Thank you all for being so patient <3 I certainly won't be able to produce chapters of GotS at the same speed prior to my hiatus, but I have started writing daily again!
But anyways -- a taste for you.
Here is a little glimpse of Gift of the Sun Chapter 13
It is presently unedited.
____________
Defeat sweeps through her once again. Bitter and twisting like a knife slipping between her ribs. She heaves for breath, the effort of fighting against the chains and her own body second only to her rising panic, to the reality of her situation becoming more and more and more apparent.
Tentatively, hesitantly, she brushes her fingertips against the cool metal at her throat. That single touch threatens to overwhelm her; she snatches her hand away with a shuddering breath.
She is a prisoner. Well and truly. Locked in a cell and shackled.
Collared.
Rook’s eyes drift to the wash bucket, to the clothes piled beside it. ‘Hospitality’ and expectations are invariably interwoven before her.
She leans against the wall and slips down the length of it. The roughened surface bites into her bared shoulders, the cold stone nips her skin through the sheer fabric that remains. It is a stark and bitter reminder that she is no longer in the Lighthouse.
She stares, unblinking, at the shut, locked door.
Solas’s words are clear in her mind.
“You must escape, whatever the cost.”
A fine thing for Solas to say, she thinks, when Elgar’nan seeks only to destroy him.
But Elgar’nan had stood over her, against her, his hand bound in her hair as he offered her something so much worse than simply being destroyed. He had offered her reprieve - release - from the dark and oily heat that burns under her skin and along her bones.
She had wanted then. And now she cannot deny it still lives and breathes within her.
“I would relieve you of this torture. If you would only ask, if you would only beg.”
The ghost of a tremor passes through her - it comes alive in the shudder of a breath. She curls her fingers into the dirtied fabric of the dress, her knuckles screaming at the fierceness of her grip. It is both grounding and a reminder, even as the memory of Elgar’nan’s words cascaded across her lips, her throat.
That slow, treacherous burn starts anew.
Better that he kill me, she thinks.
Than to yield.
Than to beg.
Alright, y’all. We’re coming to the end of this mini-arc and I hope you’ve enjoyed all the terrible, nasty little details involved. Don’t worry, they will likely come back. This one goes places and shows Charlie in a darker moment then we’ve seen him before.
warnings | bbu, drunkenness, alcohol use, trauma recovery, trauma survivor, overwhelming guilt, discussion of death, death ideation. Take care with this one; Charlie’s not in a good place.
~*~
Four hours had ground forward, and Finn felt every second weighing on his arms and legs. He had been pulled in every direction, been pleasant and attentive to anyone whether he felt they deserved it or not. He had carried drinks to guests, appetizers to guests, empty glasses and empty trays to the kitchen, coats to the closet, purses to the closet, and the stares of Miss Mercedes and her date from room to room.
By the time the tiny crystal glasses filled with sharp-smelling liquor was passed around and the guests began filtering outside for fireworks, Finn was squirming under it all. Madam had given him a pointed look as she collected her drink from him; a dismissal plain and simple. Finn waited until her back was turned then bolted for the dining room. All the lights were turned off, the cut-crystal glasses sparkling and glittering where they stood in the low light.
He snatched up the last bottle of the sharp stuff, poured a good mouthful, and tossed it back. And again. He stopped after the third; once the bouncing in his nerves had eased and his pulse had come back down to a steady drum beat.
Licking his lips, he loosened his tie. He stuffed it into his blazer pocket before stripping the blazer off his shoulders and tossing it over a nearby chair. He fiddled with his cuffs, rolling them to the elbow. Satisfied, he stepped back to roll his neck and run rough fingers through his hair. Who cares what it looked like now? The party was over. Finn didn’t need to be seen anymore.
“Fuck… who’s there?”
Finn startled and turned. The voice, soft and slurred, had come from the other corner of the darkened room. He took a step back, debating making a quick escape to the upstairs.
“H’llo? C’mon, you’re right there. I’m sure of’t.”
It was Charlie’s voice; a little garbled and loose but recognizable so long as Finn was listening closely. He swallowed hard, shame flipping his stomach. He hadn’t seen Charlie in hours and hadn’t realized it. The other boy had gone off for something hours before and Finn hadn’t thought a thing of it, having been yanked away to bring one of Madam’s bejeweled friends a fresh martini.
“Charlie?” Finn tested, walking slowly forward. He turned one corner of the long table, then the other. The shape of a person was on the floor, half slumped against the wall, head tilted to one side. His wheelchair was pushed away from him, out of reach for sure, but he didn’t seem bothered by that fact. He didn’t seem to notice.
But he noticed Finn. “Heeeyy. Ya found me.”
Finn crouched down next to him, Charlie’s eyes swerving to stay focused on him. His hair was mussed, pushed off his forehead like he had just woken up. The collar of his shirt was open, his tie undone and hanging around his neck, sleeves pushed up to the elbow to show the watch band cutting into his bare wrist. Wet patches on his cheek and jaw caught the glow of the outside lights. When Finn rested a hand on his blazer, he found the lapel damp.
He’d only seen Charlie cry when he was in pain, and that was a restrained, shielded leaking of tears until the stronger medication kicked in. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. Finn’s skin prickled with the need to fix it, solve it, ease it. “C’mon. Let’s get you upstairs.”
“Oh fuck no.” Charlie shook his head, swatting at Finn’s hand and missing.
“No?”
Charlie shook his head again, steadying a hand on the ornate rug as he tilted dangerously to the side. “Fuck. No. I don’t want them to see me.”
Finn opened his mouth to explain where the party had gone, but stopped cold.
Charlie was still talking; distressed, weak, pained. “I don’t wanna move. I don’t wanna move. You’ll pick me up and, and, and they’ll see and, an-.”
“Charlie,” Finn interrupted. He smoothed a hand over Charlie’s forehead – no sweat, no heat, no sign of a fever. As he spoke, he slid quick fingers into the pockets of Charlie’s suit. “You can’t sleep on the floor, Charlie. It’ll hurt tomorrow. You’ll regret it.”
No vape pen. Not even a refill. Charlie wasn’t high, wasn’t sick. Just drink then. And something else, Finn supposed. The guarded self-control Finn was used to seeing, the presence Charlier seemed to regard as sacred to his whole person… that was gone. Stripped away. It made his insides knot and twist in anticipation – not the good kind, he thought dully.
“Pfft. Says you.” Charlie rolled his eyes and leaned close. Finn could smell his cologne, soft and piney, running up against the smell of rum. Dark rum, spiced, and ginger. “I’m the one that’s supposed to give you orders, aren’ I? Tha’s what this whole stupid thing was supposed to be.” Charlie made a noise, a face, of disgust. He jabbed a finger at his throat. “Me telling you.” He jabbed a finger at Finn’s chest. “What to do. Because I’m a shit person.”
“Charlie-.”
A weird clarity crossed over Charlie’s features at his name. He seemed to find and actually see Finn’s face for the first time since he crouched down. “What time is it? I want to see the fireworks.”
“Let me take you upstairs-.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You can see them better from your room,” Finn insisted. He reached behind to drag the chair closer. “And no one else will be up there. No one will see, okay?”
Charlie squinted. “No one?”
“No one.”
“I swear?”
Finn nodded, holding his pinkie out to Charlie. It was a weird thing, swearing on the littlest finger, but Finn liked the sentiment in the gesture.
Charlie pushed it away and sighed heavily. “Ugh… Fine. But no, no carrying me okay? I don’t need any of these idiots. Gettin’ ideas. More than they already have about me… ass wipes…”
It takes some maneuvering – Charlie is loose-limbed, soft, and unhelpful; grumbling in Finn’s ear as he wraps his arms around Finn’s neck – to get him upright, then seated. Finn pulled the blazer from Charlie’s shoulders, pulled away the limp green tie and shoved it into his own pockets. All the while, Charlie is muttering about his arm crutches and normalcy; half thoughts and half sentences jumbled up together in a manner only Charlie could possibly understand. Finn didn’t try to.
He wrapped his hand around Charlie’s arm, snapping him out of his head. His gray eyes were wet again, nose curled up in frustration. “I’m going to push you, okay?”
Charlie’s features softened as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Finn didn’t say anything more. He smoothly turned Charlie around and took them both out into the hallway. The house was a shell – all the guests outside, the caterers now cleaned up and departed. It was just the two of them inside; totally alone. Finn had learned every inch of the hallways, rooms, walls, and doors in the house. Not because he was ordered to, but because he found it convenient. Knowing the quickest route, the closest exit at hand at any given time had proven worthwhile over the last several months. He could go a whole day without Miss Mercedes and Madame seeing him.
The house was old; old enough to have hidden corridors and pocket doors meant only for the use of servants and staff. Charlie had explained it all to him once. Sitting next to him then, video game controller in hand, Finn couldn’t help feeling drawn to it. Like it had been meant for him all along, even though someone back then could have imagined someone like him.
He took Charlie to the servant’s stairs off the end of the narrow hallway nearest the kitchen. Meant for people to dash back and forth between the dining room and the stoves, bringing full platters and collecting empty dishes without a peep. Without anyone’s notice.
Surely no one would notice them now, Finn thought. He opened the door to the thin stairwell. It ended in a hallway around the second floor, the third door opening into Finn’s own bedroom. He’d bring Charlie there first, take care of him there. He took a breath then tucked one arm under Charlie’s thighs, the other wrapped tight around his shoulders.
“Finn, I said-!” Charlie whined through gritted teeth.
“Hold my neck,” Finn said, tone verging on an order. A spike of pain shot through his temple, then faded. “It’ll be easier this way. No one’s going to see. I promise.”
“But… but, I-...” Charlie’s eyes were still closed. Finn took care to make it comfortable, trying to offset how miserable the other boy looked. “Oh fine..” He bent his head into Finn’s shoulder, sniffing hard. His fingers came up to brush the ends of his hair, his arms secure around Finn’s neck. “Don’t drop me, okay?”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“You promise a lot of stuff, Finn.”
“I do. I have to.” Finn replied smoothly as he started up the stairs.
Charlie hummed. “You don't have a choice.”
“I guess I don’t… but I don’t mind it.”
“You should.”
“I don’t.”
“Because they beat it into you. You don’t have a fucking choice, you have to. You’ll always have to, even when you’re not a pet anymore, you’ll still want to because they fucked with your head,” Charlie grumbled. His words were warm on Finn’s neck, his body warmer still. “You don’t have a choice and you’re still a good person. Some of us have a choice and we make fucking terrible ones…”
Finn let those words drop to the floor and be stepped on. The need to ask clawed at the inside of his throat, but he silenced it with a deep breath. Arriving at his door, he pushed it open and crossed the room, setting Charlie down on the window seat.
“I’ll be right back. I left your chair down–.”
The other boy seemed relieved to be set down. “Take your time.”
The second trip took no time, but Finn was rushing. When he came back, Charlie was exactly where he had left him. He sat against the cushions Finn had arranged on the bench, leg stretched out across the length of it, his fingers fiddling with the sewn-off pant leg of the other. Blinking, he cast his eyes around the room before settling on the cold window glass next to him.
For a long moment, Charlie stared out the double windows. Finn had done the same thing many nights in a row; had done the same alongside Charlie, companionable silence and vapor between them. They overlooked the garden and patio below, where guests were gathered around warming lamps. Waiting for the finale, the last act of the night, to begin.
After a minute, Charlie lurched forward, hand landing loudly on the old frame and metal latch. He fumbled with it, then succeeded in pushing the panes wide open.
Finn bolted forward and closed it with a bang. Charlie squinted up at him, but Finn only shrugged. “It’s freezing outside. That’s why we’re in here.”
He seemed to buy that explanation, letting his hand drop from the glass and back to his leg. His head tilted back against the wall. The flush of alcohol ran pink through his skin. The red rim around his eyes making the gray look brighter, harder, sharper. “You’re smart, Finn. Really smart. No one wants to remember that but you are.”
“Thank you?” Finn perched himself at the edge of the bench. The pads of his fingers turned circles over the barcode nestled in the crook of his elbow; a nervous habit. “Charlie, are you alright?”
“You’re smart, so smart… You should just…” Charlie took in a slow, deep breath. His eyes didn’t meet Finn’s as he raised his hands, turning them in inexact ways and making little noises. A second later, he turned his palms flat and jerked them forwards. “Right? Just push.” He jerked his hands again. “ And it’d be over with.”
Finn blinked. He balked at what Charlie was suggesting. “I’m not pushing you out a window.”
Charlie didn’t seem to hear him. He was deep in his own head that night. That reality sent worry twisting through Finn’s skin, leaving it crawling. “You could probably hit the pool from this angle… maybe the edge. That would hurt. Be fast though.” He pursed his lips, whistling low before cutting of in a strange-sounding huff, his hands mimicking the shape of a splash. He paused, hummed, his head dropping to the side. “Huh. It’s thirty-ish feet up… sixteen feet from the doors… I think that math works out?”
“Charlie. You’re not hearing yourself–.”
“I’m a bad person, Finn.” Charlie’s eyes, dull and cloudy, turn towards him. Unblinking, unwavering, in a way that said you know I’m right. All of a sudden, his expression shifted and flickered, as if he finally heard his own voice. His face dropped, sadness leaking out across his features, his eyes watering up again. It made Finn feel sick. “Oh… I’m a bad person. I’m… Fuck.”
Finn shook his head hard enough to give him a headache. “You’re not.”
“I am. I’m a bad–. I mean, you’re right there. You’re fucking right there and that.” He turned away again, waving his hands as if pushing something invisible away; waving away an unseen smoke. “ That’s proof right? Right… right.” Charlie rubbed at his eyes, half-gulping air. He shivered as sobs worked their way up his throat, painful and ragged. “I own a person and Ashton is dead. Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck… fuck.”
Thinking twice wasn’t something Finn did. Second thoughts had gone the way of his old memories, he reasoned. He was meant to fix, to soothe, to right the ship when nothing else would.
It was muscle memory, the way he slid forward close to Charlie. It was training that guided him, told him to bundle the other boy into his chest and hold him tight. It was conditioning that kept him still as the first fireworks crackled in the dark sky and Charlie gasped and choked around tears.
At least, Finn hoped that’s all it was.
~*~
tags | @vickytokio @boxboysandotherwhump @deluxewhump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @melancholy-in-the-morning @itstrueiwasthewraithberry @whumpthisway @wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @warm-my-whumpee-heart @winedark-whump (ask or message for +/- from the tag list, thank you!)
My health seems to slowly be recovering; I've gotten past a months-long "flareup" and now have spoons/energy again. This means less time sitting down and more time trying to do things.
I come up with the idea that I could drive semi trucks. Because it's something I could do with limited energy, requiring short periods of exertion which I can manage. And disabled truckers are a thing.
Get up the courage to get back my DL, with further plans to try and get a CDL after the first of the year and look into employment assistance.
Go to the DMV and get absolutely obliterated with bullshit fines to get back my DL. They take every dollar I have to my name, and I have to borrow $20 more.
My plans are dashed, my soul is crushed, and my wallet is emptied.
friends: no but seriously you’re super funny and witty and always has the best comebacks hahaha
me: ??? i literally had no ideia????? i’m not trying to be funny or witty????? like i’m usually being dead serious and you interpret that as deadpan humor??????
**
me as a child: *used to hide in small dark spaces* *has imaginary friends* *talked to self* *used to be a very pick eater, to the point of eating the same things for breakfast everyday for months*
**
- when my brother married, my parents did not like my sister-in-law’s family, going so far as only seeing them during christmas. and they got so nervous/angry about it that i went to the visits absolutely terrified. and i alwas ended up saying/doing something socially inapropriate; and, instead of saying something right away, my parents waited till we got in the car to basically yell at me for being so tactless (“do you ever think before speaking? do you like embarassing us and yourself? if you don’t have anything good to say, just fucking stay silent!”).
**
person: so you cut your hair recently, huh? looks good
me: yea
me on the inside: say something! start a conversation! make a friend!
me on the outside: uuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
**
“why are you always distracted? that can’t be healthy - always hiding inside your own mind to scape reality”
it’s called maladaptive daydreaming,karen
**
me: *craves intimacy and physical affection*
also me: *is averse to touching* *does absolutely nothing when it comes to pursuing a relationship*
**
me: *fantasizes about having close friends and being my true self around them* *has no sense of self due to fabricating different personalities for every person that i encounter out of fear of being rejected/ridiculed*
**
me: *goes to party* *hangs out with pets/children/elderly people*
**
at family gathering:
“hey my kinds and their friends are going to that room watch a movie why don’t you go with them, all the teens hanging out”
mom: yeah sure she’s coming! the perfect opportunity for her to get to know them!
me: death would be kinder :)))))))))))))))))))))))))
**
- i have to extremes when it comes to eye contact: or i will look EVERYWHERE but at your eyes or i will stare you down, which i’ve been told that makes me come off as super intimidating (i lowkey enjoy it tho)
**
- being an autistic child who grew up surrounded by adults and had overprotective parents (to the point where i couldn’t go alone to the movies even tho i was 16) made my childhood very difficult, bc i never really developed the social skills that most people develop in childhood. and most people like my teachers were always amazed by how “mature” and well-spoken i was. sometimes i feel like i’m only now good at being a child.
**
*something bad happens*
my brain: welcome to the Dissociatiion Zone™
**
- everytime i’m around people (be it studying or just hanging out) i feel strangely detached, as if i’m surrounded by a bubble that prevents me from fully engaging with my peers
**
- pick up on social rules by observation and mix them together to create something that resembles a personality. do that over and over to create different personalities, each for different people. congratulations! you now have no close relationships and all of your acquantaces think you are a mistery wrapped around an enigma
Tuafw "you know, maybe textures don't bother me that much, maybe I was overreacting." *accidentally eats a piece of cucumber* "I've never wanted to die more than I have this moment. Why does this feeling exist. God has forsaken us."
