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seeuonadarknite · 4 years

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smile for me — yandere kozume kenma x f. reader

warnings: slight angst, abuse, threatening, noncon, hickeys, oral, creampie, kidnapping

Kenma was always quite the outcast. He had a difficult time fitting in with the rest of his classmates, and preferred just being a face out in the crowd. In fact, the only real friend he maintained throughout junior high and high school was his upperclassman, Kuroo.

But their time together was cut short as Kuroo had to move on and graduate with the rest of his fellow third years. Once he left his life for good, Kenma's world turned black and white. Every bland day felt the exact same.

Wake up, attend class, go to practice, go home, sleep, and repeat. There wasn't any real reason for him to continue playing, seeing as his original reason for joining was to be there for his best friend. He was an adult now, having better things to do with his time.

Compared to his performance last year, he was mediocre at best. It was sad for his teammates to see him like this, but they couldn't blame him. He had no outside motivation and no reason to give it his all. At this rate, it'd probably be in his best interest to just give up and quit volleyball.

But his pessimism came to an abrupt end as soon as the doors to the gymnasium opened up on that rainy day during practice. Looking up from the dirty gym flooring, his eyes landed on your graceful figure. Not only were you a sight for sore eyes, but you brought colors back into his world once again.

“Everyone! This is [y/n]. She's going to be your manager for the year.” The coach introduced you to the rest of the team with a large grin covering his features. You gazed at each and every player on the court, briefly studying their features.

“Hi! I'm excited to be here with you guys and although I'm inexperienced in volleyball, I'll try my best to help you guys out in any way that I can!” There it was again. That damned smile you always seemed to wear.

Your beaming smile lit up the dark cave Kenma had been hiding himself in. And he wanted it all to himself. However, it was as clear as day that Kenma wasn't the only one on his team looking forward to seeing you more.

—

His obsession started off innocent. Kenma was just a dependent person, and without Kuroo, he needed somebody else to rely on. At least that was what you told yourself.

At first he would just walk you to your homeroom class. It was on the way to his, so where was the harm in it?

But it gradually became overbearing. Not only would he walk you to homeroom and practice after school, but he soon began walking you home from school in order to “protect you from creeps.”

He followed you around like a lost puppy. An insecure, lost puppy. If you ever tried gently approaching the subject by telling him that you're alright on your own, he'd simply stare at you with glossy eyes and frown.

It somehow felt worse than him getting angry at you. You just felt pure guilt, and would end up apologizing for bringing it up.

Kenma knew what he was doing. With the advantage of his lack of friends, he could cling to you like a magnet without any questions asked.

From an outsider's perspective, it looked as if you had him wrapped around your little finger. But it was really Kenma who had the upper hand. It didn't take him long to analyze your overall personality and learn how to evoke certain emotions from you.

He was strategic, calm and collected. He knew he wasn't the kinda guy you'd go after, so he'd have to take extra measures in making you reliant on him. In a few months time, you'd be begging him to walk you to class and you'd be afraid of being without him.

It was perfect. As long as he played his cards right, everything would go to plan.

“[y/n]! I know this is sudden, but I've really enjoyed spending time with you during practice and I'd love to maybe.. take you out sometime?” Or not.

Kenma was on his way towards the front of the school where he'd normally meet you to walk home with you. He had planned on asking you if you'd like to hang out at the nearby arcade after school. However, he was beat to it. Right before his eyes was the sight of Lev asking you out on a date.

The situation at hand didn't dawn upon him until his vision was filled with the sight of you pressing a gentle kiss onto the lanky Russian's cheek. Sure, he was peeved at his teammate for asking out his crush. But your positive response was what had caused the crushing sensation in his heart. He thought he was going to be ill.

You stabbed him right in the back. That was supposed to be him. Was he not good enough for you? He crossed over so many bridges in order to earn your attention, yet it still wasn't enough. You'd never choose a guy like him.

He'd have to make you.

—

It had been a few days since you last interacted with Kenma. It was weird; you were used to him following you around wherever you went with his focused gaze constantly diverted towards his game. Sure, having him by your side 99% of the time was mildly inconvenient for you, but it was something you had grown used to.

It was nice having somebody that seemed to care about your feelings so deeply. While your bubbly attitude helped you in terms of popularity, it didn't quite fill the void. Not even the boy you had recently began seeing really seemed to deeply understand your emotions like Kenma did.

As much as you hated to admit it, you needed Kenma just as much as he needed you. That was why you were more than willing to walk him home for the first time in days after being asked.

Whilst you didn't understand why he took a break from walking around with you like this in the first place, you were glad to know that he was doing alright. You really did worry about his wellbeing during your time apart. Perhaps you had grown a soft spot for the introvert.

“Do you.. wanna come in?” Kenma kept his gaze on the sidewalk as he offered you to come over. As much as you wanted to agree and try and rekindle your friendship over pop drinks, you unfortunately already had plans for that evening. Lev promised he'd take you to see fireworks at a festival in town.

But you couldn't just flat out reject him. There was something wrong with him and you wanted to resolve things before goofing off with his teammate. Flashing him a small smile, you nodded your head and followed him into his vacant house.

As soon as the two of you slipped your shoes off, he led you into his living room and plopped himself down onto the couch. You could tell that he was nervous by the way that he was timidly fiddling his fingers and avoiding your eyes.

“I can stay for a few minutes. Lev promised he'd take me to see the fireworks in town, but I want to know what's been going on with you before I leave. I care about you, Kenma.” Were you joking? Kenma was about ready to be emotionally vulnerable with you and you decided to bring him up?

It seemed as if your words flipped a metaphorical switch in Kenma's brain. His immediate change in expression gave you chills. “No.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stood up from your spot on the couch and narrowed your eyes at the pudding head. “I'm sorry?” Your intuition was right. Something was wrong with him.

Following you in suit, Kenma stood up from his spot on the couch and began making slow strides towards you. For each step that he'd take towards you, you'd take a step back. By the time you had taken around five steps back, you ended up with your back pressed up against the living room wall. How cliche.

“Kenma, what's gotten into you? Are you okay?” Even during a time like this, you were still seemingly worried over the male's wellbeing. It was almost laughable.

Instead of lashing out, Kenma gazed at you with dulled eyes. Taking a few steps backwards, he took in a deep breath and prepared himself for his next plan of action. “Just.. follow me. I need to show you something.” Only you could understand Kenma when he murmured like this.

Something about the whole situation was off. The apathetic look in his eyes was unsettling to say the least, seeing as his eyes were clouded with frustration just a minute ago. But you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So you took him up on his offer and allowed him to take the lead. He ended up bringing you upstairs into his room. Upon first glance, there was nothing that stood out. His bedroom was exactly how you expected it; organized and cleanly, yet not quite bland. The figurines and posters he had set up complimented the room nicely.

But it didn't make sense to you. Why was he so insistent on having you follow him up here? You easily could've continued your conversation inside of the living room, so what gave?

Click. Glancing over at the pudding head, you watched as he swiftly locked the door, rendering it difficult to exit and impossible to enter. Before you could question his actions, Kenma shakily pulled out a pocket knife from his pant’s pocket, slowly inching towards you with the weapon. “Get on the bed..” He almost seemed unsure of his actions.

But his reluctance quickly turned into assertiveness when you wouldn't oblige. “Now.” His arm stopped shaking. One step closer and the blade would be poking at your throat.

You reluctantly climbed onto the queen bed placed up against the wall. There was a window! Perhaps you could— “Don't even think about it.” His tone was dripping with uncharacteristic dominance as he spoke.

Climbing up onto the bed, he lightly nudged your shoulder, quietly ordering you to lay down. Of course you were going to listen, the guy had a weapon in his hand. As much as you wanted to question his actions, your body was in a complete state of shock. What happened to the innocent, introverted boy you once knew?

Noticing your shocked expression, Kenma sighed, crawling up in between your legs. “[y/n], you're all that I care about. I just want you to love me back.” His face heated up as he inched his head towards yours, leaning in to press a chaste kiss on your lips.

However, your reaction wasn't as positive as he wanted it to be. As soon as his plump lips pressed against yours, you immediately drew your head back, forgetting about the weapon in his hold. “Kenma! What has gotten into you? You know that I'm seeing Lev!” You couldn't be gentle with him anymore. There was a line you sure as hell weren't willing to cross with him.

Upon hearing the Russian's name, Kenma clenched his teeth, wearing an expression with pure lividness written all over it. Even after mustering up the courage to confess his feelings and to even kiss you, you still weren't content with him. There would always be somebody better and he'd always have to go through desperate measures just to earn your attention.

But as he gazed down at your petrified expression, he came to a realization. He didn't have to fight for your attention and idly stand by as you gave it to other people. He had the upper hand. He was in control here.

There wasn't a single damned person on this planet that could stop him from taking you away and ravaging your innocence. You belonged to him now. He was the only person you'd get to look at from now on and there was nothing you could do about it.

“You know.. I don't know why I thought you had a thing for me. I guess I was just being really, really stupid.” He gazed at you with a vacant expression. You almost felt bad for him. Almost. But your guilt was gone as quickly as it came once his fingers began peeling your shirt off. “But it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter at all.”

Dropping your shirt onto the hardwood flooring of the room, Kenma gazed at your bare skin with pink tinting his cheeks. Your skin was like a blank canvas, and Kenma was ready to paint a masterpiece.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up at the feeling of his plump lips peppering gentle kisses across your collarbone. Sooner rather than later, he made his way up towards yours your nape and his soft kisses turned into nibbling. “Kenma. Please..” Your voice was strained as you begged him to stop.

But your pleas only egged him on as he began running his tongue over your neck, giving you a ticklish sensation from his wet appendage. He eventually attached his lips onto a certain spot on the side of your neck before sucking on the sensitive skin like a leech. It was your first real hickey and it ached. It felt like your skin was being sucked by a tiny vacuum.

The worst part about it all was that he ended up leaving a giant trail of hickeys from your neck to your chest. Your entire upper body was scattered with vibrant love bites.

Wiping his swollen lips off with the back of his hand, Kenma sat up and admired his work. Just the sight in itself caused metaphorical hearts to form in his eyes.

But it wasn't enough. The need to feel your soft skin against his own overruled Kenma's insecurities, as he reluctantly pulled his t-shirt over his head. Before he could begin dreading the thought of you laughing at his scrawny figure, he leaned down and stared at the bra that blockaded him from your breasts. That wouldn't do.

It was difficult to say the least for Kenma to try and figure out how to remove your bra, especially with you thrashing and squirming beneath him. Not being able to figure out something as simple as a bra clip was frustrating enough; you deliberately making it difficult just pushed him over the edge.

“Stop squirming or I'll cut you.” His small voice was stern as he scolded you for moving. You wanted to believe that his threat was empty, but his exasperated expression told you a different story.

After what felt like trying solve a jigsaw puzzle, he finally freed you from the death trap of your bra, eagerly throwing it off to the side. It didn't take long for him to place a hand on each of your breasts, kneading at your skin like cat.

Kenma felt like he was on a power trip as he fondled your breasts and squeezed your hardened nipples between his fingers. The way you sat idly whilst he leaned his head downwards and began swirling his tongue around each bud was absolutely exhilarating. You knew there was nothing you'd be able to do to defend yourself without hurting Kenma, and you weren't willing to make that sacrifice.

The fact that you still seemed to care more about his wellbeing than your own caused his heart to skip a beat. He really did have you wrapped around his finger.

As he sucked on your soft mounds, he trailed his hands down to the waistband of your shorts, tugging at the fabric. He soon diverted his attention towards your bottoms as he eagerly slid them down to your ankles, leaving you in nothing but the thin material of your panties.

Of course, it didn't take him long to grab onto the sides of your panties and pull them off as well. He had waited far too long for this moment and he wasn't going to waste a second of it.

Upon first glance, Kenma was mesmerized. He couldn't help but bask in your naked glory. The sight in itself was so entrancing that his body began moving on his own as leaned down on his stomach, bringing his face so close to your sensitive parts that you could feel his hot breath fanning your skin.

“Kenma.. Please don't do this.” It wouldn't hurt to try and stop him one last time, right? Even if you weren't officially a thing with Lev, it still felt wrong having another man's hands exploring your body like a sacred temple.

Unfortunately for you, Kenma was trapped in a lustful trance, leaving your pleas unheard. Without further notice, Kenma flicked his tongue against your clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves. As he parted his lips to suck on the sensitive nub, you couldn’t help but unintentionally wrap your legs around his head, practically grinding yourself onto his face.

The sight of you almost bucking your hips into his face gave him a sudden burst of confidence. He plunged two fingers into your greedy hole, feeling his cock twitch at the feeling of your muscles tightening around his thin digits. God, the look on his face screamed shamelessness.

Your back arched as he pumped his fingers in and out of your drenched cunt, feeling a tight knot begin to form in your abdomen. Thinking rationally was out of the question; all you wanted was for him to finish you off and give you that sweet release.

Fortunately for you, his tongue seemed to swirl at just the right pace and his fingers seemed to curl at just the right angle as they rubbed up against your g-spot. It wasn’t long until your hips suddenly bucked upwards whilst you reached your end, feeling your walls clench around his digits and your juices coat his hand.

Although Kenma’s expression was as nonchalant as ever, you could just tell he felt triumphant by the glint in his eye. The look in his eye was akin to the way he’d look after defeating the final boss in a video game.

Dread sat deep in your stomach as you finally came to your senses, allowing your surroundings to truly dawn upon you. Realization struck you like a bolt lightning as your captor pulled his last articles of clothing off, allowing his erect cock to spring out.

The fact that he was a hell of a lot more hung than you pictured for a scrawny guy like him just added insult to injury. This could not be happening. “Stop looking at me like that.” How on earth he still managed to act timid was a mystery to you. This was all on his own accord. And only on his.

But his lustful desires overruled any possible guilt he could feel. If he was being real with himself, there wasn’t a guilty bone in his body. He needed to claim your body as his.

Prodding the tip of his throbbing cock at your entrance, Kenma gradually slipped himself inside of your needy cunt. His movements were painfully slow. The way he slowly pushed his length into your hole really allowed your insides to memorize the shape and form of his cock.

By the time that he had fully inserted himself inside of you, your back was arched and you were moaning like a pornstar. Before doing any movement, Kenma leaned downwards, catching your lips in a needy, desperate kiss. And although the kiss went unreturned, Kenma felt a surge of euphoria take over his senses.

Without further notice, the pudding reared his hips back, only to slam back into you, earning nothing but a choked moan from you in return. Kenma’s timid movements were nowhere to be seen. He thrusted into you at an unbearable pace.

If you weren’t so overridden with forbidden pleasure, you’d be shocked over how rough he was in bed. Was this really the same guy that didn’t have the guts to talk to you without looking up from his game? Where did this sudden burst of confidence come from?

Your internal questions went unanswered as Kenma used your hips to steady himself as he pumped his throbbing cock in and out of your cunt. You’d be shocked if the death grip he had on your curves didn’t end up leaving bruises.

After awkwardly trying to find a better angle, Kenma ended up hoisting your legs over his shoulders as he thrusted even deeper inside of you than before. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as the tip of his cock pressed up against your cervix with each rapid thrust.

Trailing his hand down south, Kenma placed his fingers onto your nub and began rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. It was all too much. You hated how much pleasure this man was giving you. But you couldn’t help your muscles from twitching as you suddenly arched your back, releasing your flow of juices onto Kenma’s cock.

The way your cunt hugged his cock had his eyes rolling backwards. It didn’t take him long to hold onto your hips with a vice like grip as he shot his load into your cunt, perfectly filling your womb with his thick, sticky fluids. By the time that he pulled his cock out of your aching hole, fluids were dripping down both of your legs, staining his bed sheets with cum.

As the both of you struggled to catch your breaths, the sound of popping rang throughout your ears. After pathetically scooting your trembling legs over to Kenma’s window, your heart shattered at the sight before you.

Fireworks were going off in the distance— the fireworks you promised you’d see with Lev. Wrapping his arms around your bare figure from behind, Kenma placed a chaste kiss below your ear before whispering bittersweet words.

“This is how things are meant to be. Come on, smile for me..”

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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More Than You Know

The Curator (The Dark Pictures Anthology) & Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Comfort Fluff

Summary: When university stresses get to you, you can only face them properly if you have a helping hand of a good friend to help you stand to your feet no matter how many times you’ve been knocked down or discouraged.

Requested by 💀 Anon. Hi dear! I know you’ve been enjoying my fics for our ominous Curator so I hope you enjoy this one just as much as the previous. That is if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it. I don’t blame you if you haven’t it’s been a long wait but if you have indeed stuck around - please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Seeing the flurry she was when she basically barged into the Repository, he knew right away he was no match for her force and didn’t even make an attempt to stop her when she took off on the impossible adventure of looking for a on her own. Truth be told, she is yet to even take proper notice of his presence, but he doubts she’d ask him for help even then. She’s a pile of pride, self-encouragement and curiosity, and though that’s a firm building of emotional stability at a first glance, it’s fragile and easy to knock down. All she is relies on her mind and skills and as little as one bad day could send her crumbling and spiraling downwards.

And Lord knows he’d never let that happen.

He’s given her the space her and her haywire mind clearly need right now, taking after cleaning the messes she makes behind herself after looking through individual shelves for something he’s yet to understand what. To be perfectly honest, he’s not even sure she knows what she’s looking for, but he wouldn’t dare say it to her, not when she seems one thread away from snapping completely.

With the third pile of books on the floor cleared up, each book placed in its previous spot with care, the Curator walks over to his luxurious, old-timey desk near which Y/N dropped her bag upon entering, some of its contents spilling out onto the floor. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he has, he’s taken it upon himself to clean it up as well and store all the items and the bag somewhere safe as to avoid the risk of her losing something important. She’s already stressed enough as it is, he’s afraid of finding out how another inconvenience will affect her already unstable mental state. Kneeling down to lift the bag as well as the two folders that have fallen out of it, he can’t harness his curiosity before he opens one of them and looks through the lines of handwritten text looking back at him, some jumping out thanks to a coat of highlighter signaling their importance. The folder’s pages, in contrast to it’s cover, is vibrant and colorful as a result of the many lines highlighted and underlined with colorful pens. That sight alone speaks volumes about Y/N’s personality - vibrant, colorful, cheerful, but with a few shadowy and dark spots here and there. Every person has them, and for her they are the result of her need to achieve more and more, a result of her inability to be satisfied with how much she’s done for herself, her career and for the people in her life. Her flaw is that she wants to be flawless. But no one can achieve that, of course. It’s not like he hasn’t tried to explain that to her, but his attempts have proven to be hopeless, rendering him overall helpless whenever she gets like this - in need of being in control of her destiny completely.

Yet deep down inside she knows she’s not nor will she ever be.

Apparently, she’s already come to this realization, as evidenced by the soft spots coming from the next room over where she had moved her scavenger hunt.

Without another second to waste, the Curator sets the bag down on one of the chairs before quickly making his way through the doorway and into the wide open room with books lining all the walls from ceiling to floor. There he sees Y/N sitting on the floor, surrounded by books she’s trying to put into small neat piles while trying and failing to stifle her sobs of exhaustion and disappointment. Sobs that tear his heart to pieces.

“Y/N...“ He approaches he cautiously as though she’s a wounded wild animal, “Mind telling me what’s going on? I don’t know how to handle the situation if you keep me in the dark, you know?“ He finally settles on saying, afraid he might hit a nerve by using the wrong terminology in his expressions.

Y/N wipes the tears from her cheeks almost angrily. Not angry at him, but at herself, that’s perfectly evident. “See, that’s the problem. I’m tired. I’m tired of so many things, some of them aren’t even related to one another. Like, I’m tired of having others handle my situations and deal with me.” She motions toward him with and almost limp with exhaustion arm, “I’m tired of university and my studies, they drain the life and the will to live out of me.” She motions to the books surrounding her. “I’m tired of being a nobody. You know, the typical stuff.”

“The stuff you always sweep under the rug, you mean?“ He questions, not allowing himself to dwell on her words long enough for them to hurt him too much, “You see, none of the things you just counted down would be big problems if you looked at them differently.“ He kneels down opposite her, taking the book she’s holding from her and taking hold of her hand instead, causing her to look him in the eye. “For starters, you’re not a nobody. You’re Y/N Y/L/N, someone who has more determination than all the people I’ve met in my life combined. And trust me, I’ve met plenty of people.“ He nods knowingly at her before continuing, “Secondly, I can’t recall a single time I’ve done something for you. You never allow me to, in case you’ve forgotten.“ He points out, raising his eyebrows to put extra emphasis on his point, earning him a small laugh from the teary-eyed girl, making him smile, “You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for, Y/N. You know a lot more than you know. You have the ability to do a lot more than you think you can. But, it’s a slippery slope - you need to remember you’re not superhuman. Chasing that image of perfection will drive your sanity off the ledge and send you in the complete opposite direction of perfection. So, why don’t you stay what you are and do the best with what you possess and what you’ve been given. Stay human, Y/N. Lord knows I wish I was. I wish I knew what that felt like.“

The two stare at each other in silence for a few moments, one confused and the other shocked. Y/N’s confused by what he’s just said, not sure she’s grasped the meaning of his words correctly and the Curator is dumbfounded he said that. He’s never thought he’s say it, never thought those words would leave the confinement of his mind, but now they are out in the open, much to his dismay. All he has left to do is pray she doesn’t think much of it.

Luckily, she doesn’t.

“You’re so ominous and weird sometimes.“ She scoffs, shaking her head, pushing one of the book piles to the side.

Covering up a sigh of relief, the Curator springs up to his feet, offering her his hand to help her to her own. She gladly takes the offered helping hand and stands up, dusting her jeans despite there being no dust on them. There’s never dust on any surfaces in the Repository.

“Alright, now, what was the reason you felt the need to ransack my dear Repository?“ He asks in a mock-offended tone and a furrowed brow.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “I have a paper I need to write by the end of this week. You know me, I like outdoing myself, so I started being a little...frantic.”

He hums, nodding sarcastically, “Ah yes, frantic. Well, seems like this book you’re looking for is not a specific title, is it?” She shakes her head, “In that case, we better go on this scavenger hunt together, don’t you think? I mean, two pairs have more insight than one, two brains work better...”

“Ok, ok, I get it.“ She laughs, cutting him off, “I accept your help, but just this once.“ She points a warning finger at him.

He can’t help but smile at her, “Progress. Come on, let’s find your book.”

Just as he starts to turn around, he feels Y/N’s fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him mid-motion. He turns back to face her but has no time to question her actions because, before he’s even processed any of it, her arms are wrapped around him, in a tight embrace. “Thank you.“ She whispers to him and lets go of him just as quickly as she had initiated the hug, turning on her heel and walking off further into the heart of the room, leaving Death himself speechless behind her.

Only Y/N Y/L/N can do that. And yet she still has the audacity to say she’s a nobody.

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lnarizakis · 4 years

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i found you! | b. koutarou

hey @bokutokoutarou ! you were my recipient for the summer exchange fic. i really hope you enjoy this, and that we can become friends after this!

pairing: bokuto koutarou x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

look out for: soulmate au, tooth-rottingly sweet fluff, pining

“...You’re hearing voices in your head?”

“No, no, there’s just one... and they keep going on and on ‘bout whatever! And it sounds like they’re trying to talk to me, too, and I’m getting a little scared!” Bokuto complained to his junior, Akaashi, about this voice he had been hearing in his mind for the past week. It was unrecognizable at first; he paid no attention to it, but throughout the course of the week the voice had been growing louder and louder. It slowly became unnerving for the ace.

“Oh, I see,” Akaashi glanced outside the window. He then turned back towards Bokuto, face still in evident distress. “It’s your soulmate.”

“My... my what?” Bokuto was appalled. His soulmate?

Akaashi, too, was appalled. “Have your parents never told you about what a soulmate is?” Bokuto shook his head, signaling a negative response. Akaashi widened his eyes in apparent shock.

“Wow.” Akaashi was rendered speechless. Looks like he’d have to tell Bokuto what a soulmate was. “Well, a soulmate is someone you’re destined to be with. You’re bound to them for life. Everyone is bound to their soulmates in different ways. In your case, Bokuto-san, you can hear your soulmate’s thoughts.” The setter glances down at the timer on his wrists. Still several more years before he could meet his own soulmate.

Bokuto “ohh”ed in realization. He then pulled a face, one that Akaashi knew all too well. It was his thinking face, usually worn by the former during their volleyball games. He stayed in that position for some time, until his face lit up with excitement.

“Ah! Akaashi, I did it! I talked to her!” Bokuto exclaimed. Akaashi gave him a small smile, proud of his upperclassman.

O N E .

“Oh no, a quiz?! We have a quiz today?! I didn’t study for it at all!”

Bokuto panicked. He sat at his desk, sweat forming on his forehead. He was so afraid for this quiz specifically, because if he were to fail it, God forbid, he most definitely would not be able to take part in the Spring Interhigh Tournament. His mind raced with the same thought over and over again. In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t realized that he was pounding his soulmate’s head with the thought.

(Y/N) was currently in class (and conveniently just a couple classrooms down), trying her best to focus on the lecture in front of her. But it was difficult. So, extremely difficult.

“Could you please, with all due respect, shut up? I’m trying to learn right now,” she communicated to Bokuto. In an attempt to make peace with him, she added on, “Good luck, though.” At that moment, Bokuto came up with the best idea.

“Wait a minute. Do you think you could help me?” Bokuto’s heart raced. Depending on his soulmate’s answer, he may or may not be able to attend the tournament.

“Sure, I guess. What is it on?” (Y/N) gave up on trying to listen to her teacher, who was droning on about a topic that was completely unrelated to the lecture. It looked like she would have to do extra studying after school. Oh, the things she would do for her soulmate.

“Classic literature. It’s my worst subject!” If it was possible to whine and complain in one’s thoughts, Bokuto was doing exactly that. (Y/N) couldn’t help but smirk a little bit. With the willpower she had, she was able to contain her chuckle.

“Alright, I’ll help you; I think I’m alright in that subject.”

—

“So, how’d you do?” (Y/N) asked him a couple days later. The substitute for her class was running late, so she made use of her free time by talking to her supposedly-unknown soulmate. She looked down at her notebook that she had taken out, sketching rough, small portraits of what she thought her soulmate looked like.

“My teacher’s handing them out right now,” Bokuto replied. Through his thoughts somehow, (Y/N) could identify the worry laced in his thought. There was a hint of confidence, however, since the answers that his soulmate provided him seemed right. At least right enough to turn in his quiz with some confidence.

After a string of “Oh, no”s, Bokuto rejoiced. Thanks to his soulmate, he was able to participate in the Spring Interhigh Tournament!

“I’m so glad I was able to help you!” Despite not knowing who in the world her soulmate was, she couldn’t stop smiling. There was a little bit of a hint she learned about him too— he played volleyball.

T W O .

In the time that (Y/N) got to know her soulmate, she learned how comforting he can be at times. Despite how he came across as an idiot at times, he was perhaps the one person she could talk to whenever she needed comfort. His simple words were enough for her.

One night, (Y/N) found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. She couldn’t sleep. No matter how much she tossed and turned, or set the right conditions for maximum comfort for sleeping, she just couldn’t go to sleep. It was like the universe was keeping her awake. And for what?

The thoughts of not being able to sleep swirled around in her mind, and soon enough, Bokuto asked her if there was something wrong. She replied that it was no big deal, and that he shouldn’t worry much about it. Despite this, Bokuto insisted for her to confide in him. And so she did.

“I’m not too fond of the idea of soulmates. I really hate to tell you this, but I just... I don’t want to be destined to be with someone, you know?” It pained her to tell this boy, and she could tell it pained him, as well.

Bokuto, who had been awake for quite some time as well, lay in bed with a blank stare. He looked all around his room, trying to find at least some answer to her thoughts. (Y/N) had more to say, however.

“...And I don’t even know who you are. I mean, I know some things about you, but I don’t know-know you. I don’t know your name, or what school you go to, or what you would like to do after you graduate high school, or—“

“Bokuto Koutarou— that’s my name. You don’t have to tell me yours if you don’t want to. But... that’s something about me. To help you get to know-know me. And I go to Fukurodani High School. And I think I’m gonna continue volleyball after high school... Is there anything else you want to know about me?” Bokuto interrupted (Y/N)’s train of thought. He began to open himself up to his soulmate so that she would be able to open herself up to at least the mere concept of soulmates. It would take a bit more time, he thought, before she would want to begin to open herself up to him.

“Okay, well,” (Y/N) began, “Tell me what’s the first thing you do when you wake up, and the last thing you do before you go to sleep.” She giggled; she was curious to know what he’d say.

To hum in his thoughts was something typical of Bokuto, and he did just that: “Hm, I think the first thing I do when I wake up is... I mean, after I open my eyes, is jump outta bed! And the last thing I do before I go to sleep is...” He hummed again, “close my eyes. And then I think a ‘lil bit. About everything, really! Sometimes I begin to dream about my soulmate... you, and what you look like, and when we’ll meet, and how we’ll meet, too, and—“ Bokuto exhaled out loud. He’d love to meet his soulmate one day.

“Well, thank you, Bokuto-san. Hopefully we’ll meet someday. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night,” (Y/N) told him as she dozed off to sleep.

Bokuto Koutarou, huh...

T H R E E .

“Favorite color?”

“I’d say gold! The color of my eyes!”

Another boring lecture meant another day of playing 20 Questions with Bokuto for (Y/N). She had just asked her seventh question, which, along with the past six questions, had been entirely superficial. However, they weren’t quite as ridiculous as the questions he had asked her.

Case in point: “What are you going to have for lunch today?” He asked. Without context, it probably would have been pretty ridiculous to ask that, but given that lunch followed after the current period and that Bokuto was insanely hungry, it seemed probably reasonable to ask that question.

“I think I’m going to have what they’re selling today in the cafeteria,” (Y/N) pondered. Though, she was probably going to stick with her usual whatever’s-available-in-the-vending-machine. She looked down at her notebook, doodling a very rough image of the volleyball ace that everyone at school knew.

Ever since that one night—that night when she couldn’t go to sleep for the life of her, she had been in utter shock at the fact that Bokuto Koutarou was her soulmate. Everyone knew about him— from how he’s absolutely impressive at pretty much every sport he played to his overwhelming presence that made the general atmosphere of wherever he was so much lighter. He was like a light in her eyes, but he didn’t know who she was at all.

“Can I go again? It’ll count for my next question,” Bokuto asked. (Y/N) complied, and he followed her response with “You don’t think I know who you are?”

So she was thinking out loud. “I mean, you know me only because we’re soulmates. Other than that, I don’t think you know anything else about me—“

“My next question! What makes you think I don’t know anything about you?” Bokuto asked again.

“I mean—“

“I know that you’re my soulmate, which means you’re the one for me! I’m supposed to help you. With everything,” Bokuto continued, “because you’re my everything.”

(Y/N) looked down in embarrassment, her face turning red.

“You’re embarrassing,” she thought. “Don’t you realize what you’re saying right now?”

From Bokuto’s classroom, all he could do was smile softly. “I don’t realize most things I say,” He jokingly stated. His own embarrassment started to creep up on him, making him begin to regret what he said, or thought, to his soulmate. “Sorry if it bothered you, or something.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it; let’s just keep playing,” (Y/N) responded, guilt weighing down on her for unintentionally shaming him for his embarrassing words. “It’s my turn now. Let’s see... what position do you play in volleyball?”

Bokuto’s mood instantly lightened as he proudly answered, “I’m a wing spiker! The ace!”

—

Several questions later, it was once again Bokuto’s turn. He was on his nineteenth question when he asked (Y/N), “Do you think there’s ever a chance I could show you a soulmate’s really worth it?”

“Bokuto, I—“

“My last question— my twentieth question. Can you give me the chance to show you why soulmates are destined for a reason?”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment before she said, “... Okay.”

F O U R .

“Huh?! You’re still awake at this hour? I just woke up!”

Bokuto had jumped out of bed to begin his morning run. As he was changing from his sleepwear to something new for running outside, he heard muttering similar to white noise in his mind, which meant that his soulmate was awake and, somehow, barely thinking.

(Y/N), having been restless the entire evening, decided it would be a good idea to pull an all-nighter. Currently, she was lying in bed, watching the sun peek out through the blinds of her window. The brightness illuminated her once-dark room, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her for not properly taking care of her body by sleeping.

“I’ve been awake. What are you doing right now? At five in the morning?” (Y/N) snapped back. The tiredness was getting to her.

“I’m about to go on my morning run! Now, what are you doing?” Bokuto replied. He was so genuinely curious to know what his soulmate was doing at this time, why she was up and awake, before he noticed that he disregarded the harsh and tired tone she used on him.

“All-nighter. Couldn’t sleep at all.”

“Oh! My friend Akaashi pulls those all the time. He’s always tired, just like you are right now!” Bokuto beamed, hoping to get at least some positive reaction out of her. But all he got was a dry laugh—if it was even possible to laugh in one’s mind— along with an obviously sarcastic “thank you, I know I’m tired right now.”

“Well, since you’re awake right now,” Bokuto continued, “why don’t you talk to me? I’d rather listen to you instead of my music.” To his surprise, (Y/N) complied, but, as she claimed, the only reasons she had were that she was tired and had nothing else to do.

—

After a conversation about Bokuto’s favorite kinds of breakfast foods followed by the sports that (Y/N) enjoys watching, the ace took a rest, sitting down underneath a tree in a park near their school, watching the sun paint the sky different shades of purple and red.

“Hm, I have a question for you. Why are you so adamant about wanting to show me the wonders of a soulmate? I mean—without me in your life, you’re pretty much free to fall in love with whomever you want,” (Y/N) spoke truthfully. Her question made Bokuto raise an eyebrow, but mostly because of the large words she used in phrasing it.

“... What does ‘adamant’ mean?” was all he could say. From the comforts of her bedroom, (Y/N) laughed heartily. The thoughts that came with her laugh were positive, as she commended Bokuto on saying the first thing that made her smile that day. She soon let him know what it meant, though, and Bokuto “ooh”ed in his mind, earning another laugh from (Y/N).

“Soulmate,” Bokuto called her this since she still never told him her name, “my friend Akaashi said that we’re soulmates because we’re bound together. There’s gotta be a reason why we’re bound together, right? Why our souls are destined to be with each other, right? Or else we’d just be... mates, and not soul-mates.”

“...I see.”

“And...I got nothing.”

“Bokuto, why don’t you try finding me?” (Y/N) suggested. “If you’re so adamant about the fact that because we’re soulmates means our souls are bound together—that our souls are destined to be together—you should easily find your way to me, right?”

Bokuto stayed silent.

“Look, this is what I’m saying. Why don’t you act on your belief? Find me, and if you do, I’ll know that our souls are not meant to be apart.”

(Y/N)’s soulmate remained silent for some time before he responded.

“I’m going to find you, soulmate. I’m going to find you one day!”

F I V E .

She stared blankly at the vending machine in front of her. She tried not to reveal that she was currently thinking about whether to choose between strawberry or banana milk, so as not to reveal her location, if Bokuto were to find out she went to Fukurodani High School. Little did she know that he had a bit of help from his volleyball teammates in deciphering who exactly she was.

—

“What’d she think now?!”

“Ah! Uh, she doesn’t know if she wants strawberry or banana milk!” Bokuto exclaimed. The Fukurodani third-years, along with Akaashi, were gathered around Bokuto’s desk. On top of it was a notebook, opened to a half-covered page of scatter-brained notes of his soulmate’s thoughts.

Konoha hummed, and placed a hand on his chin. “Okay, from that we know that she’s also out at lunch. Maybe she goes here!” In Akaashi’s mind, he thought that it was awfully quick (and definitely extremely convenient) to assume that she goes here, but he did not express this disagreement of his.

Bokuto agreed with his logic, and in the notebook he wrote, “Probably goes to Fukurodani.”

“Does she have any new thoughts, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi spoke up.

“Um, yeah. Okay, uh, she’s thinking about who to eat with,” Bokuto replied. He picked up the pencil he dropped from excitement, and began to write down keywords from her thoughts. Sarukui looked on, noticing that Bokuto was writing the names he recognized.

“Bokuto, you wrote down Suzumeda-san’s name!” He called out. The ace leaned back to look at what he had written down, and sure enough, he had written one of the two managers of his club’s names down.

“She goes here!” Everyone in the huddle exclaimed. Bokuto’s other classmates who were also in the classroom slowly turned around in questioning curiosity, wondering what in the world they were doing.

“Bokuto-san! I think you should just go look for her. What was it that you said again...?” Akaashi questioned him.

Bokuto stared blankly at Akaashi for a brief second to recollect his thoughts from the recent shock, and soon after he came to his senses he responded that his soulmate said that if soulmates really are destined to be together, he should go look for her. With that in mind, his teammates ushered Bokuto out of the room and cheered him on to go find his soulmate.

Adrenaline rushed through Bokuto as he was pressured by his teammates to go find his soulmate. He was going to meet her today!

He dashed down the third-years’ hallway to go outside, nearing the closest vending machine. For a moment he pressed his face against the clear glass, to check the contents of the machine. He could see a row of strawberry milk boxes and next to it a row of banana milk boxes. Gears inside had ceased whirring, signaling to Bokuto that someone had just used the vending machine.

Bokuto’s heart stirred, and instinct told him to run out into the courtyard. Following his instinct, he sped out of the hallway in which the vending machine was, and opened the door that led to the courtyard. He had opened them so quickly that he didn’t see the figure of a girl in his year on the other side about to open the door, despite the large window in front of him that made up a huge component of the door’s upper half.

He walked straight into the girl, and the sudden shock pulled them back, to see who they had run into.

“He actually... He found me!”

“I found you!”

#haikyuuwritersnet #hqwn secret summer #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto kotaro #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto x reader #haikyuu bokuto x reader #hq bokuto koutarou #hq bokuto x reader #hq bokuto #cadekagi

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motherofoliver · 3 years

Text

A Fire Reborn: Chapter 1

(AO3)

Summary: Shouto rejects Momo despite liking her, thinking it would be best for her, but after a close brush with death and Momo losing her memory, he decides to makes amends and try to be closer to her.

Word Count: 1,851

Notes: This was based on a headcanon and my first BNHA fic and I also abandoned it during some difficult time but I do plan to finish it. I finally got it added back to my AO3 account.

*****

Was it possible to feel both happy and terrified at the same time? It had to be because his heart was being twisted and torn in two different directions right now.

It was night by the lily pond, and there was a summer breeze that kept moving Momo’s bangs in front of her eyes so she kept tucking it behind her ear. Shouto focused all his attention on that repetitive movement so he could distract himself from the words she was saying to him.

She had asked to speak to him privately so they came here where no one could hear them. She looked nervous and kept fidgeting and twirling the belt of her jacket but eventually looked up at him with those deep onyx eyes and directly told him that she liked him, more than just a friend. The unexpected admission sent him reeling though he did his best to conceal the reaction. More things were said after but he didn’t really hear them because he was mesmerized by her blushing cheeks and the soft movements of her full lips. He was overcome with an overpowering desire to kiss her but he stopped himself quickly.

What makes you think you deserve to kiss her?

He would be lying if he said he didn’t like her too, he had since the first time they were paired up together and he witnessed her brilliance first hand, his admiration growing every time he saw how calmly and intelligently she would act under pressure, how kind and caring she was towards her friends, how considerate she was of everyone’s feelings, until his admiration blossomed into something that was a little more than just that. He found himself smiling every time she got excited over something and the bubbly side of her would surface, or when she was studying another book of hers, her brows furrowing a little while concentrating.

It would also be a lie to say that he didn’t imagine this exact same situation a thousand times before in different settings. Sometimes he would confess, sometimes she would, sometimes one of their classmates would spill the beans, but it always ended with him taking her into his arms and kissing her. He would then invite her to a place that offered good cold soba or whatever food she liked and they would spend the evening talking and really getting to know each other. The image in his head invoked a sense of warmth that spread over his body whenever he entertained those fantasies.

But right now, the image of the flowers, the ones Fuyumi told him his dad left for his mom in her room, kept flashing in his mind like an alarm and the old feeling of nausea crept up again and filled his throat, rendering him cold and mute. Shouto wanted to believe he was nothing like father but those flowers were a cruel reminder of what he could be.

His father was once kind, or at least pretended to be, and he was obviously attentive enough, but he still managed to turn into a fiery monster in human form. What’s preventing Shouto from becoming the same? As if half his body didn’t serve as enough of a reminder to their shared DNA, he shared his ambition and drive too. No matter how hard he tried to run from his past, there was no escape, because it was engraved in every cell of his body and advertised to the world by that scar on his eye.

Momo was too good and the thought of her ending up isolated in a hospital one day like his mother made bile rise up even higher in his throat. He liked her too much to put her through such a thing, he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t let her throw away her life, her kindness, her love, for someone who might bring her pain and ruin. He knew he was nothing like that now but how could he guarantee he would never become like his father? There was no way to be sure.

It took him a few moments to gather the courage to utter his next few words but before he opened his mouth, he allowed his mind to wander and conjure up an alternate reality. One where he really takes her into his arms and kisses her, he would inhale her scent and commit it to memory, maybe she would put her arms around him and bury her face in the crook of his neck and they could spend a few minutes like that till the weather got too cold and they would have to go inside. Perhaps he can get her some hot chocolate and they could sit alone somewhere where she could lean on his shoulder till it was bedtime, then they would go their rooms but not before one final kiss.

“Thank you for sharing your feelings with me” his usual nonchalant voice was low “But I’m afraid I don’t feel the same” his face betrayed nothing but he had to swallow a hard lump. The smile on Momo’s face fell and she could only let out a defeated “oh”. The small blush in her cheeks quickly took over all of her face and neck, clearly embarrassed, as she started apologizing profusely “I’m really sorry for putting you on the spot like this, I’m really sorry. Ahh, this is really awkward” she laughed nervously, tears filling her eyes.

“It’s alright, nothing to apologize for, I hope you’ll have a better chance with someone else” he allowed the words to exit his mouth hurriedly while turning around to head inside, not daring to look back at the sight of Momo for fear it would break him. He moved as fast as he could without jogging but he still caught a glimpse of some of the girls of his class behind the wall fence, they were starting to move towards Momo but Jirou was glaring at him, she flipped him off before joining her friends.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should turn back. He said he didn’t want to hurt her but the look on her face just now showed he failed. Maybe he should go and tell her he was joking or something (Jirou would actually punch him for that though). Shouto felt his neck constrict as a weighty chill took hold of his body, his hands resisting the urge to tremble as he could feel himself losing grip of his emotions. Even when he was trying not to hurt someone he loved, he couldn't help but be like him .

He forced his body to turn away from the pond, knowing those thoughts were just his way of allowing himself to slip. She’ll get over this quickly, she had all her friend to support her but if he was with her, she would hurt for a long time. One swift blow was the smart solution.

It’s for the best. He kept repeating it in his head like a mantra, hoping it will dull the ache in his chest. He breathed a sigh of relief the second he shut his room’s door behind him and sunk to the floor, allowing himself to let out the tears he’s been holding. It was fine, it was fine, he couldn’t let himself falter over something he knew was the right choice, and however he felt now was a momentary inconvenience at the most. It was fine, it would be fine.

He never thought the right choice would be so painful to make.

*****

He’s not sure who told him the news, or how he got into the car going to the hospital with some of his classmates, or how he found his way to the waiting area in the hospital. Everything around him had blurred into dull colors and distant sounds, locking him in a trance Momo was injured in a fight with some villain while she was out with some of the girls. She was in the hospital and he knew nothing besides that it was a severe injury.

Everyone went inside to check on her but he stayed behind. He didn’t want to face her. Did she get injured because of him? He knew how anxious she can get, did that affect her ability to fight? Was it the reason the villain got a chance to injure her?

No, Momo was a strong fighter, smart and capable under pressure, she wouldn’t let her feelings get involved, not after all the progress she’s made with her quirk. But still, he couldn’t help but blame himself for rejecting her the night before. He felt as if a fiery grip took hold of his heart and squeezed hard till he was out of breath.

He could’ve lost her today. He could’ve lost her and her tear-filled eyes would have been the last thing he remembers of her. Telling her he didn’t care for her would have been the last thing she heard him say. The panic that rippled through him made his breath rapid and shallow.

How cruel could he be? How could he let his fear of the future to take over and hurt someone he cared about? He was so worried he might turn into his father and hurt her in the future that he allowed himself to hurt her now. He looked at his hands and they were shaking, he couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t hurt her again, not now and not in the future. He couldn’t let their last encounter be the last one.

He won’t let himself turn into his father, he would work to become a man worthy enough of being with her, and he would never abandon her again. The thought filled him with enough drive to go to her room and tell her everything, no more worrying about what he could be in the future, he's in charge of his destiny and he won't let himself turn into a monster. His classmates were in the next room visiting Jirou who was also inured, and Momo was sitting in her bed, staring out the window. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Her face turned to him, and besides a small scratch on her cheek and a bandage around her head, she looked the same as she always did. She smiled at him and there was no hint of malice or anger in that familiar smile. Could she have forgiven him already for what he’s done?

“Thanks for visiting” she welcomed with a courteous albeit tired tone “Are you also from UA?”

The question made Shouto double back for a moment, why would she even ask that? Is she pretending she doesn’t know him? Momo was too mature for that. A sense of foreboding was building up in the back of his head like a glass vase wobbling off the table.

“I’m sorry, I was told I’ve forgotten most the people I know because of the injury. Do you mind telling me who you are?”

In the distance, Shouto could hear a crash.

#todomomo #bnha #mha #momo yaoyorozu #todoroki x yaoyorozu #todoroki shōto #todoroki shouto #My writing #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamy #fanfc

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xaysnotebook · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2 - Two New Friends

Alex’s last memory was having Tasha ask why they were watching a window, then suddenly blackness and cold. They couldn’t see anything around them, their chest felt full and it was hard to breathe. All around them was darkness and silence. Silence. Something Alex had not experienced in years. There was always some noise; a thought, a voice, a noise. But here, it was almost like before, when he was still innocent.

“You find comfort in this place? Most mortals panic almost instantly, they feel trapped and go insane in moments.” Resonated a voice, deep and smooth, like a professional conman’s. Sounding both distant and close, like both a memory and person. “Strangely enough, you are able to listen, but not respond. You’re meek, not confident enough in who.. no.. what you are.” Alex was most definitely not confident when it felt like a planar entity was casually conversing with them.

Suddenly a dull purple haze crept into the nothingness in front of them, seemingly clinging to a figure. Almost humanoid, it looked like something out of a badly rendered game. The figure was tall, close to Alex’s height, with what seemed like four legs in an X pattern, a very spindly torso that couldn’t have been more than a foot across which slowly rose to a broad chest that held a single set of muscular arms and something that vaguely resembled wings. However, they were fluid, and seemed more like a collection of squid tentacles that simply held the shape of wings. The head, or what Alex could only assume was its head, was far larger than a humans, being close to thirty inches in circumference with extremely high set features, similar to how elves are described in fantasy. The only facial feature that Alex could clearly make out was a brightly glowing pair of violet eyes.

“Interesting indeed, you don’t seem afraid of my form.” It resounded, not visibly moving any mouth. “You could prove helpful, maybe even perfect to bridge the gap again.”

“Where the hell am I and what the hell are you?” Alex’s voice boomed, startling even themself, the creatures “wings” stopped their movement at the sound. “Why are you looking at me like a dog?” It felt draining to speak, and the two sentences left them feeling like they had just finished a mile sprint.

“Very interesting indeed, strong force of personality with low confidence.” It mumbled as its wings started up again, but in a slower cycle, “I will answer one question for now. We’re currently in the Abyss, the deepest part in Zentharia.” The eyes narrowed slightly, “Zentharia used to be a twin to your realm, what you refer to as Earth, but is Pateteria to my people. However, Zentharia was long forgotten by humans after the connection was severed thousands of years ago.”

Alex immediately felt like his head was swimming, he had to be on a bad trip as none of that made sense, realms? An abyss? A weird squid wing, creeper, wrestler cosplayer? Their vision began to go fuzzy and their head felt both heavy and light.

“You had better wake up now, Alex. If you stay too long, you’ll forget how to. But don’t worry, our conversation isn’t over quite yet. We can talk more when you’re stronger.” It said, beginning to dissipate.

“Alex!” cried a familiar voice.

“Tasha?” Alex croaked out. They blinked and suddenly they were in the apartment complex. They could breathe again, their vision was clear, all the noise was back. The only feeling left was a cold spot near their heart and their eyes.

“What the hell just happened to you? You had purple eyes and you were wheezing!” Tasha seemed ready to cry, which on its own would have scared Alex, but combining that with everything that had just happened, Alex was ready to either take a nice long nap or have a mental breakdown. Or both.

After about five minutes of them both freaking out, they managed to get into their apartment and lie on the couch. “Are we going crazy?” Tasha whispered.

“I don’t think so, this seems too real, plus we both are going through it.” Alex replied, still trying to figure out how to explain the weird purple squid thing.

“Well, what are we going to do about this? We can’t tell anyone, we’ll get kicked out of college, probably put in some institution.” She sounded as hopeless as Alex felt, it seemed like nothing would make any of this better.

“Well, there’s more to my side of this. I kinda talked to a, a something? An alien?” Alex began to explain the weird, vaguely humanoid looking creature and what it had said to them. Focusing heavily on the fact that there are apparently different realms, made up of things that knew of and once co-existed with humans. And they apparently knew English on top of everything.

“Dude. Maybe we should go see a psychologist. You saw a mist alien and I'm believing you.” Tasha said with a dull look in her eyes. Clearly she was trying to comprehend everything, and failing miserably.

“‘I’ve studied it for four years, unless we have some sort of combined schizophrenia, they’ll just put us in some hospital for being crazy. Or they’ll experiment on us. Or maybe even both.” Alex responded hopelessly. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, “Never happened.”

“Never happened.” Tasha agreed. “I have to get to campus, the math final is in thirty minutes. Maybe try to take a nap.” She stood and began to collect her notes.

“Unlikely, but I’ll try my best.” Alex stood and hugged Tasha for a minute, such being uncommon as Alex didn’t like physical contact very much. They often made an exception for Tasha, however, she was probably the only person they could touch on a regular basis.

“It’ll be okay my little raven.” Tasha said, taking a motherly tone. She was the oldest of six siblings and was used to the idea of comforting others. “When I get back, why don’t we order Chinese food and watch movies?”

Alex felt another shift in their balance, but different than before, “Or watch old cartoons?”

5:00pm came faster than Alex expected, they spent the time relaxing on the couch. Idly playing on their phone, the door opened and Tasha slunk through. “That was awful, but I made it back alive. Mostly at least.” Tasha said as she collapsed on the chair next to Alex.

“Did you do good on it?” Alex asked, looking at her admiringly, “I wasn’t ever really that great at math, you’re seriously good at it.”

“I think I did alright. Some parts of it were actually difficult, but my professor said that I would easily get my degree this year.” Tasha rambled on for a few minutes. Alex just watched her talk and waited for her to finish, “Jan was actually useless in finishing her part, I’ve been talking too long, what did you do while I was gone?”

“Just layed here on my phone, waiting for you to get back. I took a nap and watched tv.” Alex had actually taken a quick nap on the couch after watching cartoons, but was feeling a bit embarrassed by it, “You said we could get food and watch movies, is that still okay?”

“Of course it is. I’ll get the menu pulled up on my phone and you can pick out what we watch tonight. Do you want me to just get your favorite or do you want something different?” Tasha said, looking up from her phone, her tone very soothing.

“I’ll just take my normal, what kind of movie do you want?” As they were scrolling through the movies available. No response came, “Tasha?” Alex said as they looked over and choked back a scream, as Tasha’s had turned a pale color and her eyes had turned a bright golden color.

Tasha was extremely warm, like her lungs were filled with a cool fire. Her breathing was harsh and hot, her eyes were watering. All around her, she saw gold and orange. No one was around, but there was a distant sound of music and laughter. It seemed like she was going to explode in a flash of heat, but it was also comforting in a strange way.

“Terribly sorry it took so long to get here my dear, I was held up with some other matters.” A feminine voice said from behind her. Turning around, Tasha saw something both perfect and disgusting.

This creature that stood in front of her was at least a foot taller than, nearly the same size as Alex. Alex! She realized that he had partially switched out, and that they shouldn’t be alone for too long.

“Relax darling, they will be okay. You’ll be back soon to be with them again.” The figure said, its mouth open but not moving with the words. As it stood there, it looked mostly human; two arms, two legs and one head. However, it clearly had far too many eyes. It also had something that seemed like a set of wings, almost birdlike covered in feathers but with strange patches of skin-like material, almost like scar tissue.

“Where am I and who are you?” Tasha questioned through gritted teeth, feeling like she was talking through a campfire’s heat, her voice very warbled and unsteady.

“Well, my dear, I am Vesril, and we’re in a realm called Zentharia. Specifically, we’re at the top of what you would call a mountain, close to the peak where my family resides. This place is called Summoner’s Perch.”

Thankfully, Tasha was great at storing information quickly. Mentally rotating everything Vesril was saying, trying to decode and comprehend it. “How did I get here? How do I get back?” Tasha questioned, starting to get her voice to obey her again, “I want to leave, now.”

“You can leave whenever you would like to, child. All you have to do is ask and I will send you back. But you may want to hear what I have to say about your friend, Alex.”

Tasha was taken aback, anger and fear starting to bubble inside her, “What about them? Don’t you dare lay even a finger on my little Raven.” Her voice was instantly like steel, her eyes narrowed and burned at the thought of Alex being hurt. Just like any other time she began to get angry, it felt like her hands were set on a stove, burning hot.

“Ah, you’re further along than they are, that can be a good thing.” Vesril mumbled to themself. It made a sound like it cleared its throat before it spoke again. “Alex, as I’m sure you know, was contacted by another entity from Zentharia. I want you to make sure they stay far away from them. Alex is far too valuable to be in the hands of someone like him.”

“What do you mean ‘too valuable’.” Tasha was furious at this point, the idea of Alex being used by whatever this creature was was pushing her past her limit. Her fingers felt like they were wreathed in white-hot flames, but it wasn’t painful. “I swear, you had better stay away from Alex!”

Darling, I’m only trying to help the both of you. You both have extreme potential that would be wasted with those creatures.” The creature started to sound worried and angry.

“What are they then, if they’re so awful?”

“I can’t tell you that yet dear.”

Tasha snapped, she lunged at Vesril, faster than she had ever thought was possible, grabbing Vesril by the throat. “You stay away from me and Alex! We dont need some freak of a creature talking nonsense to us!” Her grip tightened even further, the burning feeling was gone, but her hands were still warm. Stealing a quick glance down, she was terrified, as her hand was cloaked in a dark blue flame. She looked back up, forgetting her panic, “Take me home. Now!”

“Very well.” Vesril choked out with a gasp, and suddenly Tasha had Alex’s neck in her hand.

#novel #art #my writing #writing #DID #nonbinary

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

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What Was the Mountain, What Heralds the Calamity

Therapy had been tough in the months following the incident. Daily life had turned into a blur ever since.

Heidi stood in front of the mirror and only registered with delay what sound reached her ears. The hollow snap, a release of pressure around her waist, and the rattle of cheap imitation metal accompanying the flaccid flopping of a broken belt as it drooped from the loops on her pants.

Almost as if in a trance, it took her several moments to register that all the stress-eating and weight gain had caused her oldest and favorite belt to break. She held the buckle and studied how its prong had cleanly snapped in half because of material fatigue and the physical strain of her belly’s size increasing.

It was not like she really needed the belt anyway because her pants had gotten a bit too tight ever since she witnessed the murder-suicide at college. Heidi thought of Krissy for some reason.

Before long, she found herself in another haze: the distant droning radio hits looping the same one-hour track list of pop music in the background, while she explored the brightly lit maze of a cramped clothing store, shopping around for a new belt. She felt seen in an uncomfortable way and avoided eye contact with every single person that got even remotely near her.

Unless she needed to, she never went outside anymore.

Navigating the narrow aisles and beginning to feel nauseous from the cocktails of perfumed scents all tactically spread throughout the retail hellscape, she even tried to avoid physical closeness to any other of the shoppers.

This made it harder to get to wherever the hell the damned belts were in this store. Instead of locking eyes with other people, Heidi stared at a camera stuck overhead in a corner, observing how it slowly panned back and forth and a tiny red light on its blocky little body blinked rhythmically. Seeing her own tiny reflection in the camera lens made her feel uneasy, like she saw someone else in there.

Faceless mannequins wrapped in stylish garb loomed high above her everywhere, looking down on her like disapproving deities; divine idols of fashion that saw without eyes but judged her with cold and absolute cruelty.

The moment she heard familiar voices, she darted into an aisle she had no business in and kept her head down. With a sinking feeling, she wondered what she hated more: the bright and garish colors and neo-hippie designs of the articles that flanked her on both sides, or that she was so afraid of human contact that this was who she was now.

Alone and adrift in a sea of empty masks, engulfed in a suffocating fog of uncertainty and countless little fears.

“Do you think this’ll go better with my blue bolero jacket, or do the colors clash a bit too much? What do you think?” Krissy asked.

Heidi recognized her fellow college colleague’s voice through the white noise of store music, cash register beeps, and other voices softly blending. Somewhat sharp, regularly rising in tone as if to pose several questions before posing the actual question.

“I dunno, babe. You might wanna try the darker blue instead. You know, instead of such a radically different color?” Jacob asked back. Krissy’s boyfriend.

The aisles being what they were in this store, it was not like they offered ample opportunities to hide from prying eyes without ducking down in between them—the nature of such a temple of commerce lured everybody in to see its ample buffet of products, rendering its neon-colored reduced-price signs visible from every corner of the store.

Krissy clicked her tongue. Without even seeing her, Heidi could practically hear her shake her head for emphasis.

“Nah, because I’m really thinking of it going with my favorite jeans, and if it ends up all looking like different shades of blue, it kinda sucks,” Krissy said.

With little opportunity to hide without making herself look even more like a freak, Heidi kept her head down and did what she had been conditioning herself to do for months now: pretend like she did not exist and pray that nobody noticed.

Despite her best efforts, she gawked at Jacob’s face. His eyes stole a furtive glance at Heidi which made her stomach knot. Despite how clipped and short it was, and him focusing all his attention on Krissy, Heidi clearly glimpsed the flash of recognition in his eyes.

She wondered if he had stopped giving her adulterously flirtatious looks because of her bloated figure or because of the thousand-mile stare that haunted Heidi’s mien. The moment she sensed her thoughts drifting in that direction, she shook her head and chastised herself for thinking anything like that.

Heidi turned away and gained distance as quickly as she could without running, far away enough to not have to overhear those other two talking. She stifled a sigh of relief when she finally chanced upon a rack of belts in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

Taking less than a minute to scan the massive assortment, Heidi gazed upon one that really struck her fancy. Two big silver rings adorned the black leather belt and framed the buckle. It looked a bit pricey, but she was willing to pay extra if it was made of authentic metal and leather.

Disappointment followed when she realized it was a size too small.

In a seldom burst of defiance, she looked around. A store clerk was hovering nearby, busy sorting jackets by size on a ring-shaped stand.

Heidi dithered, owed to her mind going in circles and struggling to overcome the part of her that felt anxious in approaching and talking to a stranger. But the store employee was small and unassuming, which helped give Heidi that final push.

Instead of clearing her throat as she had envisioned to catch the girl’s attention, Heidi spoke up, “Uhm, excuse me?”

The shop assistant slowly turned and looked up at her. The nametag read “Jenn” and it only briefly distracted from vaguely disheveled hair and black rings of exhaustion under Jenn’s eyes.

“Hello,” Jenn said in a mousy little voice to match her appearance. “How can I help?”

Out of fear of breaking out in a cold sweat, Heidi embraced her newfound momentum and nodded. She held up the belt like a trophy and felt the blood rushing into her face as she spoke with much less vigor than she felt, “Do you have this in one size bigger?”

Jenn’s eyes went from belt to Heidi and back to the belt.

She said, “If there aren’t any out there, that's—”

The sentence died in Jenn’s mouth and she nodded. The faint semblance of a smile twitched around the corners of her lips, genuine and heartfelt.

“You know, I’ll check. We might have one,” she said. And with a sudden dash of melody to her voice, she added, “I’ll be right back!”

Jenn walked away with a bounce to her step.

Heidi hesitated, wondering if she should wait there or follow Jenn to wherever she was going. The thought that she could spare the girl the extra walk to get back to her drove Heidi to follow, several steps behind and struggling to keep pace. Jenn may have looked small and exhausted but hell, she was fast.

This brought them to a door bearing a label in big black letters emblazoned on its surface, reading:

EMPLOYEES ONLY

Keys jingled as Jenn pulled out a tangle of the little metal objects and unlocked the door. She stepped inside and paused, looking over her shoulder and noticing that Heidi had followed her. She gave her another smile, both feeble and warm.

“Please wait here, I’ll find it in no time. Or maybe not find it. Uhm, I hope I find it? Uh, you know what I mean,” she babbled at Heidi.

She radiated a disarming energy. It melted away the icy barrier of Heidi’s many fears. Seconds later, Heidi found it hard to believe that she had felt the pull of facial muscles she had not flexed in a while—she had returned a smile of her own at Jenn.

The girl disappeared into the eerie twilight of whatever storage lay beyond the threshold. Jenn had left the door ajar, giving Heidi ample time to absorb hints of the secret world behind it.

Contrasting the warm eggshell color of the floors in the store area, the concrete grounds of the back area looked coarse and slate-colored, radiating something cold and unforgiving. Racks of naked steel beams held up all sorts of things wrapped in layers of plastic or piles of cardboard boxes.

Although a cool light emanated from fluorescent tubes above the storage space, the ceilings in there were higher than in the store and it felt like some of them were off. One of the lights even occasionally flickered, lending the otherworld that Jenn had stepped into an almost eerie air that reminded Heidi of a cheesy horror movie.

Seconds flowed into minutes as she waited. She resisted the temptation to look around, felt a stronger need not to make any eye contact anymore. The warmth of smiles exchanged between her and Jenn already felt like it was a million miles away.

Just before any impatience could bubble up to the surface, a loud sound crashed in the storage space. Something big and heavy must have fallen, with a loud sloshing on the hells of the impact.

Heidi’s heart raced. Thundered. She wanted to check. Worried that something had happened to Jenn.

But that icy barrier of fears had fully frozen back into a solid shell, causing her heartbeat to shoot through the roof. Paralyzed, she dreaded the idea of looking like an idiot by calling out for Jenn, only to find out that everything was fine. Or to trespass beyond that ominous threshold of the ajar door and get into any trouble.

The door said it was for employees only, after all.

Then she remembered how she once walked towards danger. Towards the sound of gunshots. Towards whimpering. Towards that horrid scene that had wrought all the therapy of recent months.

Instead of impatience, cold dread bubbled to the surface. She did not want to remember the words of the phone call that followed the murder-suicide she had witnessed.

And then, something else bubbled up. Fiery, and searing. It sliced through the icy shell with something she had forgotten.

Something that felt like hope.

All she had done was witness. But now, perhaps, she could make a difference.

The cold sweat erupted from her pores, after several of her steps taking her through that door, pushing through, looking around for Jenn.

Two forces clashed in the thunder of her beating heart. The fire of courage and the ice of her dread. The need to do the right thing, and the fear of consequences.

Something like claustrophobia began to bear down on her as she paced through the narrow corridors of the storage shelves. While the ceilings were high, so were the racks and piles of boxes all around. Heidi had left one maze and entered another.

“Jenn?” she said. Timid, at first. Assertive on repeat, as she called out again, “Jenn?”

Something metal scraped against the concrete floors, grinding. It also sounded wet.

The moment she turned around, the shadows around her grew. The darkness engulfed her, and a tower fell. A mountain fell upon her. It was too fast for her to react, too sudden to realize what even was happening. Just enough time to know that one of those long metal shelves bent and toppled and fell, and piles of boxes came crashing down upon her.

She instinctively flailed about with her arms to fight herself free from being buried alive under a mountain of boxes, but as her eyes fluttered, nothing was the same anymore. Nothing was as it should be.

Distant and incredible, but all real. All too real. Terribly real.

A stinging smell of salt hung heavy in the air. The taste of rust clung to her tongue in a bitter film. The gray floors had made way to a different color of gray, blending into mist all around, shrouding the dark silhouette of a mountain in the distance.

Heidi’s hands were different. Thinner, not pudgy anymore.

Her body, everything. Like she had lost all the excess weight, and then some. And dressed differently. Dried blood stained her leg, and she had a bright orange life jacket hugging her upper body.

Heidi was no longer Heidi. She was now Krissy.

The world swayed and ocean waves lapped at the edges of an inflatable rubber raft. Jacob slumped where he sat, his head hanging down so far that his hair concealed his face, and his head bobbed up and down as he sat across from her in the raft. Like he was unconscious. Or sleeping.

But Heidi—no, Krissy—knew he was not sleeping.

He was also not Jacob anymore, even if he looked like him.

Even if he now raised his head, looking up until their eyes met, and dread welled up inside of her, making her stomach knot and cutting off air as she held her breath.

He stared. His eyes carried a cutting cold that rivaled the sea’s air. Something other than Jacob peered through them, piercing the darkness between the stars, and wriggling its way forth, like a worm burrowing through the void, trying to emerge into the light, to break through the glint of Krissy’s own horrified visage reflected in those orbs of lifeless jelly.

Like someone watching through a screen, displaying a camera feed.

Krissy hoped Jenn was okay and wanted to wake up. To become Heidi again.

But this was no dream.

And that was not Jacob.

“Who are you?” she croaked. The question landed on wings of a dehydrated rasp.

Jacob’s limbs twitched as the entity tried to move, but they were all long twisted in ways that had caused bones to break and muscles to snap, leaving him stranded in the boat and immobilized. His body shuddered and wiggled for a moment, suggesting that he might have lurched forward. Or lunged at her.

“I am Sorrowglade, a Sheen of the Interlocking Oil Walls. You look thirsty. You should drink,” came the words from Jacob’s chapped lips.

Sorrowglade nodded Jacob’s head towards a bottle of water within Krissy’s reach.

It rolled back and forth, courtesy of the ocean rocking their raft. The water in the bottle sloshed around, out of tact, and a violet tint permeated it. For whatever reason, she knew poison had tainted the liquid.

Tears welled up in Krissy’s eyes. She had no hopes of finding Jacob. Either he was long dead or Sorrowglade had absorbed him. The worries about a belt in a clothing store or any anxieties welling up now lay far behind her, even though they had troubled her mind mere moments ago.

Her head weighed a ton and she felt sick. That metallic taste reached far down her throat and a pain in her jaw flared up. The plane’s crash into the ocean had miraculously done almost nothing to her.

“We are the shining light that gleams from the cracks between the walls,” said Sorrowglade, still borrowing Jacob’s vocal cords. His eyes still dead, but awake, and wary.

Studying her features with curiosity. Like a fascinated child.

The lifeboat drifted closer towards the mountain. Panic budded in Krissy’s body, starting as a tingling in her digits and spreading everywhere else until it erupted into a nauseating dizziness, making the world spin around her.

“We are here to guard you from the jovial pudding of the laughing coin kings,” continued Sorrowglade. “From the false promises of freedom. From the lies that the stone walkers cloaked in hairless shadow utter.”

Krissy’s stomach churned. She fought against the urge to throw up while her hands pawed at the paddle nearby, gripping it tightly as she stared at Sorrowglade, expecting Jacob’s broken body to suddenly defy its injuries and jump at her like a hungry beast.

But Sorrowglade only stared at her from the helpless body of her boyfriend.

“They will devour if you let them near,” he said. No—they—they said. Speaking in one voice, but many who spoke at once, “We, on the other hand, we offer salvation.”

Krissy could barely see through the unsteady blur of tears as she pried her gaze from Jacob’s body, and she paddled with all her might. Tried to gain distance from that growing, looming shadow of a mountain. A distance that shrank far too quickly.

“We are golden light that shines upon true ways.”

Krissy forced herself not to sob when she realized the raft spun around. She doubled her efforts to alternate sides as she paddled, harder, with crushing despair taking root in every fiber of her body already wracked with panic.

“We have traveled from far to find you, and we are the conclusion that all your roads lead to.”

Silently, inwardly, Krissy pleaded for something to happen, to rip her out of this and bring her back to where she was. To be Heidi again, to find Jenn in the store, and go home with a new belt. But she was Krissy now, and her world had gone to hell.

“When you close your eyes, you taste us. When you taste the grit of dirt crunching between your teeth, you hear our arrival.”

Krissy paddled, and paddled, and paddled. Looking over her shoulder only turned her dizziness into something worse. The mountain grew larger by the second. Looming behind Jacob like a sinister and shadowy patron. Like the ocean waters carried the raft there no matter how hard she tried.

The metallic taste made way to something far more bitter and caustic and before she knew it, she retched and heaved as she vomited off the side of the boat. Chunks of lunch had gotten stuck in her hair and her mouth burned.

“Lay down your ten thousand nightmares. Abandon all the pain and the guilt,” Sorrowglade said in the same dull monotone, a mockery of Jacob’s pleasant voice as it delivered all these strange words.

Everything he said kept riding on the tone of an invitation. But all she could hear were secret threats.

At least the dizziness waned a little bit. And although her arms wobbled, she found new strength and paddled with all her might.

Doom emanated from that mountain. Slithering in between the scent of sea salt, something putrid and rotten reached her nostrils, almost made Krissy hurl again.

“Why embrace this suffering any longer? Why do some of you resist so?”

Krissy did her best to ignore Sorrowglade, but it was impossible not to listen. His voice kept cutting through the sloshing of ocean waves, infiltrating her ears and mind and thoughts, like tendrils snaking their way forth, smooth, and slow and steady and certain—

“I can make him whole again. I can end his suffering and restore your happiness.”

A gasp almost escaped her lips, but she fought back against it, even harder than she paddled. A part of her wanted to take Sorrowglade up on their offer, but she remembered the words from that call Heidi had taken from the dying man.

Not in a monotone, but a growl, she replied. She repeated those words from the mysterious call as she watched the life fade from the eyes of the man who had committed the murder-suicide at her college, “When the ascetic glimpses gold outside the gloom, he is blinded and strays from his path.”

Something grabbed at the paddle and because she had turned around halfway to face Not-Jacob and address this Sorrowglade, she never saw what yanked that paddle away from her, dragging it underwater and letting the darkness beneath the ocean surface swallow it whole.

Having reached the peaks of her panic, it made no difference anymore.

“These are not my final moments,” she finished. And despite her voice trembling, every syllable emerged with force, riding on waves of defiance.

Sorrowglade continued to stare at her through Jacob’s deadened eyes. They waited for more, but Krissy had said her part. Gave as little as possible, because she sensed how they did not understand one another, even if they spoke the same language and could comprehend the individual words.

“We may be delayed today,” said Sorrowglade. With no anger nor emotion. “The awakening comes eventually, like your sun always rises and always sets.”

The silhouette of the mountain moved. Not because of the boat’s steady rocking amidst the ocean waves, or Krissy’s sight being affected by that motion.

“A celestial body that you see in ways it is not, believe it behaves in ways that it does not.”

No. The mountain moved. Its shape changed as limbs parted from it. Monolithic and towering, one such limb reached out towards them, creeping closer and closer. A low baritone rumbling accompanied its arrival, like a nearing earthquake, heralding how the ocean waves turned more violent, now splashing higher and higher against the malleable sides of the raft.

Something oily and dark and glistening pierced the veil of mists and closed in quickly on Krissy.

As she screamed and clamped her eyes shut, the searing pain flared up in her every limb. Everything hurt.

A string of profanities, panting gasps, the sound of panic weighing heavily on Jenn’s voice as she apologized profusely, both to Heidi and to an imaginary mountain of oppression that haunted her every working moment.

Jenn helped remove the many heavy boxes under which Heidi had been buried alive, and Heidi groaned in pain.

Nothing serious. Nothing had harmed her. The pile of boxes had miraculously did nothing tangible to hurt her.

Krissy was not Krissy any longer, but Heidi again. Heidi hoisted herself up onto her side and her skin tingled as she felt Jenn’s wispy hands gently touching her while she tried to help her up onto her feet.

Trembling from the shock, Heidi’s knees buckled for a moment, but Jenn helped her stand up straight. They stumbled their way out of the sea of boxes and bags that now littered the narrow corridor of the storage space.

The mountain had almost gotten Krissy. Luckily, she was now Heidi.

“Oh my gosh,” Jenn whispered. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”

Heidi shook her head and took Jenn’s hands, grasping them firmly and giving them a shake for emphasis, not letting go.

“No, look, don’t worry about it. S'all good. I, uh, I shouldn’t have been here—uh, back here—to begin with. I was just gonna. I was just, uh—there was a sound, and I was just, I wanted to check on you,” Heidi finally said, struggling to find the right words and omit the deluge of wrong ones and not sound like she had lost her mind.

Trying not to talk about her time as Krissy, after a plane crash, talking to the Sorrowglade that had possessed her half-dead boyfriend’s body.

Because none of that made sense. She had turned into another person and back again.

And almost as if to confirm the sheer insanity of it all, the moment the two women emerged from the storage room into the warmer light of the clothing store, Heidi saw Krissy and Jacob standing in the aisles of the shop. Although well out of earshot to hear whatever they were talking about, Krissy’s animated movements suggested she was berating Jacob for some fashion faux pas he had just committed in commenting on her most recent choice in attire to try on.

Jenn’s continued apologies barely pierced the haze of Heidi’s mind, still drifting back to that gloomy ocean, that mist, and that mountain. Its oily, tentacle-shaped something that reached out—that almost reached her.

Almost touched her.

Its agent, Sorrowglade, having almost convinced her.

Almost.

Yet more harrowing things she could not speak of in therapy. For all of this was real.

All of this suggested the invasion of that cold thing, hailing from the darkness between the stars, from far away. From distant worlds, from devoured husks, reaching out and trying to find more connections here, in our world.

Heidi smiled at Jenn and assured her everything was fine. What a beautiful lie.

“Did you find the belt? In my size?” she interrupted the clerk.

Jenn’s eyes went wide, and she burst out laughing.

All the anxiety blown away; it was almost like old Heidi was back. The one from before the incident.

Almost.

In truth, she only wore a mask.

Deep down, she felt sick to her stomach. Wondered what she could do to prevent the coming calamity. Wondered if she could even do anything.

Nobody would believe her if she told them.

She struggled to believe it herself.

—Submitted by Wratts

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madpanda75 · 4 years

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The Romantics Series “In Sickness and In Health” Part One

Revisiting my Romantics Series with a little two parter. I’ve had this idea in my head for a while now. A huge thanks to @sass-and-suspenders for giving me the idea for the title and letting my blursty monkey ass send her snippets 😜

Warning: NSFW— Just a pinch of smut

The first warm spring weekend at Harvard meant frat boys tossing a frisbee and sorority girls sunbathing. For you and Rafael, it was a chance to go outside under your favorite oak tree and study. However, little studying was being done by either of you. You were laying on the blanket with your legs propped up against the tree trunk, crossed at the ankles. Kate Chopin’s The Awakening lay abandoned on your chest as you napped.

Rafael, on the other hand, was more focused on you than his philosophy notes. From your polished toes, up your long legs to the delicate forearm shielding your eyes from the sun, and finally the crown of hair haloed around your head. The sunlight streaming through the leaves, made each strand shimmer. He could turn his head and brush his lips against your calf if he wanted to. Instead he shifted in his seat, using his binder to cover his half-hard cock as he watched you stretch like a cat. Your Nirvana t-shirt rising up to reveal a strip of bare skin on your stomach.

Perhaps it was the stress of school or maybe it was the four years of pent-up emotions Rafael had for you, finally bubbling up to the surface. Whatever it was, it seemed as if all you had to do was glance his way or accidentally brush up against his body and he was hard as a rock. He felt like a prepubescent middle schooler.

“I feel you,” you mumbled.

“Excuse me?” Rafael cleared his throat and silently willed his body to calm down.

“I feel you watching me.” You lowered your arm and opened one eye, peering up at him. “What’s up?”

The irony of your words was not lost on Rafael. “Nothing,” he replied, suddenly fascinated by Kirkegaard’s existential philosophy.

A smile tugged at your lips. “Liar.” You propped yourself up on your elbows and nudged his shoulder with your foot. “Come on, I can always tell when you’re lying. Your right eye twitches a little bit.”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a burger. Maybe go see a movie? Como agua para chocolate is still playing at the theater.”

“I can’t. I’m supposed to help Chet Aldrich study for our feminist literature studies exam.” You glanced down at your watch. “Actually, I need to get going.”

Rafael scoffed. “You mean to tell me that misogynist frat boy is taking a feminist literature class?”

You shrugged and laced up your Doc Martens. “I think he thought it was a bird course. Little did he know that Dr. Gupta is ruthless. Poor guy is in way over his head. And anyways, he’s kinda cute in a Jason Priestly sorta way.”

Rafael rolled his eyes. Chet Aldrich was a legacy and the president of Sigma Alpha Epsilon, the oldest fraternity at Harvard. Having had a few classes with Chet, Rafael had seen firsthand what a flirt he was, always talking up the pretty girls to help him pass his classes and maintain his subpar GPA.

Despite his misgivings, Rafael walked with you over to where Chet said he would meet you. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“He asked for my help. What was I supposed to say? I think you’re judging him way too quickly. You don’t even know him.”

“Wait a minute.” He narrowed his eyes a bit, noticing the way you were fidgeting, the blush on your cheeks. It was as if someone had adjusted the antenna on a TV just a hair and all of a sudden the picture became clear. “Do you like this guy?”

“Maybe,” you admitted.

Rafael felt like his heart sank into his stomach. “Maybe,” he softly repeated.

You stared down at your shoes, unable to look your best friend in the eye. Four years. That was how long you had pined over Rafael. There were moments where you just couldn’t take it anymore. Moments where you thought about marching right up to his dorm room and confessing your feelings, but fear always stopped you from taking that next step. You were afraid he wouldn’t reciprocate. Afraid that your friendship would never be the same. But most of all, you were afraid that you’d be left heartbroken and alone. Once the spring semester started, you decided it was time to move on and try to find someone else. It was better to have Rafael as a friend than nothing at all.

After your confession, both of you stood in silence when a Red BMW blaring Informer by Snow came around the corner, screeching to a halt in front of you. Chet Aldrich hopped out of the car and gave you a dazzling smile. Well, you thought it was dazzling. Rafael thought it was smarmy. “Hey, baby. Ready to study?”

You giggled and twirled a strand of your hair. “Absolutely!”

Chet walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for you. “Your chariot awaits.” He pointed to Rafael, who was currently trying to choke back the bile rising in his throat. “Hey, I know you. It’s Rudy or Randy, right?”

“Actually it’s Rafael,” he snapped at the frat boy.

Chet nodded his head. “Oh yeah, Ra-fa-el,” he slowly said.

“Are you kidding me with this guy?” Rafael mumbled so that only you would hear.

“Be nice,” you quietly chastised and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Y/N, wait,” Rafael called out as you walked away, taking your hand and pulling you into a hug. “Just be careful, ok?” he whispered in your ear, squeezing you tight for a second longer before letting go.

Your face grew hot at your friend’s sudden surprise affection and you briefly wondered if he even noticed as you tried to brush it off. “Relax, Rafi. I’ll be fine. I’m not being shipped off to war. I’m going to study.” Waving one final time, you went back over to Chet.

“Don’t worry,” Chet said, shutting the passenger door after you stepped inside. “I’ll be sure to have her back in one piece.” He winked and got in the car, driving away and leaving Rafael alone in the dust.

*****

You straddled Rafael on the bed, kissing him hard, all teeth and tongue. Your books tossed aside and long forgotten during your hot and heavy makeout session. You rocked against his denim-clad erection, your hair tickling his face as you caressed his tongue with your own.

Rafael whimpered and ran his hands down your back. Grabbing your ass, he encouraged you to continue your movements, the wet spot in his boxers growing larger. The collective sounds of your labored breathing and soft moans echoed around the room with every slow drag of your hips.

“Rafi, make love to me,” you murmured between kisses.

He groaned, already on the brink of coming in his jeans. “Are you sure?”

“Please, I need you,” you purred, your voice dripping with desire.

In an instant, Rafael flipped you over, rendering you on your back. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed you were completely naked. “What?” He looked around the bedroom, the clothes you were wearing only seconds ago were nowhere to be found. “How did you—”

You giggled and licked your lips, your gaze lowering to his groin. “Damn. All these years and I never realized you were packing.”

Rafael looked down and realized that his clothes were gone. “But I didn’t—”

“Rafi, fuck me,” you whined, your eyes half-hooded with lust.

No longer caring where your or his clothes were by that point, he crashed his mouth into yours, spreading your legs. His large hand palmed at your breast, pinching your hardened nipple.

“Rafael,” you gasped and arched into his touch.

“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned, aligning himself with your entrance when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Tilting his head back, Rafael’s jaw dropped when he saw Chet Aldrich standing by the bed.

“You’re too late, Rudy. She’s mine,” he said with a smirk.

“It’s Rafael,” he sneered.

“Whatever. Get out of the way.” Chet pushed Rafael off you, sending him flying off the bed.

Rafael sat bolt upright, his t-shirt soaked with sweat. Running a hand over his face, he glanced over at his bedside clock. It was 7:30. Chet Aldrich was probably putting the moves on you at this very moment. He flopped back onto the mattress, his mind reeling over you, over Chet, over the bizarre dream he just had.

Your behavior that afternoon bewildered him. He had never seen you flirt before. That wasn’t you. You were the girl that would make a quippy remark whenever someone put the moves on you, choosing to walk away arm in arm with Rafael instead. Maybe after four years, he didn’t know you at all. Maybe he really had missed his chance with you. Putting his hand over his heart, he felt dull ache radiating from beneath his rib cage.

He sighed and looked down to find his painfully hard cock sticking straight up. Apparently, you made quite an impression in his dreams, that is until Chet Aldrich interrupted. Unzipping his jeans, he freed his erection and closed his eyes. He began to stroke himself, imagining what he would do to you if you were there— worshipping every inch of your skin, making you come undone with his mouth before crawling on top of you, thrusting into your pussy, feeling your slick walls grip him.

“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned, smearing the precum that had leaked out of his weeping head against his shaft. His breath hitched as he sped up his movements, squeezing himself at the root of his cock all while fantasizing about how you would writhe in pleasure underneath him. The noises you would make. Your sweaty bodies molded perfectly to each other. He was so close, right about to tumble off the edge when the phone ringing pulled him back.

Rafael whined and wiped his hand off, reaching for the phone on the nightstand. “Hello,” he grumbled.

“Rafael? It’s Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Mrs. Y/L/N,” he squeaked and nearly dropped the reciever while covering himself with a pillow, as if your mother had the ability to see what he was doing through the phone. “Is everything ok?” A small sob escaped her lips and his pulse began to quicken. “Did something happen?”

All the color drained from his face listening to her, only processing certain parts. Car accident. You. Mount Auburn Hospital. “I’m on the first flight out of Chicago,” she said. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind staying with her until I get there? I would ask her roommate, but Rebecca is away at a crew competition.”

“Absolutely. I’m on my way.” Rafael stood up and nearly walked out of the room when he realized that his pants were still dangling around his ankles.

“Thank you. You’re such a good friend to Y/N.” She sniffled. “You know, she hates hospitals. Ever since—”

“I know,” he softly replied. “I’ll head over right now.” Panic began to set in as soon as he hung up with your mom. Running out the door, several thoughts came to his mind—for you to be ok and that he was going to murder Chet Aldrich.

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @melsquared79 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarlettsoldier @amirightcounselor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613 @imagine-all-the-imagines @mysterioustrashadventures

#rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fic #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fan fiction #barba #barba fanfic #barba fic #barba imagine #barba x reader #baby rafi #law and order svu fic #law and order svu imagine #the romantics

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Note

I was going to wait to hit you with more quotes until the next time you ask for quotes but this one's a bit too funny to resist sending it any link Wait. Don't leave me alone with these two! Just keep an eye on them for now. I'll be back

Warnings: Panic attacks, claustrophobia,

Note: long one, I'll add a "keep reading" later. Enjoy!

-o-o-o-o-

"Yup, we're separated," Twilight sighs and Sky can feel his stomach drop. Oh dear, he really doesn't like caves. He much prefers the sky, the openness and endlessness is so comforting and relaxing, in most times of trial all he must do is look up and instantly his brain will calm.

But he can't do that right now. If he looks up he will be met with the sight of rock, rock and more rock that goes for who knows how long onward, creating an impenatrable barrier between him and the outside world. Between him and the sky.

He can feel his chest ache with worry. He isn't afraid, far from it exactly, just a tad bit... uncomfortable. He's almost tempted to turn towards Wild, the third member of their cave trapped group, the fourth being Hyrule, and ask for his Sheikah Slate so he can look through those strange magic paintings he has and search for one that shows the endless expanse of blue that wraps around the ground like a warm, inviting embrace.

But he won't do that either. Twilight doesn't look worried, more annoyed than anything, and Wild and Hyrule actually look horribly excited to he trapped on the wrong side of a cave in. Excited to go deeper for it is the only way they can go, excited to see if they can find something hidden or undiscovered. Sky would much rather stay by the cave in and wait for the others to dig them out, but that idea seams to not be on even Twilight's mind, for he is already pulling out a lantern and lifting it with a this-may-as-well-happen expression on his face.

Sky knows each of these men have been through this before. Doors slamming behind their back, barriers appearing and trapping them so the only direction to go would be deeper into the unknown. Sky himself has had these thing happen, and he knows it's normally a sign that something must be done. But for now, he can't help but fear that this isn't a trap, it isn't a locked door, it isn't a blockade that will disappear after they fight some kind of giant chu chu or something of the sort. He can't help but fear it's just a normal cave in, and he's in a group of people who have no problems with going deeper into unimaginable danger.

Oh Hylia, why were they even going into the cave in the first place? His mind is so muddled and worried that Twilight is beginning to lead the way down further that he can't seem to remember. Some sort of monster terrorizing someone who lived in the cave? A chest that holds some sort of key that they need? Perhaps some sacred puddle of water Four needs to water a plant with?

Oh dear. This isn't good.

Not good at all.

"Let's go further, see if there's a way out on the other side of the cave," Twilight says; which happen to he the worst possible words Sky had wanted to hear. Still, he finds himself reluctantly following, his heart pounding in his throat, almost stumbling desperately to stay near the light Twilight holds.

He's not afraid. He's truly not afraid. Just fearful. There's a difference.

He looks up at the cave ceiling and quickly snaps his neck down, cursing his habit. There's no sky. No point in trying. There's no reason to look up if he knows what he's searching for isn't there.

"I wonder what's down here," Hyrule says, walking a little ahead of Twilight with an impossible spring to his step, as if he'd much rather explore the cave with no light like the crazy person he is.

"A way out, hopefully," Sky says, and it's nothing close to a squeak but he's sure if he gives it time it will eventually turn into one.

"Nah, I bet it's some sort of evil cave dwelling Moblin," Wild says, a grin in his voice.

"No way, a Moblin?" Hyrule scoffs.

"Yes, a golden one. Big, mean, and strong."

"Moblin's aren't that bad," Hyrule replies, "I bet it's actually a Lynel."

"Lynels' don't live in caves," Wild argues back.

"They totally do. And I bet it's a whole herd of them."

"Lynels' don't live in herds!"

"Have you met a Lynel?!"

Sky hasn't met a Lynel. And quite honestly he'd like not to. He's heard Legend talk about them before, giant beasts that are a mix of a great cat and a strong horse. Creatures with fangs and swords and power, unimaginably tough skin, making it almost impossible for a normal sword to do a single lick of damage.

His hand trails over his shoulder where the Master Sword lay, finding comfort in her presence. Unfortunately, Twilight notices the movement and lifts an eyebrow. Sky gives a nervous smile and drops his hands to his side.

Don't think about it.

"What if it's a dragon?" Hyrule continues. "A three headed one. I've had to fight one of those before."

"Dragon's aren't evil," Wild says back with an almost offended tone.

"Mine were. Nasty things that spewed fire everywhere."

Just ignore them Sky. Ignore them.

"What about you, ranch hand? Have you ever fought a dragon?" Hyrule asks, turning his head towards the lantern holder of the group.

Twilight shook his head. "Once. He wasn't that bad though. More bark than bite."

"Chosen?"

Sky swallows. "Ah, no. They were... friendly."

"We're tied," Wild says, smirking.

"No we just have to ask the others later. I'm sure they've all fought horrible monsters and you and the chosen hero are the only ones who have weird ones."

Oh Sky truly hopes the get to ask the others soon.

They continue down more into the cave and Wild and Hyrule continue to talk about what they could be heading towards and Sky loathes Twilight for having such a relaxed, uninterested expression on his face. He's somehow worked himself to a point where he can completely tune out their antics but Sky is left to hang on every word, his chest growing tighter and tighter.

Eventually, and Sky doesn't know if he should be thankful or not, they end up in a dead end. Or what's close to it. Twilight stops with a hum and Hyrule bends down to inspect the bottom of the wall they've found themselves facing. The cave just... Ends. There's no other ways to turn, nothing to do but go back and forth between one end and another. Or so he thinks so until Wild calls out.

"There's a hole at the bottom!"

Panic clutches Sky's heart as Twilight bends down to inspect the hole Wild has found. There is, indeed, a hole—hardly big enough for a dog to fit through—located at the bottom of the dead end. He will not try and squeeze himself through there. He's aware he's not the skinniest in the group, and he certainly isn't the most agile or flexible, and if he crawls into that hole he knows he'll get stuck. He'll get stuck and he'll never see the sky again and that- he takes a deep breath and looks up for just a moment.

At this rate, he's not going to see sky ever again whether he crawls into tiny holes or not.

"I wonder where it goes," Hyrule says, excitement making his voice go a half octave higher. Hyrule is normally one of the reserved members of the group, but when stuffed into an unknown cave without a map or plan, his true colors truly shine.

He kneels down and Sky almost goes light headed with relief when Twilight stops Hyrule from shooting into the hole with a hand on his shoulder.

"Let me," he says, making Sky insanely more worried and confused because Twilight is bigger than Sky. Well, broader. If Sky is certain he will get stuck, Twilight getting stuck is like, written in some holy book somewhere. Foreseen by the goddessess.

"Twi..." Wild suddenly says, his voice oddly... reserved.

Twilight shakes his head. "It's about time more people found out. I'm pretty sure vet knows. You know, the old man knows, smithy knows. What's two more?"

"What are you talking about?" Hyrule asks.

Twilight shakes his head, worrying Sky just a little, and then he takes a deep breath like what he's about to say is going to be the last thing he ever says. "Listen, and don't freak out. I'm only going to say this once. I can turn into... Into a wolf. I'm Wolfie. I can crawl into the hole and find out where it goes safer than any of you. I can also... see if I can dig and make it wider for you all if there is something more on the other side."

Sky is... oddly not shocked. Just infinitely more worried that Twilight is still dead set on going into some small hole with a half formed plan.

"Woah!" Hyrule says, "I never guessed!"

Wild is just smiling, and Sky isn't for this at all.

"Or," he says, clearing his throat and feeling heat rush to his cheeks and ears when the others all turn to look at him, "or... We can just turn around and wait for the others to dig us out?"

Wild actually has the audacity to look visibly bored with the idea.

"Nah, I wanna see our rancher turn into a wolf," Hyrule says.

Twilight at least gives Sky a small, sorry smile and a shrug.

Oh dear. Oh dear.

"We're going to try this, Sky. Here-" Twilight hand's Sky his lantern, "I won't need it. You can hold the light."

"I don't like this," Sky tries to say, but Hyrule is practically shaking with excitement.

"I'm so excited," he says and Wild nudges his side with his elbow.

"Hush! He'll get embarrassed and he won't do it!"

Twilight glares at the two of them but still backs a step away from them all. Sky's stomach jumps to his throat when Twilight takes a deep breath.

"Wait!"

Twilight stops, and then gives an... almost annoyed look at Sky.

"Don't leave me alone with these two," Sky whispers.

Wild makes a squawk and Hyrule grins like he's ready to torment Sky. Twilight, thankfully, has the decency to look at the other two and study them. For a small, hopeful second, Sky almost thinks Twilight is going to stay with them, but then he shakes his head and Sky can feel his soul sink to his toes.

"Just keep an eye on them," he says, "I'll be back."

"No, no Tw-"

But it's too late. Sky is rendered speechless as Twilight's humanoid form suddenly... shifts. Morphs. It's a blink of an eye. There's no flash, no sound, nothing. Just one second Sky is about to plead his sanity with Twilight and the next he's looking down at a familiar wolf.

Huh. It all seems more real, shocking even, to actually see that happen.

Wolfie... Twilight gives Wild and Hyrule stern looks before he gives an almost apologetic look at Sky. He nods his muzzle, and then turns and crouches down and starts to wiggle in the hole. He's gone in just a few minutes, nothing but the sound of scratching claws and small dog-like pants to let then know Twilight still exists, but even those start to fade.

"Wow!" Hyrule suddenly yells and Sky nearly jumps a mile.

"I know right!" Wild yells back. Wild suddenly launches into a rant about hard it was to keep Twilight's secret and how glad he is that more people know, and Sky tries to listen. He tries to watch. He tries to... exist... but he truly can't feel a thing. His ears are ringing.

The darkness closing in. He can't hear Twilight anymore. His chest feels heavy.

He blinks and clutches the lantern closer towards his chest. The only evidence now of Twilight's company. Is he alright? He can't hear him anymore. He really, really can't. What if there was a ledge? And he fell? And he's stuck, trapped, forever, waiting for a rescue that won't come.

What if the others don't come, and the oil in the lantern runs dry, and the blackness, the shadows crawling around the cave walls close in, and the air becomes stale and they slowly freeze to their bones.

What if they're trapped. Trapped here, in darkness, never to see the sky again.

This shouldn't bother him. It truly shouldn't, but he's never liked tight, closed off spaces. Oh how much he'd rather be on the surface. Oh how much he'd rather be on Skyloft. Oh how much he'd rather be on the back of his dear friend—his other half—the red Loftwing.

He can feel his back hit something hard and his knees decide to feel very wobbly. He forces himself to take in a deep breath but a fog is washing over his mind and he's truly not sure if he actually breathed in or not.

He's not afraid. He's not. He's not he's not he's not. Worried. Fearful. Cautious. But not afraid. He's not.

He looks up, wanting to see the sky, and he finds no comfort in the rocks that gaze back at him.

His legs give out and the lantern falls.

What is wrong with him. What is wrong with him.

This has never happened before. No, never before.

He can't help but feel that this has never happened before because he used to be younger, used to always be sure that there was always a way out and always a sky waiting for him.

Right now, it feels like the whole world is the wet, cold, stone pressing into his back.

He's not afraid, he just can't tell if he's breathing. He's not afraid, his ears are just ringing. He's not afraid, his mind is just not working with him. He's not afraid, his chest just feels broken.

Then, suddenly, something grabs onto his hand and he gasps, blinking towards the face of none other than Wild, the lantern in his hands now instead of wherever it went when Sky lost grasp of it. Sky searches Wild's face, searching for anything to... ground him? Ground isn't the right word. He'd much rather be in the clouds, but then his eyes land on the deepest blue he's ever seen, or maybe he's so much black shadows recently that he forgot what blue looked like.

He stares at Wild's eyes, and he can see so much blue, and it's not the same as the sky but he knows Wild has seen the sky before, seen it many times before, and Wild hasn't worried once about never seeing it again.

"You okay?" A voice asks, and Sky recognizes it as Hyrule voice, but right now looking away from Wild's eyes is the last thing he wants to do.

He wants to say that yeah, he's fine, but the words don't reach his throat. The most he can do is croak out a pathetic no and immediately Wild is setting the lantern down onto the cave floor, bending down so he's sitting across from Sky. Warmth spreads on Sky's side and he instantly recognizes the warmth belonging to Hyrule who has just sat down next to him. Sky closes his eyes, facing the dark in his mind and forcing it away, replacing it with Wild's deep blue.

Blue. Sky. Air. Freedom.

He sucks in a breath, feeling his chest shutter once, twice, then still with his calming breathing. Once he can no longer feel his heart jumping, he opens his eyes and meets Wild's gaze.

"Better?"

Sky nods and Wild smiles.

"Here," Wild suddenly says, handing Sky his precious magic slate like he knew exactly what Sky needed. He helps Sky get to the magic paintings ("They're pictures, Sky") and then he settles himself on the other side of Sky.

Sky looks at the first "picture", one of the entire landscape of Wild's Hyrule from the top of what seems to be a very big mountain. You can see the castle, but it's very small in comparison to the horizon. Sky can feel Hyrule rest his head on Sky's shoulder as he flicks to the next picture, and he chuckles when it's a "picture" of Sky himself, resting against a tree and a steadily growing pile of sticks being made atop his head by the recognizable hand of Legend.

Wild and Hyrule chuckle too, and all of a sudden Sky is so grateful that he's been left with the two of them.

Time passes, and he almost forgets what they're doing, when all of a sudden there's scratching of claws and panting dog breaths and a snout appears through a small hole at the bottom of a dead ended wall.

Sky breathes the largest sigh of relief, or what he thinks is the largest. Wild is a worthy competitor, and Sky realizes that Wild and Hyrule were just as worried about their fourth member. The thought is comforting. He wonders how they both dealt with it so much better than himself.

Wolfie quickly merges into Twilight and instantly Twilight is ranting about giant caverns and crystals and underground rivers and he's starting to suggest making the hole wider when Hyrule all of a sudden cuts him off.

"Actually, I think we should go to the entrance and wait for the others," he says, shocking Sky. What's even more shocking is when Wild nods along.

"Yeah, we shouldn't risk it," he says.

Twilight frowns, as if the mere thought of Hyrule and Wild turning down potential adventure is truly the most puzzling of things, but then he turns and his face softens when he looks at Sky.

"What do you think, Chosen?" He asks, though he says it like he already knows the answer.

"Can... can we go back?"

Twilight smiles, and gives a half-hearted shrug. "Three against four, then, I suppose."

He doesn't sound all that disappointed about it. Caverns and crystals and underground rivers for some reason must not sound as exciting to him any longer. He wonders what took priority, because Twilight is all about priority, but he doesn't wonder too much into it because they all stand up and make their way towards the entrance of the cave. Or, the caved in entrance.

Whatever way, Sky feels like it's easier and easier to breath the closer they get to it. They settle their things down by the cave in and sit and talk and look at more of Wild's magic paintings, and eventually there's movement and the wall comes crumbling down. They're met with sunlight, the smiling, grimy face of Four whose holding an unlit bomb in their arms, but more importantly, they're met with endless blue, and Sky feels like he can truly breathe again.

#jin writes #linked universe #hero of the sky #hero of the wild #hero of hyrule #hero of twilight #ask #ni cookie #drabble fic

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jackuswritus · 3 years

Text

Hidden Places

Everybody had a hidden place when they were younger, right?

Those overgrown clearings that laid off the beaten path of other parks, past all those manmade mulch pits and nauseatingly bright plastic playgrounds that always overheated in the summer sun. They were hard to find, and always required a bit of finesse to travel through, but the sense of ownership and independence that they came with was always worth it. It was like unearthing something sacred, something that nobody had ever laid witness to.

Ours was a little less picturesque, of course. The various blunt wrappers and capri sun pouches that were strewn about quickly dashed our fantasies of being grand explorers mapping out uncharted territory. On top of that, the actual scenery wasn’t particularly beautiful on its own. The only thing resembling a source of life was the thin trickle of brown, diseased-looking water that cut through one of the ditches we jumped across. You got the sense that it was an area left unexplored for good reason. None of us were particularly picky about that, though. As teenagers, we were just glad to have some semblance of independence.

As well as a discreet place to get high.

Looking back now, the fact that we managed to keep it so well-hidden was pretty impressive, especially considering that our activities down there were anything but. We mostly just sat around, picking at various bits of dead and decaying nature, laughing at whatever dumb shit had happened earlier that day. It was typical teenage boy behavior, just moved to a more rural location. The only thing that really changed was that we didn’t have to worry about keeping our voices down quite as much. After all, we all felt pretty secure in assuming that we were the only ones out there. Still, there was one reoccurring trend that I couldn’t help but notice:

No matter what, everyone always seemed to leave before the sun went down.

It wasn’t one of those cliché unspoken rules, mind you. Most of the kids that frequented the spot usually just had other stuff to do, whether it was studying for a test the next day, worrying about upsetting their parents, or just plain wanting to go home. Everyone always seemed to find a reason to leave before the golden hour was up. I’m sure that a handful of us were genuinely afraid of staying there after nightfall, but nobody would ever admit to something as shameful as that. Not to a group of vicious adolescents, anyway.

There was only one kid who pointed it out. That was Mark.

He was a weird one. The sort of guy that exists on the fringes of your friend group, not really tethered to any particular person, coming and going as he pleases. The only other place we saw him outside of the meeting place was school, and that was it. He definitely made his presence known, though. His fixation on the dark and morbid gave him something of a reputation with his classmates, teachers, and (especially) guidance counsellors. He would always draw a crowd in the school computer lab, playing videos with titles like “REAL GHOST FOOTAGE CAUGHT ON TAPE” and “CRYPTID SIGHTING NEVER BEFORE SEEN” with a barely restrained sense of glee. He seemed to revel in the discomfort of others, the same way that teenagers often enjoy getting an immature rise out of people. It followed, then, that he would be the first to suggest exploring the meeting place at night.

Everyone he tried to rope into his expedition responded with either indifference or outright disapproval. It seemed that everyone had some kind of excuse to avoid going back after night had fallen. Some were able to mask their fear with a façade of aloofness and casually dismiss the whole thing as a waste of time, while others couldn’t help but let it slip. He didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, he felt a sense of distinction, a sense of pride, at being the only one brave enough to do what the others couldn’t. It was all he could talk about, spouting off disjointed conspiracies to anyone that would listen, or anyone unfortunate enough to walk too close. I still remember him pulling me aside the day before he was supposed to venture out. By that time, the whole school was aware of the reputation that he had. It followed him around, dispersing whole crowds of people and reducing boisterous conversations to barely audible whispers. His eyes were sunken and hollow, but you could still see something behind them. It was like he was being possessed, compelled by something greater and more awful than even he could comprehend.

“Somethings out there, man.” He whispered, as if guarding a terrible secret, “And I think I’m supposed to find it.”

That was the last thing he ever said to me.

I think that, deep down, everyone knew what had happened when he didn’t show up to school the next day. It was just a matter of who wanted to believe it. Some struggled to keep up a sort of misplaced optimism, while others simply refused to accept that something terrible had actually happened. Nobody wanted to shoulder the burden of witnessing a tragedy unfold, knowing that they might have been able to do something to stop it. A quiet sort of tension gripped everyone, and the pressure only mounted with every passing day. Rumors were spread, fights broke out, kids had to be dragged, weeping and hysterical, out of class.

It wasn’t until the last search party was called off that things started to die down.

The police chalked it up to an avoidable tragedy, using it as leverage to keep impressionable teens from causing trouble at night (as well as impose a strict curfew). Nobody wanted to argue, regardless of whether they agreed with the decision. Of course, it wasn’t like there was an eager queue of explorers ready to follow in Mark’s footsteps. For most people, the collective trauma surrounding his disappearance was enough of a reason to never look back, to move quickly and stay under the shelter of the sun when traveling. I wish I could say the same. I wish I could say that everything that happened was enough for me, that I could put Mark’s memory to rest and come to terms with the fact that he was gone. But I had my own separate burden to carry, my own terrible, secret reason that I could never hope to forget.

It was that he was right. There was something in those woods.

A week after Mark went missing, I found myself back at the meeting place. Even with the vice grip of fear beginning to tighten around the town, I still couldn’t pry myself away from the memories that resonated there. Even back then, I knew that nothing would be the same, that the sense of community that this place once provided was about to be torn away. In a way, I guess I was there to say my last goodbyes to all those memories; To lay them to rest before they became too painful to hold on to. The tears flowed freely. Loudly.

The sunset seemed to sneak up on me, despite being so gradual. As those rusty colors began to drench the world around me, I was confronted with the bittersweet reality that they had lost their meaning. What once struck fear into our hearts and left us scrambling for the safety of home had only a sliver of its former power. As depressing as it was, it was a fitting close to that chapter of my youth. I was almost ready to leave those ghosts behind, to dump them with the rest of the waste and refuse that had been scattered through our makeshift meeting place.

It only took several minutes for night to fall. While I had the advantage of being familiar with the various ins and outs of the clearing, that thick, murky blackness was all it took to leave me fumbling my way through. I could still make things out, vaguely, but the unfamiliar shroud of the night rendered them completely alien to me. The first pangs of anxiety were beginning to set in, as well as a distinct sense of annoyance. All these years of coming back here, and they still somehow weren’t useful here? Against my better judgement, I found myself nervously laughing at the idea that the real reason why nobody stayed out past dark was because of how damn hard it was to navigate. I stayed there for a while, chuckling as I tried to quiet my nerves.

Something shifted in the bushes beside me.

I wish I could say that I hadn’t seen it, that it had been a product of my own cowardice and paranoia. After all, in the unfamiliar murkiness of the night, anything could have been out there. It could have just as well been a stray animal or broken branch that sent me running. Still, no matter how much I wish that were the case, I wasn’t afforded the luxury of unknowing, of blaming my imagination for what had happened.

I don’t think my mind was capable of imagining what I saw.

It walked like an animal, made to stand on its hind legs for someone else’s cruel amusement. Every step seemed to cause it pain, forcing its body to contort and twist in different directions, directions that living things weren’t supposed to bend. It was emaciated, gaunt, pale, as if there was just enough life in its body to keep it staggering forward. Bones jutted out, barely covered by its own horrible, pale skin. I didn’t dare look at its face, but the faintest trace of a gaping jaw could be seen dangling and flapping with every movement. I was paralyzed, every part of me freezing up in anticipation of the fate that awaited me.

It wasn’t until a noise escaped its mouth that I started to run. It was a wail of agony, a cry brought on by the inherent pain of its own existence. No matter how far I ran, it still seemed to echo through the trees. Every muscle in my body burned as I flailed my way through dead foliage. I didn’t dare to look behind me, both for the fear of being slowed down and for the fear of seeing it again.

Thankfully, I didn’t see it again. Not when I stumbled through a clearing and found myself back on the trail, or when I was questioned by the police for being out so late, or when I finally got back home and collapsed into my own bed. No matter how certain I was that it would come back, it never did. Some days, I think that the dread and paranoia that it left me with are worse than anything it could have actually done to me.

Enough time has passed now for me to know that those memories will never truly leave. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve heard, they’ll be with me until the end. There’s a sort of peace to that, I suppose. A kind of quiet acceptance in familiarizing yourself with the burdens that you have to carry. Things don’t get easier, but they certainly don’t get any more difficult. Maybe me writing all of this down is part of that acceptance, that familiarity. For all intents and purposes, it seems to be working.

I can almost get to sleep at night now.

Still, there will always be times where the dam breaks. The memories, fear, and trauma surge back in full force, uncontrollable in their potency. Some nights I wake up as terrified and drenched in sweat as I was back then. Some nights I find myself feverishly checking outside, certain that it will lurch back into view at any moment. Some nights that awful sound rings in my ears, drowning out any futile attempt to ignore its presence.

Some nights I swear it sounds just like Mark.

But I know that can’t be.

-end.

#horror #fiction

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bigowlenergy · 4 years

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doors

Next chapter of How to Raise the Dead

Jack gets back late from the grocery store. 8 pm. He usually goes at 7 am on Saturday, but. Well.

Danny is asleep in the living room like Jack left him, their latest quilt bunched up around his small form. No backing. Hasn’t even been pressed yet. Fresh and new and covered in tiny strings.

It’s been a while since they worked on a project together.

Granny squares of cartoon ghosts with happy faces ring a large, detailed paper piecing of the Fenton Portal. It’s done all up in floral pastels. True soft quilt colors. Jack’s grown to prefer bright neons and the signature Fenton green, but an old fashioned quilt is good, too. It near matches the much smaller one framed on the wall. Danny’s first quilt, though of course Jack did most of it at the time. The picture beside it is Danny holding up the finished project, smiling big, missing some milk teeth. About third grade, if Jack remembers right. Or was that the year he skipped ahead? Well, whatever it was, it was Danny’s First Quilt Year.

And this one, now, with the door to the land of the dead lovingly rendered as the centerpiece, will not be the last.

3 AM. The Fenton Phones buzz with a silent alarm. Maddie sleeps through it, Jack wakes up. Lays there for a while. Listens to the shower run, the lack of footsteps in the hall upstairs. Danny’d disappeared around 11 pm. Vanished from his room in the usual way.

Jack eventually falls back to sleep, relieved his boy is home. For the night, at least.

He wakes at 5, as usual, then comes down to find Danny sitting on the davenport, wrapped in one of the new fabric bolts like a blanket and very much asleep. His hair is the special kind of mess that tossing and turning with wet hair makes. The bags beneath his eyes are so deep they look painted on. True bruises. Jack sets a slippered foot on the wood floor under the stairs and Danny jolts awake. Instant reaction. Too tired to know what to do with it. Squints at Jack in the early morning dark and interrupts himself with a huge yawn. Damn does he have some chompers.

“How ‘bout some coffee, son?” Jack offers.

Danny slurs out a positive, then snuggles back down. Jack gets a single cup brewing and watches the sun rise with his son.

They’re working on tracing pattern pieces when the girls come down the stairs. Both dressed for the day, Maddie about two hours early. Oh, Jazz’s tour is today. That’s right. Jack’s been distracted.

“Are you coming, Dad? Danny?” Jazz’s tone shifts slightly as she leans around to catch Danny laying on the carpet, half asleep and up to his elbows in wrinkled pattern paper.

“Danny, are you alright, honey?” Maddie asks, looking less drastically tired, but equally glassy eyed and unhappy with the hour. Like mother like son.

“Oh, you know how quilting goes, Mads!” Jack intervenes. “We were up late last night, early morning, too. I’ll stay and keep him company. Unless you need me to be there, Jazz?”

Maddie blinks once, slowly, looking intently at Jack for a moment before yawning and heading to find her purse. Jazz looks away from her open appraisal of Danny. Jack doesn’t want to turn and look, make them suspicious or anything, so he’s left wondering what she’s looking for. If Danny’s giving her some kind of code, begging for her to stay, to take him with, not to leave him home alone with Jack. Whatever she sees must be positive. Or maybe unconscious. She doesn’t take her eyes off Jack when she says, all innocence and honesty,

“No, it’s alright, Dad. It’s just one tour. I’m staying to talk to the career councilor afterwards, anyway. No reason to make you all wait.”

“Alrighty then, Jazzy. Let me know how it goes. See you later, dear.” He kisses his tired wife goodbye. Passes a note into her pocket. Waves them both out the door for their own early morning.

Normally, he’d go to the supermarket at this time, but Danny’s dead on his - absolutely exhausted, and Jack would rather keep him home safe for a change. He deserves it.

The front door clicks shut, and it echoes. Jack lets out a heavy breath.

“Want some breakfast, Danno?” He asks, turning to find Danny blinking heavily, eyes scrunching like it hurts. But he’s sitting up, mostly, and clutching the cup of decaf Jack slipped some ectoplasm in like he’s forgotten about it.

Jack kneels down beside him and sets a hand on his shoulder, gently straightening him up.

“Come ‘ere,” He offers his arm, taking the cup in his other hand. Danny flops on to his shoulder immediately. Mumbles, “I’m not a baby,” but yawns again and doesn’t even try to stand on his own. Jack lifts him easily. Calling Danny 90 pounds would be generous. Jack might not be into weight training any more, but he’ll always be strong enough to support his kids. It’s been a while since he’s gotten to cart either of them around. It’s nice. He hadn’t realized he missed it.

He puts the cup on the kitchen table and sets Danny in his seat.

“Alright, what’ll it be, bud?”

“Pancakes,” Danny mumbles, blowing on the cold coffee. Looks a little more present now.

Jack readies the ingredients and gets Danny stirring. Pulls the old pan out from the pantry. Pauses. Maybe they shouldn’t use this anymore. It was a gift from Vlad, freshman year, half gag gift, half honest peace offering to end the Prank War. A novelty Halloween pan with two large, pancake sized sheet ghosts. It’s a bit dented and well loved from the years, but it’s a good pan. Jack’d loved the thing, and did what any good best friend would do and bought Vlad the hard stuff he liked, but couldn’t really afford, as thanks. He only got to drink half of it.

Vlad’s his best friend. But. No more missed connections. No more distance. No more silence between loved ones when one is hurting. No more carefully closed doors. He sets the pan on the stove to heat.

After breakfast, they sit together in the living room and finish cutting out the quilt pieces. Danny’d always liked that part the best; tracing from the straightedge and making everything square up. It’s quiet, but peaceful. They work together just as well as they did - what, last year? Has it really only been that long since Danny had last joined him in the early morning? Has Jack gotten that lax, as a parent, to not notice? Attributing all the odd little changes Danny’s gone through to puberty and growing up and new school all sounded so sensible at the time. They still do. Of course they do. Who in their right mind would ever put money on what Jack’s betting on?

But Jack’s got eyes for a reason, his grandmama used to say. So he’d been using them. Took her good words and true voice, but set the rifle back on the shelf to cool. Not everything breeds fear. Not anymore. Not when Jack’s studied ectoplasm for long enough to understand that the instinctual fear ghosts bring out in humans is nothing more than smoke and mirrors, nothing that they can help doing. Danny isn’t a menace on purpose, not in this at least. Jack sets some quiet music up to cancel out the white noise and does his best not to let Danny in his peripherals.

Honestly, it’s getting easier and easier. Looks like there’s an acclimation period followed by a threshold shifting. If Jack just keeps aware around his son, he’ll stop being afraid altogether. He’s glad.

By the time dinner rolls around, poor Danny looks fit to collapse. He’d stubbornly powered through, pretending he’d slept last night and didn’t need to head up for a rest. Now he’s holding the edge of the quilt while Jack handstitches in a few details. Jack didn’t trust him with a needle. Is glad of it when he reaches over and gently pushes Danny back and he goes down like a sack of rocks. Stays down. Passed out instantly. Jack snips the last thread and lays the quilt top over him, smoothing his wild hair gently.

Tacks a note to the table right in front of his face and heads down to the store. He’ll probably sleep through it.

He does. Jack makes up something quick for himself and sets three portions in the fridge. His girls’ll be home late, like he asked. He probably should have talked with Maddie first, but the opportunity came too quick. He’s sure she’ll understand. Maybe she even got something out of Jazz.

Nah, probably not. Jazz is one tough cookie. He’s rather proud.

Of both of them.

He turns the lock and gently lifts Danny from the davenport. Expects him to stay down, but he squirms and squints up at Jack.

“Hey, Danno.” He greets the face that’s too tired to be suspicious properly. “Was gonna take you to your room for the night. Is that good?” Jack pauses, considers his words, his hold, carefully, says, “Or do you wanna go downstairs?”

Danny’s eyes slip closed again, and his hand curls into the quilt. “Downstairs,” He mumbles.

Jack takes him down to the portal. Tugs the seat out from under the stairs and drags it closer to the vortex in the doorway. Gets Danny down for the night. He looks so relaxed. So green.

It’s still a strange thing, this boy of his. But just this one nice day, this little bit of trust Jack’s painstakingly wrangled from him, feels like a victory. Like a door that’s been firmly locked has been eased open a crack. There’s less between them. Less distance, even if only a little.

Jack kisses his son’s forehead and leaves him to sleep in the lab.

#ok but jack is a davenport kinda guy #and u can pry that from my cold dead hands.#dannymay2020 #doors #may 19 #fenton family fun times #jack fenton #maddie fenton #jazz fenton #danny fenton #fanfiction

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justjessame · 3 years

Text

Silence Chapter 3

While I seemingly crossed paths with Negan more and more, the scarier moments came when I could see him, but he had no idea that I was nearby. Watching him turn the same charm on that he seemed to ooze onto the leader of the animalistic group made my stomach churn and bile threaten to force its way free.

If he used this tactic on her for some shady purpose, then what purpose was he using it on me?

During downtime, which I had an ample surplus of, I had to decide whether reflection of the past was warranted or wasting time on a future that seemed less and less possible was a better use of the time.

Memories? My dad-single or widower, depending upon which relative or narrative was easiest to swallow at the moment, a therapist who was more in touch with his patients’ issues than his own. Remember the old saying, “a shoemaker’s children always go barefoot”? My father took it to heart and made damn sure that I would be fine, he just wasn’t as careful with his own mental health.

His death, coming a full year before the rest of the world went to shit, was something of a gift. If I’d had to- no best not to even THINK it- OK memories were a NO.

A future daydream then-alright.

Let me think about it. First, we’d need a cure. A cure for anyone bitten by one of the infected or dying with the infection inside them. We need a humane way to end those who would rise if they do die, something that would allow us to keep our humanity in check. And let’s figure out how to keep one another from going full on feral.

So we have: Cure for bitten and dying? Check.

Humane end for the risen? Check.

Feral humans put back to sorts? Check.

That just leaves-

“Elara-” Damn it. He’d NEARLY gotten the drop on me. Almost. I’d heard the snap of a twig on his approach. The slight scent of that gruesome mask, hell even the undercurrent of his musk. “You look like you’re pretty fucking focused on something.”

I shook my head and stretched. Refocusing on him. He looked- Like he needed a distraction too.

“What’s wrong?” He barely breathed, but I could make out the gentle rise of his chest. A small sigh. “Pull up a patch of dirt.”

He sat, across from me, his long legs framing mine. “You said you aren’t a joiner.” I nodded. “Ever?”

“Clubs in school, I guess.” I settled more comfortably against my tree. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been a-” he shook his head like he was trying to convince himself. “Leader, a prisoner, a follower-”

“Any of them fit?” His eyes met mine and he smirked. “Ever try just being yourself?”

Huffing out a short breath, he shook his head. “And who the fuck is that?”

I shrugged. “Negan.”

I wander for a ton of reasons. Sometimes I get bored. I feel nomadic and I want a change of scenery. I like being near water, for washing, for fresh drinking, and for the calming effect.

I like to move so I can get a new perspective. Looking at the same thing over and over, even if the view is nature isn’t healthy. So I wander to get a fresh view, fresh air, fresh ideas.

Food is another reason. Be it for hunting or foraging, I like to have variety. Sticking to the fringes keeps me out of known territory, giving me plausible deniability if I’m ‘caught’ by one faction or another. It also keeps me apprised if I have to run, hide, or keep out of the fucking way of whatever wave of violence is coming next. Because while the monsters are real, humans are still just as fucking dangerous.

As I’m on one of my foot powered trips, I hear it. It’s as familiar to me as it is to any human being. Even if you were spared the rod like me, you’ve heard the sound of a whipping. It’s been used in movies, it’s been heard in music videos and in sex play, so the sound isn’t as foreign as one would like to imagine. And as much as I’d love to pretend otherwise, I’d heard it many times as I’ve flitted around the territory of the weirdos that Negan was making time with.

It shouldn’t have shocked me, really it shouldn’t have, that he’d be taking part in this round. Or that it would be a ritual between him and Alpha. They were doing a weird tug and pull, those two, and I had no reason to see it as anything strange or abnormal. I barely knew the man, afterall. Yet, as I stood far out of sight, watching as they whipped one another’s arms, as the chanting began warning me to seek shelter far away from what was sure to come, something told me that I knew him far less than even I’d thought possible.

I knew, regardless of how I felt about the chanting, whipping, really gruesome and sadly anticlimactic S&M imagery, that I needed to get my ass hidden in one of my MANY hidey holes. One of the other side effects of wandering is that I had a cache of places that most survivors barely glanced at that would not only keep me safe, but offered me a place to tuck away to and ignore the rest of humanity until they got their shit back in order.

Some were clearly old hunting cabins, others were shacks, and some bore the tell tale signs of being former moonshine stills. Regardless, four walls at least and a roof were my requirements. Bonus if there was a stove or fireplace of some sort, and God fucking praise Jesus if it was furnished.

Of course, I should have known, given my luck since meeting Negan for the very first fucking time at MY bathing spot that he’d find my spot. That out of ALL of the shacks in ALL of Godforesaken fuckoff Virginia Negan would manage to bring Alpha to MINE.

I was writing in my notebook, killing time as the quiet was cloaking me like a soft blanket when I heard the first hint that it was being broken. And then, arrow notched, shoulder against the side of the shack, I watched as he walked behind HER as they approached MY spot. My heart was pounding SO loudly in my ears that IF they were speaking I couldn’t hear the words. I knew the moment she saw me. I saw the surprise on her face. The confusion. I was shocked, because I expected an attack, but she only turned to him, a question on her lips, and then with a flash across her neck, she had a matching wound to his. Only hers was far more effective at quieting her than his had been.

What happened next? I sat down, back to the image of him and her, to whatever was outside MY shack. My back against the wall of the shack, my bow on my knees the silence returned or the pounding of my heart so loud again that I was rendered deaf. I didn’t see what happened after the flash of his blade, or after I turned away. I didn’t want to.

I’m not sure I was still in the shack, honestly. I thought about when I was a little girl. When my dad was seeing patients from his office at our house, a huge red brick Victorian on a tree lined street in southern West Virginia. The sidewalks were rippled by the roots of the trees, imperfect and I remembered jumping over the humps. Creating hopscotch boards on the sidewalk was difficult, so we had to go to the playground or the park.

I remembered my grandma fussing at Dad about a pair of white knit leggings he bought, and how he’d been so distracted with his schedule that he hadn’t paid attention to the panties I wore under them, so when I came home that evening, she’d had to point out that the very bright primary colored rainbow ones I chose weren’t appropriate and that he’d have to show as much concern to his kindergarten age little girl as to the crazies that were coming and going each day.

“Elara?” Hoarse, his voice sounded hoarse. My eyes were locked on the dust motes dancing in the late day sunbeams shining through the cracks of the shack’s walls. “Can you say something?”

“Is she dead?” Just as quiet and hoarse as his, I wondered, idly if he’d buried or burned her body. He knelt in front of me, in the path of my dusty dancers, forcing my focus on him. “Well?”

He nodded, eyes locked on mine, but hands to himself. “Yeah, she’s dead.” My turn to nod. “I need you to come with me, Elara.” I tilt my head, studying him. “Please?”

I want to argue with him on this. I don’t join anyone. Especially men who randomly cut a woman’s throat in front of another woman, but he cut a woman’s throat in front of me, so perhaps now is NOT the best time to poke that particular bear. I nod my ascent. He helps me to my feet and waits while I get my pack and shit together.

“I have to meet with a few people,” I’m thinking about the giant that is Beta, now that he’s killed their Alpha, he gets that designation. A leader, like he was before. “And, I need you to trust me.”

Easier said than done, I think, but say nothing.

Negan talks as we walk. He asked me if I listened as he and Alpha came to the shack. I don’t speak, honestly there’s not a hell of a fuck ton to say. He takes my silence as a ‘no’, so he tells me the story of his past.

“I was married,” I listen, thinking if nothing else it gives me something other than the bag he’s carrying or the knife I know he has to think about. “Before everything went to shit, I was married to a woman named Lucille.” He’s walking beside me, measuring his steps to match my shorter strides, keeping pace with me. “She didn’t tell me she was sick, not until it was too late to do anything to help her. She died right when-” When he stopped I understood, when he would have to make a choice that no one should have to make. “I couldn’t do it.” I thought about how I felt about Dad dying a year earlier, knowing that I didn’t have to make that choice. A gift. “My emotions? Gone. It changed me into-” he sighed, and biting his lip, I felt his gaze land on me. “I told her,” I knew he meant Alpha, “that I’m dead inside. It’s gone, I have nothing left.” I should be afraid then, right? Isn’t that the warning of a killer? Someone who wants to murder and rip people apart? “I lied.”

I swallowed, but kept walking. I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know who he was, what he was, but I truly fucking hoped I wasn’t about to die at his hands. Or at the hands of whomever he was insisting I go with him to meet.

#negan x ofc #The Walking Dead #Season 10 #alternative universe #slow burn #drabble

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

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Only For A Moment Ch. 43

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Dissacociation, flashbacks, violence

A/N: Once again HUGE shoutout to @wonderlandmind4 for being my beta. Seriously, she’s a gem.

I don’t really know what to say here. Trauma sucks, it’s good to have someone who loves you through it though.

Tags are open!

Sweat drips down your back, soaking through the tee shirt you wear.

You realize, for the first time, that this is the only significant piece of clothing you have on. Suddenly you feel exposed. Tucking yourself tighter between the wall and dumpster you tug at the hem in a vain attempt to summon more fabric.

These efforts come to a screeching halt as a pain you can’t name sears its way through your skull. Clutching your head tight you crumple into the fetal position, mouth open in a silent scream.

You think, for a moment, it will pass quickly but no… It feels like lightning burning in your brain. And it just will not stop.

Silently you begin to bargain, beg anything, any force that can hear your silent plea to just make it stop. If it doesn’t… you think you’ll die because nothing can sustain this level of suffering for long… Can it?

This continues for minutes… Hours maybe, you don’t know, but it’s long enough that you forget what the absence of it feels like.

Once the pain fades to a dull roar you can’t move, don’t even receive the relief of a deep breath, your chest only able to lift the smallest bit. Despite this paralysis, your entire body buzzes with the overload of sensation that’s now flooding your perception.

It is almost worse than the pain. You could understand that, pain is pain, but this… The grains of sand beneath your nails each feel like shards of glass, the bits of rock beneath your raw feet gnaw and cut, insects in the dumpster to your left devouring the garbage, a microbiome of disgusting-

A skittering noise distracts you from everything else for a moment. Glittering eyes peek at you as a small screech claws at your eardrums and a large rat runs from beneath the dumpster—before it can touch you its flung across the alleyway by some invisible force, hitting the opposite wall with a sickening squelching sound.

Your eyes dart in your immobile skull for whatever made that happen.

Deep in the recesses of your fractured mind, something tells you with unwavering certainty, you did that. But that doesn’t make sense you can’t, couldn’t. You… A name flutters through your mind but you can’t grab it. Who’s…

Realizing it was your name—your name you can’t remember, can’t grasp—causes panic to seize you sending your heart into a wild rhythm. Your breath picks up to meet the new demands and the paralysis flees you. As your body loses rigidity you fall forward, hands flat on the filthy concrete.

It’s too much. Everything is too much. You’re aware of the cells of your skin, of the dirt slipping between them, aware of the smog in the air, of the particles that make up the earth. Aware it seems of even the spaces between… everything, vibrating particles everywhere overwhelming you.

Shouldn’t be feeling this much, not right, not right, is all you can think. Not right, not right. The face of an angry man fills your vision.

“Demon!” He bellows from your memory.

Your mouth opens to scream but instead your stomach clenches and you hurl. It doesn’t stop until you heave and heave, abdomen aching with the effort. Once your body concedes that there’s nothing left inside you to purge you collapse on your side, right cheek skidding against the ground.

Something stings, something sharp. You hiss, righting yourself slowly, you touch your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky and red.

You stare at the color, another man flashes in your memory. He’s not angry though, he’s… worried. His eyes are kind and—tears flow freely down your cheeks, the salt stinging the cut even more.

Angry you slam your head against the wall at your back. That man, you know that man, his name, his name is…

“Fuck,” you growl through clenched teeth, surprised at the roughness of your own voice.

You don’t know who you are, why would you know him?

“Y/N?!” Bucky gasps bolting up in bed.

You fell asleep in his arms, he knows you did, but you’re not beside him.

He listens but there’s no noise from the cracked bathroom door. His eyes frantically search the space until he realizes the back door is open.

Relief rushes through him, muscles instantly relaxing. You’d probably woken up and stepped out for some air with your headphones on. Stretching, he slowly rises from the bed, making his way outside.

The moment he’s in the doorway his body goes stiff once more. You’re not there.

A million possibilities flood his mind, temporarily rendering him immobile.

No one could have come in. He’d know, he’s sure he’d know. Unless… Maybe if they’d triggered him… He studies his hands, praying there isn’t the least bit of red or discoloration of any kind on them. Noticing nothing he cautiously approaches the balcony edge, steeling himself before looking over.

Blessedly, you’re not down there in a heap. Of course you wouldn’t be, your body would survive, ability reacting on instinct.

“Get a grip, Barnes,” he chides out loud.

The door wasn’t broken or tampered with and the locks, he walks to the front door to be sure, were still in place from the inside. All your things were still there meaning… Meaning you were somewhere in this city alone, underdressed, and likely terrified.

In minutes Bucky is out the door.

You haven’t moved as the cloudy sky lightens with sunrise. Maybe you should move.

Why would you move? Where could you go? Did that matter? The sun would come out and make the garbage stink more and you were beginning to see a red smear on the wall across from you… it scared you. Those were good reasons to move… Plus you were no longer perceiving every single particle around you, so that was helpful…

Before you’re able to make your decision a door opens somewhere toward the front of the alley. Tension coils within your body.

A woman lifts the lid of the dumpster, not noticing you at first. When she does she begins shouting in a language you don’t understand. She’s angry, fists raising, you’re afraid, backing up and up until you’re in the corner with nowhere to go.

You cover your ears and close your eyes, the woman’s shouts hurting your head. You want her gone, want her to stop.

She grabs your chin and your eyes shoot open. In a flash of rage, you push her back with all your strength sending her careening into the side of the dumpster with a clatter.

Forgetting her anger you rush to her. She’s breathing, heart beating, no blood.

Good. That’s good. Right?

That’s right. The other woman wasn’t so lucky. The one who’d taken you to her hotel. The one you killed… No… No, you’d done worse than just kill her outright.

Being the monster you were, you felt with invisible hands inside her body, without her even realizing it, until you found just the right spot in her brain… then you’d simply gripped the thin membrane of the blood vessel and tore through it with an ease that terrified you. You’d lingered there, staring at her writhing form, her terrified gaze, until her body stopped moving and they’d come, to tell you you’d done well… But it hadn’t felt like a victory.

The sound of the door again, someone calling out. Panicked you run to the corner and jump, easily landing on the roof above.

For a moment you stand, shocked.

You should go somewhere, somewhere safe and warm, and that name… kind eyes. That pain shoots through your skull once more, not as strong but enough to knock the wind from your lungs.

Won’t think about that.

Survive.

By midday, Bucky thinks he may actually lose his mind.

Despite his extensive skill set, he was no closer to finding you. There just wasn’t a trail to follow.

He’d checked in with Mr. G, in case you’d been to visit, doing his best to assure the old man that there was nothing to worry about while internally he was screaming. He’d been to all your favorite places even went to your old squat hoping something in you would have led you there but nothing. Not the barest trace of you.

The city feels oppressively overcrowded in a whole new way as he navigates back streets and alleyways. Feeling sick he checks police scanners, calls hospitals, checks morgues. Nothing, for that he’s thankful.

As the sun sets he begins to make his way toward the apartment, unsure of what else he can do.

Y/N. That was who you were. It felt right, felt good, knowing.

You’d spent the better part of the day hiding in one location or another, trying to stay out of sight, scared of every person you saw. Being able to navigate on rooftops from time to time helped with avoiding people. Though sometimes whatever kept you aloft would falter when your mind would get distracted with a passing thought or memory.

When you’d remembered your name with certainty the ground flew up to meet you so fast as you tried to jump from a four to six-story building, you thought you’d meet your end, splattered like that rat. But you’d caught yourself, barely, though not before painfully wrenching your ankle. Still, a wrenched ankle was better than a shattered skull.

The pain brought clarity each time, cutting through the fog filling your mind. You’d considered causing more pain, maybe then things would make sense, but you’d ultimately dismissed the idea. No sense in breaking yourself.

Besides, something in you said you were heading the right direction and that was enough for now. What exactly you were heading toward wasn’t exactly clear and focusing on it for any length of time made your headache. Not that it mattered much. Everything hurt, what was one more little thing?

You peek out of the narrow ally you’d been limping through, waiting for the perfect moment to sprint across the street. The window opens, no one around, you bolt.

Your ankle screams in protest as you run, each shock of pain makes you remember little things though. A home, somewhere, it was close… Brooklyn?

The thought of Brooklyn sends a whole new ache through you. Just as you enter the alley you’d been aiming for a sob rips through you leaving you gasping. Not paying attention you step on something sharp and tumble to the ground in a heap.

It feels like your chest is being crushed as their faces fill your memory. Nix and Marcus and Abby. Your family. Your dead family. Dead… because of you.

“Hey,” someone asks from behind you in a language that isn’t English, though you understand it still. “Hey, you ok?”

No. You weren’t. Everything is wrong and broken. You don’t say this though, unable to stop the tears.

“You alone?” Another voice asks. You can’t answer, can hardly breathe.

“Looks like it,” the first voice says.

“Hey,” the second voice says, coming to stand before you. He grips your shoulders pulling you up. “You understand us?”

You hiccup a sob but manage to nod.

“She’s kinda pretty,” the first man says.

“Maybe after she soaks in bleach.” The second man looks you over, you’re too tired to pull away from him. “You wanna come with us?”

“No,” you croak. It surprises them both to hear you speak no more surprised than you are at your conviction. There was a home here. Somewhere, someone with kind eyes. You know this, you just have to find it.

“Leave me alone,” you push his hands away.

“Junkie, bitch,” the first man grumbles as the second lifts you by your short head of curls.

You’re exhausted in every way a person can be and the thought of fighting back seems like so much. But as soon as you meet his eyes, brimming with malice, you find it in you to push this power in you against him. It’s not particularly strong but it forces him to release your hair.

Staggering back you brace yourself, your body remembering movements your mind can’t quite connect to.

The first man tries to hold your arms to your sides but a flicker of your power prevents him from gaining purchase for long. The other swings at you and you counter, a too strong punch to his ribs leaving him gasping. But… you’re so goddamn tired after a day of running with no food or water and your ankle paired with a cut on your other foot makes your stance shaky at best.

You cry out as the second man hits you from behind with something hard, sending you to the ground, leaving your head spinning and ears ringing. One of them, you can’t tell which, lifts your head up by your hair.

Some part of you feels detached, as though this is happening to someone else. Another feels a slow hot rage begin to rise from the darkest parts of you and you know that once it surfaces you will kill these men… You don’t want to kill anyone, not again.

“Please…”

“Yeah. Beg, bitch. See if that helps,” the one you punched, snarls, taking a stance in front of you.

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

They. Laugh. The anger roiling in you surges.

“This bitch is-” The man before you is suddenly gone, flung against the wall like a rag doll by a large figure you can’t quite make out before the one holding your hair let’s go in surprise and you fold forward for a moment, unable to remain upright.

“We didn’t do anything!” The man chokes out, fear slurring his words. You turn and watch as the hulking figure corners the simpering man.

“She was-” Before he can say another word a hand wraps around his throat. Slowly he’s lifted from the ground, kicking, gurgling, hands clawing in vain at an arm—an arm that you know is solid metal and very deadly.

Memory slams into you and you gasp as the disassociation flees you. There isn’t time to feel the emotions thundering through your body though, he will kill this man.

“Bucky,” you croak, voice cracking with relief. He doesn’t move, focused with terrifying intensity on his target. Standing on trembling legs you step toward him and lay a hand on his shoulder as the man’s thrashing begins to still.

“Bucky,” he flinches, registering you. “Let him go.”

“He. Hurt. You.” Bucky growls out each word.

“Not like I could have hurt him. Don’t kill him. Please.” You didn’t want him to have more blood on his hands either. His grip loosens and the man crumples into a half-dead heap in the alley.

Tragedy averted, whatever willpower you mustered to keep yourself upright flees your body. Despite the warm summer air you begin to shake, violently. Swaying back, Bucky catches your shoulders before you plummet onto the concrete.

Bucky takes you in, quickly. His white tee you’d slept in is filthy with sweat and grime. Your right cheek has a shallow cut that seems to have already started to heal but that clearly bled judging by the flaking smear of dried blood. Looking down he can tell that your left ankle is badly bruised and swollen while there is blood on the side of your right foot. Then there’s the way your body is shaking in his grip, indicating shock.

“Y/N,” he says softly, searching your eyes for answers he isn’t sure you have.

“I…” You trail off, voice dry and raspy. “I was lost.” Your glazed eyes flutter and he feels your knees give.

Without hesitation, he scoops your trembling form into his arms. The way your hands grasp at his shirt your face burrowing into his shoulder makes his heart ache. He understands well enough that you don’t mean that you were only physically lost. You’d lost yourself for a time.

He steps around the body of the unconscious man he’d tossed aside heading toward the mouth of the alley. The movement jostles you just a bit and a small whimper meets his ears.

“Did I hurt you,” the fear grips him as he assesses his grip on you, worried he held too tight. A hollow huff that may have been an attempt at laughter shakes your body in a different way, you suck in the air a little, tilting your head up a bit to him.

“No. Everything just… hurts,” you say in barely a whisper.

Anger at every person who ever hurt you in your life burns like a volcano in his gut. Even so he coaches his expression to be soft.

“Let’s get you home.”

Where he found you, was only a few blocks from the apartment. He’s grateful for it, despite his efforts the movement clearly causes you more pain—he’s also certain he’s never been more grateful for what Hydra did to him, without his enhanced senses he’d never have heard you, may never have found you.

By the time he closes the door behind you both, your consciousness is hanging by a thread.

“Stay with me baby,” he kisses your forehead before he sets you as gently as he can on the couch. Still, you groan.

He pulls a thick blanket from the closet to wrap you in. As he moves to wrap it around you your head shakes a no.

“Your body is in shock, Y/N.”

Clarity lightens in your eyes. “That makes sense,” you lift one hand, seeming to study the tremors. As you do the lamp begins to shake on the table. Both of you stare for a second as your power rustles things around the apartment like ripples on a lake.

“May I?” He doesn’t want to force it on you but… Thankfully he doesn’t have to. Pulling you from the couch for an instant he swaddles you tight in the warmth of the blanket before settling you back on the couch. Instantly things around you stop their ghostly movements.

“I’m going to get you something to drink,” he plants a kiss on your forehead before heading into the kitchen.

The cracked state of your lips suggests that you’re deeply dehydrated. Just water wasn’t going to cut it. Though it may take a minute longer he heats water on the stove for a moment before mixing just a bit of salt and honey into it.

“Here,” he crouches in front of you, “sip this.” Bucky lifts the mug to your lips. You swallow, your face scrunching up at the taste. “I know, but you need the salt and sugar. Just try to finish it.” He manages to get the whole mug into you.

Thankfully your shaking has slowed some. Tenderly he tucks a shaggy curl back into your mop of hair. How he loved these curls.

“He’s going to be ok, Y/N.”

Mr. Goldstein had spent the last week in the hospital. He’d insisted it was nothing, just a bit of cold. It wasn’t until his daughter had come into the shop that you’d learned the truth--cancer, she’d told you, and not his first run-in with the disease either. The news had rocked you both. Bucky didn’t doubt that the fear of losing someone else, someone you loved, had triggered what you’d just gone through.

You say nothing, just look away, gnawing on your bottom lip.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says with a soft smile. You nod and he unwraps you from your blanket cocoon.

Unresisting you allow him to remove your filthy tee and slip your underwear off before he places you in the empty tub. As he wets a rag in the hot water pouring from the faucet to begin cleaning a day’s worth of city grime from you he starts to hum a tune, hoping the sound will soothe both of your frayed nerves.

With a light touch, he inspects the cuts and scrapes on your feet, knees, and hands. The only one that’s deep enough for a slight pause is on your foot, but even so, he doesn’t think it will need anything more than a bandage.

Your body wasn’t the only thing that needed attention. Grabbing a pitcher from the kitchen Bucky slips free of his jeans, as to not get them wet and perches on the corner of the tub, repositioning you between his legs. Slowly he pours hot water over your short thick curls.

As he takes his time coaxing out the tangles, his humming shifts to lyrics. Singing isn’t something he did often, just when he was alone from time to time and now when you’d wake up particularly shaken from a dream. Once, he’d sing all the time but finding his voice had been tough. Seeing your lips curl a bit in response goads him on though.

When he’s rinsed your hair, running your comb through your curls, he’s singing the final lyrics of an old love song:

I see your face in every flower Your eyes in stars above It's just the thought of you The very thought of you, my love

As he finishes you sigh and rest your head on the inside of his thigh.

“Thank you… for finding me,” your voice is less raspy but he can hear your exhaustion in every syllable.

Gently he coaxes your head to look up at him, “I will always find you.”

Tags

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @wintersoldierswhore @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jewelofwinter @siriuslycloudy2 @hardygal69 @marvelousmeggi @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #james buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky feels #soft bucky

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ratchedspeach · 4 years

Note

hello! can u write some firby angst, hurt/comfort based on the episode where Fallon is scared about the storm? and maybe talk about why she's so scared :3

Yeehaw

Cloudy with a Chance — set after S2E6, slight AU with certain details to help the plot line

Culhane leaves not long after she’s awake — slipping back into the shadows of whatever secrets it is that he’s keeping from her. When he asks if she’s mad, Fallon offers him a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and promises she’s not. He knows its a lie for his benefit, but he pretends he doesn’t.

Kirby doesn’t see her get hit, but she sees the fallout. Culhane came barreling into the cellar with a limp Fallon in her arms. A bruise had already formed on the side of her cheekbone next to her hairline and her face was contorted even in her unconscious state, and Kirby doesn’t think she’s ever seen the woman look so … fragile.

“We have to get her to a hospital.” Kirby orders when she realizes that Fallon’s fiancee was rendered useless by a fit of panic.

“Men and their emotions.” Kirby can’t help but smile when she remembers the catchphrase, but the brief moment of levity is short lived, because Fallon moans lowly and shifts on the ground. The redhead puts a sweater underneath her head, and Fallon’s eyes flutter.

She doesn’t plan on checking on her, but when she sees Culhane slip out the front door of the manor, her stomach drops. Kirby’s eyes travel to the larger than life stairwell in the foyer, and she’s scaling it before she can fully cognate what it is that she’s doing.

Fallon is awake, much to her surprise, holding an ice pack to her forehead, and staring at the wall across from her. Kirby raps on the doorframe twice, and it makes the other woman jump.

“You know better than to sneak up on me.” She whines, shifting her fingers around the ice pack and wincing as it agitates her bruise.

“I knocked.”

“So?”

“So that’s literally the opposite of sneaking up on you.” Kirby roles her eyes and comes to perch on the corner of her bed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Head hurts.” Fallon responds curtly, tensing her jaw in an attempt to seem more alright than she is.

She know that’s not what Kirby’s asking — knows that she’s wondering about Culhane, and the storm, and …

Fallon exhales heavily, placing the ice pack on her bedside table, and bringing her gaze to meet her friend. Kirby can’t help but grimace a little when she sees that what was once a mere bruise had started to swell. The other woman notices, and it turns her cheeks flush.

“You don’t have to stare.” Fallon snarls, her hair falling across her profile. “I know it’s ugly.”

“It isn’t ugly! It’s just …” Kirby trails off, not really sure where she’s taking her justification. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t respond — just heaves a sigh and grasps the hem of her satin sheets. If she wanted Kirby gone, she would say it, so Kirby takes it as a win and kicks her shoes off before sitting crosslegged on the all-too-large bed. Fallon feels her studying her, watching her like she’s trying to decipher the rosetta stone, and it makes the color rise in her cheeks further and her stomach churn. It isn’t like Kirby not to push, not to be utterly intrusive and desperate for every detail, and its more disconcerting than it is anything else.

“What’re you doing here, Kirby?” Fallon asks, her eyes glistening with what she can only assume is both physical and emotional turmoil.

It catches her off guard, because … fuck what was she doing? She had seen Culhane leave, true, but she wasn’t sure what brought her to the other woman’s room — to make herself comfortable on her bed.

“I …”

Her brow furrows, lips pursing, and she looks like she’s about to say something, but there’s a clap of thunder from outside and it startles her. Fallon shrieks, jumping so far that Kirby is surprised she doesn’t land on the floor. When they were young, thunderstorms would bring her into Kirby’s bed. She remembered the way Fallon’s eyes would squeeze shut as she clutched herself into a ball. The brunette would never initiate touch — would never admit to being afraid, but Kirby knew.

She would pull her into her arms, stroking her hair and singing her lullabies that her mother had sung to her as a child. More often than not, they would fall asleep like that. She was always gone the next morning, and were she to ever ask, Fallon would deny being there — calling her crazy or obsessed or just shooting her a ruthless glare.

“Shit.” Fallon hissed, pulling the other woman out of the memory.

She hadn’t fallen off the bed, but she had managed to smash the back of her skull into her wooden headboard, and now she was bent over at the waist, her fingers delicately prodding the spot where it had made contact. Fallon groaned as she detected the spots in her vision. As if being hit with a plaster fucking cow wasn’t enough trauma for her head to go through that night, she was now almost positive that she had given herself a full-blown concussion.

“You ok?” Kirby jumped off the bed and sprinted around to the other side, grabbing the icepack from where it was on the bedside table and placing it gingerly where Fallon’s hands had been not moments before.

She winces when it makes contact with the already tender area — snatching the pack from Kirby’s clumsy hands, and slowly pulling herself upright. The redhead couldn’t help but noticed the fog that had come to settle in her eyes, or the way Fallon looked up like she couldn’t register where she was. After she was sent away, Kirby would wonder what she did during storms, and vaguely assumed that she would eventually grow out of her silly phobia.

Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“I can call the doctor again, if you —“

“No.” Fallon mumbled, shaking her head before the motion made her feel a little nauseous. “That’s ok, I’m … It’s fine don’t worry.”

A flash of lightning forced her eyes shut — partially because it spooked her, but mostly because the light it elicited hurt her brain. Kirby had never understood her friend’s fear of weather, granted, she had never bothered to ask. She teased her mercilessly for it, sure, but she had never really tried to understand. Then again, she countered silently, she assumed that even if she had asked, she wouldn’t get a straight answer from the easily bristled brunette.

Typical Carrington — all bark, even more bite.

“Shit.” Fallon exclaims for the second time that evening as she slowly lets her eyes open again.

Kirby can’t help the giggle that forms in her throat, but oh she’ll wish she had, because it earns her Fallon’s most dangerous glare. It hits more like a silent plea for help than it does a reckoning, though when the redhead recognizing the way her chest is rising and falling with shallow breath. Slowly, Kirby places a hand on her shoulder, and the touch seems to steady her, or at the very least make Fallon cognizant of what she must look like.

“This is ridiculous.” She snaps, and Kirby assumes she means her fear, until Fallon adds, “I mean you’d think that with how far modern science has come, someone would have figured out how the hell to stop a tornado. We can do surgery on a goddamn grape, but we can’t stop some damn weather.”

Kirby roles her eyes, this time succeeding in stifling the smile that threatens the corners of her lips. Yeah … there she is. She thinks as she comes back around the other side of the bed and flops down on her stomach.

“Maybe you’re in the wrong industry.” She muses, playing the little star pendant on her necklace.

Now its Fallon’s turn to role her eyes, sucking in a breath and holding it until she feels her chest loosen, and Kirby can’t help but think that it feels like a win, because … because she’s not pushing her away or attacking her for teasing her. If anything, she thinks she sees a light smile grace her lips, and Kirby’s chest flutters. She pushes the levity down, her eyes flicking to the corners of the bedroom, before landing on the lit fireplace.

“Where’d he go?” She murmurs, keeping her tone even.

Fallon tenses, tensing her jaw as much as her newly bruised cheekbone allows, and that’s more like it. She had known it was only a matter of time before the Australian asked, but she had started thinking that maybe, just maybe she’d let it slide. No such luck.

“What do you mean?” Fallon tries, her tone careful, her gaze fixed on her engagement ring as she spins it.

Part of her wishes she hadn’t asked, but its out there now, and … well … here goes nothing.

“I saw him leave.” She intones, her voice dripping with so much pity, Fallon thinks she’ll need a towel.

It started raining. No, not raining … fucking monsooning before she could answer. Fallon’s eyes flick towards the ceiling, her head starting to pulse with the introduction of the incessant patter of droplets to her already tired brain. Vaguely she felt herself wonder if Culhane was driving, and if so, how the hell he could see through this storm, and how fucking stupid he was for going out directly after a tornado in the first fucking place.

“He’s just … out.” Fallon placated, her lips pursing, and that’s when it hits Kirby.

“You don’t know where he went, do you?” She breaths, her deep brown eyes practically popping out of her head.

“What, like I have a tracking device on him?” The other woman bristled.

“No … I just … I don’t know, Fal.” Kirby conceded, and she’s about to push herself off the bed when she feels Fallon’s hand on hers.

She doesn’t say a word — just looks at her, her blue eyes ambivalent with a million different indiscernible thoughts. It makes Kirby’s breath hitch in her throat, because … its not … all negative, and fuck maybe she even wanted her there …

“You just can’t help but push, can you?”

… at least in her own, quintessentially Fallon way.

She’s right, though (not that she’s ever wrong) — she can’t. She wishes she could bring herself to not care, hell part of her even wonders why it matters, but … it does. It just does. Kirby runs her hands through her hair, making the scent of her shampoo radiate through the space.

Truth be told, she was trying to find Stephen’s room, but the panic induced by the thunderstorm had clouded her judgement, and she slipped into the wrong room. She had practically sprinted into Kirby’s bed, covering her head with her covers, and screaming as a clap of thunder boomed. Fallon didn’t realize where she was until the the honey and citrus scent of the redhead’s shampoo flares in her nostrils. Only then did the ten year old peak her head out from beneath the sheets, looking up sheepishly at an utterly bewildered, nine year old Kirby.

Kirby watches Fallon study her. She’s looking at her like she’s a vessel — a catalyst for some other person, or thing, and its just so typical of her to be looking at her and not really seeing her. The redhead feels frustration rise in her stomach, but before she can do anything about it —

“You looked so terrified when I came in.” Fallon smiled, and Kirby couldn’t tell if she knew what she was talking about. The brunette rolled her eyes melodramatically. “When there were thunderstorms, and I would … you know.”

Kirby couldn’t help but smile — delicate and precarious and fully aware that she was changing the subject, but still there.

“How could I forget?” She muses, nodding and tucking a few pieces of hair behind her ear. “You used to snore.”

It earns her a slap on the arm, and a horrified “I did not!”, which only makes her smile grow. Kirby chalks it up to her concussion when it elicits a giggle from Fallon. She vaguely wonders if brain damage can make a person … kinder? The thought is lost, though when she feels the usually icy businesswoman’s eyes on her, and she turns to see her staring like she’s lost, or confused, or …

“You’ve always been there.”

Oh. Oh. It hits her out of left field — practically knocks the wind out of her. Kirby’s mouth gapes for a moment at the admission, her eyes blinking rapidly as she processes the admission.

“I mean you’ve known me the longest out of anyone … it’s not like your psychic or something.” Fallon retreats when she feels the color in her cheeks start to rise.

Kirby roles her eyes and stifles a chuckle. “Yeah, well … it’s not like you were ever that hard to read.”

“Oh?” Fallon quirks an eyebrow, a pang of embarrassment twisting in her already muddle stomach.

Kirby was sixteen when she first saw her cry. It was right after Alexis had left. No … more specifically it was while an adolescent Fallon was clinging to her mother’s coat, apologizing and begging her to just tell her why. Alexis would barely look at her as she attempted to pry free of the girl’s grasp on her white cashmere coat. When she finally broke free, Fallon had fallen in a heap of tears on the marble floor, her entire body vibrating with the force of her sobbing. Kirby had looked around, expecting to see someone — her father, Blake, or at the very least Stephen — come to console the devastated teen, but there was no one.

Well, there was her … shit.

She had expected her to push her away — maybe violently but at the very least with a mirthless jab, but … when Kirby helps the girl into sitting position, Fallon hugs her like its the only thing grounding her to reality. She can’t do anything but hug back. Hug, and stroke her hair, and whisper that she was so so sorry. Kirby wished that she could feel fully sorry for the girl, but it just … it wasn’t that simple. Instead she was uncomfortable, and fixated on the fact that she had never seen her cry before, much less this, and just wished that Fallon would would stop crying. That night, it would rain, but Fallon wouldn’t come.

The next day, Kirby knew better than to ask.

“Yeah well … I’m no physic, right?” She says, and if Fallon didn’t know any better, she would think she was flirting.

Another crack of thunder — this one louder and longer, and it sent the brunette barreling into Kirby’s chest before she can realize what she’s doing. The redhead let out an a soft ‘oof’ as Fallon made contact with her chest, her arms coming to grip around the back of her flannel shirt. She smiled, bringing her fingers to gently stroke the back of her head, but it made Fallon wince, and so she pulls away, smiling dissonantly and murmuring her apology. Fallon’s hair smells like lavender and primrose, and it makes her breath stammer. She tries to play it off, exhaling softly and straightening her shoulders.

They were in downtown Atlanta when the thirteen year olds heard the warning sirens begin to sound. Kirby didn’t know what it was at first, crooning her neck to listen to the message blaring over the city. Fallon, on the other hand, knew immediately. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she grabbed the other girl’s hand and dragged her into the closest shop and down into the owner’s basement. They would stay there for what as actually only forty minutes, but would feel like hours thanks to Fallon’s incessant babbling. She had completely unhinged — blue eyes wide and streaked with panic, breath hitching heavily in her throat with each inhalation. When it was cleared as a false alarm, Kirby would tease her, only for Fallon to pretend that she had no idea what she was talking about. She would see the panic still streaked behind her eyes, so she wouldn’t push.

There was a beat — long and uncomfortable and filled with enough prolonged eye contact to last both women a lifetime, until Kirby couldn’t take it anymore, and —

“What are you so afraid of?”

She hates the way it makes the other girl falter — hesitating in a way that is so, completely the opposite of who Kirby knows her to be. Fallon averts her gaze, sucking her lower lip between her teeth, and crossing her arms over her chest. It reminds Kirby of a child pouting over being told to go do her homework.

“I’ve never liked weather.” Fallon shrugs, her voice low and tired and cautious, because she knows that’s not what the other woman means.

“No, I mean with Culhane.” Kirby confirms her suspicions. “Why are you letting him do … whatever it is he’s doing?”

“I’m not his keeper.” She snaps, but it hits more nervous than it does bold.

Fallon sighs, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes before they travel up into her hair, and it’s all so … human. More human than she’s ever seen her, and it sparks something deep and yearning in the pit of Kirby’s stomach. She places a hand on the brunette’s shoulder like she’s trying to make sure she’s tangible. Fallon’s breath hitches when she feels her thumb accidentally graze her collarbone. She places her blue eyes on Kirby, and it strikes the redhead just how scared she looks. No, not scared … I mean that’s part of it, but … Kirby knows this look. It’s the look she gives clients when she’s about to close a deal — it’s an intoxicating anticipation that comes with playing with fire, it’s —

It isn’t Fallon that initiates the action — it’s Kirby, and oh …! She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just sort of sits, hands clamping down on the pink satin bedsheets, eyes wide. The kiss doesn’t last longer than five seconds. Kirby presses into her, leaving her right hand where it is on her shoulder like they’re at some goddamn high school dance.

When Jeff was a no show to pick her up, Fallon showed up stag (much to her mother’s disapproval). Kirby saw her immediately, marveling at her custom made gown, and the way the blue lights of the winter themed formal dappled her pale complexion. Her wonder would give way to concern when she sees the uncertainty painted across the teen’s face, and the way she’s wringing her hands. She would make it to her just as she spins on her heels to leave, grasping her hand and offering her a smile. Much to her surprise, Fallon smiled back, and allows her to lead them onto the dance floor.

She sees the puzzlement on her face, and Kirby can’t help but apologize, and then proceed to babble about hoping that she isn’t offended or angry or … shit … I mean … fuck!

“It’s … ok.” Fallon rasps without really moving or seeing her or anything at all.

Her vision goes sort of silver — she sees light dance in front of her eyes, and she sees the dip of shadows, and the outline of silhouettes, but not much more. At first she thinks its the concussion, and that her brain is hemorrhaging, and she’s going to die because she just got kissed by Kirby fucking Anders. It isn’t, of course, but then, what the hell else can it be? Fallon brings a finger to trace down the center of her lips, her lower lip dipping slightly as her index finger hits the slight gap between them before bouncing back into place.

“Fallon. Fallon?” Kirby’s voice cuts through the inch of fog that’s muddling her cranium.

Her blue eyes flicker up to meet her gaze, but there’s no certainty in it, just a blank bewilderment. “What?”

Kirby pulls an arm across her chest, bringing her hand to clasp delicately across her forearm. There’s turbulence behind her already dark eyes, they breach as tears glistening at her lash line.

“You’re scaring me.” She breaths, wiping desperately at her eyes. “C-can you just say something? Please?”

Fallon’s lips purse, then relax, then gape, then close, and it happens probably four times before she shakes her head and her vision is reverted back to her hands. It hits Kirby like a ton of bricks, because … she … why did she … what have I done? She starts to leave, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and muttering an apology, and it stirs something in Fallon.

“Why did you do that?”

Kirby looks at her over her shoulder, and its like she’s worried that if she moves too quickly, she’ll shatter. “I …”

Fallon’s brows knit, her face contorted in some amalgam of betrayal and … Jesus is that pleasure? Kirby shakes her head, remembering that her first leap of faith had succeeded in nothing more than a crash landing. Not to mention, she had a right to ask, Kirby conceded, shifting her position on the bed so that she’s facing her.

“I … Jesus this is hard.” Kirby relents, huffing perilously. “I couldn’t … help it.”

There’s a beat as both of them let that sink in, and really? That’s the best she can come up with? Fallon scowls, biting the inside of her left cheek — and

“My life is a goddamn soap opera.” She fumes, rolling her eyes. “I mean Jesus, Kirby. What kind of offhand, melodramatic bullshit is that?”

Kirby doesn’t respond, too taken aback by her explosion to see through he debris. It only pisses Fallon off more. She flies into a rage (or at least … the composed, calculated, Fallon version of a rage), spewing a string of mockeries at the redhead, and ending with the suggestion that if she can’t articulate what the hell it was that she just did, then she could “get out!”

“Because you deserve better.” Kirby blurts, and oh … oh. “Because … Because ever since we were like teenagers, I haven’t … I just … Fallon I’ve had a crush on you since we were sixteen, and you forced me to help you alphabetize your CD collection.”

Fallon tries to giggle, but it’s muddled the start of her own tears, and it comes out more as a choke. Her smile drops, lips pursing the way they do when she’s trying to level her composure.

“I’m engaged, Kirb.” She whispers, for fear that her voice will crack if it’s anything louder. “You … you could’ve picked a better time.”

Kirby smiles sadly, wringing her hands and nodding. She’s right, of course. This was impeccably unorganized — even by her standards. They had planned their weddings when they were twelve — their heads hanging off the edge of Fallon’s bed, legs dangling in the air above them. Fallon had wanted the traditional, big, white wedding that was expected of her. Kirby had dreamed up an utterly new, completely untraditional ceremony fit with a bouncy castle and Panera Bread catering. Fallon would smile, eyes clinging with amusement, because she thought the other girl was joking. She learned quickly that she was not, when they played pretend wedding and upon being cast as the groom (obviously), Kirby insisted on playing air guitar down the aisle.

“I messed everything up, didn’t I?” Kirby wavers, her eyes screaming a silent apology.

Fallon doesn’t know how to respond, because … damnit this feels like a breakup, which is ridiculous but it also isn’t and just … just … !

Their lips crash together, and Kirby practically jumps out of her skin. Fallon’s fingers come to run through her hair, tugging lightly on the pieces at the base of her skull, making the redhead’s eyes flutter closed. Kirby places her hands on the woman’s waist, pulling herself closer and pushing the brunette onto her back, and wanting to do more, but Fallon’s eyes pop open as her head makes contact with the bed a little too fast, and she’s hissing in pain, rolling onto her side.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Kirby apologizes for the umpteenth time, scrambling from her perch above her.

“I’m fine.” Fallon grits her teeth, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

She opens them again when the room stops spinning and her stomach doesn’t feel like its about to lurch. Kirby is glaring at her with wide eyes, and a face so pale it looks like she might throw up.

“Jesus, Kirb, I don’t know what you’re freaking out about.” Fallon huffs. “I mean … you kissed me first, remember?”

The redhead nods as the last of her stun wears off, and she realizes that she hasn’t blinked in the last ten seconds.

“Right. No, yeah, I know. I’m just …” The words topple over Kirby’s lips until she can finally stammer herself into silence for long enough to suck in a long, deep breath. “What about … you know …?”

The light behind Fallon’s eyes flicker out for a moment, replaced with a sort of flat dread that makes Kirby wish she’d never asked. The brunette’s jaw tenses, and it looks like she’s playing tug of war with herself.

“It was just a kiss, Kirby.” Her voice grates against the back of her throat like its a physical effort to get them out. “It’s … just a kiss.”

Kirby feels like she’s been buried alive, like the oxygen around her is sucked out and replaced with smoke. Her devastation gives way to annoyance, then hatred, and she thinks she’s done when suddenly its just … resignation. Fallon can’t help but flinch when the other woman takes her hand, bringing her thumb to stroke delicately on her palm, and observing her with a sort of saturnine despair.

“I know.” Kirby relinquishes, which only makes it worse, then repeats, “You’re engaged.”

The brunette thinks she’s going to explode, or maybe melt, or just fall through the gates of hell right on the spot. Her lower lip trembles dangerously, and part of her wants to lean in and kiss her again, but there’s a knock at the door, and fucking hell its Culhane.

“Kirby, what’re you doing here?”

“Culhane. Just … making sure she’s ok.” Kirby snatches her hand away, bringing it to run through her hair in an attempt to get it as far away from her as possible.

Fallon hated storms because when she was nine, she’d gotten caught in the woods on the outskirts of the Carrington property. Her mother had warned her not to ride alone, but it had only fueled the young girl more. There was a role of thunder, and her horse jolted, bucking her off and bolting deeper into the forest. Fallon had no clue where she was, or subsequently how to get back. The storm lasted two hours — lighting and thunder and heavy winds. Her would find her curled in on herself, caked in mud, and utterly stunned. He carried her back to the manor before calling for a maid to help her change into something dry.

Kirby practically scrambles out of the bed, offering Culhane a tight smile. Fallon watches her with so much desperation that Kirby feels like she’ll need scissors to cut the strain. Kirby doesn’t look at her when she leaves, not even when a flash of lighting comes streaming through every window in the manor, not even when Fallon whimpers and sucks in a sharp breath.

#ok ok this is long #and really sad so like get ready #dynasty #firby #kirby anders #Fallon Carrington #liz gillies #dynasty fic #long fic #nat writes #firbyfic #dynastyfic #angst #angst comfort #hurt comfort #fanfic #I wrote this instead of sleeping #michael culhane

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eirian-houpe · 4 years

Text

The Library Beneath The Clock Tower

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Relationships: Belle/Gold (Also Belle/Gaston)

Characters: (so far) Belle, Gold, Ruby, Granny, Leroy

Tags: Slightly AU Cursed Storybrooke, Eventual smut.

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Notes: Rumbelle comes in many shapes and sizes, and after I was harrassed until I read The Bookshop of the Corner: A Novel, by Jenny Colgan, I was perhaps innocent to the fact that it can happen outside of fan fiction too. If you haven't read the book, I would recommend it to you warmly, and challenge you /not/ to see Rumbelle in the telling of the tale. For that reason, this story renders the narrative arc of Colgan's book in Rumbelle form.

I wrote this story for @peacehopeandrats for a Christmas gift. I hope you all enjoy it too.

Chapter 1 - Not Quite According To Plan

Belle wasn't sure whether she was disappointed, angry, hurt, upset, astounded, righteously indignant or all of the above, as she left Mayor Mills' office, hurrying along to towards the diner she'd seen when she first arrived, rapidly brushing away rebellious tears as she did. Why was everything just going so wrong?

It started when everything in her life had been looking up, for a change. She had been hospitalized for quite some time, she didn’t know how long, or what for. Though they told her it was for the effects of trauma. She couldn’t remember anything like that happening, and as far as she could tell, if something bad had happened to her, well… she should be able to, but no. They told her that was how trauma worked. The mind shut down any and all avenues of remembrance. Didn’t matter that she’d had therapy once a week for as long as she could remember, she simply couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know, to hear. So, they’d kept her locked up.

And then, one day, suddenly, they didn’t, and she had no idea about that either. She only knew it was a relief, not to be stuck in the same place, day in, day out, with nothing to do except to read.

Reading, and studying she was certain, kept her sane, and so when she ‘graduated’ from the asylum, as she had taken to calling her release from the hospital that was tucked away somewhere in a forgotten corner of Boston, and was asked if she had any idea what she wanted to do with her life, she had an answer.

“I want to be a librarian.”

It wasn’t going to happen overnight, not even with the credits she had already accrued from her studies at the hospital, she knew that, but she enjoyed the challenge of the study, as she enjoyed some aspects of being a part of a ‘real’ university. It was there, for instance, that she met the woman that it seemed was fated to become her best friend: Ruby.

Ruby was, for all intents and purposes, a strange dichotomy of a girl. On the one hand, she was as equally studious and dedicated to her work as was Belle, and in that respect made an excellent study partner even though their courses couldn’t have been more dissimilar. On the other hand, however, Ruby was the epitome of a party girl.

She was tall, and athletically built with long, dark hair in which she usually had some kind of red. Whether a bright red extension hairpiece, or a more subtle shade colored into her own hair, it was always there, like a part of her, a signature of sorts. Another signature that Ruby adopted was the length of her skirts. Undeniably short, and usually paired with a skimpy or revealing top, no matter where she was going, to work, to class, or out for an evening on the town - though that was generally where she was the most revealed of all - she was not afraid to be out and confident about her femininity.

Thinking about Ruby made her remember that she’d promised to call, and hadn’t. Not when she arrived, and certainly not since the mayor - arrogant fucking witch - had turned down her proposal almost without listening to it. Belle felt as though the woman had taken one look at her, and decided on the spot that she wasn’t going to have anything to do with her, and that included allowing her to open up the town’s small library again.

She dashed away a few more angry tears, and turned the corner without really looking where she was going.

The man she collided with wasn’t overly tall, perhaps only a few inches taller than she, but he was immaculately dressed in a black suit over a dark red shirt, and an even darker tie. He walked with a pronounced limp, a cane held in his right hand. At the collision, he took a measured step back, and raised both of his hands to catch hold of Belle’s upper arms, steadying her a little as she would have bounced off him.

“I am so sorry,” she said immediately. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, that much is evident,” he answered, his barely accented voice dripping sarcasm.

Belle’s mood got the better of her, and she snapped back. “There’s no need to be so bloody condescending.” And then she realized he still had a hold of her arms, and had probably stopped her from falling, given that the shoes she was wearing weren’t exactly the most sensible. It made her feel somewhat contrite, and she felt as though she should thank him for that, so trying for a less irritated tone said, “And thank you, by the way.”

He tipped his head onto one side briefly, looking her up and down, before asking, “For what? My condescension, or for trying to act like a gentleman?”

She shook her head with a sigh, his words, his attitude, this… stranger, was doing nothing for her mood, or for her disappointment in the way the day had gone, and for the fact that in spite of finding Storybrooke quite to her liking, it didn’t at all seem to like her. Though why that should bother her so much, she wasn’t sure.

“No answer?” he said, and she realized she hadn’t spoken in quite some time, as lost in her annoyance as she was. “Well then, you are most welcome,” he added, releasing her from his gentle, steadying grasp. “For whichever.” He moved aside, with slightly more than a nod of his head, and less than a bow, before bidding her, “Good day, Miss…”

She narrowed her eyes. Why on earth would he think that she’d give him her name, after he’d been so insufferably sarcastic, when he could have simply accepted her apology and moved on. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all that it didn’t seem as though Storybrook was going to work out if it was full of people like the mayor and this man.

And yet…

“Marchland,” she said, as she began to stride away, and before he could say anything more.

She found herself walking straight past the diner without stopping in as she had first intended. She wanted to find somewhere to calm the storm of irritation that was filling her, but not just that. It was coupled with a kind of fear. If she couldn’t find something to do once her notice period with the library in Boston was complete, then how would she ever support herself? She had no family, and would have only the little income she would make working her second job in the bookstore in one of the quieter parts of the city. It wouldn’t be enough to support herself, not even with Ruby’s generous help.

The two young women had become roommates while they were both still studying, when Ruby asked Belle to move in with her, to help with expenses, and after graduation, they continued to share the small apartment that Ruby owned. Of late, however, the relationship between them had become somewhat strained - and all because of Belle’s books.

Working part time at the bookstore, the owners allowed Belle to bring home any second hand book that they did not believe they could resell. Her collection of books had started small, but over time had grown considerably, starting to fill up every available space in the apartment, and some that weren’t.

“I know, I know,” Belle often said to Ruby, “but it won’t be for long, I promise.”

“You said that last month,” Ruby would reply, “and the month before that.”

That was how the arguments began, and why Belle now felt her belly turning circles as she sat down on the bench in the park, turning her phone over and over in her hands. She was certain that it would work out here. The name alone gave her the promise of that. She was sure that she would open the library, and add to it with the books she had collected over the course of the last year. Now she felt as though she were letting Ruby down, somehow.

With a sigh, she hit the speed dial on the phone and listened to it ring, though not for long. It was almost as if Ruby were waiting for her call.

“ How did it go? ” she asked, and Belle didn’t miss the eager tone in Ruby’s voice.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” she said with a sigh, “The mayor… well… she wasn’t into the idea of the old library being reopened I guess. She pretty much said a flat out no.”

“ Pretty much? ” Ruby asked.

“Well, all right,” Belle confessed with a sigh, “The minute I walked into her office, she said no.”

“ Just like that? ”

“Yes. Just like that.” Belle felt her lower lip wobble a little bit, as she asked, “You don’t think…”

“ Belle, honey, ” Ruby said after a moment, “ You have to stop thinking that just because the idiots in Boston decided to let you go because of your hospital stay, ” Belle winced at Ruby’s attempt to be subtle, “ that it’s going to be the same with everyone. ”

“Then explain to me why Mayor Mills said a flat out ‘no’ the minute she saw my face and read my name on the letter I’d sent to her.” Belle’s voice held an edge.

Ruby sighed. “ I can’t. ”

Belle sighed too, and said, “I know I promised I was going to get all of those books out of your hair, but until I find a place--”

“ Don’t worry about that now, ” Ruby told her, “ If that place really is a bust, then come home. We’ll figure something out, but Belle…? ”

“Hmm?” Belle said absently, starting to feel a chill in the air as the day marched on towards evening.

“ I know your dream is to run a little place, where everything can be personal and you feel as if you matter, but… ” Belle heard her swallow a little before she finished, “ maybe it’s just not the right time. ”

“I’ll see,” Belle said, feeling the worry and the anger just seeping away into something like tiredness. “The next bus isn’t until tomorrow though, so whatever, I’m stuck here overnight. I’ll have to see about getting a room at the bed and breakfast here… Granny’s or something it’s called.”

“ Seriously ?” Belle could hear Ruby’s raised eyebrow even through the phone, “Just where is this Storybrooke of yours. ”

“Maine, I told you,” Belle said. “And it’s not mine. If it were, I’d damn well open a library myself and damn the mayor.”

“ All right, ” Ruby said, “ Just call me to let me know you’re settled and safe. ”

“I will,” she promised, but her mind was already racing around the words she’s just spoken to Ruby. What if she could find some way to open a library here by herself. Maybe a mobile library, if the town wouldn’t even let her rent the building. Surely they couldn’t object to that. She smiled, feeling happier than she had since her meeting with the mayor; feeling a sense of hope, if not confident determinations. To Ruby she said, “I’ll let you know what’s going on; call you before bed.”

The two women exchanged pleasantries before each hanging up, and Belle pulled her coat more tightly around her, and then began to make her way back toward the center of town, where she would enquire at Granny’s as to the availability of a room - at least for the night - and perhaps, if things went well, longer.

Several minutes later, she pushed open the door of the diner, allowing the warmth to envelop her and chase away the chill. The establishment was fairly full, and the mix of patrons was encouraging to Belle, as she let her thoughts again draw her back to the possibility of serving the people of this town as their librarian.

One of those patrons looked over to where she was standing. He was a stoutly built man, with a full, graying beard and a stern expression, but when he saw her, his eyes flashed what looked like amusement, perhaps even admiration and he called out to her, ��Right on, Sister!”

She frowned in confusion, but he had already turned his attention back to his companions, men of a similar age and build, who were all now leaning conspiratorially toward one another, as the man who’d spoken seemed to be telling some kind of tale. She caught only snatches of the conversation, and heard words like, “gold” and “medicine” and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was they were saying.

“What can I get you?”

A stern, but kindly voice, which, as she turned and looked at the own of said voice, she could see matched the elderly lady entirely, interrupted her musings, and Belle offered a smile, and said, “I… am looking for the proprietor of the Bed and Breakfast.”

“Well,” the woman folded her arms, “You’ve found her. I’m Granny, at least that’s what most folks around here call me.”

“Wonderful,” Belle beamed, and Granny raised an eyebrow. “Then would it be possible for me to get a room? And perhaps also something to eat.”

The stern quality of Granny’s face left it, and her expression softened, and for no reason that she could explain, Belle found herself thinking of Ruby.

“Find yourself a seat, and I’ll have one of the girls take your order,” Granny said, “We can see to the room once you’ve warmed yourself, and have some good food inside you. We don’t get many visitors to Storybrooke, so we'd best look after the ones we do get.”

“Oh, please, you don’t have to go to any trouble on my account,” Belle said, and Granny tsked and shook her head, as if she had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. As Granny started to turn away, Belle said, “One more thing, do you know if there’s anyone in town that might know of any vehicles for sale? Something a little bit larger than a car though, really, more like a van or something.”

Granny’s face creased in thought. “Can’t say that I do,” she said, “But you might try Michael over at Marine Garage. If anyone would know, he would.”

“Thank you,” Belle said, and Granny nodded, leaving Belle to make her way to a booth in the corner of the diner, where he could lose herself in her daydreams, and in her book while she waited for her order to be taken and the food to come.

As she sat down, she noticed that someone had left a newspaper on the seat, The Storybrooke Mirror . Belle picked it up, and skimmed her eyes across the front page, reading headlines and bylines typical of a small town rag. On a hunch, she turned to the classified section of the paper, letting her eyes run over the various listings of items for sale, employment vacancies, and the few - very few - properties for rent… but then, nestled in the middle of a crowded column, as if trying to hide itself in plain sight a short, three-line ad caught her attention.

“Van for Sale,” it began. “Good condition, reasonable price for quick sale.” and on the last line, the name and telephone number of the contact, a Mister Moe French. She felt herself frown again, unable to shake the sense of coincidence that just when she was thinking of such a thing, she should find a classified listing for exactly what she wanted.

One of Granny’s girls arrived at her side ready to take her order, and Belle realized that she’d spent so much time looking at the newspaper that she hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Oh, I er… sorry,” she said, “Got sidetracked.”

“Maybe I can get you something to drink while you decide,” the young lady said with a smile.

“Actually, that would be great.” Belle answered. “Maybe some tea?” and then added, “And… can you tell me who this is?” She held up the paper, and the girl peered at the ad beside her finger.

“Moe French,” she said with a shrug, “Runs the florist shop, Game of Thorns.”

“Thank you,” Belle said, and carefully folded the newspaper so that she could see the ad staring up at her as she picked up the menu to decide on something to eat. She also decided then and there that first thing in the morning, she would call Mister French and find out the full details of the van he wanted to sell.

#rumbelle #ouat #peacehopeandrats #fic #eventual smut

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summahsunlight · 4 years

Text

This Way Became My Journey, CH. 9

"Bring the weapons systems online," Janeway ordered as she stepped out of the turbo lift with Barrett, Paris, and Kim. She hoped that she wouldn't have to use them, but she had a nagging feeling that the Kazon weren't going to make things easy for them.

Tuvok told her that the phaser banks and photon systems were powering up. She made a mental note to congratulate Sarah on her leadership of the repair front. Janeway had half expected that because the counselor, who had very little command experience, had been put in charge they were going to be behind in repairs. However, she had heard rumors that Joe Carey not giving her a report on time had rendered a tongue lashing and the repair efforts had doubled. It was a good thing too, or they might not have had weapons going into this confrontation.

"Red alert," she ordered, coolly, stepping into the command center, Paris besides her. She squinted her eyes for a moment, going over what she wanted to do next. There were no guarantees that the Kazon were going to talk to her. She needed the best people possible at each station. And since they had lost half of the senior officers she had very little choices. Right now as it was, Rollins, who was an operations officer was laying in the course to the array.

Turning about she looked at Sarah. "Tuvok and I are going to beam over to the array once we arrive, Voyager's job and the Maquis' will be to keep the Kazon occupied while we do that. I'm guessing they aren't going to be too happy about us showing up."

Barrett nodded her head. "Understood, ma'am."

"That leaves you in charge Sarah."

Again there was a curt nod of her head. She had taken her Bridge Officer's test and passed with flying colors, Janeway knew this from reading her personnel file, but Barrett had never actually been battled tested. The Explorer had been a science vessel assigned to study the Borg and their technology, not actually a heavy armored ship, which had been purposely done so the Borg would take little interest in them since they weren't a threat or worth the assimilation.

But the young woman's command skills were going to be tested here.

"The lead Kazon ship is hailing us Captain," Tuvok announced.

Hands on her hips, Janeway told him to put it on screen. Jabin appeared before her. "Have you come to investigate the entity's strange behavior as well Captain?"

"All we care about is getting home, Jabin," Janeway told him. "We're about to transport over to the array to see if we can arrange it."

"I'm afraid I cannot permit that."

She knew she was going to meet resistance. "We have no dispute with you."

"I have a dispute with anyone that will challenge us," Jabin replied, coldly.

Janeway sighed angrily and made her way down the steps to stand behind Conn. "This is ridiculous," she said, leaning against the console. "We have no intention of challenging you."

"And I have no intention of allowing anyone with your technological knowledge board the array."

"Jabin, can we discuss this like two civilized-," she started to say, but he cut the link. The ship shook slightly as the Kazon began to fire on them. Glaring, she moved towards the command station. "I guess we can't."

"Shields are holding," Tuvok said.

"Fire phasers," she ordered, sitting in her chair. "Evasive pattern delta four."

While the ships exchanged fire, she had Tuvok hail the Maquis. She was going to need their help if they were going to make a run at getting home. "Janeway to Chakotay, Tuvok and I are beaming to the array. Can you hold off the Kazon?"

"I think so, Captain."

"Good," Janeway responded, standing up. She glanced at Paris, confidently. "Mister Paris, take the conn."

Paris looked at her shocked for a moment before replying with a yes ma'am. Rollins quickly vacated the seat and went to replace Tuvok as the security officer left the bridge with Janeway. Tom ran his fingers lovingly over the controls for a moment. It had been a long time since he had flown anything and it was sending goose bumps up his arms, especially since he was at the helm of one of the most advanced starships in the Federation.

"Tom, it's a helm, not a girl, stop caressing it and fly this thing," Barrett snapped behind him, bringing his attention about. "Ensign Kim keep a transporter lock on the Captain and Tuvok, I want to be able to pull them out of there at a moment's notice."

"Understood Lieutenant."

Lieutenant. The word vibrated in her brain for a while, it wasn't often that she heard people call her that, since she was after all a counselor. In fact that last time that she was sure she had heard it in succession had been at her court martial. The thought of that trial brought back bad memories and she purged them from her mind, she had a task at hand. The main one being that they had to give Janeway and Tuvok time to figure out how to use the array to get them home. It wasn't an easy task, but it wasn't necessarily turning out to be a hard. The ships that they were up against didn't have the fire power that was going to knock them out, and Tom was flying like he had never stepped away from the helm.

She was even a little surprised at how calm Kim was staying. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush that they were all feeling that was keeping them going. But this was, after all, one of the things that every officer in that room had been trained for; they were just doing their duties.

Barrett nestled down into Janeway's chair, telling Paris to use evasive maneuvers. The little ships couldn't outrun Voyager, nor could they keep up.

"Ah, Lieutenant," Kim said nervously from operations. "I think we've got a problem."

Barrett snapped her head to her left and glanced over her shoulder at him. "What do you mean you think we have a problem?" Harry's eyes flickered to the screen and she turned to look. A massive warship had joined the Kazon in the fight. Damn. "Hail the Captain."

It was night time on the array. Crickets could be heard chirping in the background and Janeway felt a sense of nostalgia at the thought of Indiana summer nights. But she couldn't think about how much she longed to get home, first thing first, was to find the way to get home.

Both she and Tuvok had their tricorders out as they entered the barn that Barrett had taken officers to find Paris and Kim just a few days before. It was hard to believe that it had been that long, so much had happened since then, Janeway realized. She could hear a banjo playing; someone was softly strumming the cords.

"The data processing system is behind this wall, Captain," Tuvok told her, pointing to the left of where she was standing.

Janeway glanced over at the old man, playing his banjo, and then looked at Tuvok. "You know what to do," she said as they parted ways, Tuvok heading for the data processing system and Janeway heading for the old man. She put her tricorder away and went to stand at the entrance to the stall that the old man was sitting in, around a gas lantern, playing his instrument. He looked up at her when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

"You're nothing, if not persistent," he said, with a chuckle when he saw her.

"We need you to send us back from where we came from," Janeway said to him, softly, leaning against the stall's open door.

He waved her off. "That is impossible. I barely have enough strength left to complete my work."

Janeway stepped into the stall. "You're sealing the conduits before you die," she said, recalling what Barrett had told her in the Ocampa city.

"If I don't the Kazon will steal the water," the Caretaker replied. "In a few years when the Ocampa's energy runs out, it won't matter. They'll be forced to come to the surface. And they won't be able to survive."

Janeway kneeled down like she would when speaking to her children and looked at him gently; the pieces were beginning to fall into place, finally. "Something you did turned their planet into a desert, didn't it? That was the debt that could never be repaid."

The Caretaker covered his face with a hand and nodded his head. "We were explorers from another galaxy, but we had no idea that our technology would be so destructive to their atmosphere. Two of us were chosen to stay behind and care for them."

"There's another like you here?"

A soft laugh, "Not anymore, she…she went off to look for more interesting places," the Caretaker said.

"Why were you bringing ships here?" Janeway inquired. "Infecting people with a fatal illness?"

The old man scoffed. "Oh they didn't die from an illness. They died because they were incompatible."

"Incompatible?" Janeway repeated.

"I've been searching the galaxy for a compatible bimolecular pattern," the Caretaker answered her. "Now in some individuals I found cellular structures that were similar, but I—,"

"You've been trying to procreate?" Janeway guessed, standing up.

"I needed someone to replace me," the Caretaker said, looking up at her and pointing to himself, "Someone who would understand the enormous responsibility of caring for the Ocampa; only my offspring could do that."

Janeway looked about for something to sit on. Pulling up an empty crate she sat down facing the Caretaker. "Did you ever consider allowing the Ocampa to care for themselves?" she asked him.

He looked appalled by the idea. "They're children."

Thinking of her own children, right now aboard Voyager, she offered him a small smile. "Children have to grow up." She paused for a moment to let him mull over her words, then said, "We're explorers too, most of the species we've encountered have overcome all kinds of adversity without the help of a caretaker. It's the challenge of surviving on their own that's helped them to evolve. Maybe your…children will do better than you think." As she spoke the words she knew that she was speaking words not only to put his mind at ease but her own.

She wasn't giving her children enough credit to be able to spend time away from her, just like the Caretaker wasn't giving the Ocampa enough credit to survive without him providing for them. The similarities in their situation were startling.

They were two parents afraid of what was going to happen to their children when they weren't around.

"Voyager to Janeway," Sarah Barrett's voice interrupted the conversation.

"Go ahead."

"We've got problems, Captain. They Kazon just received a little back up."

"We need more time, can you hold them off for another few minutes?" she asked, hopefully.

"We'll do our best, Barrett out."

Even as the words left her mouth, Sarah wasn't so sure she meant it. The warship was much larger than Voyager and had much more firepower the smaller Kazon scout ships. The tiny Maquis ship and Voyager just didn't have what it was going to take to disable the warship.

There was an explosion near the tactical station. A crewman who had been helping Rollins went flying through the air, over the railing, and banged into the console violently before falling to the deck. Barrett gripped tightly to the railing at Conn. "Paris, put some distance between us and that warship before they rip the ship apart!"

"I'm trying ma'am," Paris replied, "but we've sustained damage to the navigational systems."

Another volley shook the ship, this one more violent than the last and she lost her grip on the railing. Thankfully she didn't bang her head on anything else; she was getting sick and tired of hitting her head on railings lately. Pulling herself to her feet she brushed a stray piece of hair that had fallen out of her French twist, aside.

"Weapons just went off line!" Rollins shouted.

What now? She thought, her mind swimming over every possibility that she could think of. Naturally the next course of action to take was retreat, but Janeway and Tuvok were still over on the array and she wasn't about to leave them behind. "Try to get those weapons back online!"

Someone yelled out a yes ma'am, she really wasn't sure who it was. At that moment she didn't care who fixed it, as long as someone did. If they didn't get those weapons back online they were as good as sitting ducks.

"Paris my crew is coming over. Tell one of your one your crackerjack Starfleet transporter chiefs to keep a lock on me," Chakotay's voice came over the open comline with the Maquis ship. Barrett prayed that the former Starfleet officer had an idea, because she was fresh out of them. "I'm going to try to take some heat off your tail."

Barrett and Paris exchanged glances, realizing what he was about to do. "Acknowledged, but don't think for a second that this makes us even Chakotay, you're life is still mine, Paris out."

"He's setting a collision course with the Kazon warship, ma'am," Kim told her, although she had pretty much guessed that already. If he was successful then it just might take a lot of heat off their tail.

"Transporter room two, keep a lock on Commander Chakotay and a wait his orders to beam him out," Barrett ordered. She wasn't even sure if the transporter room responded, there was another loud explosion and she found herself ducking.

B'Elanna Torres suddenly appeared on the Bridge. She made her way down towards the conn and nearly knocked Sarah over in the process. The counselor didn't have time to say anything, Harry was speaking to her. "I'm maintaining a lock on him, ma'am, but he's getting to close."

"I'm getting you out of there Chakotay," Paris told him.

"Not yet!"

Barrett, Paris, and Torres watched on the screen as the Maquis ship closed in on the large warship. It started to catch on fire as it got too close to the Kazon ship and began to break up. "This is crazy, Chakotay, you're breaking up!" Barrett shouted, nervously looking at Paris to tell the transporter room to beam him out. All she needed was the Maquis commander to be killed on her watch.

"Stand by to transport," Paris said.

"Wait!"

The ship continued to get closer and Torres held her breath, waiting to hear Chakotay tell Voyager to beam him out. The ship was practically on top of the Kazon warship when they heard the commander yell out "Now!"

As the Maquis ship collided with the Kazon warship it exploded into a brilliant ball of fire and light, forcing the Kazon ship to spin out of control and towards the array. Barrett couldn't worry about where that ship was going to land, not at the moment. "Transporter room two do you have him?" she asked, anxiously.

"They have me," came Chakotay's voice.

Barrett smiled, shaking her head at Paris. "That was close."

"Too close."

"Lieutenant!"

Barrett glanced up to see the Kazon ship crash into the array. One of the arms broke off and the Kazon ship exploded. "Harry, do you still have a lock on the Captain and Lieutenant Tuvok?" she asked the young Asian man.

"Yes ma'am."

"Voyager report."

She was a bit startled to hear the Captain's voice. "A Kazon vessel just collided with the array, ma'am. Are you alright?" Barrett asked Janeway.

"Affirmative. Stand by."

The tone of her voice wasn't good and Barrett felt a sinking feeling creeping into her stomach. She had a feeling that this day was not going to end the way that they wanted it too.

"The self destruct has been damaged," the Caretaker said, no longer in the holographic image of the old man, but rather a glowing form of sporocystian energy. In fact the barn was gone as well, and Janeway and Tuvok found themselves standing amongst alien technology and the entity that lived there. "Now this installation will not be destroyed."

Janeway watched as the life form began to shrink and grow dim. The Caretaker was on his last few legs of life. "But it must be," he continued, even as he shrank some more, growing even dimmer. "The Kazon cannot be allowed to gain control of it…they will annihilate the Ocampa." The being shrunk down to the size of a rock at the Captain's feet and went silent. Janeway knew that he was gone and she was faced suddenly with a terrible decision to make. She bent down to pick up the rock form that the Caretaker had become in his death and studied its crystal edges.

"Shall I activate the program that will get us back?" Tuvok asked above her. She still stared at the rock turning it over in her hands.

"And what happens to the Ocampa, after we're gone?"

Tuvok knelt down besides her, softly speaking, "Captain, any action that we take to protect the Ocampa would affect the balance of power in this system. The Prime Directive would seem to apply."

"Would it?" She challenged him, emotion laced thick in her voice. "We never asked to be involved, Tuvok. But we are," she finished, looking up at her friend. "We are." Her fingers lightly traced over the remains of the Caretaker in her hand. "Can we turn our backs on them, Tuvok, knowing what will happen if we do? An entire race could be destroyed if we do nothing. I'm not sure I can live with that knowledge."

"You do realize if we destroy the array we destroy any chance of getting home."

"I do, in fact I realize it too much, Tuvok."

"Then I do not envy your position, Captain."

Janeway smiled sadly, her eyes glistening. In her heart she couldn't turn her back on the Ocampa, even though helping them would be a violation of the Prime Directive. She toyed with several ideas, one being to reactivate the self destruct on the array, send them home and hope for the best. But the Kazon would board the array once they were gone and surely figure out how to disable the self destruct. Perhaps she could give the tools to destroy the array to Neelix and Kes and leave the task of ridding this sector of the entity's home to them. But then visions of the two aliens dying because of her left her shaken. They only way was to destroy the array herself. "Neither to I, Tuvok," she finally said, rising from the floor, the Caretaker's remains firmly in her grasp. "But I know what must be done."

The most recent volley knocked Barrett into Chakotay and Torres into the back of Paris' chair. The commander help Barrett gain her bearings as Kim announced that the Captain and Tuvok had beamed back to the ship.

She felt a little bit of relief coerce through her veins. She no longer had to worry about the Captain and Tuvok getting hurt over on the array. She could only hope that they had found a way to get them home now.

"Mister Tuvok," she heard Janeway speaking as the Captain stepped back onto the Bridge. "Ready the tri-cobalt devices."

Barrett glanced at Janeway as she made her way down to the command station. For a brief moment their eyes met, and Sarah didn't know why, but she knew that Janeway was about to destroy the array, thus stranding them seventy thousand light years from home. Well, you wanted an opportunity to prove yourself, here it is, she thought, trying to remain hopeful.

"Open a channel to the Kazon," Janeway ordered, stopping next to Barrett. Kim informed her that the channel was open and Jabin's face once again appeared on the screen.

"Be advised Captain," the Kazon Maje told her. "I have called for additional ships."

"I'm calling to warn you to move your vessels to a safe distance," Janeway told him. "I tend to destroy the array."

"You can't do that."

"I can, and I will. End transmission!" The image of Jabin disappeared as another violent volley of weapon's fire hit the ship.

"They're increasing weapon's fire, Captain," Kim reported. "Shields are holding."

"Move us four hundred kilometers from the array Mister Paris," Janeway instructed.

B'Elanna Torres looked about anxiously. Even though they were on a Federation Starship and the prospect of going home meant prison time, it sure was a hell of a lot better than spending the rest of her life out here. She moved towards Janeway. "What do you think you're doing? That array is the only way we have to get back home!"

"I'm aware that everyone has families and loved ones that they want to get back too, so do I," Janeway told her softly. And I'm about to condemn my children to a life on a starship, she added in her head. "But I'm not willing to trade the lives of the Ocampa for our convenience. We'll have to find another way home," she finished moving away from the Klingon woman.

"What other way home is there?" Torres snapped following her. Chakotay reached out and grabbed a hold of her arm. She looked down at him. "Who is she to be making all of these decisions for us?"

His answer was simple. "She's the captain."

"The tricobalt devices are ready."

"We're in position."

"Fire!"

The white balls of tri-cobalt energy fired out of Voyager, striking the array. The bridge crew watched as it exploded, arms collapsing, in a brilliant ball of oranges and yellows and whites. There was silence, no one spoke, not sure what to make of what they had just done, destroying their only way home.

Janeway was fighting her tears, wondering how she was ever going to explain to Michael and Ava that they were now forced to live on a starship, with very little chance of seeing Earth again. Ava was still a baby, their situation wouldn't fully settle in until she was much older, if it ever did settle in, after all Voyager was going to be the only home she would ever know now, barring a miracle getting them home sooner. Michael on the other hand, Kathryn wasn't sure how to reason to him what she had done and why she had done it.

"The Kazon are hailing us," Kim whispered, hoarsely behind her.

Janeway swallowed her tears and put on her command face. "On screen."

Jabin's face appeared before her once again, he looked displeased with her. "You have made an enemy today, Captain."

With those words the alien disappeared from her sight. In the back of her mind she heard Tuvok tell her that the Kazon were withdrawing. How he could remain emotionless at a time like this, she wasn't sure, and she envied him and his abilities to just shut the emotions off. Right now her heart was breaking. "Tuvok, please bring Michael and Ava to my ready room. I have some explaining to do."

When the Vulcan had left the bridge to retrieve the Captain's children, and Janeway had disappeared into the safe confines of her ready room,Torres angrily rasped out. "How could she do that? Doesn't she care what anyone else thinks? Doesn't it matter to her that we're over seventy thousand light years from home now? We'll probably never see home again!"

"Captain Janeway's decision affected her more than you think," Barrett responded to the hotheaded woman. The counselor turned about going to sit down, realizing that her body was aching from being tossed about so much in the Kazon's attack. "Stand down red alert," she ordered, softly and the lights were brought up.

"Her decision was selfish," B'Elanna hissed.

Barrett spun about before she could sit down and glared at the Klingon woman. "Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. But tell me this, Miss Torres; do you honestly think a woman would strand her children so far away from the only home they've known because it was selfish? Or because in the end it was the right thing to do?"

Torres was dumbfounded, she had no idea that Janeway had children, let alone the fact that they were on board the vessel. The doors to the bridge hissed open then and she could see Tuvok return with two children, small children, the little girl being not much older than one. Perhaps she had misjudged Janeway.

Tuvok brought the children to the door and allowed them to enter the room. Michael held firmly to Ava's hand as they stepped in, Tuvok not following them. Their mother was sitting on the couch looking out the window and she looked like she was upset. There was a picture being displayed on her personal computer of the small family with Molly.

"You wanted to see us Mama?" the boy said, stepping closer to the couch.

Kathryn turned to smile at them, but it was a sad smile, and she knew that the children were going to be able to pick it up in her eyes. "Come sit with me for a moment. We have to talk about something."

Michael guided his sister up the steps and the two children went to sit on opposite sides of their mother. "What do we need to talk about?"

"Do you remember when we read about the Mayflower, at Thanksgiving?" she questioned.

"Yes, it was ship that traveled a long way across the ocean to find a new home," Michael answered. "Why are you asking me about this? Thanksgiving was months ago."

Kathryn chuckled softly and ran a hand through his hair. "Because, we're kind of like the Mayflower and the pilgrims now, traveling a long way to get home; they didn't know what they were going to find, neither do we." She pulled the baby up onto her lap and draped her free arm around Michael. "They were alone and far away from anything that they knew."

"Are we far away from home?" Michael asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid that we are," Kathryn replied, sadly.

"Are we trying to find a new home, like the pilgrims?"

"No," Kathryn answered a bit too sharply, "but it's going to take us a long time to find our way home."

The boy mulled it over for a moment. "Well, as long as we're home by summer. I promised Billy we'd go fishing at Grandma Gretchen's. He doesn't believe me that she has the best creek to go fishing in."

Kathryn bit her lip, hard, almost to the point where she drew blood. "Michael, honey, I don't think you understand," she whispered. She had tried to put it in terms that he could grasp, but maybe he was still too young to understand their situation. "When I say a long time, I mean years, honey." We may never see Earth again, Voyager could fly into the shipyards with my grandchildren at the helm. If we even make it to Earth.

"Oh, so no fishing," Michael quipped, disappointment flashing in his blue eyes.

"Mama was selfish, honey, and I'm sorry," Kathryn said, gently brought out of her musing. "I was selfish and took you with me when you should have stayed home with Grandma all because I was afraid of being separated from you." Ava was playing with her combadge and she shifted the child about in her lap. "I was selfish when I chose to destroy the only way home we had, to protect others and I'm sorry for all the things you're not going to get to do because I was selfish."

"But, if you had left us with Grandma, then you'd be far away from home, without us," Michael offered.

"I suppose you're right."

"Wouldn't that have made you sad?"

She couldn't help it, tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes. "Yes."

The child snuggled closer to his mother on the couch. "I don't want you to be sad, Mama. I don't mind missing fishing; I'd rather be with you anyways."

Struggling against her tears, Kathryn held both children to her tightly, vowing to someday get them home.

#star trek voyager fanfiction #kathryn janeway #chakotay #tom paris #sarah barrett (oc)#harry kim #b'elanna torres #kes #neelix #the doctor (emh)#janeway x chakotay #tom paris x ofc

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