"i never wanted to hurt people! i didn’t want this life! you made me a monster.” with johnny and anti?? if that's chill??
tws: blood, suffocating, choking, death, major family death, psychological trauma and manipulation, body horror, horror.
———
Deep breaths, Bambi.
Jonathan clutches at his throat, coughing, wheezing, gulping down as much air as he is allowed. His lungs feel as if an anvil is pressed against them, not allowing the air to leave or enter. He’s feeling heavy. Dizzy. Can’t stand up. Thorns of roses grow in his throat with each cough, tearing apart his esophagus, forcing him to spit out their red petals.
Hands of the dead and suffering reach out to him from the darkness surrounding him, pulling at his clothes and moaning in pain. Desperate for his attention, for his love, for his warm flesh to lay upon and his bones lined with the roots of Willow trees and cloud filled skies.
Sobbing, and still clawing for air, the boy begins to crawl away from the touch. The hands become more desperate, more pained, and soon he is running, falling, running falling crawling god please give him air he can’t breathe can’t breathe-
His hands meet a wall. Brick. Cold. Red. Red as rose petals, red like the blood that drips from your finger when a thorn pricks your hand when you blindly pick a flower from its bush.
Do you remember?
Jonathan’s eyes fall upon a man, covered in the red like the wall. Covered in one thousand pricks of thorns, covered in so much red, so much blood his face is barely recognizable. Yet Jonathan knows him all the same.
The boy’s hands still grip at his own throat, even as he allowed to breathe once more. Somehow, however, the act of it, breathing, taking in air, filling up his lungs with rich oxygen and exhaling to take it all in again, is just as hard. Seeing the man, the man covered in liquid rose petals.
He reaches out to John, where he lays against the brick. His voice is torn and distorted, wet with blood slicked down his throat. He chokes the same as John did just moments before.
“Please,” whispers the man. “Stop h- hurting me please s- nnh—”
This is Jonathan’s fault. The mourning mothers, crying forever for their son. The confused children, who will stroke a picture of their father in captured memories they can barely grasp onto. A grieving wife, a widowed woman, who can never sleep on his side of the bed, no matter how uncomfortable or bent hers is. A whining dog, sitting on the last sweater that man wore, watching the front door, waiting for him to return from work. It’s been a long time.
I asked you a question, Bambi. Do you remember?
A sob cuts into Jonathan’s words. There are rose thorns in his mouth, in his throat. It’s hard to speak. “Yes,” is his weak reply, whimpering and crying as the man continues to beg.
You killed him. That was you, all that blood. All that torture. Do you miss feeling his blood on your hands?
“Stop it...”
It’s a shame, you know. He was so innocent. Look what you did to him, Bambi. Wild little thing, aren’t you?
“I- I never wanted to hurt people!”
But you did. You hurt him. You killed him.
Jonathan screams, hitting the brick wall and turning it to dust beneath his hands. “I never wanted this life! You made me a monster, you did this, not me! You were in my head!”
Was I in your head for her?
Jonathan blinks, and his mother stands before him. Blood drips from her mouth, and her eyes, once warm chestnut fires and sunshine and laughter, stare dead. Stare grey, stare lifeless.
“Mommy..” Johnny’s voice comes, without him even knowing. He reaches out to her, but she does not reach back. Her hands are cold. Her face is cold. Her heart does not beat.
This was his fault.
“I w- I was just trying to protect her.” the boy whimpers, his voice thick with tears. Shaking hands grasp hers in his own.
Poor Mama. Poor Mama. Was I in your head then, Bambi?
“No, Anti.”
You’re capable of nasty things, boy. Do you even feel guilty?
“Y- yes..!! Yes I feel guilty!”
The voice comes through his mother’s mouth now. Her dead mouth, cracked lips and drooling blood, and pale skin. The voice comes through his mother’s mouth, but it’s a thousand voices, a thousand screams. The dead man’s voice, Chase’s voice, Talia’s voice, his brother’s voice, his mother’s voice. Her sweet, honey voice. All distorted. All forced into a jar of breaking clay and rotting bones.
You’re a fucking monster.
The words stick to his skin like the cold sweat he wakes up in. They burrow into his mind, scratching and giggling as he screams and sobs, hitting the arms of his Uncle who forces him into a hug for both of their safeties.
They stick in his mind, his skin, they grow like the rose thorns in his throat. You’re a monster. You’re a monster.
And he believes them all, even as he melts into the warm body before him, with a beating heart, with loving, living, safe eyes, and a mouth which speaks no words, but will still forever hush and damn those awful words away.
Royals (A "The Selection" AU Fanfic) Chapter Two - TheQuartzMermaid
A/N: Heeeeeeeeeello, dear people of AQ! I’m here with another chapter of Royals (not related to Lorde’s hit single. Not even close.)
Before we start, I’d like to propose a toast. Here’s to Tiffany, the best beta I could ask for - I owe her a whole truck of Brazilian candy for being so helpful. Here’s to everyone related to AQ: admins, writers, readers… You’re all incredible. Here’s to my mom, she deserves it. And last but not least, a toast to my cat Sushi, who is having a hard time recovering from a disease. You’ll be fine soon, baby boy.
And if you’re not familiar with The Selection, I highly recommend you to read the prologue for this fanfic. If you like it enough, you can read the original books by Kiera Cass, they’re amazing.
OK, NOW TO THE CHAPTER!
Royals - Chapter Two (or The one in which Katya leaves home)
The officials arrived at the Zamolodchikova household the week after the announcement and started preparing Katya. First, some woman called Bianca called her. Then, a man called David made her sign lots of papers and forms. The easy ones were only to know if she had any health problems. Others were to attest more intimate questions, like her virginity. Katya didn’t need to lie; she knew the law, she has been prepared for this since she was a baby girl wrapped in Russian blankets.
The Zamolodchikovas that live in Illéa had come from a Russian aristocratic family, very close to the monarchy. It all started when Katya’s grandfather, Abram, arrived at the newly independent country, fleeing from the conflict between Russia and New Asia. He was designated to caste Three due to his high education degree. He married a Three girl and had four children, Katya’s father being the oldest.
Katya met the opportunity of The Selection when she was 5, totally amazed with the possibility of becoming a member of the royal family, making it easier for her grandparents to convince her to apply. If she won, if Prince Casey fell in love with her – only her -, she could be the link that unites Illéa and Russia.
She couldn’t wait.
“Miss Zamo?” An official called her, already giving up trying to pronounce her whole surname. The man was elegantly dressed, Katya began to think she would be seeing this a lot at Angeles.
“Yes”, Katya answered, lifting her gaze from a book she was just reading in order to meet the man’s eyes. “You’re leaving tomorrow. The girls from St. George, Calgary and Ottaro will be joining you on the plane”, the officer explained with a soft voice. “Your send-off will be happening at your province’s main square. After that, you’ll be taken to the airport.”
“Wow, it’s happening so fast…” Katya sighed.
“Yes, Miss Zamo. You’d better go to sleep”, the man said, shifting away. “Good night.”
“Good night”, replied the girl. She got up, put her book back on the shelf and sit by her dresser, picking a brush and taking care of her golden hair.
Princess Yekaterina Schreave of Illéa, married to Prince Casey Schreave, she repeated to herself while brushing her hair. The words never really came out of her mouth but still tasted incredibly sweet. Katya kept dreaming about her life as a One: her wedding with Prince Casey, their children, her whole family becoming Ones. They would all join the monarchy. Mom, dad, grandma… Even Polina, her cat.
Tired of dreaming awake, the 18 year-old climbed to her bed, Polina joining her in her sleep. Her life would change forever tomorrow, she couldn’t wait.
***
Katya woke up as the girl of grace and dignity she swears she is: Polina was comfortably laid on her face, what means the Selected Lady had a lot of white fur going on that beautiful mug she was blessed with. The cat ran away as the girl abruptly got up, afraid she would be late – and barely able to breathe. Her parents entered running. What was that, did her life turn into a sitcom right on the day she was supposed to go to the palace?
“Your cat seemed scared. What happened, kotenok?” Her father asked, ignoring the fact Katya’s face looked like a rug with eyes, nose, and a mouth.
“Apparently my face makes a good bed for felines”, Katya started brushing the fur off. “I’ll miss Polina, though. Do you think they have pets at the palace?”
“No, except for the horses”, it was Kasha, her aide, who answered. “Time to get ready, Miss Zamo. The people of Columbia await.”
The next hours passed like a blur: taking a bath, wearing her uniform, doing her makeup – she’d been told someone would help her do even the simplest things during her stay at the palace, so Katya insisted on doing everything by herself today, for the last time.
Evanna Zamolodchikova, though, insisted on placing the provincial flower, a dogwood, on her daughter’s hair. She looked at Katya’s reflection in the mirror, smiling proudly.
“My Kit-Kat is going to be a princess”, she whispered, almost crying.
At the send-off ceremony, Columbia’s mayor spent at least thirty minutes talking about how well-represented the province would be in the Selection. He offered Katya the word. She took her place in front of the microphone, trying to look her fellow citizens in the eye. She was feeling confident enough to crack a joke right at the beginning of her speech.
“Charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent. What do these characteristics have in common?” The people stared at her, blankly. “Well, I may be a Three, but I’m not a scientist.”
The crowd dissolved into laughter. She kept her smile wide. They’re buying it, good. If I don’t make it to the crown, at least I can be a comedian.
“Jokes aside, I know these are some of the things Prince Casey might be looking for in a wife. And I know these are traits we can easily find in the people of Columbia. I’m not sure that I have what it takes to be your next princess, but you can count on me to showcase, in the most appropriate way that I can, the best of our people.”
Cheers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in sending off Yekaterina Zamolodchikova, our favorite Daughter of Illéa and, hopefully, our next princess!” Said the mayor, the national anthem playing on the background.
Our next princess, Katya smiled brightly with the sound of those three words. She would do it. She just had to be herself.
And make sure no one would know her little secret.
I have a headcanon that my Ryder suffers from slight ptsd and nightmares caused by the events on Habitat 7. He often dreams that he's suffocating and is trying to save Alec but he's already dead, when he feels like he's about suffocate he wakes up, cold sweat is rolling down his face and he can barely breathe, from the amount of stress he wakes up having a panic attack. Of course he doesn't tell anyone besides Lexi.
I’m half “;________;” about this but I’m also “!!!!!” because ANGST but also because it seems like a likely scenario considering...
I really like that Lexi is a trustworthy person tbh. At least Ryder can talk to her
