#Do they find a vicious rabbit halfway through? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aftgficrec · 3 years

Note

First, I LOVE what you are doing, thank you so much.

Second: any that focus on the baby foxes—aside from just Neil punching Jack?

All the older foxes have stories that go more into their character, we can see why they are assholes (and almost excuse them). Any for the baby foxes (particularly Jack) like this?

Alternatively, any where the older foxes are held accountable for their asshole actions? (Andrew forcing Aaron’s withdrawal, the chocking incident, the speedballs, Matt’s attacking Kevin for stuff that isn’t his fault, Nicky’s kissing Neil, Andrew’s drugging of anyone he considers suspicious, etc.)

Ok, so Robin Cross and Jack are future foxes discussed in Nora’s extra content. Robin has some in-depth fics written about her backstory, most notably the true crime podcast AU ‘Red Rabbits: Season 2,’ below. We found a bit of Jack’s past in ‘Lessons In Cartography’ (chapters 19 and 20), and a bit of Robin’s in sequel ‘The Cartographer and the World’ (chapters 8 and 13), find both here.

I’ve also got some accountability fics for you. - A

Robin & Jack:

fics featuring the freshmen here

Jack and Sheena being assholes here

Neil fights with Jack here

‘pick up all the pieces (and what’s left of my pride)’ here

‘Red-Breasted Fox’ here

og foxes held accountable:

Confrontations about demisexuality/Andrew's soullessness here

Foxes feel guilty about Andrew here

New finds for Nicky kissing Neil here; master list here

Andrew apologizes to Kevin here

you may also like:

some with Jean reacting to Kevin’s role at the nest: ‘playing on’ and ‘Staring at the Sun’ (updated) here; ‘give your tears to the tide’ here

‘creature of habit’ here (fix-it fic for Nicky’s character)

Aaron’s ptsd from withdrawal here

in-depth fics for Robin Cross

Teaching a caged bird to fly series by Charcoalll [Rated T/M, Collection with 4 complete works, Last Updated Sept 2021]

Part 1: Sunrise over Home [M (we say T), 7870 Words]

Robin Cross is regretting ever signing with the Foxes more and more every day. But when a disastrous day at court leads to emotions culminating, she has a much needed talk with her coach. Turns out her recrutation wasn't as random as she thought, but why would Andrew Minyard off all people have an interest in her?

No matter what, it all ends on that cursed roof at midnight.

tw: violence, tw: negative self talk, tw: bullying, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced csa

Part 2: Guilt, Fault and Blame [T, 9093 Words]

Whatever that night at the roof meant, it changed Robin's life rather quickly. On the edge of a life she never thought she could have, she has to make some thought decisions.

What is Andrew's true intentions?

What does he want with her?

And is Steven still in controll of her from his prison cell halfway cross country?

Or; Robin begins driving with the monsters from practice and suddenly everything changes.

tw: anxiety, tw: drugs, tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced kidnapping, tw: implied/referenced murder of a child

Part 3: Never felt Safer [T, 3465 Words]

Robin finally earned Andrew's attention. Now she's standing in front of the biggest changes her life has seen, but as it seems it's only for the better.

tw: violence

Part 4: Secret Privacy [M (we say T), 15790 Words]

5 times Robin saw the emotions others seemed blind to, and 1 time it was painfully obvious.

Or Andrew and Neil through Robin's eyes.

tw: alcohol, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: slurs

Red Rabbits: Season 2 by bloodydamnit, jeni182 [Rated E, 282064 words, complete, 2020]

You’re listening to Season Two of Red Rabbits, the Case of the Newark 9. My name is Robin Cross. I’m number 8. And I survived.

Disclaimer: This season is dark. We won't pretend it's not. It's dark and it's not for the faint of heart, but we really tried to make every single action we take justified. Nothing that is tagged under abuse or otherwise is current and it is in no way detailed, whatsoever. We really took every reference seriously and there will be a list of triggers before every single chapter. It's part of the reason why getting this story out took so long. We want you all to know we have been double and triple checking ourselves to make sure every topic in this Season is handled properly. If there are any questions, please message us via the links in the AN of ch 1.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: referenced kidnapping, tw: referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: scars, tw: implied violence

accountability

cause and effect by clarodelune [Rated G, 2682 Words, Complete, 2020]

cause-and-effect [ kawz-uh nd-i-fekt, -uh n- ]

adjective

1. the principle of causation.

2. noting a relationship between actions or events such that one or more are the result of the other or others.

or: in which andrew understands actions have consequences and that losing kevin might just be one of them.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced non-consensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: ptsd

hand over hand series by lackingsoy [Rated T, Collection, 4 complete works, Last Updated August 2020]

Part 1: the deal's done [4091 Words]

"Does it hurt," Allison's voice was bleak.

"What do you think," Kevin replied, somehow managing to sound steady despite his closed throat.

Allison looked at him, eyes remarkably cool for someone who went toe to toe with Seth and other despicable players. "I think," she said, lips popping on the last word: "You, Kevin Day, are heartbroken."

Five fingers, one promise, and the end of a lifeline. Post-hotel scene, the long hours after but before Neil gets picked back up by the Foxes, wherein Kevin stares into the face of his wounds, Allison extends an olive branch, and Renee decides, in the privacy of her own mind, to stop playing mediator.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Part 2: domestic bliss [4251 Words]

It was a vindictive, vicious sort of triumph, Kevin supposed, that made him turn his face to meet Andrew’s gaze. To rear his head just a little, bare his throat. A steady dark line, marred and patented.

Abuse aftermath is seen to seriously by Wymack and Abby; consequences are left in the hands of the Foxes; and a few finally make unprecedented moves. Kevin just wants to die, so maybe nothing's different. (Except it is; has to be.)

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced violence

Part 3: you asked for this (he didn't; you spat in the face of him) [1326 Words]

“You were supposed to be better,” Renee said. “For him.”

“That was never the deal,” Andrew told her.

Re: the loud crash. What actually happened when Renee sought out the Monster(s).

tw: violence

Part 4: a minor inconvenience, a smaller promise [1022 Words]

Aaron looked like he wanted to die this time. His shoulders shifted side to side, uncertain and uncomfortable. But his eyes were very clearly honed on the discoloring still visible on Kevin's neck, Allison's intensive powdering long washed off, and the darkness that passed over his eyes could've been misinterpreted for anger and maybe stupider still, regret.

tw: implied/referenced violence

Like Damned Guilty Deeds by EmilyScarlett [Rated M, 1679 words, complete, 2017]

The first time Jean and Kevin train together again after the events of the books.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: anxiety

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whataboutmyfries · 3 years

Text

Russian roulette

Its here its here its finally heeeeree!!!!! I’ve been so excited for this fic for the longest time and I am so so excited to finally share it with you guys!! It’s been quite a while in the making cause I was nervous about my overall ability to keep up with a multi-chapter thing, but here we are!!!

Before you start reading this, I just want you all to know that this fic comes with a LOT of trigger warning. All of them will be in the tags of course, but I just want you guys to know to proceed with caution.

credits as always go to @lumosinlove Haz I have utterly CORRUPTED your characters in this one, I’m so sorry

enjoy!!

Chapter 1

Logan could still remember the day it had happened, the defiant fury in his friend’s eyes as he’d gone down, guns blazing

Logan still remembered it, blood splattering his arms and face, his mouth curved in a deadly smirk as he shoved Logan out of their way, going down, guns blazing, winking at the brunette as he dived into the fray.

Logan still remembered the primal fear that ripped the scream from his chest, his arm numb from the kickback of the M4. He still remembered the screaming darkness that had taken over his head after. He still remembered him.

It was the memory of that night, a job gone wrong that had him working himself to pieces, returning to the sparring ring day after day, week after week. The mere thought of it pulling him from sleep with the sharp edge of nightmares. The what if’s and if only’s shoving his mind into a rabbit hole of unending misery.

Logan huffed in frustration, shoving down the cool rage that threatened to send him over the edge. He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose, roughly shoving his hair off his forehead. The sweat dripped off his brow as he leaned against the punching bag, flexing his fingers against fabric wrapping his hands.

Even through the wrappings, he could feel the gentle throbbing of the rage and sorrow that had him back at the punching bag day after day after day. He looked down at his knuckles. Shit. That was going to bruise beautifully tomorrow. He sighed, walking over to the backpack on the far end of the room to get his towel and a drink of water.

Logan hefted his pack onto a shoulder, heading over to the sparring area to clean up, unrolling the fabric from his hands as he did so. He examined his knuckles, his hands a tapestry of bruises. He couldn’t remember the last time they hadn’t been a splotchy purple-blue.

The door slammed open, and Logan instinctively ducked to the floor, his hands going for the gun in his backpack, his posture relaxing a little when he saw who’d walked in.

“What the fuck do you want, Nate? He grumbled, tugging his t-shirt to rights, glaring angrily at the floor as he did so, his cheeks warming at his aggressive reaction.

Nate rolled his eyes at Logan’s attitude, raising an eyebrow at Logan’s reaction to his presence. He leaned against the door, drumming his fingers against his bicep “He’s here, sir, the rookie’s here.”

It took Logan all of ten minutes to shower and get dressed to meet Finn in their office. He shook the water out of his hair as his quick steps echoed in the marble hallway. The palatial mansion was HQ. He lived here, slept here, ate here. They were his family, the lions, they’d taken him in after Wyatt had died and had stood by him through every damn thing he’d been through. Regardless, it was home. It had become Logan’s home after— Logan growled, shoving the intrusive thoughts away.

Finn met him halfway to their door, casually tugging the cuffs of his shirt to rights.

Finn was impeccably dressed as always, looking really damn good in that white button-down, the gold chain on his neck dipping into where he’s left it unbuttoned at the neck. His bespoke trousers did wonders for showing off his legs, the gold belt buckle matching the golden rings glinting in the sun.

Logan swallowed.

“So, the rookie’s coming in today. The only thing we know is the father sent him. Be on your guard.” Finn said, raising an eyebrow at Logan to make sure he understood.

Logan nodded, cracking his knuckles as he accompanied Finn into their office, the redhead making a few calls to get extra security detail around the house. Dons couldn’t take risks, no matter who sent their visitors.

Logan shook out his hands, sucking in a calming breath before collapsing onto his chair.

“You have to meet Dubois at the Excelsior tonight. We got a tip he’s been skimming the funds.” Finn said absent-mindedly, his mind more occupied with reading some file. The Excelsior was one of their biggest casinos, three floors of opulent revelry. And Dubois was the sleazy good-for-nothing who ran it for them.

Logan grumbled, flipping open a file of his own, the name Dubois emblazoned in sharp, black letters on the cover. Being a Mob boss wasn’t all it was made out to be, and Logan never thought he’d get used to it. He could scarcely remember how he and Finn had come to build the Lions, one of the biggest crime syndicates in the world, second only to the snakes; a family of vicious, rabid psychopaths who cared for nothing and nobody, dispatching their targets with gruesome efficiency.

Finn had a suspicion the snakes had been doing recon work at the Excelsior and had told Logan as much. Considering that Logan had to deal with the slimy manager, anyway, he thought he might as well look into the matter. Finn looked at him over the gold rim of his glasses, as though reading his thoughts.

“Take Potter with you, ask him to get two of his best with him,” Finn said, referring to their head of security.

Logan huffed, about to shoot back a retort about how he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself thankyouverymuch when there was a knock on the door. Nate leaned against the wood, a smirk playing on his lips.

“He’s here.”

The rookie as it turns out was no rookie at all, rather son to the most infamous pickpocket and street magician of all time, Wyatt Knut. The man had stolen and pickpocketed thousands of dollars’ worth of goods and cash in his time, there was even a rumour going around that he’d been involved in some of the biggest heists of the era, driving his worth up to millions of dollars.

And this was his son. Sitting in front of him, idly flicking a folded sheet of paper between his fingers, making it disappear and then appear again, his leg bouncing under the table. He looked nervous, his eyes flicking around the room, drinking up the opulent mansion around him. He snapped to attention when Finn cleared his throat, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“The name’s Knut, Leo Knut. Lizard sent me.”

Logan’s eyes widened at the nickname. There were very few people in the world who knew it, and this baby faced blond kid sitting in front of them sure as hell didn’t look like someone who would. The fact that he did calmed Logan’s suspicions. This was real. He wasn’t kidding.

Logan felt more than saw Finn’s interest pique. The redhead leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. The tension in the room was palpable, and it took every inch of self-control in Logan’s body to not stiffen, sit up straighter, show he was on his guard. Let blue eyes make the first move. Logan was in charge here, not him.

Leo’s eyes dipped to the folded note in his hand as he vanished it into his sleeve and brought it back. He sucked in a breath, calming his nerves before raising his eyes to the two men sitting before him.

“Lizard said to come to you if he didn’t return or communicate his….being alive within four days of that mission.” Leo braced for the confusion and chaos that was going to follow his next words.

“He had a plan to take down the snakes.”

Logan’s jaw dropped, his hands going slack from where they were crossed across his chest. Lizard had what?!? Granted, he was one of their best reconnaissance men, but this seemed a stretch, even for him.

Finn, ever the diplomat, had kept a straight face, not a hair out of place. It was only through eight years of being his friend that he noticed the tension and suspicion radiating off him.

The redhead cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And do you have any proof of this…..plan?”

Leo grinned, the simple expression lighting up the entire room.” I thought you’d never ask”

He raised his slender fingers, pulling a flash drive out of thin air, setting it down on the table before him. “It’s in three parts.” he nodded to the drive. “The drive, a……” He waved his hand in the air, trying to find the right words. “Map? With the targets and the blueprints and an encrypted folder on his laptop.”

Logan barely registered what he’d said. The second Leo has flicked the drive out from between his fingers it was game over for him. Logan was mesmerised. He couldn’t stop staring at those hands, long thin fingers flipping the note in and out of sight with hypnotic movements, drumming on his thigh, gesturing broadly as he spoke.

Finn seemed to have noticed, pressing his thigh against Logan’s under the table. He froze at the contact, Finn’s warmth seeping into him through the fabric of his jeans. Shit. Now was not the time. He shook his head, clearing his throat and focusing on the task at hand.

Finn leaned back in his chair, his finger steepling under his chin. “And you’re just trusting us with this information? It’s been a month, why haven’t you approached us sooner? What’s in it for you?”

Leo’s smile disappeared, shadows dancing behind those blue irises. “Lizard was like a second father to me. I’ve known him since I was a kid, he and my dad were friends.” He let out a shaky breath. “And when he didn’t return from that raid….I wanted to get revenge. I wanted to hurt anyone who dared to so much as lay a hand on him.” Leo met Finn’s eyes. “I was...hurt for a long time after his death, couldn’t figure out how to deal with the loss. It’s the reason why I’m only here now. And as for trusting you with the information…” He trailed off, putting a piece of paper on the table.

Logan realised it was the same folded note that had been weaving in and out of Leo’s fingers as he’d spoken to them. The paper was worn, the edge soft in a way only repeated use could make them. Finn’s eyes flicked to Leo before he picked it up, glancing at Logan as he opened it.

Logan leaned in, reading over Finn’s shoulder. In a familiar, stocky script it said:

‘Sun, I’m going out on business. It’s the usual. Same as always, If I don't communicate in 4 days, ask around for Logan Tremblay and Finn O Hara, Tell them about mission troy. They’ll know who I am, say Lizard sent you -P’

Logan’s hands shook, and he stuffed them into his pockets, still reading the note, scouring it over and over for clues, anything that would tell them that he was still alive— though he knew he wasn’t going to find anything. His eyes caught on the first word. ‘Sun’? Logan wracked his mind, trying to find any reason why Lizard has called him that. Realisation struck and Logan looked over Leo, sizing him up.

Leo ‘the Sun’ Knut had was famous for his brilliant smile, those dimples distracting even the most stubborn of men while he swindled them out of their money. Bright as the sun and just as blinding, they said. Logan allowed himself a smirk at that. Like father, like son.

Leo didn’t back down from his stare, raising a blond eyebrow at the intense look, cocking his head to the side. A shiver of excitement ran through Logan, bigger men had backed away from that look of his, yet this lanky child didn’t so much as falter. Interesting.

Finn rested his elbows on the table, ever the portrait of unruffled grace. “How do we know this is real?” He asked, nodding his head at the drive sitting on the table.

Logan could practically see the effort it took Leo to not roll his eyes. The blond shrugged, crossing his arms on the desk. “Believe me, or don’t. It’s your loss. I have my orders and if you aren’t willing to provide the resources, I’m sure I’ll find other people who are.” His gaze sharpened to a flinty glare, “I’m just trying to do right by a friend. He asked me a favour and I will not let him down” He nudged the drive forward with a long finger, the little black device sitting in the middle of the table. “Help me or not, it’s up to you, but don’t you fucking dare get in my way.”

#russian roulette #whataboutmyfries #my writing #lumosinlove #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #Leo knut #mafia!fic #tw:implied death #tw:bruises #tw:mourning

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posi-writes1 · 3 years

Text

Why are you here?

Here is another drabble (or maybe oneshot? I don’t know what the rules are) from my AO3. Nothing to complicated. Just a reader struggling and Oikawa being helpful. Hope you enjoy. :)

Word Count: Just shy of 1.6k

Your eyes glaze over as you listen to your friend ramble on. If you have to sit here and listen to her ramble on about Oikawa freaking Tooru any longer, you are going to implode. You really shouldn’t be surprised that this is where your afternoon study session went. It had become the norm. The two of you would meet up at the cafe around the corner from the school to go over your homework together and she would eventually lead you down the Oikawa conversation rabbit hole.

You managed to rein her in and keep her on task for approximately 30 minutes today. A new record, you think to yourself proudly. Inevitably though, the conversation went to Oikawa, the charismatic 3rd year and captain of the school’s volleyball team.

It isn’t that you had a problem with him specifically. You just thought he was a bit overrated and fairly annoying. But you didn’t hate him or anything. You shared a class with him. He was a decent student and classmate. Not overly impressive but by no means an idiot.

You do have to admit that he always had a solid showing in volleyball. You have seen him play volleyball, seen the plays he makes up on the fly, the way he strategizes. Oikawa is clever. His motivation entirely focused on being better at his sport. You suppose there is value in his talent there.

You stop that train of thought before it goes too far. You don’t want to think about Oikawa. You turn a vicious glare to your friend. It is her fault you were thinking about Oikawa in the first place. She catches your look and returns your glare with a confused furrow to her eyebrows.

“What?”

“Why are we talking about Oikawa again? I’m tired of hearing about him. He isn’t even that great.” Why do you sound so defensive?

Her cheeks turn dusty pink.

“I’m sorry--I didn’t even realize. Let’s go back to our work?”

You nod stiffly, shaking your thoughts away as you pick up your pen and go back to your homework.

============================================================= You stare at the grade at the top of the paper. You spent the last three days on this thing. How did you get such a crappy grade on it? You clench your fist, the paper crumpling under your hand. Your parents were going to be so disappointed. You always have struggled to keep up with their lofty expectations of you. It isn’t a conversation you are looking forward to having this evening over dinner.

You let out a deep sigh and sink down into your chair, your back hunching over and your shoulders coming up to create a barrier around you, a shield to protect you while you work through your thoughts and emotions. You try to tune out your classmates chattering while you steady your breathing. No point in being upset. You will just pick yourself back up, promise your parents you will try harder, and do just that. One mediocre grade isn’t the end of the world...right?

You exhale slowly as you sit back up properly, trying to appear casual as you scan the room around you to see if anyone saw your moment of weakness. Your gaze locks onto soft brown. You stare blankly at Oikawa for a few moments before turning back to your paper. You miss the curious look he gives as his eyes linger on you a little longer.

=============================================================

You hold onto the rusted metal chain as you swing slowly. You cancelled your afternoon study session, choosing to head to the park near your house instead. You wanted to kill time before the moment of reckoning when your parents ask how school was today. The last thing you needed was to be distracted by talk of Oikawa.

What you didn’t notice at that moment was the boy in question strolling past the park on his way home. By coincidence, he stops and glances over to see you on the swings, looking a little worse for wear mentally. It only takes him a moment to make his decision. He makes his way over to you, carefully as if to keep from scaring you away. He knows you don’t like him much but he can’t just ignore you when you look so sad.

You don’t notice his presence initially, the only thing alerting you to another person’s presence was the squeak of metal coming from the swing next to yours. Your head shoots up as you look around. The identity of your company throws you.

“Oikawa?” You sound incredulous.

“Yes?” He hums out in response as he pushes off to start the swing moving.

“Why are you here?” You flinch internally at the aggression in your tone. If Oikawa notices (he does), he doesn’t mention it.

“Well isn’t it obvious? I’m enjoying the swings.”

Your expression falls flat, your words tired.

“Oikawa, what do you want? I would like to be left alone.”

He brings his feet down abruptly, coming to a sudden stop and turning to watch you carefully.

“You want me to leave?”

You return his look warily.

“Do what you want.”

“Alright then.” He resumes his swinging. You think he is doing this just to frustrate you and it is working.

The two of you swing, the only sound breaking the silence was the squeak of rusted metal on metal, for about 5 minutes before Oikawa speaks again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You pause.

“Talk about what? Nothing going on here. Nothing at all. Besides, even if there was something, why would I want to talk about it with you?”

He shrugs. “Impartial third party?”

“Why are you doing this? Don’t you have a volleyball to hit around? Or fangirls to charm?”

He shrugs again, choosing not to respond verbally this time, waiting for me to break, to talk to him. You tighten your lips into a straight line as you look across the park. Maybe if you refuse to engage with him, he will give up and go away. Another five minutes pass before you realize that he doesn’t plan to give up that easily.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The venom that laced your words earlier had faded significantly. You just sound worn down now.

“Okay.” He sounds nonchalant, like he doesn’t care one way or the other.

You huff and slow your swing to a stop. You toe at the dirt as you collect your thoughts.

“Do you ever get tired of the expectations?” Your words are so quiet you weren’t even sure if you said them out loud. You must have because Oikawa’s attention immediately snaps to you. He doesn’t seem to need long to consider his answer.

“No.”

You weren’t sure if the answer you expected but it also didn’t surprise you.

“Why not? How do you handle it?”

This answer he contemplates for a few minutes. You wait patiently, just as he has for you through this whole interaction.

“Turn it into motivation, the extra push I need sometimes.” He hums softly, mulling over his words before he continues. “But--ultimately--the expectations of others shouldn’t matter.”

You scoff, of course he would make it seem that simple. “Sure.”

“Are you happy?”

The question catches you off guard and your mouth drops open as you stare at him dumbly.

“Well what does that even have to do with anything?”

“Well--if you are happy, the expectations shouldn’t matter as much, right? Take volleyball--”

You interrupt him with narrowed eyes and an irritated expression. “Does it have to be volleyball?”

He grins brightly in your direction. It’s disarming.

“Yes it does. Now listen. People have expectations of my skill, right?”

He pauses and looks to you for affirmation. You nod. He takes that to mean you are listening to him and continues.

“Well, sometimes, I will admit, it does get tiring. But, volleyball makes me happy. I practice and train to get better for my happiness, not theirs. These are my dreams on the line, not theirs. My happiness can’t hinge on their expectations.”

The words roll around in your brain as you try to comprehend what he was telling you. Did Oikawa just give you advice in a roundabout way? And decent advice at that? Silence settles around the two of you again before you stand, dusting off your skirt and turning to Oikawa.

“Okay.”

Confusion paints his features as he stands to join you.

“Okay?”

You nod resolutely. You feel ready to head home.

“Okay. I’m going to find my happiness.”

He looks surprised that you actually listened to him as you turn away from him and begin to walk away.

You stop about halfway to the entrance of the park before abruptly turning and stalking back in his direction. His confusion turns to concern as he watches you make your back over. Confusion turns to shock as you stand on your tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek. You pat his face lightly over the spot your lips just left as you plant your heels back on the ground. You throw a few parting words over your shoulder with a small wave of your fingers.

“Thanks for the advice, Oikawa. I guess you aren’t as bad as I thought you were.”

Oikawa watches you go, a small, unsure smile on his features before it falls as he processes your words. You thought he was bad? Well that won’t do. He collects himself as he rushes off after you, determined to change your mind once and for all.

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyu x reader #oikawa tooru #I really need to figure out how to tag #maybe one day #maybe never

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

Text

Ursine Ire - Hermod x Fem!Reader

I’ve been dying to do something with Hermod and his temper, so here it is! And I think I’ve finally got my chaos in check for a while, so hopefully I can get another fic or two out before Christmas rolls around. Also, sorry this one feels a little more straightforward than most of my stuff.

~~~~~

I’m late! I’m so late! They’re gonna kill me!

Feet hit the stone path as fast as I can manage without blindly running into innocent bystanders—though there were a few close calls.

Today, my friends and I are off to see a production Vor and Urd have been demanding we all attend—I was supposed to meet them half an hour ago. Now I’m racing like a rabbit from a dog praying I don’t have to face the wrath of the female wielders.

Rounding a corner, my heart, just like my foot, skips when I nearly collide with the crowd I’ve let down.

An outstretched arm intercepts me before I can crash. “Woah! Slow down!”

Hermod, my boyfriend and the reason I have a great group of new friends, pulls me upright. Steadied by my grip on his haori, I heave so hard my lungs might just fall on the concrete.

“And here we thought you’d forgotten,” teases the red-head. When I can’t stop gasping, Bragi tacks on, “Geeze, I thought Eraqus was Tardy Fleetfoot.”

Said ‘Fleetfoot’ leans down. “Are you okay?”

One more breath gives me my voice back. “I’m so sorry I’m late! I was reading a book and I lost track of time! When I looked at the clock, I freaked out and ran all the way here! I’m so sorry!”

Soft chuckling brings my attention to the young man with an arm still around me. “It’s alright. We’ve still got some time,” he chuckles. A dip of his head connects his lips to my forehead, washing over that anxiety with a sweet serenity.

“Cut it out, you two,” Urd insists, clearly not pleased by my tardiness. My boyfriend leans back, still happy but with a tad bit of sheepish mixed in. “That time we have is not enough for you to make out. If we don’t get going, we’ll miss the show.”

“It might already be sold out!” little blond Vor exclaims.

“Then let’s get a move on,” urges the boy in black.

The group agrees and scampers through the streets towards the theater. When we get there, we see the mass of people shuffling into the stadium.

“Okay, Vor and I will get the tickets,” insists the taller girl, holding her hand out expectantly.

The boys rifle through pockets, but when I notice Hermod doing the same, I take his sleeve.

“I’m paying this time,” I say.

“Oh, it’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“I don’t care if you mind. You paid for the last date; it’s my turn.” His mouth opens to argue. “Don’t make me ask nicely.”

As it so happens, my asking Hermod ‘nicely’ is actually giving him the best puppy eyes I can, letting my bottom lip slip forward just a little, and saying please. My poor teddy bear has yet to refine any resistance to this technique. Due to this unfair trump card, I reserve it for dire occasions but sometimes just its mention is enough to tilt things in my favor.

Shoulders slouch. “Fine.”

Victoriously smiling, I place a peck against his cheek and scurry after the girls. As we chat, a peculiar couple comes up behind us. The woman tears into the man about them not showing up on time—I kind of feel sorry for him. Even so, their conflict is so unbearably awkward that it completely silences the light-hearted conversation we’d been having. There’s only a single person in front of us, but they cannot move fast enough to get us away from this disaster. Thankfully, after Urd gets her batch of tickets, the man sends the woman away, leaving the queue in an uncomfortable silence.

Vor grabs hers next and bustles away while I quickly purchase mine. About halfway between the ticket booth and my friends, a hand takes my shoulder: it’s the man.

“Uh…can I help you?” I ask, disquiet quickly simmering in my gut.

“Yeah, actually, you bought the last two tickets. Mind if I take them?” There’s not even a trace of politeness in his words—it’s more like a statement than a request.

Eyes dart to the group gossiping not that far away. I point in their direction. “Actually, I’m here to see the show with my friends. Sorry.”

Anger rivaling the woman’s snaps into place. “So what. They can tell you about it later. Give me those tickets!”

Not exactly a fighter myself, I step back. As I do, he reaches for me.

A flash of green swipes up, swatting the grasping hand away. My boyfriend has come to save me with suspicion written across his face.

“Is there a problem here?”

“It’s none of your business,” growls the man.

Slate eyes turn on me and I tell him, “He wants our tickets.”

“And you paid for them?” I nod. Ever polite, the young man says, “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t have our tickets. Please excuse us.” He turns back to me. “Come on. The show’s starting.”

Relief takes over too soon when a fist appears around my wrist. So tight is the grasp that my hand quavers and I’m certain there will be bruising. This sudden spike of pain draws a yelp from my mouth that the heckler doesn’t acknowledge as he jerks me closer.

In the next instant, I’m free. In the same manner, a hand crushes the thug’s wrist. An existential dread rolls over me and the man seems to realize he’s made a mistake.

I’ve always described my soft Hermod as a bear: he’s the biggest sweetheart, always looking out for me, and as cuddly as one might expect. However, another reason my brain thinks of a bear when concerning my boyfriend is his rage. He has a saintly patience; it takes something truly serious to push him to anger—something like assaulting his girlfriend—and when he reaches that point, he is terrifying. I’ve only ever seen this one other time when he was having a truly miserable day. He apologized afterwards but I will never forget the fury he exhumed, almost as if he were another person. He is the embodiment of a bear, anger and all.

“Hermod!” Vor shouts.

“Hold on there, Brother Bear!” Bragi appears and places a hand on the threatening arm.

“How dare you,” Hermod snarls lowly, ignoring his friends. Barely veiled violence hides in his eyes. “She is under no obligation to give you anything and her refusal to do so gives you no right to put your hands on her.” I see his grip tighten, bringing the assailant to his knees. “Now apologize.”

There’s resistance but a further constricting grip accompanied by bared teeth coerce a response. “S-Sorry!”

Hermod’s hold releases, signaling that his uncertain classmates can relax.

“You’d do well to learn some manners,” growls the irate boy. With that, an arm gently ushers me away from the scene. Every bit of that tense anger can be felt in his shielding arm. Anxiety bubbles in my chest but I follow without fuss.

Only a few steps away and the man shows us he’s learned nothing. A boot to the back of my knee messes up my balance. My elbow scrapes across the ground though I’m far more concerned with the ensuing roar. Peering back reveals a frenzied Hermod swinging his keyblade. The weapon strikes the man hard enough to send him across the clearing into a brick wall where he crumples to the ground. Only three straining boys stop the young man from resuming his rampage.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING COME NEAR HER AGAIN!” My jaw drops—I’ve never heard Hermod utter a single curse word in all our time dating, even on his worst days.

The girls dash for the downed man. Urd exclaims, “He’s out cold!”

“I WILL DESTROY YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“He can’t hear anything!” Xehanort shouts.

“You got ‘im!” adds Bragi. “He’s done!”

Their words fall on deaf ears as the fight to get at his foe floods Hermod’s mind. It’s frightening, far worse than the last time I saw him like this. If the others let him go, who knows what he’d do to that man—I can’t even guarantee murder would be off the table.

As I watch the struggle, his name barely escapes my mouth. “Hermod.”

Nothing changes; he’s still fighting—fighting to defend me.

This is for me…

Shoving off the ground, I rush to help the boys. Fists snag handfuls of the haori and push against his chest.

“Hermod, stop! Please!”

It all freezes; only heavy pants from the four boys breaks the silence. Almost afraid of what I might find, I peek up at my boyfriend’s face—it’s blank, like a chalkboard wiped clean. I don’t know if this makes me relieved or worried.

Vor breaks the silence with an announcement. “Guys, he might need a doctor.”

The wary boys release their classmate and Xehanort leans towards Bragi. “We’ll take care of the moron; you get these two someplace they can calm down.”

“Good plan.” A palm to the chest pushes the impassive boy back. “Alright Brother Bear, let’s get outta here. You too, chickadee, come on.”

Bragi steers the two of us down the street away from the mess we left. Silence stirs the distress I’d been boiling throughout the ordeal; I’m unable to stop ruminating on images of that fury.

At the student dorms where the keyblade wielders train, our chaperone branches off. He leaves us in the entrance hall, still stifled in quiet, but returns rather quickly.

“Yo, Hermod.” He shoves a box into the taller boy’s arms. “You might wanna patch up your girlfriend.”

A light finally sparks in his eyes and Hermod turns on me. “Are you okay?”

This is my Hermod and it’s almost alarming how this gentle giant could turn into something so vicious.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

That pain adds to my uncertainty, but it all goes out the window when my feet leave the ground. Too stunned to do anything about it, I let Hermod carry me through the halls of the student dorms; I do, however, flinch when his door flies open and closes with another slam. Hermod’s back hits the wall and he slumps to the floor, still clinging to me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my shoulder.

It takes a moment to gather my words. “That…That was pretty scary,” I whisper back.

“I know and you deserve to be mad at me. I was out of line and I wasn’t thinking, but when he…”

I already know why it happened, not that it makes it any better. Still, Hermod’s actions were for my sake; I don’t condone what he did but that man made it clear he wasn’t giving up without a fight. My boyfriend was protecting me.

“Thank you.” Those slate eyes give me a perturbed look. I let the corners of my mouth turn up. “For sticking up for me.”

Gods, I wanted to make him feel better, not add to that misery. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know.” I brush the hair from his face. “You’re such a sweetheart. But maybe next time we don’t knock someone unconscious with our keyblade.”

He let’s a guilty sigh escape him, dropping his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

A finger leads his gaze back to me. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

Again, his face hides against me. “It’s not your fault.” Pushing him back, I take his face in my hands and raise a brow; he gets the hint. “But I forgive you.”

“I love you, Hermod,” I say, running circles across his cheeks with my thumbs.

There’s the smile I’ve been looking for. “I love you too.”

Content with the response, I kiss him. It’s short but oh so sweet—they always are with Hermod. I’d spend hours on end kissing him if there weren’t other matters to attend to.

“Hermod?”

“Hmm?” It’s a dreamy, peaceful sort of hum.

“Who taught you the F word?” My accusations are mostly in jest but the results are perfectly entertaining. My gentle teddy bear bursts into a blush and begins stammering like a fool. “It was Bragi, wasn’t it?”

“I—I—you—wh—”

“I’m only teasing,” I sing, pinching at his cheeks. “Now fix my elbow please.”

This vexed sigh comes with an adoring smile as he reaches for the first aid kit.

#hermod #kh hermod #khdr hermod #hermod x reader #fem!reader

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ironcaptainnataliabarnes · 5 years

Text

Red Roses (A Harry Hook x Reader/OC)

A/N: I am so glad there are people reading and enjoying this! As long as there's someone out there who wants more of this story, I'm here to happily comply. Please let me know if there are any errors and I will fix them. I will try to update as much as possible, phew story writing is hard guys lmao. Thank you all again and I hope you stay for this journey!

Summary: Ruby Hearts, daughter of the infamous Queen of Hearts, was abandoned by her mother when she was young and forced to live with her father, the King of Hearts, in Auradon. Harry Hook himself may be the only one who finds her madness enchanting. Will Ruby find her self falling for the rugged pirate, or will the roses bleed red?

Prologue / Chapter 1: Down the Rabbit Hole / Chapter 2

Ruby's paintbrush glided over the wallpaper, leaving red strokes in its path. A small music system played softly in the background. Even after already attending Auradon Prep for a year, her room always needed something to hide the pretty-pink-princess-ness of it underneath, and merely changing the horrendously colored bed covers were not enough. She had taken to painting over the single colored wallpaper, her first time being a large pocket-watch with elaborate patterns that no one else ever heard tick-tocking the days away.

Prince Ben himself had given Ruby the paints after having noticed her in Art 101; the mindless mutterings and frantic look in her eyes seemed to fade when a paintbrush was in her hand. She was thankful for him showing up to her dorm room that day, bottles upon bottles of paint in haul, a kind smile on his face.

However, nothing ever fully quenched the illusions she had. Some days the walls were frozen, so close to shattering, others she was drowning in red, red blood. Of course, there were good days as well: being outfitted by Evie, playing catch with Dude and Carlos, watching Mal trip over her own two feet.

The tiny King of Hearts, Ruby's father, had decided to send her to Auradon the same time the VK's arrived. He assumed that the terrible villain kids would mask the aura of 'mad' surrounding his daughter just by being from the Isle themselves. It had worked, for a time. While Jay and Carlos were kind enough to her, Evie took Ruby under her wing, making sure she was always included. Mal was a different story though; Ruby had no idea why, but one of the voices in her head told her that the daughter of Maleficent was the wrong sort for her.

Fitting in became the wrong choice halfway through her first year; no one wanted to share a dorm with the 'crazy girl'. No one dared bother her while she was attending the roses in Auradon Prep's garden in fear of having their heads offed. No one even deemed her worthy of a friend, seeing her crazy ramblings as a sort of disease, even thought most times she was perfectly sane at having conversation.

But now was the beginning of a new year, things will be different she mused to herself as she dipped her paintbrush back into the blood red paint. She hummed to herself as she did so, completely blissful in the peace of the dorm, trying oh-so hard to not remember the memories that haunted her everyday. To not realize how this red paint almost matched perfectly with the blood that dripped onto a dead lawn all those years ago.

Ruby's focus was dropped by her door suddenly slamming open and she hissed in anger when her paintbrush slipped from its course. Her hand found a pen that was among her art materials around her, and promptly turned and flung it towards the open door. She missed of course, she always does, as could be told from the multiple shallow holes in the wall near her dorm room door.

"Whoa! Calm down there, Red!" Jay exclaimed from her doorway, Carlos was there with him and he seemed unfazed as he pulled the pen out of the wall and tossed it back to Ruby.

She caught it and placed it on the floor before grabbing her small towel to dab off the smear of imperfection before it dried forever on her wall.

"Thank you for ruining my lovely painting. If paintings could cry, this one would be because you nearly destroyed it," she huffed at the boys, who still stood out of breath in her doorway.

"You're supposed to be with us and the Welcome Committee, Ruby. The new VK's are showing up today," Carlos reminded her, matter of factually.

She cursed under her breath. She totally forgot about the new kids arriving today. I wonder, are their heads too big? Or perhaps too small? What a shame if they don't have heads at all. Ruby shook her head, clearing the voices as she stood and brushed off her outfit, a simple thigh-length black dress matched with heart stockings, and stumbled to put on a pair of red heels.

"Right, yes, the new VK's. Welcoming to the committee...erm, I wasn't supposed to do anything, was I?" She asked while trying to make her hair look somewhat decent. Even though it was lovely, the tips of her deep black hair being a rosy red, it was a mess nearly everyday of the week.

"Nope, just show up and smile," Jay quipped at her as she closed the door, viewing the bleeding rose on her wall one last time before hurrying with the two boys outside.

The trio made it too the entrance of the school right as a black limousine pulled up. The boys led Ruby to where Evie was standing before running to find other friends.

"Hey, Ruby," Evie greeted her, ever present smile on her face.

"Hey, Evie," Ruby responded, cautiously looking around to see if her somewhat dunce of a father came to see the new kids.

Evie looked at the girl and gestured to her face. "You've got a bit of paint there," the blue haired girl said, just as the doors to the limo opened.

"Oh, um...thanks," Ruby replied and used the back of her hand to wipe the paint away, only to succeed in smearing it over her cheek.

"Welcome to Auradon!" Fairy Godmother's voice carried over the cheering crowd, effectively ending the fanfare as well. "Allow me to introduce you to King Ben and his girlfriend Mal!"

Ruby glanced and caught sight of said couple, glaring when she noticed Mal looking at her. Too small head. No hat would ever fit her, one of the voices in Ruby's head commented. She shook out her thoughts and gasped in surprise when Evie pulled her forward. She missed nearly the entire conversation that was happening and had zero idea why Evie decided to announce her presence.

"Fairy Godmother," Evie said to the overly cheerful woman, "Even though I would absolutely adore showing our newest guests around, I think it would be an even BETTER idea to let Ruby do it!" She exclaimed, nearly bouncing with happiness at her grand scheme.

"What- no, Evie it's fine I gotta-" Before Ruby could finish her sentence Fairy Godmother cut her off.

"OH what a wonderful idea!! Ruby, these are our new students, Uma, Gil, and Harry! I do hope you all make great friends! Now, if you'll excuse us, class is waiting! The doors of wisdom are never shut!"

And with that Fairy Godmother gestured for everyone back to the school, but of course Audrey would never leave without having a few words first. As the brunette passed by Ruby she sneered "Of course, let the mad girl give the villains a tour, what a perfect match!"

Ruby paid her no mind, instead wondering what it would be like if she offed with her-

Ben gave Ruby a pat on the shoulder, silencing her vicious thoughts and gave her a good luck smile before walking with Mal back into the school. Ruby huffed and prepared herself and turned around to greet her newest friends.

She stared for only a second, muttering under her breath about their seemingly normal sized heads before she gave a smile and spread out her arms.

"Well, welcome to Boradon, where the princes are far from charming and the only color the people know of is 'pretty princess pink.'"

A dark skinned girl with light blue hair snorted at Ruby's introduction, while the boys laughed, giving a nod to the girl. "Amazing, someone who lives here who hates this place as much as we do. I'm Uma, daughter of Ursula," she gave her hand out for a shake (which Ruby accepted) and gestured to the two boys next to her. "This is Gil, and Harry."

Ruby smiled at the two boys, some forlorn memory tugging at the back of her mind, telling her she knew this girl, her thoughts turning at the name 'Harry'.

Harry's eyes raked over her before taking a few steps towards her, "Well well well," he said, his accent pulling memories out from Ruby's head. "It seems ye may have made a bit of a mess, lass," he said, licking his thumb and wiping off the smeared paint from Ruby's cheek. One of her eyebrows raised in question, though she definitely felt the heat rising to her face.

"Um..."

Uma rolled her eyes and gave a smack to the back of Harry's head, earning a shout of protest from the boy. Still, Ruby couldn't help but feel she stared into those same blue eyes before...

"Let's get this tour thing started!" Gil exclaimed, oblivious to the somewhat awkward/intimate moment

"Right, uh, this way," Ruby once again shook away her confusion, ignoring the way the sun reflected off her red heels and making it seem as though they were bleeding. She turned and led them into the school.

"Now, normally I'd have to tell you the history of our esteemed school, but honestly it's just of bunch of nonsense. Some king went 'wow I would be super cool if I made a school for royalty' and so he did a got a commemorative statue because of it." Ruby talked as she led the group into the main foyer.

"Sounds about right," Uma commented, spinning in a slow circle as she took in the school.

"Woah!" Ruby turned and saw Gil gently petting a potted plant, "What is this? It's so green!"

"That's, uh, that's a plant," Ruby answered him, slightly amused by his reaction to said plant. "There's a whole garden out the back way. It's a lot more interesting than showing you the useless classrooms in here."

Uma and Harry didn't get a chance to respond as Gil took off, a smile on his face. Ruby stayed where she was and called out to him, "Wrong way!"

Once outside, Gil ran off into the bushes of flowers, Harry running to catch up to the boy. Uma stayed behind, walking the pathway with Ruby.

"I never got to thank you," the dark-skinned girl spoke.

"Thank...me?" Ruby questioned, before her mind flooded with memories of a small crying girl that she never got to console. "Oh, um."

Uma looked at her, her face sincere, "No really, thank you. No one ever...No one's ever tried to be there for me when I'm not feeling myself. And that day was, uh, particularly bad," she confessed.

"Oh...well, you're welcome. I never...had friends when I was little, and I just wanted to be nice I guess. The flowers never wanted me to have friends, they were not so nice," Ruby told her.

"Right," Uma nodded, slightly confused but thankful nonetheless. "I'm glad to see you out of that hellhole, too. I mean, the Isle was bad but your mother..I can't even imagine."

Ruby let her fingers dance across the daisy's as the two girls walked. She tried to not dwell on memories of the past, of that house, that woman. "Thanks. Things are better here, I guess. The walls may freeze, and the momwraths outgrabe, but if you know where you're going then it doesn't really matter at all."

Uma was spared a response when the two caught up with Harry and Gil, ironically where the rosebushes were. Ruby's body froze when she noticed Harry gripping a rose, almost as if he were about to pluck it off the bush.

"Don't!" She yelled, running and pushing the pirate away from her beloved roses. After checking the rose was okay, she turned to Harry, her finger pointing at him in accusation. "Don't you make the roses angry, you make them angry and broken and then they bicker nonstop and I'm the only one that has to deal with it."

"Whoa there, lass, 's just a wee flower,"Harry's hands went up into the air with a slight smirk on his face, one hand gripping a metal hook. A hook, how had Ruby not noticed it before. Her eyes widened at the glinting metal, the face of a younger boy clouding her mind.

"Just, don't touch my roses," She glared at him once more, Uma giving him an 'I told you so' look, before turning and leading them away from the gardens and to the tourney field.

The team was outside at practice when the small group arrived, and Ruby noticed Jay and Carlos waving to get her attention. The two boys ran to her, smelling like wet dog yet smiling like idiots.

"Hey, Red," They both greeted, out of breath.

Harry behind her scoffed. "This it? Tourney is a wee lad's game, with their little pointy sticks."

"That's because their lads are a bit wee," Ruby responded, smiling at Harry.

A weird look was shared among the others when suddenly Gil freaked out. He bent down as Dude strolled up, patting the dog happily. "What is this!!!!"

Jay and Carlos chuckled. "That's Dude, my dog," Carlos said.

"Wow," Gil said, amazed. "Dogs are cool."

"Wait 'till you see a zoo," Jay told him.

"A zoo?"

"Okay," Uma cut in, "As much as I enjoy..." she gestured to the group, "I think I'd like a bed a hell of a lot more."

"Right, well, we gotta get back to practice," Carlos nodded, running back to the team.

"See ya around," Jay said to Ruby (but mostly to Gil) as he followed suit.

"Back inside we go then," Ruby announced and led the trio indoors.

"Funny thing is," she said as they made it to the dorm quarters. "No one tells me a thing, so I have zero idea where your rooms are."

"'S alright," Harry answered, seemingly trying to break into one of the rooms. "We'll just pillage some for our own selves," his eyes glinted mischievously.

"That won't be necessary."

The four turned towards the voice, and Ruby was relieved to see it was only Ben.

"We already have rooms chosen out for you," he said, smiling and giving a quick wink to Ruby. "This way."

The group followed, and Ruby almost missed the way Harry's eyes glared into the back of Ben's head. Ben stopped right in front of Ruby's dorm, and opened a door right across from hers. "This will be for Harry and Gil," he stated, "And Uma, you're the next door down the hall. As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I've got a meeting to attend. It was nice to meet you all."

And with that he turned and marched back down from where they had came, leaving Ruby speechless and dumbfounded.

"Well, see ya, girl. I'm going take a well deserved nap," Uma said, smiling at Ruby before walking to her room.

Ruby opened the door to her room as Harry and Gil turned into their own. She quite literally kicked off her heels and walked to where she painting earlier that day. She let her hands gently glide over the bleeding rose, checking the paints dryness. She missed Harry sneaking in behind her, leaning on the door frame.

"Ye paint," he stated abruptly, making Ruby jump and spin towards the voice, wishing she had a pen to throw.

"Thank you, captain obvious. I do paint, what about it?" she told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He tutted her, shaking his finger as he stepped closer to her. "Uma's the cap'n, lass. I'm 'er first mate. And, ye paint well."

Ruby became flustered and uncrossed her arms to scratch the back of her head. "Um, thanks." She suddenly pointed to the pocket watch painting, "Do you hear it, too?"

Instead of answering, Harry's hand whipped out and grabbed onto Ruby's wrist, causing her to stumble closer to him. The tip of his hook gently ran over the line of her scar, the one she tried every day to ignore.

"I know ye," he whispered, blue eyes boring into her own.

"I know you too," she whispered back, visions of the unspoken day prodding her brain

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but a knock at Ruby's open door made the two jump away from each other.

"Hey!" It was Evie, eyes sparkling with another scheme. "I'm throwing a dinner party for our newest VK's. Ruby, you're invited too, of course!" She exclaimed.

Harry and Ruby went into the hallway where Gil and Uma were already waiting. Uma gave a questioning look to the two. Harry's eyes cleared, his regular mischievous demeanor returning.

"Finally, food! I am famished!" he announced.

Gil bounced on his heels. "Is it like a food party? I've never been to a party. And with food! This place is amazing!"

Uma rolled her eyes at the boys and Ruby let out a small giggle.

"This way!" Evie said, guiding the group down the hall. They met up with Mal and Ben, Jay and Carlos, as well as Doug and Jane. Ruby couldn't help but feel that this was going to be a very uncomfortable tea party.

#harry hook x reader #harry hook #harry hook lemon #harry hook x reader lemon #harry hook smut #harry hook x reader smut #harry hook x oc #harry hook descendants

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ceaselessly-into-black-tea · 6 years

Text

Yourself

Under the vast blue sky, Lucille breathed in the rich atmosphere of childhood. It was just past noon on a summer Saturday, and she was engaged in a vicious game of tag. Weaving between the various poles that supported the month-old playground, she felt a small hand clap her shoulder. She whipped around, but her attacker, a small but quick boy she knew to be called Peter, had already fled. Lucille grinned. Her time had come. Scanning her surroundings, she quickly spotted an ideal target. On the opposite side of the playground, she saw John bent over with his hands on his knees. His brown t-shirt, a size too large, flapped in the light wind. All Lucille really knew about John was that he had something called asthma, which apparently meant he could only run for a brief period of time before giving up. During games of tag, he usually claimed he was "not playing," but she knew he was lying. Nobody sits out a game of tag.

Lucille wasted no time in beginning her hunt. Kicking up a flurry of woodchips, she bounded toward her prey. She could almost see a trail of blood, sweat, and tears guiding her toward John, a wispy vapor hanging in the air. John must have felt it too, as his head shot up, and he glanced over his shoulder. Terror immediately overtook his face. Stumbling over his first step, he recovered--barely--and broke into a run. But Lucille was faster. Having closed the gap, she could make out the individual goosebumps on John's pale neck. His pace slowed as he began to wheeze. Her grin curled wider as the thrill of the hunt overtook her, and she let out a primal roar as she finally pounced upon her poor, defenseless prey.

In her raging bloodlust, Lucille had forgotten to hold back and leapt onto John's back, sending them both cascading to the warm grass beneath. Lucille, successful in her hunt, rolled away and sprung to her feet. She turned, expecting to meet John's smile with a grin of her own, but was startled to find him still laying on the ground, crying.

The mothers, stirred by the John's wailing, descended upon him. A tangle of hands fawned over him, helping him up, stroking his hair, and rubbing his back. Each mother competed, forcefully yet civilly, against the other for a piece of John upon which they could lavish their affection.

The other children reacted in various manners. Some, so moved by this display of tenderness and motherly compassion, broke down into tears themselves, prompting a few mothers to break off from the group and deliver upon them a chorus of "It's okay, sweetie."

Other children stared blankly, until one kicked woodchips at the other, prompting an immediate retaliation that quickly drew the entire group's attention.

Lucille, standing alone and confused, stepped towards the mob of mothers. She didn't understand why John was crying. Acting out her most primal desires without a care in the world brought her the greatest joy. If she was happy, why wasn't John happy? If hunting was fun, being hunted must be just as fun, if not more.

"Tell him you're sorry." One of the mothers had paused her tender stroking of John's back to address the party at fault.

"Why?" Lucille wore a gaze of genuine bewilderment. Her eyes squinted as she peered upward into the mother's face, a dark silhouette against the blinding sun.

"It doesn't matter. Just say it to him," she replied curtly.

The sea of mothers parted before Lucille. John turned his head towards her and she saw that only a few remnants of tears still stained his cheeks. Seeing her, he cowered like a rabbit before a wolf.

She slowly walked toward towards him, aware of the rows of motherly stares bearing down on her. She kept her head turned down. When she finally stopped, staring intently at the tiny dandelion near John's left foot, Lucille muttered the sacred words: "I'm sorry."

Instantly she was relieved of the mothers' stares as they snapped onto John. Also staring at the ground, he let out his reply: "I forgive you."

The ritual was complete. Immediately the sea of mothers fell to low tide. Leaving the children isolated in the world of the playground, they dispersed back to their slick park benches and shady picnic tables, where their beloved fashion magazines lay sprawled in anguish, having pined desperately for the mothers' return.

Lucille turned slowly around, staring at each group of playing children, hoping someone would look up and invite her to join. But by the time she had turned back to her original orientation, none had.

She wandered over to the north edge of the park. Spotting her favorite tree, she ran over and took a seat beneath it, leaning against the trunk. It was an old oak that towered above the surrounding trees. Broad branches stuffed with healthy green leaves created a wide radius of shade. Halfway up the trunk a crude target had been inscribed. It consisted of only two circles, dividing the target into the two decisive zones of "bull's-eye" and "not bull's-eye."

Lucille closed her eyes and remembered how she and other children would battle for absolute superiority over each other by throwing rocks at the target. It was a treacherous challenge only undertaken by a brave and skilled few. A single miss could send a stone careening through the windshield of a car in the parking lot, a minefield of adults and consequences that lay just behind the tree. Lucille was undefeated. Having achieved an incredible three bull's-eyes in a row, her legend would be persist through all time. Each new child, their eyes wide and voice meek before the crowd of playground regulars, was told her tale. The fact that she walked to the playground alone each day, no mother tightly gripping her hand, only further deified her in the eyes of the other children. At the playground, she was a god among small men.

"Do you want some candy?" A clear, high voice called to Lucille from the parking lot behind her. She got up and turned to look at the source.

Standing next to a dark red Mercedes was a tall woman clutching a bulky purse. Her thin figure was clothed in a white sundress with a red floral pattern. Locks of curly brown hair hung just above her shoulders. As a result, she looked like a doll, but due to her manic expression, she looked like one that had suffered an unfortunate manufacturing defect. In her outstretched hand was a fistful of candy. The red and purple lollipops and amber candy sticks poking through her fingers created a lopsided bouquet of sweets that Lucille found irresistible.

Her gaze was fixated on the candy. The sight of candy--forbidden in her household--had left her stupefied. She imagined the sweet red lollipop melting in her mouth. A bit of drool leaked out of the corner of her mouth.

"Well, you sure seem like want some. Why don't you come over here?" The woman pulled the bouquet of candy toward her in a beckoning motion.

Lucille didn't answer with words. She let her sugary fantasies guide her across the path into the parking lot. Her wide, hungry eyes tracked every slight movement of the bouquet. The woman let her hand drop to her side. The candy had fallen out of sight, hidden from Lucille by the long green station wagon parked on the other side of the woman. Lucille held her breath. Her heart beat faster and her step quickened as she began to panic, fearing the worst.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the park. It tossed a section of the woman's hair into her face. She raised her hand up to push it back where it belonged and Lucille finally let out her breath. Glinting in the sun was the candy bouquet, still intact.

She now stood only a few feet from the woman. The scent of a thousand thorny roses overpowered her senses and left her in a mild daze. Lucille could now make out, under thick layers of makeup, the outlines of rivers and estuaries running through the woman's face. Her eyes had a determined self-assurance to them that assuaged Lucille's bloodlust.

"What's your name?" the woman asked.

"Lucille."

The woman's eyes shifted to look over Lucille's shoulder. "And where is your mother?"

"At work."

The woman looked up at the sky in disgust. "Parents these days! You know, if I had children, I would never let them go to the park alone." The pitch of her voice sharpened as it lingered on the last word. "You're bound to get stolen by one of those bad men you hear about on the ten o'clock news."

Lucille could think of nothing but the purple lollipop dangling from the woman's uncertain grasp.

"But that's besides the point. I'm Ms. Lindquist." Looking back at Lucille, Ms. Lindquist noticed the eyes fixated on the candy, and extended the bouquet toward the drooling child. Lucille looked longingly into her eyes.

"Go ahead."

Lucille delicately extracted the purple lollipop from the woman's pale, veiny fingers. She ripped off the wrapper and shoved the glimmering ball of purple candy into her mouth. Immediately the flavors of grape and sugar danced a waltz together in her mouth.

"Why don't you come back to my home and I'll make you some lunch?" Ms. Lindquist said as she pulled open the rear door of her shiny sedan.

Lucille pondered whether or not candy was considered lunch. Based on how wonderful it tasted, she concluded that anybody had that much candy would surely eat it for lunch. Satisfied with her reasoning, she accepted Ms. Lindquist's offer by climbing into the rear seat of the car.

The car's rear interior was pristine. Not a single crack or stress mark was to be found in the tan leather of the rear seats. Looking at her feet, Lucille spotted only a few flecks of fresh dirt in the otherwise perfect floor mat. She struggled to pull the seatbelt over herself, its fibers stiff and rigid in her small hands.

"Lucille, do you realize just how fortunate you are?" Mrs. Lindquist asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Lucille briefly snapped out of her candy-induced euphoria. She had missed her cue. "Thank you for the candy, Ms. Lindquist," she replied in practiced monotone.

"Oh," Ms. Lindquist said, her eyes relaxing. "You're welcome, dear." Only a few moments passed before her self-assuredness came trickling back into her eyes and she resumed where she had left off. "But really, the children these days are so ungrateful." She let out the final word with a palpable indignance.

The grand waltz in Lucille's mouth finally drew to an end as she was now left with only the bland paper stick of the lollipop. She tried to lean forward, reaching for the gleaming bundle of candy on the car's center console, but the seatbelt held her fast against the soft leather back.

Noticing the struggling child, Ms. Lindquist tossed an orange-and-cream-twisted candy stick into the back seat. Her eyes remained locked on the road ahead of her the entire time.

Again, Lucille ripped off the cellophane wrapping and brought the candy to her lips. She felt the sweet orange and smooth cream flavors perform an intricate tango on her tongue. Its tangy taste was the perfect encore to the succulent lollipop.

"All the children would rather play games and run in circles rather than absorb the wisdom of their elders. But you're not like that, are you, Lucille?" Ms. Lindquist continued. Her voice began with an accusatory tone, but spiralled into one of such gratuitous affection that even Lucille, unable to comprehend any language besides the sweet music of candy, recognized the response she must give.

She nodded.

As the car came to a halt at a stop sign, Ms. Lindquist turned to face Lucille. Her lips were curled into a thin smile that was dwarfed by the overwhelming pride in her eyes. "I'm glad. We wouldn't want my time to be wasted, would we?" She turned back forward and gripped the steering wheel more tightly. "We're almost there."

Just as the candy stick had taken its final bows on Lucille's tongue, they pulled into a narrow concrete driveway. Through the window Lucille could make out the first floor of a small house. A small plot of assorted flowers seemed to have been copied and pasted several times to create an organic demarcation between the immaculately trimmed bright green lawn and the white siding of the house.

Stepping out of the car, Lucille spotted the rest of the candy. Ms. Lindquist held it casually in her right hand as her left fumbled with the keys at the red front door. In a small triumph, she managed to unlock and open the door without risking the safety of the precious remaining lollipops.

Lucille followed her through the door. She stepped into a kitchen furnished with white cabinets surrounding a dark brown drop leaf dining table, set for one.

"Have a seat, Lucille. I'll get your lunch ready." Ms. Lindquist set the candy down on the counter next to the stove, across the table from where Lucille took her seat.

Lucille's gaze never left the lollipops. As her mind entertained sugary fantasies, her hands absentmindedly began stuffing her napkin into the empty crystal glass at the side of her placemat.

"No, no, no." Ms. Lindquist shook her head and plucked the napkin out of the glass, placing it on Lucille's lap. "Like this, child." She turned back and opened the cabinet nearest to her. Standing on her toes, she peered inside before coming back down and letting out a sigh. "Well, it seems we're out of bread, so we'll have to skip lunch. Take this instead." She handed Lucille another purple lollipop.

Lucille wasted no time in placing it in her mouth and succumbing to the now familiar bliss.

"Lucille, do you know why I brought you here?"

Lucille shook her head.

"That's what I thought." At this point she broke eye contact and stared out the window behind Lucille. "Last week, while I was doing the dishes, I was listening to this radio program on NPR, and they had just the most wonderful guest on. She was a professor at an Ivy League university, and she talked about how your generation is the most at-risk of any so far. Of course, I was concerned immediately. Lucille, are you listening?"

Lucille's candy-fueled daze had evidently been noticed. The sudden silence prompted her to nod.

"Okay, good. As I was saying, I felt a great concern for the youth. The guest went on to explain how it was the responsibility of us, the adults, to guide the youth with our wisdom. It was at that moment that I realized how I could give back to my community. As a woman in business, I've seen quite a bit of this world, you know. Though it may be vain, I really believe I am gifted when it comes to wisdom. The lessons just came naturally to me when I put my mind to it. Lucille, are you asleep?"

Lucille's mind had been romping in a world of sweet purple pleasure. Again, the sudden lack of speech had pulled her out of it, and she nodded instinctively.

"Well, I guess you just look tired. I'll get to the point. Doing the dishes that day, I had a moment. It came to me. The most important lesson. The words just came to me and despite not having children of my own, I had to share. It was my duty." She leaned over the table and yanked the lollipop out of Lucille's mouth. She held it just beyond the reach of Lucille's lips.

Lucille stared into the manic eyes only inches away from her. The removal of the lollipop had opened a void within her. She sat staring into Ms. Lindquist's eyes looking for something with which to fill it.

"Lucille, you are so fortunate that I came into your life. The wisdom you are about to receive can be found nowhere else. Listen carefully."

Lucille gave no answer, but kept her gaze unbroken.

"Lucille, be yourself."

Lucille felt the lollipop being reinserted into her mouth as she collapsed back into her chair. Though she tasted the sweetness, the music was gone. In its place were Ms. Lindquist's words:

Be yourself.

***

As Ms. Lindquist drove away, Lucille made her way back toward the playground, passing by her favourite tree without so much as a glance in its direction.

"Lucille!" As she approached the mob of children, a tall boy with messy brown hair and welcoming eyes called to her.

"I'm not Lucille." She stood staring intently into the boy's eyes. His warm expression had morphed into confusion.

"What?" He had stopped walking toward her. The entire mob of children had turned, in unison, to face her. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I am Yourself," she replied.

#writeblr #short story #prose #fiction #creative writing project I felt inspired to share at two in the morning despite never having used tumblr before #childhood #writing

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theunkillablebitchseries · 5 years

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4. Affirmations for the Survivor

I’ve been in therapy for about 6 months now. That’s around 24 sessions. 1 hour long sessions each. Lots of money I didn’t really have but knew I needed to let go. So. 6 months of therapy. And I think I’m done. For now at least.

I don’t feel like I’m constantly running on below empty. The ache in my chest doesn’t pulse in my fingertips anymore. And I don’t hear this clock in the back of my mind ticking as loudly anymore. I’ve accepted I don’t have an answer to the question, “What did you learn from having cancer?

I still feel the ache but it’s only in my chest. I know the clock is there but I can acknowledge it without seeing my life run through my fingers like sand. I don’t feel like I’m supposed to know the answer to this life question or like I’m running out of time to figure it out.

You know how I know this time is a little different? Back when I was having a good day and all of a sudden the depression would creep in. A weighty thought. A throbbing sensation. And just that inkling-hinting at my internal and long fought battle with my troubled mental health could send me down the rabbit hole of my mental illness and connected my messy heart to speakers cranked all the way up. My confused head and heart combined to make an unforgiving tsunami that I couldn’t help get swept up in. And as masochistic and awful as it sounds, it was difficult to try to let go and resolve so much of that hurt and trauma, because for all of my adolescence and young adulthood being so unwell was what I knew.

Now, when I feel the depression randomly prodding outside my skin, even if I were to acknowledge it, or try to dredge up some sort of negative feeling just to see if I could out of curiosity and disbelief, for the most part I come up empty. It’s not so easy to get swept up anymore. It’s like there’s very little for the heavy to latch onto now.

The thing is, people talk about healing as though it’s just frou frou, self care, yoga mats and bullshit. Or that it’s a stagnant state of being. When really, it’s an ongoing process that is messy and confusing and unique and often painful. Most of my therapy sessions felt like grasping barbed wire, or like this hurt was ballooning in my chest about to crack me open. But I learned to grab the barbed wire so I knew what I was letting go, eventually that balloon popped giving way for something better to take that space. And the best kind of broken I've been has been open. Getting to this healthier and better place has been my biggest challenge in life. Working through my trauma and hurt has felt like a painful relief. It was me letting go of my familiar discomfort.

For so long my heart felt so unwell. Like I was running so below empty. And I used to think there was no possibility of getting better. I had ignored my depression, I had tried to tourniquet my own trauma so it wouldn’t bleed onto everything else in my life. I tried to self medicate. All to no avail. Some days I’d wake up thinking, “I am going to feel this way for the rest of my life. I am actually going to die feeling this way and I just have to learn to live with it.” Often, I found myself so exhausted by my body’s insistence on halfway surviving, on still being here. I was just so tired of trying. At the beginning of this year I was so desperate for some sort of peace that I felt closer to 16 year old me with a bottle prescription painkillers in her shaky hand rather than 22 year old me who wanted to be better. I knew I needed help. I thought I was going out of my mind or that I would need to commit myself somewhere before I did something desperate. Hence, therapy.

My first therapy session all I did was cry. I was so relieved to find someone I felt I could talk to about dying, wanting to die, but still wanting to be here without putting me on suicide watch. Because the thing is I don’t want to die. I never have, even when I’ve tried. I’ve just been so exhausted. It was a relief to find a therapist who could help me work through this seemingly insurmountable grief. I didn’t have to figure it out on my own- which clearly hadn’t been working. I wasn’t so alone anymore.

I feel healed. I feel like a constant work in progress. I don’t think I’ll ever be 100%- whatever that means- because life is messy and complicated and brilliant and terrifying and beautiful and holy shit I’m so happy to be alive and here. So yes- life is messy and I am a mess but I’m okay with that. I am a happy little mess now. I’m good. I feel good. I know I’ll always have to work at this healing thing. That it doesn’t just happen but that you have to cultivate it. Now at least I feel like I am capable of doing that. My feet are on good ground. Healthier soil or whatever. Progress and more healing feel possible, tangible in a way they never did before. I am making the choice to move forward rather than just be dragged along.

I used to think that whatever feeling I had, good or bad, that I just had to deal with it. I often pictured myself as my own punching bag. Whatever hurt or joy I felt I just had to take it. There has been so much freedom in realizing I don’t have to be at the mercy of my most unkind emotions and angry self. I can choose to say that I don’t deserve my own anger and resentment. I am not at the mercy of my wayward unforgiving emotions. I am not my own punching bag, I am not the landing place for my vicious feelings. I don’t deserve to feel so heartbroken and upset all the time. I can choose what is for me and what isn’t.

And I choose this.

To remember I deserve good things. I deserve every good thing. Because it wasn’t my fault I got sick. It’s not my fault I was drowning in my depression for so long. I didn’t deserve any of that. I am a good person. I deserve my own kindness, my own love. I deserve the good. All the good.

I choose this.

I choose what is fleeting and what can grow here. To have an open palm, to remember everything is not forever. That it’s okay to be a survivor. That I need to be kind to myself. To give myself grace in this process. To have an open palm. To be willing.

More than anything I choose me. Myself. I choose to be here. To still be here. To stay here despite it all. The view from here is so complicated and beautiful. I’m so grateful for it. Scars, miracles and all.

Jenni Martinez-Lorenzo. Presente.

#hodgkin's lymphoma #cancer survivor #health #mental health #healing #growth #theunkillablebitchseries

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fiery-assassin-arc · 7 years

Text

Keys to Survival

Chapter 20 (holy shit...) of Of Shadows and Flames. I may end up finishing soon... like at least 30 chapters I hope.

Triggers: broken bones, wounds, blood mention, hallucinations.

Enjoy!

Removing dressings can be a real bitch.

Due to the excruciating pain my back has given me, I am only halfway through with removing the old dressing when my wounds begin to ache. I guess the healing process is taking effect after a week.

The ache is caused by a sinful heat that makes fire blush at the prospect of being so painful and destructive. Muscle and skin do their best to fix themselves, to close and heal the wounds caused by the whip.

I haven't even considered practicing with it since I stole it in my escape. It feels it's a part of me due to it taking ribbons of my flesh and splashing blood. Yet I wonder . . . I wonder if I can add my fire to the metal and leather, make it more lethal than it was originally.

My fingers close around the leather handle, and stare at the tails. The tails that are stained with my blood, the dirt from being dragged on the ground. This once belonged to Kano, but it is mine. My memento of my escape, of my agony.

“Iris!” Jess shouts from downstairs. “Can you come down, please? We need to talk to you.”

My throat feels tight, fearing the absolute worst is yet to come. I can't even feel optimistic that my parents survived and found me. I lost that hope the day the old me died in that building, chained. “Be down in a second!” I call.

I clean up the wound, placing a new wrapping around my abdomen, as slowly as I can. I even bite my tongue to conceal my moans of pain. Within two minutes, I have done an adequate job in replacing the old dressings. And it angers me that I it isn't right. It looks off by an angle, and tape tugs at my skin with every twist.

I descend down the stairs, quickly scanning to see photographs here. None, but paintings and forms of taxidermy. When I reach the final step, I am greeted by Hayley, who sucks her thumb while holding a stuffed animal.

“Iwis.” she says, smiling brightly and hugging my leg. I don't understand why she's been so attached to me, but I have to get used to it. Though, it reminds me of her. Her violet eyes and bright smile. Her way of sticking the tip of her tongue out. Her wrapping her fingers around my wrist, then my hand touching her face—

I give a sharp exhale and try to shake her off. I can't be swept back into that day. “Hi, Hayley. Did you eat lunch?” “Yes.” Her thumb leaves her mouth with a loud pop! as she tugs at my braid. She looks adorable that way. “Kishen.”

“Let's go, shall we?” I offer, letting her lead me towards the kitchen. I wonder if they have a calendar here. I kept track of my time by weeks, but not by the month. Last I recall it was June, now I am unsure on what day it is. What month. Does Outworld have the same year?

Hannah is doing the dishes, hand wrapped around a soaking dish cloth while Jess eats a plate of green vegetables. Cravings, I guess. Lazur and T are going over something in books. I look at what reflects the calendar back home, and see the date. July.

It's now July.

Exactly 6 months since she passed.

“Mommy!” Hayley announces, alerting our presence in the kitchen. Her hand release their grip on my finger, and she goes to wrap her small body around Hannah's leg. I fold my hands in front of me, feeling so, so out of place here.

“Have a seat,” says Lazur, not even looking in my direction.

I do as he says, twisting a loose piece of thread from the new shirt. It was once Jess', so a hand-me-down of sorts. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all, honey.” Hannah says, putting down the wet cloth. “We're just wondering what you wish to do while you recover from your injuries.”

I want to go home and mourn the possible deaths of my family and friends, but I am unsure on how to find a portal here. I can't be a burden to this family, they're so full of life, and I . . . I am a puppet without a master to pull my strings. “I'm not sure.”

“Maybe you can watch Hayley and T.” Jess suggests, hand on her swollen belly. “And watch this little fella. Hayley does love a playmate.”

I glance at Hayley, who pops her thumb in her mouth, grinning brightly. “Okay, I can do that. Anything else?”

“I could teach you some cooking techniques. You know how to cook?” Lazur pipes up.

I give a shake of my head. I only know how to add things in the bowl or lick the spoon. Never on how to create things from scratch.

“Then, I'll give you a hand.” He turns his body in the chair, arms draped along his lap. “I've always needed a helping hand.” He glances towards the children, who aimlessly avoid his look.

“No clue what you're talking about, Papa.” Jess says, braiding her hair to distract her hands. T flips a page in his book while Hayley holds on to my forefinger.

“Mm-hmm.” He tsks, looking up in my direction. “Maybe you can help me make dinner tonight, what do you say to that?”

I can't help but nod, but my throat is sealed shut. I remember vaguely of helping nanny Katrina in making food for Mother and Father on their anniversary. I don't even know if she survived the attack on the palace. My hand circles around my neck, melting the cold lump of ice inside my throat. It's still there, inside me.

I miss my family.

“All right, that's settled.” Hannah claps her hands. “Hungry, love?” Her smile is light, and I can't help but to grin back, confirming my answer. I need food to increase my healing.

When I heal from an injury, it takes a lot out of my body. The cells doing their best to repair the torn skin and muscle. In perspective, scrape takes no longer than a full 1 hour. Enough to scab and turn into bright pink flesh. A broken bone, depending on how large a fracture, can heal in the span of one or two weeks. (My fingers are still crooked; it'd take a while for me to adjust them correctly.) My scars, are another story.

They haven't scabbed over yet. They're still huge, gaping, bleeding on occasion, and I sleep with tight bandages restricting my breathing. I need months or years to heal from this. And every time I look in the three-way mirror of my room, I see the lacerations of my back, shielded by my hair. A shroud to conceal my worst side.

I accept the sandwich Hannah gives me, and lift a whining Hayley on my lap. She calms in my arms, moving her head to look at me, thumb still in her mouth. I see her again.

How I saw her when I was a toddler, her nursing her thumb. How she always held my hand, how she played with my stuffed rabbit. How her brown hair was trapped with mine due to us playing with mud in her papa's backyard.

Her violet eyes shining bright that day at Kelly's sleepover, making me happy. How our roles felt reversed when I was heartbroken after Yvette and I split, and she came to my home, with ice cream and a reasonable explanation why I should still be Yvette's friend. I had cried in her lap, and she smoothed the tresses of my hair, then braided it into a beautiful french twist.

She was my key to survival. She made my day brighter, and now it's a vicious storm cloud, growing darker and building up massive waves of heat so it can be a thunderstorm. My skin starts to flare,

“Iwis!”

Hayley's voice rips me from the memories swarming in my head like bees. Before I can figure out why she snatched me back, I realize my other half of sandwich is missing. I look down to see her, chewing on the crumbs and meat inbetween. “Oh, you little sneak!”

Hayley laughs and continues to eat as I rub my face in her wild curls. Something is tugging at my lips. I haven't felt it in the weeks I've been captured, I've been in a relationship and was engaged.

Whatever it is, I miss it.

* * *

It's been over two weeks since I've made myself at home, and useful here in the Cardons' residence. Hayley and I have bonded greatly, clinging to my leg wherever I go, and she loves bath time. T is almost like what I picture Nick was at the age of ten. But more of the attitude of an asshole; I admire that.

Jess and I have talked about what she thought the gender of her baby is. Since Outworld is so out of date with technology, there are no such things as “sonograms” or “ultrasounds.” Only pure intuition or guessing on genders. Or by how you carry.

Lazur has taught me the basics of cooking: boiling, cutting meat and vegetables, pan searing it until it's well done. (Yet the dragon in me wants it cooked medium well.) I burned breakfast the first two times, and Lazur did not yell or say I failed. He said it happens, and he showed me how to be patient. A virtue when impatience is my vice.

I wake up entangled in my long hair, sweat soaking the front of my shirt. The air in the house is cool from the windows, but it only makes my skin hotter and hotter. Another nightmare? I shift my head to see the night clouded by little stitches of constellations.

I roll out of my bed, bare feet tracking along the wooden floor, while a slight twinge of pain strikes my abdomen. I ignore it, going downstairs, and making my way to the back garden, the cool summer air of Outworld a relief to me.

The grass is lush and green, surrounded by patches of gold sand and grains. Trees are full and blooming of fruit, apples from the color. Moonlight splashes like a glass of white champagne, filling me with light. The wind lifts some of my hair to life, and the smell of blood, trying its best to send me into memory.

I collapse to the dirt, hands digging it in, and I am sucked back inside the building with the Black Dragon.

The outside is replaced with walls color of the sandy dunes of desert, my hands are not free and set loose. They are bound and dirty and bloody with fingers broken beyond my recognition when I see the white of the bones.

I hear nothing but the incessant whirring of the machine, feel nothing but a terrible chill that bites at my orifices, taste nothing but bile and blood, smell nothing but alcohol and cigar smoke, see nothing but black military boots, my clothes from school torn and dirtied.

“Learned your lesson, love?” Kano's voice is anything BUT soothing, in fact; it is a mockery of being someone caring. He doesn't have the capability of caring for someone, only money and the fact that his job is what he is. He feeds on my misery, my pain like it is a delicious supper and can't get enough. “Always listen to what I have to say.”

I am tied in the rope, unable to do anything but stare and breathe. Stare. Breathe. Blink. If looks could kill, I would have only pricked his hand while his say he would spend his sweet time making me die in the most brutal ways possible.

My voice is trapped inside my larynx, a shiver taking over while I bite my tongue. Blood is pooling in my mouth and I cannot do anything but let it sit. I have the urge to gag, to scream. I have screamed for over 3 hours, which is 180 minutes, which is 108,00 seconds.

He stalks towards me and walks in a complete 360 degree circle, hand casually rubbing his beard as he inspects me. He probably thinks my brain is a safe, and through cracking me, the combination will open and the family secrets will be revealed.

But he should know that I have no knowledge. I close my eyes and bow my head, not wanting to look at his face. The image of him is burned into my retinas. The glowing red eye, the calculating, vicious smirk atop his face.

A hand grabs my chin, and a tight pinch forces me to open my mouth, then my eyes with a soft squeak. I'm staring at his face. Wrinkles creased, the salt and pepper of his shortly cropped hair and his beard, the hook of his nose, crooked from possibly one too many breaks. Eye that is not so much brown as it is black, color of fertilizer. The other eye, the cybernetic, is completely a half done trapezoid, blazing a bright red and then back to a soft red, like a stoplight for traffic.

“Look. At. Me.” he says, every breath of the word stained by rancid air, every syllable a threat, a warning, an order to listen and never be insubordinate.

I don't. I don't I don't I don't want to because I hate how he stares at me, and I hate how weak and ded I feel in front of him, I am no more than a puppet and he holds the strings to make me talk with knives and fists and bruised knuckles

“Iris.”

Sweat lines my forehead and continues to soak my shirt, my pants and I feel sick and I am dying, but I look up to see Hannah standing over me, shoes covered in mud and grass, hair piled up in a messy updo. “You're sweating, love. Perhaps a fever?”

I snake my hand through my hair, curly now from the sweat. “I—I don't know—I am sorry for having a flashback—I-I just—I am such a—” My lips tremble, and I let myself break down in front of Hannah for what is the first time since she's seen me.

“Baby? Are you okay?”

No, No I am NOT OKAY. BORN IN THE RIVER AND I DO NOTHING BUT BRING DEATH AND MISERY TO EVERYTHING I TOUCH. Hannah shifts, body distorts into Kano, a smirk capturing his face and the intent to kill me. He twirls his knife in a circle, pinched between his fingertips.

“Miss me, love?”

I scramble on my hands and knees, the muscle inside of my chest pounding and kicking at my ribcage. My vision is blurring, tears are sliding down my cheeks and my stomach lurches with a ache similar to a stab wound. I push against a stand, crashing a flower pot to the floor as everything around me is sending me back. Back to when I lost Remy.

Remington has his back to me, head leaned down, and I see the wound. The blood on his body. He collapses on top of me, breathing much too fast and much too short. I can hear his heartbeat slow.

“Run.” he mouths to me, exhaling one more time.

Back to when my brothers were harmed, back to when I lost HER.

Mia lays there in the water, her body floating still by the creek. Her shirt is bloody on the left side, skin a bluish-pale. Her violet eyes are dim, and her hands are still clenched in fists. A wound is still on her head, and it's covered in dried blood and her brown hair. She almost looks like she's daydreaming.

People part like the Red Sea as I walk towards her body, kneel. I see a bloody knife by her side. I reach over, but someone stops me. “She's gone. Killed herself.”

“Mia,” I say, gently touching her cheek. It is wet and cold. I can almost feel my heart breaking. “Mia, no, Mia!”

The scream is torn from my throat as I fall on her lifeless body, holding it tight. I wish I can bring her back. Margaret is at my side, and I feel her tears on my shoulder.

My heart is hurting me, and I feel the spit in my mouth dry up. I can't think, I can't feel anything due to my body reacting and Kano is walking towards me, and I hear it all over again

SNAP! CRACK! SNAP! CRACK! SNAP! CRACK!

Red and Black bleed through my vision, and I fall to the side, my heart forever racing, trying to escape its captor, it's villain for doing this.

#🔪👑🔥🔪Of Shadows and Flames #🌵🌹She's a Cactus in Bloom; Sharp and Pretty ( young visage )#👳🏻🍂She Nursed Me back to Health ( Mommy Hannah )#tw: blood #tw: broken bones #tw: hallucination

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