fantasy cannibalism part 1
Title: Fantasy Cannibalism part 1
Rating: PG13 (for now)
Pairing: Fernando Torres/ ?, (Later) Xabi Alonso, Álvaro Arbeloa, Raul Albiol, and Iker Casillas.
Wordcount: 3951
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Note: I've had this AU in my head for about two months. For baronessbadger
"Do you mind if I borrow one?"
d o m í n g u é z 2 0 3 7 0 4 1 6
"Fernando?"
Her questioning bright eyes suddenly come into view, though he was already looking at her - but not actually giving them any attention.
Fernando gives her the best smile he can sum, "Here." and gives her the only pencil he had.
She smiles back, "Thanks." before turning back to the chalk board.
His smile disappears quickly.
d o m í n g u é z 2 0 2 6 1 0 1 9
He doesn't grow shock, and his heart doesn't drop to the bottom of his stomach. But he does want to take the pencil back, just for self-satisfication of the fact he could probably give her a higher number for that split second.
Though Fernando never differs his actions. They're worthless.
She'd walk away and the number would change, regardless of his input.
So he lets the sourness build up and settle on his tongue for the rest of Biology.
He reminds himself for the 20th time that month to ignore Olalla next time.
Fernando's doesn't see his eye-sight as a gift, but as a curse.
It came out of crayons and playground sand and bruises in the middle of a school day. His parents were picking him up, because he had another fight with the Alesandro twins and they twisted his ankle. His Father was quiet in the car, for he was saving a vehement talk later at home. But his Mother kept twisted in her seat as she inspected his face, wiping at a small scratch on his cheek with tissue. She had a worried yet comforting face on, and it made Fernando pout even more.
"We need you, cariño." She had suddenly said, and just like that, Fernando's 7 year old big-boy demeanor had soften.
She lifted his chin until he was properly looking at her, pout immediately falling into a sad puppy face. "You must be careful." She told him, but Fernando didn't quite understand why. This wasn't the worse of his many fights. But not only that confused him, there was something else that caught his attention-
Numbers. Right above her head.
Fernando was dumbfounded.
When they had made it home he quickly dashed(despite his ankle) to his bedroom and snatched his notebook from his book shelves. He wrote the numbers he remembered, even though they didn't make any sense to him.
Even much later when his Father went to scold him by taking his toys away, which Fernando surprisingly didn't care much about. He was too engross into wondering what the numbers meant from each of his parents.
They were the exact same.
It boggled his head and kept him up at night. In the morning, he tried adding them and subtracting them and multiplying them, but it still didn't make any sense.
His answer came quite clear when his Aunt that was watching him found his notebook splayed across the kitchen table as he munched at some cereal.
She laughed, "You're not in school today. What's up with the school book and date, fancy boy?"
Fernando didn't laugh with her about her nicknames. He didn't finish the rest of his cereal, either.
He went up to his bedroom with the notebook, and felt thickly confused. More than he ever usually did in classes when the teachers use big words.
He was still confused, lost even, at his parent's funeral.
After the hours of adults mourning, hugging him and crying in his face, he spent the night trying to map it all out. And in the end, he figured out the numbers by staring numbly at his clock. It just snapped all together in his head, and he immediately felt guilty. Putting the fault on his small back. Because he knew which exact day a car would take his parents away. He thought he had the power to tell them to be careful that morning.
Later, when he turned 13, he learned that he had no actual power.
A boy that he met during Junior High had a set of numbers two weeks away, and Fernando felt like it would become farther away if he spent as much time with the boy as possible. Have an eye on his every move.
It differed by a couple of days, and sometimes a year, but ultimately it would flicker back to two weeks top. And Fernando couldn't forsee a sudden cardiac arrest in the middle of Gym class.
He knew from then on that he couldn't change the future, but only know when the event would take place.
The only power he has is watching, being completely useless.
Days come and go in which he can handle it, but sometimes he breaks down and feels like complete and utter shit in dark hours before rough sleep.
Today is one of them, so he doesn't meet up with Xabi after school.
He walks straight to his apartment with his head down.
When he's home, he leaves his bookbag by the door and the keys somewhere on the floor by the sofa.
He lays on the bed, but doesn't sleep until his mind lets him two hours later.
%
Saturday sun and crisp cool air from the fan placed on the nightstand greets Fernando. He's cold, because he's soaked of sweat and his blankets managed to get themselves onto the floor. He figures he must of had a fever, or a nightmare, and unconsciously flipped the fan on. He felt shitty enough yesterday to have been sucessful of either one of those scenarios.
When he manages to get out of bed, he makes oatmeal and eats it out of a coffee mug. He stays in the kitchen until it turns 8.
He needs to go out and get food into the refrigerator. It's now or never for the day. Because the less people there is out there, the better for him to focus clearly. And there's a trail Xabi told him about that gives a quick trip to the 24-hr market. It's nestled through the woods somewhere, but Xabi said there would be a sign to the entry.
Fernando rubs his eyes a few times before he stands, dumping his mug in the sink before he throws on the first artcle of clothing he finds in his closet. Sweatpants and a sweater, seemingly appropriate for the cool weather.
As he's out the door, he reminds himself to call Xabi later and apologise for ditching him again for the 6th time this month alone.
%
The sign was easy to spot. Letters faded with age of the wood, but Fernando could distinguish t r a i l behind it all.
He finds the path quite calming. There's practically the only sound of wind through the trees and his shoes crushing branches and leaves on the trail. But he's surprised to not have witness any wildlife. Squirrels crawling up trees and running across his track, or even bird chirptiong throughout. It's odd that there's more birds and squirrels at his apartment building than of the woods.
After a while, Fernando realizes the trail isn't much of a shortcut.
According to his watch, he's been walking for 30 minutes. And he knows if he'd took the sidewalk he would have already been at the 24-hr market.
He thinks about turning around, before it's too late to shop at all, but he finds himself haulting to a stop.
The wind heightens around him, and he feels himself frowning.
Before him is a house. Decrepit and yet still in paint of blue, dark blue. It looks foregin and nothing of the houses that are built in the neighborhood that's by Fernando's apartment. Kinda like something out of an asian scary movie.
The yard is covered in brown and grey dead leaves, even flitering the porch and the half hunged porch swing. There's a wooden sign off to the side of it. Shiny silver bells are nailed onto it, the only supstance that doesn't seem to have any old age, and only then that he hears them chime in the wind.
The sign still has it's message clear - bruja.
Fernando doesn't know why, but it rings to him as a shop of some sort. Nothing he'll need, but it wouldn't hurt to look around. Plus, there might be a chance that someone inside can tell him whatever happened to the actual trail that meets up with the supermarket, even if he's only going on a whim by the clean bells.
"It doesn't matter." He mumbles to himself. He's too intrigued to back down, now.
He takes his time once he's on the steps. They creak and shutter, and make the porch swing sway a little. A chill breaks up his back once he notices all the spider webs.
The door has an open sign he didn't see from afar, but he still feels like he should knock. Then he notices the spider web above him and..that wouldn't be too wise, for how easy the wood is to shake, so he lets himself in delicately as possible.
The first thing he notices is the smell of grass. Fresh cut grass that you would run and play on as a kid, or your family would throw picnics on. He notices the heat, like summer, and the dust across the wooden floor.
He's standing in a narrow pathway to a door on the end. There's a flight of small stairs to his left, but there's another sign, on the door ahead of him, so he keeps forward.
It says bruja here, but the door doesn't have a doorknob. Just an oval shaped hole fit for fingers, as in a sliding entry than of a push entry.
His heart palpitates for the anticipation building inside of him, and before he actually knows it, he's sliding the door open, putting instinct over thought.
He meets open floor with only a deep velvet yellow loveseat in the middle, vintage-like and turned backwards. There's curtains as the backdrop of it all. Fluttering from a breeze, like it's all open in the back, with the sunlight underneath them as the only source of being able to see.
Then, he notices a leg hanging over the armrest of the loveseat. Caramel, swaying, and foot arching in an elegant sort of way.
Fernando finds himself not breathing. He didn't actually think there would be someone here.
"..Hello?" He softly says, and the leg stops moving.
Deep like a man, soft like something Fernando can't even think of, "..Yes?" He's replied back.
Fernando finds himself silently startled, but he explains himself. "I..I was walking on a trail and I bumped into..this." His mouth feels dry. "It's suppose to be a shortcut to-"
An arm appears on the bridge, with a thin pipe, a smoking pipe, settled between the fingers of the hand, and every alive as the smoke swims in the air. "You didn't bump into this."
Fernando watches it for a while. He feels confused. "..I'm sorry?"
There's a pair of legs on the armrest now, crossing ankles as if slowly revealing a masterpiece of some sort. "There's never blinded mistakes in this world."
"..I don't really.." Fernando tries to spur on, but he's so drawn to what lies in the loveseat that he isn't paying attention to what he's saying.
Then suddenly, the hand grips the loveseat bridge, proding it's bicep and Fernando's eye to eye to the owner of the mystic voice, settling the pipe between his lips.
It's silent for a while.
Fernando feels like he's frozen and the man looks onto him, as if he's reading him like a book. He has rich, brown hair that rests on his naked shoulder, and golden eyes that make Fernando feel lightheaded. It feels like everything has heighten, like the heat and clogginess in the room became enhanced.
"It's only inevitable for you to be here. Nothing more or less." The man says, in a testimonial tone and slightly muffled as the pipe bobs between his words.
Fernando swallows hard. "..I don't understand."
The man's brow raises, "You desire something strongly." instantly bringing Fernando back from his trance. and he begins to smirk, as if he notices. "You want something to go away."
Fernando suddenly feels sick. "W-..what-"
"I can make it go away."
Fernando watches him take the pipe out of his mouth, blow smoke through his nostrils, and repeat. The man brushes a stand of hair behind his ears, and doesn't stray away from Fernando--who's completely speechless at what he's seeing and hearing.
He feels like he's being drilled into, with his gaze and words alone.
"Not all humans in this world are alike. We're different for a reason. Therefore, we don't all see the world the same way." He takes another puff from his pipe, and Fernando is just glued to his every move.
"None of us are what we want to believe as normal." he continues. "And that's why imperfection makes us perfect, divine creations. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Fernando sparsely shakes his head. "..I don't."
The man looks away and Fernando feels relief flash through his body, like he's been released from a spell.
He taps his pipe on the seat bridge, releasing it's ashes. Looking back at Fernando with a light frown upon his face, "You're here because you want something to go away." He tilts his head, "Am I wrong?"
"..I only bumped into this place by accident." Fernando explains. "I think I took the wrong trail-"
"You didn't end up here out of meer misguidness." The man protests, annoyed.
Fernando frowns, at the feeling of being talked down to. His voice turns tight, "I don't even know what this place is."
"You don't have to. There's a wish in your heart that you want to be granted, and thus you are here before me seeking that."
"I really, truly don't know what you're talking about." Fernando says, and begins to feel nervous. "I was just trying to get to-"
He's intterupted by the man's abruptness, as he decides to leap over the loveseat to stand before Fernando.
The pipe is left on the floor, smoking, and the man is glaring. There's only a black silk-like robe covering his body, almost the color of his eyes as it slips off a shoulder.
He frowns at him. "Lying is a weak choice to use against me, Fernando."
It's like the world stops for Fernando, hearing his own name, and every inch of air has escaped from him, as if uttering a word would be his death.
The man's face softens. In knowing he's gotten through. "Now, tell me, in honesty, of what you don't want anymore."
Fernando tries to convince that he isn't referring to what he sees everyday, the numbers. But it's the only thing that Fernando has kept to only himself, the darkest secret he has.
Before he realizes it, he's speaking.
"I know when a person will die."
It sounds weird coming off his tongue. He feels weird, more than he ever has. The thought of going crazy or letting naivity take over is thrown out the window, gone, and now he's left vulnerable, naked, saying something that's so deep and absurd to someone he doesn't even know.
But the man doesn't look at him like he's a broken record. His face is phelgmatic as before, unphased and somewhat apathetic as he's magically gotten his pipe between his fingers again.
"And when do I die?" He suddenly asks.
Fernando's startled, but he doesn't let it show. This is something new to him.
He looks above the man's head, and for the first time in months, or years, he feels his heart plumment into his stomach. Something he didn't think would happen again, for he was sure that perished from his soul, the only thing that kept him feeling human. The one supstance he could define himself as than the power to see people's expiration date.
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
There's only zeros in Fernando's sight, and a sudden epiphany of the word bruja - Spanish for witch.
next
Rating: PG13 (for now)
Pairing: Fernando Torres/ ?, (Later) Xabi Alonso, Álvaro Arbeloa, Raul Albiol, and Iker Casillas.
Wordcount: 3951
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Note: I've had this AU in my head for about two months. For baronessbadger
"Do you mind if I borrow one?"
d o m í n g u é z 2 0 3 7 0 4 1 6
"Fernando?"
Her questioning bright eyes suddenly come into view, though he was already looking at her - but not actually giving them any attention.
Fernando gives her the best smile he can sum, "Here." and gives her the only pencil he had.
She smiles back, "Thanks." before turning back to the chalk board.
His smile disappears quickly.
d o m í n g u é z 2 0 2 6 1 0 1 9
He doesn't grow shock, and his heart doesn't drop to the bottom of his stomach. But he does want to take the pencil back, just for self-satisfication of the fact he could probably give her a higher number for that split second.
Though Fernando never differs his actions. They're worthless.
She'd walk away and the number would change, regardless of his input.
So he lets the sourness build up and settle on his tongue for the rest of Biology.
He reminds himself for the 20th time that month to ignore Olalla next time.
Fernando's doesn't see his eye-sight as a gift, but as a curse.
It came out of crayons and playground sand and bruises in the middle of a school day. His parents were picking him up, because he had another fight with the Alesandro twins and they twisted his ankle. His Father was quiet in the car, for he was saving a vehement talk later at home. But his Mother kept twisted in her seat as she inspected his face, wiping at a small scratch on his cheek with tissue. She had a worried yet comforting face on, and it made Fernando pout even more.
"We need you, cariño." She had suddenly said, and just like that, Fernando's 7 year old big-boy demeanor had soften.
She lifted his chin until he was properly looking at her, pout immediately falling into a sad puppy face. "You must be careful." She told him, but Fernando didn't quite understand why. This wasn't the worse of his many fights. But not only that confused him, there was something else that caught his attention-
Numbers. Right above her head.
Fernando was dumbfounded.
When they had made it home he quickly dashed(despite his ankle) to his bedroom and snatched his notebook from his book shelves. He wrote the numbers he remembered, even though they didn't make any sense to him.
Even much later when his Father went to scold him by taking his toys away, which Fernando surprisingly didn't care much about. He was too engross into wondering what the numbers meant from each of his parents.
They were the exact same.
It boggled his head and kept him up at night. In the morning, he tried adding them and subtracting them and multiplying them, but it still didn't make any sense.
His answer came quite clear when his Aunt that was watching him found his notebook splayed across the kitchen table as he munched at some cereal.
She laughed, "You're not in school today. What's up with the school book and date, fancy boy?"
Fernando didn't laugh with her about her nicknames. He didn't finish the rest of his cereal, either.
He went up to his bedroom with the notebook, and felt thickly confused. More than he ever usually did in classes when the teachers use big words.
He was still confused, lost even, at his parent's funeral.
After the hours of adults mourning, hugging him and crying in his face, he spent the night trying to map it all out. And in the end, he figured out the numbers by staring numbly at his clock. It just snapped all together in his head, and he immediately felt guilty. Putting the fault on his small back. Because he knew which exact day a car would take his parents away. He thought he had the power to tell them to be careful that morning.
Later, when he turned 13, he learned that he had no actual power.
A boy that he met during Junior High had a set of numbers two weeks away, and Fernando felt like it would become farther away if he spent as much time with the boy as possible. Have an eye on his every move.
It differed by a couple of days, and sometimes a year, but ultimately it would flicker back to two weeks top. And Fernando couldn't forsee a sudden cardiac arrest in the middle of Gym class.
He knew from then on that he couldn't change the future, but only know when the event would take place.
The only power he has is watching, being completely useless.
Days come and go in which he can handle it, but sometimes he breaks down and feels like complete and utter shit in dark hours before rough sleep.
Today is one of them, so he doesn't meet up with Xabi after school.
He walks straight to his apartment with his head down.
When he's home, he leaves his bookbag by the door and the keys somewhere on the floor by the sofa.
He lays on the bed, but doesn't sleep until his mind lets him two hours later.
%
Saturday sun and crisp cool air from the fan placed on the nightstand greets Fernando. He's cold, because he's soaked of sweat and his blankets managed to get themselves onto the floor. He figures he must of had a fever, or a nightmare, and unconsciously flipped the fan on. He felt shitty enough yesterday to have been sucessful of either one of those scenarios.
When he manages to get out of bed, he makes oatmeal and eats it out of a coffee mug. He stays in the kitchen until it turns 8.
He needs to go out and get food into the refrigerator. It's now or never for the day. Because the less people there is out there, the better for him to focus clearly. And there's a trail Xabi told him about that gives a quick trip to the 24-hr market. It's nestled through the woods somewhere, but Xabi said there would be a sign to the entry.
Fernando rubs his eyes a few times before he stands, dumping his mug in the sink before he throws on the first artcle of clothing he finds in his closet. Sweatpants and a sweater, seemingly appropriate for the cool weather.
As he's out the door, he reminds himself to call Xabi later and apologise for ditching him again for the 6th time this month alone.
%
The sign was easy to spot. Letters faded with age of the wood, but Fernando could distinguish t r a i l behind it all.
He finds the path quite calming. There's practically the only sound of wind through the trees and his shoes crushing branches and leaves on the trail. But he's surprised to not have witness any wildlife. Squirrels crawling up trees and running across his track, or even bird chirptiong throughout. It's odd that there's more birds and squirrels at his apartment building than of the woods.
After a while, Fernando realizes the trail isn't much of a shortcut.
According to his watch, he's been walking for 30 minutes. And he knows if he'd took the sidewalk he would have already been at the 24-hr market.
He thinks about turning around, before it's too late to shop at all, but he finds himself haulting to a stop.
The wind heightens around him, and he feels himself frowning.
Before him is a house. Decrepit and yet still in paint of blue, dark blue. It looks foregin and nothing of the houses that are built in the neighborhood that's by Fernando's apartment. Kinda like something out of an asian scary movie.
The yard is covered in brown and grey dead leaves, even flitering the porch and the half hunged porch swing. There's a wooden sign off to the side of it. Shiny silver bells are nailed onto it, the only supstance that doesn't seem to have any old age, and only then that he hears them chime in the wind.
The sign still has it's message clear - bruja.
Fernando doesn't know why, but it rings to him as a shop of some sort. Nothing he'll need, but it wouldn't hurt to look around. Plus, there might be a chance that someone inside can tell him whatever happened to the actual trail that meets up with the supermarket, even if he's only going on a whim by the clean bells.
"It doesn't matter." He mumbles to himself. He's too intrigued to back down, now.
He takes his time once he's on the steps. They creak and shutter, and make the porch swing sway a little. A chill breaks up his back once he notices all the spider webs.
The door has an open sign he didn't see from afar, but he still feels like he should knock. Then he notices the spider web above him and..that wouldn't be too wise, for how easy the wood is to shake, so he lets himself in delicately as possible.
The first thing he notices is the smell of grass. Fresh cut grass that you would run and play on as a kid, or your family would throw picnics on. He notices the heat, like summer, and the dust across the wooden floor.
He's standing in a narrow pathway to a door on the end. There's a flight of small stairs to his left, but there's another sign, on the door ahead of him, so he keeps forward.
It says bruja here, but the door doesn't have a doorknob. Just an oval shaped hole fit for fingers, as in a sliding entry than of a push entry.
His heart palpitates for the anticipation building inside of him, and before he actually knows it, he's sliding the door open, putting instinct over thought.
He meets open floor with only a deep velvet yellow loveseat in the middle, vintage-like and turned backwards. There's curtains as the backdrop of it all. Fluttering from a breeze, like it's all open in the back, with the sunlight underneath them as the only source of being able to see.
Then, he notices a leg hanging over the armrest of the loveseat. Caramel, swaying, and foot arching in an elegant sort of way.
Fernando finds himself not breathing. He didn't actually think there would be someone here.
"..Hello?" He softly says, and the leg stops moving.
Deep like a man, soft like something Fernando can't even think of, "..Yes?" He's replied back.
Fernando finds himself silently startled, but he explains himself. "I..I was walking on a trail and I bumped into..this." His mouth feels dry. "It's suppose to be a shortcut to-"
An arm appears on the bridge, with a thin pipe, a smoking pipe, settled between the fingers of the hand, and every alive as the smoke swims in the air. "You didn't bump into this."
Fernando watches it for a while. He feels confused. "..I'm sorry?"
There's a pair of legs on the armrest now, crossing ankles as if slowly revealing a masterpiece of some sort. "There's never blinded mistakes in this world."
"..I don't really.." Fernando tries to spur on, but he's so drawn to what lies in the loveseat that he isn't paying attention to what he's saying.
Then suddenly, the hand grips the loveseat bridge, proding it's bicep and Fernando's eye to eye to the owner of the mystic voice, settling the pipe between his lips.
It's silent for a while.
Fernando feels like he's frozen and the man looks onto him, as if he's reading him like a book. He has rich, brown hair that rests on his naked shoulder, and golden eyes that make Fernando feel lightheaded. It feels like everything has heighten, like the heat and clogginess in the room became enhanced.
"It's only inevitable for you to be here. Nothing more or less." The man says, in a testimonial tone and slightly muffled as the pipe bobs between his words.
Fernando swallows hard. "..I don't understand."
The man's brow raises, "You desire something strongly." instantly bringing Fernando back from his trance. and he begins to smirk, as if he notices. "You want something to go away."
Fernando suddenly feels sick. "W-..what-"
"I can make it go away."
Fernando watches him take the pipe out of his mouth, blow smoke through his nostrils, and repeat. The man brushes a stand of hair behind his ears, and doesn't stray away from Fernando--who's completely speechless at what he's seeing and hearing.
He feels like he's being drilled into, with his gaze and words alone.
"Not all humans in this world are alike. We're different for a reason. Therefore, we don't all see the world the same way." He takes another puff from his pipe, and Fernando is just glued to his every move.
"None of us are what we want to believe as normal." he continues. "And that's why imperfection makes us perfect, divine creations. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Fernando sparsely shakes his head. "..I don't."
The man looks away and Fernando feels relief flash through his body, like he's been released from a spell.
He taps his pipe on the seat bridge, releasing it's ashes. Looking back at Fernando with a light frown upon his face, "You're here because you want something to go away." He tilts his head, "Am I wrong?"
"..I only bumped into this place by accident." Fernando explains. "I think I took the wrong trail-"
"You didn't end up here out of meer misguidness." The man protests, annoyed.
Fernando frowns, at the feeling of being talked down to. His voice turns tight, "I don't even know what this place is."
"You don't have to. There's a wish in your heart that you want to be granted, and thus you are here before me seeking that."
"I really, truly don't know what you're talking about." Fernando says, and begins to feel nervous. "I was just trying to get to-"
He's intterupted by the man's abruptness, as he decides to leap over the loveseat to stand before Fernando.
The pipe is left on the floor, smoking, and the man is glaring. There's only a black silk-like robe covering his body, almost the color of his eyes as it slips off a shoulder.
He frowns at him. "Lying is a weak choice to use against me, Fernando."
It's like the world stops for Fernando, hearing his own name, and every inch of air has escaped from him, as if uttering a word would be his death.
The man's face softens. In knowing he's gotten through. "Now, tell me, in honesty, of what you don't want anymore."
Fernando tries to convince that he isn't referring to what he sees everyday, the numbers. But it's the only thing that Fernando has kept to only himself, the darkest secret he has.
Before he realizes it, he's speaking.
"I know when a person will die."
It sounds weird coming off his tongue. He feels weird, more than he ever has. The thought of going crazy or letting naivity take over is thrown out the window, gone, and now he's left vulnerable, naked, saying something that's so deep and absurd to someone he doesn't even know.
But the man doesn't look at him like he's a broken record. His face is phelgmatic as before, unphased and somewhat apathetic as he's magically gotten his pipe between his fingers again.
"And when do I die?" He suddenly asks.
Fernando's startled, but he doesn't let it show. This is something new to him.
He looks above the man's head, and for the first time in months, or years, he feels his heart plumment into his stomach. Something he didn't think would happen again, for he was sure that perished from his soul, the only thing that kept him feeling human. The one supstance he could define himself as than the power to see people's expiration date.
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
There's only zeros in Fernando's sight, and a sudden epiphany of the word bruja - Spanish for witch.
next