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goldenncherrybombb · 4 years

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Adore You

The one where Harry gets lost and y/n tries to help

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He’s late, again. Of fucking course he’s late! When the hell isn’t he? I love him, I do. But it’s time like these where she questions it nowadays. I don’t know where it went wrong. We were inseparable, so loving. We were perfect. But then it’s like a flip got switched. Harry’s always out in the studio, with friends, or at writing sessions, or meetings, or whatever the fuck else he has. We had a date planned tonight. We have had this date planned for a bloody month! And he’s an hour late. An HOUR.

I get up and leave, embarrassed with heated cheeks and a frown. I don’t know how much more I can take of this. First it was dinner with my mom, then it was a writing session that was mandatory and made me and everyone else waste our time because Harry was too hungover to show up, and so many more instances. I just, I don’t understand what happened. We barley talk in the day anymore, we used to talk for hours and now we say little to each other. Harry was so cuddly in bed, but now he turns his back.

I shove my key into the lock and twist it harshly, opening and then slamming the door. A note on the mirror above the small table with a dish for our keys, and other trinkets from traveling, caught her eye quickly. It read ‘be back later- h.’ Not even an ‘Xx’ HE ALWAYS DOES THAT.

Me not knowing why he’s suddenly being cold is making me crazy. I’m beginning to feel insecure and maybe think he thinks I’m ugly. But that wouldn’t make since because we had sex yesterday. Maybe he just plain out doesn’t like me and is pretending because he is trying to find a way to let me down easily. He’s probably so revolted by me he doesn’t even want to be friends.

I grab a pillow from the bed and throw it at the wall aimlessly while letting out a loud ‘fuck.’ I had a little anger fit, then I got sad and just wanted to cry and go back to a few months ago where they always went out, made songs together, went shopping, etc.

So she gets up and packs her bags. Thankful she never sold her house, but not thankful that it’s down the road from here. Only reason she kept the house was because it would be too much of a hassle to put on the market with her job and how much she travels. Plus it was one of her homes and she loved it. Somehow fitting all of her clothes into her suitcases. Then she got everything else into duffle bags and normal bags. She did leave some stuff behind, like a shirt, her favorite mug, and her perfume. The little things slipped her mind and all she cared about was Harry. He was always on her mind, will probably always be even though they won’t be together after today, or on a break. Y/n’s not sure what to tell him. She doesn’t want to break up with him. Not at all. But she can’t put herself through this, and she can’t put him through it either because whatever he has going on needs to be delt with, and y/n can only help so much. She has tried to get him of the black pit he has seemed to fall in. But nothing worked. And she knows from experience that no one can make you truly feel better than yourself. When she felt so damn lost in high school, and didn’t know who she was, what she wanted to do, how she was gonna get to her goal, she fell into a pit of sadness.

Everyone tried to help, but it seemed like nothing would. But then she got into music even more. She had already loved music before hand, already somewhat invested in it. But she wasn’t looking into it as something she would want to pursue. But then she learned how to play her first instrument, and it lead to another, and another, until she could make a band by herself. It all came naturally to her. Her fingers knowing where every note is as she didn’t even need sheet music to play a full song. Just needed to hear the beginning. And that brought her out if it, the girl had finally found out what she wanted to do after all. And her supporting friends and family all told her she would go somewhere today. And look where she is today! Writing her first album.

Once all her bags were in the car she cleaned up the house and laid on the bed, exhausted, she stared at the ceiling and got lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t know how long it had been but Harry was home and the sun was fully set. He didn’t even call out for her, didn’t say a word. She knew it was him because she could see him pull into the driveway.

“Hey.” She said when Harry walked in the room.

“Hello, why aren’t your keys in the bowl? Thought you weren’t home before I saw your car behind the house.” Because they are in my pocket, and I am so fucking scared to tell you what she was about to. Is what she thinks, but she replies calmly.

“Oh, I must’ve misplaced em.” She shrugs, trying her best to not show how nervous she was. He hums and goes into the bathroom. Y/n can see him from the bed and watches as he swings mouthwash in his mouth. “Harry, can I talk to you?” She questions timidly.

“Sure, give me a second.” She nods and looks down at her fingers, picking at her nails. Once he’s done he sits in front of her on the king bed.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, sounding worried.

“I don’t know how to even start a conversation like this.” She whispers brokenly, her voice catching towards the end as she already feels her eyes well up. “I love you Harry. But you are not the Harry I know.” She looks up slowly, his head hanging lower at his words, knowing shes right. “You have changed. And I know people change, and change can be good, but this isn’t. If you don’t like me anymore please spare me my breath and tell me.” He immediately shakes his head and immediately replies with a ‘that’s not true. ‘Course I like you.’ She grabs his hand in a moment of desperation and looks at him with a broken soul. “Then tell me what it is. Please. I can not do this anymore. It’s tearing me down, h. And I can not stand to see you hurt yourself. You don’t think I notice the taste of whiskey on your tongue? Gum doesn’t hide everything. I’m not saying you can’t drink I’m just saying it’s not making you feel better if that is why you are doing it. I don’t know what to do, Harry. I really don’t. You don’t ever show up to anything we have planned anymore, you rarely say I love you unless we are fucking, you just- you disappeared almost.” Tears stream down her face but she wipes them away harshly.

“I feel lost, y/n. So fuckin’ lost. I don’t know who I am anymo’” He has tears building in his eyes, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The first sob breaks from him when he begins to speak again. “I read everythin’ people say about me. I used to not, but I saw one bloody article on m’browser an’I clicked it, an’ then another and another. I got in my own head, got lost. And I think, ‘am I really the man they say I am?’ Its- it’s driving me mad I feel this way because I have everything I could ever want. I feel like I give everyone my all. But it’s never enough. They don’t know me, but yet they write these harsh things.”

“Harry, Prince Charming, please look at me.” She says quietly, tears streaming down her face. “Honey, do not give a damn about what they say. Because you are you at the end of the day. They only get to see a small snipped out of your day. Not the whole 24 hours. So fuck what they have to say!” Her voice raises some as she speaks passionately, always hating the tabloids. She sighs lightly and looks him in the eyes. “Know I love you so damn much. I will always love you. Always. You are always enough. We have been through so many things for so many years. You are my first love.” She speaks with a sniffle at the end, their hands intertwined. “I just- you need to find yourself. You have become someone I don’t know anymore, h. You need to work on you. Get in the right headspace. We need to take a break.” I whisper the last part after a brief pause and with a broken heart, not wanting to say the words, but needing to. They say you gotta let the ones you love go and now it’s my turn to do that. “I will always love you Harry. You were my first love. But how can you love me if you can’t love yourself? We have always told eachother one thing we will will never do, and that is hold the other back. I feel like I’m holding you back and I said I will let you go, and today is the day I am doing that. I can’t hold you back. There is so much more of your mind that neither of us have yet got to discover, find that, because once you do it’s beautiful. You need to get out there and see the world. Sure you have traveled everywhere, but you need to really see it. Get out of the big cities, find small shops you love. You need to find yourself, bub. I will be there, watching and helping when needed if you will allow me too. But for now, we need space. You have your career I have mine, and we can’t hold eachother back from that. ” Her hand goes on his cheek, him leaning into her touch. Both of them still have tears flowing down there face and stuffy noses, but neither care because both of them know this will be the last time they see eachother for awhile. She smiles at him one last time before standing and walking out of the room quietly.

“Please don’t go. I will change, promise yeh. Please, y/‘n. Let me adore and love you like it’s the only thing I will ever do.” his voice breaks as he speaks and sniffles in between. She cries harder when she hears him. He looks so sad and she looks the same. Both of them an emotional mess.

“We both know this is for the better.” She pauses for a second and closes her eyes to collect herself before opening them and looking back at him. “ I love you. Never forget that please. Never forget our friendship. I’m always here for you, together or not. This is not a goodbye, it’s a see you later.” Her hand slips from the door as Harry watches the love of his life walk always and he does nothing about it. Knowing it is better for her because his actions are hurting her and breaking her down and he couldn’t pay attention before to notice. He was furious at himself.

Once the door shut and her car drove down the driveway for the last time did he let himself truly sob. His face in the pillow as he wished he could take back everything he missed, all the times he was snippy, all of the bad.

#goldenncherrybombb #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #fine line #harrystyles #angst #sad #harrystylesimagine #harrystylesdrabble

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kunoichigo · 4 years

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•Donatello's Everything• - Part 3

Sydney's eyes opened slowly, and everything was fuzzy. It took a moment for the world to become clear, and when it did, she didn't know where she was.

Concrete walls surrounded her on three sides, and bars blocked her in on the fourth.

Her stomach hurt, and when she tried to lift her sweater to figure out why, she realized that her wrists and ankles were tied in a thick, frayed rope.

Panic coursed through her as she blinked rapidly, trying to figure out where she was. She knew she was in a cell, but where? Someone had captured her, but who?

She squeezed her eyes shut, sifting through her memory, trying to remember what had happened before the world had turned inky black and she had slipped into unconsciousness.

She remembered her parent's fighting, and going to the lair. Oh, god, her parents. They must be worried sick about her. That is, if they had noticed she was gone.

She kept trying to remember. She had gone to the lair, and the turtles had been asleep. Her stomach swooped and she turned pink remembering how she had fallen asleep with Donatello, and how they had fallen to the floor together.

"Stop thinking about him," she muttered. "I've got to get out of here."

Finally, the final puzzle pieces clicked together, and she remembered Tigerclaw's massive paw covering her mouth, forcing her to slip into a world of nothing.

Rage bubbled inside her. If April hadn't shoved her, she wouldn't be here. If she could put her selfishness aside, this entire situation could've been avoided. But of course, Sydney's safety had been jeopardized for April to get a bit of attention. The situation was made even worse as Sydney noted that this kind of behavior wasn't uncommon from the red-headed teen.

For the next fifteen minutes, Sydney worked diligently to try and break the bonds that bound her together. She tried desperately to not think about who had taken her here and what would happen to her. Instead she focused all of her attention on getting free, which proved to be very difficult.

Soon she heard footsteps stomping down the hall, and in blind terror she scooted towards the dark, damp corner of the cell.

Yellow eyes at least 7 feet in the air met hers. They glowed a burning amber, and Sydney felt sick to her stomach just feeling them upon her. Dark shadows were cast upon the figure, whom she recognized as Tigerclaw. No other being was as ominous and threatening as he was, aside from Shredder himself. This creature, this monster, had grabbed her and held his paw over her mouth until she was unconscious. She was a child. And this beast had kidnapped her.

She was an innocent human child with a life and family of her own, and he had snatched her without hesitation, taken away her breath, and tossed her in a cell. She hated him with every nerve and cell in her entire body. It was a blind rage that swirled in her stomach and made her ears burn. A jagged rock lodged in her throat and stayed there. Her nose flared as she drew in broken breaths and tried not to let the boiling tears in her eyes spill.

Tigerclaw's eyes, which she could only describe as a burning xanthous, turned away from her azure irises, and he spoke in a gruff voice to one of the Foot Clan members that stood at attention behind him.

So she was in Shredder's lair. She blinked rapidly. This couldn't be real. There was no way she had been captured by the Shredder. This was a nightmare.

She was snapped back to reality when the cell slid open with a groan. Two Foot bots grabbed her arms, digging their robotic digits into her arms. She gritted her teeth and sucked air in through her nose, struggling to hold in the tears. Her boots scraped against the ground, collecting dirt and grime, and she could feel cold mud on her cheek where her face had been pressed into the ground.

She felt disgusting and open. She felt like these villains were seeing into her life. They hadn't even spoken to her and yet Sydney felt as though they already knew so much about the life she had fought to keep secret.

Her mind was a blur, so she barely noticed the sharp concrete scraping up her knees and the metallic fingers digging into her skin as she was escorted deeper into Shredder's lair.

She kept her head down, embarrassed at the tears that had escaped the confines of her tear ducts and were now tumbling down her pink cheeks. She was ashamed with herself. Expressing emotions was her weak point. She hadn't been able to do it with Donatello, and breaking down here, in front of all these enemies who probably wanted her dead was humiliating.

She reeled forward as she was tossed down onto her knees onto damp, smoother ground.

A low, rumbling voice shook her to her very core, and she felt her blood turn to ice.

"So... this is one of their team members?" Shredder scoffed, and Sydney tried to stop herself from trembling, but it was useless. Shredder scoffed. "Pathetic. Enlisting the help of hopeless little girls. Yoshi has always been weak and powerless; it only makes sense for a coward like himself to drag little girls into his fight."

Sydney was furious. She was anything but a weak little girl. And the way he spoke of his old friend... How dare he spit on the name of Hamato Yoshi, known as Master Splinter to her, when he was as revolting and foul as they come?

Sydney sucked in a breath, and in a shaky exhale said, "Don't you ever insult Hamato Yoshi in front of me."

The Shredder laughed an awful, cold laugh that sounded like sharp slabs of metal grating together. Sydney winced.

"So you think you're a threat to me? I'm sure my old enemy has taught you something, but you're no match for me. A weak, helpless girl is what you are, and it's all you'll ever be."

"I AM NOT WEAK!" Sydney yelled, looking up, and her stomach dropped. The Shredder was terrifying.

He wore a full suit of shining armor, and large deadly spikes topped each of his arm guards, glinting dangerously in the dim light emanating from windows 30 feet up. Three metal tips protruded from the top of his helmet, which obscured most of his face. The only part of his real skin visible were his eyes, cold and gray, piercing and murderous. The left side of his face was horribly burnt, with peeling red flesh and the charred remnants of his old skin still visible. Sydney felt sick.

"Not weak?" he chuckled, and his laugh resonated throughout the lair, which was dark and cold. Metal clanked as he stood, and Sydney shook as he approached her. She ducked her head once more, hair falling into her face. She couldn't bear to look at someone this horrible.

She let out a pained yelp as Shredder's boot kicked her in the gut, hitting the spot where she had been feeling pain. More tears spilled, and she was barely breathing as she tried to hold in the noises of crying that would surely ensue soon.

"'Not weak', she says," the Shredder repeated, and Sydney despised that she was trembling under his gaze. When he had kicked her, she had bitten her lip, and the irony taste of blood was fresh in her mouth. "You wouldn't last in a fight, but I suppose you could endure what I'm about to put you through."

Sydney's breathing came quicker as fear coursed through her. What he meant, she didn't dare ask.

"Bring her back to the cell. If those retched turtles aren't here by midnight, you know what to do." Fear swirled through her as the Foot bots dragged her away once more. She had no idea what Shredder was talking about, and she most certainly didn't want to find out.

Her stomach felt even worse after Shredder had kicked it, and her bones ached when Tigerclaw tossed her back into her cell. "Don't think for a second that in this cage those ropes will be off for a second," he snarled, slamming the door in her face.

Enraged, Sydney spit through the bars, and a bloody puddle of saliva landed on Tigerclaw's toe. Sydney smirked, then remembered her situation. Maybe that hadn't been the smartest idea, but she wouldn't let Tigerclaw believe that she was hopeless and pathetic, like Shredder had said.

Tigerclaw's burning yellow eyes narrowed as he swiped a paw, claws unsheathed, through the bars towards her.

Sydney tried to dodge the attack, but with her arms and legs tied up uncomfortably she wasn't able to, and Tigerclaw's razor-like claws tore through her skin. A scream sounded from deep in her throat, and her flesh burned painfully. Hot tears trickled down her face and burned her wound even more, which was bleeding. The blood was mingling with the tears that were trickling into her mouth, so her tongue was flooded by the taste of iron.

Even though it was May, Sydney wished she had more layers on; Donnie's lab wasn't nearly as cold as this cell. She was alright in her sweater, but her jean shorts enabled goosebumps to appear up and down her legs. Mustering her strength, she scooted into the farthest corner. Once crouched there, she rested her back against the wall and rubbed her cheek against her sweater, cleaning the blood from her face.

She was a mess. Her boots were dingy and dirty, and her sweater was filthy and ripped, now with a sickening amount of blood on the left shoulder. Her shorts were fraying in some places, and her hair was snarled and damp. She didn't care if her outfit didn't look good; she felt even worse on the inside. Shame at being captured, anger at April and Tigerclaw, and hatred at Shredder all swirled around inside her until she could no longer feel the tears stinging on her cheeks.

Sydney pushed herself farther into the corner and tried to sleep, only able to hope that her turtle companions were on their way.

It felt like days when Sydney woke up again, her head throbbing with pain. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she thought longingly of the pizza Leo had promised. She wished she knew what time it was. She knew it had to be after 10, but not midnight, or else the horrible thing that Shredder had been talking about would commence soon. And to think, at midnight, her birthday would only be one day away.

She was so confident that it wasn’t time for whatever Shredder was talking about that when two Footbots approached her she gasped in shock.

Once more she was dragged off. She wanted to struggle, to scream, to do

something, but she didn’t have the strength or energy.

Sydney was swept into a large open room. It was a bit warmer in here, but still had the damp, musty scent that seemed to fill the air throughout the dungeons.

Tigerclaw, who was standing in the corner, smirked. “It’s almost midnight, and your little amphibian friends aren’t here,” he said with a snarl.

Sydney didn’t bother to tell him that turtles were reptiles, not amphibians.

“Xever!” Tigerclaw yelled. “Show our guest what awaits her.”

Sydney wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but when Xever approached a large shape covered in a tarp and revealed a huge vat of mutagen, she nearly passed out again.

***

Notes:

Sorry about this taking literal months. I feel really bad about it taking so long but I haven’t had the motivation to do so. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

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firexfate · 5 years

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the black sparrow || reign

♔ three ~ a new alliance ♔

As weeks slid into months, Alisa was enjoying her time at court, while searching for an alliance that could possibly benefit Russia, to no avail. She was frustrated, but at the same time, she was glad, glad that she could stay in France a little longer. Francis and she grew closer, even if it was wrong. He spent his time as much as he could. The two rode horses together, took walks in the gardens, and read in the library, whenever Francis had free time. Mary did not like the idea of him spending time with Alisa but did not mention it to either of them. When Francis was not with Alisa, he was in the throne room, conversing with the nobles and guards. regarding the politics with both France and Scotland. Alisa too was busy focusing on her own country. She advised Dimitri the best she could, as she received frequent letters from him. He seemed to be doing very well. When she was not doing anything, she roamed the castle’s halls deep in her own thoughts, sometimes with her ladies, but other times she was alone. Bash was probably spending all of his time with Aaliyah, while Katya and Natasha were with Greer and Lola, whom they grew quite close to.

Summer had reached its peak in the castle, before it became less warm, as it was mid-September. While it was beautiful outside, Alisa preferred to stay indoors this day. She walked inside the throne room, where Catherine was getting everything ready for another party. She loved throwing them, and Alisa had to admit that she was rather good at it. Catherine looked over at Alisa with a warm smile.

“Ah, Tsaritsa,” She beckoned the young Tsaritsa over, “Tell me, what do you think that the decorations, dark red or gold?” She held the decorative flowers in front of her, as she was preparing the throne room. Alisa pursed her lips.

“Red. A little pop of color never hurt.” Catherine smiled at her.

“You have good taste, my dear,” She nodded at one of the servants, before taking Alisa’s arm and walking with her, “Tell me, how is Francis?” Alisa was taken back by the question and cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Madame...”

“Catherine, please.”

“Very well, Catherine. I think you know your son better than I do. You tell me.” Alisa told her softly. Catherine chuckled deeply.

“That may be true, but I have not been spending so much time with him, but you have.” Alisa’s gaze darted to the side. “Oh, don’t be so modest. I am pleased to see that he is with you.” Alisa raised her eyebrows with confusion.

“I thought you of all people would be against it, it could jeopardize your treaty with Scotland.” Catherine smiled at her ever so slightly, causing Alisa to inhale, realizing that the Queen of France was not too happy with the engagement. “You do not want Mary to marry your son.”

“I have been talking to Henry,” Catherine continued, completely ignoring Alisa’s previous statement, “And he agrees that if France and Russia could come to a sort of agreement, then this would be one of the most powerful alliances in all of history.”

“What are you saying?” Alisa whispered, unable to believe what she was hearing. Not only will she get an alliance, but she could possibly be wed to Francis if the king decides to break the alliance. Catherine did not say anything, just patted her arm.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, and you just might end up getting what you want.” She told her, before walking out of the throne room, calling out to one of the servants. Alisa stared after her, letting out an uneasy breath, as she smoothed her dress, trying to look as though nothing happened. She turned around and continued to walk, admiring the room.

“Alisa!” She turned and saw Francis moving up towards her, a little flushed.

“Francis, are you alright?”

“I am, but a little problem has arisen. There has been some shortage regarding meat and poultry, there is not enough grain to go about. Even the nobles that supplied us with it cannot do anything about it.” Francis said this all hurriedly, in a rush. Alisa’s gaze turned sympathetic.

“I am sorry, won’t Scotland be able to help?” Francis shook his head.

“Scotland itself is not stable, it has its own problems going on as of late. It is in no condition to help us.” Alisa nodded.

“I see,” She looked up at him with a sad smile, “I’m so sorry.” Francis shook his head with a smile of his own.

“Don’t be, we will figure something out.” He paused himself, tilting his head to the side as if he was trying to calculate a very complicated problem.

“Francis?” Alisa’s dark eyes flooded with concern.

“Hang on, I’m trying something here...” Francis muttered, before opening his mouth once and closed it. His eyes finally lit up, before his gaze fell upon hers, “Dobroye utro.” Alisa’s mouth nearly fell open, before she broke into laughter, closing her eyes as she did so before her gaze shifted back to Francis again.

“Dobroye utro. Kak ty sebya chustvuyesh?” She giggled at the reaction of his face. He looked extremely confused. “I think you might need to learn a little more than ‘good morning.’ Who taught it to you, anyhow?”

“Aaliyah.” He grinned cheekily.

“Why do you always look at so many ways to impress me?” Alisa laughed again. “I am not that difficult to please.”

“I am not trying to impress you, maybe, I am just trying to learn some Russian.” He feigned his innocence. Alisa raised an eyebrow.

“You’re failing remarkably.” She told him, to which he chuckled.

“Maybe I just need someone to teach me.” He was cut off midway, as a guard approached Alysa. He bowed before her and Francis.

“Your Majesty, your uncle, Yuri of Uglich, has requested an audience with you.” Alisa’s eyes widened. She wondered why would her uncle be here. He should be with his son, supporting his rule. Dimitri gave her the impression that everything was going fine, but he should have his father’s council at his side. She nodded firmly.

“Of course. Send him in.”

“Pardon me, Your Majesty, he requested to be alone with you. He asked that I show you to the room.” Alisa’s eyes narrowed further, but she nodded, complying. She turned to Francis.

“I am sorry, I suppose I will have to speak with you later.” She smiled a little. Francis nodded.

“Of course. I shall wait for your return.” Alisa turned on her heel and followed the guard into one of the living rooms, where her uncle was at. He was pacing around the room impatiently, but paused once the Tsaritsa entered, escorted by the guard.

“You may leave us.” Alisa instructed. The guard bowed and swept out of the room. Yuri smiled once he saw Alisa and moved forward, kissing her cheek.

“My dear niece. You look well.” She smiled warmly.

“As do you, Uncle. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Yuri’s eyes hardened ever so slightly, as a frown grazed his lips, letting out a soft sigh.

“Unfortunately, Alisa, my visit will not be a very pleasant one. I bring bad news. It’s about Dimitri.” Alisa’s eyes filled with confusion, wringing her hands, as she always did when she was nervous.

“I-I don’t understand.” She stammered, . Yuri gently took her by the arm, sitting beside her on the couch. “He told - he told me that he was doing fine. Russia was fine. He said that---”

“He lied.” Yuri interrupted, gripping arm. “He is not coping well under pressure, but that is not the worst part. The people are unhappy with the regency. They are beginning to revolt. A week ago, there was a violent attack. Our soldiers managed to hold them back, but there were deaths.” Alisa’s breathing hitched. She swallowed, trying to think rationally.

“How many?” She finally asked.

“Ten. Twice more have been wounded.” Yuri locked his eyes upon hers intently. “Tell me, Alisa, how successful are you in finding an alliance? Because we need more men, and we need them now, or else a bloody revolution will break out, and Dimitri will lose his head.” Alisa swallowed hard.

“Alliances are not that easy to come by, Uncle, you know that. I have been trying to find a suitable one.” Yuri sighed heavily, leaning back.

“But you have failed to do so.” He stared at her long and hard, his gaze becoming cold. “You are Russia’s Queen, you must do something, or you will lose your country. I have been working hard to not let this... catastrophe come to light, but if it well, you are less likely to find alliance, than you are now.” Alisa nodded once, finding no point in arguing.

“I know. My duty as Tsaritsa comes first. I will find a way to end this protest.” Yuri huffed, yet nodded in response.

“Do that, and do so quickly. Time is of the essence.” Alisa stood up shakily from the couch and left the room without another word. She bit her lip, playing with her friends. The more she thought about it, the more worried she got. She had no alliance. Even if she were to find an alliance, she could possibly not hear back from the chosen country for days, maybe weeks. She felt her chest tighten, something that often happened when she began to panic. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bash and Aaliyah talking to one another and laughing. It made her feel even worse, more miserable and alone. They did not notice as she passed by. Francis noticed that there was something off with her from the start, even as he was speaking with some guards about something. He broke off the conversation at once, walking over to her, hand reaching to touch her wrist. She jerked her hand, before relaxing seeing Francis. Francis’s face softened upon seeing her distraught one.

“What happened?” He asked gently. She shook her head feebly, unable to speak. “Is it Dimitri? Russia?” Alisa nodded feverishly. Francis took her hands in his gently. “What’s wrong, Alisa?”

“Dimitri created a whole mess of things, he was pressured by the nobles, and now, the people are revolting, and our troops are not enough. My uncle is telling me that I need to find an alliance as soon as possible, but I---” Her voice increased in volume from panic, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Alright, alright, slow down,” Francis interrupted gently, squeezing her hands, “You need more men?” Alisa nodded softly, letting out a shaky breath. “I think we can help with that. We have eight companies of men, I am sure I can convince my father to send some Russia.” Alisa gaped at him.

“You can do that? For me? For a country that you barely know?” Francis smiled at her.

“I would do anything for you. You need only ask.” Alisa bit her lip, before stepping forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Francis did not push her away, in face he pulled her closer, his fingers making their way into her dark locks. She pulled back with a smile, before her eyes lit up with an idea.

“You said France needed meat, right?” She asked slowly. Francis nodded. “Russia has quite a surplus of it, always getting imports from other countries, through trade. Maybe, I can make an offer to your father.” Francis felt his lips curl up into a smile.

“You want to propose a temporary alliance.” Alisa nodded once. Francis took her hand, the feeling more natural every time he did so.

“Let’s go find my father.” He agreed, before leading her towards his study, Alisa feeling hopeful again. She did not notice, Aaliyah and Bash this time, who were sharing a brief kiss in the hallway. She did not notice Katya walking down the hallway with a handsome noble, chatting away. She especially did not notice Mary, who was hidden in the shadows and watching her and Francis, both angry and envious.

♖♖♖

Alisa and Francis found the King hunched over his desk, with a few of his nobles, talking amongst themselves. Henry could not seem to find a solution, his face creased into a frown. He looked both frustrated and annoyed. Francis pulled Alisa inside, causing Henry to look up. He looked extremely surprised to Alisa there, and cleared his throat, nodding at all of the nobles to leave for the time being.

“Tsaritsa,” He stood up, looking over at her, “What can I do for you?”

“You do not need Scotland to get the meat you desire. You need Russia.” Alisa spoke plainly. Henry’s eyebrows rose, before a thin smile tugged from the corner of his lips.

“Go on.” He nodded at her.

“Our people need meat,” Francis spoke up, looking up at his father, “Russia has a surplus of it, and Alisa has offered to send some our way. She proposes an alliance.” Henry pursed his lips in thought. An alliance with Russia? It is almost too good to be true, but of course, King Henry was a proud king and a stubborn one as well.

“What do you get out of this?”

“I need men to shut down an uprising against my cousin’s regency.” Alisa explained. “Three companies. That is all I ask.” Henry looked over at her, calculating her eyes. She seemed to be desperate.

“You seem sure of yourself, Queen Alisa. What makes you think that I would give them to you?” Francis tensed from besides her, his hand slipping out of hers, a stern expression flashing upon his face.

“Father---” He was cut off by Alisa, who strode up to King Henry. Her eyes now burned with determination and with a fire Francis has never seen before.

“You have just been offered an alliance with one, if not the, most powerful countries in the world. Are you really telling me that you are about to decline? If so, you are a fool!” Alisa shot at him, glaring at Henry through her intense eyes. “Russia is not England, the country that you are so keen on getting, it is better. England is just one small country. Russia is an entire empire, an empire that I am sworn to protect. So, if you won’t give me the resources that I need, I shall find someone else who will!” Alisa turned around, catching Francis’s eye who was stunned at the way she spoke to his father. He even looked somewhat impressed and rightfully so, as the King started clapping slowly from behind, causing Alisa to turn around.

“Well done. You are a true Queen, Alisa,” He smiled appreciatively, “You have a way of getting what you want.” He paused for a moment. “Four companies. They will leave at first light tomorrow for Moscow.” Alisa let a smile grow on her face as she bowed her head.

“My country and I thank you. I will send my uncle over to negotiate the amount of meat to be sent to France.” Henry nodded once, and Alisa knew that she was dismissed. She headed to the door, Francis behind her.

“Oh, and Alisa?” Henry called her, causing her to freeze in her tracks. “I look forward to working with you in the future.” Alisa merely smiled, as she walked out, Francis at her side. She looked over at him.

“I cannot thank you enough. You are the one who offered to help and gave me the idea of an alliance.” Francis chuckled.

“As a said, I will do anything for you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “But now, I would like to ask you something.”

“What is it?” Alisa smiled a little as she gazed into his blue eyes.

“Teach me Russian. It sounds beautiful, and I am sure I will learn better when you’d be the one giving me the lessons.” Alisa laughed lightly.

“It will be hard and frustrating.”

“I have all the time in the world.” Francis insisted. “At night, we could go use one of the living rooms. I’ll bring some wine, you bring the books, and we will study together.” Alisa felt her face flare up.

“People are already talking about our friendship, Francis,” She told him. She especially did not want to get on Mary’s bad side, as Mary was not exactly pleased seeing the two of them together.

“Then, let them talk. Besides, no one will know about it, it will just be me and you.” He smiled ever so slightly, gazing at her.

“Da.” Alisa finally agreed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I accept.” Francis grinned at that, continuing to walk with her, holding her hand tighter. He couldn’t wait for those lessons. And although Alisa would never admit it, she was too.

#the black sparrow #catherine de medici #henry ii #alisa ivanova #francis valois #reign #reign cw #lady aaliyah #sebastian de poitiers #mary stuart

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nihilistsundays-blog · 6 years

Text

The Weight of Women.

Sasha Fallon is drowning from the inside out. The only salvation comes in consumption and revolt.

CONTENT WARNING FOR: extreme gore, cannibalism, misogyny, self-harm and character death. The bathroom sink was coated in brown hair. There was the dense center, where most of the curls had fallen to accompany the soft snipping sounds, a small pile of downy, tawny identity. Already, her face was new - framed by short, springy spirals that left round brown eyes and a doll’s delicate mouth defiantly exposed. Her freckles, splashed so generously across her cheeks and sharply upturned nose, could have been mistaken for a tan from a distance. A tan that her boss, Eddie, had more than once suggested would improve her appearance. “Our customers are looking for someone who really represents the nature of our brand,” he’d said to her. “Young, hot, edgy.” The blades of her scissors were edgy enough, she supposed, idly considering the sweet threat of their pressure against her fingers as she lowered them to the edge of the sink. She’d trimmed up, cleaned up, left a wispy mound of herself in the sink, and she smiled down at the mess.

Eddie hated it. She closed the store the next night, her freshly shorn curls proudly pomaded, the excess trashed. “Jesus Christ, you look like a fuckin’ little boy,” he said without preamble or niceties as she’d walked into work in rare form. “Why the hell would you do that to yourself? You’re already too flat to pull off the hot butch thing. Shit, Sasha.” He handed her the closing keys, unabashed in his appraisal of her as he looked her up and down. “Whatever, not my hair I guess. Later.” It was a quiet night, sales low, and she knew even as she swept and counted change that her new haircut would be blamed for it. A bone-deep ache bloomed in her, reverberating beyond the strains of the dance pop nightmare cycle that played on a loop over the speakers.

To unload all of her shed hair onto the glass counter, to show them. Look what I’ve done, more of me gone and every day I get closer to bones, clean bones, stripped bare, perfect bones. Because she’d lost weight, a while back - nearly sixty pounds, working out enough to keep her flesh from getting loose and hanging from those sweet clean bones that waited quietly underneath all of her sweaty, grimy, blood-gorged and porous flesh. She’d mourned then, the fact that she couldn’t see the fat she’d melted into nothing, couldn’t save it in a jar, sickly yellow curds of jiggling humanity, slickly wet and shed for her to lord over. She’d spent hours perusing the contents of pimples that she’d popped, squeezing them out onto her fingertip and turning her phone’s flashlight onto the tiny blobs of oily pus, the satisfaction enormous. More of her gone, the wet and weak parts of her excised.

Her boyfriend didn’t notice her haircut until after their sex that night. His own hair was long, down to his shoulders, thick and lemon-blond. He had Nordic features too, a straight and royal nose, narrow, tea-green eyes that caught the light as prettily as a bit of sea glass, a disarmingly full and feminine mouth that softened the punch of his jawline and thick brows. He was lying on his stomach, the length of his pale back illuminated by the soft glow of the blood moon through her bedroom window. He was a fair to decent lover, generally attentive and largely uninterested in anything too obscene for her tastes, content with missionary mediocrity and light conversation before sleep. “Whoa, you cut your hair?” he mumbled sleepily, rolling over onto his back and reaching out to thread thick fingers through her curls. “I thought you had it in a ponytail or something, guess I wasn’t paying attention. I liked it long.”

His opinion - entirely unrequested and wholly irrelevant - made her smile faintly. Men always assumed that the world was interested in whether or not they approved of something. But because the sex had been good, she shrugged and stayed silent. Her words were another part of herself that she’d recently decided to stop handing out with such mindless generosity. She had a plan, of course. It had come to her as she’d worked that night, and in its simplicity and brilliance it had taken root in her, a stargazer lily rising and opening in her belly and chest. “I guess if it makes you happy,” Ethan added as if placatingly offering her his permission to soothe the obvious sting that his criticism had to have inflicted upon her. He kissed her cheek, stubbing out his cigarette and passing out beside her under a curling haze of male smoke that dissipated up to her ceiling.

Her father bought her makeup for her birthday. “It’s that...that thing all the girls want right now,” he struggled to explain as she’d unwrapped it, her nostrils full of melting-sugar scent from the little round grocery store cake her mother had bought. She was not currently wearing any makeup, she rarely did, but it was a designer palette that she’d seen on the internet that was highly sought after by women with more cosmopolitan tastes than her own, and she knew it was expensive. He’d bought it for the daughter he wished she was, but she kissed his cheek anyway, thanked him and smiled for the family photos her mother took of them by the fireplace. That was a week after her haircut.

“Walking around lately like the cat that caught the canary,” Eddie commented on Friday. “You must have plans for the weekend.”

“Maybe.” Her smile was coy in a way that it never was, and it caught his attention.

“That haircut’s growing on me,” he remarked casually. “Hopefully it’ll grow too, and soon!” He snorted at his own joke, while Sasha only smirked indulgently at him. She was not accustomed to smirking though, and it looked like more of a grimace. Eddie interpreted this as discomfort, and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so fucking sensitive,” he instructed her with an abrupt disdain for her perceived female fragility. “I was just joking.”

Ethan, a physics student, had “major cramming to do, babe,” so she had the weekend to herself. She could have helped him - she was an aficionado of the Nova channel and an avid collector of Neil Degrasse Tyson collector’s editions, a shared interest that had been the initial spark to their relationship. He’d kissed her though, explaining that “it’s a little beyond that stuff you watch on TV, babe. I appreciate it though, you’re the best.” Neither the money nor the academic faith had been there for her to major in physics herself - or anything, for that matter - and high school had dissolved like a sugar cube in a warm cup of tea, leaving her in the dregs of retail for the past 5 years. 27 now, watching the Cosmos remake by night with feet sore from hours on a tiled floor.

She cut her fingernails first. Then her toenails, snipping and snipping until the edges of her cuticles began to ooze dark blood, her fingers and toes sore with raw exposure to a world they’d never known. The pain of the loss of the protective layer of her nails galvanized her to do what she knew had to be done, but she gave herself one last night to sleep on it. Caution was always advisable even in the face of an epiphany. The morning couldn’t stop her though, and sleep had not weakened her resolve. That afternoon, the drugstore offered up the supplies she needed - sturdier, industrial shears intended for gardening, an economy-sized pack of gauze and a dark brown plastic bottle of antiseptic, bandages and numbing gel. The liquor store next door kindly outfitted her with a bottle of vodka that was just powerful enough to suit her needs, and she hummed softly to herself as she hauled it all back to her car.

Ethan had texted her. Hey babe, thinking of you, let’s go out on Monday. My class gets out early. This studying is kicking my ass, what are you up to?

She let him wait. Cellos were better company, their music flooding her car as she drove. She’d already laid out the towels, covering a kitchen chair and the floor under it in them. It was definitely overkill, but the Girl Scouts had taught her to always be prepared as a child. More cellos accompanied her endeavor as she set her speakers to drown out the inevitable pain of what she was about to do. Ethan texted her twice more as she arranged everything, but she was busy propping one foot up on her chair and bending herself nearly in half under the kitchen lights, already having cleaned and tied off her pinky toe with a thick elastic band. It was raspberry-red now, thrumming with the strain of bloodflow. She was even wearing a pair of non-latex gloves, a nod to the scientist she’d never become, and she lowered the shears to form a serrated triangle around her toe. It had to be all at once, she knew.

The resistance of the bone surprised her, when she slammed the shears closed - it was such a brittle little bone, in your pinky toe. She’d expected to sever it in one grand slam, but instead there was a crunch and a blinding, blistering pain that shot throughout her entire foot and all the way up to her knee, slicing deeply through the vodka haze she’d drunk herself into about half an hour ago. Her toe hung by a strip of bloody skin and sinew, the bone mostly severed but not quite, and she had to snap the shears closed a second time. Finally it was removed, a bubbling wellspring of blood spurting up from the new stump and soaking the towel on the chair. Her toe rolled off, landed on the floor. Her toenail was still painted a jaunty red, she realized. Ethan had done it for her, the two of them laughing about how clumsy he was with her nail polish bottle last week.

She doused her brand new stump in antiseptic, laughing hoarsely at the new wave of white-hot pain that exploded through her before packing it all in six layers of gauze until it finally stopped bleeding through, and wrapping it in bandages. She’d even bought clean socks - infection wasn’t the goal here. Purity was, safety was. The cellos were still playing, their belly-deep moaning stirring her. She cleaned off her freed toe, dropping it gently into a mason jar for safekeeping and tucking it behind her bookshelf crammed to bursting with books about the stars.

Eddie didn’t notice her limp at work, but he did notice her new swagger. “It’s birth control,” he guessed as they did inventory that night. “That shit fucks with a girl’s hormones and changes her personality and shit. That’s what’s got you strutting around here. Or it’s some feminist shit, bet you started listening to Ani Difranco and decided to lop off all your hair and take charge of your womanhood or some shit, right? Or that pussy-ass boyfriend of yours with the Disney princess hair finally figured out how to use his dick.” He kept talking, teasing, goading, but Sasha only smiled. She’d considered leaving her severed toe in his jacket pocket, hanging in his employee locker in the back room, but in the end she’d known this would have been a mistake. He couldn’t have it.

Her stump healed prettily, more quickly than she’d thought it would. It was about a month before she felt ready to take off more of herself, and it seemed fitting to make it her other pinky toe this time. Her sense of balance hadn’t been terribly affected by the loss of one, but she figured she could make up for any residual issues by taking off the other one just in case. Ethan had invited her to a party with his classmates the night before, explaining to everyone that “my girlfriend is a hobbyist. A wanna-stronomer,” with a fond laugh. The name had stuck, all night. He’d been gentle in bed though, holding her in his arms and kissing her nose, her eyelids. He hadn’t noticed the neat little stump of her toe at all.

It was easier this time. Like a scientist, she had a better understanding through trial and error of how to do this right now, the exact amount of force required to slice her left pinky toe off in one clean snap, and the amount of blood didn’t catch her off-guard anymore. Like a surgeon, she stitched over the new stump - something she’d neglected the first time, leading to more blood loss than had been necessary, but then women were always giving up their blood to the world - and she cleaned and packed it with a brisk efficiency despite the agony. Bearing up under pain was the most ancient gift women had, after all.

This time, she ate it.

Her other toe was too old to eat, by the time the realization had burned into her like a brand, but when the second one came off she knew what to do. Butter in the frying pan, spices, and she sauteed it until it was lightly charred all around. She nibbled the warm Sasha-flesh from the bone like a tiny chicken wing, felt it slide down her throat and into her belly, and she knew she’d found her answer. The bone went into the trash, where her hair had gone, but then she fished it out because her bones were the only clean parts of her and she was owed them. The weight of women was theirs to bear, but her bones belonged. She left it next to her vanilla candle from Bath and Body Works, in her bathroom where her bath and body worked.

Ethan finally noticed. “Fuck!” he said in a burst of unchecked shock when she’d toed off her socks to get into a warm bath with him a month later. “Sasha! What the fuck happened to your feet?” She’d almost forgotten by now, balanced and with about two percent of her safer from the world than it had been, and she blinked down at said feet. “Did you have some kind of accident?”

“No, not an accident,” she said, slipping into the water and resting her hands on his bare, freckled shoulders, but he wouldn’t be distracted.

“You lost your toes! How the hell did you lose both little toes?!”

“I didn’t lose them,” she tried to explain, kissing the side of his neck. He was rising though, dawning horror spreading across his face like an oil slick poisoning Nordic waters. It hadn’t occurred to her to consider whether or not he’d understand, or to care - something was stirring in her, breaking up, ice chunks in a spring-river thaw, and it was only in this moment that she became aware of how completely unimportant Ethan’s opinion of her body was to her. There was a satisfaction in his horror, the knowledge that it stemmed mostly from the fact that she’d done something to the body from which he took his pleasure that he couldn’t control. There was no going back, he could judge all he wanted but it wouldn’t put her toes back on. They were hers now, two tiny parts of her finally all her own.

Ethan was heaving out of the tub, a spray of soapy water falling away from him, nearly slipping and cracking his skull open on the sink in his haste to escape her new freedom. “We need to get you to a hospital! Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

Sasha’s laugh burst out of her, a bark, a siren. “A hospital? These toes came off weeks ago. I’m fine, Ethan.” Idly, she swirled her fingers through the water, the space he’d opened up around her more soothing than his presence had been. “It was just something that had to be done.”

“...Had to be…? Sasha, are you trying to tell me that you cut off your own toes?”

For a physics student, he could be awfully slow on the uptake sometimes. “Why don’t you get back in the tub,” she suggested, but he was backing away, hilariously naked, his wet and limp penis as vulnerable as she’d ever seen him while she lounged in her bath, a queen. He yanked a dry towel from the rack over her toilet and bolted for the bedroom, furiously drying off like a petulant child. She could hear him bustling around her bedroom, pulling on his clothes, muttering to himself about crazy-ass bitches. She closed her eyes, languidly relaxed. Finally, he appeared in the bathroom doorway again, fully dressed with damp hair and flushed cheeks. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, but you need serious help,” he informed her, still convinced even now that his advice or opinions were necessary. “If I had your dad’s number, I’d call him. Just...get help, Sasha. I can’t believe what you did, Jesus Christ. This is too much for me, I’m out.”

And then he was, hauling a small armful of the things of his that he’d left there out to his car - two hoodies, a few DVDs, a shaving kit. Finally, things were quiet, but the water had gone cold. Sighing, Sasha rose dripping from the tub and considered her earlobes in the steam-fogged mirror over her sink. They would be next to go.

People had their earlobes removed for cosmetic reasons, she discovered that night on the internet. To seal up the gaping holes left behind from teenage phases when stretched lobes had been the cool cultural appropriation of the moment for all empty-rebellious white kids. Sometimes older people, whose earlobes were misshapen and sagging from years of heavy earrings, had it done. Straight razors, a sewing kit, and some more hydrogen peroxide, and the world was hers. Two bloody, tiny flaps of flesh weren’t much for her frying pan, but she made it work with some olive oil and seasoned salt. They burned in her belly in bed that night, a soothing amber light glowing brighter and brighter every day behind her honey eyes. Like her toes, no one in her life noticed their absence.

Ethan never tried to contact her again, he’d blocked her from his facebook after posting a vague update about “secretly unhinged” people who may or may not have been lurking in the personal lives of anyone, even his. She supposed it was a lucky thing, considering that her nipples were next, and this was an adventure. The pain nearly drowned her on the night she did it, sawing away at the surprisingly tough and gritty flesh of her own areola until the entire nipple popped off like a tiny jellyfish carrying strings of fatty tissue and nerves that she had to pull out of her own breast to remove it completely. It was a few more weeks before she could bring herself to take the other one off, preserving the first in the freezer until she was ready to consume it. She’d become the Gordon Ramsay of properly seasoning and preparing her own human flesh at this point, having since learned that the best recipes to follow were ones intended for pork.

Eddie hired a new girl at work, who was soft and shy and slim with glossy blonde hair and wide blue eyes, downy lashes framing them in a perfect circle, perky breasts and a whispery voice. Her name was Julie, and Sasha found herself in the habit of hovering over her while she worked, aware of Eddie’s leering. She’d heard him laughing with Mike, another coworker of theirs at the store, about how “might as well give that bitch a raise already, she gives me a raise.” The dull throb of her missing nipples, the scar tissue slowly thickening where they’d been, seemed somehow worse every time Eddie made Julie laugh her nervous laugh, bright eyes darting. Her exhale of relief was only ever visible to Sasha whenever she came over to interrupt Eddie’s advances.

No one noticed anything until she took off a finger. It was a lot like the toes, but she’d bought a paper slicer online to facilitate the process. It had a thick, heavy green tiled platform and a razor blade as long as her forearm. By now the pain was an old friend, and after half a bottle of vodka, it was a simple thing to hack off her own finger. She handed in her resignation at the store, explaining that she’d been in a terrible accident and didn’t forsee the ability to work anytime in the immediate future. Her only regret was leaving Julie unprotected to deal with Eddie, but with any luck she’d soon figure out her own solutions. Hopefully those solutions would be sharp and heavy and soaked with blood too.

Her finger yielded a prettier bone, jointed and pointed, cleaned and gleaming after a stripping bath in her sink made of bleach and brine. She had enough money saved to live on for a while, and so she spent the next several months systematically amputating every finger on her left hand until it was a paw, a dense blunt thing lined with uneven stumps, the meat long since digested in her. She liked to look at it, lifting it to her face and running her tongue over the healing stumps, but now there was a problem. She had no way of taking the rest of her fingers off, especially not if she wanted to move on to a foot or two eventually. She sat up at night, stroking her paw-hand over her comforter, until she came to the answer. At least five fingers had to stay, to keep going, but she could probably remove and eat both legs with enough time and perseverance. Nothing worth doing was ever easy.

Her feet needed hacksaws, which were surprisingly hard to buy. They were distinctly male in the hardware store, lined up on a display as thick and proud as cocks, nearly as destructive and dangerous. They bent to her will that night though, or one of them at least, after she’d cleaned off and tied off her foot at the ankle. She’d watched Saw for inspiration, the first one, and the cellos and liquor carried her forth. The meat of it was gamey, stringy, but she swallowed it down with a sincere pride, after sewing off and bandaging her newest stump. She’d keep cutting until she finished off one leg, she reasoned, then she’d do the other. She had to wonder where, when, how she’d stop, though. How much of her could she protect? How much of her could be saved? This much, at least, she decided, chewing on a gristly cheek-full of skin and muscle tissue in her still, quiet apartment. Just a little more of her that they couldn’t have.

#horror #horror fiction #original fiction #body horror #feminist horror #teagan kennedy

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