just like Mama always says.” She covers her face again and sobs.

Lynn can see it now: Carrie wasn’t just shy and anxious and socially awkward, she was fragile, too--too fragile for the awful things she’s been through.

“Oh, Carrie,” Tommy murmurs. Despite what had been said, he pulls Carrie securely into his arms and she lets him, curling into his warmth. “Carrie. Carrie, I love you anyway. I don’t care.”

And Carrie cries.

She cries and cries and cries for a long time. She cries until she’s reduced to weak sniffles and hiccups and can barely lift her head from Tommy’s chest. She looks absolutely exhausted by the end of it, completely drained. She is feeling the full effect of her wounds, now, and whimpers softly.

“I have a spare bedroom,” Lynn says. “She can sleep there. She’s tired.” She frowns at Carrie’s pale face.

Tommy nods silently and carefully picks Carrie up. Lynn leads him to the guest bedroom and he sets Carrie down beneath the blankets. Her eyelids are fluttering as sleep--or maybe unconsciousness--begins to take hold of her. Tommy kisses her forehead.

“Sleep well, Caz,” He murmurs.

Silence descends upon the house once again. Lynn, Estelle, Tommy, and Sue all sit at the dining room table with mugs of peppermint tea Estelle had made. They didn’t look at each other for a long time.

“What are we gonna do?”

Everyone looks up. Like before, it was Sue who spoke first.

“About Carrie.” Sue states, but it wasn’t really necessary. They all knew who she was referring to.

“She can’t go back home,” Tommy says.

“But she also needs help.” Sue says. “I’m not-- I don’t know if it’s the best idea, but there’s a mental hospital in--”

“No.” Tommy growled. “Hell no.”

“Tommy, she needs help!” Sue says.

“She wouldn’t last a day in a place like that!” Tommy reprimands. “You know that. And mental hospitals aren’t exactly well known for actually helping people. Locking Carrie up with batshit insane people isn’t going to fix her, it’s just going to make her worse.”

“He’s right,” Estelle nods. “I have a cousin who was in a mental hospital for a few days. He said that both suicidal people and homicidal people were put together. So there would be someone who tries to kill themselves with any object they could get their hands on and then someone who loudly talks about wanting to kill everyone in the place in the same room. Not exactly very comforting.” She shakes her head. “What Carrie needs is a stable place to live with sane people who can take care of her. Does she have any relatives?”

“Doubt it.” Tommy sighs.

“She can stay here.”

All eyes turn to Lynn. Her jaw is set and she looks confident in what she said.

“Really?” Tommy’s eyes lit up slightly in hope.

“Yes, really,” Lynn says. “As Estelle said, she needs someone who will take care of her. I can. I /will/. And I want to.”

“That’s a really sweet thing for you to do, Lynnie,” Estelle coos.

“Ooooo, Lynnie?” Sue and Tommy tease simultaneously. For the first time in hours, they had real, wide smiles on their faces.

Lynn rolls her eyes. “Watch it, Snell. I’m still your coach. I can make you run until your legs give out.”

“But you’re not mine.” Tommy says, puffing out his chest.

“You doubt my ability to make kids run Suicides.” Lynn smirked at him.

For just a moment, things felt good again. And maybe they would continue to be good, because if Lynn had her way, Margaret White was never going to see her daughter ever again.

#carrie #carrie the musical #broadway kids carrie #carrie white #tommy ross #sue snell #rita desjardin #lynn gardener #estelle horan #margaret white #carrie fanfiction #carrie fanfic #my writing #tw: abuse #tw: waterboarding #fractal scarring

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leggomylino · 5 years ago

Text

Sunrise | Prologue

Genre: Romance, drama/angst, a bit of comedy, medieval(-ish) au, beauty and the beast au Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader Word count: ~1.2k Warning(s): mild language, occasional angst, blood/violence, mentions of abuse A/N: Masterlist in BIO and at the end of post! | Based off the YA novel Cruel Beauty by Rosamund Hodge

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was no lie that Hwang Hyunjin was what he was. A monster. A crook. A fiend.

But had that been his fault? No. Had it been his intention to piss off the old hag who showed up at his doorstep looking for shelter, who also happened to be a witch?

...Well, yes, technically. But in his defense, he hadn’t known she’d been a witch. He just assumed she was another ex-royal his father’s company had put out of business, bankrupt and seeking reconciliation. Another pawn knocked off the chess board.

So then was any of this really his fault?

Not in the slightest.

Late November was when colorful bouts of leaves piled in the corners and around the front doors of Everain Palace, when icy winds took hold from north arctic fronts and chilled all those who inhabited it to the bone, or at least, those unfortunate enough to end up imprisoned in the steely corridors below. Dank, gray shadows fell over the surrounding dark atmosphere of the cold stone walls, seeping in elongated coverage that fell over the once festering city of New Amber, now reduced to nothing but a sickly small town until the return of the harvest season. If anyone even bothered coming back.

It was no secret why no one ever wanted to come back. Everyone knew about the curse. Rumors spread fast, and as the head of his father’s company Hyunjin couldn’t hide his scarred face forever. Afraid of becoming infected, afraid it would spread, half of the town vanished within the first few days. Another half of what was left disappeared over the course of the following two weeks, and the number of residents continued to dwindle even after that, until Hyunjin couldn’t even tell you how many remained as of today, six years later. Ten, maybe twelve royals, some small groups of peasants temporarily settling in until they too were told about the curse, and the dark secrets of the young man who lived beyond its walls.

He was once beautiful until he ticked off the wrong old lady. Now he lives out his days staring at a reflection of who he once was.

The part he hated the most was that he couldn’t deny it was the truth.

“Mirror!” he called, clapping his hands once, twice, three times. “Where is my mirror?! Where the hell did you put it this time?!?”

Begrudgingly with a sigh a shadow cascaded down along the stone wall, manifesting into something three-dimensional only a moment later. Blue hair fluttered softly around smooth, rounded features, a lone earring sparkling faintly in the pale moonlight, accentuating ripped jeans and the confines of a pitch-black hoodie.

The whole ensemble was tacky and incredibly outdated.

“Here…” His shadow said, holding out the small ornate mirror. His contractor grabbed it with anxious greedy hands, claws already beginning to form far too early thanks to the autumn equinox.

He paced away eagerly, collapsing to his corner of comforting feather downs and soft silk sheets, as he stared at a reflection of who he once was, who he used to be. How he would look today had he just pretended not to be home that ill-fated night.

“Jisung!” He barked, glaring angrily over his shoulder. “Come here.”

The boy-shadow sighed once more, nodding slowly as he had no right to refuse the man who had complete control over him. So he slowly sulked over toward the bed, shimmering at the seams as he passed through the inanimate threshold like a waking dream. Carefully his edges began to dissolve, bit by bit, until nothing but a faint air of smoke remained, settling dispersedly around the dim-lit bedroom.

Hyunjin never took his eyes off his past-in-the-present self, who only stared back at him with vacant, mournful eyes. “Show her to me.” he demanded, gently leaning a few inches forward. “Where is she?”

With careful swirls like a rippling tide the mirror faltered, spiraling and transforming the glass picture until the prince’s face was gone, the image of a girl taking his place.

Then another one. Then another one…

The mirror suddenly cracked. His hands tightened around the steel handle, a low growl resonating from behind parted lips curled up in a snarl.

“I’m sorry…” the mirror muttered, Jisung suddenly appearing out of the cracks to stand before him. “She’s still not here. I don’t know what you want me to do abo--”

“I don’t want you to do anything!” Hyunjin snapped, throwing down the mirror and shattering it into a million more pieces. “I just want her here! What’s taking her so long? Where is she?!”

“I--” Jisung winced as a few stray shards transpired through him, the feeling still foreign even after all these years and past mirrors similarly broken. “...I think these things just take time--”

“Time?! TIME?!?” Hyunjin was beyond livid. The moment he stood his servant shrunk back, nearly folding himself into the safe confinements of the old chiseled walls. “Time is something I don’t have. You know this, Jisung. If this goes on any longer I’ll…” His voice trailed off and he gulped, snatching a fistful of hair in his sharp dark claws. “...Why isn’t she here yet? What are you not telling me?”

“Telling you? Wha--”

“Shut up and answer me!” He demanded, slamming the boy against the wall. The poor guy would have sunken through had he, again, not been under such a binding spell. Instead the only thing he could do was resentfully comply, doing all he could to spitefully avoid eye contact.

“I’m sorry, Hyunjin. I don’t know--”

“You’re working with her, aren’t you?” Hyunjin continued with narrowed eyes. He began to shake him, tightening his choke hold around the boy’s throat.

Jisung gasped a bit, nails gritting against the echoing stone walls. “I-I really don’...” He tried to choke out. “...I really don’t know. I swear. Honest.”

“Lies.”

The tightening intensified. Jisung felt like he was nearly going to burst.

That’s when he’d gotten the idea.

“Y-Your right! I lied! I know where she is!”

The moment he was let go Jisung gasped for breath, grateful as the heavy sinking feeling of doom left his vacant bones. Hyunjin blinked once, twice before narrowing his eyes again, taking a careful step back.

“...I knew you were lying to me. Where is she?”

After holding up his hand for breath, his shadow slowly looked up from his knees, straightening and readjusting his strange, stretchy cufflinks of the hooded cloak he wore. “She’s lying dormant somewhere. I can get her for you.”

“Where?”

“Under...erm,” He awkwardly coughed. “...O-Over that way...out yonder.”

Hyunjin didn’t seem very keen on the way his servant waved his hand dismissively in the random direction of “out yonder”.

But it was a risk he was willing to take. He was desperate. Three more days and...and…

“Fine,” he answered at last, lavishly turning his cape away from him to pace towards the half-opened window. “You have until sunrise to bring her to me. I won’t wait a moment longer.”

“Wha?! But she--”

“Fine! Twenty-four hours. And you better return with the right one, or else.”

He gave a precise gaze over the slender curve of his princely shoulders, and that was all it took for his shadow to sink out of sight into the folds of stone-pressed cement below, the clouds blotting out the last rays of moonlight around them.

»»————-　♡　————-««

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

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imtryingthisout · 5 years ago

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Midnight Snacks

[Based on @nachosforfree Au @sanderssides-magicalgirlau ]

[warnings: flashbacks, refrences to past abuse, unreliable narrator, unsympathetic/evil Patton]

The apartment they lived in was modest and modern. With two large sunburst style windows that let in pale streams of moonlight into the kitchen. The silvery shadows reflected off the cool marble tile and illuminated the layout without the need to turn on the overhead lights. Which was well and good since Virgil didn’t have the energy to bother doing so.

He crept in on the balls of his feet as to minimize sound. Quiet as he could be he slowly made his way into the room- constantly looking over his shoulder, shadows swirling around his hands and feet ready to transport him away at the first sign of danger.

He was hungry, the small stash of food he had squirreled away had ran out. Leaving Patton’s room when he was asleep was always nerve racking, but there was only so many hours he could stare at the ceiling before the queasiness in his stomach became too much to bare.

(He didn’t have a room to himself here- no safe recluse or small closet to hide away in when everything became too much to bare. Just a corner in Patton’s room that he claimed. That could always be taken away.)

(Patton claimed it was like an eternal sleepover when he first came-he always wanted Virgil near by- and who wouldn’t want to room with their Best Friend? )

(He hasn’t felt like Patton’s Best Friend in a long time )

(Will he ever again?)

He was mentally praying to every God under the stars that no one was awake- he couldn’t handle getting caught by Wrath or one of the others. Dragon Witch maybe, but she would always give him this pitying look that made him think of—

Dee had the same eyes and pinched expression how did they never figure out—

Something unimportant. He couldn’t remember, but it would leave a guilty feeling in his gut for days afterwards.

He opened the fridge as slowly as humanly possible, cringing at every noise it produced. The chemical bright light emitting from the inside was harsh, and Virgil had to blink to adjust to it. But soon enough he began mechanically picking through the leftovers and forgotten meals. Never taking enough to be noticeable. To be gluttonous.

(No wonder he was losing so much weight so quickly, he’d be as skinny as Remus if he kept it up. )

(Wait who’s Remus?)

He stuffed the stolen goods into the lining of his hoodie, his pockets, under his shirt, anywhere he could really. If he rationed it right he could make it last a month at least- and it wasn’t like he never got fed. But Patton got so focused sometimes he forgot to get dinner for them both. And the others didn’t really trust him (or like him) enough to share their meals. Satisfied with his prize he was about to turn to leave when-

The lights flicked on.

The lights flicked on and Virgil froze.

The lights flicked on and Virgil was filled with pure terror.

He could see a shocked pair of (blue, cold like a frozen lake) staring at him in shock (and anger he was angrier all the time now, his saccharine sweetness barley masking the mania underneath). The figure was cloaked in the shadows of the doorway. It froze for a second before making it way toward Virgil.

“Pat” he begged, his body shaking so violently it was hard to stand. So he fell. His knees hitting the smooth tile with a resounding thud. “Pat- I’m sorry I was just so hungry- no please, no I’d never leave you I’m sorry for making you worry. I’m sorry, I’ll go back to bed, I’m sorry- please don’t I’m sorry”

Virgil felt himself being lifted from his kneeling position, but it was a distant knowing. His head placed in someone’s lap. “Oh baby” a voice murmured, stroking his hair. Virgil felt his heart plummet- Patton only got this affectionate when he was really- really mad. And when he was really-really mad he got—

Virgil curled into himself, trying to shield his stomach with his arms and legs. A broken bone could heal but if an organ was damaged he doubted he could walk it off. “I’ll be good, please don’t, no-stop! I promise. I’ll be better, please”

The hands on his head and back started rubbing gentle circles- and Virgil let out a choked sob.

The voice wanted him to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t look into the face of his friend, his brother, couldn’t accept the reality that he couldn’t remember his (ex) friends faces. That he had nowhere to go. That he was going to get hurt by someone he loved so thoroughly and completely that the thought of leaving was inconceivable. Hands lifted his face from the fabric he was burying himself in, gently caressing his chin and cheeks.

—-roughly pulled at his hair. So hard Virgil could feel hair being ripped from his scalp—

-Please no stop it hurts I don’t want it I’ll be better please no I’d never leave you stop please I promise-

—-Grabbing his neck possessively, crushing his windpipe. So tight he couldn’t breath couldn’t breath can’t breathe —

Gasping for air, his chest convoluting spasticity. He pawed starts himself trying to get the imaginary hands off of him. He needed air.

Someone tried to grab his arms to stop his clawing. Tried to hold him in place in their chest. Virgil struggles more and more till the damn broke and he could finally breathe in the sweet scent of roses, charcoal and petrichor.

Wait what?

Patton had many things, but he did not own the rosey perfume that Diana Anxiti favored. He did not have the feeling of static and rainfall that laid underneath whatever fragrance she wore, no matter how much she put on, there was always a smokey undertone.

“Mom?” Virgil croaked out, looking up, and sure enough there was the face of his mother.

Diana has spent years training her senses as a magical girl, so when she heard someone moving about in the Kitchen, she went to investigate. Most likely it was Andy coming to get a late-night snack. She never thought she would see her eldest child slinking about, never thought she would have to hear him begging for mercy to someone not there.

“That’s right baby, I’m here,” her voice was deep and rich like honey seeping into the wounds of his soul. “Do you know where you are Virgil?”

Where was he? “I’m… home?” He wagered, his mom must have heard the uncertainty in his voice. “Mhm do you know where that is?”

(Home had been synonymous with Patton’s embrace. Holding his hand at the playground, drying his tears after a nightmare. Later home became him and his team, Disney marathons. Ranting with Dee and Logan. Laughing at the twins antics. Home was his and Remy’s coffee-scented backroom- stolen kisses and witty banter. Home had never been a place for Virgil)

“Your house.. I’m at your house. In the kitchen.”’

“That’s right baby. Can you tell me why you’re in the kitchen?”

“I woke up hungry, and then I was- I was back there. What happened Mom? What happened to us?”

Diana had felt much pain in her life. Injuries after Villain fights, having to bury her mother and father, waking up to find her husband had disappeared without even a note explaining why. Yet none could quite compare to watching the boy she had accepted into her home, had loved as her own flesh and blood, become the person he was. The person who hurt her son.

She cradled her eldest child against her, like she did when he was nothing more than a mere babe, and tried to gift him some comfort.

“Sometimes people aren’t who we think they are baby, that maybe they never where, and sometimes we gotta learn to let them go”

She hasn’t married young, wanting to continue her career as the herald of the night for as long as possible. But she fell in love fast, fast and quick, with a man she thought she knew. Thought she made a family with.

But he vanished like a phantom, yet his echoes still lingered, he and her little blue eyed boy still haunted her home and heart even after she tried to scrub both of them away.

Dawn would break upon the horizon, blazing strands of orange and pink would stream through the window, painting the room in their vibrant hues. And mother and son would still be locked in pieta-c embrace, trying to find solace in each other’s arms from the cruel world that lay outside their door.

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h-e-l-l-b-r-o-k-e · 5 years ago

Text

Holding Back The Fool Again [B. Hargrove x you]

Series: part 2 of Galapogos

Summary: This is Billy’s definition of extending an olive branch. Screwed and without shrewdness, kind of like him.

Inspiration: Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins (1995) in its entirety.

Word Count: 3073 Warnings: profanity, angst, and mentions of abuse.

Written Date: 07/24-31/2019 Posted Date: 8/1/2019

[PART 1]< >[PART 2]

“Hey.”

He’s not sure if the breathy sigh actually left his lips or if the rustling leaves toyed with his ears. What he does know for sure is that there’s a cool moisture on his upper lip, the impressive one-fifty he lifts is still no challenge to the old tree outside your window, and that even with sleep-mussed hair you’ve never looked better.

The rays of the sun kiss his skin, warming him up to the bone as if home is trying to plunge some needed coaxing through his thick skull. The sun knows he ran once; any discouragement will send him running again. It’s the way God carved Billy’s mechanics—inside the tough exterior is just a lost boy, a coward who’s on the verge of finally having enough of what’s been granted to him before he could even form a coherent sentence.

A reflection bounces off his Virgin Mary pendant, flashing threateningly close to your pupils. It’s the universe giving him a clue that if there’s ever the right time to make eye contact with the one you love, it’s now. Now, in what could be the final moment he has to prove to himself that he isn’t the man his father said he is and prove to you that he’s not just another copy-cat of David.

Is Billy another David? When he first came to your little town, you would have said yes. When you started riding in his Camaro and showing up to social events with his arm around your waist, David hardly crossed your mind. Now? You aren’t so sure, about anything. You don’t even know why you haven’t slammed the window on his gorgeous face. Your best friend Judilyn would have, so what’s stopping you?

Billy Hargrove has never been a perfect suitor. For heavens sake, the heroism he displayed when he saved your camera was soon followed by insulting you on your first date. And, Billy Hargrove’s relationship skills sometimes make you wonder why he’s even with you, or you with him. He has terrible mood swings, sometimes pushing you away so that he can have some time to himself to lift weights and not have a “woman nag at him all the time.” As if he’s not the one who clings onto you about seventy-percent out of a hundred.

He smokes so much that it has created a force-field around him, made up of cancerous fumes. You swear you’ve never inhaled as much second-hand smoke before getting to know him. The smell penetrates into your hair, your wardrobe, and soon your parents water bills were raising through the roof. After your parents started lecturing you and the scent of nicotine made a surprise appearance in your sheets, you had to lay down some strict rules: Billy can no longer smoke with the windows rolled up, Billy can no longer smoke half-an-hour before entering your house, and Billy had to promise to cut back. Not just for your sake, but his as well.

You’re not an unrealistic idiot though. You’ve seen this addiction before with your own grandfather. You’ve seen the continuous cycle of grandpa crushing the cigarette box in his hands and throwing it out only for you to find fresh cigarettes littered in your grandma’s rose bushes the next week. So, it’s not hard to imagine Billy sparking up an extra cancer stick before he’s supposed to meet with you. Especially when he comes over with an extra spritz of cologne and Binaca spearmint masking his breath.

But, as the breeze tickles your nose and wraps loosely around his dirty-blond curls in gentle tugs, you cannot detect the toxic bubble that embraces him. Nor the hours old musk of his favorite Pour Homme, but just the basic nature of the body detoxifying.

He’s here, without the calming of his disgusting addiction nor the courage of a strong drink on his breath.

And his voice.

You’ve never heard it so…without its punch of beef-packed testosterone, without the fresh singe of tobacco on his vocal cords. So helpless. So vulnerable. So unlike Billy. But, it’s been inside him all along, waiting to be pulled apart by willing hands. Hands willing to tear apart his skeleton, push past the muck of sticky blood and pulsing intestines, and cradle the most important organ of all.

And he thinks he’s felt—still feels—that pleasant pain of guts being twisted and torn apart whenever you’re around to mindlessly play with his fingers while you two watch a rented movie. To call out on his bullshit when anger either makes him too quiet or too loud. To wrap your arms around him when his father’s had swung the hour before just because Billy had forgotten to pick up one fucking gallon of milk.

Earlier that day when everyone was beginning to gather around in the school’s parking lot to see who’d win the fight between Billy and David, love’s affliction was still harshly pulling at his heart strings. And only when you’d hit the ground was it slowly being replaced by something else—a cold numbing from a lidocaine needle.

He wants to shake off this empty, suffocating, cushionless envelop made by the devil, and repent under your plum-like palms. Repent until you stop looking at him like he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

He’s Billy, and he’ll always be your Billy. But, maybe that only makes it scarier.

The telephone downstairs begins to ring again—you’ve since disconnected yours after just minutes of continuous phone call after the other. You turn to face your bedroom door in temptation, looking past polaroids and the photographs that Jonathan had taught you to develop in the dark room. Memories of you with Judilyn and your group of friends. Moments in time of you and Billy’s blossoming relationship, featuring his douchy friends. All taped along the smooth surface.

Your fingertips get ready to push off the lower sash of the window.

“Please.”

You turn your head back to Billy.

He licks his pink lips and parts them again. “Don’t leave.”

“Why?” You immediately flinch at the croak in your voice. This isn’t how you imagined the confrontation with Billy to go. Actually, you somehow just thought you’d live in your bed forever with your teddy bear and Billy would fall off the face of the earth.

Instead, he’s just outside your window with bits of bark under his fingernails and the setting sun casting a halo around his crown. The whole view is a magnificent renaissance painting; every detail crafted with expertise and purpose, such as the way pink creeps up on the clouds and how you can count every freckle on Billy’s face.

Yet, you cannot find any of this to mean something. Not when classmates you barely talk to are keeping your line busy just to check up on you while he can’t even form the words that are caught in his throat.

His eyes study the inflamed skin of your palms then cut to the smudges that trail along the side of your right thigh. Through clenched teeth, he sucks in a breath of air. “Can I come in?”

You pause for a moment, even though you hadn’t expected anything else after he decided to claw his way up your window with far less grace than Judilyn’s ladder method (or your ex-boyfriend’s favorite: pounding his fists on your front door at two in the morning and waking up the entire house). Your finger tips weigh the odds by tapping on the painted wood, and only when you take a couple steps away from the window does Billy’s glistening pecks gently deflate.

The poodle designs on your sock-clad feet are more interesting than Billy as he extends a long leg through the opening, or so you convince yourself. But you don’t have to watch him to know that Billy’s glancing around your neat bedroom, checking for ripped up photographs or thrown mixed tapes—any sign that tells him that you’ve terminated things on your end of the hemisphere.

The only thing out of place, as he’s come to conclude, are the messed up sheets. The flannel is crinkled in a way that he’s familiar with; he’d never tell anyone that he’s had his fair share of finding comfort between blankets without a girl writhing in pleasure beneath him. Billy can almost picture you on your side with your knees tucked into your chest and your chin to your neck—he’d rather not focus on that.

You’re still standing by your mirror with eyelashes hiding the prettiest pair of irises he’d come across in Hawkins.

Billy’s never understood your damn patience. There was this time when Billy had walked the couple extra yards from your locker to yearbook class to pick you up for lunch, and he’d walked in on Pam Dubinsky giving you backhanded compliments on your poster designs for the new yearbook while you had stood there without saying a word. He knew about the countless hours you’d spent on your bedroom floor sketching up clever concepts while he would drift off and on on your plush mattress, and he knew all that hard work wasn’t just for some jealous bitch to tell you that her’s was better.

He had taken some loud steps forward and his tongue had been ready to snap away at her when you calmly raised your hand at him, prompting him from getting any closer and intervening, and kindly told the girl who had slept with your ex-boyfriend that no one would appreciate an amateur design on their yearbooks, especially not after such a long school year and that Pam should think about David—mediocre head and a mediocre yearbook? Talk about heartbreak.

It took so much of Billy to keep from laughing and humiliating that bitch any further, but above that he was proud of you for sticking up for yourself without sinking to her level. Malice disguised as a sugar cane had become his new favorite flavor.

Except, he quickly learned that your patience combined with his drastic mood swings brought him an unfamiliar peace that frustrates him just as much. He knows how to spurt out insults and give and receive bruises—that’s easy; that’s second-nature. But, keeping his ears from turning red and his breath under control is a whole other field. How does anyone do that?

But then you sniffle, and he realizes your shoulders are trembling as your hands struggle to clasp together. You’re not just waiting for him to make the first move, but you’re cowering. Over the fact that Billy’s so fucking reckless. Over the fact that Judilyn and your other friends were right, that Billy isn’t capable of anything but serving you pain as dessert on a silver platter. Over the fact that Billy’s anger can blind him of your presence, and has caused him to put his hands on you. Over the fact that just his puppy eyes alone can throw out your free will, and allow him into your bedroom. Over the fact that you’re still willing to hear him out.

“Prove to her that everyone in this shithole is wrong about you.”

Max’s voice still rings clearly in his head, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. At least not while you shrink into yourself in front of your mirror, but he’s trying to look on the bright side for once: you’re blocking his crumbling tower.

His mouth is so parched that swallowing proves worthless, but he knows he has to keep pushing. The photographs on your door call back to him, and his head rolls on his shoulders towards them.

“Do you remember when your dad almost caught me hiding in your closet?”

Your gaze on the carpet shifts a little closer to him.

A smile almost touches his lips. “You would’ve gotten in trouble if you didn’t have that Mount Everest of stuffed animals piled in there to hide me.”

The stuffed animals from your childhood had been the last thing you wanted Billy to discover about you. You had decided to donate most of them at the local Goodwill on your thirteen birthday, but your sentimental attachment to them kept you from tossing them every time. So you kept them hidden in your closet like a dirty secret, and had meant to never let the tough Billy find them. You were mortified that he’d think you were just some innocent little girl and that he wouldn’t want to be with you anymore, but he didn’t care. Sure it was a little funny, but he revealed he still had a little brown bear of his own that his mother gave him when he was six in his underwear drawer.

“Or that time when my boxers somehow got inside your hamper and your mom washed them, thinking they were your brother’s?” Billy holds in a chuckle. “And your brother was too dumb to realize they weren’t his and wore them for like a week straight.”

A sound leaves your throat. Half-giggle. Half-sob. It’s hard to differentiate whether that’s good or bad. The back of your wrist meets your nose, rubbing softly.

“There was also that one time when no one but Max and Judy knew we had skipped town for a couple days to go see Quiet Riot in Indianapolis,” he scans a particular Polaroid snap shot that was taken at the motel pool, “All we could afford was one night in some sleazy motel room, eating greasy fast food.” He looks at you again, “It was worth it. Never thought you could make a shitty mattress comfortable.”

The corner of your chapped lips tugs up. “Your chest does makes a great pillow, Hargrove.”

The shy smile is gone sooner than it appeared.

His torso appears in front of you as his warm palms find their way to your hair. Thumbs wipe away the sticky streaks on your rosy cheeks, and then gently caresses them.

He wants you to really look at him, but he finds it a small victory when you don’t duck beneath his arms as he envelops you in a desperate hold. When you don’t pull away after he buries his face in your neck. And when you don’t push him away after you hear him suck back the gunk that’s formed in his stuffed nose nor when something wet drips onto your bare collar bones.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is muffled into your shoulder.

Billy knows that your parents have been away, and he guesses by the missing Mustang in your driveway that your older brother must be down at the run-down waterhole with a couple of pig-headed buddies, so he’d been expecting your house to be devoid of its usual mumbling and lively noises that is such an integral part of it. He’d been relieved at first because that meant he wouldn’t have to deal with your angry parents or a careless-yet-overprotective brother, but now that you are keeping quiet Billy has nothing to grasp onto except this energy that’s barely hanging onto life support between you two.

Billy squeezes you a little tighter, praying that you somehow absorb his thoughts, his guilt, his regret, his love, and his fear. “Okay? I’m sorry for…being a piece of shit. I never meant for that to happen—never dreamt of it.”

The saltiness settles on his taste buds. “I promise I’m not David—I’m not my fucking father.”

Your finger nails run up his spine until they’re digging into the curls on the back of his neck. “I know.”

After just moments of softly scratching his scalp, you pull away and bring your arms into your ribs. The apology is left in the stale air around the two of you, but Billy doesn’t blame you. Lord knows that he’d never forgive his father even if he crawled through hell and back and begged him.

Billy untangles your arms from beneath your chest and leads you into the bathroom down the hall with every intention on washing away every negative emotion down the drain, “Come on, I’m gonna take care of you.”

This reluctance that stops you from letting go of the events that transpired in the parking lot is a million time better than being left to choke on the dust of drifting tires. If anything, Billy accepts this as a start in restoring what once was. Your patience taught him that much.

As the cascading water heats up and clothes hit the tiles one by one, Billy swears to himself that the fool inside him will not be in charge of steering the outcome that involves you. And as he takes a washcloth and some Dove soap to your palms, he promises to you he’ll never give you another reason to silence the ugly snort he fell in love with.

Fin.

To everyone who requested a part 2: @whatthefuckkrichard @basic-fragment @toobsessedsstuff @nightshade7117 @banannie25

A/N: This series has quickly turned into a sort of love note to the album Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins (1995). Give it a listen; it’s so rich and poetic and fit for everyone’s tastes. And, it’s only 28 songs! Anywho, feedback is strongly appreciated. I tried to keep a similar style of narrative as the previous one but struggled to come up with something both realistic and satisfying. Hope I did it justice.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #billy x reader

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larpwhump · 5 years ago

Text

Saving Bambi

@highheelsinblood and I RP a couple of OCs... Here is some canon RP that happened in FB messenger. Its a little choppy to read because it was back and forth while we both worked our day-jobs. This is not a masterpiece written by a single writer. Its an Excerpt from a scene. This deserves a bunch of content warnings but its mostly psychological, emotional and physical abuse/torture. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She goes downstairs towards the kitchen, and James can hear soft, whimpering prayers in a woman's voice, begging for mercy. Lizzy walks in behind the cowering Rover. "Grab her, Noah,” she orders, still using his middle name as his first. He stands there, processing He had already eaten. She's so young and innocent. she’s not running or fighting. . . just praying. Lizzy side eyes him, lets go of his hand, and leans over to whisper, "If you want that collar off in the next month, you'll grab her." James groans audibly and stiffens a moment in thought. "I’m sorry," he whispers to the young lady as he grabs her firmly by her forearms. He lifts her from her crouched position, holding her firm to try to keep her from struggling too much. She's only crying now, James catches the end of her prayer to the Lord Commander as she's pulled to her feet. Lizzy's got a knife out, and approaches them both. "Chin up, darling,” she coos to the freckled woman. “At least you're not being eaten alive. "Eliz. . . ELizabeth. . . ." he stammers as he catches the end of her prayer. “We . . . I. . . She’s of my faith." He passes truly pathetic and concerned eyes back and forth between the women. Elizabeth just stares at him. "What do I care?" Her hand twitches, and her knife flies across the woman's throat. The brown-haired woman gasps, leans against James before collapsing to the floor, choking on her own blood for air. "NO!" James howls as he sees the blood. "Please! Elizabeth help her! Please! I’ll wear the collar! I'll bleed for her! Let me bleed for her Elizabeth, please!" He lays the girl down so he can apply pressure to her neck wound. He can first aid her with the collar on, but that is the extent of his capacity while this horrible “tourniquet” cuts him off from his divinity. "Please God. . . I. . . " She's still alive, choking, blood is bubbling up from her wound, she's grabbing at Dire with tiny, desperate fingers, begging with her big doe eyes for help. She can't be older than Hope. "Would you have cared if she was Darwin? Seasons? Faithless?" Lizzy kicks James in the head, hard. James falls sideways with the hard kick, it knocks him into a slight daze, interrupting the aid he was trying to give the girl. However, he just scrambles back up to try and help her again, shaking. "No. I wouldn’t have. . . I wouldn’t have cared. But I’m a priest, Elizabeth. And a Nation. She’s my responsibility!" "No, she's not." Lizzy grabs him by the edge of the collar and drags him back away from her, out of reach. She can feel the spikes inside the collar twisting inside the muscles of his neck as she pulls. He howls in emotional agony. He tries to claw back to the Rover. "Elizabeth! Please! I’ll bleed for her! Let me save her!” Lizzy pulls on his collar again, and forces him to look up at her, green eyes to empty ones. "You forget who you belong to, pet. Remind me." James scowls at her. His fear turning to anger. He was mad at her. "Does she DESERVE this, Gatekeeper?” "She might,” she says without flinching at his snarls. “You don't know. But she's a witness." He’s still pissed. "Fix. Her." She's grinning down at him as he tries to make demands of her, hovering within headbutt distance of his face. "Are you bartering?" "No. I’m not. Fix her! Now!" It's a flashback? He hasn’t been demanding in the 50 or so weeks he's been there. He's been so subservient, worried about his own hide and religious experience. Worried about Elizabeth and her well being. . . but not now. He was obviously ready to be a shit. There’s a moment of silence as Bambi continues to struggle to hang onto her life. ". . . You'll owe me. Are you ready to accept that?" He doesn’t hesitate. "Yes." Lizzy undoes the pin, and releases the collar off him without mercy for his wounds. "Fix her yourself," she says, letting the spiked collar swing in her red fingers. Removing of the collar used to put him under for minutes. But these days it’s turned more into a blinding head pain. His vision is flooded with white hot searing agony. He screams as he’s freed. Blood spurts in tiny streams down his neck chest and back. He scrambles to the rover, crawling and nearly blinded in his pain. He had lost track of time. James wasn't sure if he had time for first aid. He needed to call her. His vision and mind slowly returned. Blood dripped from him and onto the young Fallow. He had a feeling if he called, he may not be allowed to pray afterwards. He hoped it wasn't true. "If it is the Lord’s will, you shall be healed" A floodgate's worth of white static flows out of his hands, over her body, her neck. It stitches closed her skin, returns to the color it was. She starts to hyperventilate from the shock of it all, but she's alive. She clings onto his pant legs, crying, thanking God for him. He pulls her to him. Embracing her as she sobs. "I’m sorry, child. The Lord sees you. The Lord loves you." He only gets a moment before Lizzy speaks again. "Come here, child." Lizzy's voice is cold, even. James doesn't let go. He's scared. The Rover doesn't want to let go, but she does stand up, shaking more than a newborn fawn, holding onto James. "You realize how lucky you are?” Elizabeth coos at her as she shakes. “A Priest of your God was here. He's going to suffer greatly for what he did." The Rover hasn't stopped crying. "Now, go upstairs and clean up. If you run, you'll regret it. If you try to hurt me, you'll regret it. You'll have money each week for doing as I say, without question or comment. Understand, child?" ”. . . Bambi. "Lizzy cocks her head to the side. "Is that your name? Bambi?" "Yes, mi-miss." "Fine. Bambi, go clean. Say goodbye to your Priest." James hugs the young Fallow almost immediately, trying to shield Bambi from Lizzy’s cold rage. "If you don't cause trouble, Bambi, everything will be okay.” She nods, trying to smile for him; there's still so much blood on her. "Move it," Lizzy snaps at James’ back. Bambi reluctantly leaves, going back upstairs, hugging her blood-soaked clothes. Lizzy watches her go, and then turns to look at James. "There's a bonesaw in this kitchen. Find it." He nods, his air of submission returning. He begins by scanning with his eyes. Making sure it's not just sitting out. Then he moves, opening drawers and cabinets. It's not hiding from him - it's tucked in with a bunch of other kitchen knives. It's seen better days, but the blade is still sharp. He imagined all the harm that could be done with a simple saw. He was tired but he feared he’d earned no rest. James grabs the bonesaw, turns, and returns to his captor. She takes it from him, pushing him back towards the table, where remnants of cake and ice cream still rest. Putting her hand on the back of his head, she smashes him into the wood, knocking the food off the table. "Errrhmgh." He moans as he leans to one side. His wings flap out as his knees threaten to give way. Wobbling from pain, his head felt like it was splitting. She pulls his head back, and clamps the collar back around his neck, forcefully. Spikes slide into the meat of his neck, two large ones pinching against his spine. "I don't want you to fix what I'm about to do to you." Lizzy hisses in his ear, and she slams his head on the table again. His eyes widen with fear and confusion as she locks it on again. The previous holes from the spikes still faintly trickling as the flesh is ripped again. He wails from the pain but only for a moment before his head is slammed a second time. James consciousness fluttered as his upper body rested against the table. His vision blurred and darkness crept in from the corners. Once he settles, Lizzy pulls out the bonesaw, and grabs his wing at the base, yanking on it hard, nails digging in. He moved with her force, clinging to the table edge. He lies tense, his forehead resting against the wood."Honestly, you don't really need these if you're going to act in your best interest over your Gatekeeper's." He speaks between sobs as he feels her manhandling his new appendage. "You, you think that’s what happened?" His head feels like it was crammed full of broken glass. It felt like splitting and cutting when he moved his eyes. His vision still wobbling, threatening to make him motion sick. He slams his eyes shut. Trying to ease his symptoms. "You have a different viewpoint?" She starts to saw into the fragile bones of his wings, feeling them crack and splinter under her fingers. His feet begin flail as gives her short yelps of pain and groaning between long bouts of held breath. He speaks but the tone sounds like begging. "You weren't sure if she deserved it! I wanted to protect us all. Please Elizabeth, I just didn’t want you to kill a Fallow! " More shock and pain floods his voice "You’re doing God’s work!" Elizabeth has nothing to say to James as he screams and hollers. Wings are delicate, and she finally starts to rips one away, pulling flesh and muscle with it as she tears the wing free. Long tendons pull free as she yanks on his wing. It feels like the tendril of white fiber was pulled from deep in his back muscles. Horrific pain had him arching and wincing, But she was only half done. The wing flops onto the floor, where Bambi's blood was starting to dry, and Lizzy leans over James to speak in his ear. James' eyes well. He doesn't know if the severing hurts more, or the intent. She was so upset with him. She thought him undeserving of his blessing. Perhaps he was. Mostly he credited this mess to his behavior in regard to Credence, Bambi’s previous employer. If he had just stopped. . . there would be no crime. no witness. no corpse in the dining room upstairs. "Consider this the beginning of your penance to me," Elizabeth whispers, showing the bloody saw in her hand. His face crunches up in fear and pain as she comes close to his face, He leans his head away, trying not to sob at her. "I'm sorry I killed Creedence, Gatekeeper! I'm Sorry!" He blubbers "I shall repent. Take penance from my flesh!" His voice is hitched and wet. Elizabeth scoffs at him. "Credence was a dead man as soon as he pulled a gun on me. That's not your sin, James." The saw makes one long, agonizingly slow stroke across his other wing. "You're pathetic." The chatter of the saw's teeth against his hollow bone is so different than how it felt on his other bones. He could feel them splintering. When the blade makes a crack in the bone, he can feel the fracture spread up his wing like breaking glass.The crunching and cutting has him squirming. he can’t hold still for her, and James tries to plea instead. "I don't understand Gatekeeper! Please! She's of my faith, I can't abandon her! It's in my blood!” "Some stranger prays to your God and she's suddenly more important than me,” Elizabeth hisses. “I understand, Dire. I fucking understand." She saws again, and again, ripping serrated blade through flesh and bone, tearing it away from his body. His scream sound more like sobs as he curls up, his second wing ripping away slowly. He doesn't know what to do with his hands so he puts one gently against her without looking. Hes feeling her with tense fingers, occasionally griping at clothes, releasing and moving elsewhere to pat at her. "I'm sorry! I understand! I understand now, Gatekeeper!" His head still wanted to explode, the pain pressing hard inside his skull. His back was soaked in his own blood, warm and slippery. "Allow me to correct this!" He's desperate. He doesn't want to spend more days with her upset at him. It makes everything so hard. She had just stopped starving him, but he suspected she would go right back to it considering the events of the day. "I'll, I’ll kill her! I’ll do it for you!" "No you won't. She's gonna stay here now, and I'll work her, and use her as I see fit." Lizzy pauses her work - she's almost done - to grab James by the chin chains and tug. "She's going to see Hell itself and it'll be your fault." He manages to open his eyes and look at her as she yanked his scruffy beard and chin chains. Hes silent - listening. his brows just furrow pathetically. Once she lets go and moves again, he pipes up, "NO PLEASE! I made a mistake, I see now!" Lizzy isn't listening, but the saw goes through one last time, severing his wing completely. It bleeds profusely, and she tosses it away."How about you just lay there for a bit, pet." There's venom in her voice. James whimpers at her, his crimson painting the kitchen red. it pools and drips in long dark strings. Even with his eyes tightly closed, he can feel the room spinning. He didn’t have any strength to argue another word."Yes, Gatekeeper." He replies weakly, trying to relax his shuddering body. He wished for angels. He prayed, to the only entity with more power than the Gatekeeper, to give him mercy. . . He knew God Wouldn’t. God was firmly in Elizabeth's camp. Lizzy lights a pair of candles, puts them aside, at the edge of James' vision. "You're not entirely grasping the situation here, are you?" James doesn't say anything. He slightly shakes his head. He never really did grasp anything. He couldn't imagine how she felt, he must be so infuriating. "You decided that your duty as a Priest was more important than my safety. That's the situation." She's holding a knife over the flame, letting James watch. He wanted to argue, to articulate his thoughts but he could feel himself giving up . . . what good was it really? He wanted to just lay there and take it, or die, or whatever he deserved. . . but, If he did, she might think that's how he saw it. That he didn't care about her safety. It wasn't true and she needed to know it. "Elizabeth. that's not how I saw it. . . " he speaks in barely more than a whisper, "You're strong, and brave, this house has so many locks. I’m here. . . I’m here to protect you if she had returned. . . She wouldn’t return Elizabeth. She wasn't going to try to save me, she just wants to go hom--" "You don't know that!" Lizzy slams her fist into a puddle of blood on the table, screaming. "Dead people don't tell secrets, if she had gone home and told somebody, how many more do you think would have come back? How many people do you think want to stick a knife in me?!” "Elizabeth. . . no one cares about us." He blinks at her with wet eyes. She slams her fist on the table again. And again. The knife is in her hands, and she's standing back over James, pushing his collar into his neck even further with her free hand. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" James feels the spikes digging deep as she pushes. Grinding the collar deep and pushing his head into the table. The knife stabs into his wing holes, hot and burning as she goes, screaming and making more holes in him. He tenses wildly as the knife finds him. over and over. Thoughts are melting away from him, stolen by pain and grief. He grips the edges of the table as she plunges the knife into him. The burning of the blade slows the pace of blood-loss, but the flesh is seared. He feels fluid forming in his left lung and he rattles a cough, letting the blood leak from his lips Lizzy screeches and flings the knife away, letting it bang on the wall of the kitchen, and she lets go of James. "Fuck you! You don't know anything!" "I. . . " He coughs again. It's painful in the collar. He buries his face between his own shoulder and the table, his grip still tight on the table. ". . . care, Elizabeth." He doesn't figure she could hear him, he's not even sure he said it out loud. He wept from pain and exhaustion into the table, traces of blood tasted like bitter copper. She doesn't seem to hear him at first, and slams her fist on the table again. "IF YOU CARED YOU WOULDN'T HAVE LEFT!" James flinches as she bangs around, he doesn't jerk much though, he just doesn't have it in him. He lifts his head a bit when she screams. His head wobbles as he tries to look back over his shoulder at her. "When?" He asks with empathy in his tone. Lizzy's grabbing her hair now, getting his blood on it, and curling up in the corner, sliding against the wall of the kitchen, screaming and sobbing. "You left you left you left!" James comes to a slow realization. He lowers his head back down. She had done this a few times before. He hated that when he bit back at her it sent her into these episodes. He didn't hate it for the reasons others might. . . he hated it because he was suddenly the reason she suffered. She curls up and stays there on the floor, crying into her arm, holding her tattooed wrist so tight she was losing circulation in her hand. "Come back, come back. . . please. . . please, I'm sorry." James rests a moment, then slides off the table, looking more like jelly than a person. He can't quite stay standing so he slowly melts to the floor and crawls to her, his hands and knees slipping around in his own blood. Red palm prints mark his path to her. Once he gets there, he reaches out slowly. Trying to ease her to his touch, he goes lightly for her shoulder. She flinches, slaps his hand away in shock, yelling again. "Fuck off!" James flinches significantly as she swats him, but he doesn't run. "Elizabeth, Please. Let me console you." Even though his sense of self-preservation screamed at him to leave her be, he couldn't help it. The pain in him - the empathy- had him reaching out a second time. She didn't shove him off this time, just cried for Joseph over and over, cutting into her wrist with her nails. James takes the opportunity and slides on his butt next to her. He works hard to keep his back and stumps off the wall, they were burning him up. He half wraps himself around her, half pulls her to him. He’s being firm but not squeezing her. Raising his chin Dire prays to God on her behalf. Lizzy's curling up under his arms and crying, asking why Joseph left her, why she was alone, why she was damned. Her knuckles were bruising and bloody. James kisses the top of her head. Her hair always smelled good. Clean. like expensive soap. "As long as I live, Elizabeth. . . you will never be alone," he whispers into her scalp as he rocks her slightly. "I'm sorry that Joseph is gone. . . But I won't leave you." hes slow and patient with her. He's not in a hurry for her to dry her eyes. James just holds her to him. Lizzy clings onto him, burying her head under his chin as she cries for her missing husband. “I'm a mess, I'm awful, I don't know how. . . I miss him so much. . . I just. . . I can't. . . " He nods against her head. "I know. I know." he whispers, content to stay there as long as she needed.

#Torture #wing whump #collar #Whump #lady whumper #James and Lizzy #stockholm syndrome #martyr #religious torture #LARP #ocs

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megalony · 6 years ago

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Broken bones

Another imagine to my Ben Hardy series ‘Swimming’ with single dad Ben.

Mentions of abuse, quite a lot of angst.

Taglist: @marshmallowmae @likeit-or-leaveit @they-call-me-peaches @mcrmarvelloki @bensrhapsody

Series masterlist

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

Ben couldn’t breathe.

As his arms wrapped around Emily he felt all the air leaving his lungs, his body feeling like it was floating. This wasn’t the kind of breathlessness that Ben was used to. He was used to the horrible weight in his chest as he couldn’t stop the tears falling from his eyes. The breathlessness that felt like he was sinking underwater with no kind of rescue.

This lack of air was one of the best feelings Ben hadn’t felt for a long while. It came with a tidal wave of relief that made tears of happiness leave his eyes, a kind that Ben never used to experience.

“You did it.” Emily’s words became lost in his ears as her salt tears were collected by his shoulder.

Her arms wrapped tightly around her elder brother’s neck as he lifted her from her feet, holding her tightly to his chest to stop her from disappearing.

A quiet laugh left Ben’s lips as he spun Emily round before setting her back to her feet. His lips pressing to her temple in pure joy. Ben would never have gotten to this stage without his sister walking beside him all the way. Ben owed his life to Emily and he was forever in her debt for all that she had done to save him when it wasn’t her responsibility to do so.

“I’m so proud of you. I have to go and call mum.” Pulling Ben down for another quick hug Emily rubbed her hand up and down his back before pulling away. Walking down the corridor as she got her phone from her pocket ready to call their parents to deliver the good news.

Ben has been granted full custody of Lola. His ex had no claim over her and was not granted any rights to see or be with Lola at all. She couldn’t go within reach of Ben or his girl.

Both Ben and Emily felt slight guilt for their parents because the siblings had made a pact that they wouldn’t tell their parents the absolute truth. Ben had made Emily promise that she wouldn’t tell their mother anything about the abuse he had suffered. He knew her heart would shatter if she knew what he had gone through and deep down Emily knew it was the right thing to do. They didn’t want to cause unnecessary pain for their parents.

But this meant that they both had to create a few lies here and there. They had to stretch the truth so that they wouldn’t be confused or suspicious about Ben needing full custody.

All Ben wanted now was to go home. He wanted to go and see his parents and get his little girl who was staying with them and had been during the days of the trial. Emily went down with Ben to court and their parents looked after Lola until they came home in the afternoon. Now he could take his daughter home and not have to fight to keep her with him or worry about her safety.

Pulling his phone from his pocket Ben sent a quick text to Joe who had asked to be informed of the outcome although he was certain he knew what it would be. The boys had all said after today they would drag Ben out to celebrate.

A sudden rush of adrenaline fluttered in his chest like a swarm of butterflies when a violent course of shouting reached his ears. His foot began tapping rapidly against the tiled floor out of nervous habit when he locked his gaze on the woman he didn’t want to see for the rest of his life. Watching her frame barrelling down the hall to reach him.

Needless to say she wasn’t happy with the results. Her manipulation had done nothing to get her custody of Lola or to gain back any kind of control that she held over Ben. She had lost all the cards she used to have in the game, she had lost and that was something she was never used to happening.

“What have you done?!” She shouted at him, anger burning on her features that were flushed red as tears of frustration rather than pain fell down her face.

Ben wanted her to stop.

He knew that she wanted rights to Lola because that automatically gave her something to hold over Ben in return. She didn’t care for Lola in the way that she should, in the way that he did. He loved every bone of Lola’s body which was more than could be said for the woman standing a few feet in front of him.

He didn’t see why she was still fighting. There was no way for her to get any rights to Lola and acting like she cared wouldn’t change that in any way. The courts had agreed she couldn’t be near Lola because of her violent and abusive nature which had affected Ben for two years. They also said that she needed to be cautioned and observed because she had hurt Ben too many times and got away with it.

What was she going to achieve by shouting at him when the battle for her was already lost?

“You’ve taken her away from me! I’m her mother-“

“You can’t keep doing this. She has me, and that’s it that’s all she needs. You can’t do this anymore you have to stop.” There was no other way for Ben to word this. She needed to leave him alone and try and get on with her life. Ben had been given a fresh start and he intended to make the most of it knowing she couldn’t force her way into his life anymore. The change was starting now.

“I can’t keep doing this? You snatched my daughter from me, you did all this to me. You shouldn’t be with Lola!”

Clenching his hand into a fist Ben tried so hard to stay calm. To stop himself from shouting at her like she was him, to stop from lashing out against her. How could she turn the tables so quickly and imply that Ben was the hard parent? He was the one who loved and cared for Lola, he protected her unlike her so called mother before him.

“The courts declared you unfit not me. They said you can’t be near her, they said I’m a fit parent. And they said that your the abuser so go and tell them this not me.”

“This is all because of you! You kicked me out and hid Lola from me, before you even had the right.” Ben broke off the relationship for his own health and the sake of his daughter. He told her the flat was in his name so he was staying and she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her in to see Lola because he was afraid of what she would do or try to do to either him or his girl. Everything Ben did was to make sure he and his daughter were safe, he didn’t do it to spite her.

“Stop it! You broke my fingers, you cut me and you fractured my arm! You threatened to take my daughter from me, your the abuser. You had no right to do any of that to me.”

Ben had been the one to get hurt, he was the one to suffer abuse at the hands of his partner. He had been forced to stay in the relationship or be faced with not seeing his child again. He had been trapped and abused for too long and now she wasn’t getting her way she was getting mad.

Turning around Ben glanced behind him, trying to scout out his sister knowing they needed to leave now. Staying here and arguing wouldn’t do any good because Ben had no wish to stay and be near his ex. Nothing could be done for her now and he had the right to go and not be in contact with her anymore.

“I want my daughter back!” Stumbling a few steps back Ben ripped his arm from her hold when she suddenly latched onto him. Her tone desperate which he suspected was because she could see Ben wasn’t under her influence or manipulation anymore.

“She’s my daughter not yours!” He snapped back, something he never would have had true nerve to do before now. His eyes burnt holes into her frame as his words ignited the violence in her that sent his blood curdling. His mind screaming as he turned to try and head over to Emily who was just finishing her phone call. He needed to get his sister and get out now. His body didn’t manage two steps away before she had hold of him in a way that was so horridly familiar to Ben that he had to bite back a scream.

His eyes snapped closed when her hand dug into his shoulder close to his neck. Her other hand grabbing his other shoulder digging her nails into his skin making him shiver.

There was no time for Ben to escape her claws and viper grip before she violently threw him to the ground. His body smashing into the arm of the wooden bench a foot or so in front of him causing a groan to escape his lips. His hands scraping against the floor when he collapsed down on his front.

It was as if his mind was sent into panic mode.

As soon as Ben felt himself being cradled by the harsh flooring he curled up. His knees pressing into his stomach as his arms encased themselves to his chest which was beginning to burn and heave. Breathing soon becoming another fight he had to face when he felt like he couldn’t grasp a single breath.

Everything around him switched off as an alarm started blaring in his head. He needed to keep his eyes closed and shut down, if he stayed on the floor he would be alright. Getting up was never something Ben could do because it gave more reason and opportunity for her to push him back down. Something he had learnt from time. If he stayed down he could curl up and wait it out. Lola wasn’t here, he had no reason to try and take the punches and shoves because he didn’t have to get up to defend his girl.

Ben didn’t know how long he had been trying to breathe and block out the world around him. He seemed to come back to reality when Emily’s voice reached his ears.

Her hand gently brushing his face to try and get him to look at her as she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“You’re alright Benny. It’s okay.” Her voice whispered in his ear trying to coax him to relax a little. Emily had seen him in a state of shock similar to this before. He tried to block everything out and sometimes suffered a panic attack in fear of what he was going to be subjected to next. He didn’t need to be afraid now, she had been detained and taken away. There was no danger of Ben getting hurt anymore.

“Ribs.” Ben mumbled, his voice scratchy and hoarse as he knew Emily would know what he was implying. He was unfortunately no stranger to broken bones whether they were by accident or inflicted upon him like this. So Ben knew that the crunching sound was the ribs snapping like mere twigs in his chest. He also knew the grinding sound when he breathed was them scraping against the muscle as they moved uncomfortably in his chest.

Emily helped her brother into a sitting position, watching how he breathed quick and shallow to try and stop the pain. His hand hovering lightly over the wounded area, not pressing directly to the ribs in case it applied more pain.

Doubling over Ben rested his head on his knees that were pulled up. His ears blocking out the sound of Emily starting an argument with a security guard.

She couldn’t stand this.

Ben had been put through torture for two years, spent the past few months in a custody battle to get his abuser out of his life forever. And now they don’t even stop her from approaching him when he had a restraining order on her. She was allowed to walk over, shout at him and then attack him ending in broken bones. Ben was here to get her away from him and his daughter and they allow her actions to continue.

“Em...” Ben groaned out, his eyes locking on her frame as his expression begged her to leave it now. She was fighting all his battles for him and as much as Ben loved her for that, he was tired. He was so tired and this wasn’t worth her energy.

He was hurt but it was the last time. Surely she would be taken to the police station and after today under some kind of surveillance for a while to keep her under control. Ben had won the battle he had come here for, nothing else mattered to him anymore. He just wanted to go home and be with his family and his little girl.

With a sigh Emily turned back and headed over to kneel beside her brother. Her hand rubbing up and down his shoulder as she pressed a kiss to his hair.

“Let’s take you to the doctor.” She mumbled into his curls, gently easing him to his feet.

“We’re going home.” Ben responded causing Emily to frown. What was he talking about? He had just been assaulted, he needed to go and get checked out to make sure just his ribs were damaged and nothing else. And to make sure his ribs were tended to.

“No-“

“Em, I don’t need a doctor’s record anymore for evidence. I know they’re broken and the only thing for it is a bloody tight bandage and painkillers. I want to see my girl.” Ben pleaded, his eyes burning into her own causing her to nod at seeing the pain on his features.

Ben knew that for broken ribs the only help was to wear a tight bandage to keep them in place. He wasn’t waiting in A&E for hours just to get that.

He didn’t need a doctor to check him over and give him a record document of his injuries to use in court anymore. He needed meds and his daughter to make him better.

He had gone through all of this for his safety and for Lola. Now he needed to be with his girl for their fresh start together.

#imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #single dad #dad! ben

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kelyon · 5 years ago

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Golden Cuffs 29: The Thorns

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

The queens take their pleasure on Belle in a most singular fashion

Read on AO3. Please read on AO3, because that’s the version that has italics and I use italics a lot in this chapter. But reblog on Tumblr!

Trigger Warning: Rape and torture, including nonconsensual kissing while someone is asleep. This chapter has thorns, so people who get squeamish around needles and piercings need to proceed with caution. We've also got forced cunnilingus. There is physical torment, bleeding, and verbal abuse throughout.

Even before Belle opened her eyes, her other senses were flooded. Rough iron shackles bit into her wrists. Chains held her down and against the wall. Hunger gnawed at her empty stomach. The iron collar gripped tight around her throat. She felt the coldness of the stone floor she had been sleeping on, felt the aches and discomfort that came from lying there for hours. Between her legs, she felt the heated throb of pain from where her hair had been ripped out the day before.

But on top of all these sensations, all this misery, Belle felt something soft. Warmth brushed against the gooseflesh on her arms. Something featherlight and lovely floated through the tangles in her hair. Still half-asleep, Belle heard a sound, sweet and musical. Someone was humming a tune.

The softness, the ease, traveled over Belle’s body. She felt herself relax and curl out, like a cat napping in the sun.

“That’s a good princess,” a pleasant voice praised her.

Belle felt the warmth against her face, felt the looseness and the comfort overtake her. How good it felt to not hurt anymore, to feel something tender for the first time in so long. Her jaw relaxed and her lips parted and then something hot and foreign was over her mouth and worming its way in between her teeth.

“No!” Belle gave out a muffled cry. She tried to resist, but it was no use. The hands that had been around her, had soothed her and pleased her, now gripped her and forced her to hold still.

Opening her eyes, Belle saw Regina on the other side of the room, sitting at a table laid with food, drinking from a glass of wine. Robed in a gauzy purple dressing gown, the queen did not bother to hide her disgust as she looked at Belle on the floor.

So Maleficent was kissing her now, forcing her to lie still and not resist. Maleficent had been touching her while she slept. Belle closed her eyes and tried to come up with some reality where this was a dream, a nightmare. Surely she would wake up in her cell in Rumpelstiltskin’s castle. Surely this wasn’t real!

But when Maleficent broke the kiss with a loud pop, Belle saw strings of saliva dripping down the woman’s smiling face, and she knew that it was real. This was her life for the next two days, as a plaything for the queens.

“Now why did you have to wake up, princess?” Maleficent kept her hands on Belle as she spoke. Like Regina, she was wearing a dressing gown so sheer that Belle could see the pale outline of her body through the black material. Maleficent shook her head and tutted. “But I suppose princesses always wake up when you kiss them.”

“I keep telling you, she’s not a princess,” Regina declared from her seat. “The stupid toy isn’t royalty or nobility. She’s only the daughter of a landed knight. That’s barely even gentry.”

“Oh, no, my darling,” Maleficent looked at Regina sweetly while still stroking Belle. “Of course she’s a princess! All little girls are princesses, didn’t your mother teach you that?”

Grimacing, Regina stood up. “My mother taught me power only comes from blood. Blood you’re born with or blood you’ve spilled.” She looked down at Belle and sneered. “You don’t have either. You’re nothing!”

Belle looked up at her, too exhausted and unsettled to keep her questions to herself. “Then why are you bothering with me? If I’m so insignificant, why am I even worth torturing?”

“Because you’re Rumple’s sweet nothing,” Maleficent chirped, pulling her into an embrace. “Our Dark One usually plays his cards close to the chest, so when he starts waving around a little ace of hearts like you, well! How could we resist the opportunity to see what makes you so special?”

As subtly as she could, Belle inched herself away from Maleficent’s touch. “What are you finding out?”

“Nothing,” Regina said. “There’s nothing in you that can’t be found in a thousand other pretty girls. Maybe you’re just special because you can tolerate pain, or you can tolerate monsters. Maybe you’re special because you can get off on that sort of thing. Do you like fucking lizards instead of men? Is that why you made a deal to get out of your marriage?”

“No,” Belle said softly.

“Then what is it?” With her bare hand, Regina hit Belle across the ear so hard it made her head spin. “You’re just a stupid girl! You’re a broodmare, just like I was supposed to be! You’re supposed to be bought and sold to a man, for power or money or just because you have no other options!” She hit Belle again, on the other side of her head, and the force was enough to knock her out of Maleficent’s arms.

Maleficent got up off the floor and stood by Regina as the queen grabbed Belle by the hair and pulled her to her feet.

“I had to claw and fight and kill my way out of that life!” Chest heaving, she twisted her fist in Belle’s hair. Belle winced and felt hot tears of pain. “How did you get out of it? How were you saved from a husband? Why should you be so lucky?”

She threw Belle to the ground and turned to Maleficent’s waiting embrace. Belle landed on her side and stayed on the stone floor, breathing deeply through the pain of impact. Blinking back her tears, Belle made herself look at the queens. In Maleficent’s arms, Regina looked strangely small. For the first time, Belle saw their embrace as being not of passion, but of need. That rage she had just encountered had been more genuine than Regina’s other tantrums. It had come from a real pain in her heart. And after her rage, Regina had turned to the other woman for comfort, for reassurance. For love. And Maleficent was giving it.

As she had last night, Belle admired the peculiar affection these women had for each other. They were so in tune with each others needs and desires. Maleficent was so willing to make Regina happy, and Regina was so needful of Maleficent’s steadfast presence. They delighted in each other, and delighted in doing things together, even terrible things.

They would delight in doing terrible things to Belle.

“In case you couldn’t tell,” Maleficent said while Regina composed herself, “we’re going to hurt you tonight.

From the floor, Belle nodded. “I could tell.”

“But first,” Regina’s voice was clear and imperious, “you’re going to beg.” “Beg for mercy?” “Beg for dinner. Aren’t you hungry, child?” Regina was smiling now, her momentary emotions now either passed or hidden. She was a queen again, her regality a flawless mask.

Belle’s lips were dry. She was hungry. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast on the day of the party. That might as well have been a thousand years ago. “I am hungry,” she tried to make her voice sweet and pleading. “Will you please feed me, Your Majesty?”

Smirking, Regina waved her hand. The chains that bound Belle to the wall unwrapped from their hooks and moved in the air to wrap around the rafters of the bedchamber. It was a slow and awkward magic, nothing like how the cuffs forced her to hurry when Rumple gave her an order. The chains dragged in the air, and Belle had enough time to follow them at her own pace. She stood up and walked over to where Regina wanted her to be. There was enough slack in the chain that she was able to stand comfortably.

“If you’re going to beg, you have to do it on your knees, idiot. Grovel properly before a queen.”

Her eyes lowered, Belle sank to her knees. There was not enough slack for her to keep her hands down beside her, so Belle knelt with her arms raised over her head. It was similar to the posture they had put her in the day before in front of the mirror.

The mirror was still in the corner, reflecting her subjugation back to her. Belle tried not to look at it. What a mirror saw was not the truth. Rumple had said that, a long time ago.

Regina sat down at the little table in front of a meal fit for royalty. Maleficent sat with her, but did not touch the human food.

“Now,” the queen said. “I’m going to have a late luncheon, and you’re going to beg me for whatever I think you deserve. You may eat as much as you can get.” She took a long knife and expertly cut into a large roasted swan.

“Please,” Belle began at once. Rumple had never made her beg for food, but she knew a game when she played one. “I know I’m not worthy, but I’m so hungry, Your Majesty. It would be so good of you too--”

“Good?” Regina said with her mouth full. “Do you think I’m good?”

“I think you are glorious, Your Majesty. And magnanimous. Everything a queen should be! You have the power to be merciful, and kind, to take pity on this low creature who grovels at your feet.”

“I think she has you confused with someone else,” Maleficent chuckled.

Regina grinned at her lover and then looked over at Belle. She had eaten the meat off the swan’s wing and held the bones in her hands. “Do you know what I do to low creatures like you?”

Belle bit her lip. “No, Your Majesty.”

Regina’s smile turned grim as she broke the bones, snapping them in half. Then she tossed the pieces at Belle.

Only one piece of bone landed in range of where Belle could reach. And she almost had to break her arms as she stretched her body down to pick it off the floor with her mouth. There was no meat on the bone, only a bit of gristle and the dark marrow within. Belle took what nourishment she could, and spat out the rest onto the floor behind her.

She looked up at Regina. In the mirror, Belle could see her eyes--wide and innocent and pleading. The sort of lie Regina would want to see. “Gods bless Your Majesty, for your graciousness and your generosity.”

Regina snorted. “That’s a little over the top.”

It went on like that, begging and flattery and degradation. Regina threw food and Belle picked crumbs off the ground or licked splatters off her body or--more than once--caught pieces in mid-air like a trained dog. The acting didn’t bother her. It was pretending, like in one of Rumple’s games. At the end of it all, her stomach no longer gnawed with hunger.

Regina left the uneaten food and dirty dishes on the table. A servant would have to come and collect them later. The queens stood in front of Belle, their gazes sweeping over her naked body in all its misery and vulnerability.

“I don’t like the chains,” Maleficent said casually, as though she were talking about the style of a dress. “There’s nothing magical about them. Anybody can chain up a slave.”

Regina’s eyes flicked over her lover and she licked her lips. “Are you going to suggest something only you can do?”

“It’s not just me,” Maleficent demurred. “It’s a simple spell, I can teach it to you, my love. But, yes.” She brushed her hand over Belle’s cheek and cupped her chin. “We need to do something special for our Rumple’s little flower.”

The chains loosened and fell to the ground, bringing Belle down with their weight. She collapsed onto the floor and lay limp. She waited for them to do whatever they were going to do, waited for another order, or for more pain. With a flick of the wrist, Regina swept the chains away, back to where they had been hanging on the wall.

Belle was still manacled and collared, but nothing bound her to anything. Tentatively, she rolled her shoulders and stretched out her arms and legs. It seemed as though she could still move everything. She took a deep breath and waited.

Maleficent stood above her with her eyes closed and her hands extended. A green glow emanated around her, casting a noxious light over the dark room.

Just as Belle was about to ask what the sorceress was doing, she felt a sharp pain in her ankle. Looking down, Belle saw that her skin had been pierced by a black thorn the size of her smallest finger. A vine had grown up out of the stone floor and wrapped itself around her foot.

Belle’s breath caught in her throat as more shoots sprang out of the floor and grew into vines before her eyes. What terrible magic was this? The black plants grew under her and around her, wrapping around her arms and legs as though she were a trellis. Thorns covered the leafless vines, needle-sharp and merciless. They pressed into her skin and some cut through and drew blood. Hot tears pooled in Belle’s eyes and she ground her teeth to keep from crying out.

Vines wrapped around her arms and wrists and made her move with them as they grew. Her arms were forced behind her back, wrapped around a column of thicker branches that were bunched together like thatch. The vines at her legs moved her ankles behind the column as well, forcing her to open her thighs and expose her secret places.

Would they hurt her there? Belle couldn’t keep the thought from her mind. Earlier, they had torn out her hair and vandalized her body. Would they mutilate her as well? Would the black thorns press against her tender pink flesh? Would Maleficent make the vines grow up inside her? The thought made Belle tremble with fear--and with every move she made, the thorns pushed more deeply into the flesh of her back, flesh she had thought was beyond feeling any more pain.

The vines stayed away from her cunt. A thick branch roped around her neck above the collar to keep her head up. Another grew diagonally up her torso like a sash, crossing between her breasts. She had never known such pain, so complete and all-consuming. The vines still moved around her, the thorns a constant menace. She felt like she was being burned alive.

Vaguely, Belle recognized that in the back of her mind she was waiting for something. After another moment, she realized what it was: Peace. That was what usually happened when she was in pain. Usually, she felt the most wonderful, absurd sense of contentment. When Rumple beat her body, her mind and heart melted into something lovely and safe. She had been expecting that.

But there was no safety here. Rumple wasn’t hurting her, Maleficent was. And Rumple wasn’t going to pleasure her when this was over, they were going to fuck her. The queens had no interest in her safety or well-being. There were no rules here. Belle had no deal that protected her with them. Regina would not comfort her and hold her when it all became too much. These women would not allow her to ask a question to repay for what they had done to her.

Belle let out a ragged cry. “Stop!” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and dropped onto her chest. The saltwater stung against her fresh wounds. “Please, Maleficent! No more!”

Through a haze of green magic, Maleficent opened her eyes. She took a moment to regard Belle, to look at her handiwork and the torture she had created.

She smiled.

“Our little bud thinks she’s had enough,” Maleficent remarked to Regina. “Do you agree, my darling?”

Regina shrugged. “You can stop if you want to. The work is already astounding.”

Maleficent preened. With a wave of her hand, the green light faded away. The pain that pierced Belle’s body became a little less, just enough for her to bear it.

Belle sobbed and tried her best to breathe. She was so utterly alone. All the familiar customs that marked her games with Rumpelstiltskin were gone. The queens were playing with her, but she was not playing along. She had no say in this torture, no protection, no escape. All she could do was breathe and count as a victory every moment she was alive.

Regina circled the thatch of thorns where Belle was bound. Her eyes traveled from the roots in the floor, over Belle’s exposed body and up to where the vines wrapped around the rafters. She reached for Maleficent. “You are amazing, my love. Your power, your skill, your bloodlust. Incredible.”

“You inspire me, my evil queen.” The two women embraced and kissed, clinging to each other possessively. Behind them, Belle closed her eyes and kept breathing.

“Go first,” Regina said when they broke apart. “You did all the work, you deserve to reap the rewards.”

“What a generous lover I have.” Maleficent’s hand lingered on Regina’s cheek even as she went over to the vines. Her face was still dreamy as she looked at Belle. “Have you ever licked a cunt before, whore?”

Belle blinked. The words were nothing new, but the abrupt change of tone made her pause. Had she ever licked a cunt? Was that what they would demand of her? What if she couldn’t do it?

“No,” she whimpered. “Never.”

“That’s hardly surprising. Does Rumple do it to you?”

“Yes,” Belle said, her voice still small.

“Now that is a surprise,” Regina smirked as she refilled her wine glass. “Most men would cut their tongues out of their heads before using them for a woman’s pleasure.”

“Well, Rumple always was a queer duck. But who are we to talk?” Maleficent chuckled and slipped her dressing gown off her shoulders. The gauzy fabric piled on the floor and Maleficent stood before Belle, naked as sin.

Every part of her was long and bony. Yellow waves of hair swept down her otherwise shaved body. Her breasts were even smaller than Belle’s--tight and pointed, with nipples so dark as to be almost black against her pale skin. Maleficent’s hands were large, with long, graceful fingers. Belle watched as those hands drifted leisurely over Maleficent’s body, from her neck to her torso to her hips to her smooth and hairless mound.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Belle? Do you like my body?”

“You’re beautiful,” Belle answered.

It was not a lie. Maleficent was striking and magnificent, the sort of creature that inspired awe and worship. She looked like a goddess, or a fiery succubus who wouldn’t think twice before slaughtering the unworthy. How could Belle be expected to satisfy such a force of nature?

“What a sweet thing to say,” she caressed Belle’s cheek. Despite her fear, Belle leaned in to the touch, taking comfort in the kindness, no matter how temporary it might be.

Behind them, Regina noisily flopped onto the couch. “Are you going to start, my love?”

“Yes,” Maleficent cooed. Still with her hand on Belle’s cheek, she leaned in and opened her mouth to kiss her.

This time, Belle knew to keep her mouth slack and loose. She closed her eyes and felt the heat of Maleficent’s face against her skin. As when she had been sleeping, the other woman’s tongue snaked into her mouth, but Belle didn’t fight it. Forcing herself to stay meek and compliant, Belle allowed the kiss to happen. If she chose to let it happen, perhaps it wouldn’t feel so awful.

She didn’t realize she was being moved downward until her legs bent to touch the floor. The vines that ensnared her were lowering her to the ground. Maleficent bent to keep kissing her until Belle was at the level of Maleficent’s waist. Then, with a sudden jerk, Maleficent sucked Belle’s tongue from her lips and stood up, pressing her female parts against Belle’s open mouth.

It was only a reflex that made Belle try to dart away from this strange object, and even that unthinking effort was in vain. The vines kept Belle’s head exactly where Maleficent wanted it to be. Thorns pressed against the soft flesh of her neck, but they wouldn’t pierce her skin unless she moved away. She was unharmed, as long as she obeyed.

Belle had to focus on the folds of flesh that currently enveloped her face. She wanted to gag on it, to choke and pull back and take just one moment to acclimate herself. But Maleficent gave her no chance. Belle had to get to work.

Maleficent’s cunt was odd and overpowering, but Belle had no choice but to overcome her revulsion, and quickly. She had to pleasure this woman. Under Belle’s tongue, Maleficent was unpleasantly sour, with even more of a vinegary bite than Belle had tasted on herself. The scent of her was sharp and powerful. Belle could imagine it lingering on her body for days after this was done. Even when she was safe with Rumple again, she would smell Maleficent’s cunt in her nightmares.

It was nightmarish enough to be blinded, to have the whole of her consciousness submerged in a hot, close, moistness. Belle felt Maleficent’s folds against her skin, and she turned her head slowly to determine the dimensions of her new world. Yes, it was like the worst kind of dream--the sort where you cannot move but you must go forward, into the hellish blackness of the unknown. Carefully, Belle began to move her tongue, and then her lips, all over Maleficent’s cunt.

“I hope you’re a quick learner,” she said over Belle’s head. “I’ll make allowances for your innocence, but when you do this for my queen you’ll have to be perfect.”

Her mouth full, Belle nodded. She would have to do this to Regina as well. And Regina was a different type of monster altogether. Behind her closed eyes, Belle felt a surge of fresh tears. How was she going to do this? And how could she possibly do it well enough to please Regina?

Maleficent rocked her hips against her, rubbing herself against Belle’s nose and teeth. Belle moved her tongue in as pleasing a way she could manage, sticking it out and bobbing her head to keep up with Maleficent’s movements. Was that right? Did she like that?

Even though she could turn into a dragon, Maleficent’s anatomy was like Belle’s. With her lips and tongue, Belle mapped out folds of flesh and an interior passage and even a spot seemed to give Maleficent a sharp and singular pleasure.

“There! Yes!” she shrieked. The thorns clenched even tighter against Belle’s body. “Don’t move, you clever slut. Just stay there and keep licking.”

Belle broke away just long enough to take a breath, and then redoubled her efforts. She swirled her tongue everywhere it could reach and rubbed at Maleficent’s pleasure spot with her nose. Didn’t Rumple do it like that? Wasn’t that how he liked to make her come? But he was so much more practiced than Belle, and his nose was so much bigger. Could she do what he did? Would she be good enough to please Maleficent? Good enough to keep Regina from hurting her?

As her orgasm approached, Maleficent became more generous with her noises and her praise. Doing her best to follow frantic instructions, Belle moved her mouth faster and rougher against Maleficent. Belle felt her clenching around her chin. The witch thrust her whole body against Belle’s head, pushing her into the thorns. Belle screamed in pain and the noise was muffled by Maleficent’s cunt.

But the vibrations--or the sound, or the pain that had produced it--finally pushed Maleficent over the edge.

In the blackness behind her closed eyes, Belle saw a wave of green light. A pulse of warm wetness gushed onto her face. But once Maleficent had stepped away and Belle could breathe through her nose again, the fragrance that greeted her was not the pungent brine of a woman’s orgasm.

It was roses.

Belle looked around at the thorns that held her in place. When Maleficent came, they had all burst into bloom. The thorns were still there, Belle still felt the pain all over her body. But she was also surrounded by flower blossoms. Every rose was full and perfect. Every rose was as red as blood.

In front of her, Maleficent pulled back. Even standing, her body was loose and relaxed. Her eyes were closed and lavender smoke wafted up from her mouth. Blearily, she staggered over to Regina and collapsed with her on the couch. Maleficent curled up and Belle saw her shudder and tremble in pleasure.

Regina held her naked lover against her robed chest. She stroked her blonde hair, and looked at Belle with a cold hatred.

A new fear twisted in Belle’s stomach. So far, Regina had burned hot--her anger coming out in spurts that were satisfied as soon as Belle submitted to the pain she inflicted. But now there was murder in the queen’s eyes. Not a thoughtless rage, but a calculating assessment of how Belle had offended her and how she would pay for it.

Still bound to the column of thorns, Belle summoned up all her bravery and looked the queen in the eye. “Did I please her well enough, Your Majesty? I want only to serve.”

“Shut up, you little bitch.” Again, Regina did not shout, she did not even command. Her voice had no more emotion than the cold steel of a knife in the darkness.

“Be nice,” Maleficent murmured from her place at Regina’s chest. “She did very well.”

With a tight smile, Regina lifted up Maleficent’s chin. “Will you be alright if I leave you to take my turn on her?”

“Of course.” Maleficent leaned back against the purple couch, her bony limbs loose and relaxed. “It’s a fun ride.”

“We’ll see how much fun I can have with her.” Regina stood and slipped off her purple dressing gown.

Belle noticed her breasts first. Astonishingly, the queen’s ample bosom was not the work of clever corsetry and flattering gowns. Even naked, she had the breasts of a statue or a painting--so impossibly round and perfect that Belle had never imagined a real woman could look like that. And it probably wasn’t magic either. Regina flaunted her body with too much thoughtless confidence for her beauty to be anything other than the luck of nature.

She was not so pale as Maleficent. And everywhere Maleficent’s body was made of straight lines, Regina had luscious curves. The queen stood with her hands on her round hips, her thighs spread apart. Like Maleficent--and like Belle, now--the space between her legs was smooth and hairless. Belle looked, transfixed and terrified, at the part of Regina that it would be her task to satisfy.

Belle licked her lips as the queen approached, but before she could do anything else, Belle felt her hair being pulled back, her face being lifted up to Regina’s scrutiny. Mercifully, the thorns did not tighten around Belle’s throat. Did Regina choose not to use them? Or did she have no power over Maleficent’s magic?

She moved Belle with her hands, gripping her by the jaw as she caught every angle of her face. Belle could only take shallow, panicked breaths as the queen dug her nails into her flesh.

“You smell like her,” she whispered, her face contorted in anger. “Do you think you got anything by pleasuring her? Do you think it meant anything?”

“No,” Belle shook as she spoke. “Not unless you say it did, Your Majesty.”

“It didn’t,” Regina hissed. “You’re nothing! You don’t deserve to pleasure her--or me either! You’re not special! You’re not even good at being a whore! You’re just a collection of holes made for getting fucked! The Dark One only wants you to put his cock in you! Do you understand that?” Regina began to laugh. “Do you even know what it means to be a woman in this world?” Her grip tightened on Belle’s throat. “It means getting fucked. Over and over and over until maybe, someday, you get to fuck back.”

Regina curled her lip in a grimace, and for the first time, Belle noticed a flaw in her perfect mask of beauty. There was a scar on her lip. It was faint and old and covered by cosmetics, but Belle could make it out just the same. Who had done that to this powerful woman? How long had the queen been marked by pain? What other wounds did Regina have, either visible or hidden?

How long would it be until she gave Belle just as many wounds as she had suffered?

With a grimace, Regina leaned toward Belle with her mouth open. But instead of a kiss--even a dominating, angry kiss--Belle felt the queen’s tongue on her cheek. Her stomach dropped as she realized Regina was licking her. She was licking Maleficent’s sour smell off of Belle’s face.

“You don’t deserve her,” Regina whispered. “You don’t deserve anything that’s happened to you.”

“I know that!” Belle blurted, then realized what she’d said. How could she be so stupid! Hastily, she corrected herself. “Your Majesty. I know I don’t deserve the honor of--”

“Shut up!” Regina snarled. “Use your mouth for something fucking worthwhile!” With that, she stood up and thrust her body against Belle’s face.

Regina kept one hand in Belle’s hair the whole time. She forced Belle’s head back and slammed her hips against her face over and over. The impact hurt and Belle didn’t understand how it didn’t hurt Regina. Was she immune to physical pain? Or was she so caught up in hurting Belle she didn’t feel how she was harming herself?

Regina gave Belle no control over the movements of her head. She barely had time or thought to move her tongue or her lips. All she could do was brace herself as Regina ground her body against her face.

Belle closed her eyes and let it happen. This was a nightmare that had no resolution, no goal to even be hoped for. This nightmare would be nothing but terror until she woke up.

This was nothing that Belle was doing, or even that she was being forced to do--it was being done to her. Regina put for the effort. She thrust and grunted and ground herself into Belle over and over again. Too frightened to move, Belle froze her heart and let the queen work her will.

Regina tasted different than Maleficent. Her cunt had a strange darkness to it. Where Maleficent had been sour and underripe, Regina tasted almost sweet at first. But then there was a stomach-turning sensation of foulness--like an apple with a slimy, rotted core. Over and over, Belle was forced to delve into that core and taste that poison.

Suddenly, Regina backed away. Belle had only the time to take a single breath before she felt the slap. Regina’s hand was cold against her flushed cheek.

“Are you even trying?” Regina sneered. “Is this what Rumple wants from you? That you just lie back and think of ogres?” She slapped Belle again, and her cheek scraped against the thorns.

Belle tried to breathe. “I--” she panted, her breath coming in shallow and strange. “I--” She had no answer to give the queen. “I--” How did Regina know about the ogres?

“Oh, shut up, you stupid cow,” Regina said before she began her assault again. She straddled Belle’s head, her legs twisting over her shoulders. She gripped the thorny vines, knowing they wouldn’t dare hurt her. Then Regina pushed herself against Belle’s face back and forth, riding her like a horse.

Belle couldn’t breathe. Regina pressed Belle into her pleasure so tightly that there was no room for air. She couldn’t break away, not even for a moment. She tried to even turn her head, but Regina yanked her back into the position that she wanted. Belle tried to speak, to scream, but her words were lost in Regina’s flesh. Her arms were bound, she had no way to signal her distress.

And Regina didn’t care. The distress was the point. Belle could weep and struggle and scream, but the fact would remain: Belle wasn’t breathing because Regina didn’t want her to breathe. Her shoulders went limp as she realized how easy it would be for her to die this way, suffocating on a queen’s cunt.

Would Rumple let her die tonight? Did his deal with these evil women allow for them to kill her? The cuffs had saved her from drowning once. At his word, they had pulled her out of a briny darkness even more merciless than the one she was in now. And on the night of the party, the cuffs had made her defend herself against Regina, because of Rumple’s order. Would they save her now? Was there a power yet unknown to her that would keep her safe?

No. It was only luck that just as Belle slipped away into the blackness, Regina shifted her position. Now she was only on Belle’s mouth, and not her nose. Belle could breathe again, though the air was polluted by the stench of roses and evil pleasures.

She breathed, and felt tears stream down her cheeks. The tears mixed with Belle’s blood and saliva and Regina’s wetness on her face. What kind of potion could Rumple make from those ingredients?

Above her, Regina was still grinding away, seeking out a pleasure that Belle had no means to give. Through weary eyes, Belle watched the queen’s breasts bounce from the exertion. Her dark hair was loose and tousled. A sheen of sweat glistened on her lustrous skin. It really was a shame that such a gorgeous body belonged to such an ugly woman.

Finally, Regina grunted and jerked against Belle’s chin. She dismounted from Belle’s shoulders and pulled her out of the vines. Belle felt her skin rip as she was wrenched away from the thorns. Regina tossed her to the ground and Belle knelt with her head bowed.

“Are you satisfied, my darling?” Maleficent asked from the couch. She was stretched out with her legs spread and her fingers idly fondling her hairless mound. “It was a good show.”

Regina poured herself another glass of wine. “That pitiful excuse for a cuntlicker isn’t going to satisfy me without help.”

“Poor thing.” Maleficent sat up and waved Belle over to her. “Come here, pretty princess.”

On her hands and knees, Belle crawled over to Maleficent as quickly as her wounds would allow. She didn’t get on the couch, but knelt and looked up at the sorceress.

Maleficent stroked Belle’s hair and petted her like a dog. Belle felt something warm and wet against her back. A cloth. It touched her skin and Belle hissed in fresh pain.

“It’s all right,” Maleficent said in a high-pitched, playful voice. “I’m just cleaning the blood off to make you pretty again.”

Warm water, fragrant with healing herbs, dripped over Belle’s tattered back. She let out a wordless whine and Maleficent cooed and offered her more comfort.

“Such a pretty girl,” she said. “And a good girl, too. With enough experience, you could be a very fine cuntlicker.”

Without quite understanding why she was doing it, Belle rubbed her face against Maleficent’s bare legs. In response, Maleficent kept washing Belle. She praised her and made sweet sounds as she ran her fingers through Belle’s hair and gently pulled apart her tangles. Through all of this, Belle breathed, and let herself be comforted.

A part of Belle didn’t want to be comforted. She knew that this sweetness was tainted. Maleficent had hurt her just as much as Regina, why should Belle accept anything from her? But Belle knew that she needed to take whatever healing was offered to her. She had played this game with Rumpelstiltskin often enough. He liked to make her relax after one strike, so the next one would hurt more. The queens were the same, only their strikes were so much worse and the time between them all too brief.

“Let’s get her on the bed,” Regina said after a few minutes. “It’s time to stop pussyfooting and have some real fun.”

#Golden cuffs #rumbelle fic #dragon queen #sexy evil lesbians #poor Belle

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