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adultish-momma · 10 months

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Unsolicited Scrapbook

Listen, if it'd been your first time in front of a good mirror in quite a bit of time, and you'd gone through some pretty messed up shit, you'd be in an introspective mood too.

Or better yet, Yuu catches sight of their reflection and well, reflects.

Warning: Gore, graphic description of wounds, description of violence (enough to get the idea of how those wounds were formed), descriptions of scars and scarring. If it relates to scars and/or wounds and you can be triggered by it, it's probably in here.

A/N: This was one of the first ideas I came up with for this rewrite au. Not this scene exactly, but this concept. This is a game about villains. This is a game that has so much potential to cover dark material. I. Want. Consequences. This is the result. Enjoy.

Admittedly, it was... well it was a lot.

They hadn't truly been faced with this problem before, with the busted mirrors around the dorm that they haven't found the spare change to replace. And it's just been getting so cold that even the thought of running around in anything considered short sends shivers down their spine. So for one reason or another, they've gone half a school year, a whole semester, and now four overblots, without ever having to see a ton of their skin at once.

But now they're at the Scarabia dorm, in this bone-melting heat, faced with a literal wall of gold polished so well it's more reflective than the Dark Mirror, and they'd sooner eat Grimm's tail fire with a side of his fancy cat tuna than even attempt to slip on anything resembling a sleeve.

And they've somehow gone half a school year, a whole semester, and now four overblots without having to face the fact that this was a lot of scarring.

The newest one is, obviously, the worst. Objectively speaking. It's barely scabbed over, still raw and red and swollen, still throbbing, still hot to the touch. Four deep puncture wounds surround their right shoulder, the viper's fangs leaving a perfect imprint of its jaws. Surprisingly enough, this was the only wound an overblotted student had given them that didn't require a trip to the infirmary. The inky venom in their veins had disappeared the moment the overblot was defeated, and most students from the Scalding Sands know how to treat snake bites.

Kalim was very insistent he patch them up personally. He also insisted they let the wound be exposed to the water of the oasis, hence why they've removed his very professional wrap job.

And if seeing the physical evidence of what he did humbles Jamil even the tiniest amount, well they aren't going to complain about that.

At least they look a bit more balanced now with Jamil's contribution to the collection of scars they're beginning to possess. Before the winter break, a small part of them had felt a bit lopsided. True, the scars from Leona's Unique Magic had drastically decreased from their original size right after his overblot. But the patch of lightning strike scars cracking along the skin of their left shoulder and upper arm messed with their overall symmetry. At least now there was something on either side of their neck, although the part of them that seems to care about this (like seriously why does this matter scars are bad things to have wtf brain) will have to ignore the difference in size.

(That'd go over well. 'Hey, Jamil I need you to make your hair do the inky viper thing again and bite me some more so my scars are more equal in size'. Mentally scar the poor guy some more why don't you Yuu.)

The scar that surprises them is the necklace of circles that, well, encircle their throat. The bruising after their fight with Azul had been gnarly, splotches of deep purples and blues mixed with sickly yellows and greens. Deep indents in the shape of octopi suckers among the clear shape of tentacles wrapped around their throats encouraged the early emergence of turtlenecks and scarves into their wardrobe. By the time the bruising had begun to disappear, they'd genuinely needed to cover their neck to fight off the cold, so this is the first time they'd gotten a good look at their neck in a long while.

Hmm. Maybe it's a good thing that Azul's attempt to strangle them left a scar in such a visible place. Maybe next time Azul tries to pull some shady business, they'll rock up to the Mostro Lounge in something low-cut.

Sevens knows Leona only became so cooperative (if you can call it that) during that whole Octavinille debacle because he got an eyeful of all the bandages they were still required to wear lest Professor Crewel literally whip them for disobedience.

Although, if they're being honest, there is one scar they are dreading for people to see. Everyone knows about the other three, at least everyone at the oasis knows about all three. The bandages were too hard to hide, and they all witnessed what happened with Jamil. But they've managed to hide the two scars on their left thigh ever since their first week in this world.

The thing about entry and exit wounds, is they don't scar like you would expect. You would think they'd scar over fairly flat, but they don't. They don't ever fill in correctly, your skin remembers the folding in on itself that it has to do when something pierces it, and your skin remembers exploding outward when something exits it. But the wounds where Riddle's thorn had staked their thigh and left a hollow straight through their leg had easily been covered by pants all year. Only those who had been there for that battle had seen the true damage done by the enraged Roseheart.

But unlike everyone else who they have helped overcome an Overblot, Yuu has watched Riddle Rosehearts actively try to change his ways, learn from his mistakes, and take some personal accountability for the havoc he wreaked. So they kept the scar he gave them hidden, not wanting to remind others, Riddle, or even themself of just how dangerous he could be.

And now, because, again, they'd rather lick Crowley's desk than entertain the thought of pants in this insufferable desert heat, now that scar was going to be on display. They were going to get questions. They were going to have to relive that memory, that phantom pain over and over again.

They were going to have to relive all of those memories again.

The ripping sensation, the heavy feeling of something foreign, the absolute gushing of blood. The dry cracking, the peeling, the flaking apart at the literal seams. The threat of bones snapping, the drowning on dry land, the fear of a lung collapsing. The fire of acid in your veins, the teeth tearing flesh, the invasive screaming in their head.

All of it. Every time someone saw their scars, every time someone asked a stupid question, every time they saw someone else stuck in their own memories of Yuu's scars, they'd be stuck reliving all of that pain again.

With a heavy sigh, already feeling the exhaustion running through their every fiber, they finally drag their eyes away from their own reflection. The first thing they see is Grimm. Looking at them. Looking at their scars. A haunted, faraway look in his eyes.

Well, that settles it. Something must be done about these nuisances. Sooner rather than later.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #rewrite au #rewrite lore #Yuu is involved in overblot fights #and these are the consequences #i will gladly answer any questions comments concerns #this is the most fleshed out idea of this au and i don't feel like i did it justice #Mirrors are Never to be Trusted

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nelllraiser · 3 years

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no good deed | luce & nell

LOCATION: nell’s greenhouse. PARTIES: @divineluce and @nelllraiser SUMMARY: luce asks for nell’s herb supplies to help with her phoenix cleansing. absolutely NO emotional talk or introspection follows. CONTENT: discussion of the lydia plot without specifics, very brief and vague sibling death allusion.

Luce washed her hands in the sink, wincing as the hot water and soap stung the healing wounds. She glanced at herself in the mirror-- she looked like she’d been through hell. Deep purple bruises had blossomed across her skin, but most were covered by winding bandages she’d wrapped over the jagged cuts that ran along the back of her legs. Her back was a mess and it made sleeping a nightmare, but she couldn’t do much about it. A crooked butterfly bandage kept the cut over her eyebrow shut, and the wound was purple at the edges. She looked like shit and she felt it too. But, she couldn’t stop now.

Leaving the bathroom, Luce returned to her room and sat back down at the books she’d borrowed from Rio. The ash had been collected, a piece of the cursed earth for good measure too. The Bloodroot sat in a vase next to the window, the stems dying the water a light pink. Which left… tears, from a phoenix and cleansing herbs. The tears wouldn’t be too difficult-- Leah had said she’d help her with this, so she’d probably be alright parting with a few tears. The cleansing herbs though. Luce couldn’t pretend to know which ones were best suited to a ritual like this. Plants had never been her thing and she didn’t have the coven’s knowledge at her disposal anymore. But… there was someone else who might know. Taking the book with her, Luce made her way out to the greenhouse. And, as she suspected, Nell was there.

Knocking lightly on the door, Luce spoke up, “Hey.”

It was no surprise that Nell was puttering about her greenhouse after everything that had happened over the past week or so. In reality, it wasn’t all that much in comparison to the things she’d weathered before. The mad rush to save someone she loved, the devastating blow of losing that same person merely days later— though it hadn’t been in the way she’d anticipated. Frank hadn’t been the one to fell the curtain between Nell and Bex by stealing her life, it’d been Bex herself that had made the severance. The witch wasn’t trying to throw herself a pity party, it was simply that the only way she could think to keep her storming thoughts at bay was to create something, and to care for the plants she nurtured with a gentle hand. The greenhouse had always been a sanctuary of her’s, a place of peace that was her’s and only her’s where she could be alone with herself. She never needed to find the strength to draw her armor within its walls because she didn’t need it’s defenses between the fragile glass panels lining the perimeter. Here she was free to be happy, or hurt, or whatever else she might be feeling at the moment.

But with the sound of a soft knock that changed, and Nell rolled the softness from her shoulders as she went to the door, setting them into their usual and proud position. “Hey-” she began thoughtlessly when she heard the sound of her sister’s voice. A moment later shock was flitting over her face, brows drawn together with concern as she took in the ugly picture Luce made with her collection of injuries. “Luce- what the fuck. What happened? What the hell is wrong with you? I could have closed whatever cuts you have instead of whatever shoddy job you made of your legs,” she chastised while she took in her sister’s bandages.

A grimace spread across Luce’s face as Nell stared at her, face shifting to an expression of surprise. Maybe she should have put on a jacket or something. Heatstroke would be preferable to getting a lecture. “Slipped and fell on a hike.” Luce said. It wasn’t entirely untrue. She’d been on a hike and she had fallen. Nell didn’t need to know that Morgan had helped with the fall. That Morgan had shoved her down, that she’d thought the other woman was going to kill her. “Yeah, you know me. I’m shit with first-aid.” She said offhandedly, glancing down at the haphazardly wound bandages. “It’s fine, though, I’ll be fine with some time.” Moments like this reminded her of how lucky she’d been all her life-- their mother had always been an option, even if they didn’t necessarily want her help. Now? Mixed messages aside, Luce was never stepping foot in her parents’ home again, not if she could help it. She didn’t need her mother’s help. She didn’t need her pity either. “I’ve got a question for you,” She held up the leather bound book and flipped it open to the page she’d been staring at. “Do you have any idea about what sort of herbs would be used for this sort of thing?”

Nell fixed Luce with a scrutinizing look, arms crossed over her chest as she decided whether or not she wanted to fight her sister on the lackluster answer she’d given. But for once in her life she decided that she was simply too tired, and Luce could give her the answer in due time. Nevertheless, that wouldn’t stop her from mildly calling the fire witch out. “Right. Slipped and fell.” Another disapproving glance flitted over her face before her chastisement continued. “Yeah, but you live with someone who has an entire greenhouse of healing herbs. I’m literally just upstairs in case you forgot. I could have at least scabbed the shit over and lessened the amount of ‘time’ needed.” The mention of a question and the book being presented was enough to spark Nell’s interest, if only for the sole reason that it could provide a distraction from the pity party she’d been throwing herself, wondering how she’d so spectacularly failed at teaching Bex. She should have known. Just because she wasn’t the girl she’d been a year ago didn’t mean she was suddenly equipped to take in a baby witch with her newfound emotional maturity. For a long moment, Nell scanned over the text, lips pursing further the longer she read. “This is about the phoenix that Adam told me he was helping you with? Loved finding out about that from him and not you, by the way.”

Luce wearily rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that shot across her forehead. “It’s a long story.” She said lamely. She knew that answer wouldn’t be enough for her sister, but hopefully it would do for now. Later. She’d tell her the details later. Right now, she needed to focus. She had the flowers, she had the ashes, she had the dirt. She just needed the herbs and then the hard part-- the phoenix. And the fire. She didn’t have any idea how she was going to get that whole situation figured out, but… she had to try something. Hopefully the ritual wouldn’t be too affected by a couple cans of gasoline. “I mean, no time like the present? Care to help a sister out?” Luce joked weakly.

At the mention of Adam and the phoenix, Luce blinked. Ah. Yeah, that made sense. They were dating, Adam was a decent guy. Of course he would have told Nell about the situation they had on their hands. “Sorry. I’ve been caught up in trying to figure out how to fix shit. Spent a lot more time in the scribrary than I wanted to. Rio-- Winston’s ex? He’s lending a hand with it. Hence the book.” She said, holding the book up again.

A long story. Nell was growing increasingly tired of the ‘long stories’ that seemed to make up the majority of her life since she’d returned to White Crest. How many ‘long stories’ could someone fit over the span of a year and a half, anyway? “I’m sure it is,” she mumbled lamely, once again proving herself to be uncharacteristically not nosy for the time being. Luce had meant her words to be joking, but Nell failed to continue in that vein, unable to find the energy needed for sarcasm in the moment. “Of course I’ll help you,” she said a little too seriously, clutching onto one of the only constants in her life now that she’d lost yet another person in the form of Bex. It was beginning to look as if the only people she’d always have in her life and at her side would be her sisters, and that was a gift she couldn't afford not to treasure. Leading Luce towards a nearby chair, she began to gather the healing poultices she’d made, the ones their mother had taught her. “So you need lavender and sage.” It wasn’t a question as she took another look over the book. “That’s easy enough.” Squinting at the last plant, she was already beginning to search her brain for what the words could mean. “And a white flowered herb?” Of course a ritual wouldn’t be complete without a sufficiently vague ingredient.

“You know I could have helped ‘figure out how to fix shit’.” Nell had failed at making sure Bex didn’t feel alone, she wouldn’t do the same for her sister. “You mean the guy you punched, and then refused to apologize to?” Perhaps she was still a little bitter about the argument she and Luce had following the happening. “Yeah, that makes sense that he’d help. He’s a good guy.”

A wave of guilt washed over Luce at the defeated sound of her sister’s voice. Fuck. “It’s-- just don’t fucking… fly off the handle, alright?” She said before running a sloppily bandaged hand through her hair. She paused, not entirely surprised by how quickly Nell figured out what kind of purifying herbs they’d need. Sage and lavender. She should have known that. But she’d never paid attention to purifying rituals, she’d never really paid attention to the plants they used at the coven meetings. She’d just accepted the bundle of herbs and lit the ends, allowing the smoke to waft through the air and mingle with the combined power of the rest of the coven. How she’d taken it all for granted. “Cool, yeah. You’ve got that growing in here, right?” Luce said as she followed Nell to a chair, looking around at the greenhouse as she walked. She’d done enough lavender tattoos to be able to spot the tall sprigs of purple. But, she refocused on her sister and stared over at Nell. “The white flower-- it’s Bloodroot. It grows at Lyssa’s Peak and I needed the stuff that grew at the top. Lunar cycles, drawing power from the moonlight, you know.” She said. Rip the bandaid. Just tell her sister what happened. No more secrets.

“I went hiking up there to get to it the other day. And I ran into Morgan. She showed me a way up the mountain and we got to talking and I was in a… mood about shit. About… Lydia.” Luce said, wondering if Nell would understand why she was in a mood, if her sister would get just why the killing didn’t sit well with her. “And she kept trying to figure out what it was and I snapped at her. And then she snapped at me. Because she’d cared about Lydia. Even though she was a fucking…” Monster. Murderer. Torturer. “Even though she was what she was. Morgan lost her cool, I lost my footing, I took a tumble down the peak. But, it’s fine. She helped me down the mountain.” She didn’t need to. She could have kicked me off. She could have let the coyote finish me. She could have let me die up there.

Swallowing, Luce blinked at her sister’s words. Yeah. Nell could have helped her. Bea probably could have helped her too. But, again, she’d felt like she’d needed to do this on her own. And where had that landed her? Right fucking here, with no magic to speak of and just struggling to make things work. “Sorry. Old habits. And I’ve said that before, and I’m sorry. I just-- fucking, it’s hard to remember that I don’t have to do everything alone.”

“Me? Fly off the handle? Where would you get an idea like that?” There was the sarcasm Nell had been missing before, but it was short lived as she unwrapped the bandages from Luce’s legs, her frown renewed while she took in the extent of the scrapes and cuts. “Yeah, of course I’ve got those growing. They’re pretty good staples. So the sage is obviously for cleansing…” That made sense, she supposed. They had to rid the phoenix of whatever it was that had made them this way. “And the lavender...it’s for healing.” Healing couldn't take place without the cleansing. After all, you had to clean the wound before it could properly heal. Otherwise you risked it becoming infected, a festering thing that wouldn’t even get a chance to scar, let alone fade. “Sure- the moon. It makes sense.” The great glowing woman in the sky was like butter to a witch’s bread, always ready and willing to lend her strength to those who sought it.

But the mention of Lyssa’s Peak had Nell remembering her own time in the shadow of it, watching the yellow-eyed wolf and Layla attempting to murder Adam while she and Ariana did their best to prevent it. “Lydia?” That hadn’t been a name she expected to surface, and Nell hadn’t heard it since the brief conversation of guilt she and Luce had following her death. Besides, what did Morgan have to do with Lydia? The zombie had cared about the woman who kept innocent people in a basement? Nell wasn’t all that sure what to make of that— especially when paired with the recent revelation that Morgan had befriended Miriam as well. “Her losing her cool was related to you losing your footing or not?” There was a vagueness there that Nell wasn’t ready to let go of. Not when it concerned her sister, and her injuries. “You tumbled down the fucking peak,” Nell hissed, knowing that Luce was lucky to escape with her life, let alone her bones intact.

Nell sighed, knowing it was hypocritical of her to call Luce out for refusing help while she was guilty of the very same. She knew accepting assistance wasn’t so easy as flipping a switch. “I know.” Apparently Nell was in a forgiving mood, too tired to fight in the wake of the heaviness the past few weeks had held. “Why are you helping the phoenix, though?” Nell knew her sister had a decent heart beneath her barb-like exterior, but she’d never much gone out of the way to help an utter stranger. “Obviously I’m glad someone is- I just didn’t expect it.”

Settling into the chair, Luce cast Nell a wan smile as she listened to her sister speak. As she unwound the bandages, Luce could see just how sloppy a job she’d done. Nothing looking infected-- she wasn’t that stupid, she’d done enough tattoo aftercare to know how to wash wounds-- but it didn’t look great either. The roses on her legs were bleeding red angry cuts, the backs of her knuckles were scratched and raw, and she knew her back looked fucked to hell. None of them seemed too serious though, so with enough time, they’d fade away. “Sage for cleansing and lavender for healing.” Luce repeated, wincing as one of the bandages pulled at scabbed skin. “Good to know.”

“Hey. What did I say about handles and flying off them?” Luce reminded her sister. She’d had a brief vision of what would happen if Morgan had let her die up there, if Morgan had shoved her just a bit too hard. And it was that endless cycle of blood and vengeance, one that she didn’t want Nell to continue. It didn’t matter that she was hurt, it really fucking didn’t. “I’m alive, aren’t I? Didn’t even break anything.” She said with another grin, though the motion made the cut over her eye sting.

Why are you helping the phoenix, though? Luce looked down at her hands. The million dollar question. Why. Why was she doing this? Why was she helping them? Because it was the right thing to do? That had never mattered much to her before. “I don’t know. Because I can. Because I should.” But even those weren’t quite right. She’d never been more powerless in her life, she didn’t possess the flames to be able to really help them. She didn’t need to help them, they were nothing to her. “I just… I don’t want more people to burn. You see the news?” She gestured to the night sky through the glass of the greenhouse. “There are fires sprouting all over the forest, burning shit, running animals off their land, threatening people. Adam called me to help him deal with the situation. And I know more about fire than almost anyone in this town.” Except Mom. And Dad. And probably Bea. “And fuck, I have to try and do something.”

While Nell continued to work with Luce’s legs, she nodded in confirmation as her sister repeated the words. “Cleansing and healing- and lavender’s also about serenity, and the peace that comes about healing.” It was clear enough why these herbs had been chosen for a ritual such as this, used to drive out whatever had brought the phoenix to this point to begin with. Cleansing, healing, peace. It was a cycle she herself hadn’t yet mastered, not even sure whether she’d washed over the wounds of the past years. If Beltane was anything to judge by...Luce had taken better care of her spiritual wounds. But the problem with letting wounds heal was that you didn’t remember them as vividly once they were gone, no longer a thorn in your side as a reminder of how they’d come to be in the first place. Healed wounds could make for complacency, and make one forget to be cautious enough to avoid the same cuts and breaks a second time around. Her cuts made her stronger, more willing and ready to take care of the people she loved. More vigilant. Was it right to give that up?

A healthy eye roll later, and Nell was tugged from the stormy seas of her thoughts, all too ready to deny Luce’s words. “You know better than to think that’s flying off the handle,” she teased back. All three of them had more than healthy tempers, though all in their own ways. Nevertheless that didn’t stop them from burning bright and hot when the time called for it. Morgan losing her own temper was something of a surprise, but Nell knew Morgan would have never willingly hurt one of the Vurals— even in the case of Luce and her tendency to push away the kindest of people. Morgan was family as well, and she wouldn’t steal another sister from the Vurals.

Lydia, the phoenix, Morgan, and not wanting to burn others paired with the fact that Nell was more than familiar with the expression on Luce’s face had the younger witch’s sneaking suspicion reaching a boiling point. She knew the look- had seen it and felt it enough in her own features to recognize it in a face that was half her own with their family resemblance. She let loose a long sigh, shoulders deflating while she finished working with Luce’s legs. “I’m glad you wanna help. And you’re obviously right about knowing fire. But it...doesn’t fix it. It won’t fix that way you feel inside about things that already happened.” Bringing food and caring for the families whose loved ones she stole with a rampant shark demon hadn’t fixed it. Hadn’t made it any easier. “I want you to help with the phoenix I just...don’t want you to be disappointed. If it doesn’t do what you think it’ll do when it’s all over.”

The peace that comes with healing. As thought such a thing existed. And maybe it did, but it wasn’t something that Luce was familiar with. But, had she ever really healed from the wounds that she’d suffered this last year? She didn’t know. Maybe this was part of the healing process too. The pain and the anguish and the guilt. Everyone thought of grief as just being sad and healing as just recovering from pain. When her grief had never just sadness-- it had been deep-seated rage and helplessness, frustration and guilt. And so was healing. “Sounds like it’s just what this person will need.” She said with a nod. “I don’t know how much I’ll need but I think a lot? The more we have, the more potent?”

Luce arched her good eyebrow at Nell, nonplussed by the eyeroll. “And that’s not what I’m talking about. Seriously, Nell. I’m okay.” She said, reaching out to grasp her sister’s hand, to squeeze it tight. Her hand was still hot against Nell’s skin, still burning with the flames that refused to listen to her call. She was still here. And she didn’t want Nell to go off and do something that might change that.

Watching as Nell wound clean bandages over the wounds, freshly daubed with healing poultices, Luce reflected on how things had changed. A year ago, this would never have happened. A year ago, she would have licked her wounds back at the safe isolation of her cabin, maybe drowned her feelings away with more whiskey than she ought to have, and have pretended as though she was fine. But, she wasn’t pretending anymore. She was too tired to play those games, to pretend that the world was anything other than it was. But, as Nell’s words continued, Luce’s gaze snapped up, expression shifting. “What do you mean by that?” She asked abruptly. “I know that this doesn’t change anything I’ve done. And I’m not-- What do you think is going to happen? Nell, if this doesn’t work, I’m going to keep trying. I’m not letting this go.” I’m not letting them go.

Nell held Luce’s gaze for a long moment, feeling far too tired to actually address their shared trauma at the moment. They both knew what was on each other’s minds, and that was enough. She was so tired. They’d both been fighting for so long— all Nell had ever truly known how to do was fight. To refuse to give in, refuse to let the day win and simply allow herself a moment’s rest. She didn’t know who or what she would be without that fight, but occasionally she wondered what it was like for those who allowed themselves peace, whether they were truly happy with the battles they’d let lie, or if regrets haunted them as well. Maybe there was no actual winning. You just lived with the path you chose, and that was it. “Yep- sounds like just what the phoenix doctor ordered.” Not that she actually knew all that many details of the phoenix, but all anger stemmed from somewhere, and most often it was a product of hurt. “Sure, the more the merrier. It’s not really like you can over cleanse something when it comes to things like this.”

The feel of Luce’s hand against her was enough to melt a little more tension from Nell’s shoulders, and the distant memory of crawling into bed with her sisters as children to hoard their shared elemental warmth was brought to mind while she let herself feel the momentary salve of nostalgia. “I know,” she assured softly. “I’m glad you are.” Her overprotectiveness wasn’t subtle, and Luce understood the source of it better than anyone in tandem with Bea.

Nell straightened from her place before Luce, standing as she began to rifle through the greenhouse towards her sage plants. “I just mean...I don’t know if this is what you’re thinking or whatever but- helping people isn’t gonna make the past sit right. Not really. And also...saving someone from something you think you’ve gone through isn’t gonna fix you either.” Hadn’t she just finished learning that with Bex? Or maybe they’d just been too different. Maybe the feeling of loneliness wasn’t as universal as Nell had thought, and she couldn’t fix her own by putting love into another person who was caught in the throes of it. “It’s not that I don’t think it’s gonna work, and I know you’ll keep trying. I just don’t want you to expect something of it that’s not gonna come.”

Good to know that burning fuck tons of sage and lavender wasn’t going to create some kind of flower monster-- christ, Luce realized how fucking little she actually knew about magic outside of the flames. But, at least she had Nell here to help. Because she did, even if Luce didn’t often think about it that way. Her sisters were here. They were all here and, ever since they’d been excommunicated, they were all each other had to rely on. She had Nell, she had Bea, they were three and… in the past six months, she’d somehow forgotten about that. She’d drifted back to her old ways, of trying to handle things on her own. But she couldn’t now, it was impossible. She needed them, needed people. She couldn’t do this alone.

“Yeah. Same here.” Luce said, giving Nell’s hand another squeeze before slipping away, pulling the sloppy bandages from her hand to treat the wounds on her hands herself. The poultice stung a bit as she spread it over the open cuts. She kept her gaze trained on Nell as her sister moved away from her, aware of the distance that had just grown between them. “I’m not trying to make it sit right with me. And I’m not trying to fix me, either.” She said sharply. “I know that what I did was fucked. And maybe you don’t think it is, but I do and I’m making… some kinda peace with that.” She wound the bandages back around her hand, covering her raw skin once more.

Staring down at her hands, Luce could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the stress, maybe it was just the crushing weight of everything that she’d been going through that had finally pushed her to the breaking point. Luce cleared her throat. “I just want to do something good, Nellie. I want to be someone good again.” She said, though the words came out as broken and hollow as she felt.

“I didn’t say that,” Nell replied instintcively in a defensive tone, even if she thought Lydia was far better off dead from what she’d heard. Even though she’d shared her own surprisingly introspective conversation with the fae, there was no question of whether or not the woman was doing more harm than good in the world. But she knew Luce wasn’t as accustomed to life and death judgements as she was, not when she’d simply been an artist with a grumpy streak. She didn’t want her sister to become wrapped up in such things anyway, not when it most often led to a life of constant stress, or having a target on one’s back. “But if you want peace...then you deserve it,” she finished stubbornly, her tone not quite matching the well meaning nature of the words.

The hardness in Nell’s voice was washed away instantly as she looked over her shoulder back to her sister, recognizing the picture of a person desperately trying to keep themselves together at the seams. Had Nell been so wrapped up in her own world that she’d completely missed what was going on with Luce? She’d known her sister’s fire wasn’t in the best of straits, and that in itself was a flashing red sign in the direction of emotional turmoil. But she hadn’t thought— hadn’t realized it had gotten to such a point as this. Had Nell been too wrapped up in her own troubles and world to see it? A flash of guilt spread through her chest, and she went back to the other side of the greenhouse, moving to check over the bandages Luce had wrapped around her hands.

I just want to do something good. Nell could understand that— when one got to the place of wondering if they’d gone past the point of no return, and grasped at straws for a win. Nell needed a win, too. The feeling of being unclean after going too far...she’d felt it herself on more than one occasion though it was less centered on the suffering of her victim, and more about the shockwaves her actions had set into motion. Adam with August. Jared with the Ring. Bex with Frank. Dave and the shark demon. She’d made more than enough mistakes to know the feeling of desperately wanting to look for the light in oneself no matter how dim it might be- to know that you weren’t just darkness and sharp blades, as much a monster as the thing you’d killed. “I understand.” If this is what Luce needed to face the days coming, Nell would do anything in her power to make sure her sister got what she needed, that she crossed the finish line with arms raised, and a peaceful expression on her face. “So if that’s what you need...then that’s what you’ll get.”

Luce continued to stare at her hands, remembering the way that the blue flames had spread from them to consume the flesh from Lydia’s body, burning away the sinew and skin until there was nothing left. “Sure you didn’t.” Luce said, tone neutral. “I’ve spent the last six months trying to rationalize shit like… she would have hurt other people if I hadn’t killed her, she would have come back to kill us. But there’s no way of knowing if that’s true because I made a call that took away any chance she had to change her ways. I decided that I knew better. And I’m not… that’s not okay. It’s not fucking okay.” She said.

When Nell took her hands again, Luce let her sister fix the bandages wordlessly. For a year, it had seemed like everything she’d done had fallen into the same cycle of anger and rage and pain-- sometimes on the receiving end of that punishment, other times delivering it to others by her own hands. The anger and rage would burn wild and out of control until everything was dead and charred to dust. And it would lie low for some time, before flaring back to life because someone else was hurt, someone else was hurting her-- and endless fucking cycle. She just wanted to be free of it all. This phoenix situation, it was something... different. It was something that she could do and know, without a trace of doubt, that she had done something good. She just wanted to prove to herself that she was still capable of that. Of being more than just an instrument of death, bringing fire and ruin to the world around her. She just wanted to do one good thing. “Thanks Nell.” Luce said quietly. “Really. Thank you.”

Nell couldn’t rightly say she agreed with Luce— not when she’d been ready and poised to kill Frank in the middle of the Outskirts. He’d been a threat so she was going to eliminate him. It was as simple as that. Except it hadn’t turned out to be so simple as Bex had begged for his life, and Nell had withdrawn her knife. How many chances did people deserve when it came to changing? She’d given Kyle his chance in that basement with Morgan and Bex, even taken it upon herself to help him succeed. But Kyle wasn’t a woman keeping people in his basement. It was different...wasn’t it? “I didn’t know Lydia well enough to know whether or not she’d change.” That was the gamble you took with people, the not knowing. And there was always the chance they could change back if they decided their new route was too hard. Would Lydia have made a 180 turn back to where she’d started if she’d decided ethical eating wasn’t quite the same? What was the straw that would break the back of Miriam’s new life?

“I don’t know if it was wrong,” Nell finally admitted. “I don’t know if it being wrong would have kept me from doing it, too. Probably not. And I’d probably still do it if no one stopped me or you hadn’t already done it.” She was selfish with her wanting to protect the people she cared about. “But I...don’t think it’s fair to condemn yourself with it. Maybe rationalizing it isn’t the answer, but burning yourself at the stake isn’t either.” Nell swallowed briefly, still not all that accustomed to being so open and honest with her sister. “And...I think you deserve to forgive yourself instead of needing to use a phoenix to prove you’re worthy of it. I think you’re worth it on your own. Just because of who you are. I think you can be good without having something to point at as proof.”

But it wasn’t about that. Not really. Why did Nell want to summon the murderous selkie to her? For control. To have just one thing she knew she could do right. “But I think I get it. Sometimes you just...need one thing to go right. Just to know that...that you’re not a fuck up who ruins everything they touch.” Nell didn’t have fire like he sister’s, but she’d always been just as destructive. “There’s one thing you can do, and not burn a hole through. So...we’ll make this work.”

“Neither did I. But Morgan seems to think that she could have. And maybe she’s right, maybe she’s not. But we’ll never really know.” Luce said wearily. She’d spent so many nights mulling over that exact question. “I don’t want to make those calls, Nell. I don’t want to hold someone’s life in my hand and decide that I’m worth more than them. Because that’s exactly what happened to us and I’m… I’m fucking tired of it.” This town, this fucking town. She’d grown up here, been a part of this world but only now had she really learned the price that White Crest demanded of the people who lived here. This town was steeped in blood and suffering and senseless death. She didn’t want to contribute to that anymore than she already had.

“Maybe.” Luce shrugged, before regretting the action as a fresh wave of pain ran down the wounds on her back. “I also think you have to say that as my sister.” She said, a ghost of her old sarcastic grin flitting across her face. Luce stood up from the chair, collecting the herbs that Nell had gathered for her. Sage and lavender. Healing and cleansing. And the promise of her sister to help her see this through. Side by side, they’d be able to move forward. Luce didn’t know how Nell was holding up with all the grief and trauma they’d experienced in the last year and she wished that she did. Once this was all over, once the dust settled and she could finally rest… She’d try harder to be there for her sister. For both of them. Maybe Nell said that she didn’t need to prove herself, but Luce couldn’t believe that. If she couldn’t be a good person, at the very least, she could be a good sister.

Reaching out, Luce took hold of Nell’s hand again, looking at her sister intently. “We’ll make this work.”

#// sisters being siSTERS <3 #chatzy #ch:luce #wickedswriting #no good deed #sibling death tw

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alhendawymc · 3 years

Text

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poisonousfey · 7 years

Note

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.” for Jaina/Garrosh, if you'd like? Could be funny, shippy, or even both! *blows kiss* (for your lovely writing style. love that purple prose)

in place of purple prose please accept this humble shitpost

(takes place in the same AU as this one but contains no actual explicit content, just implications of it)

—

So here’s the thing: Garrosh is awful at jousting. There’sno getting around it- he’s just fucking awful at it, and he knows it. Everyoneknows it. Horses are too small and too flighty and weird and wolves weren’tmeant to fucking joust, alright? And jousting is a useless sport, anyway. It’s stupidand pointless, and they should be using their resources to go after the LichKing, but no, apparently they have tocharge at each other with sharp, pointy objects and try not to kill each other because it’s symbolic, or something, whatever garbage Thrall (and then Jaina)had told him about the sport.

Anyway he’s supposed to be practicing because he and somealliance champion fuckhead are supposed to start off the tournament by“symbolically” fighting each other to try and foster good relations betweenHorde and Alliance, it’s such a load of horseshit honestly. Who the fuckthought that pretend-fighting was going to end three decades-plus of war?Tirion Fordring, apparently, the doddering old fuck.

Right, so Garrosh gets up on a mount for the umpteenth timeand eats shit in like, thirty seconds. It’s a record, probably.

It’s the worst landing he’s had in a couple tries, to thepoint where Thrall and the medic on hand actually jog over to see if he’s okay.Luckily, most of the people in the stands, as sparse as they are, aren’t reallypaying attention. They’re too busy chatting amongst themselves. Except forJaina, of course, who’s watching the proceedings fascinatedly. She was talking to Thrall up until he landedin the fucking dirt, this being one of the few times they can actually speak toeach other, but again, that was until he was pushed off of his wolf and landedin the fucking dirt. The other jouster he’s practicing with- a huge-ass trolldeath knight, because that’s fucking fair, pitting him against someone whoalready knows how to play this stupid game on a mount that was literally madefor it- cringes.

“You alright?” he calls across the field.

“Does it look like I’m alright?” Garrosh snaps, making avaliant effort to talk despite having the wind knocked out of him. Out of thecorner of his eye, he can see Jaina cover up a snicker. The troll shrugs.

“Why would I ask if I didn’t already know?” he calls back.“You got up alright every other time.”

“Fair enough,” Garrosh mumbles grudgingly after a moment. Hetries to get up, and stabbing pain shoots through his chest, so he just laysback down. The medic- a troll, Shuuna, he should say, given that she’s a medicfrom Warsong Hold and has already dealt with his shenanigans- sighs under herbreath and kneels down next to him.

“What hurts?” she asks succinctly, giving him a cursoryonce-over before attempting to move him.

“Think I cracked some ribs,” he replies.

“Surprised you haven’t already,” she says. “Alright, let’s getyou to the first aid tent. Can you get up at all?” she asks, as if sheliterally didn’t just see him lie right the fuck back down. He gives her anexasperated look, and she raises her eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Try turning over and then getting up, so you’re liftingwith your legs instead of your chest,” she advises. It works, frustratinglyenough. He’s still hurting, to be fair, it’s just not as bad as it was before.He manages to shuffle over to the first aid tent okay, though. Jaina gives thema little wave as they make their way over, and he and Thrall wave back.

The tent isn’t particularly big, but it’s warm, probablyenchanted to be so judging by the runes hastily painted onto the canvas, and itdoes what it’s supposed to do while the actual first aid area is underconstruction. There isn’t really a need for a bigger tent when there’s not verymany people around aside from those putting up the buildings around them, andthe construction workers have their own across the way. No, this one was thrownup pretty hastily, and for the express purpose of the horde championspracticing to open up for the tournament in a week or two. They needed a spaceto practice, as did the alliance champions, and they needed to be out of theway. Hence, their own tent, small as it may be.

“I need you to take off your chest plate so I can take alook at you. I’ll be out here,” she tells him, motioning outside the tent as hewalks in. “You let me know when you’re ready.” He nods, and she closes theflap.

Now this is all well and good, until he actually peels offthe armor, and remembers what’s under there.

There are several marks that… didn’t necessarily come fromthe jousting. The bruising he can cover, sure, hell he’s been getting more andmore as the day’s been going on, but he’s not sure if getting knocked off amount will explain away why there’s some dotting either side of his neck. Or,furthermore, why there’s multiple long, narrow scratches going up his back,that in no way can come from falling off a mount.

“You ready?” Shuuna asks.

“No,” he snaps, panicking slightly. He hears her sigh, andshe and Thrall mutter amongst themselves, which only makes him panic more.

“You alright?” Thrall asks. “Do you need help?”

He hesitates.

“I’m coming in,” Thrall says.

Fuck. Shit.

He scrambles, and manages to get one of the towels stackedup on the small table wrapped around himself before Thrall sees his back.Moving that fast fucking hurt, but itwas worth it.

“Are you alright?” Thrall asks, closing the flap.

“I’m fine,” Garrosh snarls. Thrall squints at him. “I’malright,” he tries again, calmer. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” This onlymakes him raise an eyebrow at him.

“Five minutes ago you could barely get up, you’re not fine,”Thrall points out.

“Thrall, I’m alright,” he asserts. Thrall watches him for amoment. As it turns out, he can feel sweat beads forming on his body in realtime. It is not at all a pleasant experience.

Thrall pokes his head out the tent, and Garrosh, knowingthat it’s his demise he hears, hears him say, “Can you give us a minute?”

“Garrosh, what’s going on? You’re acting strangely,” Thrallasks him, genuine concern in his voice. Garrosh absolutely does not need hismisplaced martyr horseshit right now. “Are you alright?”

“Thrall, I’m fine. Really,” he insists. “I just had the windknocked out of me, that’s all.” It doesn’t appear to convince him; Thrallfrowns and his brow furrows with worry.

“That looked like a really bad fall. At least let me take alook if you won’t let the medic do it,” he pleads, guilting and bargaining inone. And Garrosh knows there is really nothing he can say to that, that isn’tincredibly suspicious. Not that this isn’t already incredibly suspicious, buthe can at least say he tried.

“Fine,” he allows, and lets Thrall help him take the toweloff. Thrall takes one look at the massive amount of bruising around his sternumand winces.

“You really took a beating out there, huh,” he sayssympathetically.

“Yep,” Garrosh says.

“I’m going to feel around and see if anything’s out ofplace,” he tells him. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

“Uh-huh,” Garrosh says. Dread is written in every line ofhis face, and he’s not sure how the fuck Thrall hasn’t noticed it yet. Hedoesn’t worry about it; he will. It’s only a matter of time.

Thrall is exceedingly careful with him, which is about whathe expected, and is able to pinpoint the actual injury in question relativelyquickly.

“It doesn’t feel like anything was moved around too much,but you do probably have some cracked ribs,” Thrall says. He moves around tothe back.

“Looks like you have quite a few cuts back here, too,”Thrall continues conversationally. Garrosh says nothing. “Hmm. These look alittle old to be coming from the fall; they’re already scabbing over.” Garroshcontinues to say nothing. This is by far the single most painful thing he’sever had to endure.

Actually, no, scratch that; the very second that Thrallrealizes what they are is the single most painful thing he’s ever had toendure.

There is a marked change in Thrall when he does; he stiffensabruptly, going silent from disbelief and what is most likely rage. Thrall doessay a single goddamn thing to signal this, but he doesn’t really have to, to befair. There has already been an actual change in the atmospheric pressure ofthe tent, courtesy of the weather broadcasting his emotional state for him.Perks of being a shaman, apparently. Garrosh might be dying a little bit fromit, but that’s okay, he had a good life. It can end here, literally at anytime. Now would be preferable.

“What the fuck,” Thrall says. He’s not really sure if he’sever heard him utter those words before. It’s a little unreal, to be honest.

“Uh,” Garrosh replies intelligently.

“What the fuck,”he says again, because once wasn’t enough. “Are you fucking kidding me rightnow, Garrosh? You didn’t want the medic to look at you because of these?”

“Sort of,” he doesn’t reply, electing to sigh deeplyinstead. “It’s more complicated than that,” he continues to not say. Thrallonly enrages further. Apparently, when he’s angry, there’s a lot more talkingwith his hands, which are now gesticulating wildly with every word.

“This is so- immature,first of all, why the fuck would she care, she has already seen so much worse from you,” he hisses athim, stomping around to look at him. That’s. That’s true, actually. He thinksshe actually might have taken chunks of metal shrapnel out of his body at somepoint, but honestly he’s gotten grievously injured so often that it’s sort ofhard to remember who’s putting him back together.

“And second of all, whythe fuck do you care? I have literally seen you walk around bare-assednaked around Grommash Hold without a care in the world, and now all of a suddenit matters?”

Okay, no, that one’s not fair. It was the middle of the nightand also a heat wave; he was just getting some water. He can’t be heldaccountable for that. Also:

“I wasn’t completely naked,” he protests. Thrall throws uphis hands, exasperated.

“You might as wellhave been,” he asserts. “I shouldn’t be in danger of seeing your entire ass out in the breeze because youcouldn’t be bothered to put on pants.”

“Well you wouldn’t have if you actually were asleep at threein the fucking morning like the rest of us instead of working all night,”Garrosh points out. Thrall squints at him, and it’s a look Garrosh recognizes.It translates to something along the lines of, of all the inane shit you could have picked to argue about you wentwith this?

“Don’t change the subject,” Thrall says, jabbing a finger inhis face. “I am not the one under fire here.”

“I didn’t realize I was under fire for wanting privacy,” Garrosh snaps.

If looks could kill, Garrosh would be a smoldering pile of ashat the bottom of a crater.

Thrall takes a moment to compose himself, turning away fromhim and breathing deeply. It doesn’t appear to work; he looks more restrainedthan relaxed.

“Garrosh,” he starts slowly, turning back around. This issomehow worse than the manic flailing and hissing. “Is there some reason that,despite you being open about literally every other liaison you’ve had, you needto keep this one so private that you can’t even let a medic look at you to dotheir job?”

“Yes,” he snaps impatiently, mulish.

“Okay,” Thrall says, taking another breath. “Can you tell mewhat this reason is?” Garrosh hesitates.

“No,” he grumbles. Thrall sighs.

“Okay,” he says again. “That’s fine,” he continues, itclearly not being fine, but he won’t fight Garrosh about it. “Let me just takecare of this, then.” He nods grudgingly, giving Thrall his assent.

Getting healed with magic is always a slightly jarringexperience- it’s not really a common occurrence to feel your body stitch itselfback together in real time- but the injury isn’t actually too bad as far asThrall can tell, and heals easily enough.

“I should probably take care of these, too, while we’re atit,” he says, gesturing to the scratches. “Wouldn’t take long. It would helpyou cover your tracks, too,” he continues, reaching for them. Garrosh grabs hiswrist just before his hand makes contact with skin.

“Don’t-” he starts. But he can’t finish that sentence,because there is literally nothing he could say that could make this better.Thrall is dead inside.

Thankfully, this particular moment doesn’t overstay itswelcome, as it’s interrupted by Jaina checking in on them.

“Hey, you alright in there?” she calls through the canvas.“I have to leave soon; I was going to meet back up with Varian.” Thrall looksat Garrosh; Garrosh nods.

“You can come in, it’s alright,” Thrall replies. She comesin a moment later, careful to close the flap behind her.

“Everything alright?” she asks, looking between the two ofthem. She looks at the bruising on Garrosh’s chest and cringes.

“Yes, he just took a little more of a beating than wethought he did,” Thrall explains, and it’s really remarkable how well he canhide the fact that he’s dead inside. As a friend, Garrosh feels thatfundamentally he should be really worried about that. But later, later.

“I can see that,” she replies. “Thought I suppose it’s notthat much of a surprise, seeing as you’ve been getting you’ve been gettingknocked around the whole arena,” she says, teasing. Garrosh scoffs.

“Don’t you worry- I’ll be back on my feet in time to putyour champion in their place,” he says, playing back.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she replies, mock-agreeing. “You were veryintimidating when you were knocked flat on your back.” Garrosh rolls his eyes.

“Anyway,” she says. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll see youlater, alright?” She goes in for a quick hug with Thrall and a kiss on thecheek, with the kind of casual intimacy that siblings have.

“Good luck,” she says cheerily, sing-song. “You’re going toneed it.” Garrosh scoffs again, and she leaves. Thrall, without turning back tolook at him, says:

“It’s Jaina, isn’t it.”

It’s not a question; it’s not even phrased as one. Thrallalready knows. He doesn’t even have to look at him, and he knows. It’s probablygood, because Garrosh seems to have completely lost the ability to reply. He’smostly just frozen in place at the prospect of Thrall putting two and twotogether. He finally turns to look at him, and Thrall looks like he just gotsaddled with telling all the kids at the orphanage that Winter Veil is cancelledforever because Greatfather Winter isn’t real; a nice, hearty mix ofexasperation, resignation, apathy, and a world-weariness that goes all the waydown to his soul.

“Could be worse,” Garrosh finds himself saying, for somefucking reason. Garrosh watches approximately three years get shaved off ofThrall’s lifespan.

“Don’t say that,”he says. “Why would you say that? Don’tput that evil on us,” Thrall pleads with him, slightly angry and slightlyhysterical. Garrosh shrugs.

“I’m just saying,” he says, unable to stop himself frompoking the bear. “It could be a lot worse.”

“Yeah, she could be pregnant,” Thrall jokes morbidly,already in a full self-destructive spiral.

The two of them freeze.

“Garrosh,” he starts again, slowly. “Please tell me you areusing some kind of protection.”

Garrosh hesitates. They are, but he kind of lives for thelook on Thrall’s face when he’s staring straight into the abyss.

“Garrosh,” Thrall says, the threat of violence palpable inthe air. He is a man with nothing left to lose.

“Obviously,” Garrosh says.

“You are literally killing me,” Thrall tells himmatter-of-factly. Garrosh just nods. He’s not sorry.

#warcraft #sithisis

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