Last month or so I quit my last job. Currently I'm living with my mom and relying on her, but that can't go on forever. I need to do something to either support myself or at least stifle the rate I'm spending my reserves to help keep up with my spending habits.
So as of right now Commissions are Open!
I recently made this Ko-Fi (-coughs-afewmonthsago-cOUGH-) so it's a bit barren for now but I'll be working on it to make it look more like my own place over time. For now though everything's set up to work like I need it to and that's enough for me, so if you like my art and want me to draw something specific please read the instructions in the commission's tab and I'll finish when I can.
Today had been terrible from the start but obviously life wasn't done with her yet as Claire finds herself in the worst situation to be in a snowy wasteland-a cave in.
word count: 4963
(AN: Surprise! A nutcracker one shot featuring my nutcracker characters Claire and Prince! I've been working on this for well over a month and honestly I'm tired of looking at it, lol, so I edited it real fast and wanted to share it before I lost my nerve. I wanted to do a lot more art but for right now as I'm dealing with way too much real life things I decided to just write it down instead-which led me to realize I didn't know these idiots as well as I wanted since it took me this long.
Anyways, enjoy 4900 words of word vomit abt these idiots)
Quiet isn't something she's ever gotten used to when she thinks about it. It's loud, in a way, screaming out when everything else stops making noise and filling in everything like a wad of cotton in her ears. Not a favorite if she were asked-she'd rather turn on the radio to any channel than hear the screaming of that damned empty house for one minute longer.
Which brings her to realizing that sleep was kind of the same, at least in her dim hazy half awake state. It blocks out all noise for hours that feel like seconds but even that was enough to make her annoyed right off the bat. At least sleep could be ended at some point and she could go back to her radio in peace.
But this time it didn't help at all. It felt wrong to think of, nagging at the back of her mind like a nail to the head. In fact it really did feel like a nail to the head-a really big one as if someone'd punched her. Her neck ached too- actually her entire body ached. Really badly. So badly that it was enough to shake out any remnant of sleep in her system to instead focus on the searing pain racing up her spine. The urge to sit up came to mind but was put back down just as quick since her bones complained at the mere idea.
A faint note touched the back of her head wondering if she was making some kind of face because if she was, Prince was sure to notice and make some wise crack about-
“Are you always such a pain in the ass to everyone who's just being nice to you!?”
Claire jumps awake with a gasp, eye snapping open. And the first thing to come to mind is that she is freezing.
Sunlight beams down from above her left, draping across her chest like a blanket. Defying any logic it refused to warm her even in the slightest despite being angled right at her; she should be feeling the heat inside the wool lined coat-but nothing. Biting cold seeps in anyways with a level of spite she'd almost be impressed by.
It takes far too long to sit up as the snow's already soaked her back, hair plastered to the back of her skull in a frozen mass. Each limb is like a lead weight and barely wants to move, getting them working at all is hard but she manages. Barely.
She presses her cold hands into her cheeks. They sting at the touch.
”The Hell was that even for?!”
”You didn't get up! I told you we needed to go before noon!”
”So you decided to drop a snowbank on me?!”
“Not like you were getting up any other way.”
Her thoughts are nothing but soup sloshing in the bucket that her brain turned into. Her pulse throbs in her skull, struggling to put more than the basics together.
Snow. So much snow, in places it shouldn't be. Cold. So cold. The sunlight does nothing to warm her or anything at all. Walls of ice towering up and up into the air above her head. She was in a cavern, on her ass in waist deep snow with the cold seeping into her clothes.
But she can't for the life of her figure out how.
“Wow. Real mature.”
“Not giving me much of a choice.”
“Maybe say something if you want me to do it.”
“I do.“
”Never nicely.”
He'd turned around so fast she nearly tripped over herself. Ears pinned back, mouth twisted with a barely contained snarl.
“You don't deserve me being nice. Or anybody. Not for when you're being such a stuck up bitch about it.”
She raises a hand to block the sun. Walking. Trying to get to another town-that was the clearest in her head. It was all they did every day. Until now, they'd been doing fine.
The ceiling is cracked around the hole. Like it had been smashed open.
“The fuck do you-“
Prince shoves into her space with a single step and points a finger at her, “All I've ever done is to help you. Every single time I've gone out of my way to talk to people for you or get us something to eat is because I want to help you.”
She can't help but recoil. He'd never so much as raised his voice at her in the days they'd been walking, riding and even fucking flying towards some goalpost she didn't even know existed. The fact alone he didnt' even dignify her by shouting and was just speaking down to her like some child set her off.
”And you call all this helpful?!? All you've done is help this place freeze my ass off!“ She showed him her still wet hair to which his only reaction had been to close his eyes and turn away. She didn't care he sounded like he was breathing in that way people do when they're trying to calm down or that his hands were clenching into fists. She was cold and pissed off, “Do you even know what you're doing!?”
A single stomp. Not hers. He was heavier. More upset than she was. As well as strong enough to tear iron doors open.
Then falling. Her stomach in her throat and snow in her eyes.
“Are you always such a pain in the ass to everyone who's just being nice to you!?”
Prince.
She gasps and rolls onto her stomach, instantly sinking as her weight shifts. The snow is the deep, soft kind she'd seen used for skiing that her boots sink right in up to her knees and snow compacts into her sleeves-but she can't find it in her to care about it. About anything. Desperately scrabbling to get out of the sinkhole she was in.
The fight. The fall. The way he'd stared at her with so much rage it nearly made her vomit, even if it was just for a moment before shock took it;s place.
She looks up to the canyon's edge, sheer panic welling up in her throat as she realizes just how far they'd fallen. It had to have been at least a few stories deep and that was her being hopeful.
Breathe, she tries to think to herself over the noise. The snow must have softened the impact, otherwise she wouldn't be around to freak out about it. She's still got a massive headache to deal with, but it's better than the other options. With a couple of steadying breaths she manages to force her way out of the pit.
And right into another panic attack.
Ice blocks are piled up a few feet away, half buried in the snow with a fresh layer already filling the crags. The shattered remains of the canyon roof lay scattered everywhere though mostly in this one spot, right below the point of impact. Where it had been shattered underfoot.
She couldn't give two shits about the damage when the first thing she noticed was the very familiar clawed hand hung limply in the middle of the pile.
“PRINCE!” She's on her feet immediately scrambling towards it, ignoring the headache screaming in her skull at her haste, “Prince come on-don't do this to me you fucking bastard! You don't get to die on me before I get home!”
It's not as tall when she;s standing, barely making it past her hips but the size of it isn't the problem when the large chunks of glacier brand ice are as big as a large dog-still she shoves her freezing hands in between the pieces around his hand until one gives way, then another and another. Eventually she manages to throw off enough to the point the pile destabilizes and rock sized chunks cascade down around her shins to reveal most of his shoulder and finally his face.
She allows herself to grin for a second despite panting like a dog, hurriedly scraping away the smaller shards lingering in his vest collar, "Finally! Almost thought you were actually buried." He doesn't respond, eyes closed and face tilted to his shoulder but she didn't care. She'd found him again and now they could get out of here.
But he doesn't stir even after she's gotten the weight off his face, or after she's well into hauling off the heavy ass chunks pressing down into his shoulders and chest. She should be looking for damage or something else more important but she can't focus at all as her gaze keeps going back to his face. Waiting for that little flicker of a frown he makes when he wakes up wrong or when he's annoyed.
Nothing. Sill as a statue.
Slowly, as the little bit of joy fades out and a bitter pang of resentment trickles in,she mutters, "Are you serious?" When he doesn't answer, again, she barks, "Is this the silent treatment? Are you doing this on purpose or did you seriously pass out from that?"
Nothing. Dead silent outside the soft whistle of frigid breeze. Not even so much as an annoyed huff at her antics.
Alright now she's pissed.
"You asked for it you fucking jackass." He doesn't respond to her bitter snipping either as she starts climbing, "You take punches from big ass machines head on with your face, total at least a few cars by flipping one down the street-you literally had your whole hand on an exhaust pipe making me think I could too and I BURNED MINE because it was boiling hot!" Every word is bitten through gritted teeth as she jabs a finger into his still unconscious face, "You are the most EGOTISTICAL and STUBBORN BASTARD I have EVER MET!"
Silence stretches for a few seconds, then a few minutes. She gets to about thirty before she rears back a fist, "The least you could do is PAY ATTENTION-"
And nearly skewers her hand open on the ice shard piercing through the left side of his chest.
The gasp tears out of her throat in raw horror, every ounce of rage bleeding out like water through cloth. She stumbles back into his lap with the hand she meant to pummel him with clasped over her mouth. His blood continues it's slow trickle down his ribs, the vibrant red soaking into his vest in a steadily growing stain. Parts of his shell had peeled open around the wound, as if a flower had simply burst open under his skin with a core of hazy red ice.
He's not moving. He doesn't stop moving. Prince is too wired, too anxious, too damned determined to just, stop. He doesn't stay slumped over, fur collar matted against his neck and coat gently pushed open by the wind, the same way people do when they're just too tired to sleep. Like the weight of the world collapsed on him.
Tears burn her eyes. Throat closing up. That desperate need to cry emerging as a new layer of pounding headache.
The snow hits her face with the same care a bird uses when hitting the window: splattering all over with some shoved up her nose. She lurches up coughing, scrubbing snow out of her eyes, “What-What the Hell was that?”
She wishes she didn't remember the expression on his face. Cold. Closed off, someplace beyond irritation and rage altogether. As if she didn't matter. As if he didn't care if she lived or not anymore.
The bitter sting in her chest went ignored. She ignored it as she argued with him. Ignored it all the times his face twisted in hurt when she snapped at him. In all the times she swatted away his help. His care.
Now it rears it's ugly head with all the rage of a bull in a china shop, Ravaging everything she's built, years of walls made to keep people out, to keep herself safe.
For the first time in over a decade, Claire has a breakdown.
“NO!“ Rationally, there's no point. Emotionally, she's throwing common sense out the fucking window and throwing herself at the nutcracker, not even bothering to notice how cool his body has gotten as she tries desperately to staunch the bleeding, “No! No no no no-you can't do this to me! You can't just-I can't-” She sobs, hands slipping over his chest from numbness and the amount of blood. Predictably it doesn't work. The shard is still in him and even worse, being on top of him lets her see the red reflecting through the ice from the snow below.
It's too long. Too deep. There's too much blood. Still she tries. Pressing his shell back together with delirious hope, barely able to see through her own tears until he's nothing more than a swimming mess of blue and red.
Prince doesn't react to anything. His head is turned to the side with his eyes closed like he's asleep, flecks of snow in his blonde hair. No complaining, no whimpering-he's just silent. She can't even tell if he;s breathing. Like a dead angel fallen from heaven.
Her arms give out at that. And suddenly she's crying, almost screaming with her face pressed into his exposed neck. The bone brace scrapes along her jaw, fluffy collar trying to smother her hiccuping as if repremanding her for the intrusion but she doesn't care. Just doesn't give a singular fuck about anything except the heaving sobs directed into his shoulder.
“I'm sorry! I'm sorry-please, I'm sorry!” The words force out of her mouth between dry heaves, “I'll get up! I''ll stop fighting-just-!”
The same hand clenches into a fist, but she just drops it onto his bicep.
She was freezing, sitting on a pile of ice that dug into the skin on her knees, the only person left she could even call a friend motionless underneath her with a spike through his back. All she could think about were the times she pushed back; he'd reach out and she'd bite the hand that feeds. Earnest attempts to make small talk left unanswered, questions responded to with a snappy retort. How she treated him like mud on her boots because she wasn't used to this-to people caring about what happened to her.
“I'm so-sorry….I'm..I'm not good at this.” She sniffles, the fluff tickling her nose, “No one likes me. No one tried to h-help me when my dad left, nobody cared enough to even a-ask how I was doing or if I needed help with the house…..” Snot lingers on her tongue when licking her lips, “I don't think anyone cared if I was even a-alive…”
His shell is cold under her hands as she tries to wrap her arms around his waist. She barely makes it since he's so pressed against the ice below. Her hands are so numb she can't force them to either, letting her arms rest alongside his deathly still ribs instead.
“Please….please don't leave me too…”
If the wind hadn;t been so quiet she'd think her voice had given out. Yet she could barely say the words at all. How had he managed to get so far under her skin that he meant more to her than even getting out anymore? That him dying made her want to lay down next to him and give up too?
Fuck she wanted to give up. Let the cold take over and just…..fall asleep forever. She didn't care where she went anymore-there wasn't a place she wanted to be if she was-
A sharp rattling pushes her up. The iron smell was stronger following a gurgling noise from beneath her. She leans back wide eyed but he remains still and for a moment she thinks she's officially lost it.
The seams on his jaw move, parted open with the tiniest rattling breath. She comes closer, hands clamped on his shoulders, “P-Prince…?”
“…..c-could you repeat that? I didn't hear it-”
She smacks his chest with righteous fury even though his soft rasping voice tells her she shouldn't-she does anyways and gets pissed off when he screams in pain, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!?”
The bastard has the nerve to be glossy eyed after the scare of her life, “You punched me-!” He croaks out with ears pulled back.
“You nearly scared the shit out of me! What if I was down here alone, huh?! You piece of shit!”
“Ow ow-why are you hitting-” Prince tries to cover his face but stops as another rattling gasp takes all the air he has left. It comes back out as a spray of blood he directs to the side away from her, “I-I'm not…..I'm not breathing well! Stop that-” He coughs, stopping her next attack by grabbing her wrist.
She shakes him off, “Whatever.“ If his ears perk up due to her words lacking bite she doesn't notice it, “Can you get out of there yourself or do I have to drag you.”
Prince doesn't answer, staring at her for an uncomfortably long moment. Lavender eyes take in her face then dart to her hair, “….You're soaked.”
“And you're impaled.” The small part of her still from the surface wonders how this is a normal retort for her now, “What's the problem?”
The problem immediately makes itself known as a gust of wind bursts through the canyon and slams into the two of them. He's unphased, the weather never having been a problem for him but Claire's instantly shivering as her clothes gently remind her they're plastered to her skin as well as the knot of ice stuck to the back of her head. She wraps her arms around her shoulders in an attempt to keep her teeth from chattering but she doesn;t really succeed.
“I think that's….the problem…” Prince manages to say, claws touching the spike in his chest with a wince, “….I need to get up..it's going to suck though…”
“Y-Yeah probably…” She shivers, “H-How are you even talking right now?”
“Barely..” He wheezes. His back arches up, teeth clenched against a groan of pain with his hands pressing into the ice pile for leverage. He manages to get some upward movement but drops back down with a gag, “Can't….not with you on me…” He looks at her pointedly with one eye closed.
She blinks, “….Right.” Now that the adrenaline is gone trying to get off is a different matter. The cold bites into her shins alongside the bitter numbness from sitting on them for too long; he grunts under his breath as she braces on his chest to steady herself, the muscle flexing under her weight.
She doesn't allow the information of how little her weight seems to bother him to sink in too much.
After having to shake out the needles in her legs she manages to stand somewhat stable next to him, boots right back to being half sunk in snow; it's at least an improvement from escaping her snow prison earlier. He tries to push himself up again but sinks back down with a wheeze. After another attempt resulting in the chunk he'd been using as a brace knocking loose he ends up reaching for her anyways, “Can…can you give me a hand..?” His little relieved sigh when she just takes his hand is willingly ignored.
Getting him out was a different case altogether since as she pulled he cried out when the spike didn't move with him; it was stuck in the pile somewhere below, “Dammit why are you so fucking heavy-” Claire groans, digging her boots in; the leverage doesn't do much beyond the gross sucking of the spike moving inside his guts. Painful gasps add to the wet noises inside his ribs until he flexes his arm, the effort of both of them together finally pulling him off with a yelp.
Blood drips down and slowly freezes to the spike previously in his guts and without him as stability it falls to one side with an anticlimactic clank as ice chunks quickly fill the hole his absence leaves behind while Claire focuses on helping him onto his knees, “Alright tell me how bad it is this time.” She starts by touching around the hole in his chest while crouching down in front of him.
His next rattling gasps are louder now that he's upright, “….Bad…….feels like….water in my…ribs..” He can barely force the words out as every other breath feels like trying to suck in tar; there's just not enough oxygen getting into his body and his hind brain is going haywire. Every movement is painful, even her just touching him feels almost too much as he tries to focus on only breathing the best he can.
“Well you've got a hole in you. I bet it sucks.” He gives her an exasperated look. She sticks her tongue out at him, “You should watch your blood pressure. Don't need you bleeding out on me.” The eye roll she gets is worth it.
At this height she can lean around his shoulder to get a look at his back; while not good to look at it doesn't make the situation any worse, at least. His shell had been punched in through his vest so it would need stitching again, as well as a good wash as the bloodstain covered a large section of his back. However when she tugged the fabric up she could see the hole punched through the shell on his back, the flesh already trying to knit itself back together underneath. It's still weird to see just how fast he could heal, bits of black stringy muscle literally reaching out to one another like tendrils tying everything back together in a neat little knot.
She makes a face. Still gross, “Looks like you'll be fine, I think. You're stitching up good. I think.” There's no way she can tell but from the sound of his breathing his lung might be closing so she'll take what she can get, “No idea how to get out of here but I'm sure you can climb us out-”
Smooth, warm flesh that feels like plastic slides up under her arms, wrapping around her waist. Hands tipped with claws prick gently at her elbows until they settle just under her ribs in a loose hug that felt more weighted than it should and suddenly she's getting pulled into him, soft rubbery plastic-like skin rubbing against her cheek like she was hugging a pool float.
He's still struggling to breathe right. Each inhale sounds wet and gross in his chest as fluids shift about to make room for actual oxygen to get into his system, the metal tang lingering in his breath-but he can't bring himself to pull away. Can't think about anything else except the desperate pleading breaking through the fog in his head and making all the tight aching in his chest worth it just to answer.
“I'm…..I'm not….going to leave you…..not….that easy….”
She freezes, limbs locked into place where she'd been seconds from shaking him off with a dismissive curse and were now stuck hanging just above his arms, a comment about getting blood on her coat flying out the window as his wheezing reached her ears. With her cheek pressed against his chest his words rattled into her bones bearing the weight of something she didn;t want to name. Didn't want to acknowledge. Something honest. Genuine.
He wasn;t human-at least, not anymore, if she believed him. There was no softness of skin or roughness of calluses on his hands; it was a continuous smooth texture along every segmented section of his palms, a faint ridge underneath each claw like the dulled edge of a knife. The texture would give if she pressed, deform like thick rubbery plastic, so dense she couldn't feel anything like veins or bone unless she put some force into it; not the same way a person would feel. As a human would.
Yet the thudding in his chest is a stead familiar beat. Somewhere buried under a ton of other things she wasn't ready to acknowledge, her brain supplied rather cheerfully that it was the most human thing about him.
The revelation keeps her there in his grip for longer than she wants; somewhere along the way she almost admits she's starting to enjoy it. He runs hot under the vest which she quietly enjoys as it pushes away the biting cold for a bit, nice in the way that sitting over the vent while the heater's running is. Comforting, safe heat she was free to bask in whenever she pleased.
She catches that stray thought before it goes where it shouldn't, “Okay that's enough clinging whatever weird biology you've got probably fixed itself by now get off.” She starts pushing his head away a bit too harshly because if she didn't those feelings she doesn't want to admit will start getting named, “I don't need you bleeding on me either, I like this coat blood free this time.”
He takes a bit longer to come up, letting her push him around with a huff of amusement. His insides are sore and it still feels like tar is sloshing around in his chest but he can ignore it, at least for now. Even with the guilt of having endangered her safety yet again because of his outburst he feels strangely satisfied, almost like a part of him had been sated for now.
And after arguing for more than an hour over something as petty as waking up at the wrong time, no less.
When she does finally get him off he finds the pressure easing in his chest the more he straightens his back. He takes in a deep breath; there's still a hitch as the air hits the proverbial wall of fluids still in his lungs but it doesn't feel like a constant slow rush pressing it all out anymore. Too busy with managing himself he almost misses the fact he's still got Claire pressed against him and almost misses how she goes stiff as a board when his inhale pushes his chest outward, catching the whole side of her face between his pectorals.
Of course she doesn't notice his staring as she's more concerned with shoving him away the moment he breathes out, flailing her arms around until she manages to squirm out of his hold. Her face is a nice shade of red all the way down her neck as she rolls away from him muttering about the cold.
He muffles a snort.
“A-Anyway.” Claire gets to her feet brushing off excess snow, “It's cold. I'm freezing my ass off and I'd like to not be a solid chunk of ice added to the collection down here so,” She motions towards him, “If you're all set again let's go before I get a cold.”
There's still redness in her cheeks but it's more from the cold now as he can tell from the subtle shivering in her hand. She is right in that he's feeling better at least as the aching is slowly going away, “Yeah. I doubt we'd find any path out since this place looks like an old ravine that froze over. I can probably climb us out since our door in is close to the walls,” He points up to the hole over their heads.
“You mean where you smashed us d-down through the roof like a caveman?” A chill raises goosebumps along her arms as the breeze blows in from above and she crosses her arms, “I-I'd hoped so since y-you're the one who got us i-in here.”
Prince just sighs. Even after all that crying earlier she still has it in her to complain about something, “Yeah yeah, whatever. Let's just go.” After a dismissive wave he stands up.
Then proceeds to vomit a gush of blood into the snow between them.
“PRINCE! Watch it!” Claire lurches back on one leg trying to keep her boots clean.
He coughs, “Sorry…was in my lungs.” Hand on his chest he runs his tongue along his teeth gathering the blood there and spits it into the snow, off to the side this time.
“Just-don't do that again! It's gross. And supposed to stay in you anyways so try harder next time.” She's brushing off her coat trying to be nonchalant but Prince can hear her heart racing in her chest. He knows she's pretending to look around the cavern, making small talk on how they're going to climb out. He knows that it's an effort to make him forget the past few minutes so she can preserve some of her pride.
She doesn't know he was awake long before she was, that he'd been sitting under the ice in too much pain to move while his ears tried in vain to hear anything above the screaming in his head. And how he'd slowly collapsed inward inside when he hadn't been able to. A muted sort of acceptance welling up in his chest, part guilt part relief, about how none of it would really matter in a while anyways.
The memory gets locked up, set aside for whatever day sometime later whenever he felt like dealing with it-the same place everything else went nowadays. Right now she needed him, even if she'd argue that she didn't.
Blood coloring his breath and a fading sting of organs repairing he shakes his head with a soft smile. For once, he'd tolerate her complaining about being carried up a wall again, if only to keep that argument a distant memory.
sometimes I think about the state of the world and....get scared for my friends more than anything to do with me
if none of you know, I;m Christian. always have been even if it doesn;t look like it. and being one means that I'll be fine if the world ends (no guarantee it will, just a burning anxiety about when it will), that everything here will be meaningless in the endless eternity
but I know a few of my good friends aren't and...I'm scared for them.
if you're one of my friends, reading this because you're worried for me, don't be. this is mostly about you, I guess, since I'm terrible about talking about myself and what I believe in. mostly because I know you'll probably tell me I'm either worrying over nothing or that you dont want to hear about it and. it kind of doesn't make me want to try even though I should.
I guess I'll just put it very simply since I hate rambling about it.
it's not that hard. whatever you've been told about being Christian, it's not that hard. you don't need some big ceremony or sacrifice (even though there is some involved, it's not everything you're probably thinking of)
you just have to believe you are saved. because you are. no matter what you've done before, no matter who you are or what you like (most of the time), there's nothing about you that God wouldn't want no matter what you'd been told.
there's a lot more to it than what I'm putting but, I feel like I need to say it. I know some of you won't believe me or will tell me that you'll be fine and, that's your choice. I can't make you do this. no one should force you either; it is your choice.
I guess thats all I wanted to say. sorry for bringing it up, I'm just scared for all of you because I don;t want an eternity without any of you
PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IF YOU HATE THE NEW UPDATE REBLOG THIS POST
[ PT; please for the love of god if you hate the new update reblog this post ]
I am organizing a lights out protest on tumblr, from March 20th 6AM UTC until March 21st 6AM UTC. It is best if as many tumblr users as possible can join this protest, as a mass downtime in users is the only way the tumblr staff will listen to us.
If you cherish this hellsite, participate. Do your bit. Every person counts.
Thank you for reading, and to @staff @changes: give us our tumblr back, or the people will migrate somewhere else. This is a threat.
This is a really fantastic return to form for this genre of post. In recent years there's been less and less effort put into this vital aspect of internet culture, it's nice to see a return to the truly artisanal work of the late 00s.
