#first time out of mothers basement <—- what I wish I could have said | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hbyrde36 · 11 months

Text

Life is a Game (and True Love is a Trophy)

Chapter 2

Ch 1 ao3 link

*Eddie - 1986*

Dustin burst in the door without knocking. A habit Eddie had been trying to break him out of for years. One of these days he’d do it at the wrong time and see something he’ll wish he hadn’t. Maybe then he’d learn his lesson.

“So, don’t freak out but…”

“Ugh” Eddie groaned, pushing his face further into his pillow. “It’s never good when you start a sentence like that. At least let me get some coffee first.”

“Fine.” Dustin relented, stomping back out into the kitchen of the Munson trailer.

Ten minutes later and with coffee in hand, Eddie motioned for Dustin to continue with whatever nonsense he’d woken him up for this morning.

“I told the guys about Steve, about you knowing him.”

“Dustin!” Eddie shouted, incredulously.

“What? It’s not like it’s some big secret or something!”

“You didn’t know!”

“No, I didn't. But I should have realized, and I shouldn’t have said what I did the other night about him. That wasn’t cool. That’s why I told them, because I felt bad, and because I was thinking that maybe we could do a little investigation of our own?”

The kid meant well and it was sweet that he wanted to do something to make Eddie feel better, but what did he think he and a bunch of teenagers would be able to do about it?

Eddie shook his head. “I already told you man, his parents are loaded. I’m sure they left no stone unturned. What could we possibly do that they haven't already tried?”

Dustin’s face spread into a cocky grin. “For starters, Mike talked to Nancy. Did you know she dated Steve for a little while right around the time Will got lost in the woods?”

He had known that actually. In fact he vividly remembered catching the two of them in the boy’s bathroom that one time. He’d never thought about it in reference to Steve’s disappearance before though. The couple had broken up a few months before it happened.

“Yea, okay. So, they dated. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I'm not sure if it does, but the police never even talked to her. Mike said she was willing to talk to us about him, if you want.”

Eddie couldn’t believe he was actually considering this, but it was hard to deny how intrigued he was to learn more about Steve. Even if it didn’t lead to any answers about what had happened to him.

“You know what? Fuck it. Let's do it.” Eddie declared, slamming his now empty cup down on the table for emphasis.

“Language! I am a child!.” Dustin gasped, in a dramatic impersonation of his mother.

“Shut it, nerd.”

“You literally play D&D with children! Who’s the nerd now?!”

Eddie had never really had a full conversation with Nancy. They said hi in passing, and whenever he came to the house to play with the boys of course, but that was the extent of it. Now he was supposed to sit here in the Wheeler’s basement, like it was any other day, and talk to her about her ex boyfriend. Awkward.

Or, maybe not.

According to Dustin, Nancy knew all about their game, including how she, Steve, and many others were used as characters in it. She understood their curiosity. She herself had always thought that there was something suspicious about the whole thing. That maybe there was more going on in Hawkins than a single missing boy.

“Do you remember the day in the cafeteria, when Steve got into that screaming match with Tommy and Carol?”

Eddie shook his head. “No, but I heard it was brutal.” He’d skipped out early that day to meet up with Rick for more product. The whole school was buzzing about it the next day, he could have kicked himself for missing the show.

“It was. I was shocked. I had never seen him act like that. I know he and I hadn’t been together that long, so I could be wrong, but It seemed so out of character. I mean, everything he said was true, and those two probably deserved it, but the three of them had been best friends for years. He never stood up to them before, so why now? It felt like it came out of nowhere.”

She paused, taking a breath and gathering her thoughts before continuing.

“I remember him looking at me, just before he stormed off when it was all over. He didn’t look mad, it was more like.. I don’t know, scared, maybe?”

Well, that was a little ominous. Eddie and the younger boys shared a look as Nancy got up from her seat on the couch and started pacing.

“He called me later that night and asked me to come over so we could talk. When I got there, he stepped out onto the porch instead of letting me come inside. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but looking back, it was a little odd. We sat on the steps and he said that he was sorry, but he couldn’t see me anymore. I asked him if there was someone else, but he said no. He just wanted to be single for a while and concentrate on other things. It was fine. I don’t think either of us were too upset about it. We hugged and said our goodbyes, and that was the last time I spoke to him.”

She stopped pacing, standing directly in front of Eddie as she finished her story.

“I still saw him around, of course, and heard about how he quit the school teams. Which seemed weird, because, what was this more important thing he was focusing on? Clearly it wasn’t sports. Then he started skipping school, so it wasn’t about his grades either. I started to wonder if maybe he had gotten into drugs or something.”

Or, he could have just been lying to let you down easy, Eddie thought, but that wasn’t very kind. Instead he said, “If he was, he wasn't getting them from me.”

Dustin gasped. “Wait, dude, are you really a drug dealer?”

Fuck. “Um. No?”

“You are! You’re totally a drug dealer!” Dustin said, bouncing in his seat and pointing a finger in Eddie’s face.

Eddie groaned. “Please stop yelling ‘drug dealer’ before Mike's parents hear you and kick me out!”

“Does that mean you smoke pot?” Lucas asked.

“Can we smoke pot?” Mike added quickly, grinning.

“Absolutely not!” Eddie and Nancy shouted, simultaneously.

He turned to her, hands raised. “For the record, I don’t sell anymore. Not since my supplier went to jail.”

Dustin’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh shit, is Reefer Rick a real person?”

Nancy gave Eddie a hard look.

“What?! We all used people from our life in the game!” He said defensively. “Look, guys, I think we’re getting off track here.”

“Is there anything else weird you remember about Steve from before he disappeared?” Will asked Nancy, speaking for the first time. Eddie threw him a grateful smile.

“Not that I can think of.”

“What about his parents?” Lucas asked.

“I never met them, but he always said his dad was an asshole. The way he talked sometimes, it sounded like they weren’t around a lot.”

The image of it flashed in Eddie’s mind for a moment. Steve, all by himself in that big empty house of his. Haunting its hallways in the middle of the night. He shook his head roughly to clear it.

Maybe it was silly to think of it that way. What teenage boy wouldn’t love having the house to himself? No one hassling you or telling you what to do. He couldn’t explain why, but somehow he didn’t think Steve liked being alone.

Eddie was startled when Nancy placed a hand on his arm. She looked at him, face pinched with concern. He realized suddenly that they were alone. He’d been so lost in thought that he didn’t realize the boys had left. She saw him looking around and explained.

“I sent the boys upstairs for lunch. It looked like you needed a minute.”

“Yea, sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.” He got up to collect his things, and headed towards the basement steps.

“It’s the time of year. I get it, I've been thinking about him a lot too.” She said, following him.

Eddie shook his head. It wasn’t the same, she was allowed to think about Steve. To miss him. What right did Eddie have? “That’s different. You dated the guy. We weren’t even friends.”

“You’re allowed to miss him, Eddie.”

“No, I'm not.”

“He thought you were brave, y’know.”

“What?” He stopped walking, but couldn’t bring himself to turn around to face her.

“He told me once, the first time I sat with him for lunch. You had jumped up on your table, ranting and raving about whatever had bothered you that day.” She sounded amused at the memory. “Tommy and the others sneered and complained, but not Steve. He smiled as he watched you. He said, ‘sometimes I wish I could be brave like that. Just stop caring about what everyone else thinks and be free’.”

He finally looked back at her over his shoulder. She smiled at him kindly, it seemed genuine so he returned the gesture.

“Thanks, Wheeler.”

Eddie didn’t stay to join the boys for lunch, though he did make plans to meet up with them the next day. He needed some time alone to process what they’d learned so far. He did his best thinking in the van, so he drove around town aimlessly, blasting Metallica and trying to sort through it all.

Eventually he made his way to Loch Nora, slowing when he reached Steve’s street. He’d never been inside the Harrington house, but he knew where it was. There was no car in the driveway, so he rolled to a stop in front of it. A ‘For Sale’ sign was stuck in the grass a few feet to the right of the mailbox.

He hadn’t realized Steve’s parents were selling the place. Good, Eddie thought. It would make his next task that much easier. He’d come up with a plan, of sorts, as he cruised around Hawkins. The first step? A good old fashioned breaking and entering.

*Steve - 1983/1984*

Two days after finding Eleven out in the woods, Steve cut ties with all his friends. He made a big scene out of calling Tommy and Carol assholes in the middle of the cafeteria, to really drive the point home. He turned himself into a social pariah overnight, anything to keep people from wanting to get close to him.

He let Nancy go. It was easy enough. He found that he wasn’t even all that upset about it, he knew she wouldn't be too sad either. He’d seen how she looked at Jonathan that day at school, when the news broke that Will was missing. They would get together before too long, he was sure of it.

He quit the swim team, basketball, and only continued going to school because dropping out would be too suspicious. He started skipping days a lot.

Eleven, who he’d taken to calling El for short, needed her own space. He would have loved to decorate the guest room for her, would have let her paint the walls and everything. Unfortunately, his parents still came home on occasion, and it would be too hard to hide. Instead, they worked together to fix up a space for her in the attic. Even when they were home, his parents never went up there.

He didn’t know anything about little girls, but neither did El, so they figured things out together. He set her up with a T.V. to keep her company when he was gone during the day. He gave her a bunch of catalogs to look through, and told her to take a marker and circle anything she liked. Clothes, bedding, curtains, toys, he bought it all. Perks of the Harrington name, and a credit card with a high spending limit.

By the time her attic room was done, she finally felt secure enough to sleep in her own bed. She felt safe in the knowledge that her new brother wouldn’t abandon her as she slept, or lock her inside. Sometimes though, he would wake up to find she’d come into his room in the middle of the night. Almost always when it rained.

They quickly became a little family, he and El. Steve didn’t have any siblings, hadn’t thought he even liked kids, and certainly never knew how much he wanted a little sister until she came along. He taught her what he knew about the world, and in return he learned the importance of patience and kindness. Together, they discovered unconditional love.

For a few wonderful months, life was good. There was a little hiccup in January of ‘84, when eleven accidentally knocked a vase off the counter in the kitchen. It was fine. She caught it with her mind before it hit the floor, then levitated it back upright on the counter. It was the first time she’d used her powers in front of Steve. Powers he had been completely unaware of.

He’d hyperventilated for a while, but once he recovered he explained to her that, ‘No sweetie, I didn’t know you could do that, but it’s fine. I promise. No, I'm not afraid of you. It’s just another part of you, and I love who you are.’

It was another turning point for them, a catalyst that compelled her to explain more about where she came from. What sort of things they did to her at the lab, and she finally told him all about Papa and the other children.

Steve had never pushed her on any of it, happy to just keep her safe, and wait until she was ready to talk. Once she did? Well, he was fucking livid. It was all he could do not to go to the newspapers, or Chief Hopper, and blow the whole thing wide open. Hell, he would have found the place himself and burnt it to the ground if he didn’t know for a fact that there were other kids living inside.

In the end, he did nothing. Too afraid that if he was caught, or worse, there would be no one who knew about El, or where she was. There would be no one to take care of her.

It was all his fault. He should have known better. It was his job to take care of her, and he had failed in that task spectacularly. It was spring break 1984, Easter Sunday. He’d just wanted to take her out to breakfast, something he could remember doing with his own parents for the holiday when he was young. Back when they at least pretended to give a shit about him.

They were as safe about it as they could have been. He picked a small restaurant two towns over, where no one would recognize them. She looked so happy when she smiled at him over her massive stack of waffles.

He didn’t see it for what it was, when the two nondescript white work vans pulled into the parking lot of the diner. Movies had him envisioning a legion of fancy black town cars pulling up on him one day, a swarm of dark suits surrounding him, demanding to know where the girl was. He should have known that Papa would be a bit more subtle.

The bell above the main entrance door dinged as a new customer entered. El looked up reflexively at the sound and her eyes went wide. It was the only warning Steve had before a tall man with white hair and an impeccably tailored gray suit slid into the booth next to him.

“Hello, Eleven. You’re looking well.”

Steve watched as she curled in on herself. Turning back into the little girl he found in the woods right before his eyes.

“Papa.” She gasped, bottom lip trembling.

The man turned to look at Steve. “I’m Dr. Brenner. Now, don’t go getting any big ideas, young man. I have people on every door to this place. You’ll never make it to that pretty car of yours in time, and I can assure you that if you try, they will not hesitate to... deal with the situation.”

Steve froze, not remotely prepared for this scenario. He didn’t know what to do and was scared of making a misstep. He wasn’t afraid for himself, he didn’t care what happened to him, but he was terrified for El, and the possibility of losing his sister forever.

“Here’s what's going to happen.” Brenner continued. “Eleven is going to leave this place with me, right now. You, Mr. Harrington, yes I know all about you, are going to go back to your life and forget that any of this ever happened. If you so much as think about telling anyone what you’ve seen, we will know, and we will come for you.”

“I’m not going to just let you take her.” Steve protested, heart pounding.

“You don’t have a say in the matter.”

“If you take her then you’ll have to take me too!” Steve raised his voice a little too loudly, drawing the attention of the other diners.

“That’s not an option.” Brenner hissed. “I have no need for someone like you”

Steve lowered his voice to a whisper, knowing that angering the man further wasn’t going to help. “I’m not leaving her. I’ll die first. You’ll have to kill me right here and now in front of all these people. Do you really want to make that big of a scene?”

Steve could tell the man was considering it. “Please.“ He begged. “I'm sure you can find some use for me. I’ll do anything.”

Brenner sighed. “Very well. You will both follow me outside. Leave your car keys on the table, Steven, you won’t be needing them.”

The man slid out of the booth, threw more cash than necessary on the table, and walked out the door.

Steve scrambled out of his seat at the same time El did, and they collided in a desperate embrace. She was shaking, crying. Steve ran his fingers through her short curls.

“I'm sorry El, I'm so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

She looked up at him, blinking through tears. “It’s not your fault, they would have found me eventually, one way or another.”

“I’ll get us out of this somehow, I promise.”

She took a small step away from him and shook her head. “No, Steve. You have to let him take me. Only me. You have a life, parents, a family.”

He shook his head, taking her small hand in his. “You are my family El. I’m not leaving you. We’re in this together. You and me, always.”

Chapter 3

@penny00dreadful @buckleybarnes @steddie-there @yeahhhh-suga @goinsteddie @brbsoulnomming @the-s-is-silent @paintsplatteredandimperfect @estrellami-1 @herebedragons404 @epiclazershark @iaminmultiplefandoms @adaed5 @mentallyundone @hardboiledleggs @hotshot9 @manda-panda-monium

#steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ao3 #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #fanfic #ao3 link #life is a game #Canon is just a crazy game of D&D #alternating pov #Eddie Munson and Dustin Henderson are cousins #Steve Harrington and Eleven taking care of eachother

205 notes · View notes

milky-aeons · 29 days

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

i. — FALL SEVEN TIMES AND STAND UP EIGHT

warnings: depictions of child abuse, arranged marriage, societal differences, trauma, physical trauma, misogyny, abusive parenting, fem!reader, depictions of vomiting, w.c. 8.5k

part ONE of the BEND UNTIL WE BREAK, THEN BEND A LITTLE MORE series.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄-𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

The one which followed completely emptied your mind out, and all else thereafter was a blissful white noise.

No fear, no pain — nothing. Except a lady's voice that always took on a poisonous hiss when something had angered her. When you had angered her.

"Terrible thing. Wretched little thing!" She sneered, and it echoed in your mind. Ripped talons right through your body and made you scream. But not outwardly, not for her to hear. The scream you let out was a subliminal thing, laying deep wounds within that no mere ointments from the Family Healer could soothe.

"Think of how fortunate you are to be part of this Family, this society, and here you are mucking it all up! Is it a game to you, girl? Is the downfall of our reputation really what your wicked little heart desires to see become of us!"

'No,' you wished to cry. Sometimes, you wished you had enough courage to seize your mother by the always-perfect folds of her always-perfect frock and scream it in her face. 'No, I do not wish to see our family fall! No, I do not mess up on purpose. No, I do not have a wicked heart!'

But you said nothing.

Always, always said nothing.

You lay there, face held to the cold stones by a loyal family maid while your mother took the delight in punishing you. It wasn't the first time you had found yourself down here, in the very same position, enduring this exact torture, and it will not be your final. If you recall correctly, the last mishap that earned you three lashings with a belt was for using the incorrect knife and fork to eat your starter during a meal hosted for wealthy family friends and merchants, three weeks ago. Before that, it was for fumbling too much during ballet lessons.

Perhaps there were other events; a nick with a knife, a harsh slap across the face — mistakes that you made while navigating the life of propriety, but you could not remember. Not now. Mother was angry this time. It was very possible that you would not remember anything for a while after she was done with you.

'Smile, for it is your armour. Use words carefully, for they are your weapons. Stand tall and proud, [Name], and trust nobody. Nobody but yourself.'

Thick stones rumbled. Sparks rained down onto the cobblestone floor, and before you could prepare for it — the fire-poker was driven into your skin once more. This time; right between the valley of your shoulder blades; melting and searing through flesh.

You didn't scream. Or perhaps you tried to. No sounds would come out of your mouth save for hoarse chokes and mumbled, incoherent pleas.

Ringing of metal as the poker was dropped onto the tiles and rolled someplace far. The only mercy that existed in this basement underneath the Family Manor — the signal it was over. That you had to endure no more.

With little care did the servant's hand holding you down come loose as they stepped from you completely. You went limp, utterly paralysed, the simple purple nightdress you wore offering no barrier to the cold once your entire body sagged. No more, it was over. Safe, at least for a few hours.

But another hand thrust into your scalp and craned your neck up painfully. Dexterous, bony fingers curled into your hair and told you who the owner was.

You struggled — for the briefest moment, you thrashed about, using what little energy you had to spare. It took a shriek of your name to make you stop. Remembering who you were, what you were, and your muscles went to pure butter.

A mistake. A problem-child. The girl born into nobility and dying to get away from it.

Her mouth came to your ear, and you could barely make it out; what she whispered before leaving you to curl up in that dingy basement with the scent of seared flesh and echoing cries wrapping around you for comfort. You were near the cusp of unconsciousness, but something kept you awake to hear it. Something incorrigible that found great pleasure in your despair.

"You," your mother had hissed sweetly before the whole world became black. "Are the worst thing that has ever happened to our family. I wish I had never given birth to you, wish that you were never alive."

The Royal Palace, Mitras, Wall Sina

Year 850

A stray bird the colour of bluebells soared across the sky.

You tracked it, how it dipped and bobbed, from outside the glass of the massive windows that overlooked a great portion of the Capital. It was a balmy day — perfect for window exploring or letting one's locks free for the autumn wind to tease.

"Stop fidgeting at your hair."

The male scold from nearby tore your eyes back into the room. You glanced at him beside you — your brother whom you shared the same birth year — and levelled his warning stare.

"It is not my fault it itches," You murmured, and fought the urge to reach up to the coronet underneath your veil and release some tension from your scalp. Or simply rip it from your head altogether. "Nana braided it much too tight."

"Nana does whatever Mother tells her to do." He spoke.

"Precisely."

"Not today, [Name]," Walter began again, however fell silent when a group of courtiers passed by. They greeted you both with shallow nods, to which you and your brother returned amicably. When they were surely out of earshot, he turned to you and said, "This isn't just some formal event. Goodness, formal doesn't even fit the description of what this is. For us, for the Family — don't give me that look, you know how much Mother values us mingling with the Royals." A pause as he corrected, "The new Royals, that is."

"The rightful Royals." You corrected.

"Anyone can be considered a Royal if a crown is on their head."

'By a poor brainwashed public, yes,' you kept the scorn to yourself, especially when it was almost followed with, 'and two-faced nobles like us.'

Instead, you quietly regarded your brother. Noticing how similar the both of you were, and yet how obscenely different. He had kind, upturned eyes and shimmering curls of brown — just like Mother, and the sharp, angular face of your father. You couldn't help but feel the chasm between the both of you — not just your brother, but your whole family — who all appeared so fitting their roles and you the outlier.

With unruly [h/c] hair that would not sit still lest it was wrestled into a coronet, softer features and curves, and of course; your [e/c] eyes. Curious, wandering eyes. The feature Mother made the butt of most of her sneers.

Too curious, always wandering. Ugly little things she wished she could take right from your skull.

Walter had many immaculate suits. However, the one he had tailored for today really threw everything impressive about him into sharp focus. All of what was left of Mitras' nobles dressed to impress for today, it seemed, even the Palace servants. All eager to kiss the feet of their newly crowned Queen of Humanity and raise their status in this society about to take a dramatic shift.

The playing field was this court throne room, the pearls and jewels and immaculate dress weapons, and the courtiers all out for blood.

A pack of wolves. No, pack was perhaps too communal a word.

A den of starved wolves, circling each other to see who would crumple first.

The collar of your dress began to sweat. You resisted the urge to tug at it. You then noticed that your scalp was growing itchy around where the braids had been fastened the tightest, your cheek began to feel ticklish, you folded your gloved hands over each other in front of your waist. That didn't feel right, so you swapped them over, waited a minute or so, and deemed that not right either—

"[Name]." Walter warned softly.

"Where is this Queen, anyway?" You gave in and scratched at that annoying spot on your cheek. After, of course, making sure most of the Family's attentions were elsewhere. Especially Mother. "We've been standing here for what, surely an hour, and all I've seen come through that door is red-faced maids and stuck-up looking Generals."

Walter bit his bottom lip to stifle any chuckles. He schooled himself, a picture of some princely statue. Except the only person with true Royal blood running through their veins in this city had yet to show her face in the hall.

"Mother wished to be early." Walter said, offering a side-long glance. He raised a brow. "To make a good impression on the new Queen, apparently."

"And stake out the competition." You added.

"We have talked about your manners, [Name]." He leaned down to your height to whisper, a tinge of worry in his deep voice, "And what honesty you shouldn't let out when snakes are here to listen."

You mirrored him; leaning in so you could peak innocently through your heavy lashes, voice dropping to a whisper as you said, "And I have told you, sibling-mine, that snakes don't have ears."

Walter blinked. He then rolled his eyes and returned to regal position. "Fine. Get yourself in trouble, then. It's not like you could afford another lashing in the basement, from how you're struggling to even stand correctly."

His words were like little chips of ice — spearing right for your heart and landing their mark. For a second — one short, horrible, eternal second — you were back in that basement. The marks imprinted strategically on places of your body where no dress would reveal burned bright and angry, as if they had just been made; your legs, your waist, and most recently; your back. The new dress of bright daffodil yellow you wore today clung to the scabbing skin between your shoulders and would be so unbearable you would wince from time to time. Walter, as always, had a keen eye. He didn't mean to hurt you so deeply. And yet he still picked up those weapons and threw them your way when he needed to protect you.

No, when he needed to protect the Family. From you.

You regained awareness by grounding your centre even if he was right, standing straight and tall pushed your scapula bones together in a way that stretched those raw wounds. You didn't care.

Biting your cheek so hard copper sang on your tongue, you forced your body erect, eyes forward.

"That was low, brother." You murmured, voice a flat monotone. A mask for the strangled, tight breaths you were fighting to get under control. 'Not in the basement. Not in the Manor. Outside. Breathing. Sunshine and a ceremony.'

Walter said nothing further.

And yet he didn't need to. In fact, all idle chatter that blanketed the throne room in a din of conversation completely halted when the heavy doors opened, and a procession of suited individuals began to swath in.

They were all dressed in sage green uniforms, you noticed, and could identify which Regiment they swore service to by the embroiled insignias on their backs. You chose some and focused on them; used it as a tool to ground yourself back into the room. Because if your brother thought he could work you up into a state of panic to a point where you shut down and, quote unquote, "behaved", then he was to be prepared for one hell of a surprise.

You were stronger than that. You had to be.

There were four insignias that the fighting souls of the walls were separated into; you had them drilled into memory from your young tutoring days with Nana. Could almost hear her croak repeating in your mind as you scanned the quickly filling room, how she used to tap the pages of Military History of The Walls with a withered finger and say, 'it is important to know how the armies of a city work, girl. For to know the armies is to know the heart. You will remember that a beating heart is not a strong one without a ribcage.'

A Pegasus, two contesting blades crossing, a dangerous rose, and the one which drew your attention the most; two fluttering wings — one white, one blue.

You were most acquainted with those of the Military Police and saw them frequently at noble events, such as balls and dinners and anywhere the King and his Assembly deigned to go. That was, however, before the exposure of your King as a stand in "false king" and the liquidation of the Assembly. It was still to be decided if Historia Reiss wished to keep the Military Police at her side as the loyal dogs who served humanity's monarchs, or completely abolish them, too.

The walls whispered sometimes, and you've heard many say that a vein of black corruption had infected those who wore the sign of Pegasus most of all.

One of those Military Police offered you a polite smile, to which you returned with an equally fabricated mirror of your own. Corruption did not shy from nobility. It was their favourite waltzing partner.

A scattering of soldiers from the Garrison were also in company, you noted. Known for keeping the peace within the walls by overseeing the protection of goods and fragile human lives. From the sea of bobbing heads, you could just about catch a glimpse of their leader — Commander Pyxis — with his keen gold eyes and age-stricken face. The crowd had swallowed him up again just before you could glean a better look at the infamous man who held both sway in these halls and outside.

But then, like the fluttering blue bird from before, they caught your attention.

Huddled in the corner of the throne room — like their loyalty to each other extended even beyond their expeditions outside the Walls — your eyes first snagged on the beautiful insignia on their bottle-green coloured coats.

You always thought whoever created their branch symbol was nothing short of a creative mastermind. The Wings of Freedom, it was almost like they flapped with every swish of the fabric, wings granted to every soldier that joined that regiment and fought for the survival, the advancement of a stagnant human population within these walls. They ventured outside, they risked their lives for the sake of these people. For you.

And what were you?

The Survey Corps seemed engaged in a fretful conversation, holding your stare as your mind drifted. It was pitiful. All of it. Why were you standing here in this room full of soldiers and war heroes, of people who have earned their place and continued to fight for it?

You were trained into a life of high society, you didn't battle man-eating Titans, you battled sharp words from silver tongued courtiers and always, always made a mess of it. The only reason your family; the House of Meyer, was able to stand in this court today and not behind bars was because of their willingness to support Historia Reiss and her birth-right to the throne when all other high societal members would not, fearing for their losses under a new ruler. Some called your clan brave. You called them strategic, hollow, shrewd-minded cowards.

They were like dogs, your Family, who would play lap pet for any monarch so long as their position in the echelon was stable.

This is what these warriors were fighting for.

It left a sour taste in your mouth, twisting your lips into a scowl and making your satin gloves crease when you clenched them. Something roiled deep within you — some untamed, animalistic beast that fought to the surface and got you into trouble many, many times before. It scratched and clawed, begging to be let loose so it could rip the coronet from your head and slash the veil and burn this entire show to embers so you could show these solders that it was a lie, all of it was a Gods-damned lie—

The hairs on your neck raised in a primal warning.

Someone watched. One woman, who had this power over you, who had the ability to send that beast within you running with their tail tucked between their legs. When you glanced over towards the throne, Mother's acid-green eyes were already zeroed your way, narrowing dangerously.

And you hated it, the instinctive way your body reacted by just one warning stare from her. Your back went ramrod straight, as if someone shoved a bar of steel down your spine and forced you upright. Your chin lifted; mouth snapping closed until it was a perfectly neutral line. Just like you had been taught; when outside the Manor, we are ornaments. All-seeing, non-feeling pretty things for everyone's delight and admiration.

The primitive part of your brain took over whenever her eyes would land on you during a public event, shutting everything down and reverting you to the ideal little doll she wanted you to be.

You hated it. Hated yourself for bending so easily under her influence. And yet, the thought of cobblestones and seared flesh and her acid-tongue whispering in your ear rose up over any defiance. It made you submit, made you obey. For that was how you were instructed to survive, lest these wolves in the noble echelon clawed and rend and ripped you apart.

The soldiers had begun to line up in disciplined lines, parting to create a procession in the middle. Mother's eyes held your form, remained a heated brand on your face, and you didn't breathe. All throughout the organisation for what looked to be the ceremony finally getting underway, you became an ornament, the perfect study of noble arrogance. Just like the soldiers, you stood to attention, put up your armour, readied your weapons.

Survive. Survive. Survive.

Mother's eyes dropped and averted elsewhere after a moment, an aeon, but not because she deemed you worthy.

It was because a Queen had stepped into the room.

And the ceremony to commemorate the soldiers who had fallen during the attempt to reclaim Shinganshina and glory the nine who had somehow survived it, had begun.

Royal Library, Mitras Crown Palace

Later

Speeches, laments for the dead, the awarding of nine specially crafted bolo ties with the Wings of Freedom insignia crafted in their jewels; all in all, the Royal ceremony had taken the better half of two hours. In your timely body clock, it had felt more like five.

Following the arduous praising of the remaining Survey Corps and countless hand-kisses later, you had seized the cover of chaos to escape the throne room just as preparations for an after-gathering was getting underway. Nobody saw you, you had made sure of that, having taken the cover of chattering heads and sage military uniforms to slip into the vacant hallways of the Palace.

And move.

You had no real destination in mind. All that preoccupied your will and wit was getting out of that room before your face cracked too much from false smiling, like the little China doll you were meant to be. Before you fell into pieces and couldn't build yourself back up. One could only put on airs for so long. Memories of your most recent lashings had come rushing up to the surface once a spokesperson for the Military detailed the events which happened in the Battle of Shinganshina; the screams, the valiant last-ditch effort by a legion led by Commander Erwin Smith.

Over one-hundred and ninety-nine lives lost, including that of the famed Commander once said to be humanity's last shot at survival.

Steps pounded as your dress shoes ate up the lavish floors. Heels clicking in time with your heart. You couldn't figure out what exactly had gotten you so worked up, whether it was one specific event or a cultivation of it all that had sent your blood singing, your skin stretching way too taut over bone.

Humanity doomed, on the brink of extinction. A home of despair to return to. A life so meaningless, your own flesh and body too pathetic to do anything about any of it. Your own mortality was shoved right up in your face as you stood there between the nobility of your Family and the battle-worn soldiers.

Everyone was smiling, clapping for the victory of retaking the town lost five years to the reign of Titans. At some point, the sound had fizzled off into a hollow white noise, the movements and claps and any bows which ensued had slowed down as you stood there, separate from it all.

Was it all meaningless, your breath, humans struggle for survival? Were you grappling to survive in your everyday life just to be laid waste by a siege of Man-Eating Titans in wait, doomed to happen like that in Shinganshina, in Trost—?

Sand shifted, a hollow pale, a slow blink of eyes so very ancient as they looked to you.

Silence.

Death and life.

Screams and joys.

The world stopped dead as you did, right in the middle of the hallway, eyes widening and air completely crystalizing in your lungs.

You were by yourself, everyone left to the entertainments in the Throne Room leagues behind, and yet for a moment you wondered if Mother had been following this whole time and your instincts had picked up on it, made you lock up in terror. But then — no, this was not terror.

It wasn't anything.

Complete stillness overtook your body. You felt nothing, you weren't wholly here. The only thing you could be sure of was that you had suddenly gone somewhere far, far away, and that you were no longer alone.

Agony, so much agony.

It came closer.

An omnipresence circled you; curious and surprised, childlike. It was something magical. A presence of Divinity — a God, an angelic call? Except it was a she, and her small, soft voice bloomed in your mind. The presence held you in its preternatural grip as it cooed, as gentle as a butterfly's wingbeat.

Go.

You are not meant to be here.

You were released, panting and sweating.

Bile rose in your mouth. You slapped a hand up to hold it in.

'What was—?'

A figment of your imagination as your mind tried to fragment itself apart? A sudden dizzy spell washed over your mind and made you fumble, grappling for anything to steady yourself. It landed on the cool kiss of a metal door handle. Not thinking, moving completely on instinct, you shifted all your weight onto the door until it gave away and you stumbled inside, hearing it click softly behind.

The bile continued to rise the more you heard the voice, playing repeatedly in your mind.

Your knees gave way and you collapsed right at a pale that was kept tucked under a table at the door's frame — presumably for Maids to use when cleaning out the lavatory of whatever guest bedroom you had bombarded your way into. You didn't even wait for your knees to touch the ground before the contents of your stomach game hurtling up and into the bucket.

You wretched, the ghastly, guttural sound filling the air. And wretched, wretched, wretched, something, anything to quell the pounding in your head. That voice which belonged to a being not of this world.

Go.

You are not meant to be here.

All your food came up, and yet you were still there, back arching as you dry-heaved. The feeling wouldn't let go of you; that your mind had suddenly been invaded so horrifically. You gripped your neck, gasping through each stomach contraction, watching strings of saliva and glimmers of blood hit the bucket as you forced it.

And then you were shaking. So violently.

You lifted one of your gloved hands and held it high, watching how it tremored. Were you suddenly ill and you just have not noticed, with everything that has happened? Having horrendous mood swings and sensory illusions? Had Mother gone too far, damaged you beyond repair to be shipped off to a madhouse like Grandmother was, never to be seen again?

But that voice, it had felt so real. Like someone, something not of this realm came to visit you with secrets you could not yet understand—

"Ah... Uhm... A-Are you okay?" A voice stammered from behind.

You whirled, knocking the pale, and sending your vomitus splattering all over the floor behind. Fear etched deep into your face, your wide zeroed in on the owner of the voice. Because you feared the worst, this was a Royal Palace, swarming with both members of the Military Police and any other families trying to hold onto the last shred of their nobility—

A boy with large blue eyes and golden hair blinked owlishly at you.

You stared at him.

The rolling of the stray metal bucket scratched along the floorboards somewhere close-by, amplified by the pregnant quiet that descended.

"I-I didn't mean to scare you!" He implored, waving his hands about frantically. "I just—are you unwell? Do... Do you need me to fetch anybody for you?"

'The belted uniform, the sage green cloak and mud-polished boots.' Your skittish eyes flew across the stranger rapidly, noting his military uniform but no Pegasus emblem. His chest was falling rapidly, drawing your attention to the hint of blue and white that you had saw on the nine soldiers who had prostrated themselves in front of Queen Historia, only hours ago. 'Two wings, a bolo tie gleaming on his shirt—oh, Gods,' you swallowed tightly, throat still burning, 'a member of the remaining Survey Corps.'

Out of the list of people who could have seen you in this state.

He angled his head, daring a step closer. All the while he kept two palms up before him; a sign of gentle reassurance, as if he were cornering a dangerous animal ready to pounce for his neck.

"I won't hurt you. Can you understand me?" He asked, voice quiet, rough.

Something shook you awake, and you realised that your dignity was lying in shards around you, and you damn well had to pick them all up.

"I'm... I'm fine. Quite fine!" You choked out, then staggered to your feet. You must have been dangerously wobbly because the stranger let out a high sound of alarm. You ignored it, pushing until you found balance and stood tall. Tried to. Vomit crusted the collar of your dress and some of your skirt — stark against the soft buttercup yellow — yet you regained the regal stance you had been trained to master.

He watched, sky-blue eyes anxious, as you raised your chin.

"Sorry you had to witness that. I... have not been feeling well since yesterday. A terrible illness, perhaps." You lied. Then showed some glimmer of courteous grace by dipping into a respectful bow. "It's an honour to meet one of you."

"Oh—please, there's no need." Genuine appal coloured his words. Whether it was for the respect you displayed for him or how you looked, you didn't deign to find out. "Are you sure you don't need anybody for you?" He asked again.

"No!" You jolted, and then reeled the fear, the panic back in. If anybody saw you like this, if Mother saw— "No, but I appreciate it, Sir Soldier. Kind of you to ask."

"It's no issue. Ah, but your dress—"

"My dress is perfectly fine." 'Gods, Gods, Gods. Bury me. Bury me right this instant.'

"If... If you say so." He trailed off. A gentle flush coloured his ears when he began waving his hands about insistently. "I'm—I'm sure I'm not permitted to be in here! The rest of my Squad is still in the banquet hall with everyone else—I just," Furious thinking flitted across his clear eyes, wide with worry. "I decided to take a tour of the Palace. Please, forgive me," He went down at the waist in one of the straightest bows you have ever seen. "Forgive me if I've overstepped myself!"

It was your turn to balk, blinking slowly. It was true — you had many people bow down to you and your siblings as a means of respect, as the Meyer Family stood closest to the Crown. But something about this boy, his sincerity—

What he had survived.

"Please," You ebbed, suddenly feeling very, very small. "Please, don't bow. You and your comrades have earned passage from bows, I think."

Slowly, he rose. You, however, did not miss the shadows that chased any light from his pale face at something you had just said. They were banished in a flash when he smiled. A small, well-constructed thing.

"You're very kind," he said. "Thank you."

"And I am no attendee of the Palace. In fact, I fear I do not have permission to be here, either." You mirrored his smile, equally as false and honed over many years. "We are as bad as each other."

A long stretch of silence passed between the both of you, so you took a moment to survey just where you managed to find yourself in the never-ending Crown Palace of Mitras.

Shelves and cabinets, rows and display cases; every one of them were filled with books and tomes of an array of shades. Some caked with dust, others gleaming — beckoning anybody to dare take a look inside of them. 'A study? No, a library. The Royal Library.'

You looked left, then right, peering over the bookshelves to make sure no courtiers or members of the Military Police patrolled the room. Which was unlikely, as all of them were surely grouped in the main hallway enjoying the attention and festivities.

"It looks like we're in luck, Sir Soldier," You decided, turning back to him. This boy with golden hair and intriguing eyes. The type of eyes that could see through any farce, could pick up on even the tiniest of details. They were skittish when you tried to hold them. "There doesn't seem to be anyone patrolling when they're all grouped in the Throne Room. Getting drunk and eating to their heart's content." You tilted your head. "Not to your taste, then?"

He was about a head or two taller than you, with a youthful face and boyish hair that came to sit just below his ears. 'He looks to be in his teens, maybe slightly older.' You couldn't tell. Then again, you were discerning solely so you could decide how to deal with him, what armour to wear and words to use. Maybe you focused on him so much to distract yourself from the nightmare's maw waiting for you when you were alone, echoes of that spine-chilling voice howling from within.

"I should probably get back to them." He said, scratching at the back of his neck. That was your dismissal. He made a step for the door when you reacted, completely gripped by fear, by the chance of being alone.

"Stay!" You squeaked.

His eyebrows shot up.

Clearing your throat and retracting the arm that shot out to stop him, you repeated, "Stay. It's... It's not often we inside Wall Shina meet members of the Survey Corps. Entertain me. As a Lady of the Meyer Family?"

You had stooped so low as to use your noble class to twist his arm, something you never did to manipulate people. It was common practice in the filthy society you lived in, left a sharp twang in your mouth whenever any of your brothers or sisters did so with such ease.

But the fear was greater.

If Mother knew you were missing from the banquet for this long because you were entertaining one of the brave Nine who survived Shinganshina and had just been honoured by the Queen, she may let you go easier than what could await you as punishment. If he stayed, maybe, maybe that slithering presence wouldn't come back to visit so soon.

Go. You are not meant to be here.

He bristled at your family name. "The Meyer Family?" The boy echoed, some realisation flickering in his eyes. "You're one of the Survey Corps main benefactors. You fund much of our missions and spearheaded the support movement for Kris— Queen Historia, in the Noble Classes."

"That's right." A show. All of it. But you didn't tell him that. Let him believe you had power, that he couldn't turn you down.

"I'd... I'd be honoured to answer anything you have!" He stood to salute. "Please, ask anything, Lady Meyer."

"[Name]."

"P-Pardon?"

You blinked, realising what you had just said. "Please, call me [Name]." You abhorred your Family title, hated how it marked you immediately when anybody attempted to talk to you and made them throw on a mask.

"I'm—I'm afraid that's way too informal," he said. "I can't."

"You can. In fact, I insist."

"Ah... Alright. [Name]. What... would you like me to tell you?"

"Let’s see, how about — your age?" You were grappling at anything to keep him here. To kill time. You slipped into casual conversational questions you had repeated many times to extend family connections at dinners over your youth — and failed miserably at.

"My age?" His eyebrows pinched a little. "I'm fifteen years old."

Fifteen. A year younger than you. "And tell me, what your name is?"

He hesitated for a slight second. Swallowed, averted his eyes.

"Armin Arlert." He whispered into the hollow room. "Of the Survey Corps."

It was like his name was tied to so many rocks, so many connotations as he offered it over to you in that quiet Royal Library. Your eyes widened, bit by bit, as you realised who it was that stood before you.

A scrawny child who had been chosen over the infamous Erwin Smith, the Commander who was rumoured had the capacity to save you all. You already read the Military Report, everyone in the noble circle surrounding the Palace did — how Kenny Ackerman's Titan Serum was injected into this boy instead of a dying Commander Smith, gripping barely onto life.

"Oh." Was the only sound you made. "It… It is you."

He knew exactly what you were talking about. Everybody within the two walls would probably know in due time, when the press got hold of the story. And in a strange twist of events, you had put on the mask after hearing what this stranger's true name was.

Ashamed, he kept his eyes to his feet. "Right. Me."

Something tried to come up within you again; and perhaps, it was a mix of the panic you had felt throughout the entire ceremony and your own unstable emotions. How you worried for the faith of humanity once you heard that Erwin Smith had fallen along with the other soldiers in Shinganshina. It was coming out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop it, the sharp and frank words, no matter how kind the boy had been to you—

"It should not have been you."

A fissure formed in his face. Armin Arlert — your new saviour of Humanity — and his bottom lip had begun to wobble.

"I know." He grated out. "I know."

"Erwin would have led us to victory. He was the more sensible choice. The—The obvious choice!" 'What are you saying?' But it kept coming, an ugly, rampant, fear-driven downfall; "And with the power of the Colossus Titan, he would have been unstoppable! We would have been, against those horrible monsters that roam outside our walls. Humanity could have taken back its freedom if—!"

"I know!"

His shriek made you reel back, body going surprisingly still. Armin had his fists balled so tightly at his sides that the skin stretched, going a taut white colour. His lips peeled back from his teeth when he spat out the words, as if they left an acrid taste of his tongue:

"It shouldn't have been me! I—I don't know why Captain Levi chose—chose to save me over Commander Erwin, I don't know why it had to come to a choice between the two of us, I don't know why Mikasa and Eren cared so much as to put the entire fate of humanity on the line just to save me—but they did! And I hate it! Do you not think—think that I know how worthless I am? How useless I've been my entire life?!"

He had started to shake — like this entire outburst was not a creation of the present and had been held in for a long, long time. Just now it was a powder-keg amid exploding. And he was exploding. Armin's eyes glistened; his blond brows bunched together.

He roared, "I don't need people telling me how unwanted I am—I've known it my entire damn life! So—I don't know why it was me! I don't..." Tears were falling down his stained face. He reached up to try wipe them away. "I don't... I don't...!"

You were stunned, utterly too stunned to do anything but gape at the sorry mess this soldier of the Survey Corps had resulted himself to. He leaned over, attempting to wipe his running nose on the sleeve of his uniform, and you watched, appalled.

The voice that spoke to you just moments before this encounter completely eddied out from your mind, your Mother's threats and grapple on you released for at least a small second in time. All that existed was you and this boy, and how humanity's survival lay by such a gossamer-thin thread before the both of you.

The thread frayed, fibre by fibre, and you watched as it snapped.

All of you doomed to fall, down and down into the black abyss of peril that lay beneath.

"You are pathetic..." You whispered, not yourself. Just a ball of terror at what was to become of your race, what was to befall on all of you if this was the child to lead you to victory. "A pathetic, sorry, scared little boy."

He sniffed. "I know."

"Stop saying you know!" You cried. "You know will not take back what has happened, you know is not going to save us all from depravity! You have been left in Commander Erwin's stead for whatever Gods-damned reason and all you can do is snivel and cry like a child—!"

But you were just children. All of you were, and didn't deserve this, any of it.

How would you react if the weight of humanity lay resting on your shoulders, and you were tasked with saving it all?

Horror, dark and damning, lodged deep into your throat.

At what you had said, all of what you had said to this boy younger than you yet endured and saw much more than you could ever stomach in a lifetime. How dare you stand here and look down your nose at him, spit such harsh words his way when you sat in a pretty Manor protected in the walls while he went out fighting, risking his life, dying for humanity? When he came toe-to-toe with Man-Eating Monsters and watched everyone he loved die for that purpose; to survive.

Go. You are not meant to be here.

"I—" You stammered; regal composure ripped down to sorry little ribbons. "I—"

"It has been an honour to occupy you, Lady Meyer," Armin cut you off. His voice had become flat and void, hoarse in a way that told you he had been crying, but distant. Like he wasn't really here. And when he lifted his eyes — no light shone in them. They were a blue, bottomless void, like the deepest and darkest corners of the sea. "But I need to get back to my Squad now. Take care of yourself."

"Ar—"

Armin, you had almost called, but didn't. You watched him go, swiftly ridding the room of his presence and shutting the door softly behind him. He didn't bang it, didn't show any malice, making the disgust and shame at yourself claw at your throat, burn behind your eyes.

Before long you had collapsed back down to the floor, your dress a pool of sunshine around you, eyes beginning to well until stray drops slid down the side of your powdered face.

You were just like the rest of them.

Just like the rest of your disgusting, hateful Family.

The room grew and grew around you as you sat there, fractured, realising what you were, what you had been made to be. That there was no escaping this life you roiled and thrashed against so much, because deep down — perhaps Mother was right. Perhaps you did have a wicked little heart, after all.

Fear and hope.

Hush, why cry?

It slithered closer to you, existing in between the realms that no human eye could see. And this time, you let it. Allowed it to saddle up beside you and murmur the lullaby you didn't understand.

Go. You are not meant to be here.

Mitras, Capital City, Wall Sina

Year 854

"The new Royal government is holding up firm, sure, but have you heard that they're planning to raise taxes again? To fuel the war effort against the Nation across the sea?"

"I have heard! Despicable thing they're doing. Bleeding us dry like we're cattle, waiting to be milked."

"But you have to admit, Queen Historia isn't someone who would raise taxes just because she can. Maybe—they really need that money, you know? Maybe there's no other option for the Royal Government to take."

"And there you go, talking like a sick little puppy in love. You're blinded by her pretty face, son. She could be a miserable old croon behind those sparkling crowns and fabricated, queenly smiles."

"Do not say such things about our Queen Historia!"

"You heard me, and I'd say it again! And I'll keep saying it so long as the little witch hikes up our taxes and wrings us wealthy folk out to dry!"

"Why I oughta—!"

The tea was warm and comforting today, if a little sweet.

Tendrils of it curled around your nose when you lifted the China cup in gloved hands, closing your eyes and savouring how it warmed you right up inside. You wondered if you kept your eyes closed for long enough, if you willed it, you could simply not exist in this little teashop and become a colourful leaf on the autumn breeze. Or perhaps you could pretend to faint and wouldn't have to spend another minute entertaining—

"Oh! How peaceful you look in that light, my sweet Lady [Name]! Beautiful! Splendid! Painters would crawl over wall Sina just to get a look at you, my future wife-to-be!"

A vein ticked in your neck.

'There's no need. I'd crawl over to meet them, save them the effort, if it could get me as far away from you as possible.' Was what you wanted to say, but like the respected, mannerly noble you were expected to be, you kept your tongue behind your painted lips.

You took your time taking another dreg from the milk tea before placing your cup down on its matching saucer. "You flatter me with compliments, Sir Hofmann." You said, opening your eyes.

Red faced, squeezed into a suit that must have fit him in his younger days, your suitor was leaning over the table with his dramatics. He guffawed. "My love, there is no need for titles between us. We are to be wed! There'll be none of that Sir Hofmann malarkey—please, call me Earl. Oh! Wait!" He clapped two meaty hands together bedecked in glinting gold rings. "How about you come up with a name for me? That's what young couples do nowadays, isn't it?"

Cringe was a living thing that curled up inside you and hissed. You smiled, opting to answer him with a tight giggle instead.

After three months of courting, you would think that even you — a stubborn minded, quick-tempered Lady of nobility, even though you were the runt of the esteemed Meyer Manor — would grow accustomed to Earl Hofmann's eccentrics. That you would somehow, Gods be damned, accept your arranged marriage to the high merchant and finally make your family see you, for once.

But the more time you spent in his company — this middle-aged male almost twice your age — the more things you had learned to hate about him. He sweated too much, he smelled like body odour and horse feed, he spat sometimes when he talked, he called you sweet buns and the hidden rose of the Meyer Manor.

Earl had begun listing off possible pet names you could call each other, and a shiver slinked right down your spine. He was so immersed that he didn't see you signal for the waiter to come attend you or even when you stood up to make leave.

"Ah—sweetest munchkins! Please, do wait for me!"

The fresh autumn air was a cool kiss on your cheeks when you stepped out of the teashop, the chime of a bell bidding your farewell. You sucked in a deep, deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs and chest — reach the tip of your toes and points of your fingers. Then, you began walking.

Not bothering to wait for the man who was to become your husband in three weeks’ time as he clambered about in the café. Not caring that the way you were walking was not towards your family Manor. Today, you itched to feel the sun on your skin, to see the hustle and bustle of Mitras come alive as the clock struck midday.

Already, the streets of the capital were swarming with vendors and blacksmiths and merchants on horseback, bringing their produce in from further beyond Wall Sina in hopes of making a profit. So colourful, so alive. You relished in it, even for a moment, distracting from the peril that awaited you all now that war loomed on the horizon. Or your match in a loveless marriage that would eventually turn into a war of your own.

On the eve of your twentieth birthday, arrangements were made by the Family to marry you off to the richest bidder they could salvage, just like all the Meyer children once they reached adulthood. Except your brothers and sisters — they all had some sway when it came to choosing their suitors. You had not. Of course, you didn't. You were the failure child, the outcast. Any match who showed even remote interest in a woman like you was considered a blessing from the Gods themselves and snatched up on their deal, no questions asked.

It just so happened that Sir Earl Hofmann had the thickest linings in his pockets, and so, your fate was sealed.

But you were not the temperamental teenager you once were, all those years ago. You had learned to back down from fights that you couldn't win, that survival came in pretty, quiet little packages. That no matter how doomed humanity was, you were still going to fight. In your own way, you were going to keep living. No matter what it took, where you went, what you had to do.

To sustain a loveless marriage and construct a near perfect wifely smile was far cry from what others had to do.

What the Survey Corps had to do.

In this precious moment you had to yourself, you tilted your head up to the sky. Marvelled in the wash of sunbeams that made your skin glow, felt the heat skate along your cheeks and chest.

Survive, a little voice whispered to you. It wasn't the voice that came to you four years ago, when you stood in the hallway of Mitras' Palace and felt something Divine step in front of you. That voice had never come back since, making you decide it was a figment of your imagination, after all.

But this voice; this was you. Survive, [Name], it ebbed again, for your smile is your armour, words are your weapons, and self is the person you trust the most.

A shadow passed by, drawing you from your musings to glance left.

A boy.

No, a man.

Two heads taller, maybe three — the stranger in a smartly tailored ash-brown suit passed you by with quiet steps. He had a hat on to shade from the autumn sun, however none could mistake that the hair underneath was a study in all things gold. From radiant sunbeams to merchant's finest treasures, it glimmered, some errant strands of it coming to hang boyishly in front of his face. You both passed each other, and time seemed to slow down, leaving nothing but the two of you in its dangerous storm's eye.

He glanced down at you, and you up at him.

Your eyes locked.

Clear water. The purest of sapphires. Chipped ice and diamonds, watching, watching.

He stole the air right from your lungs, how impactful that stare was, even in passing. And when you came to, he was already a few steps ahead of you. Walking on as if nothing had occurred, eager to get to whatever business he was to attend. Until the crowd of a bustling Mitras afternoon swallowed him up and he was nothing but afterthoughts and fresh notes of fougere.

Something like a thread, the thinnest of spider-silk, tugged inside of you as you watched the crowd in a daze. Like a memory trying to shake loose, a wash of Deja-vu. Have you met him before, you wondered. It wasn't uncommon for men to be born with blond hair and complementary blue eyes, especially in wall Shina where blood was considered sacred and breeding a thing practiced in especially high-standing families. But the colour of his hair, his eyes, they were different. Blond seemed so drab where his hair was soft gold. Those eyes, intelligent, sharp, watching—

Laboured breathing, a hand coming to the small of your back.

"My love... what is the rush...?" Earl's hoarse voice came with a rush of hot air on your neck, making the hairs stand straight in warning. You shifted out from his grip before he could shimmy closer. Which was unlikely, as he was doubled over on his two knees. "You walk... surprisingly fast... for a little dove."

And just like that, reality came to greet you with open arms. Gone was the moment of stupor the stranger had created between the two of you, the tiniest of inklings in the form of a silk thread. You banished all thought except keeping your armour up and you offered him a saccharine-sweet smile.

"My apologies, darling," You tilted your head, closing both eyes. "I can't help myself sometimes when something catches my eye."

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

32 notes · View notes

bookloover35 · 6 months

Text

Sweeney Todd x fem reader-I fell in love with the Devil.

Yns POV.

The devil when I say that I have fallen for the devil then I mean it. And the devil's name is Sweeney Todd I fell in love as soon as he set foot in my mom's pie shop. I do not know why I fell for him and I know I should not fall for him. Mom and I both discovered that he was the old barber who both in the old apartment where we now live. Benjamin Barker he told us about what happened and my mother told the tragic event about his wife and that Judge Turpin has his daughter.

He was completely overwhelmed and I did my best to help him feel better, and then I discovered that he was very nice. He is amazingly the very first who has ever been kind to me. Yes my mother is kind but not all the time she blames me that it is my fault that my father died. And my mother knew about my feelings for Mr T, but I have no idea how she found out. And she did not like that I have feelings for him because she also had feelings for him. She always told me. (You should let him be Yn he is mine), or (do you really think he can love someone like you.) What does she mean by her he is not an object he is a human being. My mother's words did not scare me I just fell for him more and more. But one thing really scared me and that was what I saw a while ago.

( A While Ago).

Mrs Lovett: Yn go up with this cup of Tea for Mr T. I would do it myself but I have so much to do here in the store. But remember, just give him tea no more. He is mine.

I said okay to my mother and took the cup with Tea which was in her hand and walked out the door. When I was out I started going up the stairs to his barber shop. When I was halfway up the stairs, I heard something strange from his shop. I started walking faster up the stairs with the thought that Mr T might have cut himself when he sharpened his razors. When I was up, I slammed the door and saw something that would scar me for life.

There stood Mr T and had just cut off the throt of his customer. Why I dropped the cup for fear I could hear them crushed below for my feet. Then I saw that Mr T was looking at me he had not seen me before he had heard the cup crushed.

Sweeney Todd: YN!!!!!!

Yn: Wh_ What have you done.

Blood blood all over him and on the floor, I looked at the dead man and then at him. He started walking towards me.

Yn: No stay away from me.

I quickly turned around and started running down the stairs I could hear Mr T shouting my name but I just kept running. I refused to stop think if I did not have time to be fast enough think if he got hold of me he would kill me too. I ran into the store completely exhausted and sat down in one of the chairs. My mother looked at me as if I had seen a ghost. I wish I had seen a ghost instead of that.

Mrs Lovett:What's with you? you look like you've seen a ghost. It went well to give Mr T his tea.

Before I could say anything, Mr T came into the store. I felt my heart literally settle in my throat he looked at me and smiled then he looked at my mother and stopped smiling but my mother smiled big at him and said.

Mrs Lovett: Ah Mr T Did you get Teat off Yn?

Sweeney Todd:Yes, I got it, thank you so much Yn for coming up with it for me.

He looked at me while his told my mother I smiled back at him so my mother would not suspect anything.Even though what I saw really scared me and that he scared me, I could not help but blush. I have fallen for the devil, and why did he lie that I had given him the Tea. I dropped the cup and why had my mother not heard it, she must have been in the basement.

Yn: Your welcome

He smiled back at me again and I smiled back oh he must be so heavenly beautiful. Stop Yn you just saw him MURDER a man. Our eyes were interrupted by my mother saying my name.

Mrs Lovett: Yn Sweetheart can you go and buy us a bottle of Tonic?

Yn: What um yes I can do that I thought of actually walking past the library.

Mrs Lovett: Okay how good I'm just going to get my wallet.

She started walking towards her room and left me and Mr T themselves in the store I did not want to be alone with him. I turned to him and saw that he was already looking at me and started walking towards me. I quickly got up from the chair and started to back away from him I should have looked behind me because then I might have had time to discover that I have a wall behind me. I closed my eyes and waited for death to come. But instead I felt one hand on my waist and the other on my cheek and I opened my eyes. Mr T looked at me with a loving look and sad, not angry or murderous.

Sweeney Todd: You do not have to be afraid of me my angel. I could NEVER hurt you.

I was about to answer him but he leaned forward and kissed me then he whispered to me.

Sweeney Todd: We can talk later tonight.

He said to me and kissed me again and I do not know what flew inside me but I kissed him back and I felt how he removed his hand from my cheek and took both his hands and put them on my ass and squeezed and I opened my mouth in shock and then he took the chance and stuck his tongue in my mouth. Our tongues started fighting with each other and I felt how he squeezed my ass again, then he did something I was not prepared for I moaned into the kiss. He smiled into the kiss that devil.

He quickly withdrew when we heard my mother. What happened right now I really do not hope she saw that, I felt a strange feeling between my legs. My mother came into the store and gave me the purse and told me not to come home late. I promised I would not be away for too long and then I said goodbye to them both and when I walked a bit I saw that Mr T looked at me through the window and waved to me I waved back then I continued to walk. What am I doing?

The end.

#wattpad #wattpadstories #wattpad story #my own words #johnny depp #johnny depp characters #sweeney todd #sweeney todd x reader #sweeney todd x fem reader #sweeney todd the demon barber of fleet street

56 notes · View notes

brewsterispunkk · 1 year

Text

sunshine state

PART TEN: ALWAYS THERE

paring: benny miller x reader, benny miller x f!reader

WC: 5.1k

warnings: grief, sibling fights, idiots in love, melodrama

summary: papa’s funeral, and what follows

A/N: only two more chaps after this !! if you’ve stuck around this long, ily :,) this may be my fav chapter i’ve written yet. lmk your thoughts.

PART TEN: ALWAYS THERE

You didn’t ask him in the morning.

By the time the sun peeked through the blinds in your childhood bedroom at dawn, you’d lost all the nerve you’d had the night before.

You’d woken up warm, despite how freezing your parents always kept the house.

Benny’s legs were tangled with yours as he spooned you. You’d been laying on your back, nose buried in his hair, his head nuzzled into your shoulder.

You sighed when the events of the nights before entered your mind.

Goddamn him, you thought.

No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t quit him. You doubted you ever would be able to. You’d be there until he didn’t want you there anymore.

That thought alone made your stomach drop. You didn’t know what you’d do if Benny all of a sudden decided that this whole thing you had wasn’t worth it.

You’d survive it, barely. You always did. But still, he’d ruined anyone else for you. That much you were sure of.

Blinking, you looked over to your closet, where the black dress hung on the door. Your heart lurched, and you all of a sudden felt guilty.

Of course, you thought. The funeral was today.

How could you have forgotten? You felt selfish–as selfish as your mother made you feel—and for a second you believed all she’d said to you that night at Frankie’s when you’d missed the family dinner.

You’d been so wrapped up in Benny that you’d nearly forgotten the funeral.

Wordlessly, you untangled yourself from Benny and crept toward your door. You didn’t want to complicate this any more than it already was.

- - - -

You should’ve known your father would already be up when you entered the kitchen. He always was the first one awake of your family and had been as long as you could remember. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a book and a mug of coffee when you saw him.

He raised an eyebrow at you as you made your way to the coffee-pot. That was one of the best things about being home—coffee was always ready when you woke up.

After fixing yourself a mug, you sat across from your father and began reading the newspaper that was sitting there. Your parents still had the paper delivered.

Wordlessly, your father sat his book down and stared at you.

“What?” You asked after a moment, not turning from your paper.

“When are you going to stop torturing yourself?” He asked and you started.

Your eyes snapped up to his as he raised his mug to his lips.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The trundle in the basement was empty this morning,” he said, opening his book back up.

You balked at him, mouth falling open for a moment. Your father was like this: never coming out with what he wanted to say. Normally you had the energy for it, but not today.

“He,” you cleared your throat. “Benny has trouble sleeping sometimes. PTSD. Usually his brother helps him with it, but. Well, I’m the one here.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “And I suppose that’s why your bed was empty yesterday too.”

Shit, you thought. You should’ve known your dad wouldn’t buy it. He always knew when you were telling a half-truth.

“Dad—”

“I’m happy for you,” he held out a hand to stop you. “But I wish you would just let yourself be happy.”

“I am happy,” you said defensively.

“Are you?” He raised his eyebrow again.

You sighed.

“Look, sweetheart,” he said. “You love him. And that boy obviously loves you, so why–”

“He doesn’t,” you frowned.

Your father laughed.

“A blind man could see it.”

“You’re wrong,” you said with more hostility than you’d meant.

“Baby,” he said in that fatherly way he perfected. “Why else would he be crawling into your bed at night? Why else would he be here?”

“I don’t know!” You burst. “It’s… complicated. But no. He’s not in love with me.”

“Sis–”

“Can we please just drop it?” you blinked away tears.

This was all too much. You couldn’t handle it. You just wanted to bury your Papa, lay him to rest. You could deal with all this after that.

“Sure, baby.” Your father’s hand squeezed yours and you both went back to reading.

Your father’s words echoed in your head though.

Why else would he be here?

You didn’t know. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. Half of the boyfriends you’d had wouldn’t have done half of what Benny had done for you. But he didn’t feel that way about you—if he did, he would’ve said something by now. He would’ve made a move.

You’d shown him the worst, most vulnerable parts of you and still, here he was. Why? What did he get out of this?

- - - -

The funeral was bleak. That much was expected. What wasn’t expected was the onslaught of emotions that it brought with it.

Growing up, all yours and Quinn’s summers were spent at your Papa’s. You’d spend hours outside, barefoot and half-wild in the sprawling land behind his house. He’d feed you cherry tomatoes from his garden, and on Fridays you’d watch Westerns on channel 6. He notoriously took too many pictures and gave you sweets before dinner. And now, he was gone.

You hadn’t fully processed it until you saw the casket covered in ugly yellow roses. You stopped when you saw them.

Benny stopped beside you as you entered the chapel of the church. He came to stand in front of you, and the white of the dress-shirt he was wearing replaces the garish yellow flowers. He tilted your chin up.

“What is it?” He asked. You peeked over his shoulder at the casket.

“He hated yellow,” you said flatly. “And roses.”

“Oh honey,” he said softly, arms wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you to his chest in a hug.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, squeezing you.

“It’s okay,” he cooed. You’d always hated when people said that–told you that it was “okay” when it clearly wasn’t. You didn’t mind when Benny did it.

You nosed into his suit jacket. You hadn’t gotten a chance to tell him how handsome he looked before you left the house that morning. He looked so good it was criminal.

You took a big breath as you pulled back, blinking back a few tears. You shook your head to snap yourself out of it.

Benny gave you a half-smile and tapped your chin as you did.

“It was fucking Jeannette who was in charge of the flowers.” You grumbled as your eyes found your aunt, who was talking to the preacher who was officiating the funeral. “Of fucking course it was.”

Benny looked over his shoulder at Jeannette.

“She’s lucky this is a funeral,” you continued. “I could kill her.”

Benny chuckled, grabbing your hand and leading you further into the chapel toward where the rest of your family was starting to congregate.

“Wanna sit?” He asked. You shook your eyes, catching Leda, Rosie, and Joy sitting in a pew a few rows from the front.

“I want to say hi to the girls first,” you said. Benny squeezed your hand.

“Ok, honey.”

Rosie’s hug nearly made you cry. She had that kind of effect on people; her hugs felt like home. Usually they didn’t evoke such a reaction out of you, but today was different. You blinked away more tears as you pulled away, silently wishing you hadn’t worn mascara today.

“Hey, sweetie,” she softly said.

“Thank you guys for coming,” you said, voice watery.

“Of course we came,” Rosie shushed you.

Joy was close behind her, hugging for a moment too long. She always waited for you to pull back first. Leda handed you a Hershey’s bar and squeezed your hand.

“I brought you some chocolate,” she said, and for some reason, that’s what made you break.

You heaved out a sob as the tears came, and without thinking, you curled into Benny, whose arm was already at your back.

“Shh, shh, shh,” his lips were at your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Leda said, sounding panicked. You sniffed, facing them again.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, hating how weak your voice sounded. “It’s just–that’s so nice. Thank you.”

“Here, hon.” Joy handed you her water bottle and you gladly took it.

After taking a long sip, you handed it back to her, but she shook her head.

“Keep it,” she said.

You thanked her. You’d read somewhere once that you couldn’t cry and swallow at the same time. Hopefully, the water would help keep the tears at bay until you read your eulogy.

Rosie checked her watch.

“It’s supposed to start in a few minutes,” she said gently. “You all should get to your seats.”

You nodded, grabbing Benny’s hand and pulling him with you as you made your way to the front. Just before you made it to your seats, he stopped you.

“Honey,” he said. “Do you want me to go sit with your friends? The front is just for family, and—”

“No.” You held his hand tighter, stepping closer to him subconsciously at the mention of him sitting somewhere else. You coughed, realizing how possessive you sounded.

“Uhm,” you corrected yourself. “Could you sit with me? I’d like you beside me.”

Your cheeks heated up at how pathetic you thought you sounded, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not today. If there was ever a time you needed Benny to stand beside you, it was today.

“‘Course, honey,” he squeezed your hand back, twice, like a heartbeat. “Let’s do this.”

You sighed and let him lead you to your seats by your parents. You silently thanked your father for saving two seats beside him: one for you and one for Benny. You ignored the curious looks your aunts gave you as you made your way to the seats, as well as the smug smirk Quinn threw your way. You didn’t have time for it.

As you sat, Benny let go of your hand to put his arm around your shoulder. You leaned into him like a tree to the wind.

- - - -

“Kids, I have some things here that you two can go through. Just some clothes and knick knacks of Papa’s,” your mother’s voice interrupted Benny’s story.

He’d been telling you about something Santi had done when they were overseas, taking your mind away from the morbidity of the afternoon.

The lunch after the funeral was at your Aunt Julie’s house.

She’d had it catered, and you silently thanked whoever had made that decision. If your grandmother had cooked like she always did, you would’ve lost it, you were sure.

The whole extended family gathered there in Julie’s living room. She had the largest of all of your familys’ houses, so her place was the natural decision. It was also where your grandmother brought your grandfather’s things.

“Okay,” you sighed, getting up to follow your mother back to the bedroom where the stuff was.

Benny gave you a questioning look.

“Want me to go with you?” He asked, eyebrows raised. You smiled and shook your head.

“No, it’s okay.”

Quinn entered the room a moment after you, his facial expression bored.

“Alright, what do we have?” He asked and you suppressed an eye-roll.

Of course all he’d care about was the stuff.

As you peeked into the cardboard box that held your Papa’s things, you dug your fingernails into your palms. Your eyes watered, and you felt like you’d been hit square in the chest.

Inside, you could see them: the things that were him, that were Papa.

You thought for a moment that whoever put them together had done so on purpose—that they knew exactly what they were doing.

There were maps, neatly folded, there were a few of his worn-in flannels, the leather jacket he always let you wear, the compass he taught you to use when you were nine. Your heart clenched.

“Grandma said that these were the things he’d want you two to have,” your mom said from the door. “I figured now is as good a time as ever for you to go through them.”

“Alright,” you said.

Wordlessly, your brother reached into the box and pulled out a dusty tome, a well-read book about World War 2.

Unsurprising, you thought. The two had always bonded over their shared love for military history.

As he flipped through the pages, you reached into the box and pulled out the heavy leather jacket.

The smell of the warm leather met your nose abd you closed your eyes and sighed. That scent brought you back; all of a sudden, you were eight-years-old again, half wild and free. Quinn’s voice snapped you out of it.

“You can’t have that.” His voice was sharp.

“What? Why? I always loved this jacket.”

You heard your mother sigh in frustration from the door.

“So? I did too. How come you get it?”

“Quinn, you never even wore it, I always—”

“Bullshit!” He burst, voice raising an octave.

You felt tears prick your eyes, not out of offense or sadness, but because of frustration. Why did he have to make everything a fight? It had always been exhausting, but now it was unbearable, especially on a day like today.

“Can’t I have just this one thing, Quinn? Papa’s gone, and–”

“And you weren’t even here!”

“Neither were you!”

“At least I knew he was sick!” He glared at you, knowing exactly how it would pierce you.

“No one told me!”

“That’s enough!” Your mother’s booming voice made both you and your brother fall silent. “Both of you!”

“Sorry, mom.” Quinn said flatly, still glaring at you.

Your mom leveled her gaze on you and said your name flatly.

“Please, for one day, can you quit it with the drama? Just for today, save it,” she pursed her lips pointedly, before turning on her heel and exiting the room.

“Hm,” Quinn snorted, before following her out, your Papa’s leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

You took a moment to collect yourself after they left, hurriedly wiping tears off of your cheeks.

After, you reached into the box and picked up the worn brass compass.

It was scratched and tarnished, but its face was smooth and told of years of experience. This compass had gone everywhere with him; to Korea, and then to Vietnam, and on every camping and fishing trip after that.

You smoothed your thumb over the face and wiped your face.

Okay. Okay. You could do this. You had to.

When you returned to your table, Benny was shoveling a spoonful of your Aunt Tanya’s mac n cheese into his mouth. He listened animatedly to what your cousin was saying across from him until he felt your presence. When he looked at you, his face dropped.

Swallowing his mac n cheese, he stood up to meet you.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

You shook your head and sniffed.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Shit, I do?” You clapped your hands over your cheeks. “Dammit.”

“Here,” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, steering you toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you some coffee.”

You sighed and nodded.

When you reached the kitchen, Benny wordlessly prepared you a cup of coffee. You leaned against the counter, exhaling deeply and patting your cheeks, willing them to go back to normal.

“Here, try this.” Benny handed you the cup of coffee.

You took a sip, humming. He prepared it exactly how you liked it, as always.

“Thanks,” you said.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on now?”

You sighed again.

“It’s just my brother.”

“What’s new.”

“Hey,” you smacked Bennys shoulder half-heartedly, laughing.

“It was the jacket,” you continued. “It was my favorite. Papa always let me wear it. And when I grabbed it, Quinn freaked out. He doesn’t even like leather. It’s just another way for him to get at me.”

“Did you get the jacket?”

You shook your head.

“And then my mom,” your voice wobbled.

Wordlessly, Benny pulled you into his chest, his arms bracketing around your shoulders.

“Shh, shh, honey,” he soothed. “It’s okay. Wanna go? We can go.”

You pulled back, wiping your eyes.

“No,” you shook your head. “No, I’ve gotta stick this one out. For Papa, at the very least.”

“Okay,” Benny agreed skeptically. “But if he tries anything—“

“I’ll be fine, Ben.” You smoothed your hands down his lapels, looking at him fondly.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing in front of the best thing to ever happen to you. You also couldn’t shake the feeling that he would slip through your fingers.

- - - -

You almost made it through the rest of the meal without a hitch—until Quinn decided to open his stupid mouth.

It was after dessert, when everyone was drinking coffee and making up excuses to stay for another cup. Kids were asleep in armchairs and guestrooms, and teens waited impatiently in front of the T.V. for their parents to leave. That was something you always loved about your family; There was always more to talk about.

You’d been sipping your coffee and talking to your aunts about Papa—some story from his time in Vietnam—when your cousin Monica changed the subject.

“It just happened so fast,” she said, staring off into space with a melancholy expression.

“It did,” Joyce said. “We hardly had time to tell everyone that he was sick before he passed.”

“I only found out hours before,” added your other cousin, Pete.

“I didn’t even hear he was in the hospital until it was too late,” you said, and Benny squeezed your knee under the table.

You looked over at him, and found his eyes trained on you, soft. You smiled back, covering his hand with yours.

Quinn’s scoff snapped your attention away.

“Wonder why that is,” he said from where he was sitting across from you.

You thought you heard your mother, who was sat behind him, inhale sharply. You stiffened and felt Benny’s hand tighten on your knee.

“Excuse me?” Your voice was tight.

You were at the end of your rope; your eyes ached, your throat was sore, and you were exhausted. The funeral and the argument with your brother had taken it out of you. Now, you were reaching your limit.

In hindsight, you should’ve seen it coming. Quinn always pounced whenever you showed even a little bit of vulnerability. He waited til you were exhausted, and then he’d dig in the knife and twist.

“You heard me,” Quinn leveled his gaze at you. “Where were you when Papa got sick?”

“I was at work, and no one thought to message me—”

“I was working too, and I still picked up the phone. I always pick up the phone when mom calls.”

“What, do you want an award?” Your voice raised.

“God, you are such a selfish bitch—”

“Oh boo fucking hoo, Quinn! I’m so sorry I was asleep when Papa died—”

“No! You were too busy fucking some guy in bum-fuck nowhere to be there for your family!”

That stopped you in your tracks.

“That is enough, Quinn!” Your mother stood up, face red. “Take a walk.”

“But–”

“Take a walk,” she repeated in a tone that offered no argument.

You were still frozen when he stormed out the back door into the backyard. Benny’s hand on your arm snapped you out of it.

You looked around to see your whole extended family silent—the first time that had ever happened in your life.

Your grandmother was shaking her head in the direction of your brother. Your cousins were either staring at you in concern or trying their hardest to look anywhere but at you. Your stomach dropped.

Everyone had heard it. Of course everyone had heard it, your brother’s outburst could probably have been heard next door.

“Honey…” Benny cooed as if he were trying to calm a scared horse.

You pushed back your chair and were out of your seat in seconds, rushing to the bathroom and away from the judging eyes of your family.

All at once, you were reminded of why you’d gone to Florida in the first place. Where family could be a large comfort, it could also be someone’s biggest burden.

You silently yearned for the smell of Mari’s kitchen, the howl of Santi’s laughter, Everett’s faux-sever expression. You even missed Will, no matter how deep his words had cut you.

It was only when you heard the quiet hum of conversation from the other room begin again that you allowed yourself to cry.

- - -

Quinn’s knuckles were scraped when you came back.

He was hunched over a cup of coffee in the same spot that he’d been before the fight, and Benny was nowhere to be found.

Oh shit, was your first thought.

Your mother looked severe as she talked to your father on the other side of the room. Most of your relatives had trickled out by then, but a few aunts and cousins were still there. Monica reached you before you could walk over to your mother and ask what the hell was going on.

“Hey chickie,” she said, eyes so soft that you thought you might cry. “Your boy is waiting out in the car for ya.”

“Oh god, what happened?” You didn’t even bother to correct her calling Benny “your boy.”

“I don’t know,” Monica looked sly. “All I know is that he followed Quinn out back after you left and when Quinn came back in, he was fumin’ mad and his knuckles were cut up.”

“And Benny?”

“He looked fine.”

You sighed in relief, before shaking your head.

“He’s so stupid.” You huffed. “I told him not to get involved.”

“It’s kind of romantic,” Monica offered. “He looked scary when Quinnie called you a bitch.”

You snorted, imagining what his face must have looked like in your head.

“Well,” you said. “Damage control is gonna be a bitch.”

When you got to the car, Benny looked even more severe than your mother.

He was resting one hand against the wheel, and the other on his tapping knee. His brows were drawn together in what looked more like frustration than confusion. It was that look you recognized from when he lost a fight—defeat and barely restrained anger.

You shut the car door with a click before turning your whole body to look at him.

“Did Quinn hit you?”

Benny chuckled at the idea.

“He tried,” he said, finally turning to look at you.

When he did, all anger was gone from his face. His eyes were gentle, albeit a little cocky. His hair fell messily over his forehead and his eyes looked almost sea-green in the olive pull-over he wore.

You raised an eyebrow.

“He tried?”

“Yeah, kid’s got shit reflexes,” he added before turning the key in the ignition.

“What happened?”

“Well,” Benny sighed, maneuvering the car out of the driveway and beginning to drive. “After what he decided to spew back there, he and I had a little talk out back. Don’t think he liked what I had to say.”

“Jesus christ, Benny.” You rubbed your eyes, staring blankly at the road. “What did you say?”

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” he said. “I handled it.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” you ground out.

It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful for what he did; you were. Too much, even.mThe truth of the matter was that you’d never had anyone stick up for you before—at least to your family. At the same time, though, you and Benny still had to stay another night with said family, and now you had to do damage control.

“I know, honey. And I know it wasn’t my place, but someone had to say something. And no one in there was going to.”

You sighed. How the hell were you supposed to argue with that?

“I know,” you conceded quietly, blinking away tears that you weren’t sure were out of frustration or sadness.

“Let’s go home,” he said, turning at a green light. “We can go to bed early. You don’t have to deal with this.”

“Yes, I do, Benny.”

“You don’t—”

“I do,” you pushed. “You don’t understand. If I don’t deal with this and I leave it until I come back, it’s just gonna fester. That’s always how it is. So I’ve gotta fix this before I fuck it up more than–”

You stopped yourself, realizing mid-sentence that the words you were going to say were the exact words Will had said weeks before.

You sighed.

“I just have to fix it.”

“‘More than you already have?’” Benny asked softly, too softly. “Is that what you were gonna say?”

You remained silent and kept your eyes on the road outside the passenger-side window. You refused to look at him, knowing that if you did, you’d break.

“Honey…”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Ben.”

“But–”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Your voice was tight.

You were both silent the rest of the drive home.

- - - -

It went as well as you could have expected once they all got home.

Quinn didn’t return, instead choosing to stay his last night in town at your cousin’s house. Your father said it was for the best, and you couldn’t help but agree.

He was the easiest to handle. You’d expected it. He wasn’t happy that you’d “antagonized” Quinn, as he put it, but he knew that Quinn was the one who took it too far in the end.

“You know your brother,” he’d said. “He’s got a big head and an even bigger temper.”

Your mother was the real one you had to pacify.

She was silent when she got home, which was always a bad sign. If your mother wasn’t talking about something, someone was in trouble. After about an hour of back and forth, you’d agreed to disagree.

She thought you were in the wrong, but in the end agreed that Quinn shouldn’t have blown-up, and that he definitely shouldn’t have swung at Benny. That was as good as it would get, you knew. So, it would have to be enough.

More than anything, you couldn’t wait to get home. Your real home; the shitty apartment in the noisiest part of town that you shared with Salem and sometimes Benny.

Benny.

You hadn’t talked to him since you’d gotten home. He’d disappeared back to his trundle in the basement, saying he wanted to “give you space.”

By the time you went to bed, he still hadn’t shown himself, and you suppressed the ache in your chest at having to go to sleep in an empty bed.

You’d lasted maybe two hours before you couldn’t toss and turn any longer.

Yawning, you made your way down the creaky stairs for a glass of water and, hopefully, something to eat. You also pondered what must have been going through Benny’s head.

He was done, you were sure. The crazy dysfunction of your family mixed with the way you had shut down earlier must have been the final nail in the coffin.

As you filled your glass with water, you frantically went through ways that you could convince him to stay. You already knew you wouldn’t survive his absence from your life.

A set of heavy footsteps interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to see who you already knew was Benny in the entryway to the kitchen, dressed only in boxers and a henley. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his eyes were bleary.

For a moment, you both stood there in silence, holding your breath, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“I–”

“Listen–”

You both began at the same time, before stopping and awkwardly chuckling.

“Sorry,” you said lamely, and Benny took a nervous breath.

He took a step toward you tentatively and you sharply inhaled.

You knew what this was, what this looked like. He was preparing to let you down gently. You felt your stomach drop.

“Ben–”

“No please,” he took your hands, which stayed limp in his own. “I have to say this.”

“But–”

“Just let me get this out, honey,” he said softly. “Please.”

And, how could you say no to that?

You nodded melancholically.

“I need you to know something,” he swallowed. “And you probably won’t like it—hell, I know you won’t like it—but I don’t care. Honey, I am sick of you.”

Your heart lurched and your bottom lip wobbled. He couldn’t even look you in your eyes, his own big green ones still trained on the floor.

“And—”

“Ben, please don’t do this.” You hardly recognize your voice. Your chin wobbled and your throat closed up as you held back the tears.

“---What?”

“I know I’ve been–been difficult, and this trip has been utter hell, but please don’t.”

“I–honey, what?”

“Ben, please don’t leave.”

“I—” his hands were on your face all of a sudden, urgent and firm, angling it so your forehead was pressed against his.

“God, no, honey,” Benny’s voice sounded utterly appalled. Frantic, even.

When he saw your wrecked expression, he furrowed his eyebrows and pressed a firm kiss to your lips without thought. You barely had time to react before he was pulling back, pressing more to your cheeks and eyelids.

“No, honey. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not without you, anyway. That’s–that’s not it.”

“But you said you were sick of me–”

“Sick of you tryin’ to do things on your own, honey,” Benny sounded exasperated, chuckling a bit before pressing a kiss to your forehead. His hands still held your cheeks.

“I am sick of you trying to do this all on your own. And pushing me away when I try to help you. You are there for everyone, And when I try to be there even a little bit, you won’t have it.”

“That’s not,” you sighed.

“It is.” Benny interrupted you. “I saw it this week with Rosie and the others too. It’s like you have this idea in your head that we’re gonna, like, have a ‘come to Jesus’ moment and leave you one day.”

You were at a loss for words, so you stayed silent as he continued.

“Well I’m not. I’m here, and I’m going to care about you on purpose.”

Your chin wobbled at the declaration, sniffing like a child. You were embarrassed of all the times you’d broken down into tears in the past week, but now you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when Benny sighed and pulled you into his chest.

“It’s okay, honey.” He cooed. “I’m here on purpose, I’m not going to leave.”

And this time, you finally began to believe him.

And this time, when he said it, you began to believe him.

#sunshine state #benny miller #triple frontier #benny miller x reader #triple frontier fic #benny miller imagine #triple frontier imagine #benny miller x y/n #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x female reader #benny miller fanfic #benny miller x you

152 notes · View notes

ageless-aislynn · 4 months

Text

I so dearly wish I could GIF these first 2 season 2 Halo eps but in lieu of that, have my random jumble of thoughts:

SPOILERS, NATURALLY (or spoolrrs since Ais and touch typing on her tablet go together like an Elite and singing karaoke 😋)

Ackerson is deffo evil because he said "ONI" properly one time then spelled it out all the rest. My dudes, the classic Halo: Reach level is NOT "Oh En Eye Sword Base" it is "Oh Nee Sword Base." Enough said. If I saw nothing else from him in these eps, I'd know he was eeevil. 🤷😉

Kai let the red grow out/wash out of her hair. I'm conflicted but she's still mah beautiful bb grl.

Pelletless Vannak was so fun and I approve of his animal documentary obsession, lol!

Sweet mother of pearl, Riz sold me on how much pain she was in, poor bb. 😭 I liked Louis and hope he'll be around in further eps.

I paused the second ep towards the end as soon as Chief said Visegrad relay to blurt out "The Covenant is on Reach!" And then Chief said the line, eee! (I love all Halo games but Reach is my jaaaam, man. 😉 )

Okay, I loved seeing the marines interact with the Spartans and that dinner with Chief and Perez and her family hit a few surefire tropes that had me kicking my feet and squeeing with heart eyes. Of course, I ship it, need you even ask? Ya girl's a fool for love, lol! But again, it was fascinating to see Chief out of his Mjolnir, interacting with Perez and her family. "You're very large." "Yes, ma'am." Which may not be exactly correct but that was the gist and I looooved it!

John and his Cortana stand-in hit me HARD in the feels. 😭

The fact that Ackerson has Cortana in her stunted form locked up in the basement made me raaaaage. I wonder if we're not going to get s1 Cortana back and this will essentially be the Weapon? Could be why they changed her face/appearance, I guess? Her appearance obviously changes through all of the games, true, but I have to say I currently prefer her s1 look more. I'm sure I'll get used to it, though. I want her to remember John, however, so when they meet again, it's a proper reunion. I wonder if they're going to have her be in his helmet ala the game version now or will they make it so that she has to be put back in his head to stabilize him or something? 🤔

I don't know how Makee survived but I can't wait to see how it works out!

I was so happy to see a new Spartan team in Cobalt but their ribbing of Silver, especially saying they have feeeeeelings now and all that didn't make sense to me because THEY were showing waaay more emotion, IMO. I mean, are they not Spartan IIs with emotion dampening pellets themselves or did I miss something?

I get why Chief was pushing Riz so hard because of his fear Silver wouldn't be ready for the upcoming fight but DANG, Chief, she's not going to be great in a fight if she's dead! 💀

One day, I will GIF all of the shirtless scenes. *fist thump* 😇

Lastly, they got the rights to THE THEME, YEAHHHHH, BABY!!!

Okay, enough for now from me. What did you think? Fav moments, ??? moments or the like? 💖💖💖

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#spoilers #halo spoilers #master chief #john-117 #kai-125 #vannak-134 #riz-028 #cortana #ageless aislynn

27 notes · View notes

k8fics · 1 year

Text

Ruined Legacy

My Way to Freedom

summary: Based off “My Way” by Frank Sinatra; Joel & Ellie find a curled up woman in a farmhouse with a freshly dead guy outside — Episode 1 of the ‘Ruined Tragedy’

rating: R - just reader’s backstory & character building (my bad), some joel splattered in there tho, she cannot catch a break, abusive/toxic relationship (not joel), murder, brutally killings, dead parents, captivity (kinda? idk man), thoughts of suicide, cussing, hopefully that’s all

And now the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

I still remember how my mother woke me up that night; tears streamed down her face, and her entire body shook. How she frantically grabbed my hand, pulled me towards the basement door, sat me down on the cold ground, and told me to wait down there while she received a call for help from my father.

I still remember how I stared at the small window, covered by the dusty curtain. How the lights from the outside world showed through the glass, the orange hues, the flashes of car lights, the shadows of people’s feet running away.

I still remember waking up down there. This time, my parents were with me, arguing over each other. My mother paced with her arms flailing out, my father leaning on the concrete wall with his arms crossed.

“We can’t just leave! You heard the TV, we’re instructed to stay inside!” She yelled.

“And you saw what’s out there. We have to get out of here, who knows if they’ll start bombing again.” He said calmly. She only sighed in response, stopping and looking directly at me.

I stayed silent, still acting like I’m asleep. But she could tell I was awake. Mom always could tell. She walked over to me, with a smile. Although, the smile was fake. I could tell she was scared.

She put her hands on my face, I leaned into her. “Hey, baby... We gotta go, let’s start packing.” She said, pulling me up.

As I walked to my room, and she walked to hers, I looked out the window. Your neighbor’s house still burning from the night before, the ground covered in blood and ash. The world has gone to complete shit.

My friend, I’ll say it clear

I’ll state my chase of which I’m certain

“Who the fuck are you?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by a gravelly voice. You looked up to see a girl and a man. You glanced around to see you were in the same room you had been stewing in for the past day.

You opened your mouth to speak, lips cracked from the lack of moisture. “..I stay here.” You stated, not in the most cohesive terms though.

The man still had his gun pointed at you, looking at you and then at your surroundings. “So why is there a freshly dead guy on your porch?” It was like he was a detective investigating you. Although, a detective’s attitude would be less intimidating than his.

“I killed him.”

I’ve lived a life that’s full

I travelled each and every highway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

My father was always a survivalist. He taught me how to make a fire out of sticks, how to hunt — even when I was begging him not to make me shoot an innocent creature, — and, starting last year, how to defend myself.

He said something about ‘it was better to be prepared and nothing happen than to be unprepared and have something happen.’ I guess he was right, at least we’re prepared. Though, I don’t think he expected his 16-year-old daughter to be using these skills so soon.

After the first month of walking through decaying neighborhoods, buildings, and streets, I was put on map duty. I didn’t mind it, it helped me think. I didn’t want to think about who and what was lost, how all my friends were gone, how my life and future were ruined.

Regrets I’ve had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exception

The walking was the worst part, and although the pain in my feet was unbearable, the pain of walking away from the only life I’ve ever known hurt more. I wished I could have told that guy in my 3rd period I liked him, I wished I told my friends I loved them more, and I wished I could be with them without my parents grieving my death.

I wish I didn’t have to kill. Even though it was only a few, it kept me up at night. I would close my eyes and only see their bloodied faces. I would fall asleep and see them beside me.

I tried so hard to not let it get to me. I had to do it. If not for them, it would’ve been me. Maybe it would’ve been me.

I planned each chartered course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

My parents met Tim as they were going on a supply run while we were stationed at an old house. He had been staying in the overgrown convenient store tending to his wounds when they came in.

Dad said the man didn’t even put his gun up just kept his hands above his hands. Mom said he showed them a bunch of supplies that hadn’t expired. They said he was a good man.

I had just planned our next ‘trip’ when they brought him. He was pushy and, honestly, very arrogant. Even if he didn’t show it around my parents. He wasn’t ugly, but I had no attraction toward him.

“I guess he’s just not my type.” I told my mom when she asked why I didn’t ‘give him a chance.’

She laughed at my response, “Well honey, just give him a chance. It’s been 6 years since you went on a date-“

Before she could speak further I interrupted her, “Yeah Mom, 6 years since the world went to shit. I don’t need some guy to protect me, you know? I have you guys for that.”

And she laughed. God, I missed her laugh.

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

It had only been a few months since Tim joined us. I could see something was wrong with him. His eyebrows were always furrowed like he was trying to figure out the hardest math problem. His jaw clenched when my dad talked to him, sometimes I thought he was going to hit him.

To my dismay, he was much pushier. He would constantly want to be around me, he would always go with me on my runs, and, worst of all, he would not stop asking me out.

After the tenth time that week, I had enough. “Where would you take me out to, Tim? What? The woods? The old diner down the street that’s infested with the infected? Oh! Or do you want to go to the shed by the creek where the clickers are?” I said, no yelled.

His face changed completely. The cocky smile contorted into the same expression that scared me throughout these months. “You’re going to regret saying that.” That’s all he said before walking towards his place of residency for the time being.

Later that night, I woke up to several grunts and pleas. As I tried to move my hands up to rub my face, I realized that my body had been attached to a rope wrapped around a tree. I looked around at my surroundings, I was outside in an open area in the woods. In front of me were my parents in the same predicament as myself.

I called for them. They didn’t respond, both of them looking off to the side. I turned my head as much as I could to see what they were looking at. To my shock, it was Tim standing there. Leaned up on a tree, axe in hand. When I called for him instead, that’s when all three of them turned to look at me.

My mom looked like she had been crying for hours. My father looked furious, a face I hadn’t seen in a long time, his face was bruised and bloody. His right eye was swollen shut and his nose bleeding. Tim looked the opposite, he was clean like he had taken a shower moments before, although, his knuckles were bleeding, and his face. God, he looked ecstatic.

He walked over to me, his axe still gripped tightly in his hand. He looked down at me before placing a hand on my face. I flinched, his face looked like it did that afternoon prior.

“You should’ve just except my fucking date. Now, look at what you made me do.” He said.

I shook my head, “Please... My sorry, please don’t do this.” I pled, but all he did was walk over to my parents.

I scream at him for what felt like an eternity but his back still faced me. He only looked at me when he got in the face of my mother. When I looked into his eyes, I knew he wasn’t going to stop, no matter what I did.

I watched him kill them both with the axe. I couldn’t protect them. I could only cry. The most undeserving deaths. Just for what? A date?

He came over to me quickly after killing them both. I had stared at their corpses for so long that I hadn’t noticed him cutting the rope. I ran to them as soon as I was free. Not long after, he came after me.

But through it all when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way

I remember when Tim took me from my home. The way he would talk about my parents was like they were some problem in my life. How I didn’t need them, I was too old anyways. It felt like he was jealous of it all, that I had my family and he didn’t. I found sympathy in him, in a way.

‘Maybe it’s the Stockholm Syndrome kicking in.’ I would think. But then again, he murdered my parents because I wouldn’t date him. Who the fuck does that.

One time I brought it up to him, which landed me on the ground with a hard punch in the face. I didn’t talk for the rest of our travel.

One year later, he found a farmhouse. It was impressive, basically taken out of a Hallmark movie. Though my impression of it changed when I got to the children’s rooms, it didn’t take long for him to start commenting about how we should ‘fill them up.’ Fucking disgusting.

I’ve loved, I’ve laughed, and cried

I’ve had my fill, my share of losing

After 13 years of being here, I learned to live — or survive as I like to call it — with him. Sure, I tried to escape a few times, but it never worked out in my favor.

The first time I left, I was gone for a week. I lived in the woods, trying to find some haven which was harder than it looked, considering I didn’t have any access to a map or any weapons. Tim confiscated everything on me the day we left my parents’ rotting bodies.

He found me curled up behind a tree, facing a creek. Fighting him never worked. No amount of self-defense could ever get him down without a weapon. He was bigger than me, and when a stick didn’t work, I gave up.

All the escapes after had been futile, he had set up traps in the woods close to the house, knowing I couldn’t walk on the trail without him seeing me on his day-night searches.

He wanted me to be a stay-at-home-whatever-the-fuck. So fucking be it. I won’t lie, I played the part as much as I could. Whatever would get him to leave me alone. It didn’t work sometimes, but it did for the most part.

So I “loved” him. If love is making him food, cleaning his messes, cleaning his clothes, and letting him hug me.

I laughed at his stupid jokes that I had heard a million times before this shit show.

I cried at night when I had to share a bed with him. Feeling guilty that I couldn’t do anything about this predicament, that I couldn’t find a single sharp thing that could kill him or myself.

And now, as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

He left early that day, earlier than usual. When I woke up he was gone, only leaving a note saying he had gone on another supply run. I scoffed as if we don’t have enough.

I barely know where he goes these days, you would think after all these years, he had found every single store or house, but I guess not.

As I walked to the kitchen, I noticed something abnormal on the table designated for Tim’s backpack. It was a fucking knife.

‘He must’ve left it there when he was searching through it.’ I thought. “Dumbass.” That was all I said before quickly grabbing the handle and pocketing it.

Soon after I was done making eggs — still don’t know where he gets the eggs from, he could’ve at least told me that — he came back. I gave him a short greeting before putting the two plates on the table and sitting down. He sat down next to me, both of us not uttering a single word. It was nice, the silence.

I got up as soon as I was done, cleaning off my plate. Before I could leave, I was entrapped by his arms, pulling me into his chest. I scowl, still not used to touching the horrendous man.

“I love you.” He said. “I-“ Before he could speak any further, I reached behind me and stabbed him the first place I could reach, his left shoulder.

He released me and stumbled away, giving me time to run to the door. As soon as I unlocked and opened the door, I was pushed to the ground, landing on my back onto the dirt in the front yard. Tim was on top of me, panting heavily, his blood and spit dripping down onto my face. I struggled with him as his hands tried to find a way to my neck.

My hands faltered for a millisecond, allowing him to wrap his hands around my neck. I fought with him once more, arms and legs flailing, trying to get him off of me. My attempts were futile. The harder I fought, the harder he gripped my neck.

He smiled menacingly when he saw me losing strength, “You spoiled fucking bitch. After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you're fucking repaying me? Stabbing me with my knife?” He screamed in my face, as I sobbed and kicked.

I accepted my fate, me dying in the hands of the man that has made my life miserable, at least he would leave me alone now. “I should’ve killed you right in front of your mama and daddy.” He said.

Something snapped in me. Sure, maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was the hatred I consumed for him for years. But I like to think my parents wanted me to avenge their deaths.

To think I did all that

And may I say, not in a shy way

Oh no, oh no, not me

I did it my way

As soon as my right hand felt the unfamiliar, cold object, I quickly grabbed it and hit him once in the head with as much force as I could gain. He was on the ground instantaneously. I got up on her feet taking a few breaths before pulling myself into a defensive position. My hands up and set on the metal pipe securely, eyes focused on the battered man’s wheezing form.

To my surprise, he stayed on the ground, back facing me as he groaned in pain. I stepped closer and kicked him in his backside. “Fucking look at me, you coward.” I snarled, “Look at what you fucking did to me!” I screamed at him, kicking him once more.

This time he decided to look at me. Eyes moving towards me away from the afternoon sky, “Please, Y/N. Don’t do this to me, baby.” He pled with me. And for a second, I thought about letting him go, but I knew that wouldn’t stop him from trying to find me. This had to end.

I took one step towards his battered body before speaking, “I fucking trusted you. My parents trusted you, and you murdered them like it was nothing! You wanted me to think it was nothing!” I screamed, letting out every single emotion I had felt throughout these years. “I have hated you ever since that night. You didn’t fucking save me! You’re a murdering waste of space.” I admitted.

“I saved you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his statement. “You didn’t save me. You ruined me.” I said, before hitting him again. I repeated myself once more before hitting him again for good measure.

For what is a man, what has he got?

If not himself, then he has naught

When I was done, the man was unrecognizable. His face caved in, bruises showed through the cracks of his clothes, and dirt covered most of his backside. I looked at the body for what felt like an eternity.

I didn’t drop the pipe in her hand until she made herself back inside the house. Closing the door behind me, walking to the kitchen where I once was. I picked up the knife that Tim had pulled out of his arm, placing it in my back pocket.

I looked around the house, an eery silence following me. As glad as I was that he was gone, the loneliness crept behind me. Not that I’d miss that ugly son of a bitch anyways.

My hands darted to the bags that he had left when he departed, quickly going up to them and ripping them open. There wasn’t much for me, Tim was quite a hoarder. He collected unnecessary things. The bag was no different, besides the cans of food and water bottles, the rest was unneeded random objects. Multiple different pans, silverware, and cups. Clothes that would neither fit him nor myself.

I glanced at his backpack that was left on the table, I aggressively grabbed it and looked through it. For whatever reason, he never let me look through it. Something about him sharing everything with me and he deserved privacy. It was laughable considering that he would do monthly checks of the house looking for secret hiding places where I would put my plans of escape.

I completely emptied the bag, object sprawling all over the ground. I rummaged through them, I stopped when I found a piece of jewelry. “Fucking bastard.” I cursed. It was my mom’s, she said one day, it would be mine. Some kind of generation gift I guess.

When I looked further, I found more of my things from so long ago. It was surprising that he kept all these things but wanted me to let go of all of them, even my parents.

I found my old diary, the mp3 player my dad gave me, and a dusty picture of my family that I had kept under my pillow when my parents were still alive. I called him a bunch of insults before picking up what you wanted and packing them into the, once Tim’s, book bag.

Before I started packing my clothes, I passed a mirror and stopped. I inspected myself, my face covered in his blood, my hands still red from the cold pipe outside, and possibly from Tim’s blood.

I rubbed my face, expecting it to come off easily but it had dried faster than I had originally thought. I rubbed more aggressively, eyes tearing up, whispering, “You ruined me.”

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows

“Tim was a bad man who murdered my parents,” At that the man’s hold on the gun falters, but still stands his ground, “and kidnapped me. I tried to escape, he tried to strangle me, and I killed him with a pipe.” You summarized.

The girl behind the man sighed, “Joel put the gun down, she doesn’t even have a weapon on her.” She tried to convince him.

You made a face, “Actually, there’s a knife in my back pocket.” You said, making them both turn to look at you.

The man, seemingly named Joel, sighed, “Stand up.” You quickly followed his orders. He reached behind you and smoothly grabbed the knife from your pocket, hands brushing over your ass. “Alright, I believe ya. But I saw that guy’s body, I know what you’re capable of. Do you wanna go somewhere else?” He asks, hovering over you for a few seconds after he stopped talking. He took you in before backing away.

“Only if I get to keep the pipe.” You bargained.

Joel scoffed, “Here’s the deal; I’ll keep the pipe safe until we can trust you, 'kay?”

“Deal.”

And did it my way

jesus christ this is so long y’all… hopefully grammarly does me justice bc i’m not reading all of this 😭

#ruined legacy #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #the last of us series #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #TLOU #tlou fanfiction #TLOU series #tlou x reader #tlou x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller series #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #ellie williams

131 notes · View notes

endlessnightlock · 1 year

Note

number 7 and 8? you don’t have to combine them but that would be cool too! thank you for doing this!

because this is what we’ve done since we were kids no matter the adult implications of it now, with an added bonus of because

because you’re crying as if i’m about to disappear?

50 Reasons to Share a Bed

I already wrote a drabble with the first prompt, so I'll just use the second one :).

8. Because you’re crying as if I'm about to disappear?

The hospital bed sat empty, sterile, and silent in the corner of the room. What would have been an innocuous feature in any healthcare facility represented something entirely different in a house once teeming with life and vitality.

Katniss bit the edge of her fingernail to keep from screaming. She wasn't one for public emotions of any sort, and amongst the crowd gathered at her childhood home, she wasn't planning to start now. She couldn't stand to look at that hospital bed, and yet she couldn't stop looking at it.

"Why haven't you gotten rid of that thing yet?" she asked, taking a deep drink from the whiskey glass someone had handed her half an hour or so ago. Grief did funny things to a person; She'd lost all concept of time over the last few days. The days and nights were unending, and she floated listlessly through them, only half alive herself. She wished there was a remote control she could use to fast forward past the period of her life.

"Hospice hasn't come for it yet," Prim said. She shrugged. "I don't spend time in this part of the house anymore."

Katniss knew that. Prim had moved her room to the basement of their childhood home years ago. While Katniss had flown the nest after high school graduation, Prim didn't take that step. It turned out to be fortuitous; their father died when Prim was twenty, and their mother's cancer showed up only two years later. By that point, Katniss was busy with work and life hours from their hometown, leaving Prim to carry the burden of taking care of their mother through oncology appointments, endless tests, drug trials, and finally, end-of-life care and funeral planning.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here much," Katniss said, realizing she hadn't apologized for her absence yet. She wouldn't have been much good to Prim or their mother anyway, but it still needed to be said. Mostly she was sorry she wasn't the sort of sister who was good at being supportive.

"It's alright, Kat," Prim whispered, patting her on the arm. "You did what you could. I couldn't have afforded all that time off work to take care of her if you hadn't sent money."

Still, it didn't seem like enough. But that part of their life, the part where she and Prim were someone's child, was over, and there was no going back and changing any of it.

KPKPKPKPKP

Katniss knew Peeta didn't keep any weapons in his house, and that knowledge was all it took to convince her it would be okay to unlock his front door in the middle of the night and let herself into his house with the key he hadn't asked her to give back to him when she split up with him last month.

On silent feet, she made her way up the carpeted steps to his bedroom on the upper floor of the house. Knowing she had no right to assume he was alone since she was the one who left, Katniss still breathed a sigh of relief when she found Peeta alone, asleep in his bed.

I hope he doesn't hate me, she thought, slipping her shoes off wearily and inching toward his bed and the promise of finally sleeping again. She wasn't just here because she was exhausted. She was here because she was the biggest idiot who'd ever graced the earth to break up with Peeta, and she missed him so much it was killing her.

Peeta didn't stir when Katniss pulled the covers back and climbed in, easily finding her old spot. He didn't wake up until she wrapped her shaking arms around him. His eyes blinked open. He stiffened in surprise but relaxed when he realized it was her. "What are you doing here?" he asked, pausing midway to clear the gravel from his throat.

She tried to tell him, but the emotional deluge beat her to it and there was no talking then. Peeta remained silent as she wept. Choking, uncontrollable, ugly sobs poured out of Katniss like he was the one on the verge of disappearing forever like her mother they'd buried that morning. He had every right to kick her out of his bed and his house, tell her to leave forever, and quit fucking with his heart, but he didn't.

"Hey, I'm here," Peeta said instead, repeating the words softly, over and over like a mantra.

#endlessnightlock writes #everlark drabble #everlark fanfiction #katniss everdeen/peeta mellark #everlark #y'all I wrote this quickly so forgive any errors lol

48 notes · View notes

conscious-naivete · 8 months

Note

Cons!!!! pal!!! what is the short story about a girl who was swallowed by an open sky :O I would love to read it!! :D

ur lucky i was digging thru stuff recently and knew exactly where this book was, bc i had to dig it out of the boxes in the basement!

the story was The Empty Place from Strange and Eerie Stories by Pat Hancock. i haven’t read this in years, i rmbred it slightly wrong, but i’ve scanned it in below the cut for ya

Mom pointed to the large hawk soaring above the cottage. “Look, Kit. Isn’t it beautiful?"

Kit glanced skyward.

"So what?" she said sullenly. "It's just a bird." She turned her back and began to walk away.

"Kit? Where are you going?"

"Nowhere." Kit kept walking.

"Hold on, Kit. It's nearly lunch time. I want you to stay close to the cottage for now."

Kit took two more steps, then stopped as her little brother, Eugene, dashed out of the bushes beside the cottage. He came straight at her, arms outstretched.

"Hey, Kit, look what I found."

Carefully, he uncupped his hands. But not carefully enough. A bumpy brown toad leapt out just as Kit bent down to look.

"You brat," she hissed, jumping back.

"But, Kit, I never did it on purpose. Come on. Help me catch it again, will you?"

"You wish. Catch your own stupid toads--and keep them far away from me." Kit turned on her heel and stomped away.

"You're no fun anymore," Eugene yelled as he headed back behind the cottage, hot on the trail of the escaping amphibian.

His words pierced Kit with a guilt that nearly stopped her in her tracks. She knew she was acting like a jerk, but this knowledge just made her angrier- -with herself and everybody else.

She hadn't asked to be included in the family's vacation at the cottage. In fact, she'd begged to stay behind in town, where she could watch TV, hang out with her friends and have some fun.

Kit kept walking. She wanted a space of her own, away from the rest of the family. She started to jog, then broke into a run.

"Kit, wait." she heard her mother call. Kit ignored her and kept running until she reached the cover of a nearby willow grove.

From her vantage point under the drooping branches, Kit watched her parents walk back to the picnic table and sit down. Eugene was already seated, getting a head start on the sandwiches.

"Guess who's missing from the happy holiday picture?" Kit muttered angrily. They're just fine, she thought. They can have lots of fun without me.

Turning away, she began to work her way through the willow branches. When she broke through to the other side of the grove, she took a deep breath and took off across the vast expanse of meadow that lay before her.

Kit ran and ran. She ran until her breathing was so harsh and shallow that she could run no more. She slowed to a jog, but finally had to stop. Gasping, she bent over, hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath.

Gradually, the pounding in her chest lessened, and the pain in her side eased. She straightened up slowly and looked back the way she'd come. Far off, to the right, she could still see the dark outline of the woods ringing the lake, but she could barely pick out the cottage and the willow grove beside it.

Not far enough. I can still see it, Kit thought, and decided to keep going. "Until I don't have to see anyone or anything," she said aloud as she set off once more, this time at an easy jog.

She had no idea how long she'd been running when she started to pay attention to her surroundings again. The first thing she noticed was that the sun was no longer directly overhead. She could still feel its powerful rays on the back of her neck and shoulders, but it was definitely lower in the sky. Her lengthening shadow told her that.

Glancing down, she realized that the ground had changed, too. The soft meadow grasses were gone and, underfoot, dried weeds and withering wild strawberry plants crunched and crackled.

The sun's cooking you too, she mused, looking at the brown and red leaves clinging to a sandy patch of ground before her. Suddenly, a quick shadow streaked across her path. Kit turned and squinted over her shoulder into the sky.

Oh, it's you, she thought as she picked the large black hawk out of the sun's glare. Who invited you along? Go back to my mother. She's the bird lover, not me. Aloud she added, "This is my spot. Mine, you hear."

The realization that she had actually shouted these words left Kit feeling more than a little foolish.

Thank goodness no one is around to hear, she thought. But the words had struck a memory chord. Kit stopped walking and looked around again. Hey, maybe this really is my place, she thought, recalling the game she'd invented when she was little. She flopped onto the ground, thinking that she might finally be able to win it here.

Kit stretched out, her hands clasped under her neck, and began to move her eyes in every direction while keeping her head perfectly still.

"Nearly," she said, sitting up and yanking at a tall clump of chicory that had managed to survive the heat and sand. "Sorry, but you have to go." she announced. Then she lay back down and looked around again.

That's better, she thought. This place has definite possibilities. Then she saw the hawk again.

"Go away," she ordered. "This is my place. You're wrecking the game."

The hawk lingered briefly, suddenly swooped lower, then soared high and faded into the cloudless sky.

Finally, Kit thought. Nobody and nothing. I've finally found my empty place.

Her thoughts drifted back to the summer six years ago when she'd started her search for this place. That year, her family had spent their vacation at her uncle's farm. One day, lying on the roof of the cowshed with her cousins, Kit had found herself staring into an empty, clear blue sky. She had lain outside many times before flat on her back on the apartment balcony, in the wading pool at the park, and even in the schoolyard. But this time was different.

This time, nothing, absolutely nothing had broken her view of the sky-no birds, no branches, no awnings, not even a hydro pole or telephone line. Suddenly, she'd been overwhelmed by the vast emptiness.

This is fun, she'd thought. It's like being all alone in the middle of nowhere, even though I'm really not. It felt good, being in the empty place she'd just discovered.

Keeping her head still, she'd let her eyes wander to the left. Still nothing. Once again, all she could see was blue. When she'd looked to the right, though, a tall tree had intruded into the blueness. Then two crows had risen squawking from the garden, flying directly into view, and the spell had been broken.

But the excitement of that moment had lingered. Several times that summer, she'd searched for a place where she could lie down, look up and around and see nothing but sky. It became a kind of game for her. She'd flop down, cushion her head with her hands, and try out a new place. But, no matter where she tried out the view, something a tree or a bird or a single power line always got in the way.

There was no point even trying on cloudy days. She would not allow the smallest wisp of white to drift by. That was against the rules, rules she'd come up with after that time on the cowshed roof. Only the sun was allowed. She couldn't look right at it anyway, so it didn't count. But anything else would break the spell cast by the emptiness.

When her cousins began to tease her about Iying around all the time, just staring at the sky, she quickly learned to seek out her empty place only when she was alone. She came close sometimes, but she never did find it that summer.

When she returned to the city, thoughts of her summer quest faded. Once, in the winter, she had tried again at the park, after an unusually heavy snowfall. The sun was shining brightly and the park was blanketed in white. She lay down in the snow and looked all around but, try as she might, she could never eliminate the nearby highrises from the picture. No matter where she went in the park, she could still see at least one.

The next summer Kit gave up her search. She was lying with two of her friends on the teeter-tot-ters in the park. The three of them were just lying there saying nothing, staring up at the sky.

When she asked them if they ever tried to find a place where they could see absolutely nothing but the sky, they looked at her as if she had grown antennae. "You're nuts, Kit," one of them had said.

Embarrassed, Kit had vowed never to think about the stupid game again.

But here she was, two years later, absolutely spellbound because there was nothing, absolutely nothing, in sight. This is amazing, she thought Nothing and nobody. Just what I wanted. I wonder how long it will last.

Now that she knew it was possible to find such a place, a new rule began to take shape in her mind. Once I find it, I can't move until something invades it, she thought.

"But that won't take long," she added aloud. "Something always comes along."

Kit lay still, staring upward at the seamless blue canopy, waiting for that something— a plane, a cloud, a bee buzzing by. She waited and waited, but nothing intruded into her empty place.

"Amazing," she repeated softly, relishing the moment.

Then her neck began to itch. Bet I've got a sunburn, she found herself thinking. Hope Mom brought the Noxzema. Don't be silly. Mom always remembers to bring the Noxzema. And the sun block...

Mom always remembers the air mattress, too. And a brand new jigsaw puzzle. Always a new puzzle. Wonder how many pieces this one will have? And the new game? What'll it be? Balder-dash? I'll bet that's it. Have to wait to find out, though. It has to be a surprise...

KIt realized she was looking forward to finding out which games Mom had brought along. Okay, so maybe doing puzzles and playing games with the family isn't so bad, she thought. Maybe I won't be bored totally out of my mind.

Kit scanned the empty sky again. Her neck was getting stiff and she wanted to stand up and brush away the sand that was starting to make her skin itch. Okay, I've had enough. Time for something to break into the emptiness. Time to go home.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she called.

Maybe I goofed. Maybe I can see something, she thought, and forced her eyes from side to side as far as they could go. But she'd picked her spot well. Without turning her head, she couldn't see past the sandy patch where she had flopped down.

How long have I been here? she wondered. A long time. Shouldn't have pulled out that plant. Then I could have seen it—and I could have got up. Maybe I'lI cheat. Turn my head a bit. I'm sure there was some tall grass just past the strawberry leaves. I remember that.

She checked the sky one last time. Empty.

That's it, then. Time's up, she decided, and turned her head to the side. No tall grass there. She turned the other way. There was nothing there either.

“That's weird." Kit said softly. I was sure it was there she thought. Oh well, I moved my head so the game's over anyway. I may as well get up.

Kit sat up and looked around. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Impossible, she thought, and scrambled to her feet.

She stared in disbelief. For as far as she could see, there was absolutely nothing, nothing but the occasional wild strawberry runner clinging to the dry brown ground. It was as if the spot had spread around her until it met the sky. The sweat trickling down her neck felt suddenly cold. It sent stiver up her spine.

For a long time, Kit stood transfixed. Then she began to turn slowly, desperately scanning the horizon for anything that would help her get her bearings. She became frantic, looking—and looking again--for a familiar landmark. All she could see was acres of sand meeting the endless blue of the empty sky.

Feeling dizzy, she stopped turning and looked up again. The sun still shone, but it was much lower in the sky. Still, it couldn't help her. She had no idea whether the cottage lay north, south, east or west.

She wanted to run again. But she didn't know which way to go. For the second time that day, Kit began to cry. Sobbing, she felt very lost and alone.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she began to notice the breeze brushing against her tears. Gentle at first, it grew stronger with each gust. Thick white clouds edged with gray began to roll in, gobbling up the blue. Kit's heart raced. She could smell the approaching storm. Run, her mind screamed. Run. Run. Run.

Kit started to run, then turned and began to run in the opposite direction. "Which way? Which way?" she yelled into the terrible emptiness. Despairing, she stopped again, choking back her sobs.

It was then that she saw it. It was only a speck at first, a pinpoint of black in one of the last remaining patches of blue. When it disappeared behind a cloud, Kit thought she'd imagined it. But, seconds later, it was back, soaring and diving, its widespread wings riding the wind. Closer and closer it came, until it was directly overhead. It hovered for a moment, suspended in space. Then, with a mighty flap of its wings, it veered sharply back into the wind, struggling to return the way it had come.

Suddenly Kit realized where it had come from-and she knew where it was going. The voice inside her head became a chorus. Run. Run. Run. Kit began to run again, this time after the hawk.

They were going home.

#it’s a collection of like horror stories for kids #casual inexplicable things. a couple about maybe-ghosts and maybe-magic #one abt a kid getting held captive by his baseball superstitions that i think could be about ocd #just reread and some of these r pretty good #asks #quartz-candles

15 notes · View notes

robbinggoodfellows · 2 years

Text

Nischa Fic!! Title: Keep Me Safe

TW: Homophobia, Bullying, Smoking, Violence

Noel had spent the first weeks of his senior year walking home alone. He had spent these weeks trying to escape his usual bullies, who usually end up shouting slurs or stealing his poetry notebook. He spent these weeks wishing there was someone to walk home with him. Someone to hold his hand and to keep him safe. Noel had grown numb, he no longer cared if the bullies tormented him. So today, why would he care that these same fucking boys were about to beat him unconscious. Noel's bullies had never resorted to violence before, but apparently their regular "solutions" weren't working. So this was how Noel would die, behind a goddamn Catholic school, screaming for his life, losing his mind, all without feeling like it was undeserved. He knew this was what he got for being gay. He understood his fate, but felt he had to put on this facade for the boys killing him to feel better about themselves. He sure hoped they felt fucking good right now.

Noel had been walking home alone when it had happened. But he wasn't alone. Mischa Bachinski, the new Ukrainian student at St. Cassians was on his way home, he was crossing the street, trying to avoid people, when he heard Noel yelling. Mischa barely knew Noel. They had met a few times in choir, but had never talked outside of there. All Mischa knew was that Noel was gay and that people hated that. So when he heard Noel scream out "Please stop!!". Mischa was always so quick to act, and now more than ever. He had been in millions of fights in Ukraine, most of them with boys much larger than himself. He knew he could take these scrawny Canadian boys. "HEY SHITBAGS!" Mischa called out, getting the boys attention and getting them off of Noel. "Leave him the fuck alone." Mischa ordered. He cracked his knuckles for added effect. "What are you going to do about it?" one of the boys asked, to which Mischa responded by punching him the the nose. He had gotten so carried away in fighting the ringleader of Noel's torture that he had forgotten about Noel entirely. And when the boy Mischa had been fighting got away, he was finally able to turn his attention to Noel.

Mischa wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve - he didn't even remember being punched - and looked up at Noel, whose lip and eye were bleeding and who was covered in little cuts and bruises. "Why do you not stand up for yourself?" Mischa asked, before sitting down on the pavement next to Noel. "I don't care anymore" Noel replied, smudging his mascara as he wiped his tears. "You should care, poet." The Ukrainian boy replied, turning to Noel to examine his wounds. "What did you just call me?" Noel asked, and Mischa just smiled. "You are poet, no?" He asked, smiling as his gently wiped the blood away from Noel's wounds. "C'mon, we go to my house. I can make sure the wounds heal, yes? My mother was studying to be nurse in Ukraine, she teach me to help others!" Mischa said, standing up and holding out his hand for Noel to take. Noel stood up wearily and had to walk to Mischas house with their arms intertwined, Noel leaning on Mischa for support.

When they arrived at Mischa's house, he led Noel to the basement door, explaining that his adoptive parents were disgusted by him. Noel frowned but Mischa quickly smiled, telling him that he really doesn't mind! Noel sat down on Mischa's bed - he had never been in a boys room before - and Mischa grabbed a fist aid kit before sitting down next to him. Why did this have to be Noel's first truly romantic experience. Mischa smoked a cigarette while he cleaned Noel's cuts. "You didn't have to help me." Noel said "I would have been fine." Mischa stopped, placing his cigarette down on an ashtray and shaking his head. "No, poet, you would have died if not for me." Mischa told him. "I'd be fine with that." Noel whispered. Mischa frowned before saying "You should not go through that Noel Gruber. You are wonderful boy, beautiful even, and I do not want you to think otherwise. If those boys ever try to hurt you again I will вирвати їм зуби і засунути їх у дірки, ці виродки." Noel was blushing now, smiling like an idiot "You think I'm beautiful?" Noel asked and as soon as the words left his mouth, Mischa was kissing him. It was unlike anything Noel had ever known. It tasted like cigarette smoke and blood and it was amazing.

The two of them didn't go to school the next day. They stayed and Mischas house so that Mischa could take care of Noel. "When we go back to school, you will no longer have to walk alone, my sweet poet." Mischa kept whispering. Noel had not been alone since. Now Mischa held his hand and kept him safe.

#first fic #nischa rtc #mischa x noel #noel gruber #mischa bachinski #ride the cyclone #fanfic #angst with a happy ending

66 notes · View notes

lyomeii · 2 years

Text

Yandere Platonic! Maria Agriche

->warning:isolation, yandere theme, manipulation, blood, injures, spoilers if u finished the first season,

->request by anon! I don't know if you do platonic yanderes with minor characters but I saw your deon post so could I request maria agriche x child!reader? How odd, that my mind fantasizes her as the mother figure I wished I had, haha ^^

->a/n: this one got my mind interested in writing! Specially with maria being deon mother and since I wrote for him before, why not about his mother?

-> your are the younger sibling of deon, and of course, your mother being Maria making things a little harder than you wanted or expected

-> since you could recall your memories, you notice something was wrong with you, unlike the older kids, Maria would always pay more attention to you than anyone, more than her husband, more than deon, her fully attention is directed at you even when you are doing anything at all or when you failed something, she keep saying that you should keeping trying, not beating you up.

-> training was kinda different than you expected, instead of being throw around knives and high chances of dying with your older brother, she made you trained with her, only her and when you questioned your brother to train you (he accepted your request), Maria yelled at him and brought you back to her room, not letting you interact with Deon.

-> and most of the time, she would easy on you, that what you noticed and so Deon , who made you train with him in secret, as result, you gained some cuts and bruises but you so felt relieved, after all, Deon was the first person to treat you as equal and that continues to happen more, yet you are stupid enough to see that any of the injuries of bruises aren’t deep compared to your others siblings.

-> Maria was not happy when she find out your little escapes to training with your older brother,she got angry of course, but not at you as you expected, but deon, and she send him away in some mission that you won’t see for months, and now you are stuck with her :) and the letter Deon writes to you never arrive if someone give the paper to your mother.

-> never left the house, according to your mother, anyone would try to hurt you and kill you at the first glance, even with so much training, she doesn’t believe that you will survive outside the manor.

-> locking you inside your bedroom when she has to leave the mansion, according to her, for your best! Sometimes Deon enter your bedroom to gives gifts, foods and clothes that he brought from his missions, he adores seeing his younger sibling smiles to him, because of him, you are experiencing news things.

-> the others residents notice her attitude with you, how much happy and smiling maria is around her favorite child, some didn’t care and still don’t but some, such as roxanna and jeremy care, and sometimes try their best to approach you, unfortunately maria is there to protect you from bad influences, that what your mother kept saying to you

-> the only time you have away from her is when Lante, your father decided to test you, if you are worth of living and surprise surprise, you survived even though with many scars and bruises on your body, you made it, getting lante proud of your training with you mother, little he knows it thanks to Deon that you survived that night.

-> after getting full of bandages with your body, maria after being convinced by deon who came back from his mission to let you walk around the state, it’s a reward, they said and after that, you will gain more gifts.

-> and now, you are exploring new areas around, the kitchen, where you asked the servants for sweeties, roxanna’s bedroom, who let you played with one of her butterflies, the medical room where you got more bandages and medice, and many places, leaving the basement for last

-> the guards protecting the basement didn glare at you, after all, being a child of agriche mean you are a demon reincarnated but that don’t apply to you at all, deep down, you still a young kid full of curiosity

-> roaming the basement, you see a man full of recently scars and fresh blood, but what call you attention the most is his appearance, white hair with golden eyes, never saw that before, could be that person everyone is talking about?

-> his lift his head to your red eyes, something common in your family, and closing his golden eyes, he waits for a punishment but received a head pat from you, shocking him. Why a child from the Black Agriche acts this way? Then he noticed the bandages in your body with the fact you look so fragile compared to the others, are you truly an agriche?

-> “ a candy for you”

-> you put a small candy inside his mouth and used your extra bandages and medicine on him instead of your own injures, making him feel different about you, was you really lante’s kid? Did the agriche kidnapped you as a baby? No, those red eyes confirm that you are truly related to the evil, yet nothing but good came from you.

-> when you finished cleaning his injures and putting bandages in his wounds, you gave him another head pat and said goodbye, leaving cassis even more intrigued with you, a small kid who don’t seem to fit the agriche family.

-> he needed to take you away from this hell

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanon #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere maria agriche #yandere maria agriche x reader #yandere platonic #yandere platonic x reader #yandere the way to protect female lead’s older brother x reader #the way to protect female lead’s older brother x reader #the way to protect female lead’s older brother imagine #Maria agriche x reader #Maria agriche headcanon #yandere female #yandere manhwa

314 notes · View notes

warmbloodcomic · 7 months

Text

Warm Blood: Girls Mode

Written by Josh Tierney

Photo edit by Caitlin Soliman

Pt. 3

“Did the elevator take us to the basement by mistake?” Eve asked as they peered into the hallway through the opened doors.

“No,” Maaya stated matter-of-factly. “Most buildings don’t have basements in Japan.”

What they could make out of the floral wallpaper through the shadows had been faded with time, and the wooden doors lining the walls were chipped and scratched; the hallway not only felt lived-in but also somewhat poorly maintained, like people lived here but didn’t care that they did.

“If this is street-level, the exit must be close,” Maaya added, taking the role of leader.

“Should we record a video?” Eve asked Penny.

“I think we should just get out of here,” Penny said anxiously, still staring ahead.

Penny and Eve followed Maaya down the hallway, Maaya using her phone’s flashlight to light their way. Penny kept checking the spots where the walls met the floor for cockroaches and rats, but the lack of them did nothing to alleviate her fears.

The muffled sounds of a first-person shooter videogame emanated from one of the apartments on the right (if they were apartments), the door vibrating with bass-heavy blasts.

“It smells like milk that’s been left on the counter,” noted Eve.

Penny didn’t want to note anything. She felt less like she was in Tokyo and more like she was back home in Southwestern Ontario, or at least some nightmare version of it.

The hallway seemed to go on for fifteen minutes, far longer than any hallway should, though the girls wondered if it was simply their fear slowing down their perception of time. Finally, and thankfully, they came upon the green light of an exit sign, its arrow pointing to a large metal door. Penny couldn’t help but look at the silhouette of a green figure exiting through a white rectangle and think of a shadow person escaping into the light.

Maaya turned off her light and opened the door, which creaked loudly. They were immediately greeted by a bustling, still-rainy pedestrian street somewhere in Akihabara. The girls exited and fully breathed in the cool night air.

“What a strange exit,” Eve commented. “It’d be better to just take the stairs.”

“Do you know where we are?” Penny asked Maaya, feeling like she just wanted to be back with her mother at this point.

Maaya looked around. A seemingly-unending stream of pedestrians passed in front of them, each holding an umbrella. Penny and Eve tried to follow Maaya’s gaze despite being totally disoriented.

Maaya pointed out a three-storey building she recognised with a different maid café on each floor, and then she pointed out the Hard-Off located at the intersection where their pedestrian street met another. The moment Penny opened her mouth to ask what “Hard-Off” was, Maaya explained that it was a used electronics store.

“The thing is,” Maaya said, confused, “we’re not near the Super Potato. I know where we are, but not how we ended up here.”

“Should we go back to the Super Potato, to talk to the police about the arcade?” Penny asked.

“No, don’t worry about that. We reported the situation, which is the main thing,” Maaya reassured her. “If they need to reach me, they can call me back.”

Penny’s own phone vibrated with an incoming message. She read the text from her mother, suggesting she not stay out too much longer.

“Can you point us in the direction of our hotel?” she asked Maaya.

“I’ll lead you there,” Maaya responded with a smile.

Eve smiled as well, happy to spend more time with their new friend. On their way back to the hotel they took notice of a green commuter train running along a high bridge in the distance, the bright lights of the train cars visible through its windows. The way the city felt so alive at night was a massive change from their hometown, which would shut down completely by 8PM, and it made Eve wish she could stay out even later.

When they reached the front doors of the hotel, Eve turned to Maaya, her heart racing as she worked up the courage to ask her to hang out again.

“If you’re free sometime, it’d be so cool if you could show us around some more,” Eve said, the words stumbling out of her.

Maaya looked at Eve happily, as if those were the exact words she had been hoping to hear.

“How about tomorrow?” Maaya offered. “We could meet for lunch, and I can show you a couple more places for your videos.”

“Yes, that would be great!” Eve exclaimed, her eyes nearly tearing up with happiness.

“I’ll text you the directions tomorrow morning,” Maaya said.

The girls then said goodbye to each other, and Maaya disappeared back into Akiba, her transparent umbrella joining a group of others as if they were a school of jellyfish. Penny and Eve entered the hotel lobby, Penny struggling to process everything she had witnessed that night and Eve mulling over what she should wear tomorrow.

Shunka Ryougen by Haru Nemuri was playing over the PA in the hotel lobby, and followed Penny and Eve into the elevator as they rose back up to the 20th floor.

They re-entered their room, and in the living room Penny’s mother was sitting in a chair with even more work papers spread out across the table. A variety show was playing on the TV, the panelists presented in circles onscreen as they reacted to various meme videos from around the world. For anyone else this might’ve been incredibly distracting, but Penny’s mother often worked with the TV on, typically setting it to the news. Since Penny’s mother was always working, this was her main way of experiencing entertainment.

“How was it?” Penny’s mother asked without looking up from her laptop, typing as she talked. “Did you have fun?”

“It’s amazing!” Eve excitedly answered first, as if the strange occurrences with the arcade cabinets weren’t worth mentioning. “There are so many wonderful stores and restaurants, like the cafés with dancing maids.”

“You actually went to a maid café?” Penny’s mother asked with a raised eyebrow, though her eyes remained on her work.

“It was cute,” Penny said, not wanting to bring up the arcades, either, lest her mother keep them from going out again. “I wouldn’t’ve gone by myself, but going with Eve made it fun.”

“We met a maid,” Eve added. “She handed us a flyer for a café, and she ended up dancing there, and then she showed us a cool game store.”

“We’re going to meet up with her tomorrow,” Penny said. “She’s our age, and wants to help with Girls Mode. I think we’ll get a lot of views with her.”

“How nice,” Penny’s mother said. “Could you share her contact info with me, in case I have trouble reaching you?”

Penny knew this was her mother’s way of saying her daughter should be wary of strangers she just met in a new city. Eve passed along Maaya’s number to Penny’s mother, and Penny added it to her own phone as well.

“And the melon bread?” Penny’s mother asked, clearly sensing Penny had forgotten.

“I forgot!” Penny said. “I’m so sorry.”

Penny felt genuinely bad about it, since her mother had handled everything to do with bringing them to Japan, and here Penny had failed to do such a small thing for her in return.

“There are several konbini right next to the hotel, if you don’t mind going back down,” Penny’s mother said while comparing a pale blue work paper with a document on her laptop screen.

Penny got the message: her mother really wanted this bread.

“Get yourself some snacks as well,” her mother suggested. “We don’t have anything here, and you’ll likely have trouble sleeping due to jet lag.”

Penny looked to Eve, expecting her to appear exhausted after their first night out, but Eve was smiling back excitedly, if anything with even more energy than before. Perhaps it was an effect of the coffee she had at the maid café – Penny didn’t drink coffee, herself, so she was unsure how long the caffeine lasted.

Before they headed back out, Penny’s mother mentioned to them that the umbrellas in the black holder outside their room was for every guest’s use, and that they should take a couple.

Penny and Eve left the hotel room, and pulled out a pair of transparent umbrellas that were still slightly wet from previous use. It made them wonder what other guests were staying on their floor, and if they were foreigners like them.

“What if I stayed here and became a café maid?” Eve asked Penny on the elevator ride down.

Even if Eve was half-joking, as she sometimes was, the question took Penny aback.

“What about your family and school?”

“I’d still have a family, and I’d still go to school,” Eve responded with a thumbs-up.

Penny sighed in relief, now that it was clear her friend wasn’t totally serious.

“You’d be a great maid,” Penny told her honestly. “Everyone would love you, and you’d get requests all the time.”

“And it’s sort of like being in the entertainment industry,” Eve said enthusiastically. “Especially with the stage performance.”

Eve’s ultimate career goal was to be in “the entertainment industry”, whether that meant being a model, an actor, a YouTuber, or now a café maid.

“We’ll have to ask Maaya about it,” Penny said helpfully.

The elevator door opened, and for a brief moment Penny was fearful they would find themselves back in the dark hallway with the floral wallpaper. The lobby was thankfully as it should be, and the girls got off as a Japanese woman got on.

Penny and Eve cut across the lobby, the aging security guard now pacing down the middle with his hands held behind his back. He was checking the seats of the black lounge chairs as he walked, as if keeping an eye out for items that might’ve been left behind.

At the hotel entrance Penny and Eve readied their umbrellas, and popped them open as they exited back into the rainy night. They tilted their umbrellas to look up at the neon signs as they headed left; last time they had gone right, and this was a fine enough excuse to see a tiny fraction more of the city.

There was something comforting about all the stores still being open, all the flyer girls still handing out flyers and checking texts from their significant others, and all the pedestrians still passing back and forth while carrying bags containing anime, manga, and videogame-related goods. It felt safe and alive and filled with endless possibilities – in particular, endless possibilities to find something to buy. Penny wondered about living in Akihabara, herself, but knew she’d have trouble stopping herself from spending money every day.

The girls passed by other foreigners who were huddled together in a group in full cosplay, each checking their phones as if wondering where they’re supposed to go. Penny couldn’t determine what they were cosplaying as, but when she made eye contact with the one dressed as a kind of martial arts lizard, she smiled knowingly, as if to silently shout “I can’t believe we’re here!”

“Oh, look!” Eve said, and Penny turned to look at what had caught Eve’s attention.

The pair stopped and gazed up at the 7-Eleven sign lit brightly above the 7-Eleven they were now standing in front of.

“All the 7-Elevens closed down in Canada,” Eve said, looking at this one as if it were the last store in existence.

“I remember them,” Penny said. “The abandoned one by Cale’s place burned down last month.”

A trio of cashiers greeted them in unison as they entered, each wearing a green uniform with white, orange, green and red stripes running across the chest. At first glance the 7-Eleven was similar to the ones from Penny and Eve’s childhoods, but upon further inspection the snack selection was entirely Japanese, with childlike manga mascots on many of the packages. Penny couldn’t help but peruse the magazine stand as well, checking out the manga magazines and wishing she could read them.

She then pulled out a videogame magazine and flipped through it, hopeful she would find previews of games that had yet to be announced in North America. One section was apparently devoted to Metroid 7, but outside of the logo on the first page of the article, the pages were all black.

When she was about to close the magazine, not wanting to be reminded of her uncomfortable experience in the arcade, she noticed that black glossy letters were set against the black paper. She opened the magazine wider and tilted it under the store’s bright white lights, trying to read the letters, but they were neither Japanese nor English, and in fact didn’t resemble any written language she had seen before.

“Okay,” Penny said to herself, as if that was all that needed to be said, and she placed the magazine back onto the stand.

Is Your Love Strong Enough? by Bryan Ferry was playing tinnily over the PA.

Penny turned around just as Eve excitedly stepped towards her with five different packaged breads in her arms, including the melon bread for Penny’s mother.

“I found the melon bread!” she said triumphantly. “And bread with red bean paste, and bread with custard!”

“Nice,” Penny said, somewhat shaken by the magazine. “Let’s get some drinks, too.”

Penny’s mouth had gone dry, and all she could think about now was the coldest, most refreshing drink. They checked the refrigerators, and Penny picked out a carbonated orange drink, though she had also been eyeing a milky matcha tea thing that looked oh so delicious, and which she decided she would try next time.

Eve picked out a strawberry milk. They decided not to get something for Penny’s mother, since Penny’s mother either drank coffee during the day or water in the evening, and they didn’t want to upset her sleep schedule even more with something caffeinated.

They purchased the snacks and drinks together, the cashier helpfully explaining how to pay at the machine that was set up in front of the cash register. Penny looked at the machine with wide, confused eyes as the cashier gestured to the picture of a paper bill on the touchscreen; Penny pressed it, fed her cash into a slot, and watched as her change was spat out the bottom.

The cashiers thanked Penny and Eve in unison as the girls left the store with a small plastic bag in tow.

* * *

Penny’s mother nibbled on her melon bread, savouring the flavour while typing on her laptop with her free hand. As Penny’s mother and her work had taken up much of the couch, Penny plopped herself onto the chair and Eve simply sat on a cushion in front of the coffee table, the girls enjoying their drinks and snacks while watching TV.

Penny put herself in charge of the remote and flipped through news programs and variety shows on her quest for fresh anime. Even if she couldn’t understand what was being said, she could still appreciate the visuals – and knowing she’d be able to lord it over Edith and Jill, her childhood friends who had first introduced her to anime, for the rest of their lives, was a uniquely exquisite pleasure in and of itself.

Penny took sips of her carbonated orange drink every few channels, and offered her review of it being one of the tastiest orange drinks she had ever drunk in her life. A lightbulb appeared over Eve’s head, and she quickly got up on one knee as she gestured for Penny to stop.

“Snack reviews!” Eve exclaimed as Penny stared at her with the bottle’s lips against her own. “Like, little ones for YouTube Shorts!”

They set up Eve’s phone, propping it on the table so that it faced the TV, where a random late-night anime was in the middle of airing. Penny sat with her knees on a cushion a bit to the left of the screen, so that the TV and her upper torso were both in frame.

“This is the most delicious orange drink I’ve ever had,” Penny said to Eve’s phone. She then took a sip and turned her head to look at the TV.

Onscreen was a crying baby being carried by an ogre across what appeared to be a medieval landscape. The baby bit the ogre, and the intense pain they caused it made the ogre run so fast that it burst through a castle gate, knocking down all the soldiers within. The baby slipped from the ogre’s grasp and, mere moments from hitting the ground, cast a spell that put themselves in a floating bubble. The baby drifted off to safety while continuing to cry.

Penny turned back to the camera.

“I got it at 7-Eleven,” she added. “In Akihabara. I recommend it.”

Penny then gave a thumbs-up and Eve stopped the recording.

“That was amazing!” Eve said excitedly as she checked the framing of the video on her phone. “With the anime on the TV and everything, this could get like a hundred views. I’ll upload it now.”

Penny couldn’t help but feel caught up in Eve’s excitement and smiled at her. She then sat back in the chair to resume channel surfing.

More and more anime popped up onscreen, though Penny noticed the shows were also becoming slightly more risqué as the night wore on, which she might not have had a problem with if her mother wasn’t half-watching with her.

Penny cycled back around to a news channel – just as the reporter talked over a man being led out of a hoarder’s nest in handcuffs – and placed the remote onto the coffee table.

“I’m going to try to sleep,” she announced.

“Good luck, sweetie,” her mother said without looking at her.

Penny got dressed in her hooded Rilakkuma pajamas and Eve slipped into her pale blue nightgown. They took turns brushing their teeth and then got into the left bed in the bedroom.

They kept the bedroom door open so that the light from the living room spilled in. The sounds of a language they didn’t fully understand drifted in as well, and trying to focus on the words helped Penny to clear her mind and gradually fall asleep.

#Warm Blood #Girls Mode #web novel

7 notes · View notes

dragongutsixofficial · 2 months

Note

Me again!!!!

What do you think of a roleswap AU with Edeleth? Byleth, being the emperor/empress who was tortured and has big plans that would tear Fodlan apart, and Edelgard, an emotionless mercenary who travels with Jeralt (or her actual father if you wanna go that far LOL).

I'm thinking of writing it! I just need to plan it out LOL

Mmmmh it sounds really interesting !^^ What do you envision yourself ? Would Byleth be the daughter of Ionius then ?

I think the way I see it, and that's just because I think there's a lot of potential regarding Byleth's struggle with their identity and how that can appeal to darker, more desperate aspects of Rhea, is that instead of having them be the future Emperor of Adrestia, Jeralt would have failed to run away from Rhea with them. Maybe she would have even pulled a reverse Uno on him and make him think his baby was dead when she discovered his plans to set the monastery on fire to make an escape. That would, in turn, leave her to mold the future reincarnation of the Goddess according to her wishes.

Now, Rhea is morally grey, but I don't see her physically torturing a child just like that, especially with how much she cared about Sitri (although very, very misguidedly. Keeping someone's cadaver in your basement is not a sign of a healthy bond). That being said, the depths of her longing for her mother might lead her to progressively start denying Byleth their individuality and freedom, which is its own kind of psychological torture in itself. Byleth pushing back, in turn, might lead her to more abuse to assert her dominance and narrative over them.

Eventually, like a lot of abused kids, Byleth would learn to play the long game. They would become an actor, and hide their true feelings. They would struggle with spontaneity in particular, because everything would be a careful calculation not to let anyone see through them. They would appear subdued and content with their fate and Rhea's guardianship, but they would just be buying their time and planning their escape- and downfall of the Church.

Jeralt, meanwhile, devastated by the loss of his child, would have still left the Knights of Seiros. As to how he would've met Edelgard, I'm not quite sure ! Maybe Ionius would've tried a last-ditch attempt at having his children escape from TWSTID instead of being the disagreeable, incapable pussy he actually is. Edelgard would be fucking traumatized because who wouldn't. But Jeralt would feel a sense of duty and attachment to this child after failing his first kiddo and raise her as his own- though it's never clear whether she reciprocates his filial affection.

The rest of the story would go on as it does in Hopes- Byleth would convince Rhea to let them learn how to fight at the Academy, and hire some bandits to scare off/kill off Claude and Dimitri: Jeralt's mercenaries would save the day, and Edelgard's scars and Crest would catch Rhea's attention. She would probably suspect that she's a victim of TWSTID, and maybe even who she truly is- and appoint her as the teacher in Byleth's class.

As to how TWSTID would tie into all this, I'm not quite sure. Though Byleth could reach out to them, they wouldn't have their hand forced like Edelgard did when she accepted their help, and TWSTID would probably just want to kill them to death or kidnap them for some more twisted experiments. Not to mention Byleth cares so much, they probably wouldn't see the appeal of getting them on their side without being coerced into it. So, I dunno !^^

#edelgard von hresvelg #byleth eisner #edeleth #fe3h #tw mentions of abuse #tw child abuse #tw helicopter parenting

3 notes · View notes

ekebolou · 4 months

Text

A Haunting, pt 2

A bit longer: ~3,300 words

A week later, Dominicus had returned to his still-cramped but at least wind-tight dormitory room, thrown his bag into his chair, thrown his boots – after the necessary careful shimmying required by their being almost too small – off his feet, and thrown himself onto his bed, hands behind his head.

Bivouac was over – had been for a few days – and after the initial shock of being dragged back into the ‘civilization’ of the Academy, Dominicus found himself still very tightly wound.

Of course, most of the other cadets would say he was always tightly wound, but they had all the perceptiveness of a bucket of cabbages. He was not tightly wound – he was very angry. There were hundreds of reasons for him to be angry. He could not possibly list them all. They ranged from the very small, very justified anger that they only let the Midraeic cooks make parts of the mess hall’s offerings and thus he hadn’t had a good, full meal in ages, to the basic premises of Ainjir society, which were, at heart, stupid. Or maybe he should switch those around. A good dish of lupa could possibly solve everything. Tea. Flatbread (with garlic, but the amount his mother used only). Almond cakes. Fine sugar. More bread.

But then he got sad and angry, so maybe not.

He was mad at Cole, obviously, but that was not surprising in itself. It had been at least two weeks since he had seen Cole anything but distantly, but rather than the time away making him less angry, he seemed to have only gotten more angry, and also to have forgotten entirely why they were fighting in the first place (other than the obvious – Cole’s poorly-hidden determination to be First among cadets, which was also Dominicus’ goal, though for much better and more realistic reasons).

He spent some minutes staring doggedly at the wooden ceiling and not seeing it. He was trying very hard to figure out why he was so mad at Cole while simultaneously trying very hard not to remember that Ghent had, in his infinite and insufferable wisdom, told him exactly why he was so mad.

Dominicus was not a good a liar, even to himself, so it was a running battle to see if he churn up enough wild frustration and offense at Cole (of which there was always plenty) to keep the words ‘you need to get laid,’ from echoing through the thunderous emptiness of his head.

He wished he could temporarily rip his own eyeballs out and fling them across the room, so he was keeping his hands under his head and holding very still, to stifle the desire to experiment.

The sheer pressure of the air in the room should have made swirls like smoke around the door when Taig walked in, his face instantaneously struck with regret. Regret that he had walked in? Regret that he lived there? Regret that he lived at all?

He met Dominicus’ gaze, though, and persisted.

“So, what are you up to?”

Dominicus pictured old Ghent, his horrible face red with laughter as he bent over his knees and wheezed, ‘not fucking.’

“Nothing,” Dominicus said, and because Taig reacted to this gentle phrase as if he had hurled a stone out of his mouth, he tried to casually swing himself around to sit up.

When he looked again, Taig had retreated a pace or two further behind the door. Like it was a shield.

“What?” Dominicus said. Fuck it, that wasn’t casual – he wasn’t good at being casual – but he also wasn’t angry at Taig (God, why not? He should be! Thanks to Taig their tent smelled rancid enough the ollamh had forced them to burn it, leaving them sleeping with no shelter the last few days of bivouac), so it was worth trying to tone it down a bit.

“Well, uhhhhh….” Taig replied and then paused, and Dominicus did start to get angry at him.

“Well, uh… well, you know the, um…” Taig fidgeted, “you know that whole, like, campfire story thing at bivvy and all and, uh…” He had tried to laugh as if much more relaxed than he was, which even Dominicus could tell was not all.

“That dumbfuck basement ghost story?”

“I mean, was it a ghost?” Taig responded, narrowing his eyes and nodding, “You didn’t seem so sure then…”

Because, at the time, Dominicus was trying not to expel from the world of the living one of the few tolerable tentmates he had ever had for being ambulatory filth, like an orphaned kitten before it learned to clean itself. Because Taig, like an idiot, had managed to scare himself enough to stay up half the night, as did many of the other First Years, like several idiots, guaranteeing a miserable day of fatigue, contempt from their superiors, and complaining. Because Taig was at least smart enough not to totally swallow Dominicus’ flat out lie that there was no basement in the place the Second Years had set the story, that, in order to get Taig to shut up and go to sleep, he had to spend some time asserting he had seen cheese wheels being hauled in and out of said area (despite cadets not being allowed anywhere near it) and cheese couldn’t realistically be haunted, now, could it?

“It’s a prank,” Dominicus replied flatly, “not a ghost.”

“Yes, well, but,” Taig paused, having gained enough of his confidence back to hold a finger up and stride out from behind the door. “But what if it was?”

“What if it was what?”

“A ghost?”

“It’s not a ghost.”

“So some other kind of spirit?”

“What kind of spirit,” Dominicus asked, absent of all desire to know.

Taig narrowed his eyes, mouth open a moment before speaking. “There are… other kinds?”

Dominicus sighed heavily. “There’s not a…” and then he finally got enough of a lid on his anger (or frustration at sexual frustration) to be suspicious. “Why are you talking about this?”

“Well, it’s a point of interest, just, you know, it’s an interesting–”

Dominicus shut his eyes. “Why are you talking about this to me?”

When he opened his eyes Taig was looking at him somewhat doubtfully, but also, somewhat hopefully. “Do you think you could, y’know… investigate?”

“Investigate?”

“Yeah…” Taig began, but on seeing Dominicus open his mouth (to angrily tell him to do his own damn homework) he went on, “Not alone, of course, you know, that would be silly, I mean – would you be willing to maybe investigate… with me?”

“What.” Dominicus said, enunciating the full stop.

“…With us?” Taig replied. Suddenly, there were three more Ainjir sidling out from behind the door, poking their heads around so they could join Taig in staring at Dominicus with their tea-saucer eyes caught in various stages of hope, credulity, and fear.

“What the fuck,” Dominicus said.

“What’s this?”

The cover-side and pages of the book Dominicus was reading flipped up, nearly hitting him in the face. He had been leaning, chin-on-fist, quite heavily over them as he read the opposite side.

He snapped up to glare only to see Cole stroll around the edge of the table and throw himself into the chair on the opposite side, grinning. He was playing with a ball – a peach? A plum – moving it senselessly between his hands before his chest, and he leaned back in the little wooden chair like it was the most comfortable he had ever sat in, ten feet of cat in a two-inch cradle.

Dominicus was very aware he wasn’t mad at Cole, per se, in this moment. But Cole was still irritating.

“What do you want?” Dominicus snapped.

“To see you,” Cole replied, grin widening ever so slightly.

Dominicus frowned at him, refusing to watch the plum as he gave it a little toss, from hand to hand. “Did Taig tell you I was here?”

“You’re always here,” Cole said. He caught the plum as he sat up, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table, one finger of the hand with the plum-filled palm touching just the edge of the pages of Dominicus’ book. “And I don’t talk to Taig.”

Fuck – he caught Dominicus staring at the plum in his hand. When Dominicus looked up into his eyes, Cole smiled.

Cole was of the astonishing opinion that they didn’t have to like each other to have sex, but of course, Cole was an especially degenerate Ainjir even when amongst a flock of degenerate Ainjir. They had been fighting – technically, they were always fighting – but this rapprochement Cole kept doing… it was something.

What?

Something. A scheme? For what? God knew this didn’t benefit them at all. Well… not, like, professionally. And personally, they found each other frustrating. Dominicus knew that Cole often felt as frustrated as he did because that perfect little wall of a face would slip or he would say or do something that wasn’t entirely in keeping with his idiot persona put on for his idiot friends and then retreat for days to nurse whatever secret ego-wound this slip had caused him.

But then he would come back.

Choosing to come back to Dominicus rather than just… well, just… well, anyone could do that. Would, probably. He was fucking… popular. But it wasn’t… like it wasn’t… great.

Well, it was. That wasn’t why Dominicus was doing it. Well… but… fuck.

Dominicus didn’t know what he was doing, constantly hoping Cole would be coming back.

The grin dropped, and Cole looked down at the book, which Dominicus resisted the urge to instantly shut. “What’s your low-forties friend got you doing for him now?”

Low forties was quite a good rank in a class of a more than a hundred, but, of course, not good enough for Cole. Unless it was just for sex. One of his less appealing features, and one which Dominicus suspected was a bad habit left over from last quarter more than his real opinion. Or maybe Dominicus wanted to think of it that way.

He grunted as a thought struck him, flipped the around and pushed it before Cole.

Cole read the title and laughed. “Ghost stories?”

“Yes,” Dominicus said.

Cole glanced at him, but one thing Dominicus knew was that it was better to wait for your enemy to make a fool of himself than do anything to prove yourself a fool first.

“Why are you reading ghost stories?” Cole asked, in a decidedly less I-know-you’re-looking-at-me fashion.

Dominicus was tempted to stay silent for longer, to see if Cole would start trying to work out how ghost stories might give him an advantage in their next intellectual bout, but he didn’t really have time for that.

“Taig said there is a ghost.”

“Taig has probably said bivouac food isn’t that bad,” Cole replied, but he was looking at the book, flipping it open with his free hand while the other dandled the plum. “Why is Taig talking to you about ghosts?” – and turning a page – “Do you even believe in ghosts?”

“Do you?” Dominicus asked.

Cole snorted. “As much a figment as gods.”

Cole wasn’t even looking up, so he couldn’t see Dominicus’ sharp frown, but Dominicus wiped it away, anyway. It was utterly foolish to think they would do anything but fuck and fight. Fighting would probably be how it would end up either way. But this was also precisely the weakness Dominicus had been hoping to exploit.

He had worked out that Cole knew a lot more about gods – about Ainjir’s old ways in general, most likely – than he liked to let on. Feigning ignorance was never Cole’s favourite tactic, and when he did it, he did it to get something. Of this, as far as Dominicus could tell, he feigned ignorance about all the time. He slipped, of course, but his friends were fools, and if those fools had noticed, they at least weren’t so stupid that they would go against him, so Dominicus didn’t think that anybody else actually paid attention to it.

Most cadets were fools. As he resisted the urge to watch the plum, he noticed he was kind of a fool.

Whatever. Humility wasn’t Cole’s best skill, so he sometimes forgot to pretend like he knew nothing Ainjir’s old ways. So he was vulnerable.

“Taig and some others apparently went in the cellar beneath the Tower,” Dominicus said, “and now they are frightened.”

Cole snorted again, but looked up without raising his head, an absolutely devastating perspective to have on his face. “That old saw – but good on them for getting in, I guess.” Then he raised his head. “What’s it got to do with you?”

“They want me to do something about it.”

“What?” Now, Cole actually sat up, pushing the book aside and pulling the chair closer. “What do you mean?”

Dominicus shrugged, very naturally forming a frown because it was equally mysterious to him. “I don’t know. We were told the story at bivouac. They went to test the story. It is now tested, and they think they are…” he really wasn’t sure of the Ainjir word…

“Haunted” Cole offered. “Cursed?”

Dominicus shrugged again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what they want.”

He gestured to the book – obviously, not pleasure reading (so it was better than tomes about logistics, that didn’t make it for-fun reading).

Cole absently brought the plum to his cheek, rubbing against it for a second. It was terrible. Suddenly, he smiled. It was also terrible.

“What?” Dominicus demanded.

“I know what they want.” He leaned back in his chair again.

“What.” Dominicus said, leaning forward and hating that he sounded so stupid saying ‘what, what, what’ all the time. Hating the Ainjir language for making ‘what, what, what’ sound so stupid in the first place. Hating the table between them. Hating the plum. Jealous of the plum.

“You, my friend,” Cole said, even though they were not friends, “are Midraeic.”

“I am aware,” Dominicus said, absolutely hating that he liked looking at Cole so much, on account of Cole’s tragic stupidity.

“Oh, come on,” Cole said, scooting closer over the table, just as Dominicus had. “They don’t know anything about this stuff – about spirits and ghosts and curses and things. Those are for,” he raised his chin and grinned at Dominicus, “believers.”

“What,” Dominicus said, again, with more direct hatred of all of the above.

Cole laughed, and Dominicus felt a thrill as he was torn between enjoying the sound, wanting to strangle him, and wanting to tell him not to make so much noise in the library (which could be solved with strangling). Then Cole leaned forward again over the book on the table, resting his chin in the hand that held the plum so it rested against his cheek, this time not absently at all.

“They want you to go down there and pray or something – do a ceremony of appeasement, or some kind of ritual, call on your god or your Prophet to save them. They don’t have anyone to call on – they don’t think gods are real; they don’t know anything about them.”

Dominicus only let himself get a little distracted by the idea of Cole biting into the plum – he wouldn’t do it in the library, or if he did, Dominicus would stop him. No eating in the library.

Maybe eating other places.

“…What is a Midraeic prayer supposed to do about an Ainjir god?”

“Oh, it’s not a god,” Cole said lifting and letting the pages of the book rifle back down against the edge of his thumb.

“So, what is it?”

“It’s a cave,” Cole said. “Surely that’s how the story starts – with the old basalt caverns under the Tower’s foundations, the first Academy building and all that. They didn’t even start the tower until after, I think, Founderhall had been built for like twenty years…”

“You haven’t heard the story?” Dominicus asked, brows furrowing in spite of himself.

Cole smiled at him – he did delight in being asked to make himself sound superior. “No. They tried to scare us with other things than ghosts. But I know it – it’s a tradition.”

The OTHER thing Cole didn’t like admitting was that he knew a lot of the Academy’s history because he had been born in the Capitol. Having seen how the other cadets born in the Capitol were treated, Doninicus understood that one. But that meant he had to get Cole back on target or there would be some kind of stupid, face-saving exercise to be handled.

“A tradition for what? To scare the Second Year with… a cave?”

“No, it’s to get them in trouble, of course, and it pays off every time, because even if they do make it down without getting them in trouble, like your little friends, then they’ll get scared shitless, and do something stupid about it.” Cole turned his chair so he sat facing out, towards the library shelves, and crossed his ankle over his knee, but he was still touching the plum against his cheek, handling it so softly his hand hardly moved, so he was still caught up in thinking.

“They did not have Midraeics to ask before me,” Dominicus pointed out. “How is that supposed to work?”

“Yeah, so it must be something else,” Cole agreed. “I would suspect it would be something to get them back down there – you know, double the chances of a beating.” He glanced over the plum to look at Dominicus again. “Did they say how they were cursed?”

“They said they had been touched.”

Cole’s grin broke free again, but he said nothing.

“What?” Fuck you, Ainjir language.

Cole scooted forward over the table again, holding the plum out between them, looking at Dominicus over it with half-lidded eyes and twisting it back and forth in the library’s light. “They were touched – so they have to touch back.”

Dominicus was physically uncomfortable for obvious and potentially enjoyable reasons. “Touch… the cellar?”

“No,” Cole chuckled, and folded his forearms, still leaning forward over the table. He had looked away when he laughed. It, for one, meant that Cole wasn’t laughing at him; and, two, Dominicus, close as they were, got a nice look at his neck, under his collar.

“It means,” Cole said, smiling benignly at him again, “that they have to find whatever dead thing they think touched them, and touch it back. It’s bad luck to see a corpse and not touch it.”

Dominicus, though he wanted desperately not to look like he was anything but the utterly focused master of this conversation, felt his mouth open a little, and hang there. “We… would have to touch so many corpses?”

Cole did the whole gentle laughing thing again, only looking up, which was just as nice. “Battle is different.”

“What?” Dominicus asked. “Why?”

“Well, for one,” Cole replied, “it’s not in a cave. Not usually,” he said, seeing that Dominicus was about to tell him about a battle in a cave (skirmish, anyway, since it was a small cave). “Caves are places of spirit – they’re always prone to being strange. They touch the underworld, if deep enough, and catch and hold things – running water, sound, air, and spirits. Can’t open a window in a cave.”

That last was utterly nonsensical to Dominicus, but he didn’t bring it up. Cole smiled. They were both leaning slightly across the table (Cole was leaning more). For a moment, they said nothing.

That was really all the information he needed.

Dominicus grabbed the plum as he stood up, and, grinning, Cole followed him out.

#kostas stuff #things that i wrote

5 notes · View notes