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propertyofhenrywinter · 1 year ago

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Long live all the mountains we moved

Max Verstappen x driver!reader

Summary: the aftermath of a crash equals more hurt comfort (can be read as a second part to Long live the walls we crashed through, but also on its own. This ofc isn’t proofread)

WC: 3.2k

Max knew you would be cross with him is you knew he was blaming himself, but he just really felt the need to whelm in his self-pity for a while. For a second he justified this by thinking that you would feel the same if the roles where reversed. That thought however was soon discarded because he knew that if it had been him getting hurt on track you would’ve stood your ground firmer and insisted he’d get checked out. ‘It really is my fault,’ he thought. ‘It is my job to protect her. I should have listened to my gut.’

If max was honest with himself, he had realized something was wrong. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what, but something in the way you had caried yourself while talking to the team and other drivers made him feel uneasy. By the time you had chatted with everyone who had wanted to see were okay with their own eyes none of them had thought to have a medic make sure you were completely fine. He didn’t understand their exact reasoning, maybe it had just slipped their mind or maybe they had genuinely believed you were fine, but he had thought about it almost immediately after he had let you go from his side, and he hadn’t stopped think about it while you had been driving away from the track. Now he wished he would’ve been more persistent about bringing you to a hospital, because he had known well enough that you weren’t fine, no matter how hard you had tried to convince him otherwise.

“I just want to go home, Max. Please.” You looked at him pleading and your voice sounded defeated. “I want to take a shower with you, just a shower,” a pointed look was added, “and then I want to cuddle up with you in bed while watching one of my comfort movies and eat ice cream right out the tub. And then fall asleep before the movie ends. And tomorrow we will do the same thing or maybe you could read a bit to me if I’m feeling to soar to do it myself,” she rattled off. “If your feeling soar you should see a doctor,” Max responded sharply, but he had known that the matter was settled and you two would do exactly as you had said.

Of course, it hadn’t gone as you planned. Max had already noticed you had looked worse when you got home than you had at the track, but he shrugged it off, thinking you were probably just tired, and your body need some rest after undergoing the G-forces it did during the crash. By the time you two had made your way to the bathroom he noticed you really weren’t walk normally. “Love,” he started soft, trying one last time to talk some sense into you. “No, please, Max,” you had sounded so breakable with your voice no louder than a whisper. It broke him to see you hurt, so he had let it go although he knew he shouldn’t have.

All hell broke lose when you had tried to take your shirt off. You had only wanted to lift your arm over your head before you had crumbled to the ground, letting out a blood-curdling scream. Max had been next to you in less than a second. He had been trying to figure out what was wrong precisely, but when he had noticed you were on the verge of unconsciousness he had just scooped you up in his arms and put you in his car to speed off to the hospital.

He had no regard for the traffic rules on his way, and although he had thought of calling an ambulance he had known that that would take way longer. While you were drifting in and out of consciousness he thought that he should talk to you. Tell you something encouraging maybe, but he just couldn't bring himself to open his mouth, afraid that any sound but the roaring of the engine and the struggle of your breath would make all of this too real.

When the hospital was less than two minutes away you awoke once again, but instead of the almost inaudible wail of pain he expected to hear again, this time you started coughing like crazy. Max had sworn his heart stopped when he saw you were coughing up blood.

The bright lights in the hospital made the contrast between the dark roads outside even more striking. In the car it had been quiet, just you and him. At the hospital it had been bustling with sounds and people, and you had been ripped out of his arms almost the second he walked trough the double swing doors. In a way he was sad he had reached the hospital, because as long as you were driving he could tell himself that he was doing what he could, while also having you at arm’s length next to him.

As soon as you were pried away by the emergency room staff members a doctor had started asking him more questions than he had believed could be necessary. He had answered them in a haze and before he good and well realized it the doctor had disappeared into the operation room where he had been told you also would be. That’s how he found himself sitting in a waiting area a nurse with dark skin, but light hair had brought him to. There he sat spiralling down in his own guilt.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there when the doctor who had asked him all those questions walked up to him. ‘How is she,’ he almost heard himself ask it, but he couldn’t’ bring himself to actually form the words, too afraid of what the answer might be. Before the silence reached a significant amount of time he heard the doctor. “Your partner will be alright, Mr. Verstappen. I assume her rib was fractured during the crash and when she tried to lift her arm a splinter moved and punctured her lung causing the worst of the damage she suffers. We fixed that during the operation. We also ran a full body x-ray and constated she also broke her left wrist and fibula and of course two of her ribs.” Max listened to the long list of injuries and despite the feeling of despair for your hurt he wondered just how stubborn you had to be not to get check by a medic, because he knew that all those breaks must have been hurting every time you moved. That was before the doctor saw the confusion in is eyes and added: ‘I also assume that an extreme amount of adrenaline was released right before and after the crash. That would explain why she hadn’t felt anything before her rib moved.” After that was clarified only one question rested him: “When can I see her?”

On his way to your room doctor questions, as Max had been calling him in his head, explained that you were still asleep and probably would be for the next hours, maybe even a full day, but that once you were awake and had done a couple of simple short test you would be allowed to go home quickly. “I don’t expect her to have to stay more than two full days,” he had concluded.

When he entered the room it felt like his long got puncture as well, seeing you so pale in bed with your foot and arm in a cast and a bag with clear liquid attached to your arm with an IV. He looked at the clock and saw it was almost morning. He wondered just how long it would take you to open your eyes, because he doesn’t want to wait a full day.

A nurse, an older woman with grey hair this time, came in to check your vitals and also informed Max that he was allowed to stay with you. Once she left he felt in his pocket to see if he had brought his phone with him. To his delight he had. He opened it so he could start informing everyone who needed to know, but the moment his screen lit up he could see he had a ton of missed calls and messages. It took him a while to figure out what was going on, but when he opened a text message from Charles it became clear. Turns out someone had seen him speeding down the streets to the hospital. Max felt a sliver of relieve when he saw your face wasn’t visible in any of the pictures of his car or when he was carrying you inside, but that didn’t change the fact it was disgusting people took and shared those pictures or that it was clear it was you. Some trashy news sites had even already wrote articles. He didn’t bother opening them. There was probably nothing true in them anyway.

He responded to Charles, explaining what had happened. Afterwards he simply copied and pasted that text and send it to everyone who he felt deserved to know. Almost exactly when he was finished his phone rang. It was Charles. Max contemplated picking up, but ultimately decided that since he would be stuck here for a while it couldn’t hurt to hear him out before he returned to the bottom of the mental ditch he had been digging himself in the waiting room.

If Max had thought the doctor had asked him a lot of questions, Charles must have simply impressed him by how long his list was. The Dutchman was tired mentally and physically, so he didn’t put up a fight answering him. Only when the questions were about how he was doing he resorted to one-word answers. Without giving Max a chance to protest, and he really wanted to protest, he had decided he was going to call the hospital to see when visiting hours were and come over as soon as he could.

He didn’t have to wait to long before the man who he had had on the phone only a few hours ago strode into the room as if he was coming to visit them to celebrate a birthday. Much to his dismay Charles seemed to have brought half of all the people he knew. “The more the merrier,” Charles had exclaimed a little to cheery. “It’s a hospital it’s not supposed to be ‘merry,’” Max growled.

He won’t ever admit it, but it helped that there were a lot of people around. Firstly, because that meant he could be mad at them instead of himself and secondly because it distracted him from your seemingly lifeless body in the bed, although you had regained a little colour since he first walked in. Out of everyone he might have been most grateful for George’s presence. He definitely didn’t think that would be the case, but because it was clear that he was blaming himself as well it gave Max the feeling there was someone who understood, even though only a little, what he was going through. They didn’t dare to look at each other the first half hour or so they were in the room together, but once they did see the looks on each other’s faces they grew compassionate towards the other and Max realized casting blame was stupid and so it became a little easier to forgive himself.

People left at various time and to Max’ surprise there were also people who came in, apparently Charles has informed the whole entire world about when and where they had to be to visit you. He wondered how so many people could fit inside such a tiny room and how the hospital even allowed this many visitors.

Considering max hadn’t slept for too long, something else you could berate him for once you woke up, he was pretty glad when visitor hours came to an end and the people in the hospital room started to make themselves scarce. Right when Charles was saying his goodbyes a thought crossed max’ mind. “Could you maybe go to our place and check if I closed the door properly? I left in such a rush, and I don’t remember pulling it shut,” he asked the Monegasque. “Yes, of course. I’ll text you, okay?” To which Max simply responded with a thank you, and for the first time since the hole roller-coaster of events took place he allowed himself to worry about other things than you. He hoped nobody broke in if he left the door open, but that was unlikely considering the whole building had strict security. He hated to admit is but what he actually had wanted to ask Charles was to check on his cats. You would be furious if anything had happened to them, and he really didn’t need anther reason added to the list of things he did that he knew would piss you off.

His eyes and mind returned to you, and he was thankful that you hadn’t woken up while all the people were there. He much rather had you open your eyes to only him and a calm, silent room. You had given a few signs you were closer to consciousness while your friends were here. Things like slightly moving a finger or a squint in an eyelid. He was pretty sure no one else noticed these things, probably because they simply weren’t playing attention to them. However, it had almost been 24 hours and you really should be waking up, which made him worry something was wrong. In the end his tiredness won from the worry, and he dosed off sitting in a position that would make his neck hurt more than the nastiest turns in F1 could under the highest possible G-forces.

He might have fallen asleep, but he wasn’t asleep deep, and so the quietest “Max” ever spoken is what woke him up. When he opened his eyes they were immediately staring into yours. “Hey,” he said as he moved closer to you, “you gave me quite the scare.” He put his hand on the side of your face and his thumb started stroking your cheek. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “It’s all good now,” Max replied and before he could help himself he added: “I love you.” “I love you too.” The reply came natural to you. Sooner than he wanted the older nurse came back, and when she saw you were awake she went to get the doctor.

While you were out doing all sorts of tests and scans Max waited in your room. His phone screen lit up alerting him that someone texted him. ‘Door was open, but everything seems ok.’ Immediately a second message followed, ‘Also fed the cats theyre mad you guys left them I think.’ He had added a picture of the animals.

Once your bed was wheeled back into the room the doctor explained to you both how the next few weeks would look for you. It started with the endless list of check-ups you would have to go to and ended with the most dreadful news you had ever hurt. “No physical demanding activities for at least six weeks, so no sporting, don’t go long distances on foot and try to avoid stairs.” For the only time ever Max was glad about your bedridden state because he knew that you would have fought the doctor for keeping you from racing if you could. The look on your face however probably also made him wish he could crawl away into the nearest closet.

After this little briefing you were allowed to go home. You believed Max was happier about this than you were because Max had been there for almost two days. So had you but you couldn’t really remember anything between enter the bathroom and waking up at the hospital. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for whatever stupid reason you are,” you said to your boyfriend when you saw how tight he was clamping the steering wheel. “I’m no,” he responded, “I mean, I did at first, but not anymore.” “Good,” you sight, “than why are you driving like that?” you added with an over-the-top judgemental tone. “Like what,” he retorted fake offended. “Like that steering wheel is the root of all your problems.” He relaxed his hands “Not all of them but there probably are waiting some fines in our mailbox from our trip to the hospital.” You exaggerated a sigh “It’s a shame not everyone is as good a driver as I am.” Max gave you a side-eye. “you’re lucky that crash wasn’t your fault, because I would have held that over your head eventually.” You gasped “You brute.” But secretly you enjoyed that the topic didn’t weigh to heavy between you two. “Also,” Max continued, “remind me who was leading that race again before George so rudely interrupted it?” You supressed a giggle “Oh, I don’t pay attention to that sort of things. All people care about is who is first in the driver standings.”

Suddenly it hit you; six weeks of no racing meant you would lose your first place, enormously diminishing your chances of winning your first championship. Max noticed the mood change and he could guess what this was about “Look there are only three races in those weeks, and the last one is even all the way at the end of your recovery period. We might convince the doctor to let you participate in that one if you recover well. The only way that’s going to happen is if you don’t spend to much time worrying that pretty head of yours and actually relax. Am I clear?” he looked at you while asking that. “Yes,” you said surely. “And also,” he continued, “it will make our fight for the title even more entertaining.” This time you really let out a giggle, which made you wince due to your soar ribs. “We are the Katniss and Peeta of the racing world.” You spoke. “Who?” Max asked. “Max, please say your joking,” you said, shocked by this discovery, “you don’t know the Hunger Games?” your moth almost hung agape. “Of course, I know of the Hunger Hames,” he said sharply, “I’ve just never watched it.” You decided this was unacceptable and you were going binge-watch all the movies when you were home, witch you were while you ended your scolding to your uneducated boyfriend who had been amused, but more relieved, by how lively you were acting. As you entered the elevator Max finally got a chance to speak. “If I remember correctly there was a showered planned before or movie in bed.” You hadn’t thought about it but suddenly you felt dirty. You hadn’t showered after the race which was two days ago. Suddenly you felt relieved there was no one else in the elevator to smell the odour you and Max, who you assumed also hadn’t showered, were spreading. “A shower is probably a good idea for both of us,” you concluded. Max looked at you and it was clear what he was thinking about. “No Max, remember no physical demanding activities for six weeks,” you laughed.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff

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dxsole · 6 months ago

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The process had bene perfected over time, just as Roman's no doubt— it, at its very core, was not as ruthless or gruesome as many would expect. No, the sole purpose was the collection...what happened after, when the victim was blind, in excruciating pain, and utterly helpless in his grasp, that was for fun.

Or punishment, really, because if you manage to get on his operating table, it must be your fault for making him do such a thing (or so he liked to tell them as patronizingly as possible).

"Oh, it's only the special ones." How alike they were— they certainly did love their favorites. Usually, comparing himself to Roman in any way made his stomach churn, but he's in too good a mood to let the similarities bother him. "We all have the ones that got away...or the ones we ruin." Lawrence's nose wrinkles slightly at the thought of his first. She could have been perfect but in his youthful inexperience, he had ruined her precious eyes. Then decomposition took the rest of her away from him.

Pity. She would have had a spot on his desk.

Speaking of pity— "The turnover rate is ridiculously high. I provide dental for God's sake and these people can't follow simple instructions." His so-called simple tasks tended to involve everyone around him somehow reading his mind and getting exactly what he wanted or needed in front of him as quickly as possible. It seemed he set them up for failure but, then again, the few that had been with him the longest did fine and were so wonderfully desensitized to his peculiarities by now.

With Roman's introduction, Lawrence is shrugging off his jacket, undoing his shirt cuffs so he can roll up the sleeves as he speaks. "Gregory, in case you didn't realize, you're in a pickle." That's an understatement.

"What Greggy here doesn't even realize is that he is...so incredibly lucky he's here on this table, and not that sweet little wife of his." Gregory tenses, pressing as hard as he can against his restraints. "7:08 am. That's when your daughter's school bus comes and leaves your wife alone in the house for...let's say seven minutes before she leaves for work." He's counted. "Do you know how easy it is to shove a lone woman into a car Gregory?" Beneath the gag, the gardener is pleading, words incoherent but obviously desperate. "'Course you don't. But it is. Your car isn't in the driveway. You just pull up. Trap her in. And Vivian could have been on this table."

Greg is getting red in the face and that's when Lawrence makes contact, slapping him over the face, voice dipping down low as Greg's face is gripped and shaken. "Don't cry. Don't you fucking cry. I see one tear and I will gut her. I will gut them both."

He hated criers. The capillaries in the eye swell and then you get those atrocious bloodshot veins— not pristine. Not for the jar.

Gregory settles down some, chest still stuttering from quiet sobs. Lawrence relaxes, taking a moment to run his hand through his hair and continue undressing— not fully, but the vest is removed, the tie, and lastly his glasses. He didn't need them for such close-up work after all.

A device is pulled from the operating tray beside the table— oh, it had the usual surgical tools; gauze, scalpel, flush bottle, something that...looked like a modified ice scream scoop...and the pair of eye speculums in his hand.

Gregory's eyes must burn when he slides them in, cold wire framing the first eyeball, then the second, leaving them completely exposed for Lawrence, who lets out a heady sigh at the sight of them. "See, another reason Gregory is here is because he's got a nice pair." Roman is waved over so they both can admire. "License says blue but it's like...slate blue. Steely. A hint of caramel round the irises." And they would look perfect on his wall.

"I've gotta have 'em." That ice cream scooper comes into play now— "I designed this myself—perfectly formed for the eye with notches to slide perfectly beneath the speculum wire with little to no abrasion." He's clearly very proud.

He's even prouder when it does its job perfectly, sliding into that hairsbreadth space between Gregory's eye and the metal, dipping beneath the eyelid, cradling the eyeball entirely— Lawrence's is thrumming with the anticipation, chest rising and falling quick, nearly panting for it.

It's such a quick movement, just a precise angling of the wrist and flick!

Greg screams beneath the gag.

Roman tingles and Lawrence smirks. "Don't tempt me then." They're like two dogs sniffing each other, sizing each other up, anxious to nip at one another.

His fingers flourish at the question and one can see how dexterous they've become. Almost like a surgeon's, which they should be after all the hours of practice he's put into them. Eyes are delicate and if you wanted a pristine, perfect pair like Lawrence did, you needed good hands. And a willingness to destroy every other bit of flesh that was in your way.

"Different sizes, slightly different shapes— not as unique as the eyes we'll be procuring," Oh, it's we now? "but just as important to the process."

That process is run through his head a number of times before they arrive, Lawrence spending much of their short trip regaling Roman about the few who survived— because he cared little if you died or lived through the process. By the end of it, if you do live, you only live a half-life. Blindness a person can overcome. That sort of experimentation at his hands was not so easy to accept. A very minuscule population ever got over it. In fact, he could only name one.

A few quiet words are mumbled to his driver, before he speeds off, Lawrence taking the few lavish steps up towards his door, one of his many butlers quickly opening up for them and greeting his master.

The greeting's ignored as it is every day, Lawrence handing off his coat and gesturing for him to take his guest's as well. "Well, we do have different aims, don't we?" Roman did what he did to strike fear in the hearts of man, Lawrence assumes. "You aim to hurt. As noble an aim that may be, I am a collector at heart. A more surgical approach is necessary."

Although he does feel that swell of pride as he waves Roman along, wanting him to follow as Lawrence descends deeper into his home— the basement starts as a dark hall, motion-activated lights switching to life and quietly buzzing as they walk— it's eerie in the way a derelict hospital is, everything bathed in that green-tinged fluorescent lighting, the scent of something sterile and harsh starting prick at your nose—

Double doors are flung open and the dimness of the hall is behind them as they enter a purely white room, very similar to an actual operating room. Aside from the fact that instead of a gowned-up nurse, there was a prim and proper butler standing by the table, apparently standing guard as Lawrence's latest victim lay bound and gagged before them.

"Good boy." Is cooed, staff being waved away in hopes of leaving the pair (and poor victim) alone.

"Roman darling, meet Gregory. My gardener— I've been meaning to replace him. He's been neglecting the roses. Honestly, you can't find good help these days."

#dogtccth #ch: lawrence #torture ment #eye tw #torture tw #enucleation tw #eye ment

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nastybuckybarnes · 3 years ago

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Deep End - Six

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 4.6K

A/n: Okie dokie! I’ve got an epilogue planned but I like this. The epilogue will explain shit better but I've known that this would be the end since pretty much the beginning LMAO

Deep End Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

When Steve hears you stop struggling, stop fighting and stop crying, he’s nervous.

It’s been a while since he locked you up there, and he really should check on you soon, if only to make sure the baby’s okay after that stunt you pulled.

He pushes the door to the bedroom open, eyeing your figure carefully.

You look like you’re asleep. If he wasn't so attuned to your body, your heart and your breathing, he wouldn’t have noticed something’s wrong.

Your heart is beating rapidly, far faster than normal. And it’s weaker than usual.

Your breathing is shallow and strained, and your face is lacking its usual healthy glow.

He rushes to your side, tearing the rope from your wrists and touching your face carefully.

Your skin is hot to the touch, and he feels fear settle in his gut.

He doesn’t know what to do, how to help. He’s never really had to help you like this, the doctor’s always been nearby.

He grabs his phone, calling the doctor and pacing nervously.

“Sh-she’s burning up and her breathing is shallow.”

Steve's stomach drops as he listens to the doctor’s instructions, answers his questions and comes to the realization of why you’re like this.

He rolls you onto your left side, tears welling up in his eyes at how unresponsive you are.

The doctor hangs up after telling the super soldier that he’ll be there soon.

His heart is in his throat as he tries to undo the damage of his punishment, putting the evidence back in the box and kicking the rope under the bed.

You’re still unresponsive, heart weak, but your breath sounds a little less strained.

Monster. That’s what you called him. What Natasha called him and what Bucky’s asset called him.

Maybe you’re right.

But he wants you. He needs you. Giving you up would be giving up a piece of his soul and he’s not ready to do that yet.

~*~

The doctor informs him that both you and the baby are okay, but being on your back for so long was compressing a major vein supplying your baby with oxygenated blood. If he’d gotten there any later it might’ve been too late.

With strict instructions to keep you on your left side and make sure you stay hydrated, the doctor takes his leave.

He stays by your side, holding your hand tightly in both of his as he really comes to terms with the fact that it was entirely his fault. He almost killed you and your baby to prove a stupid point. To discourage you from doing the very same thing.

His heart is heavy in his chest as he listens to your heartbeat get stronger, to the baby’s heartbeat continue fluttering like a hummingbird’s.

Those two sounds bring him peace, if only temporarily.

Shattering his peace is the sound of the front door opening, followed by tiny little footsteps clomping up the stairs.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

Sarah.

Steve shoves himself to his feet and quickly leaves the room just as his daughter tries to enter.

“Sarah, mommy’s sleeping.” She frowns up at him and shakes her little blonde head.

“I need to talk to mommy!”

She walks around his legs only for him to scoop her up in his arms.

“She’s sleeping right now, honey.”

Sarah shakes her head angrily, beating her tiny fists against his shoulders.

“Let me go! I want mommy! Mommy!! Put me down!” She starts shrieking. Full-on screaming bloody murder right in his ear, and he loses his grip on the wriggling child.

She slides out of his arms and runs into the bedroom, climbing onto the bed and shaking your shoulder.

“Mommy?” She’s got little tears on her face, and they don’t cease when you don’t wake up.

“Why won’t mommy wake up?!” She looks up at Steve with terror written on her face and it shatters his heart in his chest.

“Sarah, mommy’s sick, okay? I had the doctor come over and he said that she needs to rest and when she wakes up we’re gonna need to make sure she’s got plenty of water, okay?”

Sarah’s big blue eyes are filled with tears and she shakes her head.

“I want mommy!”

She clings to your torso, crying against your shoulder in fear.

“Sarah, honey, mommy’s gonna be okay. You just gotta give her some space, okay? How about I set up a movie for you?” Sarah sniffles and slowly pulls away from you, looking at her father and shaking her head again.

“I want mommy! I hate you!”

Steve then realizes just how crucial you are. How important you are, not only to him but to his daughter as well.

Losing you would hurt so many people.

“Honey, you gotta give mommy and I some space, okay?”

He picks up the five-year-old, despite her quite literally kicking and screaming, and sets her down outside the bedroom.

He shuts the door quickly and locks it even faster.

Sarah stands outside, wailing her head off and pounding on the door with her tiny little fists.

She cries for you, over and over again, and it breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s brought back to what you said about him. About how this isn’t love.

He sits down at your side again, trying desperately to drown out the sound of his daughter crying outside as his thoughts overwhelm him.

He hasn’t been the nicest to you, that he’ll openly admit, and he makes mistakes probably more often than he doesn’t. But he loves you. He needs you.

Tears well up in his eyes and he lets out a shuddering breath.

He’ll make this right. He has to. Sarah deserves a mother, so does your unborn baby. And -though he may not deserve you- he needs you. The monster will be hard to fight, but losing you will be harder.

The damage he’s done might be irreversible, but he’s gonna do what he can to make things right, to give you a better life.

You don’t wake up for a few hours, but when you do you’re confused.

Your back aches and you feel a little dizzy as you remember what happened, how you got here.

Steve watches as you regain consciousness, confusion pulling your brows together before you slowly open your eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles soothingly.

You look up at him then drop your gaze to your belly, bringing your free hand down to rub it gently.

“Am I... are we okay?” He nods gently, tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I was... I don’t know, trying to teach you a lesson. And all that did was hurt you. Hurt the baby. I wanted to show you that trying to hurt yourself and hurt the baby wouldn’t fly, but I ended up doing far more damage.”

You swallow hard and struggle to push yourself into a seated position, wincing at the throb in your head.

“The doctor said that you shouldn’t move too much, and try to stay on your left side when you sleep. I-I didn't know that sleeping on your back was bad.”

You take a deep breath and look up at him, waiting for the anger to take hold in his eyes but it never does.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. For scaring you and not trusting you. I... I lost you for so many years and now I have you back and... I don’t wanna lose you again. But everything I do to try and keep you close, make you mine... all it does is push you further away and I’m sorry.”

His apology takes you by surprise, and you eye him skeptically.

How are you supposed to know if he’s telling the truth?

He drags one of his hands down his face and for a moment you can truly see just how old Steve Rogers is.

The exhaustion of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders finally shows in the lines near his eyes, the bags beneath them. But what really displays his age is his eyes. They’re so full of trauma and pain and weariness.

For the first time since waking up from the ice, Steve Rogers looks his age.

“I-I’m sorry, too,” you whisper, surprising him.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t thinking. I just... I wanted to punish you for what happened to Natasha. What you did. I wanted you to hurt but I just ended up hurting myself in the process.” You look down at your hands, trying to figure out how you want to phrase what you have to say.

“People argue, Steve. But what you do... it’s beyond that. We’re not... there are so many things wrong with what’s happening between us, what’s happened already, but I can’t leave. Sarah’s too attached and all I want for my little girl is to have a happy life. To have the happiness that was torn from me.”

Guilt settles on his chest, but he lets you continue speaking.

“I want my daughter to have a good life. I don’t want her to be afraid of-of people. The way I am. She loves you, and I know... I think you love her. You haven’t hurt her yet, and I hope it stays that way because at the rate we’re going, I'm not sure how much longer I’ll be able to do this.”

The pure fatigue on your face is more than enough explanation, but the idea of losing you is too much for him to bear.

“No, don’t say that. I’m gonna get better, okay? We-we were happy once. And we can do it again. I’ll be gentle and patient. I just... I need you, (Y/n). I need you a lot and the fact that you have such a tight hold over my every thought makes me angry. But I’m not gonna take it out on you anymore, okay?”

You let out a deep breath and eye him carefully.

“You’ve said that before.”

He thinks back to the time you spent in that cabin in the woods, where you turned his friends against him.

He has said that before, and look at where he is now.

“This time it’ll be different.”

You don’t have the energy to fight him. So if he’s gonna try, fine.

“Where’s Sarah?” You ask, hoping she’s still safely out with Morgan.

Steve’s face falls again and he stands up and opens the door to your bedroom.

Sarah sits crumpled in a ball, her cheeks covered in tears.

“Mommy!” She all but screams the word, launching to her feet.

Steve tries to take her hand but she yanks it away from him, shooting him a glare then running to the bed and climbing up beside you.

Your heart breaks when you see how sad she looks, and you hug her to your chest.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.” She sniffles and climbs onto your lap, climbing to you like her life depends on it.

You wonder what happened while you were unconscious, what Steve did to upset her so much, and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

You look at the man, your thoughts written plainly across your face, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No. I just told her she couldn’t come in. Not ‘till you woke up. She uh... she stayed right outside the door.”

You soothe your daughter, rocking her as much as you can manage with the pain rolling down your spine.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay. Everything’s okay.” You hold her close to you, trying to calm her down while Steve looks on helplessly.

Although his daughter loves him, loves being here with him, nothing can compare to the bond that the two of you have.

The monster in him hates it. Hates that he’s not as close to his own daughter, blames you for it. But he pushes that part of himself down.

He made a promise. And this time he’s not gonna break it.

"Are you sure you’re okay with it?” He asks for the thousandth time.

You only shrug, fixing your hair in the mirror as the doorbell rings.

“It’s a little too late now, Steve. Besides, I don’t really care. Sarah’s gonna have fun and that’s all that matters.”

Your daughter took a few days to warm up to Steve again, but now that she has he’s not gonna risk anything changing that.

He takes one last look at you, at how pretty you look in your blue sundress, then leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“I love you, (Y/n). I can send them away.”

You take a deep breath and shake your head.

“Sarah’s excited. Besides, I wanna know what we’re having.”

You plaster on a forced smile and it breaks his heart, but he turns and heads downstairs to greet the guests.

Ever since you got hurt, he’s been nicer. Far gentler than he's ever been with you, and you’re not complaining.

Steve has the potential to be a good person, that much is obvious, but he chooses not to.

He hasn’t hurt you again, or even yelled at you. No, he’s been patient and understanding and it’s such a sharp contrast from who he was before.

You can hear him greeting the guests warmly, chatting on and on about this and that and whatever else.

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you leave the faux safety of the bedroom and head down the stairs, smiling at your guests.

People that you’ve never seen before are in your house. Well, that’s not true. You’ve seen them on TV.

The Avengers are in your living room and kitchen, talking softly amongst themselves.

In the presence of these superheroes, you feel small. Weak. And you can’t fight the urge to find Steve as anxiety crawls up your spine.

He’s in the kitchen, talking animatedly with Tony Stark and Sam Wilson. Iron Man and Falcon.

He looks so at ease, his face split open with a laidback grin.

Sam’s eyes find yours and he says something to Steve, making the blond turn to you with a soft smile.

He waves you over and you obey, one hand resting delicately on your bump.

“Sam, Tony, this is my (Y/n). (Y/n), Sam and Tony.” You nod politely at them, sliding your clammy hand into Steve's nervously.

You haven’t been around this many people in a very long time.

“It’s nice to finally meet the woman who’s got Captain America so hooked! All he does is talk about you,” Sam says, a grin on his face.

You smile at him, looking up at Steve.

He nods encouragingly, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles to try and ease your anxiety.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I, uh, I’ve heard a lot about you. About both of you.” Tony smiles looking down as someone tugs on his pant leg.

“Can I have a sleepover at Sarah’s house?!” Morgan asks excitedly, her little face full of glee.

“You’re gonna need to go ask your mother. You know she makes all the decisions.”

Tony’s gaze lifts to yours when his daughter runs to find her mom.

“Is it alright if she sleeps over tonight?”

Steve nods then looks at you.

“You alright with that?”

You’re not sure if it’s a real choice or a test, but you don’t want to find out.

“Of course. She’s always welcome here.”

Tony nods with a smile, then resumes whatever conversation they were having before you showed up.

You tune out what they’re saying, carefully rubbing over your stomach and poking at your baby whenever they decide to kick you.

“(Y/n)? Did you wanna help me set the food up outside?” Pepper’s voice breaks you from your trance, her hand coming to rest softly on your shoulder.

You look up at Steve, silently asking for permission, but he just leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips and lets go of your hand.

You follow Pepper, setting up the table in the backyard silently for a while before she clears her throat.

“How are you feeling, (Y/n)? Sarah told us you were sick.”

You swallow hard and give her a tight smile.

“I’m feeling better. Tired all the time but this little devil is to blame for that.” You poke your belly only to be met with another kick.

Pepper nods, smiling at you.

“Are you excited?”

That question throws you for a loop.

Are you? Are you excited to have another baby?

You’re excited for Sarah to have a sibling. Excited to get to hold your baby and love your baby. But the reason why you’re having the baby in the first place? The father of your baby? No.

“Yeah, I am. A little nervous, too.”

She sits down by your garden, patting the seat next to her.

“You look tired, (Y/n). More tired than a mother should be. You’re wearing yourself thin.” You keep your lips sealed, not wanting to say anything that might make Steve mad.

She sighs and sets a gentle hand on your knee.

“I don’t know what your... relationship is with Steve, but I know you’re unhappy. He’s a good guy, deep down. But you need to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t work yourself to the breaking point because it’ll be even harder to build yourself back up. Especially with a brand new baby.”

You let out a shuddering breath and nod.

“It’s just hard. I’m trying but... it’s hard.”

As you talk softly with Pepper, Steve observes the two of you.

You look so sad, so defeated. He hates that he made you look like that.

“She’s unhappy, Steve.”

He turns to the voice, eyebrows raising.

“Wanda. I didn’t know if you’d make it.” He pulls her into a hug. “I heard about what happened in Westview... Wanda, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She sighs, pulling away with a sad smile.

“No. But I will be.” Her eyes travel back over to you for a moment, feeling the pain and the sorrow in your soul.

“Do you think she’ll ever be happy here? With me?” Wanda sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her eyes, feeling your thoughts, your energy.

“It’s hard to tell. Right now she’s so... numb. Nothing but sadness and... hopelessness. Her spirit is crushed, Steve.” She reopens her eyes and turns to the blond.

“You can’t keep her here like this. It’s only a matter of time before she gets fed up and tries to do something drastic. Again.”

Steve knows. He fucking knows that. But he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do to lift your spirits.

He's given you more freedom, let you make more decisions for yourself. He’s been gentler with you, hasn't forced himself on you.

Not forcing himself on you isn’t something to gloat about, but given the history between the two of you, it’s something fairly major.

He just wants to keep you in his life. He needs to keep you in his life.

He turns to the young woman beside him, a thought bubbling into his mind.

“Could you... do something to make her happy? Make her enjoy her life here? Make her love me again?”

Wanda’s mouth curves down as she looks at you, watches you play with your daughter and Morgan.

“Steve, it’s not right.”

The blond lets out a pained breath, shaking his head desperately.

“I just want happiness, Wanda. Don’t I deserve it? Haven’t I suffered enough to deserve a happy ending?”

Wanda’s eyes glow red with sorrow as she’s reminded of her own happy ending that she had to give up.

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, dropping her gaze for a moment before looking over at his desperate blue eyes.

“We don’t always get what we deserve. It’s hard and it hurts, but we can't control everything. And at some point, we need to let go. No matter how hard it is or how much it hurts. We can’t hurt other people because of what we think we deserve.”

They both look back over to you, your own eyes already on the pair, but dropping as soon as you see them turn to you.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t do that.”

Tears stab at his eyes and he huffs out a breath through his nose, turning on his heel and walking away from the party, from his friends.

His abrupt departure catches the attention of a few people, yourself included. Before you can get up and see what’s going on, Bucky’s on his feet and heading into the house.

The woman Steve was talking to makes her way over to you, smiling gently.

“Hi (Y/n). I’m Wanda.” You smile at her, eyes darting towards where Steve disappeared from then back to her.

Bucky re-emerges only a few moments later, shaking his head at Natasha when she gives him a quizzical look.

You turn to Wanda with a strained smile.

“Could you just watch Sarah for a minute? And make sure she has something to eat? The foods ready.” She nods, watching with sad eyes as you walk back into the house to see what’s wrong with Steve.

“Steve?” You call softly, looking around for him only to find him sitting on the couch in the living room, his face in his hands.

“Why can’t I have what I want?” His question catches you off guard and you move to stand in front of him.

He shakes his head sadly, pulling his hands off of his face to grab yours, holding them tightly.

His lips brush over your knuckles gently, before he presses the back of your hands against his forehead, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“This isn’t right.”

Your heart races in your chest, stomach tying in knots as you try to figure out what he’s talking about.

“What are you talking about? Is everything okay? Did... did I do something wrong?” Maybe you shouldn’t have talked to Pepper earlier. Maybe you should’ve just stayed quiet and smiled.

“I can’t keep you here.”

One sentence. Five words. Sixteen letters.

That’s all it takes to have your heart stuttering.

“What... what do you mean you can’t keep me here?” You try your hardest not to let your hopes get too high. Maybe he’s going to kill you. Maybe that’s what it is. It’s certainly something more up his alley than... the alternative.

He slowly raises his head, teary red eyes staring up into yours.

“You know what I mean.”

You shake your head, needing to hear him say it himself.

“What are you saying, Steve?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and closes his eyes, the words hurting him but he needs to say them.

“You're free to go. You and Sarah.”

The breath gets knocked from your lungs, eyes wide as tears start to blossom. This is a trap. A test. It has to be. There’s no way...

“You’re letting us go?” You ask softly.

He sighs again, nodding as tears find their way down his cheeks.

“Yeah... I guess I am.”

You’re silent, staring at him and waiting for him to tell you it’s a joke, to punish you. But he doesn’t. No, instead he lets go of one of your hands and stands up, his chest almost brushing yours.

“You said I don’t love you... but I do. I love you. Or maybe I love the idea of you, I don’t know. But either way... I hate how sad you are. How sad and afraid I make you. You're free to go wherever you want.”

You’re practically hyperventilating.

After all this time, you never truly thought he’d ever let you go. That he’d have even a shred of decency left inside him.

He cups your hands together and carefully places something inside them, then turns and walks to the front door, grabbing his keys and leaving the house.

You stand silently, staring at the object in your hands until standing becomes too hard and you think you may throw up.

Then you sit down, silent tears trekking down your cheeks.

“(Y/n)?” You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, but Natasha’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“(Y/n), are you okay? Where’s Steve?”

You stare up at her then look back down at the tiny, life-changing object in your hands.

“He let us go,” you whisper, your glossy eyes raising to hers again.

She looks half as shocked as you feel.

“What?”

You sniffle then wipe the tears off of your cheeks.

“He’s letting us go,” you repeat, pushing yourself to your feet and holding your bump.

“Really?” You nod, eyes finding the backyard through the kitchen window.

Sarah and Morgan are playing outside with Sam and Wanda.

“What are you gonna do?”

Your heart is so full of confusion, full of pain and hurt.

“I’m gonna go cut the cake, then have a talk with Sarah.” She nods, a small smile on her face.

She heads back outside and you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down before you go out and face Steve’s friends.

You toy with the dainty thing he dropped in your hands before nodding to yourself.

This is what’s right. It’s the right choice for both of you.

You entertain his guests for a few more hours, not wanting to clue them into anything in case they disagree with your decision, with Steve’s.

Only after the presents are given and the cake is almost completely devoured do they finally start to leave.

Wanda helps you tidy up the backyard, writing her phone number down with a soft smile and a whispered ‘if you ever need a friend’.

Everyone bids you goodbye until only Bucky and Nat are left, the metal-armed soldier staring intently at your left hand before a smile spreads across his face.

He surprises you, pulling you into a gentle hug and nodding his head.

“Congratulations, (Y/n).” You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but for some reason, you don’t think it has anything to do with the baby shower.

They leave too, and then you’re virtually alone, Sarah and Morgan asleep upstairs.

After cleaning up every last inch of the house, you head upstairs to go to sleep.

Steve isn’t home until after midnight, long after he lets his tears run dry and his heart stop shattering. It just aches now. Hurts.

He let you go. He really did it.

Deep down he knew this would be the outcome. Either this or your death, but he never wanted to accept it. Refused to admit it to himself.

But seeing Wanda... after all that she’s been through... and she’s still standing strong.

He takes his shoes off and drops his keys on the kitchen counter, freezing in his tracks when he sees the covered plate of cake with his name written on it.

The batter is blue.

A boy.

He’s gonna have a son.

A son that he’ll never get to meet. He’s given you freedom, and he doubts you’ll let him be a part of your child’s life after all that he’s put you through.

He slowly makes his way upstairs, his heart hurting when he sees no sign of your things in the pristine house.

When he pushes open the bedroom door he freezes in his tracks.

There you are, sleeping in his bed. No bags are packed, nothing is out of place, and the dainty diamond ring sits on your finger.

You’ve made your choice, he realizes, his heart jumping for joy in his chest.

He sheds his clothes then climbs into bed with you, wrapping you up in his arms and sighing heavily.

Maybe Wanda was wrong.

Maybe he’ll get his happy ending after all.

#dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x you #steve x reader dark fic #stucky x reader dark fic #Steve rogers x reader dark fic #Steve Rogers x reader #dark!Steve Rogers x reader #Steve X reader dark fic #dark fic #dark au #Steve X reader dark au

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ceescedasticity · 3 years ago

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perspectives on the first kinslaying, xvi

(you might want to check out the other parts first)

Glavarë Olwion

Elulindo is my big brother and I love him dearly and admire him immensely. Under other circumstances, I might have been enraged, when Bellewen explained what had happened.

As it was, feeling his death left me vomiting into a gutter, then wasting a stupid amount of time scolding myself for putting refuse somewhere that drains into the harbor. The head injury may have contributed to both those things, but I convinced myself it was shock and grief.

Volue Olwion:

I was furious when I learned what Fëanáro did to Elulindo — he was more like an uncle than a brother to me, but that didn't mean I loved him less.

I… don't think it really had any effect on how I was fighting, though? I wanted to defend Swan-wave. It was already a matter of utmost importance.

Duimiwen Elulindiel:

Feeling a parent die— I've never felt a child or a spouse die, but conventional wisdom is those are the worst, followed by parents, followed by siblings and close friends. (Unless they're very <em>very</em> close friends and belong in the first category. Or twins.) Distance makes it milder, being in communication at the time makes it worse, being already agitated supposedly makes it less debilitating.

I think that basically means is that if you're in a fight when someone close-but-not-too-close to you is killed, you don't get the whole blow at once, so you don't fall over and immediately get killed, too. So I felt my father's death like my guts being scooped out, but I didn't faint or even lose my rhythm, really. I faltered when Mom told me what happened, and when people on the wharf started screaming "Prince Elulindo, Prince Elulindo!" But not for long.

I asked one of my crew if I could take his bow for a moment. (I'd been handling oars.)

I said I had a new trick I wanted them to try out.

I picked out a Noldo coming down the quay.

I shot him in the fucking eye.

Then I gave the bow back, and ran back to Swan-pelican to get my harpoons.

Duinipen Elulindion:

Dad dying was like a, a shower of ice-cold needles. My face went numb. My vision went dark for a few seconds. I didn't fall, but for a moment I thought I had. I don't know what I looked like, but Térandurissë asked if I was all right. I said my father was dead. They were shocked and horrified.

Then Mom told me how he died. Unarmed, not threatening, Fëanáro knew he wasn't threatening—

"Duino?" Térissë said. "Can I help?"

"I have to go," I said. And I ran away.

Ran away from fighting them, ran away from finding out for sure which side Térandurissë would take, ran to find the rest of my family — take your pick.

I never saw her again. I have no idea what happened to her, afterwards, or any of her family — her father was weird and her grandfather was an ordeal but her mom and brothers were nice.

I don't think they would have left their lords voluntarily. I don't know what to hope for. I haven't been brave enough to try to find out.

#perspectives on 1st kinslaying #other fic #reckless application of spackle #tolkien

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eliemo · 4 years ago

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Kiss Me (Before I Set the World on Fire)

Summary: Virgil should have told Roman why it bothered him so much. He would have understood. He should have known staying silent would just lead to something far worse.

Taglist: @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess (let me know if you want to be added)

“Oh my god, what now?”

Virgil forced himself not to flinch at the exasperation in Roman’s tone, instead crossing his arms and forcing himself to match the Prince's glare.

“What? I literally didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly!” Roman stood, reaching over to pause the recording. “You’re just sitting here sulking! Come on, Charlie Frown, why are you so against this video?”

Virgil sighed, running a hand over his face, wishing they could just drop the whole thing and disappear under the covers of Roman’s bed, letting everything but the two of them fade away for the rest of the day.

But apparently, Roman had gotten it into his head that he and Virgil needed to film some sort of “couples video” for Thomas’s channel and had spent the last week begging Logan to talk Thomas into it.

It wasn’t that Virgil was completely against the idea. It was hard to be completely against anything when he was doing it with Roman. It was just...they’d only been dating a little over a month, both still fighting to work around their own fears and insecurities to make things work, and Virgil wasn’t sure how he felt about putting their new dynamic out in the open for the whole world to see.

That, and the fact that today was just a bad day. It wasn’t anything unusual- just one of those days where Virgil’s anxiety wouldn’t leave him alone, exhausted brain running on overdrive. Paranoia and racing thoughts had kept him up most of the night, but he’d been careful not to mention anything in an attempt to not ruin Roman’s good mood.

Seemed he’d managed to do that anyway.

“Because I just...don't know how I feel about it,” he said. “I mean, come on. Is anyone actually gonna care that we’re together?”

“Of course they will!”

“But...why can’t we just casually mention it in passing?” Virgil asked. “Why do we have to make a video about it at all? Does it have to be this big of a deal?”

Truthfully, Virgil had to constantly keep himself from telling every single person in the entire world how happy he was, how incredible it was that he and Roman had gotten together. A part of him, the part not ruled by crippling fear, wanted the entire world to see how perfect they were together, wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make an entire series declaring his undying love.

But the reality of the situation was that they weren’t perfect.

Roman was, of course. He was...he was Roman. He was the Prince, he was Thomas’s creativity, elegant and beautiful and kind.

And Virgil was...Virgil. He was anxiety and doubt, dark, gloomy, and scared, and all he did was drag everyone back.

He and Roman weren’t perfect, happy as they were together, simply because Virgil was there. Nothing was perfect when he was involved. He just...he tainted it.

Somehow though, Roman overlooked that. Roman loved him, and they made it work.

But not everyone else was going to see it that way. Not everyone was going to turn away from his flaws. People would see him and Roman together, see how much better Roman deserved, and they wouldn’t be afraid to say something.

And Roman...Roman did deserve better. And if enough people pointed out how awful Virgil was, made convincing enough arguments for why Prince should leave...maybe he’d decide they were right.

“It wasn’t a big deal until you made it one,” Roman shot back, and cold panic began to curl in Virgil’s gut at the bite in his tone. “Jeez, what’s your deal?”

Virgil knew full well that if he told Roman the real reason he was uneasy about the idea, if he’d asked for just a few days to unwind and rest and hopefully avoid the panic attack he could already feel building up, he would back off immediately and offer any help he could.

But Virgil still wasn’t great at asking for help.

“Because it’s a stupid idea!” God, why couldn’t he just control himself? “Sorry I don’t want to sit here for ten minutes listening to you- you- brag and shit!”

Roman barked a laugh, the sound humorless. “Brag? Right, that’s what I’ll do. Brag about my boyfriend who refuses to let anyone do anything fun.”

“Fun? How is this fun? It’s just gonna be you talking about yourself and how much more romantic you are, or whatever. No one cares, Princey. It’s just gonna turn out dumb and awkward.”

Something far too close to real hurt flashed in Roman’s eyes, the argument taking on a dangerous edge, but it was quickly squandered by something darker.

“I don’t just talk about myself.”

Virgil scoffed, hating himself more and more every minute. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, what am I supposed to talk about?” Roman demanded, too loud, too close to genuine anger. “You? All you do is sulk and mope around and make me miserable!”

Virgil winced at the harsh words, falling silent and watching warily as Roman paced. He knew Roman could have a temper sometimes, knew his rants were mostly just for the sake of dramatics.

But...well, he did have every right to be truly upset this time.

“I mean seriously!” The prince continued. “Forgive me for actually being excited about an idea! I just wanted to make a video about being in love, but I should have realized you would just ruin it!”

The words were met with heavy silence, Virgil’s throat suddenly too tight to form a reply, Roman’s anger sitting heavy on his chest.

The Prince sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he didn’t look any less unhappy. “I shouldn’t...ignore that. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He wondered if Roman meant Virgil ruining things, or that he was in love with him. He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Roman quickly answered his question. “Yeah, this...this isn’t gonna work, is it?”

The panic building up was suddenly replaced with sickening, ice cold fear.

Roman...Roman didn’t mean…?

“I don’t know why I thought this could be a good idea,” the Prince said. “Not when you can’t stop arguing with me for two seconds.”

Oh, god. Oh god, he was. “Wait, Ro--”

“What?” Roman snapped, turning on him all at once, gaze intense and expectant. “What, Virgil? What is it?”

Virgil flinched, frantically trying to think of a response, for any way to repair the damage he’d done today.

But...but if Roman didn’t think the two of them could work, if he’d realized how much better he deserved...wouldn’t he just get more upset if Virgil selfishly tried to get him to stay?

He wanted them to work. More than anything. For a while, he’d really thought they could.

But if Roman ended it now, if he left Virgil alone (After all, Virgil deserved to be alone, didn’t he?) it would break him. Virgil didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

He opened his mouth to say as much, not sure how to stop himself, wanting to beg and plead Roman to forgive him, to give him one more chance.

But the panic and nausea were making it impossible to force any words out, that dark, awful voice in his head screaming that he didn’t deserve to ask Roman to stay.

And Roman apparently took that as an answer, shoulders dropping as he scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re not even gonna bother.”

“Roman...that’s not…”

“No, it’s fine!” The words were cold and biting. “Seriously, all good! See? You got your way. Again. It’s done. It’s over. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Over. Over, it was...god no, no no Roman was going to leave. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

“Roman, I- I didn’t want—“

“Whatever, Virgil.” Roman scooped up the camera before stalking over to the door and holding it open. “If you don’t mind? I’d like to be alone so I can continue bragging about myself. I’m sure you’re ecstatic to get away from all that.”

“Roman...Ro, please, I didn’t mean—“

“Get out, Virgil.”

Virgil felt numb. Slowly, unable to look up and see Roman’s face twisted in hatred, he pushed himself away from the table they’d stationed themselves at, and stepped away, everything achingly silent except for Prince’s heavy breathing.

Virgil didn’t even bother walking to the door, not even sure he could stay upright that long. He just sunk out, and as the floor disappeared under him, he wondered if he would ever be welcomed back in Roman’s room.

His own bedroom was frigid, dark, and empty, and Virgil almost felt like he was being sent to a prison cell with how gloomy it looked.

It suited him, he supposed. Dark and brooding and...and alone.

Had...had he and Roman just…

“This isn’t going to work, isn’t it?”

They hadn’t fought like that in months. It had stopped some time before they’d gotten together, but today it was like all their progress had been undone.

Virgil had done that. Virgil had single handedly ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. All because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

Roman finally realized Virgil had never changed. That Virgil would only bring him down, make him miserable.

And so he’d left him.

“I don’t know why I thought this could be a good idea!”

Virgil couldn’t move from where he stood in the middle of his room, everything far away and cold. He felt himself sink to the floor, felt the first few tears slip down his face before he began to sob.

Everything was falling apart. The world was crashing down around him, his own crying, loud, obnoxious, pathetic wails that bounced across his walls piercing to his own ears, bile rising up in his throat.

Roman was right. Virgil ruined everything. No wonder he made Creativity so miserable.

Virgil decided he’d actually rather leap out a window than join the others for dinner that night. He wasn’t even sure he could if he wanted to.

He hadn’t moved from the floor for what had to be a couple of hours at least, shaking and sobbing and viciously tearing his nails through the carpet.

By the time he’d cried himself out, he’d been far too exhausted to even consider moving, curled up on his side staring blankly at the light from the bottom of the door.

Patton had knocked some time later, cheerfully informing the anxious side that dinner was ready. It was only after a few moments of silence, when Patton’s voice grew worried and his knocking turned almost frantic, that Virgil forced himself to speak and claim he wasn’t hungry.

“You feeling ok?” Patton had asked, gentle and caring as ever. “Do you want me to bring you something? I can send Roman to--”

“No, Patton.” He hadn’t meant to snap, his disgust with himself only growing to an unbearable ache, but even just the Prince’s name threatened to bring a fresh wave of sobs to the surface. “I- I’m fine, Pat.”

Patton had mercifully left him alone after that, not prying after the wobble in his voice but promising to leave a plate in the fridge for whenever he wanted.

Virgil wondered how Roman was doing. If he even missed him at all. It was doubtful, he’d made a decision but...what they’d had was good. It had been. At least while it lasted.

They’d only been together a little over a month, but Virgil honestly wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do without Roman now.

He loved him. He loved him so much. He hadn’t really been able to convince himself he could deserve happiness like this until Roman proved otherwise, literally scooping him off his feet and showing him just how wrong he was.

And he’d let him think that maybe...maybe he was helping Roman too. Maybe slowly, they could both bring out the best in each other.

And Virgil had managed to undo all of that in one day. All because he couldn’t suck it up and keep his stupid mouth shut for one minute.

Eventually, when the sky darkened and the mindscape was quiet, Virgil dragged himself off the floor, changed into sweats, pulled his hood over his head, and crawled into bed.

It felt cold and empty without Roman’s arms around him.

Virgil buried himself in the blankets, hugging his pillow close to his chest, not bothering to try and stop his crying. He deserved to be miserable, didn’t he? He’d certainly put everyone else through enough misery for a lifetime.

He wondered if Roman would even talk to him after tonight, or if the Prince would just shut Virgil’s existence out completely.

Maybe things would go back to how they used to be, the two of them practically enemies, Roman treating Anxiety like the villain he’d always known he was.

In the end, Virgil supposed it didn’t really matter how he was treated now. He’d lose Roman either way.

He’d felt heartbreak through Thomas, of course, more than once. But this...this was so much different. So much worse.

It was heavy, a weight sitting on his chest, restraining him, keeping him pinned down until he couldn’t breathe. And it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he’d ever known.

Coupled with the panic that hadn’t gone away, Virgil was left a crying, trembling mess in his bed.

He stayed like that until what had to be nearly one in the morning, unable to fall asleep, the hours passing by in meaningless blurs, breath catching when he heard the doorknob turn.

Virgil went very still, careful to keep his ragged breathing quiet and shallow, hoping that whoever it was would just hurry up and go away.

He didn’t have the energy to explain to Patton or Logan what had happened. He didn’t think he knew how to say it aloud.

“I know you’re awake, Virgil.”

That was Roman’s voice, the Prince standing in the dark entryway, and Virgil felt blinding panic reach up and seize his heart.

“Come on,” Roman said, and while he didn’t sound as angry as he had that afternoon, he certainly didn’t sound happy. “Are you going to keep pouting or can we talk?”

Virgil didn’t answer, didn’t move from where he lay with his face against the pillow, but he listened as Roman sighed and slowly made his way over to the bed.

What more could Roman possibly have to say?

Virgil kept his eyes shut, refusing to cause Roman any guilt by breaking down in front of him. He felt the mattress dip as the Prince lowered himself on the edge of the bed.

“Look--”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said before Roman could finish. “I...I’m sorry. For ruining it.”

It was followed by a string of heavy silence that stretched on an unbearably long time, and Virgil could practically feel Roman’s eyes on him.

“Don’t be,” Roman said eventually. “And you didn’t. I didn’t mean to...it was gonna end that way eventually, right?”

Virgil froze, remembering the yelling, the awful fight he’d caused that had pushed Roman to his breaking point.

Roman had just...expected that?

“It...it was?”

“I mean, probably,” Roman said, with an air of nonchalance that hurt worse than any amount of shouting could. “And it’s not a big deal that it didn’t work. It was just...a silly idea. Totally impulsive on my part.”

Virgil huffed a laugh, the sound dangerously close to turning into a sob.

“Yeah,” he said, because that was true at least. He loved Roman more than anything, but he still couldn’t comprehend what could have possessed Roman to show an interest in him. “It...it wasn’t silly to me.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Roman scoffed, and Virgil winced. Prince must have noticed, because he quickly continued. “Look, I’m...I’m sorry I yelled. I think we both got a little worked up.”

It was Virgil’s fault. He’d ruined it. He deserved to be alone.

“Ok.”

“Seriously, Virge. It’s not a big deal. Can’t we just...move on?”

He hated this. He hated this. Acting like they could just go back to being acquaintances, like nothing had ever happened between them, like breaking Virgil’s heart didn’t even matter.

He didn’t answer, digging his nails into his palms in a vain attempt at forcing back rising tears, praying that Roman would hurry up and leave him alone.

There was a hand on his shoulder, the touch achingly familiar, and Virgil jerked away with a panicked gasp.

“Don’t.”

“Virge—”

“Roman, please.” He struggled to sit up, the hurt only worsening at the confused exasperation he’d heard in Roman’s voice. “I can’t do that, I can’t...I don’t know how to just pretend...fuck, Roman I don’t know what to do without you!”

God, he was pathetic. Roman had finally opened his eyes and decided he deserved better, and here Virgil was, useless as always, unable to let go.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he choked out, vision blurred by new tears, the guilt and disgust suffocating. “Please, Ro, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry f- for- for fucking up, I’m sorry just- just please give me another chance I can- I’ll--”

He cut off with a broken sob as Roman’s hands were suddenly on his face, cupping both his cheeks and forcing him to look the Prince in the eyes.

“What are you talking about?” He was frantically searching Virgil’s watering eyes, horrified realization dawning. “Did you think I meant...Virgil have you been laying here all night thinking I broke up with you?”

Virgil’s breathing was quickly turning to ragged gasps as he desperately tried to muffle his crying, face burning in frustrated shame when the tears just continued to fall. There was absolutely no way for him to hold back another sob when Roman began wiping them away with his thumbs, looking strangely pained.

“Y-you s-said...you said i-it wouldn’t- w-wouldn’t work, y-you...you said--”

“Oh, darling no.”

Roman’s arms were suddenly wrapped around him, pulling him close, and Virgil didn’t think twice before falling against his chest, clutching desperately at the Prince’s shirt and wailing.

It all came spilling out again at the feeling of Roman’s arms around him, holding him like he’d protect the anxious side with his life. It was everything Virgil had grown accustomed to these last weeks. Everything he didn’t want to lose.

“It’s alright,” Roman said softly, holding Virgil tight as he cried. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. I’m so sorry, Virgil, I’m so sorry. It was just an argument, darling, don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

“Y-you- you said you knew,” Virgil sobbed, anguished cries muffled against Roman’s chest. “You knew it w-would end, you- you s-said it was over I-I thought--”

“Oh no, darling I wasn’t talking about us. I was talking about the video, Virgil. I was angry about the stupid video. It was just a fight, V. I’m so sorry for saying those things.”

Roman kept talking, rocking them both gently where they sat on Virgil’s bed, rubbing circles along the anxious side’s back. He would tighten his protective hold each time Virgil’s cries would grow loud again, devastated bawling that wouldn’t stop even with Roman’s reassurances.

But eventually the sobbing faded, leaving Virgil hiccuping and gasping for air, panic and sorrow fading and making way for utter exhaustion and hopeful relief as Roman’s words set in.

“I...I don’t want to be in here,” he said, as soon as he found his voice. “Can we--?”

“Of course.”

Roman was immediately sinking out, Virgil still held carefully in his arms, the two of them reappearing in the middle of Prince’s unmade bed in seconds. It seemed like neither of them had been able to sleep.

Roman guided them both backwards until they were laying down, still chest to chest, one hand reaching back to pull the covers up and over them. Virgil let out one more trembling breath, taking a moment to lay against Prince’s now tear soaked shirt, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing in Roman’s scent, taking in his arms around him, his steady breathing in his ear.

“So,” Virgil said after a moment, quiet and hesitant. “Just to, um, clarify. You’re not...you aren’t breaking up with me?”

Roman pulled back from where he’d had his nose pressed against Virgil’s hair, just enough so he could crane his neck to get a better look at the other side, eyes wide and filled with his own, unshed tears.

“No,” he insisted, almost desperate. “No, darling never. I never want to leave you, Virgil. I promise. You’re stuck with me.”

Virgil huffed, glancing up to give Roman a timid smile. “I’m not gonna hold you to that promise. I get it. I’m...a lot. Clearly.”

Roman leaned forward to press a kiss into Virgil’s hair. “You’re a lot of things like perfect, and beautiful, and magnificent--!”

“Oh my god.” Virgil’s cheeks were on fire, despite it just being the two of them in the dimly lit room, and he quickly buried his face back into the Prince’s shirt.

“And,” Roman continued, a bit softer. “I’m very sorry for raising my voice at you. I didn’t even realize, I...I overreacted. And I’m sorry.”

“I’m pretty sure I yelled first, Princey,” Virgil said. “I was an ass. And I didn’t mean it, either. The video...wasn't stupid. It was just...I was stressed and I freaked out. Bad day, I guess.”

Roman moved one hand to start running his fingers through Virgil’s hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp, and Virgil’s eyelids fluttered at the blissful feeling. “What’s bothering you, Love?”

Dammit. Roman really knew how to break down his defenses.

“I- I guess the idea of making...us public is...it just stresses me out sometimes. I’ve known you wanted to for a while and I’ve been stupidly anxious about it. I should have told you.”

Roman was silent a moment, never stilling the movement of his fingers, and Virgil could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“You...you know I’d never force you to do that video, right? Whether you needed more time, or you never wanted to do it at all, I wouldn’t have been upset with you.”

Roman was always unbelievably patient with him. He had a temper sometimes, they both did, but he was more than willing to take things as slow as Virgil needed. Anything to make him comfortable.

With Roman, Virgil had never felt more safe in his life. Feeling pressured hadn’t been the issue at all.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Can I...ask why it upsets you so much?”

“I just…” And really, what else was there to say but the blatant truth? “I just still can’t believe that I’m with you. That you like me. Out of anyone.”

The hand in his hair slowed, just for a moment, and he could almost picture Princey’s puzzled expression. “I’m...not following.”

“You deserve the world, Roman,” Virgil said. “And I want to give that to you because...because I- I love you. And I just get it into my head that if people find out we’re together...they’ll see how much better you deserve. Because you should have everything and you...you got me. And I know you’re ok with that, but I just worry that if enough people tell you to leave you’ll realize you--”

He was abruptly cut off by Roman’s lips over his own, the Prince suddenly on top of him with one hand still behind Virgil’s head, the other tilting his chin upwards.

Obviously they’d kissed countless times before, but to Virgil each time felt like the first all over again. He didn’t think he would ever get used to this feeling, fiery warmth that spread through his body, the way he practically came undone when Roman brushed his lips, everything perfectly at peace when they fit together.

Roman pulled away, cheeks flushed as he looked down at Virgil’s equally red face, their noses almost touching.

“I love you.”

It was said suddenly, with so much force and desperation, and Virgil blinked, momentarily caught completely off guard. “I- thank you? I love you too, but--”

He stopped when Roman was suddenly pressing a kiss to his forehead, pulling away a few seconds later with another hushed “I love you.”

“Roman--”

Roman kept going like that, pressing meaningful, gentle kisses to almost every inch of Virgil’s face, cradling his jaw like something delicate. With each kiss Prince would whisper another soft, “I love you,” just loud enough for Virgil to hear.

When he was done he didn’t go far, warm hands still delicately framing Virgil’s face, looking down at him with what could only be described as awe.

“God, I love you,” Roman said again, and Virgil was almost positive his face was the color of the Prince's sash by now. “Virgil, I’m happier than I’ve ever been when I’m with you. You know that, right?”

“I...I guess, but--”

Roman pressed another quick kiss to his lips, and he clearly wasn’t expecting a back and forth discussion seeing as Virgil was far too flustered to form coherent answers.

“I’m supposed to be the sappy one, you know,” Roman said when he pulled away with a smirk, the smile quickly dropping into something more serious. “You are my world, darling. I do have everything. Because I have you. I wouldn’t give this up for anything, and a stupid comment from a jealous idiot who has no idea how beautiful you are won’t ever change that. Do you understand?”

For a moment, Virgil couldn’t bring himself to speak, the words getting jumbled and caught up in his tightening throat. Roman’s voice was swirling around his head, forcing the dark anxious thoughts to finally retreat, replaced only with overwhelming love and lighthearted giddiness.

It was a wonder Virgil had any tears left to cry, but suddenly his vision was blurring and Roman’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I just...I- I thought--”

It was Virgil’s turn to cut Roman off with a kiss, this one a bit more sloppy and desperate as he grabbed Roman’s collar and dragged him back down, but he savored the feeling all the same.

When it was over, Roman was watching him with wide eyes, brimming with hope and worry, and Virgil found himself smiling.

“You dork,” he muttered, and Roman instantly relaxed. “I’m not...good at this like you are but...me too. All of that. You...you’re perfect, Roman. I don’t know what I did right to deserve you.”

“You think I don’t wonder how I got lucky enough for you to love me?” Roman asked, smiling when Virgil carefully reached up to wipe away the Prince’s own tears. “I’m not letting go of this, Stormcloud. Unless...unless you ever change your mind.”

Virgil moved to wrap his arms around Roman, guiding him back down until he was laid against his chest, the Prince’s head rested comfortably on his shoulder, the weight warm and grounding.

“Not a chance, Princey,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment just to listen to Roman’s breathing. “We can film the video.”

He felt Roman freeze, just for a second. “I- really?”

“Yeah.” Somehow, the idea wasn’t quite as terrifying as it had been before. “Just...maybe in a few days, if that’s ok.”

“Of course!” Roman exclaimed, and Virgil could hear the excitement in his voice. “We can do it whenever you’re ready.”

“Maybe we could...plan it out a bit more tomorrow. Work on a more concrete script.”

“Good idea,” Roman agreed. Reaching over to take Virgil’s hand. “I suppose I got a little carried away in my excitement. I shouldn’t have dragged you into a video like that...I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“And I’m sorry for being an asshole about it,” Virgil said. “I should have just talked to you. I’m still not...great at telling people when somethings bothering me.”

“Your comfort is my top priority. Always. Never be afraid to tell me these things, Virgil. How else am I supposed to protect you?”

Virgil scoffed, this time light and good natured, and Roman chuckled along with him. “Protecting you is my job, Ro. But...but I will. I promise.”

“I know it’s not easy,” Roman said. “And it’s not your fault, I’m not angry. All I ask is that you try. I’m always going to be here.”

Roman had said that before, of course, he knew where Virgil’s fears and insecurities stemmed from.

But now, the two of them wrapped in each other's arms, it was the first time Virgil had ever been able to believe the words without hesitation, the doubts completely silent.

He listened to Roman’s breaths slow and even out, felt him relax completely against Virgil’s chest, the anxious side still wide awake despite his exhaustion.

“I love you too, by the way,” he whispered when he was fairly certain Roman had fallen asleep. “So, so much. I wish I was better at saying it.”

Roman said nothing, but Virgil felt him squeeze his hand and run his thumb along his knuckles, a silent communication somehow letting Virgil know that it was ok, that they were both learning.

Virgil smiled and closed his eyes, completely at ease in the Prince’s hold. And he realized, just before he succumbed to sleep, that a small part of him was actually looking forward to that video.

Honestly, how could he not if it meant he would see Roman smile at him?

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #prinxiety #romantic prinxiety #virgil sanders #ts virgil #roman sanders #ts roman #ts patton #writing #fanfiction #theyre soft and gay #and so in love

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silvercrystalwhump · 3 years ago

Text

Their Not so Different Are They?

Here’s some during the time when Vince and Dmitri were just friends

Vincent Shield belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: references to sex, implied dubcon (being drunk), alcohol reference,

The warm embrace of drowning ichor.

It’s been awhile!

Lights dancing against air

Can you keep a secret?

The way hands brush against skin.

Just for tonight, got it?

Ice cold breath.

You’re absolutely gorgeous.

Poison across sheets.

You’re just perfect.

Boney, empty void.

Vincent wakes up, eyes ripping open to meet the pale tiles of a ceiling. A fan spins above him. Like an omen, it looms over him. His fingers wrap around the fibers of the bed spread. Slowly, he sits up, eyes focusing around the mirror across the room.

He’s in a hotel room.

Why am I in a hotel?

He rubs his temples and leans forward. Vincent, trying to pull together a story around him, glances to his left. The covers of the blankets were tossed off to the side.

Shit.

Vincent looks down at himself, piercing his lips. He is starkly naked.

Fuck.

Vincent glances down at the floor and sees most of yesterday's clothes scattered across the floor. He feels a wave of unease cross over him.

Why the fuck do I even so this?

He throws his legs over the side and scoops up some of his clothes. Vincent can smell the reek of alcohol, regret and something else. Pretending to ignore his mistakes, Vincent throws the clothes on as if this was a normal morning.

No one is in the room with him.

Vincent peeks just about everywhere as he bottoms up his shirt. He's tired, the kind of tired that makes you weary rather than drowsy. Everything feels slightly out of reach, his fingertips too sensitive.

He finds his phone tossed onto the small couch. Vincent sighs and plops down, grabbing his phone, and pulling up his messages.

Vincent rolls through the handful of messages he sent during his haze the night prior and one stands out.

Don't worry about picking me up, I'll have a ride in the morning.

Vincent puts his head back in his hands, dread blooming in his chest.

Looking across the hotel room, he tries to find any clue as to who he decided in his drunken stupor to sleep with. The faint ghosting of hands trailing down his spine forces him to pause ever so often.

Nothing.

The only sign being the discarded bed sheets and the soreness in his gut.

He collapses against a wall and lets himself slide to the floor. A hangover to trump all Hangovers eats as his temples.

Then his phone pings next to him.

Wanna hear something funny?

The text is from Dmitri, which is both a relief and a jab to the gut.

Sure, Vincent responds, rubbing his temples.

Have you ever seen someone fall into four dozen Boston Cream donuts before?

No.

Well yesterday night some guy, drunk off his ass, came in and demanded four dozen Boston cream donuts. He takes them and gets three steps from the door before stumbling over and falling on his donuts. There was just cream EVERYWHERE. Had to help Yasmin scrub it off. Hilarious in hindsight thou.

Vincent tisks at the mental image, cream filling covering tiles and windows. He remembers walking into Yasmin’s bakery before with Dmitri. The place smelled of warm honey.

Staring at his phone scream, he slowly types out a message. His finger hesitates over the send button. He, slowly and tentatively, presses down and the soft ping nearly sends him up a wall.

Can you do me a favor?

Vincent stares blankly down at the phone screen. Anxiety eats at his already pounding skull. His body, a quivering leaf in a hurricane of regret, feels cold even through the heater next to him.

Sure whats up

Can you pick me up?

Vincent’s mouth dries.

…

Sure. Where are you?

Before Vincent realizes it, he’s sliding into the passenger seat of Dmitri’s truck. Looking like an absolute mess of a human, he lets himself sink into the chair.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Vincent says as he messes with his pants. The slacks are so wrinkled that the place where he digs in his nails changes nothing. He can feel the fabric crinkle under his fingers, knowing how much Marie is going to have him for ruined pants.

Especially these ones, they were not cheap.

“I know,” Dmitri responds as his eyes twitch between street signs, “But I wanted to.” Something about how nonchalant Dmitri seems and how disheveled Vincent just feels off. Nobody Vincent knew would be this… uncaring for appearances. Yet, Dmitri, in an almost invisible way, takes no notice.

Vincent leans back, the muscles in his shoulder twisting into coils. He tries to fade into the soft music barely playing through the speakers. “You didn’t---” “You want some coffee?” Dmitri interrupts, as he pulls into an exit.

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

Dmitri blinks as he turns the car into a drive-through, “I know but do you want coffee?”

Vincent pauses, “I- Yeah but I’ll pay.” Vincent reaches for his wallet, vision blurring with every sudden movement.

Dmitri reaches out and stops his hand. He gives him a soft smile and shakes his head, “My treat.”

“I shouldn’t-”

Dmitri pulls into the drive-through and chuckles, “Nope, too late, I’m paying.”

Vincent tries to open his mouth but Dmitri is already ordering. He finds himself sitting tentatively under his own skin as they get coffee. He prayed silently that the cashier does not recognize him, or anyone outside of Dmitri’s truck.

I really don't want to be seen.

Vincent feels himself coil back behind his eyes again. The weight of air on his skin is just too much to bear. Each roll of the air conditioning across his skin feels too much like breath. Everything, even the hair rising on the back of his neck, just adds to the couplings of soft teeth barely grazing his mind.

Then, the air conditioning stops.

“If you were cold you could’ve just asked to turn the AC down,” Dmitri says, ripping Vincent from the flood of sensations.

“I wasn’t cold,” Vincent responds, noticing the coffee sitting in the cup holder next to him. He takes it and brings the cup to his lips, the smell of hazelnut letting him anchor.

Dmitri raises an eyebrow, “You kinda shut off and started shivering.”

Vincent looks up and blinks. They are in a completely different place, driving through winding hills in the middle of nowhere. “No no I’m just a bit hungover.”

“Oh,” Dmitri chirps as he leans back and grabs something from the seat behind Vincent, “Here, drink this.” He hands Vincent a Gatorade and returns to driving, “I have just water if you don’t do gatorade.”

“Why gatorade?”

Dmitri shrugs, “Hangovers are caused by dehydration, the brain doesn’t have enough water and usually other things too so if you drink a lot of liquids the hangover fades faster.”

Vincent reluctantly takes it and opens the cap, “You keep this stuff in your car?”

“Yeah, Samantha, one of my employees, sometimes comes in hungover so I give her one when she needs it. It kinda became a habit so I just keep them in my car. She’s a good kid so I try not to harp her too much about it,” Dmitri says as he drinks his own coffee.

After taking a sip, Vincent realizes actually how thirsty he is.

I haven’t drunk anything other than liquor since yesterday morning… and that was coffee.

“Have you ever gotten so drunk you only remember flashes of what you did the night before?” Vincent asks as he drinks all of the Gatorade.

Dmitri nods, “I did that alot in my twenties, losing yourself in the lights and all that. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve woken up in either a field, a motel 6, or in the ice box.”

Vincent looks down at the now empty bottle of Gatorade, I drank all of that? He places the bottle at his feet and makes a mental note to throw it out when he gets home. A part of him burns slightly with soured memories of liquor, scotch cologne, and envy. He rests his head back on the chair and lets out a sigh.

His thoughts, taking the wheel of his lips, just spill from his lips, “I really shouldn’t be doing shit like this, since now I have to go off of foggy memories of who I even went back there with.” Vince you’re rambling. “I don’t even remember this guy's name.” Vince, shut up. “And I wake up the next morning, knowing that I slept with him.” Shut the fuck up Vincent! “He’s not even there in the morning too, and now I have to figure out who i have to get to keep his mouth shut about me being gay and I just-”

Great, fucking great Vincent Shield, you’ve dug this grave. Now die in it.

Vincent pales, vision whitening around the edges, “I should've said that- I should’ve please don’t tell anyone. I’ll pay you but please---”

“Vee,” Dmitri says calmly, “I get it, your secrets safe with me. I remember when I was far back in the closet.”

“Wait you’re-”

“Gay, yup. I know I don’t exactly scream fruity but I am.”

Vincent feels himself relax just enough to breathe, “I- thank you, I can’t say how-”

“I get it,” Dmitri reassures, “I’ve accidentally outed myself before too. I did it to my Dad. I know the feeling and I would make a peep.”

Vincent crumples under the weight of his words. Like a cord snapping back, the whiplash of emotions feels like a beheading. “Thank you.”

Silence floods the truck. It gnaws at the ends of Vincent's fingers until they go numb. Vincent shakily reaches out and takes the coffee cup. Hoping the heat loosens the sinue of his fingers.

“So am I just dropping you off at your house or…”

“Yeah yeah, at my house.”

#forgotten to found #dmitri o'brian #vincent shield #dubcon tw #implied dubcon tw #sex mention tw #alcohol tw #vincent makes dumb decisions vol 5

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o-wise-corvid · 4 years ago

Text

Oooookay guys! Here’s the prologue to my little fic idea. It’s um... it’s gonna be depressing okay so if you can’t handle some gut wrenching emotionals, leave this for another day. I really hope y’all like it and I’m gonna try to get at least one update in a week. Anyhoo. Enjoy.

People who were wanting more: @captainrexisboo @clonetrooperrights @koskareevesismyqueen @gospelofme @jgvfhl @ct-27-fives @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life

TAGS: PG-13 tops/mention of deaths/battle trauma/PTSD/ nightmares/ self-loathing thoughts/ um... If y’all see something else I need to tag, holler. Oh and if ya wanna reblog, go right ahead.

Prologue- Captain Cody

A varactyl death scream. The echoing sounds of blaster fire. His own voice repeated over and over, bellowing orders, shrieking in pain. He watched the Jedi fall. Obi-Wan turned himself over in midair, determined to survive. The commander’s arm was still lifted in the kill order gesture, two fingers pointing at the target. His arm. “Blast him.” Words formed easily by his mouth while the inside of his head screamed, fighting his own bones and muscles.

Cody’s eyes snapped open and he cried out wordlessly, relieved to find himself in his bunk, shrouded in the dark, legs twisted up in sweat damp covers. He lay still, trying to bring his breathing under control.

“Captain?” The black protocol droid that had been assigned to his quarters snapped to life and turned hollow, yellow visual sensors toward him.

“It’s fine, Sixthree.” His voice sounded ragged in the hollow, stuffy echo of the room.

Cody sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bunk with a groan. His hips and lower back protested, popping as he moved. He was getting old and feeling it. Standing, Cody shuffled to the refresher and braced himself on the little sink that stood directly opposite the door. The squared off, slightly warped mirror betrayed more than his body ever could.

His hair was silvered at the temples and around the back of his head, thinning up top. He’d been considering going totally bald for a while now. Just to be done with it. Wrinkles spread out from his eyes in webs, carving furrows from his nose and down the sides of his mouth, creasing his forehead. The scar framing his left eye was more like a crevice now, pulling his eyelid down a little. His body wasn’t as lithe and flexible as it had once been, though he’d like to see one of the fit new Shinies take on a spider droid up next to him.

“You look rough, Trooper.” And then he smiled dryly at himself, scratching the stubble on his chin and cheeks absently.

A sick ache left from the dream curdled in his guts and he splashed some lukewarm water on his face. The memories of the Order didn’t seem like they would ever ease. The hatred of what he’d done followed him like a shadow, literally everywhere he looked, the result of his contribution to the Galactic Empire slapped him across the face as if on purpose. The monster had risen from the seeds sown by what most people now called The Clone Wars and it was huge, dark and ugly.

Obi-Wan. Cody gave an audible hiss at the thought of his name. The Jedi had been his friend, had saved his life, and how had he been repaid? With a watery grave, a shot in the back from his own Troopers. Guilt, old and familiar made him tighten his grip on the sink, the flimsy plastisteel groaning under the force he exerted. There’d not been a man in he galaxy that Cody had respected more and a faint glimmer of hope that his actions now would’ve made The Negotiator... what, proud? Not hate him because of what he’d done, the way he did in many other nightmares that made the regular circuit of his fitful dreams.

Cody wasn’t sure. He walked around, issued order about keeping the destroyer he’d been charged with floating, and trained new recruits when he wasn’t looking fierce. Recruits?! Stupid little kids that thought they could ever match the ferocity and skill of Clones. His brothers. There were so few of them left anymore, all spread around, trying to imprint their abilities on people who were not bread to war and battle. It was such numb-skulled concept. The Empire wanted the effectiveness of Clones but didn’t want to keep making them.

“Captain Cody.”

That voice brought him to attention. It was Vader. A chill crept over his scalp and down his spine until it sank into his feet, turning them into blocks of ice. Cody crossed to the communication display that took up most of the living quarter’s space. Vader’s head and shoulders loomed, huge and eclipsing, angular mask staring at him indifferently. He snapped to attention, uncaring that he was only in the black bottoms that he wore under his armor. “Lord Vader.”

The head inclined slightly in acknowledgement. Just after the end of the Wars, Vader had caught him in this state before and when he didn’t address the fact that Cody was naked to the waist and obviously just getting out of bed, Cody realized that Vader either tolerated it, doubtful, or simply didn’t care. He had no idea who Vader was underneath the armor and cape, but his suspicions leant toward a former Jedi. Who in the Force that might’ve been, he had absolutely no clue. The man knew soldiers though and he didn’t antagonize those who did their job and did it well. One thing he knew though was that he didn’t want to get on Vader’s bad side. Cody had betrayed his Jedi against his will, but this man... this man was something else. If former Jedi he was, Vader had slain and hunted his brethren until the mention of them was all but forbidden. If he knew soldiers, then he’d been in command. And there were only a handful of Jedi who had actually led troops, none of whom Cody could stomach the thought of becoming the beast that was Darth Vader.

“Your presence is required in the training yard. I have a new assignment for you.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” Cody answered automatically, without inflection. It was the way a Clone still under the control of the chip would sound like and Cody was careful to hold himself in that tight pattern, not allowing the facade to slip for even a second. If they knew, if anyone so much as suspected...

But his life was cheap at this point and if he had to die, trying to keep an eye on the Empire was a good use of what little time he had left.

He dressed quickly after Vader ended the transmission. His armor was not dissimilar from that which he’d worn nearly all his life, except black was the main color rather than white. It did look nicer, the shiny plastoid gleaming darkly with his signature bright yellow-gold accents. He bore the rank of Captain now, which was more decorative than anything, but even after all these years, Cody felt most comfortable with the weight of his armor encapsulating him. The Imperial insignia across his chest soured that comfortable feeling though.

Vader was waiting for him in the training yard, a thrumming shadow with the breath of a sleeping giant, waiting to reach out and crush anything it decided deserved a slow, strangling death. He was well over six feet tall and made Cody feel like he was looking up into the mouth of some enraged, ravenous beast. But he snapped to, saluted and stood at attention with practiced and even graceful fluidity.

“Captain,” Vader greeted smoothly, stepping to the side. His long cape shifted to reveal a... little girl? Cody’s eyes flicked down at her, seeing the naked terror on her face and it was all he could do not to tilt his head to let her know he was looking at her.

“This child is a force wielder, Captain. She lacks the ability to become as powerful as myself or even as the Jedi who you once served beside, but her talents can be used for the Empire’s service. You will train her in hand to hand combat. Your service record reflects the type of master she will require to be of use to us.”

“Yes sir,” Cody chirped, hoping his voice didn’t betray his total shock at what was happening. “She will... stay with me?”

“She will stay wherever you deem fit. Do not coddle her, Captain.” The command dripped menace and Cody fought the urge to swallow nervously.

“Of course not, my Lord. She will learn or she will die.” The little girl flinched at the word, glancing between the two faceless men. Vader nodded pointedly and left, the cape billowing behind him like a storm, not sparing a further considering moment for the little girl.

“Follow me.” Cody made sure his voice carried an acidic growl loud enough for anyone within earshot to register.

The girl gave a start and then obeyed. Her eyes were huge and dark, dirty and tangled black curls spilling around her face. Her skin would’ve been dark, possibly the same shade as his, had she not been leeched with cold and fright, her hands balled into tight little fists that she kept pressed to her chest.

He led her to his quarters, unsure of where else he was even supposed to take her. No one so much as glanced at them as the odd duo passed through the monstrous ship and Cody wondered if it was out of fear or apathy. Once they were inside, Cody ordered the protocol droid to go find some clothes that would fit the girl and bring in some food for her. The chattery clanker hurried off to do his bidding and Cody locked the door behind it. Then, he turned to look at the little girl.

What was he supposed to do now? Training older teenagers and grown adults was one thing. But a kid? A kid who’d been ripped from her family and tossed on a Star Destroyer with an old Clone, no less. Where was she from? What had happened to her? What must be happening inside her head right now...

“What’s your name?”

She blinked up at him, fear and anger making her eyes over bright, not answering. Instead, she made a frightened little noise and stepped back from him, glancing around for somewhere to escape. She was so scared, so lost. The sight of her did something unspeakable to Cody’s heart and he fought the urge to just scoop her up and hold her. Kids shouldn’t be experiencing this. They should be at home, with family, with people who could provide for them and protect them. This was so wrong. So cruel.

“Hey, hey, no...” Cody hesitated and then slowly removed his helmet, remembering an incident with Waxer and Boil on Ryloth in what felt like another lifetime. The helmets were scary back then; he probably looked like some sort of predator to her. Sinking down on one knee slowly, he leveled his eyes with hers, hoping not to further terrify his new charge. “I’m Cody. I’m not gonna hurt you, little one. But if you’re gonna survive this, you’re gonna have to trust me.”

She stared at him, breathing hard. There was no way he could get her off the ship and back to safety; her home was probably a crater by now, wherever it was.

“I... come here.” He reached for the blanket crumpled on his bed and tugged it free. “I know it’s cold. You’ll get used to it. Especially once we get you some decent clothes.” He opened it up to her, inviting her to take it. She didn’t. The dark, wide eyes watched him, tears spilling over and down her cheeks. Cody didn’t expect to feel a lump form in his own throat but there it was.

And that was when the world of Trooper CC-2224 shifted.

Something clicked, almost audibly, inside Cody’s head and the running, yowling script of “How am I supposed to do this?” halted, erased itself and was replaced with one firm sentence: “I’m going to do this.” Because of course he was. There wasn’t another option. He might’ve betrayed the Jedi, he might be still serving the Empire despite having slowly but surely shrugged out from under the control of the chip in his brain, but he was not going to just allow this little girl to suffer if he could possibly help it. For all his failings, for all his regret and self-hatred, this little girl could be the one thing that he finally got right. She needed a family, a protector, a provider... well... she had one. If this was coddling, then he guessed he’d just have to make his peace with disobeying a direct order, come what may. There really wasn’t any other choice.

“It’s okay, precious. I’m not-“ His breath left him as the girl flung herself at him. He wondered for a split second if maybe his epiphany had somehow shown through on his face as the girl’s momentum sent him rocking backward a little. It didn’t really matter though. This was where he realized he wanted her, safe and wrapped up in his arms. The relief of being able to comfort her somehow bled the strength out of him like a wound and he sat down with a weary sigh.

Skinny arms clutched around his neck and the cries of a child who had seen and felt too much too soon tore the air the quiet room. They stabbed at his chest, sounding too much like the green varactyl as it had fallen. “Easy, easy,” Cody tried, eyes stinging. He let the little girl cling to him as hard as she wanted, rubbing her bony back soothingly. He wanted to say something, to find the magic word that would make the pain that was this small creature lessen. But there were none, he realized as he swiped angrily at his own wet cheeks.

“You’re gonna have to trust me, okay?” he repeated after a long minute, having wrestled his emotions down to where he thought he could keep them still. “You’re gonna be okay.” Whatever was going to happen with this little girl would not be easy but in no way was this something he’d miss. Toss her off on some underling? Step in to check on her once a week? Unthinkable.

She grew still and then stepped back a little bit, hands still on his shoulders. Swollen, red eyes. Streaked, grimy cheeks. A dress that was mostly patches and frayed edges. “Cody,” she tried, and managed a wobbling, watery smile.

He smiled sadly at her, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “That’s right. You... you can either tell me your name or if you’d like, you can have a new one.” What made him do it, Cody wouldn’t be able to say for several years. But the ultimate reason was that this little creature reminded him so very much of his brothers. He’d never held someone, let them cry on him and felt their body heave with sorrow, that wasn’t one of his brothers.

“I can pick a name?” A curious, almost happy note crept into the girl’s voice, which was high and sweet.

“Sure. I picked mine.”

She frowned but it was more curiosity instead of something troubling. A grimy hand came up and dug the heel of her palm into her eyes, then she gave a loud sniffle. “Your parents didn’t give you one?”

“I didn’t have parents,” Cody said simply. “I had brothers though. Lots and lots of them.”

The girl’s face brightened but then fell. “My parents are gone, too.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Cody cupped her face in his hands, trying so hard to be gentle. “But you’ve got me. I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna be okay.”

Her eyes glistened but she didn’t start sobbing again. Instead, she reached up and traced the curve of Cody’s scar with one finger. If there had been some part of himself that Cody had been withholding from committing to keeping this girl alive, it was now officially and unconditionally surrendered. He expected her to say something about the scar, but instead she asked softly, “Could I have my Mama’s name?”

“Tell it to me.” He actually impressed himself with how steady his voice sounded because inside, everything felt like it was breaking and twisting, reshaping itself into something not unpleasant but not easily made.

“Gaia,” she said quietly.

“That’s lovely.” Cody smiled, a tear that he hadn’t watched closely enough slipping down his cheek. The little girl saw it and daintily brushed it away. “You sure about it?” he asked, clearing his throat to try to hold some part of himself together.

“... Yeah...”

He pulled her into another hug, which was warmer than the first. She curled into him like they’d known one another her whole life and Cody, now so exhausted that all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and never get up, leaned back against the wall with a tired grunt. “Okay, Gaia. Okay.”

#star wars #sunshine squad #commander cody #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #temura morrison #gaia #darth vader #latent Mandalorian parenting syndrome

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 109

Happy Spooptober, everyone!

I’ve been planning since about February to do another camping trip this month, for the season. I was super fortunately back in May to have some stories left over to share, that I didn’t have the opportunity for last time. So thanks go to @catolicabuena for your submission, and to @dierotenixe for the PERFECT character to add to this chapter.

As always, thanks go to @zazen-rabbit, @baelpenrose, and @charlylimph-blog for being the beta readers and cheering section I need every day, no matter what.

As a reward for the clear, focused argument Charly gave in favor of Shalt-kri’i/Ekomari hostilities being over cultural misunderstandings earned her a reward of her choice. I don’t know what Arthur expected, but part of me expected her to ask him something like throwing the class a party, showing up to teach class in sparkly footie-pajamas. Her response, instead, left me convinced there was a conspiracy between her, Conor, and other mysterious parties to keep track of the Terran holidays.

“It’s almost Halloween,” she immediately pointed out.

How? How did she say that so certainly? I wasn’t even sure it was Friday.

Oblivious to my thoughts, she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Today’s Tuesday - “ See!? “Which means Halloween is just under two weeks away? I think?”

“Your guess is probably better than mine,” I admitted. “Between the extra long days, artificial light, and consistent temperatures, I have no idea anymore.”

“She’s spot on,” Tyche confirmed, without even looking up. We were sitting in my living room, digging into ice cream while all the guys were at work.

“How - “ I sputtered. “How are y’all keeping track of this?”

Tyche rolled her eyes, while Charly snagged my wrist and shook it. When my datapad popped up, she gave me the deadest stare I had ever seen on her face. “There is a calendar on this thing. You do know that, right?”

My face and neck burned so hot, I was surprised my hair didn’t catch on fire. “I keep it on the daily view, so I can see all my appointments.”

“Which is why she has me and Alistair,” my sister pointed out lazily before scooping up another spoonful of dessert. “By the way, this pumpkin ice cream is pretty good.”

I nodded, having had a scoop earlier. We had been trying every flavor we could think of.

True to form, Charly’s was a screaming purple that honestly scared me, sprinkled with gummy bears and some kind of acid-green syrup. Every time she leaned my direction, I couldn’t repress the flinch. “Pumpkin is a good point. We should go camping again, and carve pumpkins.”

I could almost feel my ears pick up. “You mean like jack-o-lanterns?”

“Duhhhhh,” she scooped up a large enough bite to convince me it probably wasn’t toxic. “I know we can’t have open flames in the lab, but we can still put emitters in them.”

“Where are we even going to get pumpkins in time?” Neither woman would look at me. “What did y’all do?” I sighed.

“We did nothing,” Tyche insisted, chin jutting out stubbornly. “Now Sam….”

An audible smack sounded when I dropped my forehead to my palm. “How big?”

Charly gave me the widest puppy-dog eyes she could. “How big are what?”

“The pumpkins…”

“Pretty big,” Tyche smirked. “I don’t think I’ve seen even you carve any this big, honestly.”

I wasn’t a professional carver by any means, or even competitive, but I had done some pretty big ones in the past, so I was a little excited to see these.

A couple nights later, sure enough, several of us were carrying our camping gear to the now-less-eerie clearing where our previous camping trip had taken place. Even though Sam had decided not to join us, we were greeted by the sight of six enormous pumpkins around the edges of the space. In awe, I approached one and ran my hand over it - I actually had to lift my hand, seeing as the thing came nearly up to my hips. “How long has he been growing these?” I asked.

“Just over three months?” Conor huffed, setting down our gear. “The things love our best guess of Von’s environment, turns out.”

“No shit,” I whispered before clearing my throat. “I don’t think we have large enough containers for the guts and everything in these.” The deal with camping in the Lab was that we had to take out everything brought in with or for us. While Grey agreed to allow the jack-o-lanterns to decorate the area for the next two weeks - ostensibly as a study of decomposition - if we couldn’t remove the waste from the pumpkins, we couldn’t carve them.

Something that felt like plastic beaned me in the face. While I rubbed my face, I glanced down at my feet where whatever-it-was fell.

Maverick started apologizing before I could figure out what I was looking at. “Oh god, Sophia, I’m sorry! I meant to toss that on top of the pumpkin!”

With a joking scowl, I glanced at the vegetable between us. “How bad does your aim have to be to miss that thing?”

“Are you okay?”

“Only if you tell me what just hit me in the forehead?” I tried leaning over to pick them up again, but Conor beat me to it.

“They’re composting bags,” Maverick admitted. “I brought them just in case. They were the only thing large enough and portable enough to at least get in here.”

“It looks like a roll of garbage bags,” Simon pointed out skeptically, poking the roll of pseudo-plastic Conor was holding.

Conor smiled and shrugged. “Pretty similar.”

Soon, we were spreading out and setting up our gear in a familiar pattern. Just as the last bit of gear was stuffed into the tents or spread on the ground, Antoine’s head snapped up and over his shoulder. “Does anyone else hear that?”

Silence fell as we strained our ears to listen. The others started looking around, searching for something, before I was able to actually catch what they were hearing. Finally, I was able to hear what sounded like music, but it was in a minor key that sent shivers up my spine. It was another minute or so before I could make out words drifting through the trees.

“ - a year, and then

A few weeks, doubled, and tripled again,

A fire was struck by a warrior’s band

Meant for food, warmth, and a place to stand”

“What the - “ Tyche started wandering toward the music, clearly expecting us to follow. “It’s beautiful, but so sad.”

Reluctantly, I followed, reminding myself that this was a lab, that the faerie ring we were standing in was manufactured as a prank.

“Yet one bough too many was placed inside

The flames roared to life as they screamed and cried

Tore down the trees as the warriors fled

And only ceased by the river’s bed

The warriors slain, charred skulls and bone

Have remained in the forest for years, alone

Yet a magic imbued in their ashen remains

That entered a child who hid in great pain”

I glanced over my shoulder, and saw about half our group behind me, including - “Arthur, why do you have your sword?”

“Because it’s steel,” he shrugged, like that actually answered my question. “Which means it has iron in it, and we’re in space, so any fucked up space-fae might not know the difference.”

“In order to warn those who may stay

In the trees embrace, and walk away

The girl reads the thoughts of those who stand

On the ashes of noses, bowels, and hands

She sends them away with a haunted scream

That tears into souls with a power unseen

No one has entered who has not fled

Only to drown in the river’s bed”

Because that line was reassuring as I realized we were getting toward the artificial lake. Totally want to hear about drowning in a river bed, on a Halloween camping trip, sang by a creepy voice I didn’t recognize. A voice that we were steadily getting closer to, no less.

“For what place is safer from fire and flame

Than the rushing of water, a power untamed

The danger evaded, the human is saved

As their lungs are filled with a liquid depraved

To step foot in the forest is to invite death

For though the child has drawn their last breath…”

Tyche came to a sudden stop, both hands abruptly on her hips. She glanced back at me, one eyebrow arched, and twitched her head toward the lake. The voice was incredibly close to us at this point, so I peeked past her as carefully as I could.

Even in the low light of the BioLab during simulated-night, I saw a bright gleam of silver trailing through the water, interrupted only by a thick, red-gold cable draped halfway down.

“Their soul remains as though chained to the ground,” Nixe smiled with her eyes as she wound the song to a close. “And they’ll tear you apart until you are drowned.”

“Very funny,” Tyche half-scolded. “You did that on purpose.”

A lazy flick of her tail accompanied a cool glance over the surface of the water. “Perhaps,” she replied calmly. “And perhaps not. I often swim at night. And I like to sing, it’s in my nature.”

“But a song about ghosts, and vengeance, and drowning?”

“I’m a siren, Administrator Reid.” A bright flash of teeth that my brain told me were sharper than I knew they were. “All of my songs are about love, and revenge, and how else do sirens take revenge?” Another lazy splash. “I can’t exactly burn people at a pyre.”

“I loved it!” Charly spoke up from behind me. “We’re camping for Halloween, so it was perfect!” I had to admit, at least to myself, that she had a point.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one. From over my shoulder, I heard Arthur murmur “Siren or not, you’re insane.” A brief pause. “But I love the spooky music…”

I couldn’t be certain that she heard the comment, but Nixe’s eyes suddenly snapped over my shoulder to the side where it sounded like Arthur was standing. “Iron has no effect on me, Educator,” she stated firmly, flicking her tail to make a point. “But I mean none of you any harm, so please put the blade away. One near-death experience is plenty, thank you.”

A metallic rasp told me Arthur had acquiesced. “Apologies, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Were it anyone else, you still wouldn’t need that sword.” She tilted her head. “I would be there first.”

“Okay!” I interrupted, trying to break the tension. “Nixe, we’re camping and carving pumpkins. Did you want to join us?”

Another smile, this one less terrifying. “I appreciate the invitation, but I have plans tonight. I do apologize for interrupting your evening.”

“We were just surprised,” Charly explained. “But it was beautiful and perfect and thank you!”

With a nod, Nixe turned her body toward the artificial lake. “I am glad the song was appreciated. Good night.”

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#the miys #found family #aliens #science fiction #original science fiction #humans are weird #hfy #earth is space australia #apocalypse #fiction #humans are space orcs #spoopy #october #siren #mermaid #my writing

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otterskin · 3 years ago

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Finnesang - Prologue : Two Birds, One Song

All published chapters on AO3 - but here’s Chapter One, just to hook you.

Blurb: Odin is missing a raven. Without Muninn, Odin isn’t quite who he used to be. The only thing more dangerous than a man with secrets is one who can no longer keep them.

After a near-perfect Coronation years ago, Thor's become exactly the kind of king he believes his father would be proud of - if his father were still the man Thor thought he was (if he ever was).

Loki knows his place - servant of Asgard, advisor to his brother, and caregiver to his ailing father. Important roles, defining ones - and yet he feels forgotten. Sometimes literally.

Being forgotten is fatal when all that you are is someone else’s lie.

PART ONE:

UNMADE

ᚲ ᛟ ᚹ

The RAVENS

Once we were ravens, and that only.

To be ravens is a good thing. Ravens can fly. The Sky belonged to us when we danced in it. At night we'd steal the stars away when our black bodies blotted them out. We did not belong to the Earth or the Sea, though we took the bounties of both. Some would call us thieves for that, but we were ravens only, and accountable to no-one.

And yet we were not content. We wished to have more.

We wished to be more.

When we heard it first, we could put no name to it. It was a sound, many of them, wound together in a tangle - and yet it could be followed.

So follow it we did.

We soared through rain and thunder, through blazing sun and piercing wind. Always, it moved forward, as living things must. We followed. We could not bear to live again in silence.

We beat our wings in time with its tempo and our hearts beat in time with its base. There was nothing but the song and the journey to possess it.

We followed it through forests, through villages, through cities and out into the sky again.

We saw a figure walking through clouds. He looked like one of the people who lived below - he was covered in scales like them, had four purple eyes like them, dressed as they did. But at once we saw that he was not one of them. None of them could walk the skies as easily as we flew in them. None of them sang as he did. He was a new thing, and we wanted to have him.

We danced about him, and he laughed in wonder at us.

He paused in his song to call out to us, as raucous as any lowly crow, “What are your names, then?”

We jeered. Play the sounds, creature.

He took up the thing of sticks and strings from around his neck and strummed it.

We ventured nearer, needing to feel the pulse of the tune. One of us landed on his right shoulder. One of us landed on his left. Through our toes, we could feel the rumble of his flesh, the rumble that became the sounds we would soon learn to call ‘music’.

"Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races

From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low

I will soon relate, to this tree of faces

Old tales remembered from long, long ago…”

We did not yet know what words were, but still we jittered to encounter them. The scales that disguised the singer as one of the people of below fell away, revealing pale, pinky flesh and worm-like toes where wing feathers should be. His eyes were now only two, and they were very, very blue.

"Have you no names, then? I’m between names myself at the moment. A fair number of them just…did not work out. Perhaps you can help me think of the next one.”

Before we could berate him for stopping, he continued to sing.

"I asked for companions, the Norns sent me birds

I asked them for names, but they gave me none

I suppose since I am the master of words

It falls to me to give them both some!"

He reached out to stroke our chests with a finger. It was warm. We didn’t dislike it.

“I may have made those lyrics for you, but the tune is not mine. I really should not be singing it. Yet lately, I cannot seem to get it out of my head…

“My father was a fine singer himself,

Though only when he sang with my mother.

They sang this for me when I was my first self

When I still had a sister and brother.”

The music ended. We looked at the creature. He stared hollowly out across the green skies as if he did not like the colour of them.

“It seems that no matter where I go or what I call myself, I am burdened with memories and thoughts. Not just of what was, but what could have been. Do you know what that is like, my feathered friends?”

He seemed unhappy. That was no good - his song had brought us joy, and it would not do for him to have none of his own. We called his music to our minds and cawed to it best we could, harsh and throaty.

His eyes brightened. “You are very clever, aren’t you? You’re different from the birds on Asheim. Though not so clever that you’ve yet to realize what sordid company you’re keeping now.” He strummed his instrument with a grin. “I’ve thought of names for you. You shall be Huginn and Muninn - Thought and Memory. But names are not free, my corvid companions. Upon your wings I will settle a burden, so that I might journey lighter…”

He touched a wing-toe to his head. It began to glow, bright and silver. When he withdrew the toe, it came away with a long strand of silver. It broke free from his head, and at once began to wiggle like a worm. We could not help but swallow eagerly in anticipation. He offered the worm to the first of us on his right shoulder. Without hesitation, it was devoured. He put his finger to his head once more, and this time drew out a golden worm. This he offered to the second of us, on his left shoulder. Once again, it was devoured.

He continued in this manner until we were full to bursting. The silver and gold writhed in our guts, hot and cold, filling us with emptiness and sorrow, with warmth and joy, all at once. It was only then that we realized we were no longer only ravens.

Our minds were pulled away from our bodies, away from the green skies of our home. We were taken into another body, under a different sky, in a distant time.

There, we were a boy. There, there was a garden…

It was a beautiful place.

A tall, red-bearded man held hands with a woman. Together they worked the land, pulling and pushing earth and water. Beside them were two children, a boy and girl. The girl coaxed plants from the soil, and the boy called animals to live in them.

The eyes we ravens watched from were distant, hovering far above the scene.

The man looked up at us. He opened his mouth, perhaps to call us down, to join them -

But all that came out was a terrible, wailing scream...

ᚼ

The ravens awoke, groggy with sleep. The baby’s wails echoed down the dark hallway, piercing even the great golden doors meant to shut away the rest of the world.

Thought looked at Memory. Memory looked back at Thought.

“You go,” croaked Thought.

“Muninn went last time,” complained Memory.

The wailing grew louder. It was a noise somewhere between a wolf having their teeth pulled and a crash collision between two speeding metal boats, complete with the two pilots arguing over whose fault it was afterwards. It was the very opposite of music.

“Huginn turn,” insisted Memory.

Huginn huffed, puffing up his feathers and shaking the sleep off of them. He flapped down off his golden perch and onto the bed. There was only one occupant, still slumbering on one side. On the other, the furs were flicked open. Huginn thought to look at the remaining shoes. The slippers were still there, but Frigga's boots were gone. Muninn remembered that she often went to the Garden at night - the only time she really could. She would not be back until sunrise.

Huginn hopped over to the remaining lump of furs. He pulled back the edges of them, revealing Odin’s face. He looked so very different from the creature who had walked the skies of the ravens’ homeworld. The red colour had long leached out of his hair, and his soft face had sprouted a grey beard and moustache to match it. At least his eyes had stayed the same - until a few nights ago when even one of them was taken from him.

Muninn recalled that he’d told them it was a trade of sorts. An eye for a baby. Huginn thought that was a rubbish trade. Odin's right eye had never screamed at them, which made it better by far.

Not wanting to waste any more potential sleep time, Huginn pecked near the newly-empty eye socket. At once the lump of furs erupted with a curse, sending Huginn flying into the air.

Odin attempted to insult his birds again but was drowned out by the baby screaming its boat-crash-wolf-yelp cry. So instead he sighed, beckoning to his birds to follow him as he lumbered out into the hallway.

Muninn tried to hide his beak under his wing and pretend he hadn’t seen the gesture. Huginn circled back and harassed him mercilessly.

“Need both,” Huginn tutted. “Always two ravens.”

Muninn relented, and soon both birds perched on Odin’s shoulders: Huginn on his right, Muninn on his left. As light as they were, Odin still moved slowly. He’d had very little sleep since returning from the final battle. The war itself hadn’t been particularly relaxing either.

Huginn felt the thought bloom in his mind as it occurred to Odin. How easy it seemed when I first took the child. Just seeing a friendly face after being abandoned had been enough to quell its cries.

They entered the nursery. Immediately the cries doubled in volume.

"Shhh-shhh-shh-sh.” Odin attempted, but the child only stopped its tears to hiccough loudly and suck in more breath, ammunition for further cacophony.

Hastily, Odin seized at a bottle waiting in a basket of ice and tried to stopper the babe with the bottle’s teat. Its mouth clamped shut and refused the milk, turning this way and that to escape.

“Still?” Odin asked it wearily.

I thought I saved you. But if you do not eat, all I have done is prolonged your death.

The thought tasted of hopelessness. It was not a favourite flavour of Huginn’s.

The babe reached out, seizing at Odin’s hand even as it ignored the bottle it held. Odin scooped the child into his arms, jostling the ravens as he patted its back. Nothing seemed wrong with it; its changing cloth was clean, its guts clear of gas. It was not even alone anymore - and yet it still would not stop crying.

“Go outside?” suggested Huginn.

“Remind baby of home,” agreed Muninn.

Odin nodded, eye still droopy with sleep.

They stepped onto the balcony. The night was clear and brimming with all the lights of Yggdrasil. As hoped, a chill was in the air.

And yet the baby still cried, digging into Odin’s beard as if trying to crawl away from the cold.

The old god sighed. “What am I to do?” he asked his ravens.

“Always, Odin ask only himself for counsel,” chided Muninn.

“I tried to turn to Frigga,” Odin protested half-heartedly.

Muginn cocked his head in judgement. The raven did not need to remind Odin of what he had done to Frigga. A flicker passed through both their minds: the memories of her face when he’d returned, bearing a strange infant to replace the one she so recently lost. She’d been waiting to share their grief - and Odin had instead asked her to disguise it, much like the false child he’d pressed to her breast.

“Odin did not think that one through,” observed Huginn.

“No. He did not,” agreed Odin, rubbing at the gauze over his socket again. He sighed.

Even Frigga’s reaction had been a friendlier welcome than he’d gotten from his own son.

I don’t know why I expected a warm welcome on my return - how could he even recognize me? He was but a babe when I left. But to see the boy instead glare at me with such suspicion, to insist on standing between his own mother and father...

But was the boy wrong to try and protect Frigga from me?

The first thing I did on my return was to break her heart.

“I am a wicked man,” Odin sighed.

"You are required to be a good king above being a good man. The two are often mutually exclusive concepts.”

Odin turned his head slightly to frown at Huginn. “That voice…”

The babe kicked him hard in the chest, trying again to squirm free of Odin’s grip.

Without thinking about it, he started to hum, bumping the child up and down as he did so.

Miraculously, the tiny creature quietened. Unscrunching its face, it peered up at him and his ravens. It seemed mesmerized by the tune.

Odin would have been glad of it, had he not recognized just what he was humming.

He stopped.

The babe immediately crumpled up again and began to fuss. Huginn, too, dipped his head in disappointment.

Despite his audience’s clear call for an encore, Odin did not pick up the tune again. Instead, he summoned the milk into his hand and tried again to feed the child. “Come on, boy,” he muttered, trying to turn its face back out from his chest. “I know it’s not as good as giant’s milk but we haven’t had any volunteers.”

His attempts jostled the ravens about on his shoulders, causing them to flap and squawk. Huginn wondered how comical they would appear to anyone walking in on the scene. Odin, King of Asgard, Conqueror, feared throughout the realms, encumbered by clingy ravens and an obstinate baby.

“Eat - the damn - milk,” Odin muttered, accompanying each word with the jab of the bottle.

“Baby liked that song,” Muninn recalled.

“Sing next time,” urged Huginn, a spark of independence clashing against Odin’s clear reticence.

“I don’t know that I can," the man muttered. “I haven’t sung in years,”

“Odin sang for many years before,” Muninn said slowly. “Muninn would know if Odin forgot how.”

“See? So sing now!” demanded Huginn.

The other raven looked away from his brother. “Muninn doesn’t like that song. It hurts.”

Huginn looked over at Muninn, scandalized. “We ravens like the song!"

But Muninn just fluffed his feathers again and wouldn’t meet Huginn’s beady eye.

The babe knocked the glass bottle from Odin’s hands. It hit the stone floor of the balcony and broke open.

Odin nearly cursed again, catching the ugly word with one syllable already hanging out of his mouth. Spending years around soldiers instead of the Court and his family had roughened his vocabulary. That was what he used his voice for, crass words and orders to make war. Not song. That belonged to a version of himself he’d long put behind him.

He would go and get a nursemaid and damn the consequences, he would go and fetch Eir and have her diagnose the child, he would go -

The baby detonated with a keening scream, piercing his eardrums and threatening to further shatter the glass bottle with its ferocity.

He would go mad if he didn’t do something right now.

Well, go madder. He must have been mad already to have taken this child in the first place.

It shouldn’t have come as easily as it did. For one thing, his voice had deepened significantly since he last said these words, and it strained at first, trying to hit the notes that used to be within easy reach. But even before he dropped to the next octave down, his seidr was stirred, flowing outwards with the euphony. In many ways, this had been how he’d first learned magic - how he first learned to speak with the air and sky, and all the intricate veins that threaded the universe together. A thousand strings to be plucked and molded into melody.

“Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races

From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low

I will soon relate, to this tree of faces

Old tales remembered from long, long ago.

Of old was the age when Ymir yet lived

No sea nor waves, nor sand was yet there

Earth was not yet, nor heavens forgive'd

All that was was the gap to nowhere.”

Muninn shifted uneasily. Memories of millennia were tangled inextricably in every bar. But to the babe, it was merely noise, clean and new and without connotation. Spellbound, it fell still in Odin’s arms.

“Lead me home, my mothers of yester

Lead me to my heart and its way

Free me from a body that festers

Free me from the urge to yet stay.

Take me from this o-ode to slaughter

Take me from Hel, though I may belong

Lead me to my sons and my daughters

Lead me home to the heart of my song.

Shield-time, sword-time, we enter the gold halls

Wind-time, Wolf-time, ere the world falls.”

Muninn thought of Bor, Father of Odin. He once said this was a sad song.

But did it have to be so for everyone who heard it? Odin wondered. Could it not be something else for this babe?

It could mean safety, comfort. It could mean that this child had a home…at least for a little while.

“Little while?” Muninn croaked. “How cruel.”

The All-Father ignored him and continued to sing.

“I remember yet the giants of yore

Who gave me bread in days gone by

Nine worlds I knew, Nine worlds at war

Nine voices became one battle cry…”

There were many ways this story could go. If it weren’t for me, this babe’s tale would have ended shortly after it had begun. What could be less cruel than the gift of possibilities?

“Muninn cannot remember the future, only past,” Muninn scolded. “Odin cannot know if saving baby means good or bad. It just is.”

“Even bad better than nothingness,” Huginn dissented. “This good deed.”

“Deeds have reasons why done,” Muninn muttered. “Were reasons good?”

Huginn turned his back on his brother, disgusted with his treachery. “Odin not parley with ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Odin just is. Muninn play silly games.”

“Only one rose from the sea of blood

Broken were oaths, words not what they seemed

Before the breath of liars, we scud

Shaped, like clouds, by forces unseen..."

“Odin make promise by taking baby,” insisted Muninn.

“Odin makes no promises,” Huginn hissed.

“I know the horn of Heimdall, well-hidden

As lost as the things it’s meant to return

What would I ask, if it were mine to be bidden?

Would I make new or ask to unburn?

Alone I waited when the Old One sought me

The Terror of Gods gazed in mine eyes:

‘What dost thou want? What comest thou to see?’

Dost thou look for something living or died?

‘Before thou ask, be aware there is cost -

An eye for an eye, a thought for a thought

If I am to return that which you lost

Be aware that the price is the same as the bought.

'Would you know yet more?

Knowing that wisdom is weight?

Would you know yet more?

Knowing no knowledge will sate?

Would you know yet more?

If you knew that knowing meant a forever war?’”

The babe was staring at Odin with rapt attention as if there was nothing in the universe more awe-inspiring than an old man mumbling his way through a doom-stricken ditty.

Odin tended to be the most powerful person in any room - or planet - or galaxy, really - that he happened to walk into, and so he was used to rapt attention. But there is nothing quite like being the end-all, be-all centre of existence in the eyes of an infant. For one thing, people tended to get nervous when the most powerful person in the galaxy walked into the room. This babe just wondered. It would have marvelled at him just the same if he were a moderately-successful goatherd.

This child knew so little of the world. So little about Odin. Hardly any different from most grown men, in that respect. How precious that ignorance was. How unfair that after all the world had done to this child in his short life that that innocence should be placed in Odin’s hands.

Moved to pity, Huginn bent down to preen at the babe’s few dark hairs. Muninn took off from the other shoulder, heading back inside.

“Lead me home, my brothers of yester

Lead me to my heart and its way

Free me from a body that festers

Free me from the urge to yet stay…

Take me from this o-ode to slaughter

Take me from Hel, though I may belong

Lead me to my sons and my daughters

Lead me home to the heart of my song.

Shield-time, sword-time, we enter the gold halls

Wind-time, Wolf-time, ere the world falls.”

The song was nearly complete now, and Odin was surprised to find himself slowing down, as if unwilling to let the moment go. Each time he returned to the chorus, there seemed to be some strange reciprocity from the babe. Though it could not sing, its fledgeling magic nonetheless reverberated with the melody, like the threads of a spider’s web plucked by the breeze.

"The serpent is bright, but now I must sink

My father of yester is leading me home

The sky becomes light, no more must I think

of old tales remembered from long, long ago.

It didn’t seem till now...

...so long, long ago."

It was done.

Muninn returned, bearing with him a fresh bottle of milk. He dropped it into Odin’s waiting hand. The babe seemed loose, almost liquid in Odin’s grasp, though its eyes were still bright and alert. It didn’t fight the bottle this time - but neither did it suck at the teat. Odin sighed.

“Did I ever know what was in giant’s milk, Muninn?”

The raven considered, then shook his head.

“Can you think of anything that would convince the child to drink, Huginn?”

The second raven considered, then shook his head.

“Fat lot of good you both turned out to be, eh?” Odin sighed, but there was a smile in it.

The king tried to return the babe to its crib, but its fists had knotted painfully in place in his beard. It was no use; he’d just have to take it to bed and hope it would behave until morning.

When he settled back into his half of the mattress, another pang of guilt crossed his chest.

I should be with her.

Instead, he pulled the blanket back up over himself and carefully tried to lie down without disturbing the infant.

“Give her time,” he said, though the babe was already deep in sleep. “She’s a warm heart and love to spare. She just needs time to say goodbye.”

The babe gurgled. Then, unmistakably, it hummed. Clear as the skies when Thor was in good spirits, it was the song Odin had imprinted on him, already echoing back. He listened to it make its way through the tune. At points it would stop, as if waiting for something; it took Odin a little while to realize that, even in the depths of sleep, it was waiting for a response. He’d hum back to it, sometimes along with it, creating a strange little harmony.

“We’ll make a proper Asgardian out of you yet,” he chuckled, and for a moment he could imagine that Frigga had merely gone to freshen up, that the babe was everything Odin was pretending it was, that his family had been spared their latest tragedy and all was, for that moment, well. He could forget all the inconvenient parts of reality.

The world could just be him and his borrowed boy.

He could stop the crying.

He could make things right.

“Could. What a damning word that is.”

Odin cracked open his eye and saw him in the corner of the room. Wrapped in shadows, and just as immaterial. His beard was a deeper red than it ever had been in life, and the curve of the downward-pointing horns of his helmet outlined his harsh face.

“Could is a word for regrets. Regrets are the stories we wished we lived. You were always too fond of stories. Stories are not real.”

Odin shut his eye. “Neither are you, Father.” He didn’t need to open it again to know that Bor would no longer be there. It was just a passing thought.

But the spell had been broken.

The bed was cold. His wife was still gone to the Garden to mourn over her true son while he coddled a painted imposter in what should have been her sanctuary. And even then, the babe was still sickly, still hungry, and he had nothing to fill him. He had made nothing right, only forgotten that everything was still wrong.

“Huginn - Muninn,” Odin called. “Go to Jötunheim and observe the children there. Learn what they require to suckle and grow, and return soon.”

The ravens bobbed their heads in acceptance of their task. They took flight.

The skies of Asgard roiled with starlight, but the clever birds knew which precise point of light was Jötunheim’s sole sun. Together they flew, side by side, into the ether. Light streaked, sound ceased, space bent around them, and they tore through -

We tore through…

We did, didn’t we? We ravens went to Jötunheim. We did - we saw and learned and we returned…The child lived, thanks to us…So why, why did the light and the sound continue, becoming darker, malevolent, angry? Why did it shout and accuse and become oh so terribly sad even as raging fire swept about us, between us, blackening the blackest of feathers and consuming, consuming, it was in Muninn’s mouth, it was in his stomach, it was devouring him from the inside out and he was in pain, such terrible pain and I, I the raven needed to go to my brother, needed to save him, but the moment we became I it was already too late.

Muninn was gone. A hole where a raven should be. I screamed for him, but a raven’s voice is not music, and it could not call him back.

I flew on.

My thoughts were dark.

Such angry, grieving thoughts.

My blood was dead. Taken from me. Stolen. By an enemy beyond my reach.

But not all my enemies were so.

Where was I going?

Somewhere cold, somewhere far away - and why?

To see the giants, the red eyes in the blizzard.

To Jötunheim, to the giants, to war -

As Asgard had done time and time again.

Yes, to war!

To war!

ᚼ

Huginn awoke with a start. Red light was streaming through the window behind him, courtesy of the sunset. He looked across from his golden perch to the empty one on the other side of the bed. As it had been for decades, it was empty.

So was the bed.

Huginn blinked at it. The sheets had been flung from the bed with force.

The door remained shut, likely still locked. But, as the breeze from the open window reminded the raven, that was not the only way out of this place.

With a flurry of greying feathers, Huginn took flight. He passed out the back of the golden room and felt the wispy touch of shattered spells try to catch at his feathers, to no avail.

The rook circled Asgard, wings straining, searching, searching.

He heard him before he saw him - the whistling of wind around the corners of the city and the low, dull roar of the stars as invisible strings drew from their raging hearts. Footfalls echoed mightily off the golden buildings, and at once Huginn knew they could not be dissuaded from their path.

There was nothing a raven, even one who was not only that, could do.

There was little anyone could do, really, but there were some who would try anyway. Inconveniently, today had to be the day they weren’t on Asgard.

Huginn braced his aching pinions, fixing his beady eyes on a star in the sky the way other ravens fixed on the glimmer of a mussel in the water.

He flew into the sky, following the faintest sounds of a half-remembered melody.

***

This and the rest on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638704/chapters/51598693

#finnesang #thor fanfiction #loki fanfic #thor fanfic #my fic #loki #thor #odin #huginn and muninn #huginn

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years ago

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 19

Elena pats me on the back again and I raise a shaky hand to my mouth, wipe my lips on the back of my wrist. The suit tastes rubbery and horrible and the cloying plastic aftertaste of it mixes with the bile on my tongue in a truly awful way.

She looks a little green herself but she’s holding it together better than I am, at least. None of the others on the team, even Euler, lost their lunch.

“You okay?” she asks softly, but I don’t trust myself to speak, not yet. I shake my head narrowly, trying to avoid any sort of quick motions, trusting the roiling feeling in my gut. I don’t think there’s anything left for me to yak up, really, but just the quick convulsive retching motion is enough for me to want to die.

Thank goodness Elena had seen what was going to happen and hit the quick-release catch on my helmet first and shoved me outside. I shuddered there on my knees puking my guts up, the indelible image of the mangled body there in the station burned in the backs of my eyelids, the terrified face, the marks as though something had taken a great ice-cream scoop to the man’s neck and chest, huge welts and suck-marks like he’d been mauled like an octopus. And then, of course…

“I don’t understand it,” I hear Crookshank saying from inside the station. The rest of the team is huddled around the body still, with only myself, Elena, and Klaus still outside. Elena’s laid her rifle down on the floor but Klaus still has his in his hands, low around his hips but ready to bring up and fire at a moment’s notice. I can see his eyes darting around the titanic space we’re in, not panicked but watchful. “I don’t understand it,” Crookshank repeats. “Anything that could have torn a man fucking clean in half would have been too damn big to get in here.”

More voices, Peter says something and the Sergeant mutters a curse, same disgusted tone of voice strained even harsher. “I have to tell Veret something,” I hear him growl.

I blow a breath out and stagger to my feet. Elena takes me under the arm and helps me up and I cling onto her gratefully. I feel a little better now, but I don’t know how I’ll handle seeing that body again. I’d never thought of myself as having a particularly weak stomach, but I guess I’d never seen anything that gruesome up close. Even Rey’s death, just a couple of days ago, was relatively clean from my perspective. He’d been a fair distance away from me and the bullet had entered the back of his head; I’m sure the front would have been ghastly but he fell on his face, and I never saw anything other than that small red pinprick welling with blood before he fell and that was that.

“Was that your first time seeing a dead body?” Elena asks me softly, and I shake my head.

“No,” I tell her. My voice is shaky and I cough, feel the coating of bile at the back of my throat shift, and then I swallow hard. The taste of it surfaces again and I make a face. “No,” I repeat, a little more clearly. “The other day when Rey – well, you’d know him as the guy who tried to rush the Pit –“

“Wait,” Elena says, frowning. “You were there? I heard that they picked up a couple of people who’d gotten in somehow and one of them got shot, but I didn’t know you –“

“Yeah,” I say. I realize belatedly that I’d sort of skimmed over this part when I’d told Elena how I’d arrived at the Pit. “Peter got me in and –“

“What?”

I look at her and frown. “What?”

“Peter got you in?”

“Uh, yeah, he – wait, you didn’t know he was doing that?”

Elena is staring at the station. There’s something smoldering at the depth of her gaze and I realize with an immediate stab of trepidation that I may have just fucked up. Inside I can hear Peter’s voice. “- I’m telling you, a shamble wouldn’t have been able to do this –“ he says, all I can hear before Crookshank’s rough baritone drowns him out.

“Are you telling me,” Elena says, “that Peter’s the one that has been letting all those people in all these years?”

“I thought you knew,” I say quietly. I can feel the anger pouring off of her and it makes me nervous, like I’m eyeing a very large dog that’s currently in the process of sizing me up. “I thought it was common knowledge, I thought everybody knew –“

“Roan,” Elena says, her voice tight. “I’ve had to kill somebody because of that bastard.”

“What?”

Elena pinches the bridge of her nose. “A couple of years ago,” she says, “someone got in with a bomb. And just like the other night, they were running at the Pit, they were going to chuck the bomb down the orifice. I was on patrol that night, I shot him. I shouldn’t have even been on patrol but someone was fucking sick and they didn’t have anyone else. The entire time I was with the Coast Guard I hadn’t even fired a gun except at the range, I was a damn cave diver. You’re telling me Peter’s the person who’s been letting them in?”

“I thought you knew,” I repeat helplessly. “I thought everybody knew, I didn’t know it was –“

“Does Veret know about this?”

She looks over at me then and goddam it, I flinch. “Yes,” I tell her, my lips barely moving. Elena spits.

“That fucking bitch,” she growls. “Did she know the whole time?”

“Elena, please don’t –“

“Did she fucking know?”

Klaus looks over, a frown on his normally tranquil brow. “Elena,” he starts, but she shoots him a murderous glance and he holds his hands up and takes a few steps further away, shooting me a sympathetic glance as he does.

“Yes,” I tell her, feeling as though I’m stabbing Makado in the back.

“That cunt,” Elena says, very quietly. She gets to her feet then, with purpose, and starts for the station, but I reach out and take her by the wrist. She tries to jerk her hand free of me but I hold on tight. “Let go of me, Roan,” she says.

“Elena, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” she tells me. “This isn’t your fault. This is Peter and Veret, they’re the ones who’ve been letting people in so they can fucking die down here, so they can profit off of fucking thrill-seekers. I am going to blow the lid off this so hard that –“

“Wait,” I say, realizing that she must not know. She must not know about the disease, the fucking – psychic illness or whatever the hell it is. And then I realize that if I try to explain, I’m going to sound like a damn lunatic.

Makado had said it was fairly top-secret. That it’d get me put on a list. So it must be something the regular rangers didn’t know about, except for Peter of course.

Elena’s looking at me expectantly and I don’t know what I’m going to tell her.

“Please don’t,” I go with eventually, knowing how lame it is. Elena’s eyes soften fractionally.

“Roan,” she says, using the same tone one might to explain something difficult to a child, “I know he’s your friend, shit, half this team idolizes him in one way or another, but what he did was not okay. And he deserves –“

“There’s something you don’t know,” I blurt. “Something I can’t tell you, something secret. It wasn’t about the money, he had another reason, he and Makado both had a good reason, but I can’t tell you –“

I can see anger flash across her face for just a moment and knowing that it’s directed at me feels like something is torn inside of me, like some very important piece of tissue just behind my ribs has broken open and is leaking everywhere. “Roan –“ she starts, and then her eyes flicker across my face and I see her bite her lip. “Don’t cry,” she tells me softly, and then I feel the little trickle of moisture making its way down my cheek, and I turn away with a mumbled curse, wiping at my face.

“Goddam it,” I growl, and Elena takes my hand hesitantly, and though my initial instinct is to whip it out of her grasp, I’m able to stop myself.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Hey, hey, stop. It’s okay, I’m sorry.”

“Do you trust me?” I ask her.

“Yeah, of course.” Zero hesitation, as if it shouldn’t even be called into doubt. I smile a little.

Klaus has taken a few steps further away and is minding his own business so obviously he might as well be screaming it. The poor guy is clearly uncomfortable and something about the way it’s so telegraphed is immediately endearing to me. “Okay,” I whisper. I feel Elena lean in behind me. “Then trust me on this. Please.”

She blows out a big breath; I can feel it on the back of my neck and immediately a stream of goosebumps race down both my arms. I take a step backwards, a very small one, and feel her against me. I want her to hold me but she doesn’t.

Elena holds herself very still, and then gradually lets my hand go. I turn and face her. “Please,” I tell her. I put my arms up around her neck and pull her closer to me, touch our foreheads together. She doesn’t want to but she smiles, avoids my eyes. She bites it back down after a moment but I still saw it. “I want to tell you but –“

“Why can’t you?”

“Because it might put you in danger.”

“Why the hell do you know, then?”

“Because Peter and Makado told me.”

Elena snorts. “So they gave you an excuse and you believed them?”

“It wasn’t an excuse,” I say sharply, then soften my tone when Klaus looks around at us. “It wasn’t an excuse. It’s a secret. Nobody’s supposed to know. The kind of thing that gets you on a list, that gets you disappeared if you try to tell someone.”

“Bullshit.”

“Thought you said you trusted me.”

“Wow, ouch.” Elena scrunches up her nose and nuzzles against mine. “I do trust you,” she says. “I trust that you believe what you’re saying. Whether it’s true or not is a different story.”

“I’m not sure that’s the same thing as trusting me.”

“Look,” I tell her, “just don’t do anything – don’t do anything stupid. Not yet. When this is all over we can –“

She barks a laugh, pulls away from me grinning. “Alright, I’ll wait to do stupid things until after the mission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I just thought it was funny the way you said it,” she tells me. Somehow her hand has found mine again and I can feel myself starting to relax. Then her face grows darker. “Roan, do you know how many bodies I’ve had to retrieve from gastric pits? I’m the only diver on the team, there’s two of us in the entire company. Anytime they find somebody else, it’s either me or him who has to suit up and dive in and grab the remains. How many? Guess.”

“I don’t want to –“

“Guess,” she tells me, more insistent now.

“Since you started?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. Ten? Twenty?”

“About a hundred.”

“What?”

“Like one-fifty or one-seventy-five total, cause the other guy got hired a year after me, so for the first year I handled all of them, 24/7. Do you have any idea what it’s like, diving into an acid pool, knowing that if there is a single spot of wear on your suit that you didn’t catch, a single tear somewhere that you didn’t see, you could end up either dead or crippled?”

“Elena, I –“

“Do you have any idea,” she says, her overcast eyes shining, “what it’s like to dive down there and find a puddle of jelly with a dissolving ribcage and skull sticking out of it? What it’s like to see half a face staring at you, with a gastric bristleworm peeking out of the eyesocket and trying to bite you? And you have to gather it all up and bring it back up with you, even if your hands sink into it and it feels like fucking jello?”

“No, I don’t,” I murmur. My stomach’s done an uncomfortable lurch in step with the images she’s putting in my head and I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

“I have nightmares sometimes,” she says. “Well, not sometimes, more like most of the time. About those dives, about the things I found down there, about the acid getting into my suit and burning me alive, about drowning in it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“I’m still sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

She offers me a little snort, fleeting mirth tempered with something approaching despair. The way she looks at me, I realize, this must have been eating her for – for years. At least. “Deserve,” she says, spitting the word like it’s a curse. “I won’t rock the boat – for now. But there’s going to be a reckoning when we’re done here, and if Veret and Peter can’t give me a very good reason why they let this happen, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

She looks at me menacingly, as if daring me to argue with her, and I bundle up the knot of trepidation lurking in my throat and toss it aside. “Okay,” I tell her. “I’m okay with that.”

“You are?”

I shoot her a skeptical look. “Yeah, duh. This whole trip, this whole time I’ve been down here, you’ve been the only –“

“Merriweather!” the Sergeant roars from within the station. “If you’re quite done puking your guts up out there, I need you inside to take some pictures!”

I pull a face at Elena and turn to go, but she grabs my wrist. “Wait,” she says. “The only what?”

“MERRIWEATHER!”

I roll my eyes. “Tell you later?”

“You better,” she growls, but it’s with an unwilling smile, and then I turn and blow my breath out and walk back into the station, trying not to focus on the way my boots stick in the blood, still wet and glutinous on the floor.

* * *

“No,” Peter says again, patiently, “it could not have been a copepod.”

“Goddam it,” Crookshank says, his face growing redder, “what else has the strength to do this?”

“A copepod can’t fit inside the station. Even a small one wouldn’t be able to, it would not be able to get through the door.”

“So it tore him apart outside.”

“And what, threw the body in here?”

I’m still feeling a little queasy but even I chuckle at that, just a little.

“I don’t care what the hell did it,” the Sergeant says, “so stop fucking arguing about it. I just got off the phone with Veret and checked with her, there should have been four other people down here other than this guy. Hughes, you and Sato did a sweep of the entire organ, you didn’t find any trace of them?”

“Nothing at all,” Ellis says. His eyes are wide still. “Like they disappeared.”

“Sato,” the Sergeant says, turning to Fumi. “How many arterioles branch out from Oyster’s Shame?”

“All of them, or just ones a person could reasonably fit through?” he asks. He’s already started tapping at his wristpad and I can see a map of our surroundings, wireframed and ghostly, hovering and rotating there.

“Just the ones a person could get into.”

He taps for a little longer. “There’s eighteen.”

“Alright,” the Sergeant says, looking around at us. His eyes are dark, menacing, purposeful. They settle, eventually, on Euler. “Mister Euler, get Joker set up in the center of the organ. Same defensive characteristics as we went over last night.”

Euler nods and hustles outside, and then we hear the thunderous squelching footsteps as he gets Joker set up. I look around for a panicked moment and then remember I’d left my helmet on the table in the other room – I’ll just grab it before I leave. The radio tag in it is what keeps Joker from thinking I don’t belong.

“Everybody, pair up,” the Sergeant says. “We’ve got eighteen vents to search and not much time to do it in. I want constant radio contact, and if anyone finds anything, get on the horn immediately. Understand?”

The team nods and murmurs assent, and favorite partners join up, slide on helmets, check magazines. I crouch down on my haunches and continue photographing the bent steel on the interior of the doorframe. It looks as though a titan hand had reached in and caught itself there, crunching the metal to oblivion. Then I realize the Sergeant is still standing there, staring at me.

“Uh.”

“Miss Merriweather, ‘everyone’ includes you.”

Behind him, Elena gives me a little wave and a grin. “You want me to go out there?” I ask. “And, you know, search for –“

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m a photographer.”

“You’re a body,” he corrects me. “Do what you’re told. Novak, with me.”

Elena frowns, glancing at me. “But Roan – “

“You girls can have your tea party later. I need you to check a gastric bulb that’s along vent 45-b out of here. Merriweather, you’re with Hughes.”

Ellis and Fumi share a glance, then a shrug, and the groupings rearrange, and with a sigh I rise to my feet, my knee letting out a loud crack that nearly makes me jump. Ellis grins at me and I grin back and for a moment, just a moment, I’m able to forget about the body, or what remains of one, lurking there in the other room.

* * *

For the dozenth time since we made our cautious way into our assigned ventricle, Ellis whips around, his slug rifle held in far too shaky hands for my taste. “Did you hear that?” he asks again, and I give a perfunctory and weary glance behind us.

“Nope.”

“You didn’t?” he asks. “I could have sworn…”

“Ellis,” I say gently. “Do you think you might be, I don’t know, a little freaked out right now?”

“Freaked out? Me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not freaked out,” he says. “I’m just, you know.”

“Staying alert?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Exactly.”

There’s an ominous gurgle from ahead and I stop. “Okay,” I say, “this time I heard that one.”

“I did too,” Ellis says, glancing over at me. “But I think that was just the Pit.”

“Just the walls or something?”

“Yeah. You know, contracting.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, and relax a little. “You’d know better than I would,” I say, more for my benefit than his, and he nods.

“I was going to mention,” he says, peeking both his head and his gun around the corner upcoming. “I thought it was really brave of you to, you know, even volunteer to come down here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Not a lot of people would do that, much less people, you know, without any real training.”

I laugh. “Are you calling me brave or foolish?”

“The two overlap, don’t they?”

“To a certain degree. Are we not going that way?” I ask as Ellis walks back past me the way we came, gesturing for me to follow. He shakes his head.

“No, the passage narrows, we wouldn’t be able to get through. There wasn’t anything down there anyway.”

So we head back. Other than the normal assorted creepy-crawlies all over the place there hasn’t been any sign of the ephemeral monster, big and strong enough to tear a person in half at the waist, ragged splintered spinal cord leaking –

Stop.

We haven’t found any of the other four people who worked at the Deep Listening Station, and judging by the lack of transmissions on the radio, none of the other pairs have either. I’d been a little apprehensive at first, watching Elena and the Sergeant vanish down a cavernous fleshy hole in the pockmarked wall of the chamber, while Ellis and I edged around another one of the vast pearl-like waxy secretions slumped cratering in the spongy floor, but after about half an hour without any radio calls other than routine check-ins, I’d began to relax. Ellis hadn’t, but I’d began to realize that he was just naturally a high-strung, twitchy little bastard, so maybe that’s understandable.

We’ve got two more vents to check, and in all likelihood they’ll be as empty as this one. It seems as though whatever did the deed in there, in the station, just crept in, killed the poor guy in there, and then ran off with his legs. It didn’t seem, in Slate’s expert opinion, quite messy enough in there for it, whatever it was, to have actually eaten the lower body while it was inside the station.

But then, I’d thought to myself, why would it have ran? Most animals I know of prefer to scarf everything down immediately if they’re able to. Harder to get your food stolen if it’s inside your stomach. Maybe that rule doesn’t apply inside the Pit, but it seems logical. Then, another thing – yeah, most animals will run off with food that’s too big or too much to eat right away, but if that was the case, why leave the upper body? Those marks on it certainly seemed like evidence of some kind of consumption, I guess, although not a method I was familiar with, but there was still plenty left to eat on it. I try to keep my mind from wandering onto the terrible expression on what was left of the man’s face but I’m not successful, and I grimace inside my helmet.

It’s pointless. I don’t know any of these creatures, I don’t know what sort of twisted behaviorology evolution has forced on them. Maybe it made perfect sense to run off with the legs without eating them.

But what the hell happened to the other four?

That’s the question eating at me, and I can’t see any way around it, I can’t see any meaningful explanation. They’d left their suits behind so they’d left in a hurry, they didn’t leave any communication, no logs or notes or anything. Ellis had looked through the computer system there and hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. It was like they just…decided to leave. Went for a walk and hadn’t gone back.

I think back through a dozen foggily-remembered spooky stories of similar disappearances, picked up through sort of cultural osmosis, absorbed from clickbait article titles and five-second daytime TV snippets, but I can’t think of anything useful. And then, because there really is nothing else to do, I look over at Ellis. “Alright,” I say. “Tell me what you think happened in there.”

“In the listening station?”

“Yeah.”

He blows a breath out, lets the words fade. All I can hear is squelching footprints and vague writhing from the flesh around us. “I think,” he says finally, “that whatever it was, I think it’s smart.”

“Yeah?”

“Cause, think about it,” he says. “It gets in there, it’s big and tough and strong enough to rip that dude clean in half, you know? What makes it want to leave after that?”

I shrug. “Maybe it was chasing the other four.”

“Nah, nah, nah, see, I bet it didn’t give a fuck about the other four. It knew it was in a place where humans were and even if it managed to kill one, shit, even if it managed to kill all five of them, it knew we were going to get mad and come looking for it.”

“So you think it ran away?”

“I think that it’s hiding somewhere, watching us, waiting for a good moment. You know?”

“Christ,” I mutter, “don’t say things like that.”

“I’m just saying, we have to be realistic.”

“What do you think it was?”

Ellis shrugs. “Copepod, that’s what I figure. I don’t know what else would have been strong enough to tear someone in half like that.”

“Peter thinks a copepod wouldn’t have fit inside the station,” I point out, remembering what I’d heard earlier while I was busy throwing up. Ellis shrugs.

“Who knows, man. All I know is, there’s some bullshit going on here and I don’t want to be anywhere near this place when whatever did it decides to come poking around again.”

We pause back in the main chamber so I can pop another SD card into the camera. I’ve manage to save it from the worst of the wear I was anticipating we’d run into but it’s still slick with gore from hours spent in the Pit. I’ve managed to keep the lenses clean, for the most part, and as far as I can tell the footage I’m getting is decent, but there’s going to be a lot of it.

I’ve been trying not to think of the next steps we have to take. If we’ll even keep going, after what’s happened here, after what we’ve found. Maybe Makado will want to pull us out, send more people down.

Or maybe, I reckon with a little sinking grind at the bottom of my stomach, maybe this is just normal here in the Pit. Maybe it’s normal to have one guy dead and four missing, maybe that’s just – Christ, what day is it? Down here it’s so dark that my mind just registers it as a constant endless night. I don’t even know what time it is, how light it ought to be on the surface. If I look at the time on my camera all it says is 6:54 PM, but I know I never set it properly, I didn’t bother to, so there’s no way that’s accurate. I’d ask Ellis but he’s gone back to jumping at shadows again. He keeps asking me if I saw that shadow down at the end of the vent we’re searching next, and I keep telling him that I was busy fumbling with my camera, I didn’t see anything.

I think he just misses Fumi. The past couple days the two of them have been inseparable, and I assume from how they’ve been acting that that’s the normal state of affairs for missions like these.

Ellis shakes his head finally. “I don’t know, man. I’ve been down here for too long, my eyes are playing tricks on me. You know?”

I can’t help but smile at him. “Yeah, I know,” I agree, slapping my camera closed and booting it up again. We stand there a little longer while it does and then finally I angle it upwards at him. “Smile,” I tell him, and he does, throws up a peace sign as well. “Beautiful.”

“At least you got my good side,” he grins, and I can’t help it, I laugh, even though it’s a dumb joke. Then we let the sound trail off and we make our way into the vent, the ribbed, dripping ceiling closing over us like the roof of a mouth.

We don’t have to wait long before it happens. Screaming, muffled as though it were passing through multiple layers of flesh, and then gunfire, and even though it too is muffled it still makes me and Ellis flinch.

“Sounds like it’s right fuckin’ next to us,” Ellis says, working the action on his rifle. The radio has ignited with voices, calling for status and such, but among them I can’t hear Crookshank’s deep, surly growl. I frown.

“Wait, it’s Crookshank. Crookshank and – who?” I ask. Ellis thinks for a moment, then nods.

“Slate,” he says. “They got paired up.”

We rush our way back to the main chamber, then listen. The screaming and gunshots have died down by now and left in its wake an ominous silence. I don’t see anybody else, although the radio is still squawking down at my belt. Everyone else must still be deep inside their vents, it was just chance that we were at the mouth of ours.

A gunshot sounds again and this time I have a fix on it – I saw the blare of a muzzle-flash reflecting crazily off the sweat-slick walls of a vent on the other end of the chamber. I point to it and look back at Ellis, the words already forming in my mouth, but I can see from his face they aren’t necessary, he saw it too.

Whatever trepidation and nerves he might have felt before are gone now, I can see. His mouth is a thin-set line and I can see determination in his eyes, and without anything more than a nod we both set off sprinting towards the vent. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest but in a good way, in a reckoning sort of way, like I’ve grabbed reins I never knew were hanging just in front of my face.

We don’t even make it to the mouth of the vent, though, before Crookshank blazes out of it as though the devil were chasing him, bowling me over and careening into Ellis. The man’s face is red as a beetroot and his eyes are wide and terrified. Ellis had almost shot him before our headlamps had caught his face and suit and we’d realized that he wasn’t a monster, some prehistoric annelid come back for seconds. Ellis struggles with the larger man’s weight for a moment but finally gets him back on his feet. “John,” Ellis says, “what the fuck –“

“Don’t even fucking go down there!” Crookshank yells. He staggers a little and then breaks into a run again, heading for the station. He knocked the breath out of me and that combined with a heavy landing right on my ass left me dazed for a moment, but I manage to clamber to my feet with a minimum of cursing.

“Where the fuck is Slate?” I shriek after him, trying to keep my voice even, but Crookshank ignores me.

“Goddam it,” Ellis grunts, and then takes off after Crookshank, and then I’m alone.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, dusting myself off – or perhaps ‘wiping’ is a better word in this environment. I thought I heard some sort of crunching noise from the camera when I fell but I don’t think I landed on it, and I spend a moment checking to see if anything is broken – I can’t find anything obviously wrong with it so unless it starts corrupting recordings, I’m fine.

Then I remember that I’ve been huddled here like an idiot tapping at my camera with my back to the vent Crookshank came bursting out of, and I whip around, eyes like dinner plates, half-expecting something horrible and nasty to be right behind me, but of course there’s nothing. I glance back at the station and see some of the other members of the team rushing for it – and there’s Elena too, in her wetsuit, padding along with the Sergeant right behind her.

When I turn my attention back to the vent I think I see something move, down there in the dark, but I can’t make it out. I reach up and angle my headlamp a little downwards but I can’t see anything other than pink flesh, scored by veins and tumors and callouses. “Slate?” I call out after a moment’s hesitation, my voice horribly shaky. I let my lip curl at myself and take a step or two inwards, and then it moves again, further down in the dark, where my light peters out.

I’ve got my camera slung low at my waist but I bring it up to my eye, then reach up further and turn my headlamp off. The night-vision mode isn’t very good but it might actually reach a little further than the headlamp does…

“Where’s Roan?” I can hear Elena asking, back in Oyster’s Shame. She sounds a little panicked. “Ellis, where the hell is –“

I open my mouth to call out that I’m right here, but before I can cold terror seizes my lungs and I can’t make them work, I can’t make my mouth form the sentence. On the camera screen, once the wash of the night-vision had finally clicked over and I could make out something down there at the end of the vent, before it curved over to the right. I made out a mass of writhing, squirming ropes or tentacles, but that was all, it was gone far too quickly for it to really fix in my mind. But in one great ropy appendage I thought it held -

And then Elena’s found me and she’s practically hauling me out of the vent by the collar of my suit. I see a flash of her eyes, wide and worried, staring into mine, before she spins me around and shoves me towards the station with enough force that I stagger. “Go inside,” she tells me, voice low and urgent, in a tone that’ll brook no argument. When I look back I see four of them, her and the Sergeant and Fumi and Peter, all with their guns at the ready, vanishing into the vent, the darkness swallowing them up even as the pale, faltering light of their headlamps stab at it.

“Don’t go down there,” I start to say, “there’s a … a thing,” but Elena has already gone and vanished, and with nothing left to do I turn around and walk back to the station.

It doesn’t take them long to get back, and when I see that they’re all still there, all still intact, my heart does a funny little flip in my chest, doubly so when I see Elena. The rest of us have moved into the station’s kitchen and grabbed seats at the big round table there, and I had the presence of mind to take two, resting my legs on one of them so Elena’d have a spot next to me. She practically throws herself down into it, and when I look at her I can see the tiredness and worry practically radiating off of her like cartoon stink lines. She glances over at me and offers a perfunctory smile but I know her heart isn’t in it.

I start to ask her whether they found anything, but the Sergeant comes in and tosses a helmet onto the table. It must be Slate’s, I assume; everybody else has theirs. The faceplate is shattered and there’s a vividly bright daub of blood down the front of it.

“We found this,” the Sergeant says, staring at Crookshank, “at the end of the tunnel. No Slate, no nothing. Just this, and a trail of blood leading into a compress arteriole that Slate would never have been able to fit into intact.”

For the past fifteen minutes Crookshank has done nothing but sit there at the table with his head in his hands. Now he raises his head and looks up at the Sergeant. I’ve never seen his face this pale. “It was the Leechman,” he says. “I saw it.”

Instant uproar. A dozen mouths shouting disagreement, disbelief, profanity. Elena is on her feet next to me, staring at Crookshank. “Bullshit,” I think I hear her say. “You fat fucking –“

I can hear Peter saying loudly from a few seats down that he’s seen one, that he knows he’s seen one, and I can hear Fumi saying equally loudly that the Leechman is just a myth, man, grow up, this is bullshit. Amid the noise I meet the Sergeant’s eyes; I haven’t seen or heard him say a single word since Crookshank spoke, but I can tell from his face that a Leechman, whatever the hell that is, is capital-letter Bad News.

I think of something, something I should have thought of immediately. I reach down, plonk my camera on the table in front of me. “I got it on video,” I say, looking around. Nobody hears, not even Elena next to me.

The Sergeant is looking at the camera, then he looks back at me. He frowns. I lick my lips, repeat myself a little louder. “I got it on video,” I say, then I close my eyes and stand up and yell it. I have to yell three times before everyone quiets down and looks at me. “I got it on video,” I say. “Here, look.”

And then I tab through the camera’s menu, find the last video I took, and then set it to play, as everyone crowds around me, craning their necks to get a good look at the unfortunately tiny screen, I feel for just a moment like I might actually be useful for something down here.

I look up again, look at all the faces peering at the camera, held tight to my chest, and when again I lock gazes with the Sergeant I try not to burst into flames from the sheer and incongruous spark of joy-at-belonging that I feel when he gives me a short, curt nod.

Elena’s the first to break the silence that settled in after the video ended. She flops into her seat, looks around at all of us, ends the slow sweep of the circle with her eyes on me. “Well,” she says. “Looks like we’re all fuckin’ dead.”

And I can feel a sudden consuming coldness someplace in my chest snuff out that little fuzzy spark of bucolic, ya done did good kid paternal acceptance when I realize that she’s completely serious.

Continue with Part 20

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#mystery flesh pit #writing #writeblr #alt lit #spilled ink #thriller #novel #original writing #Michael Crichton #caving #disaster

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nuclearbuzz · 4 years ago

Text

Ghoul!Kageyama x Hinata - Don’t waste your breath.

Authors Note: This is my first time writing fanfiction at all tbh, but I completely fell in love with this au. So bare with me if the characterizations feel off, It’ll get better next time. Feel free to send me criticism, head cannons, anything really. Also I know the conclusion is shitty I kinda ran myself into a wall and didn’t know where to go with it. But oh well.

I also wrote a bad ending for this one, If y’all are interested I’ll post that heathenry too :/

__________________________________________________

Kageyama sighs, the day has inched by so slowly it’s almost unbearable. Maybe it has something to do with the hunger, the feeling nagging at his brain - flooding his body with adrenaline. He’d been putting it off for too long. All day his subconscious whispered.

eat,

eat.

But he knew it would be fine. He’d made it through the day. He was so close, as soon as he walked home and said his goodbyes to Hinata he could go out and find some(one) to eat. He just had to make it a little while longer.

“You okay?” Snapped Kageyama out of his trance. He turned to look at Hinata beside him as they walked. “Sorry were you saying something? I wasn’t paying attention.” He responded a bit too honestly.

Hinata looked at him slightly concerned. “-oh um, I was asking if you’re okay. You look tired. Still sick?” Kageyama scratched the back of his head, pretending to be confused. “Just got a lot on my mind with Nationals and all I guess. But I’m fine.” He feels like he should say more - but can’t concentrate enough to think of anything.

“Well I’m just glad you’re back. It’s been boring without you.”Hinata pipes up. Kageyama rolls his eyes and elbows him teasingly in the ribs. He puts all his effort into not using too much force. But he’s still rusty on the threshhold of human strength. “Did you really miss me or were you just tired of being benched?” He muses.

Hinata looks insulted for a second. “I haven’t been-” He sighs, “Take a compliment for once. Not that you deserve it.”

“Dumbass” Kageyama mutters, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other - trying to keep himself from thinking of the hunger pooling low in his stomach.

He doesn’t notice Hinata trip, he just sees him face plant into the sidewalk. Like any good friend, Kageyama’s first reaction is to laugh. “Are you okay?” Comes a second later.

He kneels down to check if Hinata’s alright and regrets it immediately. Hinata sits up and cups his face with an odd grimace. “I think-“ He says wincing, Hinata looks at his hand - covered in blood. “Yeah I’m fine, my nose is bleeding but it’s not broken or anything.”

Kageyama stood up a bit too fast, he knows his reaction is cold, and uncaring - It’s not unusual. But this time he needs to put space between them. Even if he doesn't want to. If anything it’s for Hinata’s sake. “You good to walk?” Kageyama says deadpan, trying to change the conversation. He just wants to get home - for this to be over. He feels a twinge of guilt, he hates how good Hinata’s blood smells, how it makes him salivate.

Hinata nods and stands up again, Kageyama doesn’t say anything else as they start back on their way. He’s trying to push the feeling away - trying to ignore all the intrusive thoughts swimming through his mind. Before, that was possible. He could erase that familiar scent of human life that clings to Hinata’s skin from his memory. But now that was marinated in blood and seasoned in hunger. He doesn’t know if he’ll make it all the way back.

He closes his eyes and tries to tune out everything - he breathes in sharply, regaining his senses. “You should get some ice on that.” Kageyama says, trying to cut through the silence he’s created.

Hinata just nods again, tilting his head back. Kageyama is almost relieved that he’s more pressed about stopping the bleeding than continuing their conversation. Honestly he’s impressed that this is what gets Hinata to shut up for once. But at the same time he wonders if Hinata is just upset at him for getting away so fast.

Maybe Kageyama should have helped him back onto his feet. He was too scared that if he’d grabbed Hinata - he’d never let go. But regardless of cause. The resulting silence doesn’t bother him. He can focus on anything other than Hinata for now.

But it’s his subconscious rearing its head again muttering food, food, food like a mantra.

Though now they’re farther apart - Kageyama can imagine how good Hinata’s flesh would taste in his mouth. How easy it would be to scrape away at his skin.

Instead Kageyama bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Teammates are friends, not food. He reminds himself. - a terrible old joke he’d made years ago.

But - Hinata is not food.

Food

He doesn’t do anything but keep moving forward. Kageyama wants to run away and apologize later. Maybe that would be for the best. But he doesn’t. Instead, he allows himself to side eye Hinata from time to time. Glancing greedily at his best friend.

Kageyama can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. He shuts his eyes tight - feeling the familiar frigid blackness spreading across his eyes. Not now, anytime but now.

Kageyama forces his eyes back to a normal state - taking a lot of effort to do so. “Are you doing alright?” Hinata asks again, Kageyama just nods bitterly. He doesn’t have the energy to say anything. And he doesn’t want Hinata to know how much he loathes the fact that even now, he’s still asking if he’s okay. Kageyama isn’t the one who’s hurt but Hinata is still worried for him.

But he’s hungry, oh so hungry. It clouds his brain, throws rationality out a window and dims the human side of him. He doesn’t remember how much time has passed and his stomach has been growling and moaning for the past few weeks and he doesn’t need pitying glances from his cattle, his food, his —

Food

It’s just bad luck that their crossroads meet on an alleyway.

“So I guess I’ll see you to-“ Hinata starts. He doesn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. Kageyama moves quickly grabbing the collar of his shirt and roughly shoves him against a wall with a sickening thud.

He barely hears Hinata scream.

“What the hell-“

Kageyama pins him by the neck. Choking Hinata out. Maybe that was him unconsciously being less cruel - he barely processes the fear painted on Hinata’s face as he struggles against his grasp. Struggling to breath, yet he stutters out

“Kage-”

But all that goes over Kageyama’s head. He’s starved and drooling. Hinata has never looked so appetizing, and there was something so satisfying in seeing him like this. So helpless and unable to escape.

And he wants to tear him apart, he wants to feel skin and rivulets of blood fall easily under his teeth - torn asunder by molars which grin mercilessly. He wants to choke out Hinata’s last breath and feel broken bones beneath his fingertips. Scoop out his innards in a frantic haze.

He wants, he wants, he wants- nothing else to matter.

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

But then he’d lose Hinata.

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

It’s selfish, he knows and it’s too late. Kageyama looks as him and feels sick, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He didn’t want Hinata, of all people, to see him as a monster.

He backs away, as far as he can pressing his back to the other wall. - hands shaking - letting Hinata down. His stomach churns and He knows he fucked up and he knows it’s too late, And Kageyama still wants to—

But he knows very well he cannot do it.

He cannot kill him

Kageyama stands petrified, his breath hitches in his chest. He wants to run away, he wants to pretend that what happened, hasn’t. He wants to say something, he wants to disappear.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

“I” - Kageyama stammers. Watching Hinata lean against the wall, holding his sore neck and still catching his breath. Kageyama tries to choke out an apology, it doesn’t even matter, he just needs to say something. But the words get caught in his throat. Maybe just to taunt him with that suffocating feeling - the same one that he’d forced on Hinata.

“Kageyama” Hinata starts, his voice hoarse. Kageyama doesn’t want to look at him, he heard enough in his inflection. “What was that.” He sounds more mad than anything and Kageyama doesn’t blame him.

It takes him another moment to fully process what happened. Hinata inhales sharply. “You’re a, - you’re a ghoul.”

“I’m sorry-“ Kageyama finally manages. He can’t look him in the eyes. He freezes, inner turmoil enough. He wants to disappear. “I never wanted to hurt you and, and I’m sorry.” He feels like a broken record. “I wasn’t thinking, and you were bleeding - it’s been months since I.” He laughs bitterly, if only to keep himself from crying.

“You - you were going to kill me.”

“You’re going to eat me.” Hinata mutters, his voice cracks in his throat.

His words feel like a punch in the gut. Kageyama wants to promise he would never- but he almost just did, he knows that whatever he could say would sound hollow. Kageyama looks down at Hinata, he tries to pretend he doesn’t see how he’s shaking. He doesn’t know what would be the right thing to say. He doesn’t have the right to say something that will make everything okay - because it isn’t.

“Why are you still here?” He says finally, honestly he isn’t sure why Hinata hasn’t run away by now. “If it still means something to you, I don’t plan on doing anything.” His eyes start to sting. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I-“ Kageyama stops just short of finishing but the unspoken words hang in the air between them.

If I hurt you

“So why did you-“ Hinata can’t finish speaking either, and even if he doesn’t say it Kageyama knows it’s out of fear. He sighs, regret rushing through his veins. Time isn’t just going to rewind for his sake - Kageyama knows that he’ll forever be a monster in Hinata’s mind. He can’t take that back.

“I didn’t mean to, I never wanted you to see me like...like this” Kageyama doesn’t want to continue, but he feels like at the least Hinata deserves the full truth. This might be the last time Kageyama gets to speak to him. His voice comes off hoarse. “I just was, am - so hungry it’s been..longer than usual.” The words sound heavy and awkward to his ears.

“It wasn’t meant to be you.“ Kageyama hopes that sounds comforting in some sense. He doesn’t say that it was meant to be someone else, but the message is understood nonetheless.

He knows what you do, he knows that you kill people.

Kageyama closes his eyes. “You were just standing right next to me and you’re bleeding” He sighs. “I’m just - ugh” he fumbles over his words in frustration. “-and you just seemed like an easy target for a second.” Kageyama feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He wants to take the word target back. Target feels final and apathetic. It feels viscerally wrong.

“Oh...” is all Hinata says.

“So what are you gonna do?” Kageyama asks, but it’s bitter. Hinata seems confused by the question - but Kageyama doesn’t give him time to respond.

“You’re going to report me, right? Right?” He stares at Hinata, tone getting progressively louder. “To the CCG?”

Kageyama can’t help but notice how terrified Hinata looks in that moment. He feels like that expression is going to kill him.

Maybe he was just as scared.

He felt sick, he didn’t want to die,

He didn’t want to leave Miwa alone,

Just like their parents had.

But still, he’s leaving his fate up to Hinata.

“N-No, I won’t” Hinata says finally, cutting through the heavy silence.

He’s stuck, not really sure what to make of that answer. Of all things, Kageyama doesn’t want acceptance (Forgiveness?) - he knows doesn’t deserve it. Not from Hinata, not from the world. “What are you t-“

“It’s...its okay, Kageyama. I won’t report you. I won’t tell anyone.”

Kageyama feels his eyes burn with stupid tears. No way, no way. There was no way he was going to make a safe break from this. There was no way Hinata still wanted him around after this. Kageyama feels the anger rising in his chest.

“Dumbass.” He says finally. For a second, It’s all he can muster. Hinata makes a motion to move forward. “Don’t.” Kageyama warns, and for once Hinata stops. “You’re such an Idiot.” He continues. “Just leave me -”

Again, he moves without thinking. Running out of that alley, away from what just happened. Away from Hinata. He barely registers the scenery passing by. He barely hears the “Can we talk about this?” coming from behind him.

#kagehina #kageyama #hinata shoyo #tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul x haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haighoul #haikyuu au #kepto writes #ghoul!kageyama

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strangerthanfixion · 5 years ago

Text

“Normal” (r.b.)

pairing: robin buckley x reader

summary: robin was always scared to say how she really felt. especially when it came to who she felt these feelings about. but with the help of a little truth serum and a badly timed bathroom break, it all comes out. whether she wanted it to or not.

warnings: itty bitty language

a/n: enjoy the gayness lovlies

Robin was starting to grow sick of watching Steve chase every girl that set foot in Scoops Ahoy. The second-hand embarrassment was growing too much for her, and she knew that if he used that stupid ‘captain’ line again, she’d snap.

“Damn it,” Steve muttered. Two girls were walking away, giggling to themselves as he turned to face her. Robin rolled her eyes and uncapped the infamous expo marker. With a long squeak, she added another strike to the ‘YOU SUCK’ side of the whiteboard.

“0 for 7, dingus,” Robin said. It was much less fun than it was in the beginning, it was just kind of… sad now.

Steve took his company hat off and ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

“You gotta wash your hands now, Harrington.”

Steve glared at her and went into the back, where Robin and the sink resided. “I’m off my game,” he said to himself.

“Are you talking to yourself now?” Robin laughed.

“Oh hush up, Robin.”

“Give it up, dingus. Just scoop ice cream like the rest of us-”

The two of them looked up at the sound of the bell on the counter dinging.

You looked around, waiting for someone to come help you, while Steve was drying his hands.

Robin felt her heart flutter as she watched your eyes flit around the fluorescently lit store. She’d seen you before during the school year, you were smart, kind, beautiful. It was the third time she’d felt like that around a girl. You had a class together last year. Robin often took classes a grade above her own, so the two of you had second period together. Robin’s stomach would do backflips whenever you asked her for a pencil, digging frantically through her bag to find one that hadn’t been chewed on. Her cheeks would get hot whenever you smiled and said thank you, your fingers brushing as you took it from her. Not even Tammy Thompson from her freshman year could make her feel like that.

Robin panicked as Steve made his way back to the front, she couldn’t let him screw this up! She grabbed him quickly by the back of the uniform.

“O-ow! Robin!” Steve nearly yelled. The chatter in the shop died for a bit before picking back up. “What the hell?” he turned a bit, his shirt still in her hands

“Don’t,” she whispered harshly.

“Don’t what?” Steve whispered back.

“Her,” Robin pointed towards the counter, the door blocking her from your view. “Don’t do your ‘King Steve’ routine, alright?” Steve laughed.

“Why? Don’t you love racking up points on your stupid board over there?”

“Look, as entertaining as it was— it’s lost its charm,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Besides, I just… I don’t want you to scare her off.”

Steve blinked at her, confused. He was about to bite back at her, but the look in her eyes stopped him. She looked desperate. After a second, Steve nodded.

“Okay, I won’t do it. But we aren’t counting this one, got it?” Robin nodded.

“Thanks, dingus.”

Steve pushed through the door and up to you at the counter. You smiled happily at his familiar face. “Ahoy there, welcome to scoops,” his voice feigned pep and zeal. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Summer job going well, Steve?” Robin felt her stomach flip again, but this time it made her sick. You were in Steve’s grade, of course, you would remember him… but what about her? Would you remember that awkward junior who choked on her own air every time you looked at her? Steve shrugged and leaned his weight onto the counter.

“I’m getting paid right? Gets my dad off my back too, so,” he shrugged again. “What can I get you…” he racked his brain for your name, you were familiar but he couldn’t for the life of him place you. You noticed and decided to help him out.

“Y/N,” you said.

“Right! Y/N, course. Sorry about that it’s just-”

“Don’t worry about it. I kept mostly to myself, we ran in different circles. No big deal,” you peered into the freezer case and tapped the glass over one of the gallons. “I’ll take a cup of the U.S.S Butterscotch, please.”

Steve nodded and scooped her a hefty cup of ice cream. He’d overfill the cups for customers he liked, it’d only rarely get him in trouble with the manager. He handed you your ice cream and you smiled.

You paid and gave them a hefty tip, Steve thanked you as the bills hit the bottom of the relatively empty tip jar. You were walking back out to the main floor of the mall and turned to say goodbye.

“Thanks, Steve! Oh and say hi to Robin for me!” and with that, you were gone. Robin’s eyes widened and she turned away from the front of the store. You remembered her name.

You came in a lot that summer. The ice cream was good, the ac was nice, and so was the company. It was always Steve that came out to serve you, you could see Robin peeking around the corners sometimes as she was “washing dishes” but she never said anything.

One time, you caught her staring. Robin just about jumped out of her skin, making her drop an ice cream scooper into the soapy water. A drop found its way into her eye and she let out a very quiet, angry, hiss in pain as she ducked out of view.

Steve pushed his way into the back to find her kneeling near the floor rubbing her eyes.

“You alright, Robin?” she nodded wordlessly. “You sure?”

“Yes, dingus! Just go back to slinging ice cream!”

“Okay then,”

She hoped against hope that maybe you’d finally say something to her… or that she’d get the courage to say something to you, but of course summer in Hawkins could only remain normal for so long. Being kidnapped and drugged by Russians was definitely putting a damper on her hopes for a summer romance. As she puked her guts out into the Starcourt toilet, she couldn’t help but think of you. Which only made her want to throw up more. Robin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and laid down against the cool, dirty, tile floor.

“The ceiling’s stopped spinning for me,” she said quietly. “Is it still spinning for you?”

“Holy shit,” Steve muttered back. “No. Do you think we puked it all up?”

“Maybe. Ask me something… interrogate me,” as soon as the words left her mouth she realized how bad of an idea it might be. What if he asked about her love life? Previous crushes, first kiss... you? Lucky for Robin, he was still a little too drugged out to think of a juicy question.

“When, uh, when was the last time you peed your pants?” Robin laughed and answered giddily. Even then she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Maybe she did want him to ask. Maybe she finally wanted to get it all out on the table, to finally tell someone who she really was. To finally be true to herself. Or maybe she was still a little high.

“Steve, can I tell you something?” she asked after a moment. Steve pushed his way under the side bathroom wall and over to her. Robin picked at the hem of her uniform shorts. “I, um, I like you, I really like you. I don’t want to scare you off but… I have to tell you, I’m not like your other friends.”

“Robin… I like you too,” oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

“No, I mean I’m not… I’m not like Nancy Wheeler.”

“That’s exactly why I like you—”

“Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and like… obsessed?” he nodded. “It isn’t because I had a crush on you. It’s because she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs. Click?”

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin shook her head, embarrassed. “I wanted her to look at me. But she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and I didn’t get it because you were a douchebag. You’d ask dumb questions and get bagel crumbs all over the floor and I would go home and scream into my pillow. And it… it scared me because-—”

“Because Tammy Thompson’s a girl?”

“Yeah… a girl.”

“Holy shit,” he said softly. Steve didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t lie, he felt a little dejected about yet another mark on the YOU SUCK board, but… he liked Robin— he liked her as a friend and he nothing could really change that, he didn’t think anyway.

“You OD over there?” Robin said after a long beat of silence.

“No… just thinking.”

Shit. This was the first time she’d ever really gotten close to someone and now this was going to mess it all up. She could feel her chest tighten as Steve failed to meet her gaze, silence hung heavy in the air. Take it all back. Haha, it was a joke! Go back to “normal,” don’t be an outlier. But it was too late. What was said had been said, and now all she could do was wait anxiously for Steve to say anything, and hope that she hadn’t scared him away.

“Tammy Thompson… interesting,” Robin looked up at him. “You still like her?”

“I don’t know… no, I guess? Why?” a small smile played at Steve’s lips.

“Like sure, she’s cute and all, but… she’s a total dud! She wants to be a singer— move to Nashville or some shit!”

“She has dreams!”

“She can’t even hold a tune!” he laughed. Robin wanted to cry. She’d never had a friend like Steve before, even if he had been an asshole. Past tense. “So who do you like now?” he asked after a beat of laughter from the two of them.

“N-no one.”

“Don’t even try to lie. That truth serum is still in there somewhere, I know it is.”

She picked at the hem of her shorts again. “I’m not lying—”

“Y/N, that girl from my grade that comes into Scoops all the time,” she only stopped picking for a second, but Steve caught it. He grabbed her hand excitedly.

“Ah hah!”

“What?”

“You— the shorts— you’d suck at poker! I knew you liked her! Well, I didn’t know, but now that you told me about Tammy Thompson it all makes sense. The hiding behind the sink, the begging me not to flirt with her!”

“Okay, okay! Yes, you got me. I like Y/N—” the door swung open cutting her off.

You had a small bladder and always had to get up in the middle of a movie. Robin and Steve had unknowingly run into the girl's bathroom. And there you three were, them sitting on the nasty floor, you standing above them awkwardly. After a moment you lifted your hand slightly to give them a small wave, the urge to pee completely gone. Steve waved back while Robin sat there mortified. How much had you heard? Enough.

“H-hey guys,” you said.

“Hi Y/N,” Steve said back, being way too cool about this.

“I’m gonna…” you pointed at the farthest stall and walked quickly towards it. Maybe what you heard was a misunderstanding?

As soon as the latch on the door clicked, Robin jumped to her feet, wiped the remaining puke off the toilet seat, and walked swiftly out of the bathroom. Her cheeks were burning as she made her way back to the main floor of the mall and could hear faint laughter from Steve behind her. She spun on her heel to face him.

“Don’t laugh!” she said angrily, which only made him laugh more. “It’s not funny! Holy shit I’m so embarrassed! How much do you think she heard?”

“No idea, Robin but—“

“Shit! Shit oh my god, I’m so stupid—“

“Okay! What the hell?” Dustin yelled as he and Erica stormed up to them. Steve was still laughing while Robin turned to look at them. Tears pricked in her eyes as mortification overwhelmed her. “We have Russians on our asses and I told you one thing! Stay put!”

“Alright! Lighten up, dad,” Steve said as he collected himself.

“If you say that one more time, Steve, I swear!” Dustin began pushing the two of them back to the bathroom and Robin tried to dig her heels into the tile floor. But it was no use.

They crashed through the door, making you jump. You hadn’t used the restroom and instead were just sitting in there trying to process everything you thought you heard. You could hear four voices whispering so you peered through the crack in the stall door. Steve and Robin were back, now with two kids. You could see them looking around through the door, ducking back in and holding it closed as people crossed its path. They were hiding from something.

You pushed the stall door open gently, as the curly-haired boy whipped around to face you. You’d seen him before, he was friends with Jonathan Byer’s younger brother. He huffed angrily through his nose and pointed at you. Okay, rude.

“Who the hell is this?” Robin and Steve looked up at you. You felt your cheeks tinge pink as she looked at you.

“Oh, uh, that’s Y/N,” Steve said. “Y/N, Dustin Henderson and Erica Sinclair,” he gestured at the two kids. You started to say hi when Dustin cut you off.

“Great, now get out!” you blinked at him, unsure of what to do. All four of them were blocking the door, you couldn’t really move even if you wanted to. Which you didn’t. “Seriously, you gotta go!”

“I— I don’t want to,” you said quietly. “Robin, Steve, what’s going on?” you asked, only now noticing Steve’s swollen eye. “Holy shit, Steve what happened to your face?”

“Don’t answer that—” Dustin said.

“Russians, they kidnapped us and are trying to kill us,” Robin said, finally. “They run everything at the mall and are trying to open some sort of alien gate under Hawkins. We’re hiding from them,” Dustin rolled his eyes.

“Great! Now there’s another person for me to look after!” Dustin ran a hand over his face before looking at you. “Well, now that you know you can’t go back out there. Y/N right?” he asked, even though he’d just been told your name a minute ago. You nodded. “Get down.”

You did, coming up behind Robin and kneeling behind her. She could feel your breath on her shoulder and it took all of her self control not to scream.

“Okay, that movie’s almost over. As soon as it’s done and they start clearing out, we’re gonna get in the crowd and leave. Got it? Just act normal!” He poked his head out to watch the theater doors, you leaned in only to lose your balance. You caught and steadied yourself with the help of Robin’s shoulder, but you didn’t let go. You hadn’t even realized you’d done it until you looked down.

“Sorry,” you said quickly and dropped your hand. You cheeks became even pinker now.

“‘S okay,” she murmured. Robin glanced down at your hand. You had a coat of polish on your fingernails, it’d only just started to chip. Robin had a habit of biting her nails down to the quick, she had hangnails all over her hands, and the constant washing of scoopers to clean up the store had made them dry. But your hands, they looked so incredibly soft. All she wanted to do was lace her fingers in yours and feel your incredibly soft skin against hers—

“Are you ready?” Dustin hissed, snapping her out of it. “And… blend,” you jumped in with the crowd. Eyes low to the ground as you made your way to the front gates of the mall. “Home sweet home, here we come.”

“Uh, yeah, we may not want to go back to your house,” Steve murmured.

“Why?”

“I may have told them your full name,”

“Steve! What the hell?” the two bickered for a while as you grew closer and closer to the exit. But something caught your eye.

“Uh guys, men with guns,” is all you can think to say. Four guards lined the door, looking through everyone’s bags.

“Shit, they’re checking everyone.”

“We gotta hide! C’mon!” Robin pulled you back, grabbing your wrist blindly before sliding down between the escalators. Steve and the kids ducked behind one of the store counters while you and Robin hid behind another. Your heart pounded in your chest as your shoulder pressed tightly against Robin’s.

The two of you were still very much in the dark about the strange things happening in Hawkins, and everything felt like it happened all at once. The car displayed in the mall flew over your heads, across the food court, knocking the Russian guards to the ground. More kids, Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, a giant fucking monster. Your brain tried to explain everything, to convince yourself that it was all a dream. But the pain in your neck from ramming into Billy’s car, the blood on your hands from helping to patch up a young girl’s leg, the feeling of heat from the fire that had consumed Starcourt mall, made that impossible.

It blended all together. But it was real. With a shock blanket around your shoulders, you made your way over to Robin and Steve, who were sitting in the back of one of the many ambulances at the scene. You smiled at them lightly and they nodded back. It took you a minute to find them as it had been parked pretty far from the rest of the action, but you were relieved when you finally did. You sat down beside Robin.

“You okay?” Steve asked.

“Ask me tomorrow?” you said and Robin laughed.

“Yeah… makes sense.”

“How are you so cool with this?” you asked leaning over to look at Steve.

“Stuff like this… happens here all the time. I just got used to it I guess,” you shook your head in disbelief.

“Giant monsters, girls with magic powers—”

“Not magic, she was an experiment. The government took El from her mom and tested on her for years,” you shook your head again. You were tired, the weight of your own head on your shoulders was growing too much for you, and you laid your head on Robin’s shoulder. The rain had matted your hair to the side of your face but you didn’t care to move it away. Robin sat up a little straighter at the contact.

“Oh, uh…” is all she said. Steve smiled at her and hopped up, crudely folding the blanket and tossing it towards the front of the ambulance.

“I’m gonna get going. My car’s still in the employee lot and I don’t think the fire’s spread there yet,” you nodded sleepily. “Either of you need a ride?”

“No, I’m just gonna sit here for a while. My car’s pretty far down into the lot and I can give Robin a ride home,” you said. “Is that okay?” you looked up at her from your position on her shoulder. She nodded quickly. Steve’s smile only widened before bidding you goodbye.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the flash of police lights shown in your eyes.

“Not exactly how I expected my summer to go,” you said. “I always knew Hawkins was weird, but I never thought it was this fucked.”

Robin let out a short laugh before turning to you slightly. You picked up your head to look at her. “Y/N, I- I’m sorry,” she couldn’t look at you, picking at the hem of her shorts again. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this and… and about what I said in the bathroom,” how the hell could she explain that? “I mean, Steve and I were drugged. Who knows what they put in there, you know? I was high off my ass, not thinking straight, I—” you cut her off by placing a kiss on her cheek. “Uh… what?”

“Robin,” you said quietly, pulling her hands away from her shorts and into your own. They were as soft as she imagined. “I like you too.”

Holy. Shit.

“I mean how could I not. I thought you were so cool. So unapologetically yourself. So smart! I… I asked you for a pencil every day last year, you know that? And I never gave them back because I hoped you’d come up to me during passing and ask me for them,” you laughed and shook your head. “I didn’t really… get it before. All I knew was I wanted you to talk to me. I wanted you to talk to me so I could see you again and I was confused about why… but now I know,” you ran your thumb over the back of her hand. “I like you, Robin. A lot.”

She didn’t know what to say. Robin sat there with a dumb look on her face. Her mouth was slightly agape as she waited for you to finish pulling the wool over her eyes. But you didn’t.

“Robin?” you asked quietly.

“You… you thought I was cool?” she said. You chuckled and brought your hand up to her cheek.

“Can I…” Robin nodded and you leaned in. Your lips pressed to hers, moving slowly, gently. You had a boyfriend your freshman year, kissing him never felt like this. Robin had never kissed anyone before, let alone a girl. But both of you knew this felt right.

You never wanted to stop touching her, feeling her, but the sound of boots on gravel slowly approaching you made you pull away.

“You ladies want a ride to the hospital? Parents can pick you up there,” the EMT said once he reached you. You shook your head and told him your car was in the lot and stood, handing over the blanket. Robin did the same, thanking him before coming up beside you.

The heat from the fire died away as you walked, and voices grew fainter and fainter as the two of you made your way into the dark. Only a few lamps in the parking lot had remained lit, barely enough light for you to find your way back to your car, which was still a ways away. You brushed hands with Robin, barely touching her so as not to draw attention from the crowd of police officers and firemen. But as soon as they were out of earshot you felt Robin catch your pinky with hers. She pulled your hand into hers, her fingers dancing across your own until you were finally in her grasp.

She stopped under directly under a street lamp, the bright light illuminating her skin. You stopped too and she pulled you in closer.

This time she kissed you. Pulling away with a small “Woah,” making both of you laugh.

Both of you knew your feelings weren’t “normal” in Hawkins, but after tonight… after everything that’d happened in the past three years, what was normal anyway?

#robin buckley #robin buckley imagine #robin x reader #robin imagine #robin buckley x reader #robin #buckley #robin buckley fic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things spoilers #stranger things season 3 #stranger things s3 #maya hawke #maya hawke imagine #maya hawke fic #maya hawke fanfiction #imagine-multiples

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meridia002-lorddiavolosconcubine · 4 years ago

Text

Dizzump in the Devildom

WARNING: FECES/DEFECATION, NSFW (NO SEX, BUT UTTERLY DISGUSTING), MERIDIA HAS AN ACCIDENT

Let this be the first entry in the Devildom Diary.

My first day in the Devildom was a total ASS DISASTER. Literally. Imagine finding yourself in an unfamiliar world that lacked amenities as basic as toilets. I was horrified and embarrassed when it came time to take my first dizzump in the Devildom. On that first evening I grabbed my demon boyfriend, Mammon, and pinned him against a dark corner to ask him where the toilet was.

“A toy what?” Mammon asked as he characteristically threw up his hands in confusion.

I dumbfoundedly watched him shake his head at me as waves of impeccable white hair grazed his forehead. Why humiliate myself by explaining the concept of human defecation to this shiny, smooth entity? I waved off my question as an exhaustion-induced brain fart and decided that it was best for me to search for a place to poop that night.

Why doesn't Hell have toilets? I searched the Internet for “demon boy anatomy,” and what I discovered didn’t comfort me. According to AkuWikia, demons lack functional buttholes. Their pink starfishes are only for anal sex and were never an original part of their evolution. The wiki article said the first king of the Devildom spent centuries watching humans procreate and fuck. He saw anal sex as unique and wanted demons to be able to do it. From that day onward, the demon king cast a spell on all his subjects that drilled perfect puckered holes in their anuses. The article made no mention of human defecation.

So there I was, my struggles to contain the doo doo within my donut hole failing me. Touching cloth is what humans call it when you’re desperately trying to keep the turtle’s head in its shell. Prairie dogging. You get it. I bemoaned my choice to wear tight-ass pants. I clenched my cheeks, my hands pushing them together to stall Mr. Hanky for as long as I could. I waddled sideways in the hallway like I had something up my ass. After all, I did.. it was threatening to break free. Why did I have to eat that burrito baby last night? Shit!

Stiffly shuffling against the wall, I opened the bathroom door. No toilets, but a pretty big bathtub. big enough to squat and drop deuce in the drain.

No! Shaking that thought from my mind, I continued searching every closet and room I had access to. Buckets? No. Where would I dump it? Asmo’s underwear drawer? Maybe. Ugh. Behind the bookshelves in the living room? Possibly. Let’s keep that as the number two choice.

I paused mid step in the hallway as my rectum clenched up in painful spasms. You know when the the shit starts coming down the pipe a bit more and holding it in causes painful cramps? That’s a sign you needed to find a toilet yesterday.

Time was running out as I was growing a monkey tail in my underwear. I needed to paint the Oval Office soon. Do I go in the bathtub and try to wash it down the drain? It seemed like the most private option. At this point, I could go outside for all the little D’s to see. What if Caveman Solo spied me dropping anchor in the grass like a dog? He’d probably like that.

I shivered at the thought of that shady fuckboi watching me shooting torpedoes on the side of the House of Lamentation. Why? Why didn’t they prepare this one little detail? Would it hurt these perfect, poopless men to install toilets for the one disgusting poop human?

My ass cheeks squeezed to the maximum when the final cramp hit me with a rumbling so loud it could’ve been Beelzebeef’s stomach. My cheeks gave out, and I went right in the seat of my pants. Staying in the bathroom, I locked the golden doorknob behind me. I dropped my pants, sticky brown separating from the cotton of my dollar store underwear. I glared at the brown curl in the seat of my panties with disgust. "I hate you," I whispered with all my vitriol.

I threw my clothing into a sagging, sad pile in the corner. I stood buck naked with my legs obscenely wide over the drain, squatting as much as my shortened Achilles’ tendons allowed. I inhaled and exhaled slowly to relax my sphincter. Warm ropes slid through my rectum like a monorail. I waited until I heard the soft plop in the drain. Sighing, I was about to stand up when another bout of the shits hit me, and this time it wasn’t as neat as the turd I just birthed. Before I could gather myself and clean my mess, a second violent episode of the shits gripped me. At this point, I was already half standing and no longer perfectly aiming over the drain. A typhoon of liquid ass viciously blasted the white tiles.

I panicked, and the more anxious I got, the worse the diarrhea became. I decided to accept the situation and let it all out.

“It will all be over with soon,” I said out loud. “And then I can clean it.”

With that being said, I pushed like a mother in labor. Pressure built inside my belly and travelled down to my colon until it exited my body in mere seconds. I became lost in the moment. I don’t know how much time passed, but it felt like the best time of life. Being so far gone in my poophoria, a moan escaped my mouth. Oh, the relief I felt in my guts! For hours I had held it inside me until the feces seemed to be sentient. It came out on its own.

My sweet moment was disrupted by a knocking at the door.

“Oi! Meridia!” Knock! Knock! “What’s going on in there? The smell is awful, and I gotta take a piss!”

Oh, fuck! Mammon’s timing couldn’t have been worse! Fuckfuckfuckfuck. I had to squeeze my cheeks together to restrain in the rest of the shitstorm while I looked around for paper towels. What was I supposed to say?

“Uh ... J-just a minute! Just taking an extra long bath!” My voice faltered.

“I gotta pee, so I’m comin’ in,” he answered. “It shouldn’t interrupt your bath!”

Goddammit!

Before I could stop him, Mammon turned the doorknob. The gold knob turned slowly, the door opened the slowest I’ve ever seen a door open. It creaked and squeaked ever so loudly, and I feared it would attract more attention. My stomach dropped again resulting in a tiny spurt of brown goo. White hair and brown skin poked through the door. First his head came through the crack like a little prairie dog. Then the crack opened wider as a RAD uniform appeared. The hands that were on the demon’s hips flew up to his nose as he gagged.

“Ack! What is that sme—” My boyfriend stopped talking as he stared at the Pollock-esque brown masterpiece I made all over the tiles.

“Meridia! What’s that comin’ outta your ass?!” He screamed.

My legs quaked with each spasm of shit I held back. It was useless. My cheeks jiggled with one final effort as a downpour of liquid brown splattered the tiles below me. Mammon was panicking, and I needed to explain this before he called his brothers for an emergency.

“Please calm down!” I begged. “I’m pooping!” My arms waved around agitatedly as I attempted to explain defecation to his confused face. “It’s a human thing. Please, just help me clean this fucking mess!”

Mammon seemed even more confused and distressed. His arms flailed all over the place in confusion.

“What does this even mean?” His voice cracked out. “Does your shit need to ... go back inside ya ass?!”

What? Oh, god no. I hope he doesn’t try that!

“No! Just, please don’t call attention to this!” I hissed. “I need you to bring me towels so I can clean this mess up.”

I hoped I could get through to him, because he gazed with a half-mile stare at my brown splattered masterpiece on the walls.

“Mammon!” I snapped him out of his shock. “Get. Me. Towels!”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, thing.”

Poor little guy. He sounded ill. It wasn’t long before the white-haired tsundere came back with a bunch of white towels. I palmed my face.

“White towels? Human excrement will stain those so much!” I said.

He shrugged. “I guess we’re gonna have brown towels at the end of the night.”

Taking one from the stack to wrap around my body, I was able to set about frantically mopping my midnight regret off the walls and floor. Maybe the most difficult part was scooping my mess out of the bathtub drain. I turned to Mammon and was immediately floored by the sight of the demon with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and shirt unbuttoned. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I think I was freakishly turned on by the smell of shit. His body odor combined with the scent of fecal lasagna twisted something primal inside of my core. I looked down at my hand, remember that I was squeezing an ice cream scoop sized clump of doodoo in my hand. I shook my head to snap out of my arousal before my thoughts went somewhere taboo.

I hurled the crap clog inside a garbage bag, which reminded me of the lack of a toilet.

“So, we need to talk to Lucifer rather discreetly about installing a toilet in the house,” I reminded Mammon. “On second thought, let’s just see if Diavolo can put toilets everywhere.”

Mammon shook his head. “Why didn’t ya just say something earlier, human?” he said. “When you asked me about the toilet earlier, ya coulda just explained it to me. I think I heard something about Diavolo having putting those in RAD just for the human students.”

I froze. “You ... What?!”

He gulped. “Uhh, yeah. How’d ya think Solomon shits?”

My body began to shake in anger. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

He stopped when my emotions started to show. “Hey, now. I’m sorry. It just slipped our minds.”

My jaw tensed as vengeful ideas played through my shit-addled brain. Leaning over the tub, I eyed the drain deviously as a new set of spasms wrapped my bowels in their grasp.

“Mammon,” I eyed him sideways. “We’ve cleaned enough in here, and I need to bathe.”

He stopped scrubbing to wipe sweat off his sexy forehead. “If ya say so. Call me if ya need me human.”

Before he left, we made out like teenagers, my soiled hand leaving smudges in his clean, white hair.

When I was finally alone, I dropped my fluffy white, brown smudged towel on the clean tiles. Stepping inside the shower, I marveled at the freshly cleaned tub. Sad I would have to soil it again.

Once more positioning my legs vulgarly wide over the drain, I unleashed everything. No holding back.

#obeyme #mc has an accident #tw feces #obey me mammon #bathroom #cursed fic

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thebatnook · 4 years ago

Text

Red-sugar heart

M. Morris Cuevas

It’s 5 am and the world is still. The barest hint of sunrise through my window, growing slowly over the bag of sweets, almost empty, next to my pen holder. My eyes are gritty and the words on the page are a blurred painting of hieroglyphs. I’m supposed to be studying, have been for the past hour, but whatever rush I got from the last dregs of the coffee pot is quickly fading.

I reach for another sweet, maybe the sugar will keep me awake, a candy heart, that I hold up to the light to examine, anything to not study. It’s rosy pink, and I squint at the inscription. Blue bird. Cute nickname. I throw it in my mouth. Looking back at the textbook. The French Revolution began on the 14th of July, 1789, the day revolutionaries stormed the prison of Bastille.

I frown at the sentence. Looking back at my notes. Yes, right, already wrote that down. I tap my pen against the paper, crunching down another heart. Some fiddling later, I look back on the text. The French Revolution began-. My head falls onto the table, and I groan in frustration. This is not working. The time reads 5:30. Meh, late enough, my roommates won’t be that annoyed if I crash around in the kitchen, not if it is to prepare the elixir of mortals, coffee.

Grabbing, the empty coffee mug, slamming the textbook shut. And why not, another candy.

It’s a orange one this time. With a little extra bump. It’s light enough to read the inscription. Watch out. What? My body freezes, and in the same second, a loud thwack against the window. The coffee cup falls on the floor, an empty crash. And I stare in shocked numbness as the blue feathers of a bird zip away from the glass.

My limbs are locked into place, mind blank, until some primal thing kicks in, an zap of electricity, and I am scrambling on the floor to find that candy heart. I find it next to an old shirt, it falls from my fingers too many times as I get the candy under the lamp light. It’s love, it reads, in that slightly red tint.

I huff in annoyance, I know it is the same one, the tiny bump is still there, but why would it say anything else other than the usual cheesy messages? I leave it there on the desk, picking up the coffee mug, frowning even more at the new chip on the edge.

A step away from the door, I hesitate, hand still on the doorknob. This has to be in my mind. The lack of sleep caught up to me. The bird was nothing but a coincidence. But what if it’s not. What if the things actually tell the future. What if it is actually magic.

I spin back, two skipped steps to stand in front of the desk again, looking for the rest of the candies.

The bag is almost empty, a stripped thing in red and pinks, tearing easily as I spill the rest of the hearts onto the desk. A dozen or so tiny colorful candies, a light tang of sugar around them.

One by one I read them, heart rate speeding up with each one I look over. Most of them are blank, and the ones with text have the standard phrases. Love me, text me, true love, kiss. Nothing unusual. What luck, I think, bitter taste in my mouth, not everything can be like a dream.

I sigh, my body sagging, my arms dragging down, as if each weighed a ton. I blink at the candies again, one last search.

And then is when I see a clump of three, arranged in a straight line, Roommate, awake, fall, they read. Blue, pink, pink. And just as a finish reading the last one there is the shrill beeping of Amanda’s alarm, followed by a muffled thump and the followed string of muttered curses.

I whip my head back, but the words are gone. It can’t be a coincidence. Right?

Maybe it’s not in my head. But I must be sure. Another glance at the clock. 5:37. I have to get going, don’t want to be late.

But I need to know. Which is why the candies that are left are now buried in my pocket, as I pour the coffee grains into the machine. Just as Amanda wanders into the kitchen.

“Morning Taylor.” she says, the bloom of a new bruise on her elbow.

“Ouch.” I gesture towards it.

“Not the worst, I just fell from the bed.”

I nod along, fingers playing with the candies. The itch to try again like a mosquito in my ear.

Amanda goes around the kitchen, preparing her breakfast. I just lounge on the single stool, watching as condensation builds up on the coffee pot.

“Are you having anything?” she says, platting scrambled eggs.

“In a second.”

The curiosity is too much. I wait for her to turn, and take out the candies, scattering them on the counter.

Orange, blue, pink. Roommate, pan, burn. Sirens go off in my head, whipping my gaze up from the message to see Amanda, just as the still hot pan slips through her hands, right onto her feet.

“Ah!” The pan clatters to the ground, Amanda hopping back, cursing and wincing.

“Oh no, no, no.” I rush forward, helping her to the stool.

“Ice, do we have ice?” she says, teeth still gritted, examining the reddened batch of skin, a half moon indent.

“Frozen corn.” I pass it to her, my own hands shaking a bit. Glancing at the candy hearts out of the corner of my eyes, the message long gone.

Amanda hisses, pressing the bag on the burn. The redness is fading, but the swelling is just beginning.

“Can you walk?” Guilt crawls over my shoulders.

“Don’t think so.” she said, with another wince. I had to look away, an uncomfortable feeling growing in my gut.

“I’ll help you to the infirmary.” I said, moving away abruptly. Head stubbornly turned away from the counter.

I leave Amanda there, with a newly bandaged foot. One of her friends found us, and promised to help her back. So I was free, backpack over my shoulder, heading to the first class, any hope of studying squandered. How could I. Not knowing that the candies actually worked. The very things I now carried, underneath all the textbooks. I don’t even know why I put them there.

Morbid curiosity maybe. Or so nobody else could see them. Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to know this. Nobody would believe me anyway, I told myself, as I slid into my seat in class. Nobody had to know.

As the day went on the urge to take out the candies became stronger, a burning curiosity. And they were right there, I just needed to reach into my backpack. I stole glances at it more times than I can count, while pretending to take notes. I wasn’t paying attention to the lecturer anyway, words a garbled radio static in the corner of my mind.

Just a quick check, I repeat to myself, walking away from the classroom. I will only take a minute. I find an empty picnic table, still wet from last night's rain. I don’t care, even if my jeans are soaked through in seconds. My focus is only on the candies, excitement growing like weeds in my head.

It's just so I know how to react, I mumble, digging up the candies. Letting them fall like pennies onto the tabletop. Eyes scanning wildly for anything, anything at all.

Yes. I almost jump from the thrill. There, there; in the middle. Undergrad, glass. My face immediately falls, the outside chill catching up to me. Oh no.

I don’t even have time to look up, when the crash breaks through the building besides me. A guy runs out moments later, clenching his hand. Blood dripping down his forearm.

Everybody stares at him in stunned silence. My eyes are glued to the tiny dots of red on the sidewalk.

Slowly, gripping the edge of the table to stop my hands from shaking, I look back at the back at the candies. Innocent and colorful. Confetti against the dark surface.

Ok, ok. I let out a shaky breath. The words were gone, of course, and the sight of the blank hearts sits wrongly with me, my jaw tight, teeth grinding against each other. As if they were mocking me, there was never anything here, you are making it all up. Just making it all up for what?

I throw them again with more force than necessary, some falling onto the floor and breaking into dust. I ignore them. Eyes glued to the message. Girl, football.

I don’t even look up, only hearing the hit, and the crunch. As the football collided with a girl's face, right against her nose, blood no doubt pooling above her lips.

The stern voice of a professor cuts through the mix, footsteps approaching.My heart falls to the ground. I have to look up, panic building in my limbs. But he wasn’t walking towards me, scolding the people playing instead, voice muffled from the distance.

I turn back quickly, cursing myself because in that second I looked away, the words had changed. No trace of the previous image. I ball my hands up into fists, suppressing the urge to scream at the things.

A shaky breath in, then out. I force myself to relax. A fake smile on my face. One more try, and this time I would not look away, no matter what.

The things stopped rolling, and the new words appearing on the ones closest to me. Creating a tunnel vision on them. But my blood chilled once I read them, eyes rising in horror, seeing the professor crumple to the ground, hand to his chest.

Professor, heart attack. They said. Gone now. Not that it mattered now. With everyone swarming around the fallen man, the distant swell of sirens shocking me out of my frozen state.

I scooped up the hearts. These things didn’t predict the future. These things caused disasters. I made them that. Dangerous. Nobody should touch these. Least of all me.

My hands were shaking as I tried to shove all of them into a paper water cone. People were side eyeing me. Some just stared at me with a knowing grin.

I didn’t pay them any attention, finally twisting the cone closed, and bumbling my way to the nearest trash can, hesitating for only a moment before throwing the candies in.

Relief washed over me. Like a fresh morning breeze, each step away lighter than the last. Until something fell out of my pocket. A pink candy heart. Love me, written in dark red ink.

People walked past me, leaving me in a small insulated pocket. Staring at the heart. Love me.

Anger burned through the fear, and with a crunch beneath my shoe it was gone. Dust on the damp cement. A breathless laugh escaped my lips, as I walked away. Never buying candy hearts again, I vow, repressing a shudder. Never again.

(Originally from Instagram @thebatnook)

#short fiction #short story #story #storytelling #amwriting #fiction #magic #horror #suspense #writing #writers #writers on tumblr #author #candy hearts

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