not feeling it

by AzureQuill

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Dark, Sad, Second Person
Length: 1488

Dewdrop Dazzle is having one of those day, but thankfully her friends are there for her.

Some days are just terrible….

This is a story from the Ask blog CrystalBoutique, and deals heavily with the PTSD/Panic Attacks of one of the main characters. Dewdrop Dazzle and Lily Blossom are Brushable Toys, and Nod is the OC of a friend of mine.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-09-06 12:39:29 UTC

not feeling it

This- this is like fire cursing through her veins, addicting and *wrong*

She really shouldn’t feel it, feel like reaching out, saying something

its not like with the others - silly fun for the sake of silly fun - with *her* - its its like

like sunrise after a long day, like freedom after years of prison, its like the first breath of fresh air -

and *she can’t take it anymore*. Cant take the temptation

because she wouldn’t want her that way - she doesn’t want anyone that way, period

and how is this supposed to work anyway? she’ll leave, as soon as she feels better - wide open fields and new things waiting for her, her whole life in front of her. no reason to remain with the past when you have a future

she can’t deal with it, so she pushes the thought to the back of her mind, pushes the longing away. The fire in her veins remains, still

seeing her wake up, her mane a tangled mess, sleep in her every movement

her fear of windows and what ponies could see, what they could think

her understanding of the fears so ingrained in herself, from years of training and fighting and killing, from months of digging and hopelessness

and for a few, brief weeks, she can fool herself into feeling hope, for the first time in ages, like blossoms reaching out to her, like sunshine and rainbows, and dancing in the streets

and its ok

its ok

its really not

until *he* comes along and falls asleep on her favorite carpet

the one her mother had brought with her from Saddle Arabia, the one that’s soft as downs, the one that still smells like the soup she once poured over it, fading at the edges, the one she slept on during the first weeks before her, before everything

She traces the soft pattern on it with her right hoof, waiting for them both to get ready. Lily always takes forever to wake up, resting on anything - tables, cupboards, more tables why does she have so many tables?! - and Nod is asleep half the time anyways, dark circles like punctuation marks to her failures, from sleepless nights, and it’s not like she can’t hear him pacing in his room, can’t feel whatever is trying to get him getting ever closer –

Her library had barely anything on dream-magic, she never had to worry about sleep magic, never been interested in it. Now she reads about nothing else, like she did for transformation magic, like she did for sword-fighting, like she did for anything and everything, pushing past her stupid destiny, the stupid limitations it puts on her, past her failures, just to find a way to help him.

The Royal Library had been equally worthless, just endless books about crystal enchantments, and rows and rows of books about the royal life, with only two enchantments for better sleep (both useless for what she wanted, needed), and no spells to speak of. In her younger years, before HIM, she would have poured hours onto enchantments, until they would work, but with the boutique becoming ever more popular, she simply didn’t have the time.

It’s not like she can go to Spellbound and ask them for help, trusty, always an answer having Spellbound, these days. Long gone, couldn’t even find a grave, a record, anything. There are no more spell casters, no magic fighters. Just friendly, constantly singing, peaceful civilians. Even the lunar patrol had long since dispatched.

She misses them like she misses her traveling, misses their soft mane and hard eyes, theirs spells cutting the air like knifes. Misses the cold winter nights, misses the hours sitting by the fire, misses the stories shared and the soft touches afterwards, misses fighting them their spells absolutely perfect, timed to the millisecond, their soft pants echoing in that ca-

“Equestria to Dewdrop - you ready or what?!” She looks up, eyes like stones in their sockets, sees how Lily’s face is framed by her soft yellow hair, how you can tell she rushed the brushing this morning by the way it flows down her back clumsily, gets lost in the strands that aren’t in place, the ones that fray out of the rest -

She snaps her face away, a faint crunch coming from her neck from this sudden movement, and she forces her hooves to move, each step a little eternity, nodding towards Lily in a useless attempt to appear normal. Her legs feel like twigs in the wind, her body is treading trough molasses, she should have never left her bed -

“Yeah, you totally look ready.” Lily’s eyes are needles digging into her skin, tearing her open, like she used to do to criminals, like she used to do to everyone that would cross her path, her voice poison that fills her up, till it overflows, soft little tears running down her face. Her face feels numb.

“Juuuuust what I thought. Nod - the red sign next to the door: Could you hang it up outside of the boutique? I think we deserve a day off.” Lily’s voice is like sand paper in her head, her words like little spears. It takes her a second to realize what’s going on:

No no no no she doesn’t she doesn’t she doesn’t she promised Rarity she promised! Her breathing picks up - Nods gonna say something he’s gonna say how this is all her fault how she shouldn’t have left her bed how she -

“Dewy - look at me.” The words aren’t orders, not harsh or fast or angry, but she follows them like orders anyways, like she did back in her old guild, before she rose the ranks, before she was the one giving out orders – “Good.” Staring at her is like staring at the sun. It’s too bright.

Nod looks at them both, at her bawling her eyes out, at them staring at each other, at the sign hidden behind one of the counters (“We are currently closed due to personal reasons. We apologize for the inconvenience” written in elegant cursive, the obvious work of a unicorn). His eyes show nothing and everything before he picks up the sign and opens the door, his steps like thunderclouds on parchment paper.

Like this, it wouldn’t be hard to reach forward and feel her lips. See what that smirk feels like. Nods lips felt dry when they kissed - she still remembers it, remembers the rush she always feels during the firsts with someone.

But this isn’t about the firsts, about the rush, about the addiction. Firsts are for strangers, for new ponies. Not for her. Not for him. She feels like slugs and stones in are pumping trough her veins when she thinks about firsts with them.

His first - he fell asleep. She took the hint, didn’t press further, watched them joke, about thing she didn’t understand, watched them make their own prom. Watched and felt cold, felt like being cheated out of firsts, out of seconds. Not hers to take, after all.

This isn’t about the firsts, because there will be no firsts. There can’t be. Lily doesn’t do that sort of thing and Nod made his opinion clear. Even if. She doesn’t belong here.

One kiss was more than enough for him to realize how dumb this is. How this shouldn’t be. How wrong it would be. She’s a fossil, and he has a future

Purple wings are guiding her towards the couch in the living room. Its new, its ugly, its bad, its wonderfully soft. she hates it, misses the old one, the one that got destroyed in the fight, splattered in the blood of her friends, turned against her by HIM, misses the stains from days past, misses Sundrop, misses everything.

Lily smothers her with blankets, all of them, all over her, the previous perfectly stacked pile gone, now something else. They smell like the detergent from the wash-house a few blocks down, the smell is the same as it has in the past. Lily smells like her favorite soap, the one she got from a traveling salespony a few months ago, the one that smells like candy and clouds.

It smells like home. It’s safe.

The door opens. Nods steps are heavy, so heavy on the polished crystal floor, when they stop before the couch. The mares look at him, then Lily makes her scoot over, makes space for him. She doesn’t think she could, feels guilty for not doing enough

She can feel his muzzle pressing into the back of her head, breathing in, the heat of his body muffled by the blankets, still too hot. Lily’s wing barely reaches over both of them, her yellow mane tickling her nose.

She doesn’t move for a long time.