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0perfectimperfections0 · 1 month

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Part 5 of shell shocked.

Okay, with my alternative idea for this series, I'm debating on either incorporating the ideas into this work or eventually into my novel on Wattpad "Blind Stitch" so long as it works.

BUT, I have a ways to go in both this series and in my novel before I have to worry about coming to that decision. So, here is FINALLY part 5! This one is gonna be a little shorter.

____

The wind still whipped around terribly. Nolan made the decision for them to stay close to the entrance of the office building. It wasn’t safe enough for them to walk back to his house, nor was it a good idea to bring Lou into the crowd of dolls in the mental state he was in. Nolan rested on his knees, Lou still in his arms, and did what he could to calm him down. The building trembled violently and Nolan worried that the infrastructure would collapse on them.

The Uglies stayed quiet. Ox, Wage, and LuckyBat sat on the far side of the hallway, backs against the wall and silent since Nolan rushed in to grab Lou. Mandy kneeled beside Nolan, firmly rubbing down Lou’s gloved-again hands, starting at the fingertips and moving down in some hope of consoling him. Moxy stayed with them on the opposite side of the hallway. There was already a division forming amongst them. Babo and UglyDog paced around the middle of the hall, not sure which side they would subconsciously side with by sitting with them.

“There won’t any other option,” Ox mumbled, eye still trained on the floor. The wind that buffeted against the double doors nearly drowned out his words.

“There were plenty of other options besides subjecting him to mental warfare,” Nolan shot back, passive-aggressively.

“You make it sound worse than it was—”

“Solitary confinement. Does that work better for you? Might as well put him in a straight jacket and toss him in a padded cell.”

Wage finally stood as her anger rose. “Maybe we should! Nothin’ else has worked so far and I don’t see you comin’ up with any ideas! Maybe we oughtta just keep ‘im from blowin’ out the whole Institute!”

Nolan grit his teeth, misinterpreting the heat growing on his skin to be from his own anger. “You can’t possibly be sadistic enough to try that.”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea–”

“Stop talking,” Lou growled. His eyes were squeezed shut. That electricity was building up again, not only from his own emotions but from the arguing going back and forth. He put a hand to his temple where a headache was forming. The shaking started to cease and the wind quieted down now that he couldn’t focus on anything other than the headache. "If all you're going to do is argue, then get out."

Nolan was surprised when Lou forced himself off of the brunette's lap, albeit shakily, but he forced himself to stand. Ox stood up as well. "And leave you alone? Yeah, right, that ain't happenin'."

"Really? Cause you didn't have a problem with it when you shoved me into that room by myself."

Ox cowered slightly, but he was still defensive. "Alright, that ain't been my smartest choice today, but we can try--"

"No," Lou's breathing was labored, his eyes seeing dots from the migraine. "I'm done with these...these experiments. I'm sick of it."

Ox was silent for a moment, watching Lou carefully. "I ain't takin' you to the recycle."

Lou laughed dryly. "Don't worry, I can walk myself there, thanks."

Now the bunny was growing frustrated. "You're a coward, ya know that?" Lou bristled at that, looking at Ox with a mixture of surprise and fury. "The Lou I knew didn't give up no matter what he faced."

The blond towered over the bunny, but Ox didn't cower back. "A lot changes in...what, 7 years?" Lou bared his teeth, glaring down. "Don't think you know me, because you don't. Not anymore."

"Uh, guys?" The dolls turned to see Babo at the front door, peering through the glass window beside it. "We have a slight problem." He pinched his fingers in the air with a nervous look.

Wage grumbled and walked toward the door. "Compared to Sparky over there, anything is a slight problem." She peered through the window, eyes widening when she saw the fleet of robots outside at the bottom of the steps leading to the mansion. "Oh..."

Ox opened the door and stepped out first, Moxy following behind him. The others stayed inside, for no other reason than to ensure that Lou didn't get out of control again. Ox didn't go down the stairs, though. After seeing these things torture his former best friend, he wanted to be on higher ground. "What's all this about?"

They all looked the same, but one of them spoke up. "Mr Everett has sent for Prototype Model 12. Prototype is declared defective and in need of repair."

"Uh huh." Ox didn't believe that garbage for a second. "What kinda repair?"

"Compliance is necessary for the functioning of the Institute. Any hindrance will be eliminated promptly."

That...sounded threatening.

"I ain't gonna hand 'im over to ya, if that's what you expect me to do." Ox stood his ground. Lou could talk about change all he wanted to, but gosh darn it, that was still his best friend.

Moxy wrung her hands together nervously, whispering. "Ox...maybe we should just let them take care of Lou."

Ox stared down the robots, thinking, before shaking his head slowly. "Somethin' tells me that everyone will be a lot safer if he stays out of their hands. Especially if his Creator gets a hold of 'im."

The robot lifted its arm, pointing it towards Ox, transfiguring it to make its hand vanish, leaving a gaping tunnel. "You have twenty seconds to bring out the Prototype Model 12."

Ox stared at the barrel-like arm. "Yeah? And if I don't?"

"Hindrance will be eliminated."

Moxy gulped, hiding behind Ox as he formulated a plan. "Alright, fine, relax. We'll bring 'im out." Ox gently guided Moxy by the shoulders and led her back inside. He kept an eye on the robots as he closed the front door. "Alright, ya'll, new plan." Ox turned to face his friends… “Where’s Lou?”

Nolan jerked a thumb behind him. “He’s right–” No one.

Wage pulled at her ears in frustration. “Where’d he go!? I thought you were watching him!?” She pointed at Nolan.

The brunette held up his hands defensively, eyes wide. “I swear he was right behind me a second ago!”

Banging erupted against the door and Ox instinctively slammed his back against it as the knob started turning. “Alright, new plan number 2: run.”

The gang wasted no time in bolting it down the hall. The front door broke down and the robots flooded in, scanning the area before chasing them down the hall. Moxy looked at Ox who was running beside her. “What was plan number 1?”

Ox’s ears were flapping behind him in almost a humorous way if it wasn’t for the metal deaths chasing them. “Also run, but with Lou.”

They shot through the back door of the mansion, skidding around the corner of the building to do a loop around back to the front. If they could get to the main square, maybe they could at least run through the portal. But they didn’t stand a chance of outrunning something that didn’t have lungs. Other dolls in the Institute took notice of the fleet of robots chasing the gang and exchanged concerned glances with each other. Ox flailed his arms, screaming at them. “Everyone get inside! Hide!”

For dolls who no longer had to practice proper training in how to hide, it was a difficult order to follow, in their defense. They ended up panicking and running into each other before running towards the center of the Institute where Ox and his friends were going.

The group skid to a halt as the other dolls had nowhere else to go. “The portal is closed!” One of the dolls panicked.

The robots formed a line in front of the crowd of dolls, armed and ready to fire. Babo rummaged through his pockets for anything that could be useful, but all he found that could be of any use was a slingshot.

Wage snatched it from his hand. “Gimme that!” She picked up a rock and aimed it at the tin cans. The rock didn’t have enough momentum and thudded unceremoniously against one of their heads. She tossed the slingshot at them and glared at Babo. “Don’t you have anything useful in those pockets!?”

“Everything has a time and place! It’s not my fault this is the wrong time and wrong place for it!”

The robots closed in. One of the robots’ arms began to make a high-pitched whirring noise and it shot out an explosive from its arm. Ox closed his eye.

It froze mid-air.

Ox slowly opened his eye and dolls began to murmur in the dead silence of the Institute. The robots’ eyes blinked red in confusion.

The lights in the Institute began to flicker. Electricity sparked around the outside of the explosive from where it levitated. Mandy watched the darkened clouds above spark with lightning, flashing shades of blue. “Lou…”

The gang stepped back as the crowd parted, dolls backing up quickly in fear as Lou walked through them, illuminated eyes trained on the robots. His hands sparked, blue light glowing up his arms like veins. The explosive began to creak under some sort of weight until it landed on the ground, bent and dented. Lou walked past the dolls, stopping just shy of the outskirts of the crowd.

One of the robots’ eyes blinked red. “Prototype Model 12. Stand down.”

“Or what?” Lou growled back.

It set its sights on the blond, arm ready to fire. “Or elimination.”

Lou stared at the robot, lowering his gaze to its arm. “I choose elimination.”

Electricity traveled down his hands, through his feet, and shot out like vines on the ground. The robots had barely any time to react before they were engulfed by it. Their eyes glitched between blue and red, bodies jerking in every direction until they collapsed on the ground. Smoke rose from their bodies and the glowing orbs of their eyes dimmed to gray.

#lou #uglydolls #writing #fanfiction #ox #hurt/comfort #fighting #part 5 #Shell-Shock series

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bird-inacage · 1 year

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Episode 11 | Prapai’s ‘I can’t even bear to look at you right now’ face.

I cannot stop gushing about this scene, and I won’t apologise for it. This face he repeatedly makes just utterly kills me. It’s like he’s thinking ‘Don’t -do not even. How could you? You have no idea. Absolutely no goddamn idea how scared I was for you.’ I can practically feel his heart in his throat, heart still pounding, nerves haywire.

#LITA #love in the air #love in the air series #love in the air episode 11 #prapaisky #prapai x sky #sky x prapai #the palpable fear #the slight shell shock from feeling so scared for the first time in his life #the 'i'm not angry AT you but im angry and disappointed WITH you' tone #we've seen stronger and stronger glimpses of his anger #but im not mentally prepared yet to see him fully lose it

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imagine4000 · 1 year

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It took a while, but they’re finally here! My version of the turtle gang and other characters in AU Shell-Shocked. Be on the lookout for the next Shell-Shocked post and more to come. Same images are on my Instagram blog (el4imagine) as well.

Stay safe, healthy, and in good spirits!

#tmnt #tmnt au #au shell-shocked #au shell-shocked series #april o'neil #tmnt leo #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt raph #kirby o'neil #splinter tmnt #casey jones #tmnt angel #au shell-shocked characters #imagine4000 masterpost #imagine4000 collection #imagine4000 art #imagine4000 fanart #tmnt fanart

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lieutenantbiscute · 1 year

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Shell Shocked AU.

Seri

Do you guys see my vision?/j here’s Seri in all her glory! Her family is part of an alchemists guild and her father knows Draxum; said family has close relations and specializes in Empyrean handling and trading! She officially meets the Hamato boys once the nephews start doing their own patrols solo in the Hidden City! She’s a sponge when it comes to knowledge so she and Donnie are both bouncing back and forth between science and Mystic alchemy and the like. She seeks to be a mood lifter and usually wears a kind smile, sometimes her simple reassurances get a bit personal though— Her specialty is fire alchemy and fire breathing and she sits on the ace/Demi spectrum.

Donnie starts to develop a small crush on her but keeps it under wraps, well better wraps then compared to when he was 15. Later down the line Seri starts crushing as well!

#shell shocked au #teenage mutant ninja turtles #shell shocked seri #I FIXED HER COLORS!!#they were bothering me on the collage I did a while back

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regallibellbright · 2 months

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As I approach Rune Factory 4’s arc 2 ending, and as A Place Further Than The Universe rewatch approaches, an idea that’s been kicking around in my head makes itself more apparent.

#polls #I read too many ongoing book series to pick a closing line there turns out #and I’m not reopening The Shepherd’s Crown I’m not doing that to myself I cry just THINKING about that book #okay one of these is cheating but I also do genuinely get emotional just SKIPPING TO EPISODE 13’S END TO CHECK #so it gets a pass especially since the real last line’s a speech simultaneously with a stinger #this is in fact a veiled request to get me to ask about any one of these that you don’t recognize but sounds interesting let me infodump #end credit songs were not included because I’m not the bastard who’d pit them against each other #but for the record in that case Star Twinkle loses its spot for Hirogarism Quintet for obvious reasons #Rune Factory and the comic would be the only ones who don’t get included there though! for obvious reasons in the comic’s case.#Sanctuary After The Battle version is still ingrained on my soul in the utter shell shock that is Finishing Days

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graham--folger · 4 months

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fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

#vent #through a series of somewhat manipulative questions my mother now knows i’m ace and ID as queer #well actually. she knew before she asked me which just makes it that much more cruel #fuckkkkkk #and she asked when i started identifying as ace and then tried to correlate it to the closest traumatic event i—#and then she started asking me about my religious beliefs which i /blatantly/ lied about #because i was already so goddamn shell shocked and scared #goddammit #god fucking dammit #alex’s inane ramblings

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dawntrailing · 2 years

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#shell shocked #yukiko takada #final fantasy series #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ffxiv: music #final fantasy xiv: stormblood #stormblood: final fantasy xiv original soundtrack

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yueebby · 7 months

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how i met your mother — gojo satoru

contents. fluff, meet ugly, established relationship, highschool!gojo in flashback, gojo just loves his wife and everyone is sick of it

notes. this is apart of my indulge me series but everything can be read as a standalone!

“you forgot to give me a kiss this morning,” your husband pouts from your lap before puckering his lips out, “i’ll need a thousand more to compensate!”

just a couple meters away from you, paper crinkles harshly as nanami, your fellow colleague, flips the page on the newspaper he’s reading. you hear a heavy sigh leave his lips. “i missed it when you both hated each other,” he readjusts his glasses with one hand tiredly. he’s disappointed, but not surprised with satoru’s behavior.

this comment causes itadori, who happened to be hanging out in the teacher’s lounge to perk up.

“gojo-sensei and gojo-san hated each other?” he sits up straight on the couch. the pink haired boy looks between you and satoru, who is purring happily as you play with his hair. “i can’t imagine that..” he mumbles quietly. he was, unfortunately, a first hand witness of gojo’s love for you.

the white haired male that was comfortably nestled in your lap looks up at you, “ah! she tried so hard to resist my charms, but this handsome face won in the end!” his loud boast leads you to cover his mouth with the palm of your hand.

“that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” you press your palm harder against his mouth, determined to silence his protests.

nanami easily ignores his senior’s muffled whines while itadori looks at his sensei in pity. marriage must be tough, he thinks.

you only lift your hand off of his mouth with a shriek when satoru decides to lick your palm. he smirks proudly at himself causing the other two males in the room to grimace at the strange display of affection.

“darling, you hated me?” his eyes blink up at you innocently, blue eyes on full display. you purse your lips together, resisting whatever game he was playing at. from the moment you stepped into the lounge with him, he insisted on taking his blindfold off. he argues that he has to see you with his own eyes or he’ll die. you argue that he’s dramatic. nonetheless, satoru was cute so you’ll let him get away with it.

“hate is a strong word– i just didn’t like you very much. we got off on the wrong foot, might i remind you.”

2005 — year one at tokyo jujutsu tech

meet at 1 chome-1-1 dogenzaka, shibuya city, tokyo

that was written in the letter addressed to you from yaga. the bustling streets of tokyo, filled with the cacophony of hundreds of conversations and the rush of oncoming traffic, were a stark contrast to the serene country life you had enjoyed.

the sheer mass of people in the street made it nearly impossible for you to spot your teacher and future classmates, but the heavens above must be on your side because you spot a dark uniform in the corner of your eye, similar to the one you’re wearing.

a jujutsu tech uniform! without wasting a second, you weave your way through the crowd to the tall figure. upon closer inspection, you find that it was a boy with snow hair, a juxtaposition to the dark fabric of his uniform.

“excuse me, but are you by any chance from–” you tap on the abnormally tall frame from behind.

“not interested.” he doesn’t spare you a glance before walking away. it takes you a minute to process what had just happened. did he just–? that must have been a figment of your imagination. you feel as though you were shell shocked.

another voice joins the conversation, “oh, gojo, you found her.” it was another guy with a uniform just like the white haired boy and yours. he has notable bangs, you think.

“did i? she must be a real weakling. i couldn’t even sense her cursed energy,” gojo now turns back to look at you.

a surge of irritation courses through you, your grip on your skirt tightening. this guy must be some spoiled brat that came from a special lineage. you shoot him a sharp glare from the corner of your eyes, only to find out that he too had a sharp gaze on you.

a low whistle comes out of his mouth.

“oh,” there is a noticeable change in the tone of his voice. from your peripheral vision, you notice him take off his round sunglasses. “hey.” you want to laugh.

out of pure pettiness, you recycle his previous comment, “not interested.”

thankfully, another student arrived, this time it was a girl with short brown hair. she waved at you politely, to which you happily smiled. it was nice to know that there were some people left in this world with manners.

soon after her arrival, yaga comes.

“hello, i’m [last name] [first name] from kyoto. please take care of me!” you bow before everyone but gojo or whatever his name is. you come to find out that mr. bangs is actually geto and the pretty girl is ieiri.

“you didn’t tell me she was hot,” gojo not-so-quietly whispers to geto. the hand over his mouth is in vain because you can still hear him clearly. both ieiri and geto make a distasteful face.

you look around confused. it’s not everyday you receive such a brash compliment, “...thank you?”

there’s a slightly horrified look on gojo’s face when he realizes that you had heard him, but he recovers quickly, replacing it with a cheshire grin.

“say, have you been to shinjuku? i’m sure a country bumpkin like you wouldn’t know, so allow me to–”

there’s only so much patience in your body. with a deep breath and your best passive aggressive smile, you utter, “no thanks.”

he blinks. once. twice. you assume he is not used to rejection with the way he has yet to process it.

a soft chuckle leaves his mouth, “playing hard to get, i see. i like a challenge.”

“that’s not really the case.”

“one date,” he announces with a playful smirk, raising a single finger in emphasis.

you’re on the verge of shaking your head in rejection, but before you can, yaga intervenes, swiftly and unceremoniously slapping the back of gojo’s head.

“kids these days,” he mutters under his breath while gojo rubs the wound painfully. you snicker.

gojo straightens up when the sound of your laughs reaches his ears. his eyes track the sound waves back to your face, only to be disappointed when he sees that your attention is on geto.

unlike gojo, geto was trying to salvage what was left of a good first impression. the black haired male smiles awkwardly, leading you away from his strange friend, “so you’re from kyoto? why didn’t you attend the jujutsu tech there?”

from behind you, there’s an incredulous, “eh? and lose a beauty like that to the kyoto guys?”

you’re nearly certain that a blood vessel is about to pop. but you swallow your frustration, choosing to answer the only sensible boy you’ve met today.

“i’m trying to avoid clan matters, so kyoto is the last place i want to be,” you explain to geto who nods understandingly.

what you don’t see is the sneaky wink he sends back at a fuming satoru.

2018 — present day

your recollection must not have been accurate, because your husband is sulking by the end of your story.

“hmph. that’s not how i remember it.” he crosses his arm with a huff.

“how do you remember it? do tell.” you look down at him. there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap.

there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap. “i remembered cherry blossoms falling and more hearts floating around,”

you smack his shoulder.

“be serious!”

he waves his hand in the air to stop your playful attacks, “fine, fine!”

you know that he’s secretly enjoying the attention.

“well, i’m quite the looker so it was common for girls to constantly gush over me y’know?” he grins. you did not find that amusing, retracting your hands from his hair. he immediately grabs your hand and places it back on his head.

“let me finish!”

you resume your handiwork on his head reluctantly. “go on.”

there’s a content smile on his face, “i thought you were just trying to hit on me! it was only after i took a good look at you, i realized that you were totally hot.”

“i can’t believe i married you.” you roll your eyes, but there is no malice behind the action.

“hah–” his mouth is wide open. “i’m a total catch, ya’ know?!”

“mhm, yeah. you are a catch toru,” you coo while pinching his cheek and he blushed furiously.

the two of you are too engrossed with each other to notice the horrified look that has settled on nanami’s face. one peaceful afternoon, he thinks. one peaceful afternoon is all he asks for.

extra notes-

yuji respects gojo as his teacher, but he still can’t believe that gojo was able to pull you.

there have been multiple occasions where you had forgotten to give satoru a goodmorning kiss, each time he finds you and forces you to actually give him a dozen to compensate. it doesn’t matter if he was on a mission or teaching (he’s annoying like that).

gojo’s the pride of the gojo clan so he was spoiled rotten, hence the reason why he was so sure you were into him.

this is only the start, as your high school years go by, he only falls harder.

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojou x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #remember spring days!au

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azrielsdove · 5 months

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Ive been loving all the fics youve been posting. I had this lil idea that hopefully sparks joy for you if ur requests are open. Its an azriel x reader. Where reader is very cold hearted and kinda mean almost bitchy like nesta. Hates to be touched eapecially on her back. Azriel hates her cuz she so unpleastant and so incredibly difficult. The bond snaps for azriel and hes so so confused because he for sure thought elain was for him. Reader always looks at azriels hands almost disgusted but the truth is that she had her wings cut off and the stumps burned down to her flesh, so her entire back is scarred like azriels hands. Her face isnt of disgust but since he hides his hands she assumes he'd be disgusted in her. Azriel softens up to her when he finds out she has a soft spot for children, maybe she teaches orphaned children in the city. Idk i just like the idea of a cold hearted reader thats just as scarred as azzy but actually has a soft heart for kids. Or maybe shes always longed for a family of her own but cant get passed her own insecurities. You can change whatever you'd like to fit your writing style. ❤️

Thank you love!!!! I am OBSESSED with this idea and took off with it. I decided to turn it into a mini series, when I started writing the Readers POV it was getting wayyyy long. I hope I have done your idea justice, here is part 1 <3

Cold Hearts: Azriel x Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Pt. 2 Here

***

Azriel couldn’t stand her. She was nothing but cold and hateful to everyone, especially to him. When she had first come to stay with Rhysand in Velaris, he had tried to be kind to her. Rhys hadn’t told anyone why he brought her, and she certainly never opened up about it.

The first day he met her, she was sitting silently in the small library in the House of Wind. Azriel had smiled at her and given a “Good morning.” She had turned sharply to look at him, her gaze focusing on the hand he waved with. He watched the look of disgust come over her face before she turned back to staring into the fire.

Azriel had been a little taken aback. Sure, he struggled with the way his hands looked, and was no stranger to the dirty looks. The look on her face had been nastier than he had ever seen. She looked at his hands like they caused her pain. He left the library after that, not sure what to think.

Many years had gone by since that first meeting, and Azriel preferred to stay far away from her. No one else wears very fond of her either. He still didn’t know why Rhys had brought her here, nor why he allowed her to stay. She spent most of her days locked in her room or sitting in the library. She occasionally came to meals with the family, rarely speaking. And when she did speak? It was always some cold remark, as if she wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else.

So why did she stay?

Azriel pondered that question far too often. When Rhys became trapped Under the Mountain, he had included that everyone should be prepared for war in his last message. Azriel took it upon himself to train her. He had shown up to her room early in the morning, expecting a fight. To his shock, she willingly came.

She took to training quicker than Azriel had thought. She proved to have some skill under that cold shell she showed everybody, even if it took some coaxing for it to come out. He was impressed. Azriel even started enjoying teaching her, until the day she lashed out at him and declared she never wanted to see him again.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong.

He was trying to teach her a slightly difficult new maneuver. She was struggling to angle her body the correct way, unable to understand how Azriel did it. He had reached out to help her, placing a hand on her lower back and shoulder to move her body into place. She shot out of his grasp like he had stabbed her, whipping around to face him.

“What do you think you are doing?” She had seethed, eyes on fire. Azriel had held his hands up in surrender, confused.

“I was just trying to help-“ He had begun, being cut off by her.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking touch me.” She had glared at his hands, a stare he didn’t miss.

“I don’t understand why you must be so insufferable all of the time!” Azriel had snapped, fed up with the constant negativity and judgement that came from her.

“Maybe don’t be a nasty pig and grab up on any female you see!” She had shouted, turning to leave the ring. “Stay away from me. I don’t wish to see you anymore.”

And that was that.

Cassian had taken over her training from then on out. Azriel was fine with it. She clearly had some sort of issue with him, and it seemed to stem from his hands. His ugly, scarred hands. Were they really so grotesque she couldn’t even stand him touching her?

***

When Rhysand had returned from Under the Mountain, things got better and worse. At first, she had been kinder. Azriel had noticed how she rushed to Rhys before anyone else, how carefully she wrapped him in her arms. The two of them had disappeared after that, not seen until the next day. Azriel couldn’t figure out why the two of them had such a bond, why Rhysand cared for her so much. He had just come back and announced that the human girl - Feyre - was his mate, so it couldn’t be a romantic attraction.

Or could it?

Azriel shook his head, demanding those thoughts the leave his mind. Ignoring the spark of jealousy that ran through him. He didn’t know why he cared so much about her.

***

Elain. There was no doubt in Azriels mind that Elain was his. Rhysand had Feyre, Cassian had Nesta, naturally Azriel would have Elain. It didn’t matter that the cauldron had mated her with Lucien. Three sisters, three brothers. Anyone could read what that meant.

Azriel tried not to notice the way she had slunk into the shadows lately. When Feyre first came to the Night Court, the two had struck up a friendship. Azriel couldn’t believe his eyes and ears when he saw how fun and sweet she was with Feyre. It further confirmed his belief that she was so disgusted in his scars that she couldn’t stand to be near him. She had even started to being nicer to Cassian, her training with him going much better than yours with Azriels had.

Once the bond snapped with Feyre and Rhysand, she had taken a small step back from the both of them. When it snapped with Cassian and Nesta, she had backed away from Cass as well. She barely even had a witty retort anymore, choosing to stay quiet most of the time.

Azriel felt like no one else had noticed the change in her. However, he had to admit, so much change had happened in such a short time that he couldn’t blame them for not realizing.

Why did he realize?

Even as she created small friendships with the others, she ignored Azriel. She only looked at him to stare at his hands. He had taken to wearing his gloves around her at all times, but she just stared as if she could see through the fabric. He had spent decades trying to be nice to her, for nothing. She rarely spoke to him, mostly just gave that look to his hands.

She was always going to be cruel to him.

***

Azriel was trying desperately to find a Solecist gift for Elain. He knew he had a reputation for gifts, and he wanted to make sure what he got Elain was perfect. As perfect as she is.

And he had no idea what that would be.

He was wandering the paths of Velaris aimlessly, peering into the stores as he passed, trying to see anything that seemed like Elain. He was getting worried that he would never find anything, turning away from yet another shop.

He stopped when he saw her.

She was inside a little building, large windows open for anyone to see in. He watched as she stood at the front of the room, facing a small group of…children? He angled his body a little to see clearly into the room, listening to her voice come through the window. Her tone was kinder than he had ever heard it. Azriel watched with wide eyes as she demonstrated a defense move-a move he had taught her.

And now she was teaching it to children.

He watched for the rest of the class, amazed at how well the kids grasped onto the concepts she was teaching. He felt his heart skip when her laughter floated out the windows, a bright smile on her face as she looked at one of the students. He had never seen her like this before.

When the class ended he watched as one of the smaller children ran up to her and threw their arms around her legs. Azriel expected her to jump back at the touch, instead watching her bend down and wrap her arms around them. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe any of this. He turned and headed back to the House, the gift for Elain long forgotten.

***

He wanted to approach her. He wanted to ask about the children he saw her teaching. He had a sudden desire to know more about her, to see who she may be under that cold exterior.

Azriel should have known she wouldn’t let him.

It was a few days after he had spotted her in town, and he had finally found her alone in the little library. He cleared his throat as he approached her, hoping to get her attention. Of course, she ignored him. He shouldn’t have been hurt by it, but he had been so hopeful after seeing her with the children.

Azriel called her name.

Her head slowly turned to him, eyes blazing. “Yes?” She asked coolly. Azriel have a small smile, refusing to lose his nerve now.

“I saw you, in town? With the children? I-“ He started, cut off by her suddenly standing.

“Spying on me, are you?” She asked, anger all over her face.

“No! No! I was shopping, for Elain, and I happened to walk by!” Azriel was gesturing wildly, not wanting you to think he was following you. “I saw you and then I saw the children and I was interested. You were, nice to them.” He cursed the words as they came out of his mouth, sounding just as sorry as one could imagine.

She scoffed. “Why would I not be? They’re kids.” Her words were sharp and Azriel felt embarrassment creep up his neck.

“Well, you’re not really nice to anyone.” He bit out, temper rising as she laughed.

“You don’t know anything about me.” She said, looking at him curiously.

“Oh? Is that so?” Azriel felt the words coming out before he could stop them, all the things he had wanted to say for years. “Maybe that’s because you don’t let anyone get close to you. I tried to be your friend in the beginning, just for you to be cold and nasty. You are always cold and nasty. I’ve noticed you slowly losing the friends you have made, slinking off into the shadows. Do you ever stop to think that maybe it’s because you’re a cold-hearted bitch?”

She looked like he had slapped her.

“W-what?” She stumbled out, eyes wide.

Now it was Azriels turn to scoff. “Don’t pretend to be innocent now. You rarely speak to anyone except for Rhys, and when you do it’s usually to tell them to leave you alone! Even when I was trying to train you, you lashed out at me for just trying to help. You have always acted like I disgust you, always glaring at my hands. Do they really upset you so much that you have to act like i’m the worst thing you’ve ever encountered? That you have to look at me like that and flinch when I touch you? I tried to be nice to you, just for you to react like that.” He was breathing heavy, all the hurt coming to the surface.

He watched her eyes flash and then suddenly, she was yelling at him. “How dare you? You have no idea what you are talking about. Are you so self centered that you truly believe everything I do is about you? Do you ever stop for one second to think that maybe, just maybe, I have my own shit to deal with?” Her cheeks were colored red, her hands clenching into fists.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “We all have our own shit going on. It doesn’t mean we take all of our miserable feelings out on everyone else!”

“I don’t! I just don’t have any interest in getting close with you. Not everyone has to want to lick the ground you walk on, Shadowsinger.” She spat out the last word like it was dirt in her mouth.

“Why not? What have I ever done that makes you hate me so? What has any of us done? The only one of us you would talk to for years was Rhysand. Did you love him? Are you bitter now that he has a mate and no one will ever be interested in you?” Azriel knew that was a low blow, but his anger overrode him common sense.

“What are you talking about? The relationship between me and Rhysand is none of your business. For a spymaster, you’re truly horrible at reading a situation.” She was angry, angrier than she had been in decades.

Azriel didn’t care. “No one here likes you. They’ve all moved on from their short friendships with you. Even your precious Rhys has found someone else to occupy his time with. Why do you stay here? You have no one.” He felt the pain in his chest at the expression on her face.

She blinked quickly, fighting tears. “You are the cruel one, Azriel.” She turned and ran from the room, leaving him in the aftermath of their fight.

It was the first time she had said his name.

He felt it snap in his chest, the tug to follow you. He could barely react, the shock of it keeping him rooted to the spot. No, he thought. No. Not her. It wasn’t supposed to be her.

The mating bond didn’t care for his concerns.

***

Please let me know how you feel!! Honestly Pt. 2 should be out tonight or tomorrow, i’m pretty far into it. I’m thinking this will be a 3-4 part mini series!!!

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #rhysand #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #cold hearts

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disneyprincemuke · 21 days

Text

do you want me (dead)? * op81

oscar finds himself with no memory of the race weekend, but he does find your company very comforting amidst all the confusion

pairings: oscar piastri x female!reader

word count: 1.4k

(f1 masterlist) | (series masterlist)

oscar doesn’t exactly remember leaving the house. perhaps he’d been running himself on autopilot the entire morning until he regained consciousness, finding himself roaming by the streets alone.

nobody seems to spare him a second glance as he walks, which in itself is kind of weird.

not that he’s let the fame get to his head — it’s just not out of the ordinary for him to be stopped for a photo or two on the daily. he doesn’t mind. in fact, it’s arguably one of the more fun parts of his day: interacting with people.

it gets easier the longer he works under mclaren and alongside lando. slowly but surely, he’s coming out of his shell again.

the next question in his head is if the race weekend has come and gone. the miami weekend is typically so grand and exciting that it seems to just get past him before he has the time to fully process it and enjoy every moment.

but why isn’t anybody rushing him to get into a plane to head to the next destination?

how weird. it’s even weirder that he can’t find his phone; there’s no way that he just left his hotel without it.

oscar stumbles back when a body collides against shoulder, a whine following the thud of something falling to the ground. he looks down and sees you, just crouching down to pick your things up.

“i’m so sorry,” oscar mutters, shaking his head. “i didn’t see you.”

“no, i’m sorry,” you laugh softly, shaking your head as you lift your eyes from your phone on the ground. “i should have known better than to be checking my emails while walking a busy street.”

he’d been so caught up with the sheer bizarreness of his circumstance that he hadn’t noticed your smaller frame zipping through the crowd. considering how significantly smaller you are compared to him, he just feels worse that now your phone is the one on the ground.

and you were so caught up awaiting the release of your final grades for the semester that you hadn’t seen the guy walking in your direction.

the guilt eats you up; you’re not typically the person to be so engrossed by your phone while walking in crowds.

“i’m sorry either way.” he stands up with you and grins. “is your phone okay? because if it isn’t…”

you take a quick glance at your phone and wave his concerns off. “i’m sure it’s fine.”

you remain in your spot for a few more seconds. people are manoeuvring around both of you, some throwing dirty looks and some stares of confusion as they pass you.

but oscar can’t help but feel drawn to you. the longer he looks into your eyes, the calmer he feels about every single unanswered question in his head.

he tries to look for an explanation in your eyes as to why he is feeling this way. maybe he knows you from somewhere? maybe you’ve met before and he just doesn’t know when or where from?

“are you okay?” you pipe with a small smile. “if it’s my phone, seriously don’t even worry about it. it’s dropped from greater heights and survived before.”

“no, i,” oscar trails off. “i… nothing, i just…” he shakes his head with a small grin. “it’s just been such a long day.”

“long day?” you chuckle. “it’s only noon.”

he scrunches his nose with a shrug. “there’s just a lot going on for me right now,” he laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “well, again, i’m so sorry about your phone.”

“oh,” you frown slightly, “i’m sorry about what you’re going through. is there anything i can do to help?”

your own words shock you — you’re always extending a hand to help people, but this time it might just bite you back in the ass. because this man that stands in front of you is a stranger.

you don’t even know his name.

oscar blinks down at you, taken aback by your unwavering offer.

“i must have freaked you out!” you shriek, waving your arms in the air. “i mean, only if you want to. it’s just an offer; maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it and get it off your chest.”

oscar furrows his eyebrows, a small smile playing on his lips. he points a finger at you, “are you asking me out?”

a blush creeps up your cheeks as you realise what you’ve said. “no!” you say immediately with wide eyes. “it’s not that you’re not cute, but that wasn’t my intention. i wasn’t asking you out! i was just offering a helping hand if you need one and i–“

you cut yourself off, staring at him wide-eyed and stiff as you realise that you’ve probably rambled his ear off. you clear your throat and stand a little straighter.

oscar looks down at you with amusement and a small smile. “is that offer still on?” he leans down slightly. “i don’t think you’re not cute either.”

“hm, alright,” you say softly. “do you have anywhere in mind?”

he shrugs, taking his spot next to you. “i’m not from here. i’m only here for the weekend.”

“the weekend?” you furrow your eyebrows as you start walking ahead, a place already in mind. “tourist?”

“for work,” oscar presses his lips into a thin line. “i travel a lot for work — miami is supposed to be a short stop.”

“you must be earning the big bucks,” you tease with a small grin.

oscar snorts. “you can say.” he follows you blindly, weaving through the crowd a couple of steps behind you. “so what do you do? studying?”

“yeah, my final year in university,” you confirm with a small nod, “i’m a business major.”

“smart kid,” oscar teases.

he stops abruptly behind you after you stop by a pair of doors.

you beam as the service staff approaches you with a grin. “table for 2, please.”

“2?” the staff repeats to you with eyebrows raised. “we have a time limit for dining in at 60 minutes — plus waiting time. sorry, it’s nearing lunch hour and there’s always an influx of diners…”

“yeah, that’s no problem,” you answer with hesitation in your voice. “do you have a table available? otherwise, that’s alright.”

“we do.” the staff takes a step back and gestures for you to follow her in.

she leads both of you to a table in the middle of the resto-bar, setting 2 menus on the table with a small grin. “can i get you a glass of water?”

“yes, please,” you grin as she walks away. you turn back to oscar. “wait, i don’t think i’ve gotten your name yet.”

“oh, could you turn that up?” someone asks loudly before oscar can open his mouth to give you an answer.

you huff and turn your attention to the tv screen hung behind the bar counter, the volume indeed being turned up by the waitress.

“the miami grand prix has been cancelled by the fia, announced in an emergency press conference following a gnarly crash involving a race car driver.”

the newscaster’s voice begins to bounce on the walls of the resto-bar and it gradually pervades every corner of the bustling room. the previously lively chatter among the patrons slowly dwindles, giving way to an enveloping silence as the news report takes centre stage.

“putting the season on hold,” oscar repeats under his breath, a scowl forming on his face as he processes the words. “why hasn’t anyone told me this?”

“mclaren driver, oscar piastri, remains in critical condition in a local hospital after sending his car into the barrier two nights ago in the track,” there’s a pause, “investigations are underway after foul play was suspected after an inspection of the car that evening.”

a picture pops up on the screen, making you throw your head back with a soft laugh. “hey, that guy kind of looks like you, doesn’t it?”

oscar takes a deep breath. “that is me.”

“what?”

@33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore

MAD THANKS TO @foreveralbon anD @vroomvroomcircuit AND SOAP FOR HELPING ME BRAINSTORM THIS FIC ILY GUYSSZZZZZ KISS KISS KISS KISS

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke 6futs

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Text

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships.

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing.

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel.

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe.

For years they did this until they were gone too.

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time.

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman.

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder.

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance.

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more.

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified.

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you.

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders.

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away.

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind.

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock.

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation.

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you.

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind?

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant.

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back.

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel.

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt.

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all.

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued.

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned.

Nothing.

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins.

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting.

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south.

And then you lock eyes once more.

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself.

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him.

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

“Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.”

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements.

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples.

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?”

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself.

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills.

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear.

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before.

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.”

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind.

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?”

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching.

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly.

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in.

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising.

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave.

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze.

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.”

Your tight arms somewhat loosen.

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships.

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living.

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.”

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back.

He was…asking you?

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.”

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids.

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting?

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling.

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart.

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him.

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still.

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash.

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face.

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel.

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish.

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him.

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck.

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked.

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head.

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand.

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings.

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.”

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.”

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.”

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden.

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment.

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them.

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles.

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.”

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping.

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you.

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you.

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?”

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching.

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch.

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement.

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up.

Feels nice.

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing.

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following.

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist.

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t.

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose.

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.”

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?”

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look.

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.”

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening.

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?”

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does.

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.”

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips.

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different.

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment.

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.”

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship.

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne.

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.”

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.”

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt.

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often.

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle.

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen.

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder.

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.”

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—”

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh.

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…”

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.”

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?”

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat.

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction.

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat.

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

“Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once.

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers.

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure.

A dangerous mix of two different lives.

It couldn’t last.

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0perfectimperfections0 · 9 months

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Part 3 of shell shock pleaseeee

I posted part 3 almost exactly when your ask came in, so, I'm gonna put this with part 4. Enjoy!

This went on longer than I thought it would...

<><><>

The gloves were kept on today. Lou honestly felt as if he’d been put in time-out. He sat on the farthest end of the sofa, watching the other dolls go back and forth with what had to be done. Lou was undoubtedly getting stronger. He had accidentally busted four streetlights on the way to Nolan’s house. That wasn’t entirely his fault, though. The first time was because he noticed the estranged looks passing dolls were giving him and his nerves got the best of him. They didn’t connect the dots, though. The second time was because Mandy had grabbed his gloved hand to offer some support. Again, a rush of emotion had swept through him – one he couldn’t identify – and there went another streetlight bulb. The third time was because Moxy had jumped from the front door to greet them and it startled the poor doll. Boom. That one struck two bulbs at once and blew them both out.

The gloves weren’t doing much good anymore.

Which was a problem in and of itself. They were merely there as a buffer, now. Ox was determined to not let Lou feel more distanced than he already did. He sat beside the Pretty Doll on the sofa, which forced Lou to lean as far on the arm of it as possible to put space between them. Ox wouldn’t have it, though. He gently straightened Lou, pulling by the elbow, and gave a nod of approval when Lou didn’t revert. “There ain’t nothin’ to worry about. You’re fine.” He spoke like an adult chastising a child. It irritated Lou to some extent, which caused the electricity beneath the gloves to spark a bit.

That was the issue. That was the problem they couldn’t figure out. The slightest emotion would set off Lou’s electricity. What was more difficult was that Lou could do nothing to control it. It almost seemed as if he hardly understood anything he was feeling. And they couldn’t just tell him to stop having feelings.

“We need a solitary place to do that.” That was all that Lou caught on to of their conversation. Mandy was the one who had spoken. “That way we don’t have any unpredictable accidents, at least.”

“We could clear out one of the rooms in the mansion,” Lucky suggested, “make sure there isn’t anything flammable in there or that would start off a chain reaction. No windows, either.”

“I think that could work,” Babo nodded. Eyes turned to Lou. He refrained from shrinking under their gazes. “How about it?”

“U-um,” he really hadn’t listened to enough of the conversation to give his opinion. Still, what he heard sounded…undesirable. “Repeat that one more time?”

Moxy came forward, just close enough to appear as if she wasn’t cautious. “We’ll clean out a room in the mansion – make it safe – and we’ll have you go in there and let out all this built-up electricity. Lucky thinks that if you just feel what you want to feel without any consequences, then you’ll be able to control it better.”

“O-Okay.” It sounded logical enough. Lou really didn’t know what he needed. That’s why he accepted the help, after all. If he was left to figure things out for himself, he would’ve just thrown himself into recycling.

With that acceptance, they gathered some things and headed out the door. Mandy was in front of him the next moment, offering both of her hands. He made no move to accept the offer until Ox nudged him. Cautiously, he put his gloved hands in hers and she pulled him up to stand. “I’m not afraid of you, Lou,” she spoke softly, “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t act like you were afraid of me.”

“I’m afraid of myself.” His eyes stayed on their hands. “I’ve already caused so much damage-”

“Accidents,” she reminded him, leaning down to catch his eyes. “Those were all accidents. We don’t expect anything more out of you right now. I can’t even control my own emotions. I’m not going to expect you to.” The fear was evident in his eyes, and not just because they began to glow an electric blue. She rested her hand on his cheek. “If there’s ever a point where you want us to stop, just tell us. I don’t want you to feel like an experiment either with all these trial runs we’re doing. You’re still a doll, just like the rest of us.”

Wage called out from the door to see if they were getting a move on or not. Ox patted the side of Lou’s leg before heading to the door. Mandy gave the blond an encouraging smile. “Do you need anything right now?” Lou pursed his lips, shaking his head. “Alright. If you ever need anything, let me know. Even if it’s just a hug.”

Well, he didn’t know that was one of the options. It felt unbelievably comforting when he held Ox last night. Did all hugs bring on that feeling? But…he didn’t want to hurt her.

Mandy took both his hands again, about to walk out with him, but she took a second to reevaluate that look in his eyes. Maybe he just needed a hug and didn’t know it. Or he was too scared to hug her.

The lights in the house flickered as soon as her arms wrapped around him. The dolls waiting outside noticed the flashes of light through the window and peeked through. Moxy smiled and ushered them a ways down the street to give them a moment.

Lou closed his eyes tight to try and focus on not burning the whole house down. Or, even worse, hurting Mandy. Everything flickered and one of the bulbs in the living room began making a high-pitched whining noise. “M-Mandy–”

“Take a deep breath.”

He did. It was shaky. Mandy felt his chest expand against her before going back to normal. The whining noise calmed down. A few lights still flickered here and there, but everything went calm again. Lou kept his eyes closed, but they weren’t tight. They opened ever so slightly, just enough to see blue veins along his arms where they were held out. Slowly, he put his hands – still covered – on Mandy’s back. The smallest voltage traveled through the friction created between his gloves and her shirt. Mandy shivered, feeling the electricity tingle her skin. “Don’t be so scared of this that you don’t reach out,” she whispered.

For once, Lou watched the blue streaks of light dance under his felt and didn’t fear it. He held Mandy closer, burying his face into her shoulder in case this was the last time he could control this chaos long enough to hold someone again.

<><><>

It was one of the few rooms that had no windows. Babo did most of the heavy lifting to get the bookshelves and desk out. Books were placed in leaning piles along the hallway corridor. The carpet was rolled up and moved out into the hallway as well. Anything and everything was removed from the room. There wasn’t anything they could do about the hardwood floors, but they hoped it wouldn’t get out of control enough for that to be a problem. The light fixtures stayed inside. Nothing could be done about those. They would surely blow out the second Lou let loose. It wasn’t their concern.

Mandy fussed over his shirt and hair as if committing his features to memory in case something unexpected happened. “The ceiling lights are still in there. If they blow and cut you, tell us immediately and we’ll get you.”

Ox slowly began taking Lou’s gloves off. “The second you need or feel ready to come out, knock three times.”

Nolan stood afar off, leaning against the wall. He hadn’t witnessed anything they talked about. He watched Ox take the gloves off and that was when the sparks were noticed between Lou’s fingers. They reached out in a frenzy to touch something. Someone. The dolls gave Lou more space and Wage opened the door behind him before stepping away. Lou kept his hands close to himself, looking over his shoulder into the empty, dim-lit room. The sparks on his hands lit with more fervor, desperate to reach someone.

The brunette stayed quietly observant until Lou stepped into the room and they closed and locked the door. “Are we sure isolation is the best way to fix this?” His eyes stayed on the door.

“He needs to let his emotions out,” Ox explained, “this is the safest way to do it.”

“No, I got that part,” Nolan nodded, “but...I was under the impression that you guys were helping him. Not an empty room.”

“We are helping him,” Lucky reasoned diplomatically. “By giving him the space he needs to–”

“He’s had plenty of space,” Nolan cut the bat off. “He’s had this entire, barren Institute to let out his emotions. Someone should be in there with him.” He pushed off the wall, prepared to be the one to do that.

“Don’t,” Ox held a paw out. “It’s not safe.”

“Yeah, it’s not safe for Lou,” Nolan retorted, more fiery in his response than intended. “Because after the explanation I got last night, it sounds like the factory basically dropped him off who knows how long ago, and left him to figure everything out himself. And your idea of helping is basically doing the same thing? You’ve trapped him in a room with nothing but his thoughts, which is exactly why he’s in this mess in the first place.”

Ox refused to see it Nolan’s way. Mandy focused on the door, processing Nolan’s words. “We should let him out-” she started.

“No,” Wage spoke up this time, “we’ll get nowhere if we keep holding his hand through the whole thing. He’s gotta learn–”

“How to figure everything out himself?” Nolan shot back, angry now. “You’re not listening to what I’m saying here. Are you listening to Lou? Instead of telling him what he needs and forcing him to comply with it? How does that make this any better than what the factory was doing?”

Wage stepped up to be face-to-face with the brunette. “He said he wanted our help and this is us helping him. This is for his own good, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

Nolan met her gaze evenly. “I wonder if that’s what the factory told him.”

In the room, Lou focused on his breathing. It was completely silent. Any noise from the outside wasn’t coming through. His breaths echoed off the walls now that the room was barren. It was so empty. No sound, other than his heart increasing in rhythm and quickening breaths. His eyes glowed as did the veins beneath his felt. Everything felt too big. He did a few small circles, glancing at every spot in the room.

“I can’t hurt anyone here,” he whispered to himself, eyes darting in every direction. “Th-this is what I need.” His back suddenly hit the wall behind him and his eyes leveled to look at the door–

“Let me out!” Lou screamed, fists slamming against the portal. Ripples danced around his hands mockingly.

Lou’s palms flattened against the wall behind him, air becoming difficult to breathe in.

A shock of electricity went through him. He screamed, collapsing to the ground. The robot hovered over him, pitiless. “Prototype Model 12 is not allowed to go outside these walls. Attempt to do so will result in punishment.”

The lights in the room flickered, making the room flash between darkness and light.

Day and night passed by like clockwork. Like a machine. Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to years. How long was he supposed to stay here? His Creator never specified when he could leave. Lou noticed how the sun never changed. The stars never moved. The sun rose on the same side it descended. It was fake. The stars were fake. The whole Institute was nothing but a simulation to toy with his mind.

The first bulb busted. There were five in total – now four. It was only a matter of time until he was enveloped in complete darkness.

“Ox!” Lou fell to his knees, not able to see even his own hands. He had crawled blindly through the pipe, desperate to find the bunny again after the dolls left through the portal. “Ox! Please! Come back!” He prayed that the bunny hadn’t been destroyed. The solitude was eating the Pretty Doll alive.

The second bulb imploded.

“Ox, get out of the way,” Nolan hadn’t experienced much in his short time, but this had to have been the most angered he’d ever felt.

The bunny stood defiantly in front of the door. “I know him better than you do.”

“Yeah? How long ago was that?�� Ox stayed silent, but unmoving. “How long ago, Ox? How long has he been here? The world doesn’t stop moving just because you’re not involved anymore.”

“As your mayor, I’m tellin’ you to let me do my job!” Ox pulled his ears back.

“Anyone can put a fancy title to their name,” Nolan spoke softly. For some reason, it sounded more threatening than anything else he’d said. “A real leader doesn’t need one for others to know he’s in charge. Like the doll you just locked in that room.”

Tears streamed from Lou’s face and his eyes stared wide down at the floor as he hyperventilated. The hardwood felt like it was moving under his feet and he pushed himself farther back against the wall. Legs started shaking. The third bulb went out.

Rain poured from outside and the dolls steadied themselves when the building shook. Nolan glanced behind them through the hallway window to see clouds moving in and the wind slamming against the glass. He whipped back to Ox. “You have three seconds to get out of my way.”

“We can’t keep suppressing his emotions,” Ox tried to speak calmly. “He needs to let them out.”

“There wouldn’t be anything to let out if we didn’t provoke his emotions like this. Fear doesn’t die out, Ox. It doesn’t just go away once you’ve had enough of it. It grows stronger until it consumes and destroys everything.”

Ox’s gaze looked at the window behind the brunette. The streetlights flickered and some busted. Thunder roared above the sound of the rain getting stronger. Nolan was right. It wouldn’t go away. They couldn’t get rid of it unless they destroyed Lou – and that was if Lou didn’t end up destroying himself. Ox didn’t say anything, but he lowered his gaze to the floor and stepped to the side. Nolan didn’t hesitate to unlock the door.

There was one bulb left, just enough to see the trembling doll sitting with his back pressed to the wall. Nolan ignored the cracks of glass under his shoes where remnants of the lights had scattered. That one bulb was holding on for dear life as it flickered. It shook and screamed and whined. It felt like it was going to bust at any second.

Hands wrapped around its sides gently. There was heat from the built-up energy inside of it. Nolan rubbed it gently, careful not to bring it to its breaking point. The sparks inside flickered momentarily before settling down.

Lou let his eyes open slowly, coming to enough to feel Nolan’s hands on either side of his face. The tears were wiped away as best as they could be. Lou’s eyes fluttered, breathing still ragged and much too fast. Blue sparks reached desperately toward Nolan. “I hear you,” Nolan spoke softly, “I’m right here.” The brunette felt the ground trembling and the wind was still chaotic outside. He carefully hooked one arm under Lou’s knees and the other braced his back. “Let’s get you out of this room.”

#fanfiction #writing #lou #uglydolls #ox #short story #moxy #ask #nolan #mandy #part 4 #shell-shock series #angst #hurt/comfort

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