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a-detraque-barista · 3 years

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Bread and Blood

Yandere Vampire Jimin x Reader

Genre: Yandere, Horror, Angst

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: blood, abuse, anxiety, insecurity, yandere themes, mentions of religion, reader getting ignored??

A/N: Hello hello everyone~ this took me s o long cause it’s the longest fic I’ve ever written but I hope you enjoy~ @strwbrry-lia

(I created the aesthetic myself 😊)

“Now now, Blood Bag. No need to get emotional over someone like him” whispered the blood-sucking monster that stood in front of you. Blood Bag. That was the ‘cute’ nickname he had come up with for you. The man in front of you wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The same hand that he put on your shoulder to make you look at him. “Why don’t you stop crying over that good-for-nothing for one second, and tell me what you were doing.”

Even though he used the word ‘why’, it was not a question. It was a command. Living with him for five months has taught you what different tones of voice he had. It was a wide range and some blurred with others making you tread lightly at those times. But right now, you knew you needed to respond correctly.

“I was just going to pack my things and bring them back home,” you choked through your tears as you tried your best to sound convincing.

“Tsk tsk, blood bag. We’ve talked about lying and that it’s bad. Haven’t we?” his grip on your shoulders became tighter as his red orbs stared into yours.

When you didn’t respond he repeated his question, “Haven’t we, blood bag?” His hand that was still covered in blood trailed the slope of your neck and wrapped his fingers to where you were struggling to breathe.

You quickly nodded. His fingers eased but did not leave the scarred and bruised skin. His eyes landed on the bite marks he’s left and couldn’t help the shiver slither up his spine. You were doing things to him that no one else could. Ever since he found you broken and beaten in this very building, his infatuation for you has only grown. How this happened, you have no clue. From the first time he bit you, you’ve been trying to leave his clutches. But you have no home, the only friend you had is now lying on the floor dead, and your family hates you. However, finding a place to stay wasn’t the only difficult part. The undead, blood-sucker wouldn’t let you leave.

“You always seem to be up in the clouds. Tell me, blood bag, what are you thinking about?” he spoke in his usual sickly sweet tone, masking the beast that was hiding.

“Thinking about how I got here,” you confessed and finally noticed you were back in the living room you’ve had to sit in for so many months.

“Well, that’s easy,” he stepped impossibly closer with his hands now cupping your face. “I saved you.”

⠽ ⡰⠑ ⠍⡠⠑

Tonight was no ordinary night. Tonight was Halloween. One of the most liked holidays. When kids go trick or treating and teenagers along with adults get drunk. Frights and screams are all around except for your little apartment at the edge of town. Your apartment was cold and dreary as you sat curled in your favorite corner. You were waiting impatiently for the inevitable beating that was coming for you. The knocks at your door went ignored as you cowered behind your bed.

An hour of waiting ended in a thunderous pounding at your door. Covering your ears did nothing to drown out the loud banging. Suddenly, in the middle of your panic-filled mind, you think of the fire escape outside of your bathroom window. You just had to get your legs to work before you could carry out your scattered plan.

Using the bed to help you up, you slowly and shakily make your way to your bathroom. You groaned internally as you realized this was the window your landlord had warned you about. It was the one that got stuck and needed force with special angling. You’ve never opened this window so you had no idea how to open it. Your fear overcame your pessimism making you try your best to get the window open.

After time and time again, you couldn’t open the damn thing. Stepping back and taking a deep breath, you tried to calm down. You heard the door bust open making your head snap to the bathroom door that was still ajar. Quickly closing and locking it, you tried prying open the window again.

Someone was looking out for you up there because the window had finally budged, allowing you to crawl out and onto the rusted fire escape. You shut the window closed just in time as you saw your father burst through that door. Flipping him off, you climbed down quickly and into the alleyway. You began to run as fast as you could, already knowing your father was only now exiting the front door of the building.

You ran and ran. Even as your lungs began to burn and your legs aching, you kept running. The bruises and cuts on your face and stomach hurt more than anything at that point. You knew you couldn’t stop until you found somewhere he wouldn’t find you. Where no one would find you.

Then, the old abandoned warehouse where thirteen people mysteriously died came into view. Practically skidding to a stop, you were panting while contemplating if you should go in. Convincing yourself it would only be for the night, you squeeze through the wood that blocked the main door.

The air was no colder than your apartment so the clothes you had on were more than enough. You sat down on the floor next to the door that read ‘office’. The letters were faded and there were small bits of them missing. If you remembered correctly, this factory was almost seventy-five years old. The broken windows and cracked foundation proved as support for your guess.

After catching your breath, you stood up to head into the office. Looking around to see if anything was interesting. As nothing popped out at you, making your way upstairs seemed to be a good idea. That was until you saw him.

The man wasn’t necessarily tall, but he was still taller than you. His back was turned towards you but you could see the terror on the girl’s face that noticed you. Tears were rushing down her features as she winced in pain. Her voice was lost when she tried calling to you for help. Her face paled and her eyes rolled back. The woman’s body dropped to the floor and the man inhaled deeply. You heard the hitch in his breath and you backed away as slowly as you could manage. Unfortunately, glass crunched beneath the heel of your shoe. Without thinking for too long, you turned around and sprinted back down the stairs.

“Fuck no, not doing that shit,” you mumbled to yourself as you tried to exit the factory as fast as you could.

You felt a hand grab the back of your hoodie causing you to fall onto your back with a grunt. Turning over to your side to ease some of the pain in your back, you see a pair of shiny black dress shoes stand in front of you. With the tip of his foot, he pushed onto your shoulder so he could see your face better. His head tilted to the side, causing his hair to show more of his eyes that were glowing. The crimson color almost distracted you from the rest of his face.

His jawline was sharp and tilted up slightly as if he was looking down at you in a more demeaning way. His full lips that were covered in drying blood tugged into a smirk. He hummed as if thinking about what to do next. He planted his foot back down on the concrete floor before crouching down. You had to admit, the murderous man was even more handsome up close but you sadly couldn’t focus on him right now.

Your head began to feel light and fuzzy the more you looked at the man. Closing your eyes maybe wasn’t the best idea, but your head was suddenly submerged in pain. You moved the hand that was gripping the opposite shoulder to your head. It did nothing to take away the pain but there’s not much you could do as a killer stood above you, planning to do who knows what.

“Don’t worry, blood bag. I’m not gonna do anything to you...yet,” you heard his honey-like voice before feeling him wrap his arms around you. “My name’s Jimin, and you’re going to love your new hell.”

⤐ ⤐ ⤐ ⤐

Five months later and you were in, just as he said, hell. You have scars from his fangs all over, fatigue from blood loss, and an appalling adoration for the man who has brought you to his home. What he called home, you called hell. Not only were you used as livestock, but you were tormented by the fact you had fallen for your shepherd.

You hated calling him by his name because you thought it fit him so well and rolled off your tongue like it was meant to. So you called him anything but his name.

He was still locked up in his room like always and you’ve already ventured the enormous house, there was practically nothing to do. You’ve been staring at the wall so often you can no longer sit on the couch, where you’re certain has an ass print from you. Nothing in this mansion intrigued you anymore. Should you maybe...leave the house? You’ve never attempted to leave since you figured he would punish you for it. But how would he know if he’s always in his room or workspace?

You got up from your bed to look into the closet of wonders you’ve never bothered looking through. You just see a comfy set of clothes and go with that since you don’t do anything. Luckily, you found an outfit that matched your style. You didn’t have any money so it would just be a walk around the town, and getting to know exactly which town you were in.

It was a lot easier leaving than you thought was possible with a vampire living there. The house was on an isolated street but you saw old and rusted signs pointing towards the town. It was maybe a twenty-minute walk with you humming and slightly tripping over nothing. It was nice to finally get out of that suffocating house and go for a walk. The air was brisk and made your lungs feel like they were fully inflating.

Once you got to the main road of the city, many people were seen walking. Either by themselves or with children. The day was nice but it seemed there was an event going on. Crowds weren’t your thing so you decided to keep exploring the quaint town.

Walking by bakeries, craft stores, and many other family-owned shops. It was all different to you, having lived in bigger cities your whole life. You were walking by the only bookstore you’ve seen so far and decided to go in. It smelled of old paper and incense. Tall aisles were filled with any genre you could think of and more. You couldn’t remember the last time you were in a bookstore.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” a deep voice broke you from your thoughts as you turned towards the man it came from.

“Oh, no, just looking. Thank you though,” you smile slightly before continuing your way to the back where the sign read ‘Folklore’.

“Well, it’s just that I’ve never seen you around town before. You just move here?” he followed you while asking his question.

“Yeah,” you didn’t feel like talking at this point.

“I figured. Well if you need someone to show you around I’d be more than happy to-”

“Yeong-Jun, go bother somebody else. She’s obviously not interested,” another voice interested the man that was pestering you.

The guy next to you huffed before leaving the store and you looked to see who had said that. He was behind the counter where a register and binders sat.

“I’m sorry about him, he does that all the time,” he smiled gently at you before going back to the small paperback in his hand.

You went back to scanning the spines of the books that sat in front of you, but your eyes kept glancing at the nice man who helped you out. You couldn’t help but think that maybe the two of you could be friends. He seemed nice and he obviously liked books, same as you. But what would you even say to him? Talking first was never your strong suit, or just making friends in general. You never knew what to say so maybe, it’d be best to just leave him alone.

At this point, you didn’t even know why you were taking so long in the store. It’s not like you could buy anything. Sighing, you headed towards the exit before the man at the counter’s voice stopped you.

“Didn’t find anything interesting?”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just that I don’t have the money for it.”

“Oh, well...How about you take one anyway?”

“I’m sorry?” you turned back to face him.

“You can take a book of your choosing. Think of it as me lending it to you. For free,” he said through a chuckle after seeing your expression.

“You sure?”

He nodded before motioning at all the rows of books. Swiftly, before he could change his mind, you made your way back to the Fantasy section and grabbed the one you had been eyeing almost the whole time.

You stopped at the counter, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, just bring it back when you’re done and you can borrow another one,” he smiled so wide it made his eyes turn into crescents.

You tried hiding your smile while nodding and exiting the store like a child who had just gotten candy. Books have been your only entertainment ever since he kidnapped you. There was no television to watch, no laptop, or a gaming system. The castle held no form of technology besides electricity for the lighting and sound systems. No matter where you were in the house, you could always hear music. It was beautiful yet sad performed by a group of woodwinds, brass, and many other instruments.

It’s good music to read to. You decided to head back to your hell. Wait...Why...Why would you go back if you were able to walk out the front door, be gone for almost an hour, and walked around town with no questions asked?

You turned around and headed to the church because that was the only place you could think of that would let you stay for free without worrying too much about a creep.

The last thing on your mind now was the thing that was holed up in his room, becoming hungry.

You slowly opened the door to the only church in town that was almost as big as the castle you came from. Not seeing anyone, you fully entered the building with the book in your hand. You tried to walk as quietly as you could but your shoes hitting the polished tiles caused echoing that bounced off the high ceiling walls.

“Hello? Is someone there?” a voice was heard coming from the side. You didn’t respond as you heard footsteps coming closer. “Oh, well hello there. What can I help you with?”

“I-I...I was wondering if I could, um, stay here for the night?” your social skills have suffered tremendously because of the anxiety your family has caused.

“Oh dear child, of course, you can. God’s house is always open to anyone,” he guides you to the other side of the building where he opened a door showing a long hallway.

As you walked down the large corridor, you noticed all the doors you passed by. Some were closed and some were opened. The opened ones revealed empty rooms with a bed and nightstand. You assumed the closed doors were occupied rooms.

“Many people stay here, all for their own reasons. We have a dining hall just around the corner, baths are just past that, and you are always welcome to join sermons,” he stopped in front of a room that was at the very end of the hall. “If you need anything, we have many sisters throughout the church that will be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” you slightly bowed before entering the room.

“Of course,” he closed the door and walked to a random spot in the corridor. He placed his hand on the wall while whispering a murmur in Latin. A door opened and he entered.

He descended the spiral case of marble stairs before coming to another door. This door had carvings of so many symbols, you couldn’t count. He touched a particular one causing the door to creak open.

“You all felt it as I did,” he spoke loudly before he sat down in his designated chair.

“You wouldn’t be able to,” another pastor said sarcastically.

“Will he come?” asked a nun.

“I do not know,” sighed the pastor who showed you to your room.

“Will you protect the girl, Claude?” asked a woman who sat in the middle of the table.

“Yes.”

✨

You had fallen asleep almost seven hours ago, according to the clock that hung on the wall opposite of the bed you laid in. That was the most sleep you have gotten in about two years. Insomnia was a bitch you knew all too well. Being able to sleep for so long made you full of this energy you haven’t experienced in so long. A knock was heard at your door before a nun poked her head in.

“It’s time for supper,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” she closed the door after slightly nodding to your response.

You sighed before looking out of the window that was close to the ceiling. You slept and found a place to stay but now what? You couldn’t live here so close to him. Yes, you loved him but it was unrequited and you knew it. It’s not like you could help it. In the little time you’ve spent with him, that didn’t involve your blood, he was kind and his smile gave you a serotonin boost. The way he was gentle with the plants he had and how he disagreed with the disgusting morals of characters from a different era. All of these things made you grow feelings for the undead immortal. Maybe it was because you’ve never encountered such a personality. But who knew?

You climbed out of the bed and headed to the dining hall with the book in your hand. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a meal that wasn’t frozen or from a restaurant. You never felt like cooking even though you knew how, you just never felt like it.

The volunteers were kind as they offered you everything they had. Sticking with only the bread and stew they made, you sat down at an empty table while beginning to read the book you picked out from the store. The front and spine read Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by April Genevieve Tucholke.

Someone had sat next to you making you look at them in the corner of your eye. It was the priest from yesterday. He had a plate of his own filled with stew, bread, and rice.

“I hope I am not disturbing you,” he motioned towards the open book in front of you.

“Oh, uh, no. It’s fine,” you nodded making him smile softly.

“What brings you here?” he asked while respectfully eating his bread.

You had to think carefully about what you wanted to say. You couldn’t just tell him that a vampire had kidnapped you, but didn’t care enough to keep an eye on you.

“I ran away from home.”

“Why is that my child?”

“My father- he uh…he would hit me...a lot, so one day I ran away,” it wasn’t a complete lie. That is what had happened at the beginning of all of this. However, your town was most likely miles and miles away.

“I am sorry, my child. Do you still, um, have bruises or anything?” he was hesitant in the way he spoke hoping he wouldn’t upset you.

You nodded causing him to sigh. Some people were truly out of God’s reach and your father needed to be punished for abusing as he had.

“Where are you from?” he asked looking back at you.

“Seoul.”

“Seoul? My, that’s ways away from here. How did you get to Busan?” he was shocked by how far you have traveled and was curious how you managed to get down here. Of course, he knew how you got there but he wanted to know if you trust him or not. By how long it took you to answer, it was obvious you didn’t trust easily.

“Many many buses,” you lied through your teeth, to a priest no less. Good thing you lost faith a long long time ago.

“I see,” bells rang in the distance signifying everyone that supper time was over and it was time to either go to your room or do chores. “We’ll get you started on chores tomorrow, okay?”

You nodded once again before standing up and taking care of your tray before heading back to your temporary room. Started on chores?? How long does he think you’re staying here? Now that you know what city you’re in, it will be much easier to get back to Seoul. You just had to find a way to get back and then figure out where you were going to stay. Your mind went to the book in your hand

You laid down so the growing headache could maybe stop from spreading from your frontal lobe to the cortex. Setting your book on the table beside you, sleep was your best choice at the moment.

Candy apple eyes stared down at the pathetic looking ‘House of God’. The eyes held hatred and disgust for the building and the oh so holy salvation that occupied it. The man’s features turned sour thinking about all the bothersome puppets that have tried to kill him, more often than not.

He wasn’t here for them, no-no. He was here for you of course. At first, he didn’t even realize you had escaped. Your scent was covering every inch of his mansion so it took maybe a whole day before he realized you were gone. The vampire was in his office so he wouldn’t bite you so much. Whenever he drank your delicious blood, he felt it course through his veins, he felt the warmth he once did when he was alive, he felt. And that terrified him. He was scared of the feeling, but he didn’t want to lose it. So he spent hours and hours researching from the very scripts his ancestors and others wrote, trying to find a way to keep you forever.

Now he’s sitting there thinking, how fucking stupid could he have been to let you leave like that. All the doors had normal locks so it wouldn’t take much brainpower to figure them out. If he didn’t get you back before another creature claimed you, it would be over. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. Because you were different. He knew that. Your smell, your taste, and your personality. All of it was so entrancing and he let it slip away just like that. Maybe he was just being dramatic, but what vampire isn’t? Maybe it was a good thing you escaped. How else could he hunt for such scrumptious prey? He loved to hunt before he fed but that usually ended with his prey dying. This time, he was going to keep you. Not only for your blood but also for you. The sarcastic remarks you made had made him laugh, your smile made his unmoving heart skip, your eyes told a story that only you knew. Yeah, he wasn’t going to let you go.

The priest who had welcomed you had once again descended the marble stairs into the secret hideaway. Once the nun saw him approach she spoke loudly, “He’s already here and you’re playing tea party with the girl.”

“No need for malice, sister,” the priest sat down in his usual chair and placed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He knew he was here. Years of training his perception had been fruitful.

“I wouldn’t need to be malicious if you would just do your job!” her voice reverberated against the walls and back to them.

The woman sitting at the head of the table cleared her throat before addressing the nun who had gotten out of line, “Do not point fingers, let alone yell in the House of God, sister.”

The nun sat back in her seat while crossing her arms. She had never encountered a vampire before and she wasn’t trying to now. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling, she stiffened. She felt powerful energy that she wasn’t able to identify.

“Hello~” Jimin stood not too far away from the table but far enough to where no one could touch him before he could move. “Let’s negotiate.”

↬ ↬ ↬

It’s been a week since you’ve arrived at the church. You haven’t seen the pastor since that awkward dinner in the hall. Maybe he realized you couldn’t be helped and decided to move onto the next person. Who would help you right? You’re just a nobody who has parents that hate you. That’s normal...it’s all you’ve ever known. You sighed as you hung up the last piece of clothing on one of the lines. Not wanting to spend all day at the church again, you decided to take the book you finished back to the store. Hopefully, the nice employee was working today.

You went back to your temporary room to grab the book before you made your way to the exit of the building. On your way to the exit, it seemed like all the nuns and pastors you’ve passed we’re trying to distract you. First, a nun had asked for help with cleaning the rooftops, which sounded like a pointless job that would take all day. So you politely declined but when she insisted you told her you can help after you take the book back to the store. Then, a pastor had asked how you’ve been feeling and if you’re comfortable in your room. Saying yes to both and walking at the same time, you were able to get out of that conversation fairly quickly. And as you placed your hand on the door, two more nuns were asking you questions about you and where were going. Thankfully, another nun held their attention while you slipped through the crack in the doors.

You let out a sigh of relief and made your way to the bookstore. It felt nice to get out of there, at least for a little while. The weather seemed windy today and the clouds were slowly becoming a dark grey. Hopefully, a storm will come by. That’s always when you slept the best no matter where you slept. You were never able to sleep well, but on nights where you could hear thunder and see flashes of lightning, it lulled you to sleep, unlike any stories or songs.

Your mind suddenly went to him. Does he like storms? You stopped walking for a second, realizing your mistake. How could you think of him like that? Your cheeks get warm before you start walking again to try and forget about him and focus on getting another book.

Who cares if he likes storms? Certainly not you, he means nothing to you...do you mean nothing to him? You sighed as you weren't able to stop wondering about the handsome man that captured you months ago. It kind of made you sad that he hasn't come to find you yet. Your thoughts had you passing the bookstore before the employee from before calls out to you, “Hey!”

You snapped your head up and looked around before your eyes landed on the person who called out to you. Looking around again, you realized you had walked by the store without noticing. Your cheeks turned red before you made your back to the store where the worker waited for you with a smile.

“I think I have one you might like,” he motioned for you to follow him to the desk. He told you to set the book in your hands on the cart to the right and slid a different one on the desk.

It read Between the Spark and the Burn, the sequel to the book you had just returned. “I didn't see this the last time I was here,” you carefully picked up the book and held it in your hand by your side.

“I noticed the book you chose so I requested it from the next town over for when you finished the first one,” he sat down on the wooden stool that was rickety and old.

“Thank you,” you said quietly while keeping your gaze anywhere but him.

It’s been a while since someone did something nice for you. You're usually the one doing things for other people. You could see him smiling in the corner of your, making you realize that you were also smiling. Your cheeks were beginning to hurt so you decided to introduce yourself, “My name’s Y/n.” Hopefully, that was the right way to begin this conversation.

“Taehyung, a pleasure,” his smile grew before he covered it with his hand.

You nodded before reluctantly walking towards the door. Just as it closed behind you Taehyung was met with somebody standing next to him. He casually looked to see who it was only to find his best friend.

“Jimin~ it's been so long since you visited!” he stood up to give Jimin a hug and Jimin reciprocated. “What brings you here?”

“Turns out, you were just flirting with the girl I was talking about,” Jimin sighed as he straightened his posture to not look as short compared to his friend.

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot and pointed his thumb towards the door where you just exited. Jimin nodded before pinning him to the wall, “And you're gonna help me get her back.”

⤐ ⤐ ⤐

“Y/n!” your name echoed throughout the spacious corridor. You turned around to see the priest waving to you while jogging to catch up to you.

...you don't remember ever telling him your name. You began to panic so you quickly made your way outside and into the garden to hide behind the large rose bushes.

You heard him calling for you but stayed behind the bushes and went deeper into the rows and rows of red and white roses. You let out a sigh before sitting on the ground more comfortably.

“Blood bag, how come you haven't come home yet?”

Your whole body stiffened, but surprisingly relaxed. But now wasn't the time to question your muscles. You looked up to see the man who you thought you wouldn't have to see again.

“I've missed you, ya know,” he crouched down so his piercing eyes could be level with yours. It reminded you of the first time you met, back in the warehouse.

You remained quiet and averted your gaze to a wilting rose at the bush behind him. What were you supposed to say to him anyway? Did you miss him too? Of course, you did, he has given you more attention than anyone in your life. Up until you had spoken to Taehyung a couple of days ago.

“Blood Bag, it’s rude to ignore me,” he cupped your face with his hands decorated with silver rings.

“You ignored me for days at a time but that doesn’t matter, does it?” your anger got the best of you, making you regret even opening your mouth. You watched as his eyes widened slightly before he smirked.

“It does matter because I was doing something very important in that office.”

“Of course, what would be more important than using me as food whenever you felt like it.”

You saw his eyebrow twitch at your smartass comment. You didn’t know what had gotten over you at that time. You were usually the pushover but it seems that something about this vampire made you want to talk back. Maybe it was the smirk on his ethereal features or maybe it was just you trying to deny your feelings for him.

“I’m gonna let that slide since there’s something else I need to talk to you about,” you stood up before you had to hear any more of this unnecessary conversation. Before you were able to take a step, you were brought back to the ground. Your back hit the hard dirt making you wince. Jimin sat on your waist with each knee on either side of you. “You have recently met a very good friend of mine without even noticing what he was. I’m afraid he wants to take you as his. So I was nice enough to come here and warn you about him. But it seems you don’t want my protection…”

He trailed off waiting for you to start begging for him to help you but it never came. His smile fell and his eyebrows furrowed. Why were you not groveling? Were you not afraid? That’s not it, he can smell the delicious fear coming off of you.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m leaving by the end of next week,” you lied hoping he wouldn’t catch it.

Jimin stared at you for a second before getting off of you. But not before giving you a quick peck to the lips. Your face burned as you looked up at the grinning blood-sucker of a man. It most definitely gave Jimin an ego boost to see you so affected by his action.

“See you later, Blood Bag,” he waved before disappearing around the corner. What you didn’t see is that Jimin had to stop after turning the corner. He held his hand over the left side of his chest. It hurt. His chest was in pain. Like his heart was beating once again. The cold skin of his cheeks flushed while he felt like his lungs were actually working. If this was what it felt like just to kiss you, imagine what it would feel like to...Jimin had to stop himself. No need to let his mind go too far until you’ve fallen for him. And he was confident you would.

You finally willed your legs to get up and move to hurry to your room. You stopped when you passed an opening leading to the street in front of the church. You didn’t want to give Jimin or the priest time to find you again, so you made your way back to the bookstore.

When you got there you opened the door and your eyes instantly landed on Taehyung...and his bruised cheek above a busted lip. You stopped in your tracks making Taehyung look at you.

“Done with the book already?” a smile stretched across his face making him mumble ‘ow’.

“What happened to you?”

“Just a little friendly brawl.”

“In fifteen minutes?”

“Lots can happen in fifteen minutes.”

You shook your read to get your thoughts focused, “I came here to ask you if there was a bus or a train that left the town today.”

“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure the next train outta here isn’t for another two days,” Taehyung lied without hesitation. The next train left today in thirty minutes and wouldn’t be back until next week. He didn’t want another beating from Jimin.

“Oh, well thanks. I’ll have the book back by then,” you nodded before heading back to the church. What were you supposed to do for the next two days?

Once you made it back to the church you headed straight to your room to find the priest sitting in the wooden chair. He told you to have a seat on your bed after you closed the door.

He cleared his throat, “So you obviously seem uncomfortable around me and I apologize for whatever I have done to make you feel that way.”

Your eyes were on the book in your hand before you quietly replied, “I just never remembered telling you my name so I panicked. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I should’ve been more careful,” he saw your confused expression before continuing. “I am no ordinary priest. I am a...protector of sorts. I protect people from supernatural creatures of all kinds.”

Your eyes looked into his, and his were telling you he knew about the vampire that had kept in his home. Of course, he knew, this made you breathe out a laugh, “So you know about him.”

“I do.”

“You know, I was able to walk out the front door of his house like it was nothing,” Claude’s eyebrows raised in shock. You nodded, “He was so deeply in his work while in his office, I was able to walk out of there. But now he knows I’m here and I need to find a way out of here.”

“I can help with that. The train that transports out of town leaves in twenty minutes. I can get you there along with a ticket straight back home. If that is what you wish.”

It only took you a few seconds to register his offer and you quickly nodded and followed him out the door. All while leaving the book from Taehyung on the bed.

“What’s your name?” you asked while trying to keep up with the man that has been trying to help you for the past week and a half.

“Claude.”

He looked around the corridor before muttering the Latin mantra for the hidden door to open. Claude had to come back up a few stairs to grab your wrist to lead you down the stairs. You had unknowingly frozen in place after seeing the wall slide open to a set of stairs.

“Do all churches have a basement like this?”

“Not all, we’re one of the few that do.”

“So cool,” you whispered as you skimmed all the symbols and words that were engraved into the walls.

“There’s a tunnel that leads straight to the station. We don’t want you to miss the train, the next one won’t be here for another week,” Claude explained all while hurriedly walking down the tunnel.

You didn’t want to think about how Taehyung lied to you and how you didn’t realize that he was the friend Jimin was referring to. Just then, passed the room where you could see people sitting around a large dark wood table.

“Are we not going to talk about how you guys have a literal l a i r down here?”

“Nope.”

“Alrighty.”

Claude had led you up a flight of stairs that lead to the back of a building. You couldn’t tell what kind it was until the two of you walked up the side to the front. The large sign read Train Station. There were many benches set out but only two other people were waiting to get on the train. Claude had just realized he still had a grip on your hand but luckily you didn’t seem to mind as you read all the signs telling you the train’s schedule.

Claude paid for your ticket to Seoul before having you sit down on a bench close to the entrance gate. He looked around to make sure Jimin was nowhere in sight. Then he would glance back at you to make sure you were still there. The loud whistle of the train made it to your ears before you stood up and watched as it slowed to a stop.

“I have nowhere to stay up there,” you paused in front of the bench and started at the open door showing a few metal stairs.

“You do,” he brought a piece of paper from his pants pocket and gently set it in your hand. He nodded towards the train, motioning for you to get on before it leaves.

You thank him before boarding the locomotive and taking a seat in the designated section. Your seat was on the side of the station. Looking out to see Claude waving and smiling at you through the window. No one else was around him, nobody had gotten off and the few people that were waiting were already boarded. You waved back before your blood ran cold.

Claude’s neck was snapped right before your very eyes. His now lifeless body fell to the ground, in what felt like slow motion. The one person that had been helping you from the kindness of his heart, lied on the floor, dead.

Through your teary eyes, you saw it was Taehyung. His face showed no emotion, not even as he stared into your sorrowful eyes. As you went to stand, the train began to move and when you looked back to where Taehyung was standing, he was gone.

🩸🩸🩸

You rushed off of the train and hurriedly went to find whatever stood at the address Claude had given to you. Your head constantly went from side to side, causing a headache to form. But you didn't want the pounding of your brain against your skull to be the reason you were caught.

Finally, you ended up at the place where you met Jimin. The warehouse still appeared worn down and abandoned. Nothing had changed since you last saw it, except for the door. The door used to be blocked by wooden planks but now, it was a sleek and elegant carved piece of wood. There laid a door knocker that looked to be recently polished, in the shape of a cross.

You hesitated in reaching for the knocker and just as your fingers touched the cool metal, Taehyung interrupted. You spun around to see him even more beaten than the time before. When you went to knock again the door was gone, and the old wooden beams replaced them. You froze, that was going to be where Claude promised safety. Now you met with the thing that killed him. The thing you had considered your friend for only a short period of time.

“I didn't wanna hurt you like this, ya know. I really did want to be friends with you, and maybe even one day be more than that. Because you seem like a great person and-” he stopped talking once he noticed you had slipped through the wood and into the building. He sighed before following you in.

You wondered if there was even a point in trying to hide from him. He obviously wasn't human so he could track you down in seconds. Yet, you still went to hide in the room where you saw Jimin feeding on that stranger. And after months, her body was still there. Rotting and decaying. You gagged before exiting the room quickly.

Taehyung was right there, causing you to run into him. He held you close as you tried to pull away. He rolled his eyes as you struggled, irritated you wouldn't listen to his practiced speech all while running away. It was clear Jimin had no issue throwing punches towards his friend. Even though they were the same age physically, Jimin had been alive for much longer than he had.

You attempted to pull all your weight back as Taehyung dragged you down the stairs and to the entrance. Suddenly, you went flying back onto your ass as Taehyung’s grip left your arm. Your gaze landed on Jimin wrestling with Taehyung on the concrete floor. You looked around to find another door but there wasn't one that you could see. You didn't want to wander the building and get lost, but you also didn't want to wait for the two supernatural beings to be done with their fight.

You let out a shaky breath after realizing you're going to have to sneak past and get to the entrance. Your legs trembled as you slowly made your way around the two that were yelling at each other. Threats and fists, along with knees, we're thrown back and forth. When you got to the entrance you heard a sickening thud. It wasn't someone falling on the ground or one being thrown. No, the thud had an underlying crack to it. Turning around, you saw dark crimson ooze from Taehyung’s skull.

He was face down, making the sight easier for you to stomach. If you were able to see the look on his face and the emptiness of his eyes, you wouldn't be able to sleep again.

Jimin picked you up by your biceps, making sure you were as close to him as possible. He rested his forehead against yours. He bit his and leaned in for a kiss. Jimin kissed you over and over again until every inch of your face had met the touch of his pillowy lips. lip

“So tell me, Blood Bag, are you ready to spend an eternity with me?”

#park jimin #bts x reader #bts yandere #yandere bts x reader #yandere bts #kim taehyung #vampire #vampire jimin #jimin x reader #yandere male #yandere jimin x reader #yandere vampire #vampire jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts jimin #bts park jimin

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yelena-bellova · 3 years

Text

Fault Line: Prologue - Steve Rogers x F!Enhanced!Reader

Prologue - chapter one

Masterlist

Plot: Y/n’s life is a game of hide and seek and so far she’s beaten everybody. But her winning streak may not last as long as she’d hoped it would.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: OKAY. I have too many fics going at once but I got this idea and couldn’t let it go. I tried writing a Steve x Reader series a while back and it sucked quite frankly, so I spent a little more time developing this one. Steve doesn’t appear in this chapter but plenty of familiar faces do. Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (no beta reader because we die like men.)

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Bosnian winters were brutal. It got down to freezing temperatures, the pavement was iced over, you couldn’t go a day without being hit by a snowstorm…It was by no means remote but if you were hiding from something, not many people thought to look there. Which meant I was safe.

I casually strolled through the crowded Sarajevo marketplace, the only care in my mind being what I should eat for lunch. As soon as I stepped foot into the city, I knew I was on borrowed time. Not that it mattered, quick escapes were my forte. I spotted a falafel stand run by a middle aged man, one of the only stalls I hadn’t stopped at in the last few days.

“Jedan, molim,” I said, smiling sweetly at the vendor as I watched him make the dish. As he prepared to hand me the finished product, I faked innocence and rushed to dig through the empty pockets of my coat. The man handed me the food wrapped in paper and raised his eyebrows expectantly. I looked up from my coat pockets and tilted my head, “Izvini.” Before he could understand why I was apologizing, I was gone…Having vanished into thin air.

When I reappeared, I was no longer in the marketplace. I was outside the abandoned shack in the Bosnian forest I’d been calling home the last couple days. I was living a ways out from the country’s capital so the search for the disappearing woman remained unsuccessful. Triumphant in having scored lunch, I turned on my heels to head inside my temporary home.

I hadn’t expected the dozen armed soldiers with their guns aimed at me.

“You boys wanna come in for a drink?” I quipped in English, gesturing to the front door, “I’m not sure I have enough for everyone but I can pop out to the store and get some more.” “I’d stay here if I were you,” a shadowed figure said from the front porch, “It didn’t take us long to track you and it won’t be hard to do it again.” Americans. In Bosnia. Interesting…

“Mind telling me who the hell you are?” I called, squinting to try and make the voice’s body out.

A man came forward, stepping in between two of the soldiers who still had yet to lower their weapons. He pushed back the hood of his winter coat to show his face, “Agent Coulson, we’re with S.H.I.E.L.D. We’d like you to come with us.” I looked behind and around me, waiting for someone to make a move. “So I’m supposed to just go with a group of soldiers with their guns pointed at my head? Is it that simple, Agent Coulson?” “It can if you want it to be,” he replied, for as threatening as he should have been he wore a small smile on his face, “We’d like to talk to you.” “About?”

“About how someone like you has been jumping from Russia to Colombia without a plane. Or India to Canada. Or Jamaica to Scotland.”

I raised an eyebrow and casually took a bite of the stolen falafel I still held, “So you have been tracking me.” “Miss Y/l/n, it would seem that you’re highly gifted,” Agent Coulson continued, taking a step closer to me, “We’re here to help you, not to hurt you. I’d like to bring you back to headquarters to talk to you about your abilities.” I smirked as I chewed, “I’m not a mercenary that organizations like yours can just hire for an assassination.” “That’s not why we’re here. It’s not what you can do for us, it’s what we can do for you.” “Hmm,” I sarcastically smiled, “And what is it that I’m getting out of going with you?”

“A life where you don’t have to steal baklava for lunch.”

Having lived how I had for so long, I prided myself on my good instincts. There was good, there was bad and every once in a while there was a grey area. A combination of right and wrong that was subjective to each person’s perspective. As my eyes scanned over Agent Coulson, a professional yet non threatening presence, and the soldiers ready to kill me if I dared to fight back, I decided that I had just landed in a very grey area. If I didn’t go with them, I wasn’t sure what they’d do. If I did, I wasn’t sure what they’d ask of me.

Then again, I was a bit of a grey area myself.

I held up my food, “It’s a falafel.”

————

It had been a long time since I’d been back in the states longer than the five seconds it took to steal a bag of Cheetos from a convenience store.

Agent Coulson had deposited me in a stark white interrogation room and promptly left. After the twenty minute mark passed without anyone entering, disappearing and landing in Cairo began to sound more and more attractive. Just as I was seriously considering it, the locked door opened.

“Miss Y/l/n,” a dark skinned man greeted, “You’re a hard one to pin down.” “Really? Cause according to Agent Coulson, it was as easy as breathing for you guys,” I replied, tightening my crossed arms.

“It got easier once we developed the right tech,” he said, coming to sit in the the chair directly across me, “But apparently you’d never heard of us until today ergo you didn’t know we were tracking you which begs the question…Who were you running from?”

“Wow,” I chuckled, “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” “I don’t like to waste time.” I snorted before giving him a once over. He wore an eyepatch, all jet black clothing complete with a matching trench coat. He looked the part of Man In Charge perfectly. “If you’re gonna ask me for my life story, I’m gonna need to know a little bit about you too.” “All you need to know about me right now is that I’m a man who sees potential in you.” “Potential?” “Potential.”

“That’s not what people typically see in me,” I narrowed my eyes and shook my head.

“No, they see a thief, a cheat, and I’m willing to bet,” the man leaned forward and put his arms on the table that separated us, “Somebody sees you as a threat.” Oh, if only he knew…

“If you’re a government agency then you already have a file on me, meaning that there’s not going to be much I have to say that you don’t already know,” I spoke up, making sure to continue matching the guy’s intense eye contact.

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in concurrence before turning to the double sided glass window. It didn’t take more than five seconds before the door opened and Agent Coulson stepped through carrying a manila folder. He handed it to my questioner before disappearing through the doorway once again, I almost wished he would stay. He was the only person I knew at the moment.

“Looks like you’ve been all over,” the man observed as he flipped through the folder, “Gotten yourself into a lot of trouble and whenever someone catches you, poof! Like magic…”

I was excellent at hiding, but I knew when I was beat. As nice as leaving sounded, S.H.I.E.L.D knew too much about me for me to run.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, lowering my gaze to the table.

“Don’t know what?” “I don’t know who I’m running from,” I continued, “But they’re there. If I stay in one place for too long, someone breaks into whatever rusted shed I’m living in or ambushes me in the middle of a bazaar…Somebody wants me.” The man had stopped browsing my file and was intently watching me recount my story, “How long’ve you been on the run?” “Five years,” I explained, suddenly not comfortable with meeting him eye to eye “I was fifteen, woke up in God knows where with no memory of how I got there. While I was wandering around trying to figure out where I was, a group of men tried to grab me. Fortunately for me,” my lips twisted into a smirk, “I can make a quick getaway.”

“You remember where you’re from?” I inhaled deeply and shut my eyes as I exhaled, “No. Any memories before I started living like this are…blurred. I can almost make out a few, mostly from when I was a kid, but I don’t remember any details about my life other than my name and my age. Got anything in your almighty folder that can fill in the gaps?” “We only know what you’ve told us and what you’ve chosen to shown the world,” he replied as he reopened the packet, “Looks like disappearing isn’t the only trick you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“A girl’s gotta defend herself somehow,” I cocked an eyebrow, by now I’d relaxed my rigid posture and was tracing shapes on the table with a finger, “But if you’ve done as much research as you say you have then you should know I don’t bring any of that out unless I absolutely have to.” “Oh, I’ve seen the security cam footage,” he laughed, folding his hands together in front of him, “You put on quite a show. That’s that potential I was talking about.”

After a beat of silence, I finally asked the million dollar question. “What is it that you want from me, Director Fury?”

He should’ve been surprised, most people were, but it didn’t seem like me digging around in his mind was more of an event than eating breakfast was. “Only when you absolutely have to, huh?”

I gave him a small shrug and waited for him to answer. He kept his eyes locked on me, nodding his head ever so slightly. “Miss Y/l/n, whether you’ve thought about it or not, you have the ability do a lot more with yourself than skipping out on the dinner bill. You could be out there stopping the kind of people that are after you instead of running from them. And if you weren’t interested in the prospect of that even just a little, you wouldn’t still be sitting here.” Now there he was right. I agreed to come with Agent Coulson, I willingly let them bring me into an interrogation room, I’d discussed vulnerable details of my life with Director Fury…There was a small part of me that wanted to be a part of something.

“You wanna keep bouncing between continents praying that you don’t get caught? That’s fine, it’s no skin off my back,” Director Fury held his hands up in mock surrender and promptly lowered them back down, “But you stay and you can be a part of a world bigger than you could possibly imagine.”

The only world I’d ever known was spinning a globe, picking a random location, finding the most remote part of the county, stealing what I needed to get by and living in abandoned houses. I’d never had any sense of security. And while the life that Director Fury was offering me gave no guarantee that I’d live long enough to grow old, it didn’t require me to stay as paranoid as I was in the name of survival. I’d gotten by just fine on my own, but I’d never allowed myself to think of a future where I didn’t have to just get by…

“I already told Agent Coulson that I’m not a mercenary,” I began firmly, “I’m not a weapon for you to utilize whenever you want. I’m not joining some super secret spy organization only to find out after a while that I’m working for the bad guys,” I paused to take a slow breath, “But I don’t particularly enjoy being a criminal and if what you’re saying is true, I’m willing to give it a shot.” Director Fury gave me a single nod and just like that, I’d accepted a job without actually committing to sticking around. Fury turned once again to the double sided mirror and the door swung open, ushering in Agent Coulson, a redheaded woman and a blonde man I had yet to meet.

“You’ve already met Agent Coulson, I’d like to introduce you to Agent Romanoff,” he gestured to the woman, “And Agent Barton,” he looked towards the blonde, “He and Coulson will be some of the senior personnel personally overseeing your transition into S.H.I.E.L.D and I have a hunch you and Miss Romanoff will work well together.” “I work just fine on my own, thank you,” I stated, the thought of trusting someone to have my back sent the walls I’d just lowered shooting back up.

“I hate to break it to you but we work as a team here,” Agent Romanoff said, her voice cool and unaffected by my displeasure. If anything, it seemed like she found it slightly amusing, “Besides, you don’t have anything to worry about. Agent Barton’s my partner.”

Director Fury made for the door, Agent Romanoff and the still silent Agent Barton following promptly. “I’ll leave it to Coulson to get you settled, but I’ll be watching your progress closely.” I could give the man credit, he knew how to wear the whole Tall, Dark, Man-With-All-The-Secrets hat well except for one thing. He couldn’t keep any secrets from me. Once the room’s occupancy had lessened, my eyes flew to Agent Coulson.

“What’s the Avengers Initiative?”

He wore a small and knowing smile, “A work in progress. For now, let’s focus on getting you through training then we’ll work on finding you a partner.”

Standing up to follow him out the door, I protested against his checklist, “I already said-“ “I know, but there may come a time where you change your mind,” he interrupted, his tone had gone from professional to semi-friendly as we walked down the hall, “This job is rewarding, but it’s hard work. Having the right partner by your side makes it all a little easier. You’ll see…”

We approached a railing that overlooked the main floor of the headquarters. Coulson didn’t think twice about the view while I approached it curiously. There were people everywhere, more than I’d been around in a long time. Something about the sight of so many individuals dedicated to doing the right thing made something inside of me relax. Maybe for the first time in my life, I was right where I needed to be.

Agent Coulson must have sensed my peace, he came to stand beside me and turned his gaze to where mine was. “Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

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Translations: Jedan, molim: One, please.

Izvini: Sorry.

#marvel imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine

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hadtochangemyurlquick · 3 years

Text

here’s 5.7k of the unsinkable 8 during the zombie apocalypse. good for fans of leatin and goodfoe. it’s super unedited and i’m mainly just posting it for fun cause i finished it today. some references to world war z the book for fun, and i used the zombies from that too.

A flash of blonde and Dot’s gun went up, pointed directly at the head of whatever made their way toward her. She had two bullets left, six cigarettes, and the last mini of hard liquor she raided from the motel back in Aquilla.

She’d have to get it in one shot, which would be hard sitting down, with her back to it, half delirious.

She grunted as she pulled herself around, her leg still out in the makeshift splint. The zed crept closer, not going at the usual hobbling pace. It definitely had caught her scent though, maybe it was down a few limbs already.

She cocked her gun, flicking off the safety, keeping her finger off the trigger. She’d wait until she could see the whites of its eyes. Get it in one shot.

The blonde head crept closer and she finally tucked her gun over the rocks, making eye contact with it for the first time.

“Shelby Goodkind?”

“Dot Campbell?”

Shelby stared at her, lowering her own gun and Dot let out a breath of relief.

“Dottie, oh my god, I thought you were one of ‘em.” She put away her gun, Dot doing the same and she ran over. “It’s so good to see ya, what’s wrong?” She looked at the leg, her face paling.

“Ankles broken,” Dottie muttered. “Was gonna treat myself to one last drink,” she gestured at the bottle.

“Oh lord,” Shelby said. “Well that’s no good, I got a place not to far from here I’ve been camping out in. Some first aid stuff too.”

“I can’t give you anything back for it,” Dot said.

“We both know two people are more likely to make it,” Shelby said.

She looked sunburned and hollowed out, a little hungrier than the last time Dot saw her, headed with her family to that military base. She was alone, and desperate, everyone was. Because here was how it went in Texas. You could trust a stranger as far as you could throw ‘em, but you needed people to live. So if you had people, you lived. And Dot was people, or as close to people as Shelby was willing to get. She musta lost a lot to lower her standards so far.

“Alright,” Dot said. “We’re gonna have to go slow and you’re gonna have to carry a lot of shit.”

“No problem,” Shelby beamed.

Back at the camp, an old rusting trailer with some battery Shelby told her she was saving for a rainy day, Shelby re-splinted her, fed and watered her, and they pooled their resources. Twenty-six cigs now, which might get ‘em a few hours in a safe car north, if they wanted it. Or it might get ‘em some food, or a get out of jail free card, depending on the hunger of the people hunting ‘em.

It was late at night when Dot realized she hadn’t even asked yet.

“Family’s gone then?”

“Yeah,” Shelby said. “You?”

“My dad died before this shit show,” Dot said.

“Lucky,” Shelby said. She took a swig from the mini, and passed it over to Dot. “What’s your plan?”

“I heard there was a safer spot near San Antonio,” Dot said. “Running water and shit.”

Shelby shook her head, “Gone, three weeks ago. Heard it on the radio.”

Dot nodded, “What about you?”

“Radio said Hawaii’s better,” Shelby said. “There’s an operation ferrying people there on the west coast. It’s a thousand cigs per person. But there’s work by the dock if you’re willing to do it.”

“Work for you?” Dot asked.

Shelby’s jaw tightened, “I’ll do what I have to do. Lord forgive me.”

Dot sighed, “Sounds like we go west then.”

They hung around in the trailer for three days, pushing the limits of what was safe, and stumbled on to a new place in the area at daybreak on the fourth day. Dot’s ankle wasn’t broken, with the inflatable cast Shelby had in a week or so she’d be something regarding useful, and as long as she didn’t push herself she’d be more than fine.

Spending time with Shelby Goodkind was another story. For one thing, despite the zombie apocalypse, complete destruction of their lives and modern society, the death of her family and everyone in their town, Shelby was still good and kind. She’d clutch at the cross around her neck every time they’d pass a body, and would never touch one, even the ones that were recent and obviously not stripped clean. It made Dot kinda mad, she found five cigs just walking, and she wondered how many Shelby passed off being squeamish.

But Shelby also wasn’t squeamish, wasn’t afraid to take down a zed with a kitchen knife, and with that same hand wipe the gore off Dot all gentle. She called her Dottie, gave her the last blanket, and always volunteered for the first shift so Dot could watch the sunrise. Dot hadn’t been cared for in a long while, hadn’t been around people in even longer. She decided she might love it.

But Shelby was a magnet, always had been, she talked about god’s light long enough that she got Dot believing it all fell on her. It wasn’t a real surprise when she showed up with a stray.

“What the fuck,” Dot said. “Did you kidnap a child?”

“I did not kidnap a child,” Shelby said, picking the girl up with some difficulty and lifting her onto the backseat of the broken down minivan they were holed up in.

“I sent you out to get sunscreen,” Dot said. “How did you come back with a child?”

“She’s our age,” Shelby said. “I think. And listen, I found her barricaded in a utility closet with a bad fever, I knew we had some tablets but I didn’t wanna leave her.”

“Like bite fever?” Dot asked. “We don’t have enough bullets to—”

“No,” Shelby shook her head, “Look,” she gently unwrapped a bandage around the girl’s arm, revealing a bad slice. “It’s infected. Not a bite. We’re okay.”

Dot sighed and nodded. The girl’d probably try and rob ‘em blind but if they watched her hands and got away fast enough they should be fine. They’d be fine.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Dot muttered. Shelby smiled, all sweet and gentle and bright and Dot rolled her eyes.

The girl took the tablets, they washed and changed the bandages, after about fourteen hours she blinked awake, unfortunately while Dot was on watch.

“Who—who are you?”

“Dot Campbell,” she said.

The girl stared at her.

“My friend saved your ass,” Dot said. “Shelby.”

“Um,” the girl inched back, “Why? Where am I?”

“We’re on the twenty-two, not from from the ten-eighty,” Dot told her. “You got a nasty infection there, got any cigs?”

“No, I don’t smoke.”

Dot blinked at her. “Alright then.”

“My friends will be looking for me,” the girl said. “I should get back to them.” She didn’t have an accent, Dot realized, not even a thin one like her own.

“Shelby found you around Mr. K’s, we can draw you a map if you’d like,” Dot said. “Where you from?”

“Austin,” the girl lied, badly.

“Alright then,” Dot said again. “Well we’ll draw you a map in the mornin and you can leave a day break. It ain’t far.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. “For helping me.”

“Shelby’s idea,” Dot said. Neither of ‘em slept the whole time, the girl smart enough to keep an eye out, and Dot’s whole job to watch out. She woke Shelby up when she was supposed to and easily muddled into a slumber.

A nice thing, about the zombie apocalypse, was Dot had gotten a lot better at sleeping. She used to stay up for hours thinking ‘bout how she’d pay the bills, how much her dad’s meds cost, whether he was coughing more that night than he did most nights, but now she hit whatever soft looking rock she decided to call a pillow and conked out until Shelby woke her. Shelby, on the other hand, barely slept a wink, shooting up at the slightest sign of trouble, even when Dot was on watch. Too much time on her own, Dot’d guess.

Before Shelby Mateo wandered with Dot. He was quiet and sweet and she had took care of him as best she could. Shelby didn’t have nobody before Dot. Just her dead parents, and if Dot remembered eighth grade soccer well enough, a couple of dead siblings too.

So Dot pretty much conked out and missed the way the girl and Shelby giggled all night. But even she wasn’t blind to their bond when she woke, the way the girls smiled easily at one another, laughed with each other, kept up with each other.

“Dottie,” Shelby said. “Martha,” so that was the stranger’s name “said you told her we could draw her a map but Mr. K’s ain’t far, we might as well take her.”

Dot grunted, she didn’t wanna waste a day but it wasn’t like Mr. K’s would take all day and they might as well see if they could find any more cigs. She hadn’t met any non-smokers in a long while. Apocalypse sorta took the fun out of being straight-edge, if Dot had to guess.

Dot took the back, a metal bat out and ready, and Shelby and Martha took the front. Shelby had a makeshift spear made, good for longer range, but worse up close, and she gave Martha the other bat they had. To borrow, Dot had emphasized.

One of the other things that never got old about the apocalypse, was walking up a highway. Walking straight up that middle line, knowing no one would dare drive a car ‘round there. It felt like the world was yours and empty, like you were finding it, rebuilding it, building it. It was as close to a cowboy as she had felt since her daddy let her ride on his back. It was as close to free as she had ever felt.

They got back to Mr. K’s and Dot saw the approaching figures first, aiming her rifle right at ‘em, safety off and gun cocked, but her finger off the trigger. It was Shelby’s hunting rifle, actually, but she had handed it to Dot first chance she had, looking kinda pale. She had Dot’s old handgun now, useless with this kinda range.

“Live ones?” Shelby asked.

“Can’t tell,” Dot said. “Just kinda standing there.”

“They could be waiting for me,” Martha said. Dot glanced at her, hoping the girl wasn’t actually as naive as she seemed. She probably was.

They walked as close as they dared, before Martha was able to confirm that yes it was her friends.

She ran at ‘em and one of ‘em collided with her, slamming her into a hug. There were two more, just kinda watching Dot and Shelby.

“We should go,” Dot said. “We did what we said.”

“Dottie,” Shelby said.

Dot sighed and the two of ‘em trudged up to the happy pair, reuniting like they had been separated for years, decades, instead of a few hours. It was a miracle they were reunited at all, Mateo said he’d meet her back at the camp in an hour and she had to bash his head in six months later with a sledge hammer.

“Who’re your friends, Martha?” One of the other people asked. It was four girls counting Martha, lucky, none of ‘em white, but they all looked around the same age as Dot and Shelby.

“This is Shelby,” Martha grinned, “And Dot.”

Dot nodded at them.

“I am just so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Shelby smiled, holding out her hand to the girl who still had an arm wrapped around Martha.

“This is Toni,” Martha said, squeezing the girl’s side when she didn’t take Shelby’s hand. “And Rachel and Nora.”

“Ah,” Shelby smiled, “Toni your sister right?”

Martha nodded, Toni glared. “Yeah it’s great to meet you or whatever. There a reason you kidnapped Martha?”

“I saw her passed out and worried she was alone,” Shelby explained. “I knew we had some tablets back at the camp but—”

“What do you want?” Rachel asked. “We got about six hundred if that’s—” Martha from Austin, Dot’s ass. Money hadn’t meant shit in Texas for awhile. These kids were from up north, probably pretty far up north too. Maine or some shit. Delaware.

“Got any cigs?” Dot asked.

“Yes,” Nora said. “We have a couple packs.”

“Great,” Dot held out her hands and two packs were dropped into them. Nora didn’t make eye contact the entire time, her hands fidgeting with anything. She was covered in scabs and scars, picking at her own skin probably.

“Where y’all headed?” Shelby asked.

“None of your business,” Toni said.

“Apparently the San Antonio Zone relocated to Tyler,” Martha said. “We heard some people talking about it last week.”

“Y’all got a radio?” Dot asked.

Martha shook her head.

“If you had one you’d know that that’s what they’re pulling now, telling people to go to Tyler, they shoot you as soon as you step foot in Athens.”

“So where are you guys headed?” Rachel demanded.

“West,” Shelby said. “Radio says they’re ferrying clean folks to Hawaii. It’s an island so.”

“Clean how?” Rachel asked, taking a step forward and lifting her jaw.

Dot sighed.

Shelby’s eyes widened, “Clean as in not infected, I mean.”

“Chill,” Rachel smiled, all thin, “I was kidding.”

“Great,” Dot said. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but we should be going.”

“Wait,” Martha said. “It’s just, we might as well go west too. And we might as well go west together.”

“Marty,” Toni grabbed her by her uninjured arm, “I wanna talk to you for a moment.”

They got into a whispered argument for a few minutes. Rachel joined and it escalated but Martha came out on top, smiling as she approached them.

“We might as well go together,” she repeated.

Shelby’s smile was just as wide, “We would be alighted to have you.”

The new girls were a nightmare. Rachel and Nora, sisters as Dot would learn, hated one another. And by hated Dot meant, had a complicated relationship of love without trust or mutual respect. Nora didn’t trust Rachel, Rachel didn’t respect Nora, and they were constantly going at one another. Toni had some sorta toxic jealousy thing going on, despising Shelby because she was monopolizing Martha. She also tended to fly into these rages, making her wander off for long periods that had Dot itching to grab her gun and demanding the girl strip to check for bites. Mateo’s dad used to do the same thing, wander off to check his bite.

Shelby also was wholly focused on two things now: Martha, and Toni’s hate. Dot ambled along behind all of ‘em, keeping the sisters from killing each other, Toni’s voice down, and everyone else alive.

The worst part was it took Dot nearly three days before she caught sight of it.

“You have one hand,” Dot glared at Rachel. Rachel slung the pack over her shoulder.

“You’re just noticing that now?” Rachel asked. “I must be getting better with it.”

“The fuck happened?” Dot said.

“My hand got bit,” Rachel shrugged. “Cut it off before it spread, didn’t even know it would work.”

Dot whistled, low and quiet, like they were all used to being.

“I cut it off,” Nora corrected, sullenly.

Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I’m still quicker on the draw than you,” Rachel said, the words clunky in her mouth.

Dot set her jaw, “So y’all are sticking with the story that you’re from Austin?”

“We’re from New York,” Nora said. Rachel glared at her. “What? You think some group would waste three days on four teenage girls?”

“New York?” Dot asked. “Everyone knows it’s safer up north, why the hell are you down here?”

“You hear about Yonkers?” Rachel asked.

Dot shook her head.

“It was the last op the US military set up before they fell apart. We’d made it out by then but we watched it happen on the news. Someone in a group we had still had a phone and the whole thing was live streamed. All of the death. The group were supposed to go to some military bases up in Canada but we wanted a wide open space with plenty of guns.”

“Texas,” Dot said.

Rachel nodded.

“Stupid,” Dot told her. “You probably came for San Antonio too.”

Rachel sighed, “Nobody was gonna survive those Canadian winters without a base, and we weren’t sure we were gonna get one. Rather get bit than freeze.”

“How’d you meet Toni and Martha?” Dot asked.

“Toni and I got into a fistfight over some Takis,” Rachel said.

Dot nodded, “Fuego?”

“Fuego.”

And yeah they were a nightmare but quicker than Dot wanted they became her nightmare. Still though, she dragged Shelby away from Martha and Toni’s sides, and muttered, “we can still go. Ditch if you want. Whenever. We don’t know ‘em.��

Shelby, in high school, woulda been scandalized, muttered some bible passage at her. This Shelby was a little more grown and only looked at her all serious.

“You knew what I was when you picked me up,” she said. “And I knew what Martha was. We’ll face our consequences, I reckon.”

Dot nodded.

Walking all day, everyday, wasn’t easy stuff. Especially since they had to strip as many bodies as they could find. Nora figured it out pretty quick, mumbling something to Rachel who recruited Toni to storm over to Dot.

“You don’t smoke them, but you’re hoarding them,” Rachel said. “Why?”

Dot kept her easy pace. “These things are currency now, the value’ll only go up over time.”

“Currency for what?” Toni asked. “What are you trying to buy?”

“You think a ferry to Hawaii is free?” Dot asked. “I’m saving for all of us.”

“Dottie,” Shelby walked over, Martha sticking by Nora, “What’s up?”

“How much?” Toni asked. “Really, how much?”

“A hundred each,” Dot said, too quickly.

“Try again,” Rachel said.

“Dot,” Shelby got between them, looking at Dot. “Thou shalt not lie, right? Tell ‘em the truth.” Dot glared at her and Shelby turned back around to Rachel. “It’s five hundred each. We got about a hundred now, so no one’s going to Hawaii.”

“What if there aren’t enough?” Toni asked. “Who decides then?”

“We’ll draw straws,” Shelby said.

It was as easy a solution as anything but the tenseness started building up, Rachel and Toni viewing Dot with more suspicion. It’d fade, over time, Dot knew. Or they’d all die.

The worst it got, was actually Shelby’s doing, the easy peace maker of it all. They hadn’t bothered building a fire, despite how cold and exposed it got in Texas at night, but they huddled together between three cars they found abandoned along the highway that they pushed into a triangle. Someone got to the seat cushions of all three first, so there was nothing comfortable to lie their heads on. It was easy for Dot though, the asphalt as soft as anything to her now.

They stayed up later than they should’ve talking. Trading stories about their old life that all of them knew weren’t doing any good. Toni played basketball, was pretty good at it too. Rachel had a skill for swimming she’d never have again. Nora did quiz bowl, surprising no one. Dot talked about metal, fishing with her dad, what types of pills sold for what. Martha was a dancer, and a vegetarian once. It was something that made ‘em all crack up. When humans become man eating beasts, and once upon a time there were jokes online about vegans. Shelby talked about the yearbook, mission trips, Andrew.

But then cause Shelby started it by prattling on about Andrew Toni got it in her head to talk about Regan and Shelby was talking about Leviticus.

The next morning, Rachel quietly pulled Dot aside and told her to take all the cigarettes and head out. That they could make their own way west. Dot didn’t ask for an invitation to go with her.

They split off at the twenty-five, Dot and Shelby heading for the forty, Toni, Martha, Rachel, and Nora heading for the sixty.

Shelby was heartbroken for a few days, apologetic too, and grateful. Dot didn’t let her have any of that, only said, “It’s cause we’re from the same town. We might be the only ones from there left.”

They trudged on.

In Arizona Dot found the love of her life, her soulmate, Fatin Jadmani. In a completely straight way too. Fatin matched her tit for tat, spoke a language Dot hadn’t realized she’d been born knowing. Her girlfriend was an anxious woman named Leah, who Shelby got on with. Dot had worried, upon bringing the two back to camp, that Shelby would chase ‘em away again, but she hadn’t. Just smiled at the two of them, easily offering up a couple granola bars.

Whenever tenseness came about Fatin just laughed, and Leah rolled her eyes. It wasn’t perfect, Dot knew, there was too much hate for that, but it would last ‘em long enough. The four of ‘em just worked in this great lovely way.

Only problem was their destination.

“We barely managed to get out of LA,” Leah mumbled, she hugged her legs, her head leaning on Fatin’s shoulder.

“LA?” Shelby asked. “That’s where we’re headed.”

“What the fuck?” Fatin glared at Dot, “Dorthy I thought you had more sense than that.”

“There’s some military guys ferrying people to Hawaii,” Dot said.

“Where’d you hear that, the radio?” Fatin asked. She sighed at their nods, “They’re broadcasting out to whoever will hear it, but there is no ferry to Hawaii. The entire thing is just selling and shipping as many girls out as possible. We have no idea where though.”

“So when you say you barely made it out,” Dot said.

Fatin’s face was grim.

“We have to warn ‘em,” Shelby said.

“Warn who?” Dot asked.

“Toni and the others! They don’t know!” Shelby stood up. “I’ll plot out the course now and we’ll start out fresh tomorrow. We aren’t leaving ‘em to—to—we aren’t leaving ‘em.” She stormed off and Dot watched her go.

“She wants to go towards LA to help some motherfuckers who kicked you out of their group?” Fatin asked.

“Yeah,” Dot said.

“Are you gonna go with her?” Leah asked.

“I knew what she was when I picked her up,” Dot said.

“What do you wanna do?” Leah asked Fatin.

Fatin pressed her cheek to Leah’s head, “I don’t know if I can risk you.” Fatin looked at Dot, “Are you gonna be stupid?”

“No,” Dot said.

“Then we’ll come,” Fatin sighed. “Leah that okay?” Leah nodded.

Neither of ‘em were as good at offing zed as Shelby and Dot. Fatin was decent at finding stuff though, scoping stuff, and Leah had endurance none of the rest of ‘em could match. She was like a zed sometimes, just kept going, could keep going, until her knees wore down to dust and then she’d crawl, crawl until her fingers wore down to nubs and then she’d inch, inch until something put her out of her misery. It terrified Fatin and Shelby, but Dot couldn’t help being impressed.

So Dot ambled after Shelby toward Bethlehem on the forty but they were gonna leap back on the interstate and hopefully head ‘em off. Hopefully Martha, Toni, Rachel, and Nora’d be alive, and they’d find ‘em. And if they didn’t find ‘em, hopefully they’d be dead. And Shelby stopped sleeping about a day or two into trek. Would just keep staring at the maps and keeping watch, and taking inventory and thumbing around her necklace.

When Dot woke up on the third day of their walk, Shelby’s hair was much shorter and Fatin looked real scared. Shelby kept walking and walking and, in a fit of rage that matched Toni’s, launched her necklace off the highway. She looked like she regretted it after but they had no choice but to keep going.

They passed an arm and it looked like Rachel’s.

Shelby walked faster. Leah had that glint in her eye. Fatin took Dot’s hand and looked very very scared.

After two more days Shelby said fuck it, and found a car with some gas in it and told 'em to get in.

Dot stood in front, “Shelby,” Shelby glared at her, “This’ll attract every body in the fucking country. The sound, the smell, I’m not just talking about the dead ones neither.”

Shelby swallowed hard, “You gonna stay behind then?”

“Shelby,” Dot said. “If you leave me here I’ll get caught up in the hoard. That what you want?”

“Get in the damn car, Dottie!” Shelby said.

“If we get to ‘em in time, but there’s a fucking hoard following us, we won’t have anywhere to go but on,” Dot said. “Fucking think!”

“I am thinking,” Shelby spat back. She shoved Dot, “I’m thinking about Toni, and Martha walking from Minnesota to Texas only to die in California. I’m thinking about Nora and Rachel watching Yonkers fall and then getting shipped off to who knows where. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Shelby we can make it,” Leah said.

“No we can’t!” Shelby said. “I’ve done the math, I keep looking at these maps, there’s no way we’ll make it in time without a mode of transportation. No car and they die.”

“Then what the fuck are we going there?” Dot asked. “If it’s too late—”

“It is not too late!” Shelby said, her throat was all closed and choked sounding. “I can save ‘em! Jesus fuckin Christ we have to help ‘em!”

“Shelby,” Dot said, she put a hand on her shoulder. “We can’t take a car, and we can’t make it by foot,” Shelby’s face crumpled. “They’re gone, alright? We should be planning our next move.”

“No,” Leah said. She shook her head, “We have to help them.”

“You don’t even know ‘em,” Dot said.

“I’m not letting four innocent girls go through what I nearly went through,” Leah said.

“I’m with Leah,” Fatin said. “We’ll take the car and play it by ear.”

“Play the-hoard-that-will-start-coming-after-us-the-second-we-turn-on-the-engine by ear?” Dot asked.

“Let’s vote,” Shelby said. “All in favor of going?”

Fatin, Leah, and Shelby all raised their hands.

“C’mon,” Dot begged. She looked at Fatin, “You told me not to be stupid!”

“So don’t be stupid,” Fatin said. “Get in the car.”

Dot sighed, wanted to punch something, wanted to cry, was too tired to do either, got in the car.

The car attracted so many fucking zed, they wouldn’t be able to stop, and they had to hope there was enough in the fucking tank to get them to wherever the four were. Dot watched the dead bodies creep closer, at their slow hobbling, relentless pace. Fatin drove, Shelby used her pike to spear any who got too close, Dot watched the maps and steadily got herself into a panic.

They were gonna die trying to save the asses of some girls they spent a couple days with.

This was not what Shelby was when Dot picked her up, this was not what she was. Shelby had gone behind Dot’s back and fucking grown as a person, hadn’t she? How the fuck was Dot gonna get away from her? She’d have to pack Fatin in a suitcase and then Leah too and that would mean entirely abandoning Shelby to be on her lonesome oh god.

Dot was stuck, wasn’t she.

As they kept driving Shelby had to keep spearing zed. It started off as one or two, but as the hours wore on they were leaning on five, six, a steady growing mass ambling behind ‘em.

If that had really been Rachel’s arm, they were probably dead. All of ‘em. Or maybe in the mass behind ‘em. And if they weren’t, they’d hear the car coming and head for the hills, assuming it meant a hoard was close behind. Which it was.

This was such a fucking terrible idea.

“So what, we just wait for a sign to say welcome to LA and then give up? We won’t find ‘em like this,” Dot said.

“Shut up!” Shelby said, she speared another.

“At least check you ain’t offing one of ours,” Dot said. “They could all be zed, for all we know.”

“I said shut up,” Shelby turned to glare at her and a zed slammed against the door. She speared it and Dot’s mouth clamped shut. “We just gotta keep going,” she said. “We’ll be fine, we just gotta keep moving.”

“You’re crazy,” Dot said.

Shelby didn’t have anything to say to that.

It was worse at nightfall, with visibility down, and they just had to keep going, to hope their car wasn’t stripped when they went over the bumps of mutilated corpses still hungry for a last meal.

“We’re almost to LA,” Shelby said. “We got nearly a hundred cigs, we might be able to bribe someone if they jump us.”

Leah snorted.

They were driving through an empty enough part of Nevada though, less corpses hurling themselves off the road and towards them. Still the ever growing mass behind ‘em now, maybe fifty, seventy five, but about twenty out.

“I gotta piss,” Dot said.

“Hurry,” Fatin said.

Dot stumbled out, no one noticing her grabbing her pack. The zed would follow the car, she’d make a clean break. She’d survive.

She was only seven minutes south, judging by the north star Shelby taught her to find when someone’s hand grabbed her. She pulled out her hand gun, jamming it into the head and flicking the safety off.

“Dot! Jesus Christ!”

The girl was wide-eyed, tan, hollowed out, empty and desperate. Reminded her of the empty pill bottles around her house after her dad died.

“Toni?”

Toni nodded, “Why are you here? Fuck that I don’t give a shit, you got water?” Dot handed it to her and Toni downed it. “The other’s are close, c’mon.” She stumbled as she got up, clearly dizzy, and Dot grabbed her forearm.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you guys,” Dot said.

“Don’t tell me it’s you in the fucking car,” Toni said. “We’ve been running from that thing for ages.”

“I fucking told Shelby,” Dot said.

“Shelby?” Toni asked, she was almost too exhausted to sound disgusted, but she managed it.

“Listen, LA isn’t safe, we found out. They’re not taking kids to Hawaii, they’re taking them.”

Toni went pale, “Fuck.” She even sounded choked now. “Shelby’s having a fucking aneurysm worrying about you so I don’t even think she’s that fucking homophobic. I’ll get everyone back to the car, you tell ‘em I’m coming.”

Toni nodded, stumbling towards the street and Dot walked back to the direction Toni pointed to before she left. Rachel, Nora, and Martha were all in various points of disarray. Exhausted, dehydrated, starving, aching and bleeding. Dot had to half carry, half drag Nora with Martha and Rachel had to get a stick to lean on as they stumbled toward the street.

“We got like ten minutes,” Fatin said. “People are gonna have to double buckle, and before anyone else makes a decision, we’re going north.”

Dot strapped everyone in and found herself sitting next to Shelby who met her eyes in a hundred yard stare.

“You took your pack.”

“Yeah.”

“But you came back.”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.”

They started on again. Dot saw Toni keep sneaking glances at Shelby and Shelby kept sneaking ‘em back.

They weren’t far from Mt. Tobin when the two finally stopped dancing around each other.

Dot convinced everyone to ditch the car near LA, walking as quickly as they could once they did, knowing it’d take awhile to ditch the hoard too. Dot watched Toni talk to Shelby in low tones, Shelby full of apologies and panics and Toni keeping her cool longer than Dot had ever seen it.

Martha took to Fatin quickly, everyone did, and Nora and Leah spent long hours walking beside each other mumbling about books or something. Not anything Dot gave two shits about.

Rachel ambled along with Dot most of the time. Whenever Fatin and Leah were all over each other and Dot didn’t feel like third wheeling. Rachel was always listening to the radio and as time passed it became clear that the two of them were the most capable of keeping everyone alive. And not in a more knowledgable way. Because Nora knew what plants were edible, and Shelby was a better shot. Or in an emotional way, because Fatin and Martha handled that. But in a planning sorta way. Because Dot knew how to get them to point B, while Rachel was working on point E.

“We should go to Washington,” Rachel muttered on one of the late nights they spent keeping watch while they poured over maps. “We might be able to find a boat to Victoria.”

“Victoria?” Rachel pointed her out.

“It’s a Canadian island. Canada lasted a little longer than we did, Victoria might not be in such a bad way.”

“Less guns in Canada,” Dot said. “And there might not be a boat that’ll take us there. Plus, we don’t know the currency.”

“We’re eight teenage girls,” Rachel pointed out. “We stick around so close to Cali, we’re asking for trouble. We need to put an ocean between us and whatever the fuck they’re doing there.”

Dot sighed. So they’d go to Washington.

On the way they’d probably run into another group who’d tell them Washington was overrun but there was something decent in Wisconsin. Half way to Wisconsin someone would tell ‘em their information was bad and they need to get south where there were guns and space. They’d almost be in Georgia when someone would tell ‘em there was some real government up in New York again.

They’d follow pipe dream to pipe dream to pipe dream. They’d probably die young.

Toni curled around Shelby, holding Martha’s hand. Fatin and Leah held on for dear life. Rachel didn’t take her eyes off Nora. Dot watched them all.

Yeah they’d probably die young. Better than dying alone.

#gus writes #the wilds #the wilds fanfic #goodfoe fanfic #shoni #leatin fanfic #leatin #dot campbell #leah rilke #fatin jadmani #shelby goodkind #toni shalifoe #rachel reid #nora reid #martha blackburn #the unsinkable 8 #the unsinkable eight

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yikesimonfire · 3 years

Text

Misery Loves Company || Alfie & Mina

Timing: Last week. Location: Residential woods near Dark Score Lake Parties: @drowningisinevitable & @yikesimonfire Summary: Alfie and Mina have more in common than they realize, but it’s probably for the best. Content: internalized homophobia and mentions of domestic abuse

Ever since Bex showed her pretty little face, Alfie’s life had taken a sharp decline for the worse. It wasn’t her fault — he understood that on some level — but he needed someone to blame. These days, Alfie couldn’t stand being in his own home. Their laughter haunted him from the adjacent apartment, echoing incessantly at all hours; reminding him of how unimportant he truly was.

Eddie had gone years (their entire time as neighbors, in fact) without dating anyone. Suddenly, she was there all of the time. There was no longer any room for Alfie to be a part of Eddie's life. At least, that's what he managed to convince himself. The truth was that the lovebirds did try to include Alfie. It was he who shut them out, unable to bear being around them.

Alfie would never admit it, but he was heartbroken.

What good would it do to confess? What difference would it make? Absolutely none. He was in love with someone who, for reasons beyond their control, would never love him back. Alfie knew he would be forced to make peace with it eventually, but it was all so… sudden.

He'd taken it upon himself to evacuate his apartment as Bex and Eddie’s sickening coos seeped through the paper-thin walls; seeking comfort instead from the disheveled cabin he'd come to possess. It was an older building, unkempt throughout the span of his life — this life. Twenty-six or some odd years ago, the house was probably in its prime. But rot had since set into the wooden beams. The porch creaked, threatening to collapse under Alfie's weight as he traipsed the threshold.

By some miracle, the place still had electricity. The water pressure was almost nonexistent; not that Alfie had much of a need for it. However, in light of recent events, the bare minimum was no longer sufficient.

He intended to stay — at least more often.

With a hammer in hand, Alfie attempted to pry corroded nails from the patio’s dry-rotted boards. The metal fought against him, breaking under the pressure, and left fragments of the rusted nails tightly embedded in the wood. Great. First he can't stay at his own apartment without being reminded of his grief, and now he has to deal with this?!

"Mother fucker," Alfie grumbled, striking the porch with the hammer. "Can't I have one good thing for once? Just one!" The platform quivered beneath him, ignoring his plea, and Alfie collapsed onto his back in a pathetic heap. "Fine. Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore," he told the house. "I could set you on fire, you realize that, right? It'll look like an accident… I could probably collect the insurance payment." An idle threat to an inanimate object was pointless, but at least it made him feel a little better. The house wasn't insured, anyway.

The house was stuffy from disuse, but Mina found that she didn’t particularly mind. She opened up the windows. It would be fine. Her dad, when he first found the place, hadn’t signed the lease for her because he thought it was quaint or because it was modern. It was livable enough, it was close to a water source, and it would be a good base for the two of them when he returned to White Crest for them to set up shop. Well, now, at least, it was still livable enough.

Mina didn’t particularly care about livability. She was just looking for a place to sleep that didn’t remind her of Bex. The house was small and barren, save for a few clothes that she’d left and a tiny amory’s worth of weapons in the spare room. She had the windows open to allow fresh air to come in, and she was sitting at the small kitchen’s counter, sleeves rolled up while she was wrapping bandages around her arm. She encountered a chimera in the woods the night before, some wretched conglomeration of an actual wolf, a cockatrice, and a flederprey that had managed to get a few good hits in before she put it out of its misery. It hadn’t even been hard. She hadn’t even thought about it.

That was kind of the goal, these days. Mina just wanted to work and fight and run until exhaustion took her, sometimes in the middle of the night, crashing face first into a stream. She’d ruined a lot of clothes, recently.

The sound of cursing from the usually empty house next door startled Mina from what she was doing. She pulled her sleeves down and looked outside. It was a young man, about her age, that she’d seen a few times over the last two years. They’d waved but never really talked. He didn’t stay for long. She didn’t mind. She wasn’t overly good at socializing; it had been years since she’d practiced good neighbor etiquette.

But he seemed to be having a hard time. Sighing, Mina headed outside, walking the distance between their little houses. She made sure to make plenty of noise, so as not to startle him too bad when she called out, “Everything alright?”

Alfie hadn’t meant to attract attention from the neighbors. In fact, he didn’t even realize the young woman from the house over still lived there. The few times he’d been over recently, the other house seemed entirely vacant; not that it was any of his business. As the brush crunched underneath her feet, signaling her approach, Alfie bolted upright.

Nothing was alright, he wanted to state. But the girl was probably less concerned about his personal relationships than his assault on his porch.

“Oh, sure, sure,” Alfie lied with ease. “Just trying to fix the place up is all. It’s, uh… not going too well.” That was evident from the fact that he was trying to remove a board while he was sitting on it. He had no idea what he was doing.

A heavy sigh escaped him before he tossed the hammer to the side, maneuvering himself to sit on the edge of the porch. “Actually— that’s not true,” Alfie admitted. “I mean… it is true to an extent. Mostly, I’m just taking out my frustration on the woodwork.” Why did he just say that? She didn’t care. She couldn’t possibly care. Yet, here he was, unloading his baggage onto a complete stranger because he found himself without a single friend in the world that he felt he could air his grievances to.

“Everything’s shit,” he added with a shrug. After a moment, Alfie realized the weight of his words and offered her a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, that’s… probably not something I should have shared.” His hand reached behind him, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, as his eyes shifted to her own house. “I haven’t seen you around recently. Didn’t know you were still living there.”

“I see,” Mina said slowly, looking at the young man as he attempted to… she didn’t know what he was attempting, actually. Something with the porch. It didn’t seem to be working in his favor, more a cause of frustration than proper work. And then he got to the problem, and she nodded her head in understanding. “Ah, that makes more sense. Things are actually going quite poorly for me, too, but I’ve been going out most nights in an effort to try and exhaust myself into sleeping.”

That wasn’t what Mina wanted to say. At all. Frowning, she rocked on her heels a bit. That amount of open honesty wasn’t what she wanted to share with this guy that was practically a stranger, but she hadn’t been able to stop the words from tumbling from her lips in an uncharacteristic overshare.

“I’m sorry that it’s like that,” Mina said, trying to start again. She rubbed at her arms. “It’s okay. I mean, if you’d like to talk about it, I have no one to tell.” She followed his gaze, looking at the place that she couldn’t call home. Not now, not really. “I’ve been staying with some friends, actually. I got hurt pretty bad a couple of months ago-- fell off a cliff, I don’t recommend-- but.” She felt like she had to physically stop herself from saying too much. She cleared her throat. “I couldn’t stand to be there because it reminds me of someone I miss, and I don’t want to feel like a burden, so I decided I should stay here more often.”

Something was definitely wrong, Mina decided. She couldn’t stop blurting out the truth. “I apologize. Now, ah, I seem to be the one that’s oversharing,” she said, trying to laugh off the intense embarrassment that she felt.

Alfie raised his brows in concern as his pseudo-neighbor shared her own woes. Unfortunately, he understood the lack of sleep all too well at this point. A sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips as she continued. Interrupting her would have been rude. Instead, he nodded along, making minimal eye contact. His heart sank deeper into his stomach as the young woman explained why she’d returned to the little house in the woods. It was all too similar to his own reasoning for being here now.

But then she was apologizing and the emptiness he felt on behalf of both of them mixed with guilt. “No, no!” Alfie quickly interjected. “There’s no need to apologize, really. I, uh… I hate to hear that.” He wanted to assure her that he was going through something similar. That she wasn’t alone in her grief. That he understood how it must have felt that her entire world was falling apart because so was his. But he couldn’t bring himself to say any of it.

Instead, Alfie scooched over before gingerly patting the spot beside him. He wouldn’t have blamed her for not taking a seat, but at that moment, it seemed like the right thing to do.

“That’s why I’m here too,” he croaked feebly. “I mean — sort of.” Alfie cleared his throat; his eyes fixed on the ground. It was probably strange, but he felt obligated to share the source of his own misery with her now. “I live— I have an apartment downtown, but… I can’t stand being there anymore.” His brows knit together as a tight knot formed in his throat, threatening to choke him. Before he knew it, his nose stung and he let out a strangled sigh, preceding a sniffle. “Because I hear them, you know? Talking — laughing — and I just… That should be me.”

Alfie’s voice cracked and he forced a terse laugh. “Sorry… I sound ridiculous, don’t I? Unloading all of this while you’ve got your own things to worry about.” He hadn’t told anyone about this until now. “I’m glad you’re okay. I mean, y’know… after the whole cliff thing. That obviously doesn’t help what you’re going through now, but…” Say it, he mentally berated himself. Just say it already.

“You’re not alone,” he added finally.

“I usually don’t talk this much,” Mina said. “I seem to be having trouble with-- with my words.” The last time she’d gotten like this, she’d been young, and she’d lied about things to the point of being quite sick, and then she just overshared everything. It had been embarrassing and ridiculous, and she’d had to find new ways to get around the constantly spouting out the truth. She hoped that wasn’t happening now; it would just be the icing on top of the cake of how bad things were going.

She moved to sit beside him, lowering herself onto the porch gingerly. Mina was bruised all over, and it wasn’t broken bones, but she still ached. She ached in her chest, too. “It’s better out here. I’m not reminded of-- of everything.” Of good times and bad times and all the little moments in between. Of sitting by the pool, and doing homework in the kitchen, and falling asleep on the couch.

Breathing out a sigh, Mina shook her head. “You hardly sound ridiculous. That sounds-- sounds achingly familiar, wanting to be away from somewhere that you can’t stand.” She wondered who these people were that made the young man beside her so sad.

“Would you believe me if I said the cliff feels like a rather minor thing, all things considered? Which, now, that sounds ridiculous because the water would have killed me, and I can’t even drown but I was drowning.” Stop talking, Mina told herself, but she couldn’t. “But this just feels so much worse because I knew the cause of that pain, but now I’m in pain, and it’s so stupid, it’s utterly stupid because I didn’t think I could feel like this.” She cleared her throat. “Now that’s ridiculous,” she finished softly. “But thank you. I appreciate that.” Even if she was alone. Even if she was making herself alone.

“Yeah, me neither,” Alfie scoffed. For the most part, Alfie preferred to keep to himself. He was meticulously careful about what he said, how he said it, and who he said it to. Not even his family knew much about him. At least, not the developments over the past few years; more than half a decade now. The only two people that could contend this were Nell and Eddie. Even then, there was still a lot he couldn’t bring himself to tell them.

A deep frown etched into his features as he listened to the other speak. He might not have been aware of her situation, but it eerily mirrored his own. Alfie missed his friend — his best friend. He missed the sound of Eddie’s laugh when he said something stupid, whether intentional or not. He missed sitting beside him on the sofa and the feeling of their shoulders pressed together. He missed hearing the balcony door creak open. He missed Bucket. In retrospect, only a handful of days had gone by since Alfie started pulling away. Bex took everything from him in one fell swoop.

Alfie didn’t know what the girl sitting beside him had (and was) going through, but it wasn’t unreasonable for her to feel that falling off of a cliff wasn’t as crushing as her current situation. “Not ridiculous,” he spoke finally; his voice small. Her confession of not being able to drown didn’t even register — at least, not in the way she meant it. Alfie was all too familiar with death-by-water that the passing comment hardly struck him as odd. He wanted to comfort her. To let her get everything out. It helped to talk about things that upset you. Or, so he’d been told. But in the same regard, he wanted to selfishly do the same. Maybe he could do both…

“It fucking sucks,” Alfie emphatically stated as he threw his hands into the air before letting them drop back to his lap with a light thud. “To hurt so badly and know that there’s nothing you can do to make it any better. To not be able to bear being in your own home because everything reminds you of this person. Because you know you shouldn’t love him the way you—” There it was: the precise feeling Alfie tried so desperately to not put a name on.

Alfie swallowed the knot that formed in his throat. His shoulders drooped, eyes still staring at the ground, and he leaned forward with a sigh. “Not that— I don’t mean that I think you’re hurting because of some guy. I—” Slowly, Alfie dragged a palm down his face before he cupped his chin. “Projecting, I guess.”

“It-- Yes, yes,” Mina agreed because it did. It fucking sucked. “And it’s not like being out of the house helps. Being here is nice, but it’s a temporary solution.” The only thing that truly helped was moving, constantly moving, fighting and helping and protecting and moving until she couldn’t move anymore. She was so exhausted that it was weighing her down like lead, but even the exhaustion didn’t make it go away. The scrapes and bruises didn’t make it go away.

Mina looked at this guy, this young man that she’d only ever really talked to in passing, and she couldn’t help but think of what a pair they made. But of them so utterly dejected and hurt and unable to feel comfortable in their own homes, both of them aching.

Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, Mina shook her head and laughed, but there wasn’t any joy in it. “Not a guy, no, just a girl who I gave my heart to without realizing it.” And she hadn’t realized it because she hadn’t thought it was possible, really, to care about someone that much. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. But she could, apparently, and it just ached. “It just aches,” she said out loud. “And I don’t even blame her for it. I’m not mad, just… I’m not mad.” Being mad would be pointless, and it wouldn’t make this stop. Nothing would.

“Do you want to talk about this guy that you were trying to project onto me?” Mina asked, trying to keep her voice light but genuinely concerned. He seemed to need to talk, and she didn’t want to risk even more words spilling out without her wanting them to.

Alfie gave a knowing nod. As much relief he found here, there was just as much sadness. To a certain degree, he hated it here more. The weight of his self-proclaimed curse lived within those four walls behind him. At least back at his apartment he had means of distraction.

When she explained what her own pain was linked to, Alfie’s head turned slightly towards her. They were in the exact same boat. "Yeah," he muttered, an empathetic frown flashing across his features. "Me too." It wasn't Eddie's fault that he didn't reciprocate Alfie's feelings. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't care for him in the exact same way. Eddie cared — of course he did. He offered Alfie friendship without hesitation. And even when Alfie tried to keep himself at a distance, Eddie never relented. How could he possibly be mad about that? If anything, it only made Alfie love him more.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Alfie sighed. His feelings for Eddie were years in the making. Where was he supposed to start? The beginning? The first time they crossed paths as new neighbors? The first time Eddie dragged himself home from a shitty part-time job, pizza box in hand, and offered it to Alfie? The first time he crossed the boundary between their balconies and let himself into Alfie’s apartment? “He’s straight, for one thing. Not exactly fair of me to be as wrecked as I am, huh? I always knew that— that it would never work out.”

“I thought I’d made peace with it until he started seeing someone. A girl… obviously. Since… y’know… straight.” Alfie fumbled over his words, wringing his hands as he spoke. “Then, everything just sucked. I— I knew why it upset me pretty immediately. Not that I could tell him that. He’d probably resent me for it. And besides, it wouldn’t change anything.” Because he’s straight, Alfie almost reiterated. “So now I’m just some gay cliche; pining after my best friend.” Losing him because of it. He’d lose him either way. There was no winning.

“I’m rather of the mindset that nothing’s particularly fair,” Mina said, her voice dry. It wasn’t fair that she was unable to be comfortable in her own skin. It wasn’t fair that Bex felt like she had to go back to her parents when she wasn’t safe there. It wasn’t fair that Mina was stuck on her when Bex clearly didn’t feel the same. “It’s very hard to stop yourself from liking someone once you’ve started doing it, even if that was never the intention. Not like that, at least.”

Or maybe it was just that Mina couldn’t stop once she thought it was reciprocated. She’d been able to stop herself before, from caring about people. It hadn’t been hard; no one had ever cared about her. Not like that. And everytime she thought she might be genuinely attracted to one of the younger hunters that she and her dad had worked with, she reminded herself that she couldn’t and that they’d never feel that way about her. It helped when they confirmed these thoughts. They always did.

But Mina allowed herself to fall, hard and fast and reckless, and it had been wonderful, and it had been devastating, and, as soon as she came to terms with it, it had been hell. There’s nothing quite like seeing that the person who you’d do absolutely anything for already in a serious, public relationship with someone else.

“I don’t know much about cliches, unfortunately,” Mina said, “but, if it makes you feel any better, I’m in love--” in love, in love, in love, and even the thought of it ached in its sincerity because there was no lie, “-- with someone that moved on so fast I think it gave me actual whiplash.”

Alfie’s heart ached at her words. He tried desperately to not have feelings for Eddie, but they always crept back up at the most inconvenient times. It was never anything more than attraction, or so he thought. But as time went by and he opened himself up to the other man, it was impossible for Alfie to deny that he’d formed a crush on his neighbor. To hear that this feeling was not exclusive to him was almost comforting. At least, as comforting as two forlorn and pining people could be to each other.

“You were in a relationship, then?” Alfie asked, trying to maintain a steady voice. That seemed worse than what he was going through. No matter how much physical affection Eddie gave him, it never came with a label. Why would it? That was just how Eddie was; physical.

Alfie recalled the first time he met Bex and how quickly he assumed she’d spent time canoodling with Eddie on the couch. No matter how much he tried to push the idea aside and brush it off as something that Eddie usually did with friends, he couldn’t help feeling jealous that he wasn’t the only one to receive that sort of attention from him. The moment Bex showed up at Eddie’s doorstep with a gift, Alfie should have known that it would lead to something more than friendship.

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how that must feel,” Alfie stated. But he could. He did. All too well, in fact.

He thought about reaching out to give her a consoling pat on the shoulder. That’s what people did, right? Used physical touch to make someone feel better? Alfie didn’t know much about that. He usually just wanted to be left alone when he was upset. Maybe she shared this feeling, too. Instead, Alfie decided to ask more questions that might help. “Have you talked to her about it? I mean — that’s a dumb question, huh? I’m sure you have if you were in love.” Are in love, he remembered.

“We… didn’t really call it anything,” Mina said. And they hadn’t. I want you. They wanted each other. Bex had hurt someone for her. “I mean, we kissed and we spent a lot of time together, and I don’t know how to fall asleep without her around, but we never-- We didn’t call it a relationship.”

Bex was Mina’s best friend. She was one of the most important people in Mina’s life, and she’d worked her way into that position in a very, very short amount of time. It was terrifying, how much Mina cared about Bex. It was terrifying how much she’d do for her. Having a name for it didn’t make it any easier. Sometimes, it made it worse.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.” It hurts. It hurts. Mina said, “It hurts, but I don’t think I would trade it? I wouldn’t trade it, actually.” It was devastating, but there was a part of her that was in awe over the fact that she could feel something that she just hadn’t thought was possible for her entire life. It made the hurt worth it.

“Absolutely not,” Mina said. “She doesn’t-- We’re not really talking. About that. Any of that. I don’t know if I could, really, at this point. It’d probably just make this worse. That tends to be what I do, most of the time. Make things worse. It always feels like I make things worse.” She swallowed back words, all of them too much, just wanting to spill from her throat without her permission. She changed course instead. “I didn’t introduce myself. I never have, actually, despite how long it’s been. My name is Mina. Wilhelmina Fitzroy, actually, but that’s rather long, isn’t it? Just Mina is fine.”

“Oh,” Alfie said, pretending to understand how two people could kiss without “calling it anything”. It was normal, right? One night stands. Friends with benefits. Then again, he supposed those were labels. Maybe there was a label that applied here — not that it was any of his business. Just because he liked to assign words to things didn’t mean everyone else had to.

Whatever their relationship entailed, it baffled Alfie. Clearly, she was emotionally suffering. Why wouldn’t she want to trade that if she could? Given the chance, Alfie would have easily traded his feelings towards Eddie for a normal friendship with him. That’s what Eddie wanted, after all — for things to be normal between them. For his best friend to not disappear the second his girlfriend came around. If he could give Eddie that kind of friendship, he would; even if — especially if — it meant no longer having feelings for him.

Alfie frowned when she mentioned feeling that she had a knack for making things worse. Admittedly, he doubted that was true, but he couldn’t exactly tell her that she didn’t. He didn’t know her, aftall. So when she offered a proper introduction before he had a chance to find the appropriate thing to say, Alfie was grateful. “Mina,” he repeated as he flashed her a smile and extended his hand for her to shake. “Alfie,” he stated simply before elaborating. “Actually, if it makes you feel any better, my full name’s Alfonzo Ramirez. Just as much of a mouthful. But, uh… It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Mina.”

“She was my best friend,” Mina said quickly, the words coming out in a desperate attempt to try and explain. “And then she was more, and now she’s everything and nothing at all.” And that’s somehow what Bex had become. Because Mina would still do anything for her; that hadn’t changed. But Bex was unreachable. Even if they still talked sometimes. Even if she still acted like she cared, sometimes.

Did the explanation even help? Honestly, Mina didn’t know. It didn’t change anything. It wasn’t any sort of revelation that finding out that she was actually in love had been. It was just undeniable truth. She knew it to be true like she knew mathematical theory, like she knew most of Einuadi’s pieces by heart, like she knew the sting of cold iron slashing and burning through skin. She knew it intimately. It wasn’t a groundbreaking thing, to say the words out loud. It just made her sad.

“It’s nice to meet you, officially, Alfie,” Mina said, shaking his hand. It was warm, hot, even. She wondered if he had a fever, but he seemed alright. “I wish it was under better circumstances for both of us, though. “What about you and your friend?im sorry about the girlfriend, and all of that, but… I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself, for falling in love with him, or for feeling like you can’t be around him. If he’d resent you for your feelings, then I don’t know if he’s a good friend at all.”

Who knew a simple phrase like “she was my best friend” could hit Alfie so profoundly? Eddie might not have been anything more than that — his best friend — but the sentiment resonated more than Alfie wanted to admit. Would the same ring true for their friendship soon enough? Would Eddie somehow become “everything and nothing at all” for him? He didn’t want that. He wanted his best friend. No girlfriends. No boyfriends. He just wanted Eddie. Why couldn’t it be that simple?

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Alfie assured before releasing Mina’s hand and wiping his palm against his pant leg. He hadn’t realized how clammy he was until his skin came in contact with hers. With any luck, she didn’t notice — or if she had, he hoped she wasn’t completely repulsed by him now. The fact that she continued the conversation by asking him more about his situation was probably a good sign, right? “My friend,” he reiterated with a forced chuckle.

“It’s complicated.” Far more complicated than Alfie knew how to put into words. As it turned out, Eddie didn’t resent him for having feelings for him. It would have been easier if he did. No matter how hard Alfie tried to pretend that his relationship with Bex had little to no effect on him, he failed. Miserably. It didn’t take long at all for the other man to piece everything together; he read Alfie like a book. Eddie still wanted to be friends, that much was certain, but he needed it to work out with Bex. Whatever that meant. It would be good for him. It was what he wanted. So, Alfie had to accept it no matter how much it killed him.

“But, uh… thank you. It means a lot, really. It’s not that—” Alfie allowed himself to trail off, his shoulders drooping once again with a deep sigh. “He doesn’t resent me, though. I wish he did, but… He’s a really good guy. He doesn’t get enough credit for just how good he is, actually. In fact, I don’t think he even realizes it. I should have told him more, y’know? Before… before all of this. And from what I can tell, she’s a really nice girl.” As he spoke, Alfie’s eyes wandered further away from Mina, deciding that the tufts of grass, dirt, and leaves around the porch were somehow interesting. “He deserves someone good — someone like him. I was always shit to him, anyway.”

“Complicated is… familiar,” Mina murmured in response. Because things had never been not been complicated. There had never really been a moment when things had been going well. There had always been something. Warden ex-boyfriends, out of control werewolves, homicidal selkies, houses falling down, a mother that treated her daughter like prey. Nothing had ever been easy. And then it was gone, and all that was left was feelings and hurt and dreams that lingered and shifted themselves into nightmares. So Mina tried not to sleep much. She was always so tired.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said quickly. Even if Mina didn’t know how to twist people’s thanks into favors, it was better to play it safe. “Please don’t. Thank me.” She glanced over at him, tired and as sad as she was, and she rubbed at her injured arm hidden under her sleeves. “I’m glad he doesn’t resent you, and that he’s kind and good, though I know that doesn’t lessen your pain. Trust me, I know.” She knew all too well. She knew what it was like to just want someone to be happy.

Alfie’s words were cutting, even if he didn’t realize it. Mina also thought that Bex deserved someone good. And the Youtube guy (Eddie, his name was Eddie) seemed good. He seemed kind. He was funny and probably really easy to be around, and he probably didn’t keep things from her. He was probably human. He could probably give Bex more than Mina ever could. “I--” Her voice was higher than she wanted it to be. She cleared her throat. “I get that. I do.” She did. She did. She did.

Eddie’s goodness did not, in fact, lessen Alfie’s pain, just as their conversation the day after the fateful karaoke night hadn’t. Everything was confusing. He’d never been more uncertain of anything in his life and he’d… well, he’d lived more lives than he cared to admit. He wondered if it was ever simple for him, but highly doubted that was the case.

On the other hand, Mina asking that he not thank her was also not something that Alfie was able to successfully process. “I mean it, though,” he continued with a gentle smile. “Talking with you… it’s been nice.” He hadn’t even been this forthright when it came to talking to his sister, Leah. She knew more specifics than Mina did, but until now he hadn’t allowed anyone to really know how the entire situation made him feel — Eddie didn’t even get an actual confession.

“It’s gonna get better, Mina. Things suck now, but it’ll get better. For both of us. I promise.”

Mina managed a small smile. “It has been nice. All the same, you shouldn’t thank me. It’s-- This has been nice for me, too, in a weird, kind of painful way. There’s nothing to thank, truly.” And maybe that was a bit more information than was needed, but still. It was true. Of course it was true. All she could manage was the truth.

Eyes widening at the promise, Mina stood up. “No. I release you from that promise. Don’t promise things like that.” There wasn’t much of a chance that things were going to get better than they already were. Not for her. She was stuck like this for the rest of her life. It was luck that she’d managed to do it once, fall in love. She didn’t want to do it again. She couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t.

“I hope… I hope it gets better for you, Alfie. I really do.” Mina gave him a sad smile. “But you shouldn’t make promises to people that can’t be kept. It’s dangerous. Especially around here.” Especially with people like me. “I-- It was really nice talking to you. I appreciate you talking with me.”

Alfie should have known better than to go around making idle promises to strangers in the woods, but here he was. As soon as Mina interjected, giving him a proper scolding all the same, Alfie’s eyes widened. Fae — she had to be. No one could grow up in the Ramirez family without learning how to keep themselves safe from all harm. Nevermind how disappointed his parents would have been if they knew, Leah would be upset enough for the both of them. The thought made him chuckle, although his timing wasn’t so appropriate.

“Sorry, sorry… I— mmm…” Alfie pursed his lips together as he carefully rose from the porch. The less he said the better, right? “I hope everything works out for you, then.” Were wishes a fae thing? Shit, he couldn’t remember. Even so, that couldn’t have counted as a wish, right? “Sorry,” he murmured again. Fae or not, she seemed alright in his book. Granted, his knowledge was far more limited than other studious members of his family. For all he knew, Mina would sneak into his cabin while he slept and turn him into a tree.

He almost reached out for a parting handshake but instead gave a timid wave goodbye. “Yeah, of course.” Anytime, Alfie stopped himself from saying. “It was, uh… a pleasure to meet you, Mina. Maybe I’ll see you around, neighbor.” Even now, while he was desperate to escape his life outside of these woods, the word didn’t sound quite right. He wouldn’t last the night in this cabin.

#c: mina #writing #wickedswriting #misery loves company #internalized homophobia tw #domestic abuse tw

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irene-sadler · 3 years

Text

Six Months

someone wondered when the Baroness (a side character from the Tournament aka Sir Reynard and the Red Knight which I wrote earlier this year) was coming back and uh, “back” implies that she ever left in the first place, tbh. spoilers: she didn’t.

anyway so here’s a little something something

its a quick family story plus a story about civilians in wartime packed into a little over 4000 words. rated PG. ft teen romance drama, sheep, grown up romance non drama, and not a single canon witcher character. think Roseanne (original show not the weird remake that died on arrival for Reasons) but in the setting of The Witcher. or don’t if u have no idea what i’m even talking about b/c u dont watch 90s cable sitcoms constantly like i do lol.

Six Months:

The Nilfgaardian soldiers came at night, but they found an empty manor house. The occupants had had plenty of warning they were on their way; the family’s oldest son had ridden nonstop from Rivia Castle to warn them that there had been a coup, that the Queen had vanished and her young son was in charge, and that it was only a matter of time before their old enemy Caldwell came looking for them. Hilde thought they were, in many ways, fortunate - not lucky, because no luck had been involved - fortunate that their son was riding his fastest horse, fortunate that the rest of the household managed to collect what they could and hide the rest without dramatics or incident, fortunate to have somewhere else to go. An old herbalist’s hut in the woods wasn’t much, but it was, she’d said, a roof over their heads. They’d always had a plan, in case everything in their lives went very badly wrong. Everything had, and the hut was part of it.

Then her son rode off with most of her other sons and the rest of her husband’s knights, on the chance that the Queen was out there somewhere, and left the place somewhat emptier-feeling in his absence.

“Wish I was going with them,” the Baron said, looking down the woodland road after them.

“We talked about this, Eldred; you’re sixty-seven years old, your eyesight’s going bad, and your knees don’t bend anymore. A warband’s got no use for you.”

“I know that,” he said. “Don’t mean I don’t wish I was going.”

A little flock of sheep crossed the path, with some of her nephews trailing after them, waving sticks and shouting.

“I’ll be worried about them, too,” she said, as one of the sheep suddenly bolted. Eldred took her hand, squeezed it, and limped off after it.

The next time their paths crossed he was in a slightly better mood. She hooked her arm through his elbow and looked up at the full moon through the trees.

“Can’t hear myself think in there, so I came out here for some fresh air,” he said. There wasn’t enough room inside for even half the people who had followed them along. Most of the household had settled around the hut in tents and bedrolls. The inside of the hut was still jammed with the smaller children. They were also fortunate that it was spring, and nobody would freeze to death sleeping outside. No luck involved, again. No army fought in the winter, although she wouldn’t put it past the Empire to try.

“We’ll have to build pens for the sheep and pigs, tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe some more shelters, too. The farmhands can do it. And I’ll organize some of the women t’ forage in the woods. We’re fortunate it’s spring. We might be living off pottage of oats and chickweed, but we won’t starve t’ death.”

“You know,” Eldred said, “I was thinking I might get a shot at some of these invaders after all. They might turn up here.”

“They might.”

“Wouldn’t want any spies or wanderers t’ spot us and take word back to th’ army that we’re out here.”

“No.”

“Anyhow, with all these boys out here, I thought I might train ‘em up a little, just in case.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Might take some of these girls, too,” he added.

“Even better,” she said. He smiled down at her.

“We’ll be safe here.”

“Of course we will, with you around,” she said.

———

Wars were just a part of life. She was born and raised in Rivia; she’d grown up watching her brothers and father ride off to war with Lyria, over and over again. Her father was killed by a Lyrian archer when she was twenty-three. She’d watched her mother’s face while they buried him. She never wanted to know what it took to make someone wear that hard, dead expression. Over a decade later the King married a Lyrian princess and those wars stopped, but more took their place. There had been the rebellion, after the King died, led by her own disgruntled brothers, who refused to serve a Lyrian; her husband’s promotion from petty knight to Baron was a direct result of the glory he’d won putting it down. That war had almost destroyed her marriage, but they’d pulled through, in the end. Then there had been bandits, minor invasions, civil unrest; it seemed like there was always something to fight over, but never anything new. Whether Lyrians were killing Rivians or Nilfgaardians were killing Rivians, they always had the same damn excuses for it. The older she got, the less patience she had for any of them.

———

Smoke from cooking fires floated through the newly cleared area around the camp. The forest echoed with the sounds of axes hitting wood and more trees falling. The pigs slept in the shade out of the heat, watched over by a pack of skinny boys from the village. The herbalist’s hut sat surrounded by a dozen almost identical buildings - buildings, children, chickens, dogs, a donkey that someone had brought in, loaded down with rushes -

The Nilfgaardians hadn’t found them, but a whole lot of other people somehow had. Some of them brought livestock or food, but a hell of a lot of them had nothing but the clothes on their backs. Hilde refused to turn them away, even if a few of the hands muttered darkly about spies and famine. More was better; more people meant more hands to work and more eyes to keep watch. Eldred’s little force of skinny teenagers with homemade bows and farmhands armed with handaxes had grown in size, if not, in her opinion, in quality. He seemed pleased with them, at least. Some of them were standing watch at the edges of the clearing. She was pretty sure none of them were asleep.

It turned out they weren’t; a minor racket interrupted the idyllic peace of the summer afternoon - some kind of argument, she thought. She abandoned the shirt she was mending and headed to the north side of the buildings, where she found a pair of youths shouting at each other. One, she noticed, was her own youngest son, waving a bow and turning an impressive shade of red. The other was a dark-haired girl. The latter spotted her before the former; Hilde watched with detached interest as the girl’s eyes widened and her stance shifted from aggressive to frozen fear.

“Herron,” she said. “It’s -”

“What’s this about?” Hilde asked.

“- your mother.”

Herron deflated, visibly.

“We were just - we were talking,” he said, staring at his own feet.

“I heard.”

“Just a - a disagreement over the watch schedule,” said the girl. She raised an eyebrow, considered telling them to cut the shit, and then decided not to. Whatever it was, it was probably harmless, and it wouldn’t be improved by her involvement.

“If you have an issue, take it up with the Baron,” she said. “Meanwhile, quit disturbing the peace.”

The girl bowed and escaped at not quite a jog. Herron stared after her, still beet red.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“Nobody.”

“No?”

“She’s just - she wasn’t at the right guardpost.”

“Whatever you say,” she said. Herron was shifting uncomfortably, showing the usual signs of a teenager who desperately wanted to escape.

“Go on,” she said. “Get back t’ work.”

———

Herron had begged to go to war with his brothers. He was only fourteen, and although he looked like a skinny, lanky, teenage copy of his father, he had none of Eldred’s athletic ability. The best that could be said for him was he was a decent shot. Maybe he would have survived the battlefield, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Besides, he was her baby boy; she felt like he had been ten years old only the week before. She couldn’t let him go, and Eldred had taken one look at her face and hadn’t argued with her. The resulting angst had taken weeks to wear off.

Whatever Herron was up to, she was just glad he was finally speaking to her again.

———

The rainy season hit exactly on time; a genuine stroke of luck, because the rain would keep their ever-increasing hideout a secret for a little longer. The pigs were happy, but the sheep and humans less so. Hilde and her selected lieutenants kept the place running anyway, despite the endless mud, the nonstop damp, and the weather that ranged from a drizzly mist in the mornings to downpours in the afternoons and evenings that were so heavy Eldred stopped making his militia patrol the forest for fear they’d get lost or drown in a flash flood.

During one of the downpours one of the militia members came splashing through the mud and into the hut. Eldred stopped scrubbing rust off his sword.

“Something going on?”

Hilde thought he sounded a little too hopeful.

“Nothin’,” the man said. “Not really. Just, we had this kid come up t’ th’ east guardpost just now.”

“Ask around; has t’ belong to someone around here,” Hilde said.

“Don’t think so, milady, on account of it ain’t a human child.”

“Oh. I’ll take a look,” she said. “Go on, I’ll be there.”

Eldred shook his head slightly at her as she stood and pulled a cloak around herself.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

She could barely see where she was going, but she managed to slop her way through the muck between the huts and made her way the guardpost. A little pack of militia stood around the spot, watching a single, very small shape that huddled under a blanket. The shape didn’t look up when the guards all spotted her and stood.

“Honestly,” she said. “How many people does it take to keep an eye on one five-year-old? Don’t you all have work to do?”

“We were thinkin’ maybe there could be Squirrels about,” someone explained, awkwardly. She rolled her eyes; the expression might have lost some effect in the pouring rain and dark, so she added a little of it to her tone.

“Yes, well. If so, I’ll protect you, Jenny. Get going, all of you. Find something else to do.”

Most of them trailed off, muttering among themselves. One man stuck around; she raised an eyebrow at him, which he seemed to take as a sign. He stumped off a few yards away and stood squinting out at the dark woods. She rolled her eyes again and crouched down.

“Hello. Who are you?”

“I’m six,” the huddled shape said.

“What’s that?”

“You said I was five.”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s hard to tell for sure, under that blanket.”

“I don’t want t’ get wet.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ailfe.”

“My name’s Hilde,” she said. “If you come with me, you can get something to eat and sit in front of a fire. What do you say?”

“Alright.”

Ailfe sat next to the fire, inhaling a steaming bowl of barley and dandelion leaves. Hilde offered seconds after the first bowl was done, bided her time, and, finally, asked, “So - Ailfe. Where are your parents?”

The girl shrugged, took just enough time away from eating to say, “Dead,” and went back to it. Eldred shook his head again, slightly, when she glanced at him; he had looked less than surprised when she came in out of the rain lugging a bundle. He was trying to look like he was wearily embracing the inevitable, but she could see a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. She smiled back.

“Where are you from?”

“Dravograd,” Ailfe said.

“Ah.”

She’d heard rumors, in passing, through the militia, who’d heard them from the merchants on the roads. Hilde knew enough to believe them.

“Well,” she said, “You can stay here, if you like; it’s not like we don’t have the room, and you can help my nephews with the sheep. How’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

Not twenty minutes later, the girl was dead asleep. Hilde pulled a dry blanket around her and stretched out on the pallet in the corner next to Eldred.

“Couldn’t let her starve,” she said to him.

“We’ve had stranger things than elves in our family, I suppose,” he replied. “Remember my uncle Egbert? Th’ one who turned into an enthusiast and became a priest of Pareplut?”

“I always wanted a daughter.”

“I know,” he said, kissed the side of her head, and added, “I love you.”

“And I love you, Eldred,” she said.

-——

When she’d decided she was going to marry him, her parents hadn’t been too sure about the idea. She was twenty and he was slightly more than a decade older, but she’d seen him in the tournaments, and she’d heard about him outside them. He was very often the best knight on the field - perfect form, an undeniable talent - and he was a close cousin to the King, and her aunt’s husband had it on good authority that he was as capable an administrator as he was a fighter. It was true that he wasn’t much to look at, but she wasn’t foolish enough to care about his missing front tooth, or the scar on his chin, or his crooked nose. The day he’d won yet another tournament and gallantly offered her the prize with a gap-toothed smile, she knew nobody in the world was going to change her mind about Sir Eldred Greenwood. Her parents would just have to get used to it.

——

The rain stopped for good and the sun cooked all the water out of the air. She started sending the kids and donkeys off to the stream, a mile away, every morning and evening to fill kegs with water. Ailfe trooped along with the others, wearing a shapeless cap that covered her ears, looking as filthy and half-wild as any of them. She had forgotten about the incident with Herron completely.

She was sitting on the top rail of a fence in the twilight, watching bats flutter through the smoke and lights of the camp and chatting about nothing in particular with Eldred. Anything resembling privacy was hard to come by, but most people seemed to be off doing something, somewhere, and nobody was near the sheep pens. At least, they didn’t think so, but they were wrong. Right around the time she lost interest in the bats and they ran out of things to talk about, something interrupted the forgotten background hum of insects and humanity.

“Wynn?” a voice said, from the nearby guardpost, out of sight past a shed. Eldred jumped about three inches and, to her mild disappointment, stopped kissing her.

“What the hell-”

She covered his mouth with her hand, quickly.

“Shush.”

It was only Herron. She recognized his voice. She didn’t immediately recognize the voice that responded.

“Hi Herron. You on watch?”

“Yep.”

“When do you get off?”

“Uh, in around an hour. Why?”

She figured it out, after some thought; it was the girl he’d been arguing with, weeks earlier. Eldred raised an inquiring eyebrow up at her. She shook her head at him.

“Do you want t’ get dinner afterward? My folks are cooking a chicken that quit laying.”

“Oh,” Herron said. “I already ate.”

After a brief pause, the girl said, “Um, well, have a good shift, then. I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” Herron replied.

Hilde waited a minute, then sighed wearily. Eldred looked pained.

“That was the single worst thing I’ve ever overheard,” he commented.

“I’m thinking you ought to have a talk with our son,” she replied, quietly.

“First thing in the morning, and not a minute later,” he agreed. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“We weren’t.”

————

They’d had five sons. The oldest, Hal, had a wife and children of his own. He was at court, most of the time; Eldred had sworn off the place as soon as Hal was old enough to go without him, and only went up for holidays and emergencies. Edgar and Robin, the twins, were five years younger and as unalike as they could make themselves. Edgar was a wanderer, had barely been home for most of the last decade. She wasn’t sure if it was fortunate or not that he had been home during the spring. Robin had just gotten married during the winter, and had a position at court. Jack, the fourth, had died of consumption when he was four. Her youngest son was a surprise; she’d been over forty when he was born, and nobody had expected both of them to survive the event, but they’d been wrong. Herron was weedy, but he was as strong as an ox. He looked like his father, crooked nose and all, but he acted just like her long-dead oldest brother - kind, loyal, brilliant, and unbelievably easy to manipulate. It worried her, sometimes, but she knew better than to wonder if her youngest son would come to a similar end. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past, and even less by trying to predict the future.

———

The dry spell continued. One evening the donkeys and children went off as usual. An hour later as she was helping finish butcher one of the pigs, one of the boys scrambled out of the woods. Hilde balanced the knife in her hand and glanced at the trees behind him. Nothing seemed to be following him - at least, not very closely.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re comin’,” he said, wide-eyed and shaking.

“Who?”

“Black Ones. We was on our way back, and - and -”

She swore under her breath and turned quickly; she would have told one of the others to get Eldred, find the militia, but it was too late; someone had already gone.

“- they took all the donkeys,” he continued, “Even Donny.”

“What about all your friends? The other kids?”

“I don’t know; everyone was running around, and there were soldiers, and nobody was payin’ attention to me and I just ran away.”

Herron raced up, sweating heavily.

“Ma, someone said th’ enemy’s here, and dad says t’ get everyone inside th’ stockade-”

“Yes, I know what t’ do,” she said. “There’s a bunch of kids out in these woods, somewhere.”

Her daughter was out there, somewhere. She had to go find them.

“I’ll go look for them,” Herron said. “I’ll find them.”

He looked terrified. She couldn’t send him - but she couldn’t not send him; she knew she couldn’t really go herself. What would she do out in the woods? Get lost. Get killed. Herron was, if nothing else, a good shot, and a halfway decent hunter.

“I can do it,” he said. He looked even younger than he actually was, but he sounded confident. She breathed out and nodded.

“Please be careful.”

“I’ll try.”

The stockade was barely a wall; it was a fence with a gate, but it was better than nothing. They’d built it to head height with the sharp ends of logs pointed out toward the trees, and it wouldn’t stop an arrow, but it would stop a horse. Hilde stood by the gate, looking through the holes in the fence at the path her husband and a bunch of teenagers and farmers had taken into the woods. He had trooped out with a sword in his hand, smiled at her under his helmet, and hadn’t looked back. She told herself he would be fine, and Herron would be fine, and the collection of women armed with axes and pitchforks and old spears left over to defend the entirety of the camp would be fine.

Hours passed, and nothing happened. The feeling of stretched nerves in the air turned to one of faint boredom as the afternoon wore on. She took to pacing the perimeter of the fence, watching the trees for movement, listening for a sound other than the endless rattle of cicadas and crickets and the noise of livestock and people. The shadows got long, and nothing happened. She sternly told herself not to worry, or, at least, not to imagine horrible things that could be happening very far away.

“Horses,” someone suddenly said. “I hear horses comin’.”

She stared out at the woods, clutching the makeshift spear she’d armed herself with. There were horses out there; she heard a rumble that could only be a line of heavy cavalry, dozens of armored horses and men. She’d heard them a thousand times in a thousand melees, and she could imagine exactly what they would do to her mass of barely-armed, unarmored peasants if they broke through the fence.

“Get ready with the spears,” she said. “Just like we practiced.”

Spears was an overstatement; more than a few of the people who lined up behind the fence with the points of their weapons facing toward the trees were holding pitchforks, but Eldred had thought they’d do just as well. She had her own doubts, but they didn’t have anything better. Any side conversations ended as the sound of the oncoming cavalry rumbled louder; they stood and sweated and waited until the first horse appeared on the narrow road between the trees. She squinted at it; it was hard to see in the dusk, and she wasn’t very familiar with Nilfgaardian armor, but she didn’t think the rider was wearing black. In fact, the knight riding up at the head of the column had a distinctly familiar seat. She breathed, finally, and leaned the spear on the fence.

“Those are Lyrian banners,” someone said.

“It’s a trick,” someone else replied, shakily.

“No,” she said. “No it isn’t. Open the gate.”

She trooped up the road, met the column, found Herron limping along beside them with a bandage on his leg, a pack of children surrounding him, and Ailfe in his arms.

“What happened?”

“I did it,” Ailfe announced. “I saved the day.”

“Oh?”

“Well, sort of,” her son replied. “She did keep the Blackclads from catching her and the other kids -”

“-we climbed a tree,” a boy announced, smugly.

“-and then I found them and they caught me -”

“Herron fought like a good one,” said Ailfe. “He got wounded, look.”

“- then Dad and the lads turned up and attacked the Nilfs -”

Ailfe finished the story in an excited shout.

“- and then, durin’ the fight, th’ army came!”

The knight from the head of the column pulled up and stopped.

“Not that we needed help,” he said.

“No, of course not,” Hilde replied, rolling her eyes at him.

“- anyway, it all ended more or less well,” said Herron. “And they’re saying the Queen’s back.”

She looked up at Eldred, caught a gap-toothed grin on his face.

“Oh?”

Eldred nodded at her.

“We can go home soon,” Herron said.

“Home?” Ailfe asked.

“I’ll tell you all about it,” he said. “Come on, let’s get down to the camp. Ma, are you coming?”

“In a minute,” Hilde said.

“Well,” she said, in the comparative quiet after they left, “Did you see any of our sons?”

“Not in this unit - these people are just scouts, really,” Eldred said.

“They’re all alive, at least?”

“Far as I know. We’ll see them soon enough, if all goes well.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Can I give you a lift back?”

“A ride from a noble knight? I can’t say no to that,” she said.

The camp was swarming with Lyrian soldiers, Rivian civilians, donkeys, barking dogs, and runaway goats and sheep. Eldred reined in the horse at the gate and overlooked the chaos. She thought she caught a glimpse of Herron and Wynn, ducking out of sight behind a hut, and quickly pointed out the leader of the soldiers.

“Ah,” Eldred said. “Well, I suppose we could wade into this mess and talk to him -”

“You’re the Baron,” she interrupted. “You can’t just sneak off by yourself with all this going on. Also, it’s getting dark.”

“I wasn’t going to go by myself.”

“Oh,” she said.

“What I’m thinking is we go off somewhere and come back after this has a chance t’ calm itself down -”

“I suppose I can always pretend you kidnapped me,” she said. “Someone has to maintain an appearance of responsibility around here.”

“I promise to have you back before dark,” he said. “What d’ you say?”

“It’s a deal.”

“Someone told me our Hal’s a Colonel, now,” he said, turning the horse around. She wrapped her arms around his waist and propped her chin up on his shoulder to see the road ahead.

“Is he?”

“Not that it’s a surprise; he’s just like you.”

“A social climber?”

“A pragmatist.”

“You always were a romantic, Eldred.”

“I’m a lucky man. We wouldn’t have made it all these months without you.”

Luck had nothing to do with it; they’d planned and fought and were, again, fortunate that it had all worked out in the end. She buried her face in his neck and let him think it had, anyway.

“I can’t wait to go home,” she said.

#witcher #fanfiction #original characters #drama #humor #romance #relationships #thronebreaker #middle aged women running things

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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years

Text

The Rumor Mill Game (pt2)

You guys asked, and I have no self control at all. Have some more Intrulogical, now with Plot(tm). If you missed part one you can find it [here!]

Summary: If he thought himself a king of the office, then Logan was honored to be the guillotine. [aka When his coworker, Remus, decides to play a game, Logan is going to make sure he regrets it. Even if its the last thing he does.]

Words: 3506

Quick taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @midnightmagi @shadowjag @residentanchor

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had first put on the ring, he hadn’t expected it to end like this.

But that was mostly his own folly: Logan should have realized that based on his (lack of) knowledge concerning the behaviors of Remus Prince, his imagined plan of action would be....upended. After all, he had barely known the man beyond the occasional sight of him in the break room where he teetered on the edge of the counter sitting much like a king as his subjects bowed before him.

Logan was of the sound impression that absolutely everyone who had been hired for his company was of the particularly stupid brand. Often times he had imagined his boss had sat down in the interviews and hired the first person who walked in and smiled, because clearly Beatrice from Accounting did not know what she was doing and her inability to use Excel spreadsheets had led him to far too many late nights correcting her work.

It was one such night that had lead to this...this ludicrous situation: Logan had been in his office all day practically tearing his hair out over his coworkers inability to count (what did you do with the decimal point, Kyle? Where did this five come from? Why are you all so inept?) and his coffee had gone cold, and he should have been leaving an hour ago, but these pages had been due two weeks ago and Logan hated leaving things unfinished.

He had a headache brewing from staring at his screen for so long. He peeled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes until they watered before glancing at the clock in the bottom of his screen. After a quick and efficiently ruthless curse towards Janet for being so late to turn in any of her sheets, he scooted back in his chair and had left to refill in coffee mug.

The office floor had been deserted for the most part. Logan should have been grateful, because that meant less possible nonsense to distract him from his work.

But unfortunately, he was quite familiar with Jen’s hair in a loose-but-still-formal bun and Quin’s scarf that they wore like a talisman to ward off bad omens. They clutched it the second they noticed Logan approaching the two of them, as if he had been coming to deliver an upsetting diagnosis and not to use the coffee machine they were standing in front of.

And because Logan was absolutely not in the mood to talk to either of them, Jen had caught sight of him and puffed her cheeks in anger, like some sort of puffer fish. She tuned to face him fully with her arms on her hips and gave him some equivalent to a “death glare”, as Logan assumed people would call it.

“What are you doing here?” She asked.

“I work here,” Logan said, perhaps a little snappish, “Now, might I get to the coffee machine?”

She had huffed, tapped her foot thrice, and then shuffled to the side just enough that Logan could get to the coffee machine.

Thankfully, just enough was still technically enough. He placed his mug beside the coffee maker and checked the cartridge for leftover used grinds because-- once again-- all of his coworkers were extremely disappointing when it came to using their brains.

Jen huffed again and she was close enough that absolutely all of Logan’s internal alarms started ringing. He snapped the cartridge --thankfully clean, Logan ideally wondered if maybe it was possible they were learning. Oh wouldn’t that be a miracle?-- closed and debated giving up on the coffee all together. But he could still see grid patterns when he closed his eyes, so he dug out his preferred coffee brand and set up the maker.

Quin opened their mouth and closed it again several times. It was clear from the way they shifted on their feet and and looked anywhere but at Jen or him that they were uncomfortable. Logan found himself praying to gods that he didn’t believe in that they would hold off until he had his coffee and was safely back in his office.

“I see Remus cleaned your mug.” Quin mumbled softly because the gods that Logan didn’t believe in don’t exist and he was on this planet purely to suffer.

But they had made a semi-valid point. Remus had cleaned his cup just as Logan had requested--just as was basic human politeness when using something of someone else’s possession, regardless of the fact that Remus Prince had not asked permission to use it in the first place. Logan felt his nose twitch in irritation at the memory of the other day.

“Yes,” Logan said between his gritted teeth. Had the coffee machine always been this slow? Or perhaps it was showing its age by taking longer to make his miserable coffee. He was sure that he could move some funds around to get them a new machine by Thursday if he could just make it back to his office--

“That’s all you have to say?” Jen sniped, “Just “Yes”? Unbelievable!”

“If you have an issue,” Logan said to her, “Please keep it to yourself.”

She slammed a hand on the counter, “I cannot believe you! Perfect Logan Ackroyd! You’re just like all the rest of them!”

“Curious how this sounds very much like you are not keeping your issue to yourself,” Logan commented.

“Jen--” Quin said, but she acted much like puddle of gasoline after a match dropped on it.

She got red in the face and her neat eyebrows smashed together as she stared down him with a snarl that most certainly did not belong in the workplace. She stamped her foot like some sort of child-- honestly? Logan shouldn’t have been surprised seeing how he had been able to hear the meltdown that happened after her messy breakup with Kyle. It had been so loud that Remus had even had the gall to look moderately shocked when everything had gone down.

“Where do you guys get off on taking advantage of your significant other’s trust in you?” Jen growled, “Is it fun for you? Do you not care about our feelings? Maybe we weren’t so far off when we said you were a robot, Mr. Ackroyd! You’re cold and cruel and I hope that when your affair comes to light--”

“Jennifer,” Logan hissed, “choose your next words extremely carefully, because I have spent eleven hours going over spreadsheets that have been done wrong and am not in the mood to listen to you prattle about lost love. In case you have forgotten, I very much have control over your sector and it will only take three emails to have you demoted and-or removed from this company.”

Jen’s mouth snapped shut.

Logan thought that was the first merciful thing that had happened all day. He picked up his coffee, holding it tightly in his hand despite the heat radiating off it and headed out of the breakroom.

He stopped at the door, as the dregs of the conversation spun through his brain. “Did you imply that I was having an affair?”

Quin was wringing their hands and Jen was clawing her nails into the counter. Still, they nodded.

“Who told you that?”

And really, Logan should have expected the answer. Of course it was Remus Prince, the advertising privateer who had turned the entire company into some sort of drama circus with his half truths and his lack of a mouth filter.

The Robot Extravaganza had stolen the peace and quiet of Logan’s work atmosphere and driven him up the figurative walls. That week alone had eight times more people rapping on his door frame than he had had in the entire year previously. And of course that ridiculous white board they had put up in the far wall as if Logan was incapable of reading and comprehending words. It was unprofessional and childish and Logan had barely gotten any work done when he had been constantly interrupted with mundane questions of “Logan do you need to eat?”, “Logan how do you shower without rusting?”, “Logan do you have batteries or do you plug yourself in at night?”, “Logan!”, “Logan!”, “Logan!”.

Not to mention the way that Remus had laughed the entire time as if he found the idea of Logan being harassed particularly amusing. And Logan hated that laugh. It was terrible and awful and grating, and it made Logan want to tear out his hair because it sounded so much like---

“Is that so,” Logan said absently to Jen and Quin. “Remus Prince told you I was having an affair.”

He shifted to hold his mug with both hands, his eyes slipping over to that counter where Remus had been sitting before, with that same mug between his legs daring suggestive thoughts. How many times had Logan seen him sitting there looking like he could control the whole world with a few crass comments?

It was a game to him, wasn’t it? A game that Remus loved to play because he always won.

And who better to fix that than Logan who had been craving for revenge like it was a figurative itch under his very skin?

“Ah, well then,” Logan said and then because he was very much not the type to let people misinterpret him, he added, “I hadn’t realized my husband’s antics would upset you so much, Jen. I apologize on his behalf.”

That got their attentions real quick. Quin’s neck cracked with the force of which they turned their head to look him in the eye. Jen blinked several times as if she was having trouble processing things.

“Husband?” Jen repeats, as if she hadn’t heard the term before.

Logan straightened his back, “I’ll repeat myself slower since this seems to be overwhelming for your small brain. Remus Prince and I are married.”

“You’re a real asshole!” She covered her mouth and then fluttered her hands in a bootless waste of motions. “You’re serious? Wait of course you are! How could I forget, necktie! Oh my god, you’re serious. You and Remus?”

Logan took a sip of his coffee. “I have spreadsheets to amend.”

“Wait wait wait! I want details! Logan get back, here!” Jen screeched after him.

Logan wondered vaguely if this was the reason why Remus spread these rumors so often: the short zappy thrill that had ignited his neurons was much more effective than his coffee could ever hope to be. And Jen had believed him without a hesitance-- which truly was revealing of her hot headed nature. It was, dare he say, exciting. He hadn’t felt this way since his college lab days when he had tackled the creation of experiments with unbridled vigour.

Just how much was she willing to accept just because Logan had been the one to tell her? Just how wild of an accusation could Logan offer up before she wisened up? How quickly would this get back to Remus?

Logan itched to set up an experiment to test it all out. After all he would only get one chance to do this: most certainly when Remus gathered wind of how Logan had turned his false information back on him, Remus would come clean and admit that they had never even seen each other.

It would ruin both of their reputations. Remus as someone who spread truths, and Logan as someone who could be believed in every instance.

But Remus would still choose it over allowing anyone in the work area to think they were married. Logan knew this easily, obviously, irrefutably. They were strangers, not even acquaintances.

“Janet! Janet!” Jen screeched surprisingly loud for someone of her stature. “Janet did you know that Remus and Logan are married?”

Logan hadn’t realized Janet was still there at all, but at the accusation she flung backwards from her cubical in her rolling office chair and nearly crashed into Logan on just feet from his private office door.

“Run that by me again!” She demanded, “Remus and Logan?”

Logan opened his door and let himself in but before he could close it, Janet wedged her foot in the way.

“No way! Remus doesn’t wear a ring!”

“Allergic to metals,” Logan listed off the top of his head.

“You don’t wear a ring, either!” Janet said grabbing at his hand and nearly causing him to spill his coffee.

And well….

Quin, Jen, and Janet were all standing at his door, ready to believe whatever he said. He could have just said he was also allergic to metals too, but there was dubious gleam in Janet’s eyes, because yes, this is the sole thing she seemed to be knowledgeable about.

If Janet didn’t believe him now, then Jen would get even more upset at him than before and that would ruin the surprise for Remus tomorrow. A half baked revenge wouldn’t be nearly as good as the one he was expecting.

So he needed a ring.

His eyes slipped over his shoulder to the dinner jacket slumped on the chair in the corner of the room, crumpled and abandoned and gathering dust with the filing cabinet and the box of records that Logan had arranged his first week on the job.

He needed a ring.

And really it was just for one night.

He could pretend.

So Logan swallowed the sudden unexpected lump in his throat and tracked the three steps to the chair to dig the silver band from the pocket. He tried to remember how long it had been there, how long he had tried shoving it from his mind, and pretending like it and the jacket and that night had never existed.

It had been a reminder for so long now: like a flashing sign in the night had warned him that a relationship would never be worth that again, that romantic pursuits were frivolous and fleeting and meaningless.

Regardless, it felt like putting on one of his favorite ties, like slipping into his shoes that were broken in perfectly, like it was made for him.

(It hadn’t been and wasn’t that the most ridiculous part of the story?)

It was only for one night, so he let Jen and Janet and Quin ogle over it and answered their questions efficiently. He tore into Remus’s reputation as subtly as he could, making Quin flee the room and Janet fan her face and Jen cackle. He made up a story about a summer wedding, about a honeymoon he thought was just ridiculous, about late night activities he could never imagine doing with anyone.

And when they left, Logan had stared at the band engraved so delicately for another ten minutes.

“A robot,” Logan said to himself.

Is that what he had thought, too?

Logan shook his head to clear his mind. He tossed the ring in his pencil cup and gathered his bag and car keys.

If he allowed himself to ignore the lapse in reality, he could even pretend like using the ring in this fashion was the same as saying “Fuck you” to the man he had almost married a year ago.

It was just one night, and an hour or so tomorrow morning after all.

Logan arrived the next day earlier than normal, which was an unexpected surprise. He got to flick on the lights and watch the floor illuminate itself. His shoes made a lovely type of clack on the tiling.

It used to feel lonely, being this early to work, but Logan found himself distracted by the anticipation of the days promised events.

He finished correcting Janet's spreadsheets and sent them off for proper filing, reorganized his desk, slipped on his ring, and managed to get his coffee brewed before most of the office had come alive.

"Holy shit," he heard Kyle whisper to Max, "Is Logan smiling?"

Curious. It seemed that he was. Logan settled himself against the wall of the break room, Remus’s preferred cup in hand, where he had an excellent view of the cubical where Remus came up with his schemes. Jen, Janet, and Beatrice were already huddling around the entrance, much like a committee of domesticated vultures preparing for a feast.

By the time that Remus showed up to the office, running three minutes late, Logan was nearly giddy. Perhaps he could understand why Remus did what he did, if this was the sort of feeling that he experienced every time he opened his mouth.

Logan had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime; one of his hobbies was visiting art museums, art galleries, movie premieres and the likes while on his mandatory three weeks of time off from work. Still nothing could quite capture the glee that was invoked directly into Logan when Remus’s eyes had widened and his jaw dropped and his face flushed with embarrassment when Quinn squeaked at the sight of him.

Remus Prince looked like a work of art when the world dumped him on the floor and left him too shocked to speak.

If he thought himself a king of the office, then Logan was honored to be the guillotine.

Except.

“Logie!” Remus whined, throwing his arms up, “I thought we agreed to keep it a secret!”

Logan’s smile vaporized, almost instantly, “Wait--”

“You Mischievous Mathematician, You!” Remus giggled crossing the area far quicker than a person should be able to cross that distance. Logan blinked and suddenly Remus was right in front of him, a foot, half a foot, a handful of inches. And his voice only seemed to get louder, bolder, more excited with every step. Logan had a hypothesis that all twenty eight of the workers on the floor were watching them with baited breath.

“Well I’m happy!” Remus said loudly for Kyle and Jen and Janet and Beatrice and, and, and-- “I’ve missed getting lunch together! Let’s go to the sandwich shop down the street!”

“Absolutely not--”

“Or we could do that Thai restaurant that’s your favorite!” Remus said, which tripped Logan up because Remus had noticed he preferred Thai? Logan couldn’t even remember the last time he had Thai! How could Remus have possibly known he liked Thai?

“I’ll pay!” Remus said when Logan hadn’t responded quick enough to turn down the lunch proposal. “Oh this is going to be so much fun, Lolo!”

And Remus came in far too close, closer than anyone has been to him in a year. His eyes were brown with flecks of green dark enough to seem like a swamp at Twilight. They gleamed as he fluttered his lashes at Logan and his mouth curls into a pointed smile.

“Let’s play,” Remus said so softly that Logan himself could barely hear it. And then he pulled back, and stepped away with Logan’s coffee in his hands. He took a long sip and licked his lip afterwards. “Mmm! Just how I like it Lo! You’re so good to me!”

Logan knew for a fact that Remus did not like black coffee. He’d seen the numbers that went into buying creamer for the break room.

Just what did Remus think he was doing? Playing along with Logan’s rumor reversal? Encouraging it?

Remus smiled at him. “Lunch it is!” He said and waved Logan goodbye with his fingers.

Of course Logan could out him right there, right then. All he had to say was that it was a lie and that he and Remus were in no way married and he had no intentions of having lunch together. But for some reason the words seemed to be figuratively jammed in his throat, leaving him with nothing more than splutterings to vocalize his frustration.

Fine. Logan inhaled through his nose, curled his lip, and twisted his watch on his left hand to center his thoughts. Remus would like to play a game?

Fine. Logan could play a game with him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, dearest?” Logan said before Remus could get too far away.

He could see the way Remus’s eyes light up at the nickname, the twitch of his mustache where he was struggling not to laugh too boldly. “Am I?”

“I did make you coffee. Do you not tip your barista?”

“Ah,” Remus swirled the mug, “And how does my “barista” like his tips then?”

When Logan had put on the ring, he had not expected to end up with Remus’s lips on his.

And yet.

Remus kissed like he was dying and wanted to make every second last, like he was living for the moment, like he had nothing left too lose. Logan thought it was ridiculous that he tasted like pickles this early in the morning.

“I think you’ll find I won’t fold that easily, Specs,” Remus breathed when he pulled back.

Logan replied, “May the best man win.”

And then he took his coffee back out of Remus’s hands and headed back to his office with that ring firmly on his hand. It appeared that he would need it for just a bit longer.

Part Three

#intrulogical #sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #Far too many OCs gross #Rumor Mill Au #Revenge getting #rumors #well fake marriage #sympathetic remus

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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

The Missing Princess

Who wants to read an original short story I wrote today while feeling uninspired for Dannymay?

Trick question! You do!

We reached the third day of our journey and, to be honest, things were not going well.

Mother always said that when things got really bad, it was never just one thing. One thing, you could cope with. No. Troubles came in threes. Here were ours:

One. The sky, boiling overhead, red lightning flashing through the clouds, rain washing out the roads.

Two. The wizard, wretched and retching by the fire, sweat pouring down his face.

Three, and this was the important one. The latest word on the missing princess had arrived at nightfall. Our timetable had been accelerated significantly.

I took my two lieutenants to the side of the cave. First, I turned to Yuren, our guide, and asked, "If we left the wizard and , could we make it to Hanarail tomorrow?"

Yuren ran his thumb over one of the maps inked on his forearm. "Possibly. It would be difficult."

"We can't leave the wizard!" exclaimed Hebena, my cousin. Years past, we learned tactics and swordplay together.

"And Zeren, to look after him."

Hebena made a dismissive motion. "Forget Zeren. We'll never win without the wizard."

"No," croaked the wizard, half rising from his position. "The... princess... more important."

I watched, uneasy, as he regained his breath.

He held out his hands. "There's another way. Give me your sword."

I handed it to him. He bent double over the steel blade, crooning to it, his eyes bright with fever and magic. Finally, he sat back. "It'll kill the beast in Hanarail," he said. Then he slumped, eyes rolling back in his head.

Zeren reacted first, putting his hand on the wizard's chest and his neck. He shook his head.

"Nothing I can do," he said. "He's dead."

We lost three horses the next day. Zeren cried when we slit his horse's throat, but there was nothing else we could do for a leg that badly broken.

After the third, Yuren suggested we leave the horses and roads behind. We would make better time cutting across the mountainside. Hebena liked the idea of coming at the city from an unexpected angle. I agreed. With only ten of us wouldn't be like moving an army over the same terrain, and the trees would provide some shelter from the rain.

But because of those trees, we didn't see our enemies.

They looked like men, women, and children, but they weren't. Their eyes fluttered red, and smoke dripped from their noses.

Zeren went first, a fist buried in his stomach. He screamed as he burned from the inside out. Yuren clawed his way up a tree, and the rest of us drew our weapons. I put my sword through the neck of Zeren’s, and the creature fell to ash.

By the time the battle was over, five of us remained. Yuren, Hebena, Osena and Mena, the archers, and myself.

I pursed my lips. The creatures always seemed to go for the men first.

We dragged the bodies of our dead away from the ashes creatures, and covered them with branches. We didn't have time for anything more than that and a few whispered prayers.

At dusk, we reached Hanarail. The walls of the city were as I saw them last: in ruins.

Once, Hanarail had been the flower of the kingdom, the seat of the queen's court. But now? Now those creatures crawled through the broken streets and burned out houses, glowing faintly in the growing dark.

From our hiding place in the treeline, I pointed at a still-standing gatehouse. "There," I said. Then I moved my finger to indicate several creatures near the building.

Osena nodded, and stepped forward, knocking an arrow to her bow. Mena copied the motion. They let fly, and fly again. Each of the arrows found its mark in the head or chest of one of the creatures.

The way clear, four of us ran forward through the rain. Yuren, his task done for now, stayed back. He would still be there when we made our return journey.

When. Not if.

The darkness in the guardhouse forced us to light lanterns. I went first, Hebena half a step behind me. We kept our swords drawn. Osena and Mena followed, with knives and lanterns. The halls were too narrow for their bows.

The tables were overturned. The metal rusted. Dust lay thick on the floor, and we startled more than a few rats. I noted a scorch mark on one wall, marking the place where I first slew a red-eyed creature.

The tunnel in the basement was small and close. This would be a bad place to be attacked. But the creatures seemed just as unaware of the tunnel as they had been the last time I had passed through it. We traveled beneath the city without issue, and climbed the steep stairs up into the palace.

The room we emerged into had once been mine. Every scrap of cloth within had been torn to shreds, the furniture rendered down to splinters, the murals on the walls hammered to pieces, the plaster littering the floor.

It was nothing, compared to what had happened in the city.

Hebena knew the halls of the palace almost as well as I did, but our enemies were more concentrated here. We wanted to keep our stealth, so we moved slowly. In the wider rooms and halls, Osena and Mena took up their bows again. Osena ran out of arrows halfway through, and Mena split her remaining ones with her.

We skirted the edges of the great receiving hall, and the chambers where the court had once played at politics. We took a shortcut through a servants’ stair, down into the gallery of statues.

There, we made a mistake, mistaking a particularly dusty creature for a statue. It shrieked like a steaming teapot as we passed in front of it, and I heard footsteps, a great many of them. It had called its kin.

Hebena cleaved its head from its body and we ran. The creatures did not possess great intelligence. If we could hide ourselves from them for long enough, they would give up the search. She and I, wearing heavier armor, soon fell behind Osena and Mena.

Mena tripped over the outstretched arm of a fallen statue. Abandoning her bow, Osena stopped to help her up. A steaming hand reached around a statue and seized Osena’s arm. She screamed.

Mena struggled to her feet, and stabbed the thing with an arrow. She pulled back, hissing, arrow blackened and hand scalded.

The four of us spent the next hour hiding in a power room. Osena and Mena’s burns shone and wept gruesomely, and considering their location, rendered them unable to fight. Without Zeren, there was little we could do for them, but wrap them and hope they wouldn’t become infected.

“Take us with you,” said Mena as Hebena and I prepared to leave. “If nothing else, we can be a distraction.”

I shook my head. “You’d slow us down,” I said. We all knew it was a lie. Burns on their hands and arms would not keep them from running. “We will come back for you, when we’re done.”

The hall to the treasury was empty. The great vault doors hung sadly on their hinges, pink-hued light spilling from within. Hebena and I took one last look at each other and raised our swords.

Books littered the floor of the treasury, in no particular order or mode of organization. Some appeared to have been simply thrown where they lay, resting on their pages, or open on their spines. In the center of the room stood a throne of red glass. Something inside of it burned like firelight.

A woman, a princess, sat on it. Her beauty had not faded in the years since I last saw her. On the throne, her skirts were artfully arrayed. Her tiara, set with rubies, gleamed. So did her eyes.

“I see mother has sent her favorite killers after me,” she said, drumming her long nails on the book in her lap. The pages smoked.

“Hello, sister,” I said. I stepped to the left, Hebena, to the right. “The wizard is dead.”

“Don’t pretend to mourn. You didn’t even know his name.”

“I suspect he was shy of sharing, after you used it to curse him the first time,” I said, mildly, moving closer. “Wizards are like that.”

My sister clicked her tongue and made a complicated gesture with one hand. Hebena dove to the floor as the books around her burst into flame. I ran forward, only to come to a stop as my sister made another gesture, drawing a line of fire between us.

“If mother wanted me dead,” she said, amused, “she should have sent an army. Or perhaps it’s you she wants dead this time.”

“She doesn’t even know I’m here. If you gave this up,” I gestured at the fire and all it implied, “she would welcome you back with open arms, even now.”

“And you?” Her raised eyebrow barely behind the fire.

“No,” I said. I leapt through the fire, sword extended. It found its mark.

The fires died with my sister. All of them. So did the storm, and the creatures she had spawned. Leaving the city was, therefore, a relatively simple matter.

Yuren was no longer alone in the woods. Two dozen knights in my mother’s livery stood by him. They turned to face us as we approached. A murmur of the missing princess reached my ears. Several of the knights dismounted to bow.

For my greeting, I held up my sister’s severed head.

Feedback appreciated.

#my writing #my original fiction #original fiction #short story #complete #not dp #violence #some death #fantasy

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veleno-fiore · 3 years

Text

To the ex-best friend

I write this more for myself than anything, because I blocked you on everything that I ever had you linked to. My tumblr, facebook, twitter, instagram, even in my phone. But sometimes I wonder if you would ever look at my posts to see if I was doing fine if I didn’t have you blocked. I wonder because sometimes I want to do the same for you. But I know it would only bring pain on myself even more and I don’t want to mourn a single thought of you any longer.

I understand now what it means to pretend someone is dead, rather than moved on to something else. Did you do the same for us? Or do you still shove our names in the mud, to better shine on your own? Portray us as the villains in the story, and you the polished white knight in stainless steel armor when really all that means if everyone else’s reflection on you is your own facade?

I can say honestly that I don’t experience a sense of betrayal often. Not since maybe middle school. I learned after being bullied for so long to keep my friends close and few in numbers. I believed after all the hardship I had been through, how my mind and heart began to learn how to sift through the weeds to find the good ones, that I had become a good judgement of character. I’m happy to say most of my friendships never turned into bitter and hateful break ups.

Most. Not all. You were the one that broke the streak of good ones.

See, most of my friends that I no longer speak to before don’t manipulate the way you did. Most just fade, drift to pursue their own passions and careers in their lives. I can understand that because I have done the same and faded away from some of my own best friends. But it’s never a bitterness that I taste on my tongue when their names cross my minds. It’s nostalgic, fondness, and good memories that come to mind.

Your memories have now been tainted, sour and bitter and only make me recoil in disgust and agony like a poisoned polished knife that I lovingly crafted for you was thrust right into my heart the second I placed it in your hands.

Friendship and trust is very much that. You spend years, forging a blade of the finest steel over the hearth. Your hands become calloused, you spend so much time working out all the little bumps and imperfection until it is smooth and brings a smile to your face because for once YES you have made something that you are truly proud of that you put all your heart into it.

Then, you give it away. You lay that beautiful knife in another’s hands, a gift that you put all your soul into creating. I can say I’ve done this with a few people in my life that I would trust them with my darkest of secrets.

I hold their knives in turn, and I protect them with it and wield them in their defense. There are three, and they know who they are.

I gave you one too. I thought, “surely after 10 years of holding this knife, I can trust them with anything.” I believe you may have given me yours as well. You’ve certainly told me things that seemed personal enough that you would never want them told anywhere else. Lord knows I’ve poured enough of my soul into it, I would think you’d have a similar trust in me.

But I’m not so sure. Because after 10 years, things began to change. You grew tarnished, bitter. But it wasn’t a sudden change in that. You’ve always had a rusted edge to you, quick to lash out at anything and anyone. There were no grey areas to you, it was always they were wrong and you were right. And if they were wrong, they deserved to burn.

But this time, it was towards us. To anything we said. It had begun to feel as if even among you, where once I thought it was as easy as walking through a field of soft grass it had turned sharpened like jagged stones in the bottom of a volcano. Each moment hurt and threatened to carve us open. They had begun to grow weary. I can’t blame them. But I’m stubborn, and did my best to walk through the fire and embers that burned away at me.

But it only grew hotter and burned and scorned me with every step.

Do you know the most foolish thing I have ever done? Each time you would erupt and disappear, I would be the one walking through lava to bring the fire back to us again. I pursued you each time, to try to patch this friendship up, even if we weren’t in the wrong. We would stand in the fire, and the fire would never cool.

There were never apologies. You would continue to burn us and I forced us to stand there and endure like nothing was wrong.

And for that, I’m sorry to my two that I forced that onto you. Maybe this could have ended much sooner than it did if I wasn’t so firmly set in my belief that everything could be solved with communication.

I didn’t realize until it was too late that I was slicing my own hands with the dagger I trusted to you.

In the end, what sparked the final crack was something that feels so minor and petty. But, you left. And for once, I did not follow after you. I decided, “if they want to come back, they’ll come back. Let’s leave them be.” Granted, that was after the initial attempt to tell you as you screamed that they hated you that they didn’t. And you told me you didn’t want to talk about it. Not to me, not to anyone.

So, I did as you requested. I left you alone. And I stayed true to that. We all did.

Three. Weeks.

After three weeks, you began to stab at us. Laying vague messages all over, even going so far as to threaten a false lawsuit at us. I wish I could say I was being poetic there, but no that actually happened. You began to stab at our backs that were turned to give you your requested time of silence.

That’s what made the spark turn into an eruption.

My two were done, instantly. They cut ties immediately with you, screaming into the night out of well-deserved frustration and anger over your actions.

I handled my pain differently. I mourned. I sobbed. I cried so hard through the night I hardly slept and felt so much pain in my chest I felt hollow inside. My dagger that I had spent so much of my time and energy and love into making for you was plunged right into my chest by your hand, and it hurt.

Then, we met others. Others that you had hurt in the past. As much as I didn’t want to believe at that moment that you were a bad person--even with the dagger still piercing my chest--they knew things about you that no one else would besides us.

It was the final straw. And where originally the idea was to absolutely ruin you, we stopped. We cooled down. All three of us began to mourn and only wanted to move on. It was clear there was no salvaging anything, but if there was some way just to get some sort of closure on it all, then that would suffice.

So, I took the plunge to contact you. I didn’t want to discuss with you, only tell you to unblock him so HE could talk to you.

And the first thing you say to me?

“Three weeks. Is it for more insults or cussing out? He can save both. As you can.”

No one “cussed you out”. Your definition of cussing someone out is CALLING them out on what they’ve done.

I ask you why you’re getting pissed at me, when I’ve done nothing to you. I have stayed radio silent on this entire matter on every account I own.

You say, “You’ve all had three weeks to talk to me.” And then you proceed to give me a message to relay to everyone else because, “I expect you to.”

And then, at that moment, I was done. I reached up, gripped the dagger you thrust into my chest, and ripped it out and all my frustration and anger from 10 years of silence poured onto you like a tsunami meets a volcanic fire.

I yelled, screamed, and said everything that was on my mind. How YOU had the chance to change everything. How YOU had the ability to message us first. How YOU were the one that blocked us. How YOU were the one that asked for silence. How it was ME that would always try to pick the pieces up again. How it was ME that would try to put all of us back into the same room and try to patch it all like we weren’t just in WWIII. How YOU were the one who was silent too in this entire endeavor.

And then, I was done. I was bleeding as I took the steps I needed to make to heal myself. I blocked you on everything I could think of. I deleted you from my phone contacts.

But, I forgot to block you there for a moment.

And you texted me. “Okay. Sorry it had to come to this. Love you.”

Did you ever really love me?

So at times like this, when my mind comes to you and wonders, “did they ever mourn the loss of me? Of 10 years of friendship that we shared?”

I remind myself that it doesn’t matter. Because this tie was broken a long time ago, with the first scars you laid on me.

I was the one who held out my hands for you to cut.

Now, I am the one taking it back.

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 20: The City of Shadow

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The key to defeating Gaius lies deep beneath the streets of Paris, beneath the famous catacombs to the once-revered jewel of the Vampire King's Court. For over 400 years the crypts have waited, abandoned. But if they want any chance of saving their home, they have to be willing to risk whatever may slumber within.

[READ IT ON AO3]

It doesn’t bode well for her peace of mind that not even twenty minutes into their journey, Nadya can feel the beginnings of the all-too-familiar headaches starting to knock at her temples. Worst. houseguest. ever.

“Does this mean we can just… get this over with here?” Nadya grinds out. Serafine looks back at her from where she leads the metaphorical charge; her smile is sympathetic, but not at all reassuring.

“We’ve just hit the Seine, that’s all. It will pass.”

Great, just great. Water pressure is screwing her around before the actual creepy mojo. Why couldn’t they have packed aspirin in one of these dumb bags? “What about further on?”

Serafine doesn’t have an answer for that, though. And that says it all.

Nadya stops counting the minutes after that. For her own sanity if anything.

Lily is nearing the end of her shot-for-shot recount of The Fellowship of the Ring (because she is personally offended by the fact both Adrian and Cadence lived during Tolkien’s lifetime and have neither read the books nor seen the movies, and also because Jax told her not to) when the narrow corridor widens out just enough to give her a little breathing room. It’s not much of a difference for the more broad-shouldered of them, but they don’t even need to breathe anyway.

Where the beginning tunnel was rustic and just a path carved out of the ground, this leg of the journey is noticeably different. The ground is more flat; earth packed from decades of footsteps long gone. The dug-out walls are cemented in place with limestone, and above their heads the ceiling curves up on both sides to end in an arch with a pointed tip.

Eventually they come across the first sconces laid into the wall masonry; metal dark and rusted over the years but sturdy and undisturbed. Serafine grabs a match book from her pack with one hand and brushes cobwebs from an ancient torch with another. It takes several matches to catch and hold a flame but once it does the effect is immediate — the path suffusing with flickering yellow light and a heat Nadya didn’t know she was already missing.

Adrian follows suit and lights the torch on the opposite wall. When they reach a new set every few minutes they always stop and help coax the fire to life. “To help guide us back,” is the explanation she offers; but the way her voice catches thick in her throat tells a different story.

A story none of them have quite gotten the full picture of, yet, and that may have been okay before — when it was lost to history. But now they are lost to history.

Serafine makes sure of that.

“When your entire immortality is spent living in the ebb and flow of tidal fear, it can be so very easy to succumb to the despair of it. To this day I would not be surprised to learn that was part of the Holy Knights’ doctrine calling for the faithful to purge the world of our existence. If it was not they who felled us with their own hand, then they sought to make eternal life so full of loss, of misery and death and fear, that we would do their work for them.

“There were many whom I called companions that succumbed to those very thoughts.” The way she says it; like she blames herself. “Those of us who remained did so for more than just ourselves. Many were like myself — we had seen the world change so many times with our own eyes it was no longer the one we were born into. And we knew we would see it again.

“We found ways to seek the proverbial light in the darkness. Many of us had fled to La Cité Sombre from the richest courts of the mortal world. We brought our passion and fine taste here and to the crypts. The mortals hastened to be rid of their infected dead, so we took them off their hands.”

While Nadya tries to think of several polite ways to casually mention that something like that isn’t something casually mentioned, Lily beats her to the punch.

“What did you people do with the dead bodies? Do I want to know? I swear to God.”

“Careful up ahead here, mes amis, we’re getting close.”

It takes the combined efforts of all five vampires to pry open a set of double doors. The rotted wood practically crumbles to the touch, and the hinges barely bend half of the doorway before they snap and clatter to the ground.

Immediately a pungent foulness, thick as a wall whether it was tangible or not, assaults Nadya’s nose. A hair-curling stench of decay — of death — Nadya is all-too familiar with by now. What an unsettling notion.

The open doorway empties out into a near-pitch black room. The last torches were too far back to give it proper lighting, but the bright blue-white of their flashlight beams reveal some kind of atrium. An outpost, maybe? Though it isn’t much taller than the path they just left it’s spacious enough for them to spread out for the first time in hours; that’s not something to take for granted.

Serafine crosses the space in long and purposeful strides. She already knows what she’s looking for; another set of sconces and torches framing the exit. The familiar hiss-snikt of the match and the blessed warmth that follows is more than welcome.

A warmth that’s instantly sucked away; replaced by a cold wave of realization as the rest of the atrium comes into light around them.

“My god…”

Nadya doesn’t even recognize her own voice; feels the back of her clammy hand press up against her lips as if that might contain her shock.

It doesn’t.

Skeletons litter the flagstones at their feet. She looks down to see one a hair’s width away from the toe of her boot and instantly recoils; presses herself back against something solid she’s too horrified to immediately recognize. Adrian’s arms come around her protectively; but he can only do so much.

Old-fashioned armor, ancient and the real-freaking-deal, must once have fit snug and secure on these bodies. Not anymore; not with the flesh long since rotted away, along with whatever ate the rot itself. But without exposure from the elements they’re pristine and almost bleached. All except for the places where a thin blanket of grey dust coats the sharp jut of bone exposed in the armor’s gaps.

Objectively Nadya had known they were essentially entering one large burial tomb but… it isn’t until this moment that she’s faced (quite literally, eye sockets hollow and black as the void) with the gruesome reality of it all.

She’s just glad she’s not the only one.

Serafine recovers first. Lowering her head deep and reverent, words whispered on her lips so faint there isn’t even a trace of them in the stale air. A prayer, Nadya slowly realizes; and she averts her eyes out of respect for the woman’s mourning.

She steps out of the safety of Adrian’s comfort, fingertips tenderly brushing his forearm.

Go to her, that touch says, because she can see he wants to. A want bordering on need. In a blink he’s across the room and hovering just shy of the woman’s trembling shoulders. Less confident here than he was just moments prior. Nadya’s heart goes out to the guy.

Jax comes up on Nadya’s left. He rests a hand on her shoulder something just shy of tender; a hesitance in his furrowed brow she’s not used to seeing on that normally cocky expression. He coaxes her back with just his fingertips; she’s more than willing to trade places with him if that’s what he wants.

Lily wraps her arms around herself; isolating herself like an island in a sea of bone. Somehow Nadya has a feeling there won’t be as many violent video games in the apartment when all this is over.

If they survive it, a morbid part of her thinks.

In front of her Jax takes a knee, brushes the same fragile touch over the nearest set of remains. Not reverence, but not fear either. All it takes is the slightest pressure and the skeleton’s bottom jaw clatters to the floor. Only it’s not the bone that Jax can’t look away from. But rather the grey smeared on his fingertips.

A choked noise comes from Cadence. He clears the distress from his throat and looks away out of respect. And it’s in the weighted silence and dancing shadows that Nadya realizes why they’re all so distressed.

“Vampires don’t leave skeletons.”

Nadya cringes; she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Stating the obvious that everyone else had already come to understand maybe even from the moment they entered the atrium. Yet here she is, stupid human Nadya, who finally understands far too late that it isn’t dust blanketed over the dead, under their feet, silky on Jax’s fingertips.

It’s ash.

However small this room might be the dead inside are countless. More than the preserved armor and bone, they hang in the air; caught by the eye in the firelight like dust motes in the early morning sun.

It’s only going to get worse from here on out, isn’t it?

“The continent was stricken with Plague. As the dead multiplied, so did the faith of the desperate grow. The Holy Knights used that to their advantage; they used the dead and dying to lure our kind out with false hope, and starved the rest. What started as a refuge from the onslaught grew—flourished. It was more than a place to hide — it was, for the first time, a community.”

Her voice cracks and wavers more than a few times, but Serafine doesn’t let the emotions stop her. In fact they give her the strength to keep going; to tell a story long overdue. Not just to relieve the weight of it from her soul, but to fill in the spaces the Knights had tried to destroy — and prove their failure.

“For over two hundred years we had this.” Even with tears shining in her eyes, Serafine manages a wistful smile. “Long enough for some to have never known a life on the run. And long enough for a culture to flourish and grow within our ranks. To this day I still cannot fathom how so much was taken from us so quickly.”

She buries her face into Adrian’s shoulder, seeking a comfort he gives open and freely. He buries a kiss on the crown of her head, face almost lost in wild curls.

“Kamilah only mentioned it once,” he murmurs, “I don’t even remember what for. But it was one of the only times Vega agreed with her without a peep, so it’s hard to forget.”

Serafine hums, nods. “He was still newly Turned when the City fell. Were he not a child of Gaius I doubt he would have survived.”

Nadya and Lily exchange glances, and they must be riding the same train of thought. One that goes to one town only: Wouldn’t That Have Made Our Lives Easier-Ville, USA.

Cadence eases himself from the wall with his foot. “I’ve read sparse accounts of the City, but all of them date prior to 1570. And none of them actually… say what happened.”

Whether Serafine is going to answer him is really anyone’s guess. When Nadya had first noticed it seemed like she was pointedly ignoring his (admittedly very hard to ignore, on account of his tree-like status) presence, she wrote it off without a word to anyone. Probably just too involved in her own drama, right?

But now… now Nadya’s not so sure. And that’s probably why she does respond; because if she doesn’t then there’s nothing but surety.

“The Holy Knights raided the City.”

“Didn’t you have defense measures in place?” asks Jax with a frown. It earns him a harsh glare.

“Of course we did! But they were well-informed, or well-prepared. They sealed off the main gates to the surface and ambushed us when we were the most congregated; when our guards were lowest, during a night of celebration.”

Nadya’s voice is thick in her throat. “You were sitting ducks.”

“We were lambs, and the slaughter was led to us.”

“What does that mean?”

Serafine’s eyes glow from the nearby torch, but the look of them is nothing but cold; as dead as these forgotten skeletons.

“The Knights were told where they could find us; they were challenged to do so. A fool’s attempt at posturing; hundreds of lives sacrificed for petty glory.”

Cadence blanches. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Who indeed…”

Adrian keeps close even when Serafine pulls away; ready to be there, however she needs. But despite his kindness all it takes is one look for Nadya to see the uncertainty hidden right under the surface of him. Something to talk about later — if they can.

“Come —” the vampiress hikes her bag higher on her shoulder and makes for the only way forward, “— the City is vast; we have a long way to go.”

Which… yeah, that’s fair. They are on a time crunch and all, and the sooner she’s back up where there’s sky and clouds and birds the better in her opinion. But that doesn’t mean Nadya doesn’t keep her little butt propped against the wall until the last possible second.

Only she’s not the last one to get moving.

“Cadence, you coming?”

He startles and jerks his hand away from the top half of a breastplate. More like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar than a vampire touching dead people armor. “Yes, I am. Sorry… this sort of stuff, you know,” he dusts off the knees of his jeans and stands back to full height, “it’s practically pseudo-porn for a vampire historian.”

He tries to laugh it off, but the attempt is as nervous as it is short-lived. Nadya’s pretty sure he’s frowning when he looks at her and asks “what’s the matter?” but she can’t be certain — not with the ridiculous carnival mask he’s decided to put on.

“Why are you wearing that?”

His hand flies to his face. Like most habitual glasses-wearers, more than once Nadya’s caught sight of him pushing up something no longer there. She feels that way right now — but better to rely on contacts for the first leg of their trip than trip and break her only pair before they really got going.

“What, my glasses?” — confusion slowly shifts to concern — “I’m not… wearing anything.”

“Okay, pull my leg, but really.”

But really he feels around like he’s got no idea what she’s talking about. Which is frankly just dumb. It’s gaudy and gauche and some other g-word that means silly probably. But most importantly it’s there.

Isn’t it?

“Maybe you hit your head in the alley a little harder than I thought.”

He’s halfway to pulling a small pin-flashlight out of his jacket pocket when a voice behind her makes Nadya practically leap out of her skin.

“What’s going on here?”

The hairs on the back of Nadya’s neck stand straight up; not the first time she’s ever felt that happen when there’s a vampire at her back — she’ll take being biologically cautious over potential predators over obliviousness any day. But it’s never happened with someone she knows — someone she considers a friend.

Worse still, she’s heard that tone from Serafine before. Biting; borderline cruel even. Filled with centuries of contempt that Nadya hopes — on some level — she’ll never get advanced enough in her Bloodkeeper powers to understand.

It’s how she spoke to Gaius in her memory of Versailles. And it’s how she’s speaking to Cadence now.

Fortunately (for him), he doesn’t take notice.

“Give us just a moment, Miss Dupont,” he clicks the flashlight on and coaxes Nadya forward, “I’m checking Nadya for a concussion.”

She tries not to tense at the woman’s touch on her shoulder. Luckily Serafine is too fixated on the situation to notice. “Has something happened?” Then, her lilting voice practically in Nadya’s ear—

“Did you see something?”

There’s too much at stake for her to start lying now. “It wasn’t a big… I probably just saw shadows or something.”

“Regardless, it could be important.”

Eventually Cadence angles the light away from her eyes. Nadya has to blink the spots away quickly because he’s barely finished when Serafine’s hands are on her shoulders and turning them to face one another. Away from him, her mind supplies like an instigating little jerk.

Serafine sweeps a long look over their skeletal audience. “Did you see what happened here?”

“No. It wasn’t a memory, that’s why it’s probably nothing.” And judging by the look that gets her, if Nadya tries to brush the woman off one more time she might not get a choice in telling. Okay… fine. “It was a mask.”

“A… mask.”

She isn’t asking. “Yeah, some dumb dingy gold Phantom of the Opera thing. But that’s probably my imagination.”

For the first time since she laid eyes on him, Serafine turns and takes Cadence in fully. He towers over her; but he towers over most. But there’s something in the way she stands that puts her at an advantage, and leaves Nadya wracking her brain to try and understand it. Is it her years; does she wear them like Kamilah does? Or is it her confidence; a personality loud and full of life that outshines the muted greys of Cadence’s identity issues?

Or maybe it’s the one-sided recognition.

She knows.

“Is she well enough to keep going?”

It takes the historian more than a moment to realize it’s him she’s addressing; directly this time, too. He nods. “No signs of a concussion, and if it were something worse we’d see signs by now. I’m not well-read on psychic abilities by any means… but, Nadya,” offering her a shrug and an apologetic smile, “if you saw anything… that’s on you.”

Right now she’d admit to just about anything to cut through this tension.

“It was a shadow, I’m sure of it.”

“I agree.” Serafine says, and wastes no time urging both of the stragglers out of the atrium.

Adrian and Lily are three torch-lengths down when they finally catch up. Serafine resumes her place at the lead.

But this time Cadence keeps several paces back. Trailing along after them in silence; the more intentional cousin of quiet.

Lily takes her place back up at Nadya’s side and links their arms together. “Everything good?” she asks.

“Of course,” Nadya lies, and meets her eyes with the truth.

No. Not at all.

It comes as no surprise that her headaches keep getting worse. Nadya tries to trick herself into believing it’s the pressure from their increasing depth, but eventually she’ll have to accept her tiny human fragility has nothing to do with it — it’s the Bloodkeeper thing.

So long as it makes itself useful when the time is right, she reasons with herself—silently and in her own head; she’s not foolish enough to say it aloud, then everything will be worth it.

“The King’s Manor and the heart of the City are just up ahead!”

Despite all of her earlier grief Serafine can’t control the swelling crescendos of excitement in her voice. The vampire’s equivalent of a heart beating faster and faster. Nadya’s relieved either way — how haven’t they walked all the way to Rome by now? Another ten minutes and she was this close to sucking up her pride and asking Adrian to let her piggyback.

But putting the emotional sentiments aside — it’s just another network of tunnels. Hopefully taller and wider than the last but she’s not putting any money on it. There are only so many ways someone can style what’s essentially a person-sized anthill.

Suffice to say the sudden rush of fresh oxygen in her lungs leaves Nadya lightheaded for more than a few reasons. She swallows it greedily, fully intent on taking advantage of the fact she doesn’t have to share. Which is a good thing.

Because when they all finally stop it’s at the edge of a balcony carved into the side of a natural cliff, with a set of twin stone stairs winding down on either side to the vast expanse of a hollowed-out cavern. And the view punches the breath out of her anyway.

Jax digs the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Tell me the claustrophobia is getting to me and there’s not a giant French castle in the middle of Deep-Fuck-Nowhere, Underground.”

They can’t. Because there very much is a giant French chateau in the middle of Deep-Eff-Nowhere, Underground. It just sits down there unassuming and strange; looking like someone could have plucked it from the surface world and just dropped the entire estate down a very deep hole to fall right here. Gardens and all. The back of the building is set into the cave wall, and a winding, sloping path cut into the face of the rock spirals up to a natural plateau where a waterfall rushes softly behind. As her brain finally manages to process more of the underground chamber Nadya notices many such paths all curving up and out across the echoing space; almost all of them leading to archways similar to the one above their heads.

Cadence whistles low under his breath. The sound carries, bouncing from stone to stone until a hundred Cadences are seemingly all in concert. “Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill.”

Adrian finally manages to pick his jaw up from the ground from sheer awe.

“To think all of this was under Paris’ feet for so long… untouched for all these years.” He glances to Serafine with another compliment on the tip of his tongue, but it dies quickly when he notices the wetness welling up in the corners of her eyes. “What is it — what’s wrong?”

Hastily Serafine shakes the tears down her cheeks and away. “Ce n’est rien,” she chokes out thickly, “it is nothing.”

“Obviously not.”

Their hands meet at their sides; never too far apart.

“I had just assumed that the Knights had destroyed everything in the city. Even le Château de L’Ombre. If I had known that it survived the ambush…” She trails off when words can no longer equate to everything bottled up inside.

None of them try to imagine her grief. (Nadya tries her very best to think of anything else; even bordering on the inappropriate, because of anyone there she’s the one who truly could.) Something so beautiful, so captivating could only have been a labor of passion. And who wouldn’t miss the place they called home?

“But never mind the past — we cannot change it no matter how hard we wish or pray.” Nadya swears she catches a flicker of her dark eyes, but her curls make it impossible to be certain. “If the manor’s interior is as intact as the structure itself, I have high hopes for our mission.”

She takes the lead down one side of the steep stone steps. Adrian stays close at her side, and one by one they follow. Natural moisture from the close waterfall have left the steps slick and eroded unevenly; but while Nadya practically tiptoes down each one Lily looks ready to just slide down the banister.

“Finally,” she grins and stretches high up to the (finally) out-of-reach ceiling, “some good luc—ow!”

Rubbing her bruised upper arm, Lily throws a bewildered glare at Jax behind her. “Firstly; ow, rude! Secondly; that’s way no fair. You’ve got, like, fifty years on me you geezer.”

He just shrugs; doesn’t regret a thing. “Then stop jinxing us.”

“I’m using reverse psychology.”

“You can’t — that doesn’t make any sense.”

“You know what else doesn’t make any sense?”

Nadya tries to warn him as sneakily as she can, but the stubborn man ignores her and falls right into Lily’s trap. “What?”

“Your mom.”

Smack! Nadya facepalms so hard it echoes off the stone and follows them all the way down to the Manor.

Age and air thick with mist had rusted the front door’s metal hinges a long time ago. All it takes is the lightest push and the nails bend, groan, and snap in their anchors. Serafine had meant to open the doors. Instead she pushes them inward in creaking defeat.

The fallen wood kicks up centuries’ worth of dust—it’s just dust Nadya it’s just dust just tell yourself it’s dust—she tugs the collar of her sweater up over her mouth to keep from breathing it in. At least Serafine has the decency to look back at her with an apologetic wince. “Désolé, Nadya,” she whispers, and kindly waits until the cloud settles before venturing on.

They creep through the shadowy foyer; shuffling feet and the eerie lack of her companions’ breathing makes Nadya feel like a thief in the night. It’s eerie; predatory. But finally it dawns on her… that’s the point.

They listen; they wait.

Just before her heart can jump out of her throat Adrian gives the all clear.

“We’re alone.”

But that doesn’t mean they can spread themselves thin. Better safe than sorry. Serafine says something up ahead about the residential wing… full disclosure — Nadya isn’t really listening anymore. In her exhaustion she’s practically joined them in the ranks of the walking dead.

Thankfully for her aching feet they don’t continue much farther. A right turn opens out to a different foyer with similar stairs to the ones outside at the far end. Between sweet sweet sleep and where they stand, though, is another wave of collapsed armor and skeletons. She whines and tries to breathe through her mouth as much as possible.

They navigate the floor like a minefield of bone. Lily couldn’t look more ecstatic — though she’s decent enough to keep it to herself for now. Nadya wouldn’t mind if, like the video games they seem to be living now, there was some reward or loot on the other side. But nope.

Just more walking.

Nadya’s stamina bar runs dry parallel to their arrival. She’s only lucky in the little things after all. “Pick a room at your leisure.” Serafine says, and motions with both hands to old half-rotten doors lining either side of the hall. “We shouldn’t waste more time than we already have, but this is not a venture to undertake without a rested mind.” Nadya looks up and finds the vampiress addressing her specifically. “Once we begin, we can’t risk stopping. Conserve your strength.”

Nadya yawns unabashedly. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

And she’s not the only one. Jax ducks into a room on the other side of the hall without so much as a “sweet dreams.” After a moment’s pondering Cadence takes the adjacent door equally wordless — though he at least offers Nadya a tight-lipped smile before closing the door.

Lily and Nadya take the nearest door; but hang back and watch as Serafine takes Adrian’s hand and coaxes him further on, teasing him under her breath. “My old chambers are close. Come along.”

“You know you guys should be resting too, right?” Nadya calls out; and doesn’t have even a lick of regret that the last of her energy is used for sass.

“Goodnight, Nadya.” Adrian says back; without looking.

Lily snickers beside her; puts one hand on the door ready to close it quickly before she shouts out to them; “Use protection!” And slams the door shut.

“What are you still doing here? I thought we agreed to abandon the first places he would look.”

��For you — yes,” she answers; but can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the wide stretch of the city out before her, “but for me it would be a fruitless effort. When the time comes he will find me no matter where I am. It is inevitable.”

The smuggler vampire hates talking to peoples’ backs. Just one of the many things she’s come to learn about Ms. Espinoza in their weeks working together. So she isn’t surprised when the woman comes into view at her side.

It is inconsequential in the end; as most things are.

A long moment of silence passes around them, between them — through them. Neither compelled to speak by any forces greater than themselves. And neither big fans of idle chit-chat, either.

Finally she pulls back; wraps long fingers around the rooftop railing still wet from that afternoon’s rain. Standing here in their melancholy, however mutual it may be, is not a luxury they can afford.

They have such precious little time as it is.

“Is everything in place?”

The younger vampire gives a curt nod. “My guys could only get two trucks. There were some suits nosing around the warehouse night before last; asking questions.”

“Human?”

“Couldn’t be sure. They definitely knew something was up.”

There are too many possibilities; too many variables. Each worse than the last. Centuries of battles and wars — both as a weapon on the field and commanding from the shadows — but it is here, in the middle of a city that could not be more oblivious, that all of her experience fails her.

“The governor agreed to give us until the end of the week before bringing forth her own measures.”

“Forgive how fuckin’ little I believe that.” Maricruz laughs bitterly. The disrespect alone in the look thrown her way would have been grounds for her to bring the brandless, no-name vampire to a heel once upon a time. But those times are long gone.

And here she is, trying with all of her might to keep them from returning. But the passage of time has never left her wanting for irony in any form before. Why would it now? She’s never been bored enough to pursue the universal theological truth, but whatever higher power was pulling her along really needed to back the fuck off.

“Regardless,” though she wishes desperately this weren’t the case, “we have no choice but to continue as planned. Make sure they are loaded and your men are ready to make the trip as soon as the riots begin. Our window of opportunity is smaller than I would like, but we’ll make do with what we have.”

“And if they don’t make it?”

A very real possibility; one she’s had to come to terms with against all else.

Against that familiar voice echoing in the back of her thoughts begging of her — demanding of her — that she do everything in her power to save everyone. That is what Nadya would do. That is the kind of person she is.

That is the kind of person Nadya believes her to be, and she intends to be worthy of it.

“Then we relocate those remaining and try again.”

Whatever argument Maricruz wishes to offer is lost when the first high-pitched wails of police sirens trickle up from the streets below. Little flecks of flashing red and blue weaving against the darkness and towards the heart of the city. Towards the first of many uprisings to come this night.

“Looks like it’s go-time.”

Indeed, she agrees silently; yet finds herself frozen. Kept still by the air and the voice; once thought of — never quite forgotten.

But she would not want to forget.

This is why she fights after all.

“You comin’ along this time?” Maricruz calls out to her; voice distant as she nears the rooftop exit.

She closes her eyes; feels the sharpness of the wind try to cut at her from this high in the heavens. Trying to chisel away at the eternity of her. It has before… but not this time.

“Are you coming or what?! Oi — Kamilah!”

Nadya can still taste the freshness of the city night air on her tongue. She keeps her eyes closed out of desperation; a longing that she knows is in vain but hopes she can power through regardless.

But it’s no use. The memory is gone… and Kamilah with it.

#bloodbound #choices bb #bloodbound fanfiction #adrian raines #kamilah x mc #jax matsuo #lily spencer #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #oc: cadence smith #serafine dupont #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics #kamilah sayeed #oc: maricruz espinoza

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i3utterflyeffect · 4 years

Text

under a cut because this got VERY LONG and VERY RAMBLY

i just wanted to compare this song to tpoh (yes i know it has its own story but that’s not what we’re talking about today)

( if you need to copy-paste: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80sl53M0L6s )

hear me out here because this may seem like a stretch at first but when you see it all down on paper it’ll make more sense I pROMISE--

i’m gonna try and put images in for better readability, so it isn’t just a big ol’ slab of text-- i’m also gonna be skipping lines that i don’t really feel correlate, but most of them do so like. it’s fine lol.

"Don't go across, the longer road's safer, watch as the bolt's trajectory wavers."

RGB talks a lot about detours and taking different paths to throw (presumably) Hate off his tracks, and it makes me think of that!!!!

“Learn it by heart, now the hardest part comes--”

RGB has gone through so many Heroes he’s pretty much learned the cycle by heart, and he’s almost running off a script-- Meanwhile, ‘the hardest part’ makes me think of that line from Suture when he’s breaking it to Hero that she can’t go back!

“--When staggering doubt paralyzes you,”

kind of obvious, but this part goes hand-in-hand with Hero being ‘consumed by doubt’--

“And then, you fall apart like a house of cards, might as well disregard it as a cursory mantra.”

as i said before with the ‘now the hardest part comes’ line, RGB has rehearsed this talk a bunch of times with different heroes so it’s like a ‘cursory mantra’ at this point--

“[ ... ] It's getting harder to act like I don't really care,”

do i even need to say it lol

“I'm sorry but these earnest words of yours are just too much to bear...”

I’m sure i’m not the only one who noticed this but RGB actually does look a little hurt when Hero lashes out at him? anyway he cared a lot more about her in the beginning than he let on

I’m aware of the whole Russian segment in the middle (there’s a translation in the captions as well) but the lyrics don’t really make me think of anything in particular honestly-- the MUSIC CHANGE, however, definitely makes me think of the dream segments and if i WERE to make an amv that would be where I’d put the dream segments anyway-- that’s all i have to say on that part

“[ ... ] In a desperate attempt to hold onto your battered hand,”

again, not sure i even need to say it, but

“[ ... ] ‘Strong enough to let it go,’ he says, but, darling, I don't know!”

This part makes me think of Hero’s choice to move past RGB betraying her-- but, of course, moving past it �� forgiving it, so she’s still mad at him (obviously)

“This isn't my first time sinking lower than the low...”

This isn’t RGB’s first time recruiting a Hero-- and he’s sunk ‘lower than the low’ a LOT, and-- as much as we all love him-- we all pretty much just agree he’s a coward, a liar, a thief, and a petty bastard. Even RGB himself agrees on these points. It also makes me think of Click’s confrontation-- since it’s pretty obvious he considers RGB stealing their lives away to be ‘sinking lower than the low’.

“How hard can it be to never let it overflow? Oh, I've gotten used to being haunted long ago.”

RGB has expressed-- though nonverbally-- that he still regrets that he let his Heroes died. And like..... ‘how hard can it be to never let it overflow’ is basically his mantra considering how much he bottles up. He’s also gotten used to generally being disliked-- if not hated-- by almost everyone in TWOMB, and also just to feeling bad about himself (someone PLEASE get this man a therapist)

“[...] Through the haze and through the maw of the grinder, I won't find her, but I'll guide you through them all.” no deep analysis on this one it just makes me think of when RGB and Hero lost each other in the marketplace lmao

“[ ... ] Now, remember, dear, you've always been too kind!”

Let’s be completely honest here, Hero’s probably the most forgiving out of all of the Heroes, aside from maybe Gladys (and also not counting Dial since we don’t actually know what his real opinion is--) Click considers her choice to save him ‘too kind’, so, well... you know what happens.

“Oh it's nothing new, the visionless leading the blind; It's easy to say, ‘why don't you leave it all behind?’”

This definitely makes me think of RGB luring people away!! No one who accepted the deal actually knew they’d be unable to return, so they were ‘blind’ to it in a sense! And as for the ‘why don’t you leave it all behind’ part, well I mean-- you have to admit, the idea of getting away from everything is reallly tempting.

“And this moral compass is forever misaligned...”

Obviously this is about Click because his moral compass is ALMOST right but at the same time completely and utterly fucked, I mean, he tried to kill a child for disagreeing on RGB’s deserved punishment--

“All I need to hear is that you'll be there, by my side-- But you can never know that...”

RGB does end up getting VERY attached to Hero and, I think the very moment he does realize that (fittingly) is when Hero says that he’s not evil or good, but neutral instead (which is sad because that implies this is the best opinion he’s gotten from someone but that’s a whole other can of worms) Obviously she can ‘never know that’ because what about his PRIDE and he SAID he WOULDN’T GET ATTACHED (...not that it helps because he’s dug his own grave already)

“‘Too strong to die,’ or was that me again?”

This line makes me think of two things-- It makes me think of Time’s comment on him ‘never fully’ being dead, and also makes me think of Negative because... you know. too strong to die.

“I know that there has to be some hope that's just out of sight...”

This part makes me think of the Nothing-- RGB almost loses hope on (at least one of) them surviving twice-- but he came up with solutions! (even though one was completely heartbreaking...)

“...I won't let myself lose it again--”

This feels like it’d be RGB referring to losing Heroes-- he would almost definitely never forgive himself for losing our Hero at this point. It also feels like sort of an internal dialogue to match him throwing Hero towards the fence.

“--And now my only hope is that one day you'll understand...”

This obviously makes me think of him explaining his reasoning behind saving the world in Ex Position-- but it also makes me think of the page just before it transitions to Greenlight? I haven’t seen anything about this, but that little flashback makes me think that Hero is either, a. thankful to RGB for saving her, or, B. frustrated he chose to sacrifice himself and leave her alone like he did.

“[ ... ] [I’ll] save what's left, though I know that, one day, this weight will come to break my back.”

This makes me think of RGB being afraid to fully connect to Hero at first, because he didn’t want to be hit as hard when she inevitably died, (or would have, if not for the mercy of Protagonist’s Luck--)

“Once again we were left in the dust,”

Hero was left on her own ‘in the dust’ after the storm receded. Not much to say there.

"Self-hating ones like us crack when we betray someone's trust.”

Short version? Please get this telly and his child some therapy. Long version? In Target Audience, he seemed like he was going to make a (feeble) attempt at explaining Click’s accusation away... until Hero speaks up.

“So if you must, shield your heart with these layers of rust--”

This makes me think of RGB-- but more evidently (especially combined with the next line), the Green Sun.

“The sun will rise-- Until then I'll be waiting for you on the other side...”

Pretty self-explanatory in the first part-- i don’t really have anything for the last part unfortunately though, especially considering we don’t know what actually is going to happen to the sun yet...

but, uh, that’s all! I just. had these thoughts. and wanted to talk about them. because i like writing essays like this.

tysm for reading all this because i absolutely infodumped here

anyway go support Ferry, they’re the artist and their music slaps

in summary:

#tpoh #the property of hate #tpoh... analysis...??? what do i even TAG this as????????#anyway. i wasn't joking when i said this song had a million connections with tpoh in my head #pitch rambles

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lucacangettathisass · 5 years

Text

How The Light Gets In (ch.5)

SUMMARY: After your home is ransacked by a group of strange men, you and your cousin are taken in by a group of outlaws. And that’s when the trouble really starts.

PAIRINGS: John Marston x Fem!Reader, Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

CHAPTER ONE, CHAPTER TWO, CHAPTER THREE, CHAPTER FOUR

TAGGING: @mountainhymn if you would like to be tagged in future chapters please lmk!

NOTES: What’s that sound you ask? Why, that’s the sound of me shooting myself in the goddamn foot for not watching a playthrough of chapter one to actually see what happens so I can write everything out accurately. oh well. description of stitching up a wound in this chapter, don’t know if it’s entirely accurate but i did feel a little nauseous while writing it so just a warning (of course im already sick so that might have something to do with it but eh). as always reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated, if you like the work, share it!

Later, you learned that the man Mr Morgan had brought back with him, Mr Duffy, claimed to have only been with the O’Driscolls for a few months, and that he hated their leader, Colm, as much as the rest of the gang. However, Mr Van Der Linde appeared to be unconvinced, and decreed that poor Mr Duffy was to be tied up in the barn with some of the other horses, and denied all food and drink.

You felt rather sorry for him. After all, he was on a snow-covered mountain, surrounded by enemies that were heavily armed. The least that Mr Van Der Linde could do was allow him some comforts, at least in your mind.

When you shared these thoughts with Sadie that night, quietly, and away from the other women, her mouth contorted into a cruel sneer. You knew it wasn’t meant for you, but you flinched all the same. “He’s an O’Driscoll.” She snarled. “You don’t owe him nothin’, least of all your pity.”

Maybe she was right. Sadie always said you had a bad habit of wanting to fix people. But then you thought of the look of terror on Mr Duffy’s face when he saw Mr Van Der Linde, like he truly thought he was about to meet his maker, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to hate him the way you hated the O’Driscolls that had taken advantage of your willingness to help them, and killed Jake. Those men had been made of something meaner than whatever it was Mr Duffy had in him.

You hoped he would live long enough to prove you right.

“I ain’t waitin’ any longer.”

You looked up Miss Roberts, pausing in your braiding of Sadie’s hair. “Miss Roberts?”

If she heard you she showed no reaction, just wrung her hands and paced. “It’s been too long, someone should be out there looking for him.”

“That ain’t your decision to make.” Miss Grimshaw said sternly, lighting herself a cigarette.

“Hosea said he would send someone out if John wasn’t back, and he ain’t back!” Miss Roberts argued, with more force than you expected.

“Miss Roberts,” you started gently, “I’m sure Mr Matthews is already organising to have someone go out looking for him. He understands how worried you are.”

This seemed to placate Miss Roberts somewhat, but she was still clearly fretful. “I-I just don’t like it is all. It’s cold out there, and who knows what kind of trouble he could get into.”

She had a point. The cold and thick snow alone were causes for concern, but you knew that wolves lurked on the mountain range as well, and you had heard whispers of a deadly gang hiding out in one of the more remote parts of the wilderness. You had a hard time deciding which would be worse to run into.

Just as you felt the hairs on your body rise, the door opened before quickly closing, heralding the arrival of what could only be more gang members. It was odd, how quickly you had adjusted to being around outlaws.

You recognized Mr Morgan, Mr Matthews, and the well-groomed man, and they were handing out bowls of the same warm soup from the day before. The well-groomed man approached you and Sadie, a bowl in each hand.

“Thank you.” You said, taking both and handing one to Sadie.

“Arthur!” Miss Roberts was almost immediately at Mr Morgan’s side. “H-How you doing?”

Mr Morgan raised an eyebrow before giving Miss Roberts, Jack, and Miss Jackson bowls of soup. “Just fine Abigail. And you?”

“I need you to-” Miss Roberts was momentarily cut off by Mr Morgan scoffing slightly, but she remained undeterred. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry to ask-”

“It’s little John.” Mr Morgan sounded partly exasperated, partly amused, which confused you a little. “He’s got himself caught into a scrape again.”

To say you were surprised at Mr Morgan’s apparent lack of concern would be an understatement, and made you wonder what kind of relationship the two men had. But then, you knew men had a tendency to conceal how they truly felt, even about those they cared about, with very few exceptions.

“He ain’t been seen in two-” Miss Roberts cut herself off as her voice rose, and you could see her make a mighty effort to calm herself. “In two days.”

“Your John’ll be fine.” Mr Morgan insisted. “I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks, and as dull as rusted iron, but that ain’t changing because he got caught in some snowstorm!”

You exchanged a glance with Sadie, and she also seemed surprised at how blase Mr Morgan was being.

“At least go take a look.” Everyone turned their attention to Mr Matthews. “Javier?”

For a moment you were confused, before you heard a “Yes?”, and realized that it had come from the well-groomed man. This made you realize that he was none other than Javier Escuella, the Mexican man Miss Grimshaw had told you about.

“Javier, will you ride out with Arthur, to take a look for John?” Mr Matthews looked from Mr Morgan to Mr Escuella. “You’re the two best fit men we’ve got.”

“Now?” Mr Escuella sounded reluctant, but whether that was because of the conditions or his own feelings towards his missing comrade you couldn’t say.

“She’s...we’re all...we’re pretty worried about him.” Mr Matthews put a hand on Miss Roberts’s shoulder, and you were touched at the show of affection.

Mr Escuella nodded, his previous reluctance apparently forgotten as he approached Mr Morgan. “I know if the situation were reversed and…” He handed Mr Morgan a gun, which you had no idea he had on him, and your eyes widened at the sight of it. “He’d look for me.”

Mr Morgan sighed, but he took the gun from Mr Escuella all the same, and the two men made for the door.

“Thank you!” Miss Roberts smiled, and it warmed your heart to see it.

“Mr Morgan!” You spoke before you could stop yourself, just as Mr Escuella had his hand on the door handle. “You-you can borrow Gladys if you want.”

Mr Morgan seemed surprised at the offer and raised a brow. “You think she’ll let me?”

“I think she knows how she should behave from now on.” You said confidently. “Just-just tell her I said to let you ride her.”

Mr Morgan appeared skeptical, but he nodded, and with a short burst of cold air, he and Mr Escuella were gone.

“Is Papa coming home?” Jack looked up at his mother, eyes filled with hope.

“Here’s hoping.” Abigail sat back down and brought her son into her lap, cradling him.

“Gonna need more than hope.” Sadie said.

“Sadie!” You scolded, glancing back at Jack to see his reaction.

“What? You know I’m right.” She looked at everyone else. “That’s rough terrain out there, even without a snowstorm. Throw in the animals that are out there, and those boys are gonna have their work cut out for them.”

You frowned, wholly disapproving of Sadie’s pessimism. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” You said, with more firmness than you usually use. You smiled kindly at Jack and Miss Roberts. “Mr Morgan and Mr Esceualla sound like very capable men, I doubt they’ll have much trouble.”

Sadie made a noise of skepticism but said nothing, possibly sensing your displeasure.

Even if what she said was true, that didn’t mean she had to say it.

As the hours ticked by, you became more and more anxious, wondering what had befallen Mr Morgan and Mr Escuella in their search for their friend. You occasionally glanced over at Miss Roberts and Jack to see how they were feeling, but they were being comforted by Mr Matthews so you had no real cause for concern.

The whole time you thought of Sadie’s words. You had always tried to be optimistic, after all, people who are positive are far more pleasant to be around than those that aren’t, but you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that she was right. That perhaps the worst had happened, and that Mr Morgan and Mr Escuella would return with a corpse. If they returned at all.

Just as the world outside got darker and you were beginning to consider turning to prayer, you heard yelling from outside. You couldn’t make out what was being said, but you had a feeling you knew what was afoot.

You watched as Mr Matthews and Miss Roberts rushed outside, Jack only being held back because of Miss Jackson. You all exchanged glances, and seemed to be holding a single collective breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

After what had felt like entirely too long, the door swung open, revealing a relieved Mr Matthews. That was promising.

“He’s gonna need your help Susan.” He said to Miss Grimshaw. He seemed to pause before turning to you. “Are burned hands all you can treat?”

A little surprised, it took you a moment to register that he had said and formulate a response. “I-No. I can do other things too.”

“What about scratches? Deep ones. From animals.”

You swallowed. “I have a friend who likes to hunt.” You said. “I’ve had to fix him up plenty of times.”

This seemed to be enough for Mr Matthews and he nodded. “You can come help too then.”

Despite being somewhat hesitant, you nodded. When you stood, you felt a hand on yours. You looked down and saw Sadie giving you a stern look. “You don’t have to help everyone who asks.” She said in a low voice.

“We owe them.” You reminded her. “I’ll be fine.” You gave her hand a reassuring pat before pulling away, following Miss Grimshaw out into the snow.

You managed to catch a glimpse of Gladys, and noticed that she was tied to the hitching post. You vaguely wondered if she was behaving because she knew how bad the situation was, and if she would go back to her usual ways once you were all out of the woods.

The building across from the one you were staying in with the other women was just as dubious looking as all the others, and only a little larger. You supposed that there were men than women in this gang, which didn’t really surprise you.

Once inside, you hung back a little, not wanting to overly insert yourself in what was clearly a delicate matter. You stayed at the edge of the small group that had formed, unable to see past them.

“Come on now, let Susan get a good look at him.” Mr Matthews said, urging everyone to stand aside. “Looks like he’ll need some stitches and a splint for the leg.”

The group parted, allowing Miss Grimshaw to get closer, and you tentatively followed behind.

Lying on a cot against the back wall was a tall, wiry looking man, with dark hair, and three deep cuts on his face. He was looking up at Miss Grimshaw before his dark eyes traveled to you. “Who’s this?” He asked, voice raspy and hoarse.

“[Name] [Surname].” Mr Matthews said. “She and her cousin Sadie will be with us for a while. [Name], meet John Marston.”

“How do you do Mr Marston.”

Mr Marston snorted.

You swallowed nervously. “Do-do we have any morphine? Or anything else that could ease the pain?”

“No.” Miss Grimshaw said, with surprising sharpness. “He’s going to have to cope without.”

Her reaction was confusing but you didn’t have time to dwell on it as a bottle of whiskey was quickly produced.

Miss Grimshaw uncorked the bottle and poured the contents over the bloody wounds, making Mr Marston clench his jaw and cringe.

You instinctively put a hand on his arm and gently squeezed. “It will be over soon.” You said soothingly.

“What happened to him?” You heard Miss Roberts ask.

“Wolves apparently.” Mr Morgan said, with a surprising amount of annoyance. “Couldn’t seem to be able to handle them on his own.”

“And his horse?”

“Wolves got her.” Mr Marston replied through clenched teeth. “Broke my leg when I got to the ledge where Arthur and Javier found me.”

You gazed at Mr Marston in amazement. Through freezing cold, a broken leg, wolves, and no doubt starvation, he managed to hold onto life. You couldn’t imagine the kind of mental fortitude that would require. ‘He’s so brave.’ You thought breathlessly. ‘Incredible…’

You watched as Miss Grimshaw stopped pouring the whiskey and got out a needle and thread. She sanitized the needle with a few drops of the alcohol before passing over to you. “Go on.” She said. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Now feeling every pair of eyes on you, you took the needle and thread, turning back to Mr Marston as you knelt beside him. “You’ve done very well so far.” You said.

He snorted again. “I ain’t done nothing.”

“You’ve survived.” You pointed out. “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

You threaded the needle and tied off the end before leaning in closer to Mr Marston. It was obvious that the wounds would leave lasting scars, but if you did this right, then they shouldn’t be too bad. You would dare say that they would add a certain level of mystique and intrigue to him, as even while he was in this state you knew he was very handsome.

‘Stop it.’ You told yourself. ‘He already has someone. Now focus you silly girl.’

You lined up the needle as carefully as you could. “Let me know if it gets to be too much.” You said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mr Marston gave no reaction that time.

Slowly, you pierced the skin, leading the needle and thread through the gaping wound, pulling out the other end and giving a slight tug to make sure it was properly taut and closed. You looked at Mr Marston, and saw that his jaw was once again clenched, and his knuckles were now white from gripping the cot. But he made no sound, and barely moved a muscle.

You continued with the stitches, silently in awe of the constitution Mr Marston had. You had no doubt that he had acquired it over his time as an outlaw, but it impressed you nonetheless. However, you were still careful in your movements to make sure you didn’t cause him any more pain, and made sure to watch what you were doing. Dexterity wasn’t something you lacked, far from it really, but you knew to still be cautious and make sure the thread didn’t tangle or get caught or leave too much of a gap for the wound to heal properly.

“You’re very lucky.” You said as you were close to completing the last stitch. “Things could have been much worse.”

Mr Marston grunted. “Sure don’t feel lucky.” He said, moving his jaw as little as possible so you could finish up the stitch properly.

“Don’t coddle him too much now Miss.” You heard Mr Morgan say from somewhere behind you. “Dutch does that enough.”

A sharp look came over Mr Marston’s features, but it was soon gone.

The dynamic between the two men continued to puzzle you, although you supposed you would be able to make more sense of it over time.

You tied off the last bit of thread and cut off the excess so that it wouldn’t irritate Mr Marston. You gently took his face and turned it slightly at different angles, to see if there was anything else that needed treating. You kept your touch feather light as your fingers skimmed over Mr Marston’s skin, looking for anything that might be a cause for concern. When you were satisfied that there was nothing else amiss, you pulled away, taking the needle and thread and returning them to Miss Grimshaw. “That’s all I can do I’m afraid.” You said apologetically. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

Mr Marston said nothing, just stared at you intensely, and you noticed his throat moving to indicate swallowing, but you couldn’t think of a reason as to why he would.

You rose from the floor, legs slightly numb and aching but you ignored it and backed away, allowing Miss Roberts to be by Mr Marston’s side.

Miss Grimshaw exchanged a few hushed words with Mr Matthews before approaching you. “You did well.” She said, and she sounded genuinely impressed.

You flushed a little at the praise and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Knees not feeling too bad?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m fine. I’ve spent a lot of time on my knees.” You thought of the hours you spent as a child praying, and how the kneeling position became almost comfortable, unlike just now. Of course, back then you weren’t as cold and the floors weren’t as rough, so that probably had something to do with it.

As you left the building with Miss Grimshaw to return to the other women, you looked back over your shoulder at Mr Marston. “He needs a proper doctor.” You said in a hushed tone, not wanting anyone to hear and cause panic.

“Once we’re off this damn mountain he’ll see one.” Miss Grimshaw said firmly. “But for now, you’ll have to do.”

The thought of being Mr Marston’s doctor made you swallow thickly, but you nodded, not wanting to talk back. “Yes ma’am.”

The thaw couldn’t come quick enough.

#john marston x reader #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fanfic #rdr fic #red dead redemption 2 fic #fic: how the light gets in

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wheremytwinwatches · 4 years

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[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 8

Happy birthday, Tephi! Sorry I was gone for a bit guys, work was kicking my butt for a while there. But we’re out of holiday season, and it looks like we may actually get another full-timer on my team! Anyways, where did we leave off again? Ah. Right. The whole “Stones are Soul Gems” thing. Guh. And Ed’s off exploring an “abandoned” lab, while some psycho with a knife is attacking Al.

Episode 08: “The Fifth Laboratory” Al looks up as the rooftop psycho (captioned as [66]) completely ruins the element of surprise with a battlecry. Well, given his heavy armor and the fanged skull-helmet, guessing that subtlety isn’t one of Mr. 66’s strong suits. Al jumps back and avoids the wild swings of 66’s machetes, to which the pfffahahaha ok hold up. I’m sorry, but he’s just so… pudgy! This 66 dude is a marshmallow, perfect example of acrofatic with the rooftop leap. Anyways, Pudgy compliments Al’s speed for someone of his size. Then follows the compliment by saying a lesser fighter wouldn’t be worth the effort to cut down. Right, masked psycho. Can’t let his adorable fluffiness distract me. 66 explains that he got the name from “them” when he came to work at the lab, and that he’s going to cut Al up nice and neat. So just sit back and scream, m’kay? Yeah, good luck with that, buddy. Inside Ed’s looking at a large Transmutation Circle in an open room, with a small pillar in the center. Said TC looks rather simple compared to the ones we’ve seen so far, is that really all that’s needed to make a Stone? Well, the TC and the noticeable red stains spaced around the five points. Ed makes the same assumption I did, and another voice confirms his suspicion. Said voice is a rather refined-sounding 48, another armored dude with glowing red eyes (like the Goths?) who says he’s in charge of guarding the lab from curious brats. Bit more back-and-forth between the two before Ed makes an arm blade, 48 (nickname Pompous) notes that he’s an Alchemist and WHOA he’s right in front of Ed already. Threat estimation just went way up. Yikes, and he’s already deduced that Ed has an automail arm. Pompous is proving to be pretty good. But Ed gets a stab in and- *clank*? Oh. OH. Wait a minute. He’s hollow? Like Al? But that implies… Ok, video’s paused for a moment. Getting some seriously bad implications here. We know souls can be bound to armor, our boy Al’s liv- well, existing proof of that. And if a non-certified child performing amateur Alchemy can do that, who’s to say a bunch of immoral scientists can’t? Take a lab designed to turn death into a power source, and siphon off a couple of the condemned to make immortal, nigh-impervious to harm guards for your sick manufacturing process. And why stop at just a few guards? Build up a friggin army of the things! Who’s gonna stop you? The genocidal government? You’re either working for them or you are them! Oh Leto, this is gonna end up with our boys having to face down armies of pseudo-Als, isn’t it? Cripes. Back to the fight, really really hoping that my theory is wrong. Buuuut nope, Ed confirms that’s the sound he hears when sparring with Al. Pompous reintroduces himself as the guy numbered 48 on death row, more commonly known as Slicer. Mass murderer, y’know. Pompous doesn’t confirm that the place was used to make Philosopher’s Stones, it not being “his area”, but he does reveal his Seal in his helmet, helpfully notes that if Ed destroys it, then the fight is Ed’s. Awfully considerate, although he says that he likes a challenge now and then. And he won’t just let Ed walk away, it’d totally ruin his mass-murderer rep. On to the fight! ...Hughes, you’d better have a good reason to interrupt the fight between our Protagonist and the Soul-Bound Mass Murderer. Yes, it’s adorable how happy you are that your daughter’s about to turn 3, but there are things going on! Roy agrees with me. Stop using a military line on military time to gush over your family! Hughes finally returns to more pressing matters, namely a certain scar-faced Ishvalan. They found bodies at the destroyed bridge, but they’re all so decomposed that they can’t be identified. Hold up, regardless of the fact that he’s clearly alive still, what do you mean by bodies? As in multiple? I count nine sheets there, where did they all come from? And why decomposed? The fight wasn’t that long ago. Although there’s no concrete evidence he’s dead, lack of sightings means Command thinks that he’s dead. So it should be ok to remove the Elric Brother’s guards soon. Said unfortunate guards have just found the empty room where their charges are supposed to be. [Brosh]: “Ah! Major Armstrong’s gonna take his shirt off again and yell at us some more, isn’t he?!” While Brosh sobs, Ross takes charge and orders him to follow to the only place they could have gone. To the Fifth Laboratory! Lots of yelling and grunting as Pompous and Ed swing at each other. But there’s a shift in gears? Ooooh crud. Ed’s arm is breaking, the increase in chrome and resulting weakness means it’s not holding up as well. Sure, it won’t rust as easily, but he’ll be too dead to enjoy that. Fight’s taken a shift in Pompous’ favor, where before they were equally matched now the Soul-Armor’s just standing, blocking while barely moving and then kicking Ed away. Pompous is all sad that Ed won’t last much longer, tired and wounded as he is. Not to mention that his partner’s likely finished with Ed’s companion outside. After all, 66 is quite strong. But not as strong as Pompous, of course. Ed finds this quite funny. See, he and Al have been sparring partners for quite some time. And to this day, he’s never beaten his little brother. Cut to outside, where Pudgy is getting his skullface handed to him. Or rather, knocked clean off. No sign of his Seal, though. Pudgy offers to share his story with Al, all starting with a man named Barry. Barry appears to be a butcher, given the artwork of a guy with a cleaver surrounded by meat. Barry the Butcher did so love cutting up meat into tiny little pieces. Until one day that wasn’t enough anymore, and he took his cleaver to the streets. 23 victims later, Barry was sent to the gallows. But then some dumbass decided that such a man would do just fine as an unpaid nightguard. Anyways, that was the story of the infamous serial killer Barry the Chopper! [Al]: “Sorry, I’ve never heard of you.” Barry/Pudgy does not take Al’s lack of local history well. Nor his lack of surprise to the whole “bodiless armor” thing. And then he’s surprised when Al calmly pops his own helmet off. Really, dude? The glowing red eyes didn’t clue you in? Heh. Oh man, poor Pudgy. You have no idea who you’re messing with. Wait. Why are you laughing? Oh. You DICK. [66]: “Are you sure that you’re not a puppet created and controlled by your so-called brother? Were you ever a real person to begin with?” Nope. Nope nope nope. Shut up. You do not get to ask those questions. You do not get to imply that Al wasn’t a real boy. That his memories were created to make him easier to control. That dear sweet Granny and Winry are just playing along to manipulate a “living” weapon. I was looking forward to seeing our boys take you down, murderer. Now I’m looking forward to them doing it slowly. Leto. First Soul Gems, now the whole issue of sapience and continuation of consciousness? This show’s not pulling any punches, is it? Um, cop? You may wanna well ok he’s dead. “I kill, therefore I am. As long as I know that, it’s all I need to prove to myself that I’ve always been me.” Back inside, Pompous is saying that he’ll finish off Ed quickly to go and fight the better fighter. Alright Ed, what’s your plan? Good plan! And shame on you, Pompous. You talked a big talk, but you really fell for the old “look behind you” trick. [48]: “That was dirty!” [Ed]: “There’s no such thing as ‘dirty’ in a fight. Before he destroys the seal, Ed stops to pick up Pompous’ helmet and demands what he knows about the Philosopher’s Stone. And just leaves the main body of Pompous behind him. Really, Ed? You’ve lived with Al for how many years? Seen his head get knocked off yet he still moves just fine how many times? Shame on you. Wait, what? “Impossible?” Why? You clearly saw the seal on the neck, right? Ooooh. “Slicer” was a pair of brothers? Independent head and body? So Ed was shown a seal inside the helmet, not the one lower down on the armor proper. And now he’s really injured, Armor-Slicer’s not giving him time to transmute (point for having the seal already on some gear, rather than using your hands each time). Ouch, jab to the cut and Ed’s down. Memory of Scar? OOOOOOOHHHHHH! Ed figured out Scar’s Hand o’ Doom! Armor-Slicer done got blown in half! And then freaks Ed out by wriggling. Ha! Pompous takes the defeat in fairly-good grace, calls for Ed to deal the finishing blow. But Ed’s not going to commit murder. [48]: “With bodies like these are we really even people?” [Ed]: “I consider you people whether you have physical bodies or not… If I didn’t, that would mean I didn’t believe my own brother is a person either.” Outside Pudgy continues to prey on Al’s doubts, goes so far as to dare him to break his own Blood Seal. Obviously Al won’t do such a stupid thing, but it’s because we know that he’s alive, not because he’s “programmed” to protect it. Guh, the sooner Pudgy bites it the better. Ed continues to insist that he won’t kill another person. Which amuses Pompous? Wow. Pompous remarks that it’s ironic, saying it wasn’t until they were Soul Bound that he and his brother were treated like humans. For that kindness, he’ll tell Ed everything. Awesome, we’re getting- aw crap. I know that dress. Ladies and gentlemen. Lust is on the scene. And she does not like helmets with loose lids. And Envy, as well. This is bad, isn’t it? Al, you may wanna get in and rescue your brother sooner rather than later. Jeez, hope Soul-Bound Armors don’t feel pain. Or at least it was quick for Pompous, getting split in two like that. WELL OK THEN. Guess that answers the question “Do Soul Armors feel pain?”. Envy’s taken up the sword and is repeatedly stabbing the Armor-Slicer’s seal, ranting about how their attacking the important sacrifice could have messed up the entire plan. Finally, the armor stops moving. Ed slowly slides up the wall to get to his feet, facing down Lust and Envy and demanding to know who they are. Uh, Ed? I know that you don’t know these people, that you aren’t aware that they seem to have hurt Scar enough - you know, that guy who utterly wrecked you and Al? - to send him into hiding. And that you’re pissed off enough to ignore your own physical state. But maybe you think you could tone it down a notch? Not try to kick Envy and prepare to fight? Whelp. Ed’s arm just went kaput. Winry, as much as I respect you as a mechanic, gonna have to question the choice to go so heavy with chrome. Rust isn’t as bad as these “technical difficutlies.” And yup Envy-knee to the stomach, Ed’s down for the count. [Lust]: “Listen to me well, boy. Don’t ever forget this. Always remember that we allowed you to live.” And of course, since Ed was poking around the place, it’ll have to go. Lust orders Envy to blow it up. Hey, uh, Al? How you holding up? Aw, no. Al, please. Please don’t let Pudgy’s mindgames get to you. Don’t start thinking that what Ed was going to tell you last episode was that... Hooray, Ross and Brosh are here! Woefully ignorant of how useless bullets are against Pudgy, but still. Uh oh, building’s cracking. And Pudgy recognizes what that means, makes a speedy exit. Al cries out that Ed’s still inside. Well, it’s not like the Goths are going to let their “important sacrifice” die as they dispose of the evidence, right? Called it! Envy walks out of the dust with Ed slung over his shoulder, drops him off with Al and Ross while cheerfully saying they should take him to a hospital and keep a better eye on him. “He’s a precious resource.” And like that, he’s gone. As the lab crumbles, the prison next door is home to a bunch of yelling prisoners. And further inside, someone named Kimblee remarks that it’s lovely to hear a building exploding. Hey, it’s Smiley, from the flashback to the Ishvalan War. You know, the guy who was grinning during the genocide? Seems he’s in prison now. This is the guy that Mr. Freeze was trying to recruit in the first episode too, wasn’t it? And even as the lab crumbles, even as our characters rush to get Ed to a hospital… Al thinks about what Pudgy said. ...wait, that’s it? That’s the episode? Come on! How rude is it to leave poor Al doubting his own personhood?! Post-credits: Hughes is talking on a phone, remarking that things at Central are pretty hectic. All the senior Alchemists killed by Scar? Rumor is a certain Roy Mustang may get promoted to fill in the spaces. But getting advanced so young Roy’s bound to make enemies. He needs as many people on his side as possible. Like a wife! ...yeah, I’m with you, [Receptionist]. Hughes, please stop with the personal phone calls. [Narrator]: “Edward Elric cannot find the right words to say what he must. Meanwhile, young Alphonse is frightened by his brother’s continued silence. Where does the truth lie? This truth is waiting, hidden in the memories of a young girl. Next time, on Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood-” Episode 09 - “Created Feelings” “The heart begins to waver because if fears what the truth may bring.” Hey, looks like we get to see Winry again! Almost makes up for Alphonse having to doubt his very existence! Man, I can’t wait to see Pudgy bite it!

#wmtw #where my twin watches #ranubis #full metal alchemist #full metal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fmab 8

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heavensmortuary · 5 years

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So like this is the thing I made for my co-op thing, and its a blurb of the thing I'm writing! You don't have to read it if you don't want to, I'm just putting this out here ^^

This Is Where I Leave You

“This is where I leave you,” he said, “I won’t go farther.” The boat knocked against the algae-slick stairs, their corroded metal rattling the entire front of the building. I thanked the man, gave him his money, which he was careful to count before I stepped off into the rusty water, which gave up its sharp metallic scent. The archway reminded me of a whale’s mouth carved right into the grotto wall, sucking in the metal steps in its endless search for nourishment. I would be its next meal, a sacrifice perhaps. My boots clanged on the steps I began my ascent upward, and I heard the man gathering up the oars to take off, their wood clacking against the boat, shaking off the frost that had collected there.

His last words burned at something in my mind. I turned, ”Why won’t you go in? What should I expect inside?” He raised his bushy eyebrows, worked his mouth looking for an answer. Then his face cleared, and he sighed.

“That’s just the thing; call me a coward, but I don’t know what’s inside.” He dipped an oar into the water, pushed off from one of the submerged steps. He tipped his wide hat sympathetically. “Luck be to you.” And with that, he waved kindly, and settled into a slow, soft paddle.

I watched him drift away, and the farther he went, the closer the fear I’d choked down so long came. I discovered that my hand had become rigid with the cold where it clenched the metal railing as I headed forward, and it left a handprint burned onto the metal. The door at the top was wooden, streaks of green moss in its sodden wood like verdant scabs in its grain. For some reason, my mind had conjured up the idea that there would be some sort sign, perhaps saying something like, “Beware, turn back!” or “Death awaits all who enter here.”, but there was nothing, just a brown wooden door. A rusted doorknob was fused into it, and it might have had some sort of intricate pattern etched into it at some point. There were no locks, unless the rusted hinges counted. I turned the handle, and when that gave way to nothing, I threw my body against it, teeth clacking together with the impact. No time for hesitation. It shuddered, then fell open, nearly tossing me inside.

Dark. The deep sort of shadow that ate the light it touched, the kind that moved of its own accord, not the light’s. I recognized this sort of darkness, and my mind screamed that I would not step into it. I would have stepped backward, back down the steps, and slipping into the freezing rusty water, would have rather swam back to shore than let it swallow me. But there was the smell of must, of decay. It was like forgotten rooms, and that meant that something was there at least, and that I must go in. Giving up to fear would defeat me far worse than anything the cavern could hold, and so I stepped inside, sticking one foot tentatively out in front of the other. Maybe this was the sign to turn away others.

The open doorway didn’t light up any part of the abyss I found myself in. It was a glowing portal, a means of escape, nothing more. Ahead was…nothing. The floor was smooth, like frozen glass, but it made no sound even as my steps faltered, no matter how heavy the foot fall. My lungs burned with the cold air inside, thick with the scent of stirred dust that had been undisturbed for decades, or longer, the kind that stuck to the roof of your mouth. Step step step step, silent except for my breathing, which sounded weak and horribly clamorous at the same time. Walking used to calm my nerves during particularly bad days, and I replayed this mindset for this situation, to steady my heartbeat. Minutes ticked off with each step. Was I getting closer, or farther? My arms flailed around. Were there walls? I turned my head in the direction I hoped was back, or to my right, and just saw the pinprick star of the doorway. I kept walking forward, away, keeping my head turned. Step, step, step, step. And the star was gone. A sudden feral fear gushed within me as soon as my brain registered its disappearance, screaming at my mistake. It was gone. I spun around, ran back towards the vanished star, but it didn’t return, didn’t emerge from hiding. Where had it gone? Where was the doorway? I felt tears rise up, burning, but I didn’t care. I was suffocating in the darkness. My hands grasped my head, shaking involuntarily, each limb invisible to me and detached. I couldn’t see my hands, or anything. The darkness absorbed me, and now I was a part of it, indistinguishable from any other part of it. My legs ran into nothing. Was this what the lost god felt like, running around until it became mindless wandering? I ran, not knowing if I was up or down or neither, and when my breath was gone I would soon blink out.

Slam! The rip-slash pain raced up my nose. My face became full of splinters, and I was never more grateful. A wall! I scratched at it like a trapped rat, felt along the rotten wooden surface. A door had to be in here, the impossibly large room. My fingers numbly sought for hinges, a knob, a space, anything. Something in the wall softened, creaked with the press of a finger. Feeling along the wood, it gave me nothing to find, except for a low whistle behind the soft patch, like wind sweeping over stones. My ear pressed against it, ignorant of the splinter stabs. Crunch, and then a splitting sound. I fell through the wall, and a sudden warmth washed over my body, as did sudden light.

I cried with relief, let the tears wash away any remaining shadow from my body and clothes, pulling clumps of dust out of my hair. There was a ragged hole in the blue painted wall where I had toppled through, dust motes drifting out of it. I had made my own doorway. I had escaped.

Standing, I took in my surroundings. It was a hallway, one end behind me stretching into the dark, the other glowing with warm light. The whistling sound was louder here, and above I saw that the ceiling was made of white cloth, rippling with a current of air blowing right over my head. It reminded me of a sail. It was warm. I ran toward the light, turning around the twists and angles of the hallway, and the farther I ran the less the musty smell clung to the walls, the light leeching it out, and soon I had to squint.

I stumbled into a large room, blinded by a great orange light that enveloped it. As I blinked, adjusting to the sight, I noticed one thing. The smell of fruit, just the tang. It was light, just a whiff, but it was just enough to faintly taste. Raineaku. I remembered sharing quarters of the peach-like fruit with the other kids in the my group after our work was done, a bit of rare peace on cool evenings. The memory was pleasant, but it caught me up. Why that specific scent?

The brightness had settled on everything, and I found myself not in a large room, but at the foot of a huge staircase. Each step filled the length of the room, and led upwards, until I couldn’t see the top, just it continuing onwards and onwards. The orange light dappled from the cloth-like ceiling, now woven with red and orange and yellow curtains, creating a dazzling effect, a display of the light upon the red glass floor. I started the climb, not knowing whether the stairs led to the final room, or endlessly, but I wouldn’t mind either one, lost in the wonderland of warmth and light. I pressed a hand on the wall, and jerked back, and gazed mouth open. The walls rippled with green and orange, smooth to the touch, almost like a peach skin, and the ghost taste of the fruit played on my tongue. Was it because I had just remembered it? I shook away the thought. I had heard of places that change depending on the person within it, but why here? The brilliant light swooped from the enormously high ceiling, rippling on my body as if I were underwater, some kind of open jawed fish.

As I climbed, I began to find that the floor began to soften as my legs tired, each step shifting from red glass, to red carpet. The walls began to change as well. My fingers brushed the waving walls, which changed into soft fabric to a silk-like texture, but this never changed the way the walls felt was if they were holding back water on the other side. The light above shimmered away into purple, and I was in a berry-colored gloom, and then I wasn’t. I was standing at the door at the top of the stairs. There was a circular door, quite regular looking despite its shape. I touched the door knob, shocked by how cold it was compared to the stairway’s humid atmosphere.

I said a quick prayer, I breathed out, tightened my grip, and twisted it, hearing a soft ringing inside the door as if hundreds of tiny locks were undoing themselves, and then it opened, quietly, with a soft whisper of a puff of air that escaped. Something black pooled around my boots, seeping from the doorway, sickly sweet, sickly thick. It stuck to them as I picked up my foot to inspect. “Are you afraid?”

I froze, a chill clinging to my back as I straightened. Something spoke in the room, something with a voice that gurgled like oil bubbled in its throat, choking. “I ask, again, are you afraid?” I heard something move, like cloth being pulled through runny tar. The goo ran down the red steps, ink splashed carelessly on a painting.

“No, I’m not.” I lied. Whatever it was, it moved just out of sight, and it cast a shadow in the shadow. “Are you the lost one? Do you need help?” Please say no. Please say no. I clenched up my fists, ready to swing if it attacked. I couldn’t help feeling slightly angry at its taunt. Instead, a hand, very human-like, melted out of the darkness and extended out of the doorway. It’s slimy fingers unfolded, and a small square object glowed in its palm. The key, stuck to its palm.

“Pull me out of this place, and I’ll unlock the Haven. It’s been a long, long time, hasn’t it?” I heard a fake smile in the voice, a deceiving grin. It reminded me of people that liked to watch people bleed.

It was too easy, too believable. I stepped back and it slugged forward, the sound of its mass detaching from a wall, peeling away. A clear threat. Its side of the door had nothing to grab to exit. How long had it been stuck there? “No, I think you’re fine where you’re at. Can you just toss me the key? I need it.” Wrong words. Foolish words. It gurgled, its imitation of a laugh, or maybe a growl. And then it surged forward, quick, and I threw myself down the stairs, rolling over and over, a bird lighting from a snapping maw, until I could hear nothing but the gentle air whistling overhead, and the creak of a door at the top.

#my writings #My book stuff #so like ill add context later #um also idk how to add a read more :l

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kvltprince · 5 years

Text

I was tagged by the lovely @leporidaefluff (Thank you! it was the push i needed to get started on this instead of just going oh~ neat~!)

Rules:

1. Choose an OC.

2. Answer them as that OC.

3. Tag 5 people to do the same. Sorry if anyone has already been tagged, no obligation. @ heathie on whatever acct cos im a dumbass an i miss your bois(you miss em too), @randomwordsandstormydays, @randomfuzzbunny, @jornaquinn @chrysocolladawn ( @somewhere-withoutyou if you would...) and anyone else who would enjoy doing this. (if i get tagged again ill do anther oc. i would tag a few others but i feel weird tagging ppl i dont like ever talk to lol.)

What is your name?

"Lucy Grandchester, yeah that one.”

How old are you?

“Fourty-five unless you are getting nitpicky about cryostasis. That doesn’t count unless I am joking with a ghoul, honestly.”

What do you look like?

He lets out a small half chuckle, "Oh, we are doing this okay. I’ll bite. Slightly short middle aged punk, long greying curly hair, undercut, with one leg and too many tattoos?”

Where are you from? Where do you live now?

Lucy uncomfortably takes down his hair and redoes his messy bun while sighing and becoming a bit short. “I’m from just the other side of that irradiated water near that gas station south of here. Name kinda gives it away. You have seen it? I honestly am not sure how it’s standing still between the bombs and everything else. It’s looked after now, and is a surprise asset to still have. I lived in Boston for a while after all that, and back in this area once Nuka World was opened, then back in the Boston area, and would you look at that I am back in Nuka World and it is a lot more comfortable now.”

What was your childhood like?

"...Unstable, for everyone. It got a bit better once my parents were dead... are we done with this line of questions? Or am I excusing you?”

What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions?

“Well, I started out trying to play nicely vaguely with anyone that didn’t try to shoot me first. That.... hasn’t stayed how it is. At least not fully, though i generally play nice until I am given a reason not to. I am friendly with the Disciples, the Operators, several of the Children of Atom groups that haven't irradiated their sense out of their heads yet, the Railroad.”

Tell me about your best friend.

He finally visibly relaxes the rest of the way after that history business, and takes a drink of a quantum. “Oh only one best friend? Are we in high school again? aw Alright. We have some parallel histories.” He swirls the glowing drink, but doesn't let himself get lost in his head too far. “Great humor, puts up with my shit somehow, doesn't blow my sneaking. Laugh that could take on the world even though they probably wouldn't. No I am not spoiling who I decided on. A man has to have some secrets somewhere and mine are in short supply”

Do you have a family? Tell me about them!

“My son Shaun never ceases to surprise me with what he can come up with, and how well adjusted he is. Codsworth is still helping out with the household, and helping keep Shaun from disassembling live turrets while I am away, though now he is living here at Fizztop with us. Surprisingly it seems to be an alright setup, and Shaun has taught a few people some upgrades in their downtime. There is enough room to keep things comfortable, and I have done some park remodeling since I arrived. My closest companions that don’t hate my choices I have made I consider family, but that has become a smaller circle than before.”

What about a partner or partners?

“Gage of course, he is my husband for whatever it is worth in the wasteland. Otherwise I suppose that depends how you are defining that. I am an affectionate person and some people seem to have rather strict definitions of where the edge of friend and partner should be”

Who are your enemies, and why?

“Several people aren’t speaking to me very well at best after I have settled into the Overboss seat here, on a personal level. The Pack were wiped out. The Brotherhood were wiped out. The Institute were wiped out. The minutemen are pretty pissed understandably. The Gunners still show up in vertibirds sometimes and are still pretty fun target practice. My settlements are generally comfortable, and my outposts mostly only have problems with gunners or trappers. Minor annoyances.”

Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them?

“Yeah, of course. I think they got too headstrong for their flightsuits. I mean I understand but you really can’t do that shit and expect no repercussions. It was quite a firework show honestly, I wonder how far away the heat was felt..”

What about The Enclave?

"I don’t know much about them, only one of their ex-soldiers, he didn’t exactly tell me much. Cute, a bit odd. Not sure if it is the radiation that did that or not.”

How do you feel about Super Mutants?

He has a flash of a pensive thought drift across his face “There’s a few that aren’t so bad. Obviously the FEV isn’t mass-curable though, so not exactly much of a choice what to do about them unless you like getting a rocket launcher or a nuke in your face.”

What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in?

“Proobably~ around Bunker Hill, It was just, A Lot. That whole time was not just the specific fight. I don’t remember a lot of it, I’m pretty sure Gage half dragged me home after the main running around and meetings after the fight. I don’t think I had a full thought for a while.”

Have you ever fought a Deathclaw?

He thumb points to a sniper rifle leaning against the wall “Yeah, too often, thankfully usually I see them first, and I’ve gotten the sneaking thing down. They make pretty good steaks.”

Do you like fighting?

“Sometimes, honestly. Something tired and overstated about old habits or something boring. Really though, it is exciting and keeps the boredom away. Playfighting and sparring will do, no need to draw blood. I guess. Good to keep knife and sneaking skills sharp however you can.”

What’s your weapon of choice?

“A modded real sharp Throatslicer she called it, I swear Nisha found this thing in the loading dock or something it is the nicest box-cutter I have ever owned. Opens up anything.”

How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?)

“Outlive everything around me usually by not being seen, notice it first, shoot it faster, stab it more, talk my way out of it, or by luck. I have zero real idea, but I can eat nearly anything and I bet that helps too.”

Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them?

"Of course, there are a bunch, and I was ushered into 111 to turn my life upside down. They seem to only be any good for salvage, horror stories, clean water sometimes, and if you are real lucky a trade post and a shave. I have a settlement vault that is doing well that I have taken over and built up, but that is not Vault-Tec related, obviously.”

How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you?

“I have a few recipes that are good for radiation, though it doesn't affect me very badly overall and I am slow to feel any sickness. I suspect that one day I will turn into a ghoul.” He is rather matter of fact and unbothered by this, and hints that he knows that not getting sick much from radiation means just that.

What’s your favorite wasteland critter?

“Probably the stags and gazelles and other herd animals. They are overall unchanged other than most have two heads now, they are still nice to watch”

What’s your least favorite wasteland critter?

“Honestly? radscorpions? Those fuckers are too quick and you cant shoot them cos they tunnel and they knock you on your ass and poison you and just UGH”

How do you feel about robots?

"Robots are alright if they are not causing trouble. Some of them are nice. Jezebel is not so nice, but she is guarding red rocket and bitching the entire time so shes no longer my problem. The Rust Devil’s robots are a pain in my ass for real.”

How many caps do you have on you right now?

"Plenty.”

Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla?

He cocks his head slightly “I havent heard that one in a while. Depends on the flavor of Nuka Cola, I do like Sunset Sarsaparilla though, if you have any.”

Do you do chems?

"Not recreationally anymore. No, not because of him.” He nods toward Gage “It just, gets out of hand”

Do you ever think about the Pre-War world?

"Not as often as you would expect, I mean obviously there is the ‘oh i remember when that wasn't destroyed’ of things, but things are more comfortable than I thought they could be”

What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently?

His eyes narrow slightly “I don’t really do regret. Things were done the way they were because it was the choice at the time. A choice now for an old situation isn’t helpful to living my current life or my old life. I am not living then, I am living now.”

What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve?

“Surviving all of this, and myself. Creating this strange semi-stability in this post apocalyptic place.”

What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world?

“Keep me and mine safe, happy as we can be, and I hope that my found-family never fully stops growing. Curious what the future holds for my raiders and friends, there is so much potential, it could be risky but it is there. For once it is a good solid place to be, and it’s mine.” Lucy polishes off his questionable as hell drink with a smile.

#lucy grandchester #oc interview #this is a bit messy but hey thats fine #longpost #wow no wonder it took so long

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nerdyqueerandfulloffear · 5 years

Text

Crimson: Chapter One

Warnings: Blood, abuse, unusual punishment

I hate how Jared has broken me. If the situation had happened before, I wouldn’t freeze like this. Like a coward. Footsteps break the thick silence. The light from the living room becomes blocked and I see the silhouette of a man with a knife, dripping blood. Jared’s blood. I whimper as the man gets closer. He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to grab me, but he doesn’t. No, he grabs the blankets, slowly dragging them down, exposing my bare chest.

“Poor puppy,” a deep voice says causing me to shudder, “are all these bruises from him?” He gently touched a purple bruise on my side, “He never treated you right now did he?” I started to cry. I don’t know if it’s because this man just killed the only person who would talk to me, cared about me, on campus. Or because everything he is saying is right.

“He treated you as something lesser, like some sort of toy he could play with? Then he hurt you when you refused didn’t he?” I hate it. I hate that he’s right. I denied it for so long but he’s right.

“There there puppy,” he wiped the tears from my check, “no need to cry. He can’t hurt you anymore.” The sentence ends with a jester to his knife. My tears slow down but don’t stop. I stare at the man as he wipes the blood off one side of the knife. He licks the blood of the finger before basically shoving it down his throat.

The finger was removed with a sickening pop. He turns his attention back to the knife. He wipes the other side of the knife with the same finger before placing it against my lips. I don’t move to do anything but instead, look at the man with wide pleading eyes. He removes the finger from my lips before licking it clean. I feel Jared’s blood against my lips. I hated the way Jared had started to treat over months, but I never realized how much I relied on him for protection.

“Come on puppy, it’s time for us to leave.” He gently pulls me out of bed. My body still hasn’t had time to unfreeze, I fall into the strange man’s chest. He wraps an arm around my waist, keeping me upright. I turn my head away from his stare to see my glasses Jared had put on his side of the bed. I reach my arm towards them, expecting to have it get smacked away like normal, but it doesn’t. Instead, the man grabs my glasses before gently putting them on me.

“There, all set puppy. Now we really need to get going. Can you walk pup?” Without thinking, I nod my head.

“Good, now be careful where you step, don’t want to cut your feet now do we?”

We slowly make our way into the living room. If his arm wasn’t holding me up, I would be flat on my face. I keep my gaze on the floor, avoiding the glass from the shattered coffee table. My attention is soon brought to the blood cover feet. I stop walking. Jared. My stomach turns.

“Look away pup, you don’t want to see. Look away.” He tries to pull me along but I can’t. My eyes travel up his body. His skin was a sickening pale. Much worse than the time he was in the hospital. Blood slowly oozes its way out of the cuts were pieces of glass shards stook out. Before I can make my way to his chest, my head is quickly buried into the crook of the man’s neck.

“You don’t have to look pup. You don’t want to look. You just can’t look away. I know.” We continue to walk through the living room. I whimper each time I feel myself step on a shard. When we get to the doorway, his hand leave the back of my head and I quickly look back into the apartment. I bite my lip, trying not to let the vomit escape my mouth.

I’m looking into Jared's eyes. When we first met, when we were in love, his eyes reminded me of grass peeking its way through the snow at the beginning of spring. I used to love his eyes. As time went on, and our relationship broke. His eyes slowly became poison. A deep sort of toxic that was controlling him, breaking what we had. But now they were different. They were empty and cold.

Only one though. The other had a glass shards in it, causing blood to trickle down his pale face. I wish I had control of my body. I would break free of this grip, run to Jared and see if there was a chance to save him. I would definitely be in for a beating, but at this point, I don't care. I just want to be in his arms, his hands going through my hair instead of being pressed against this stranger. I want my Jared back.

“I told you not to look pup,” the man says while his grip tightens. I whimper in pain and he gives a small chuckle.

“Sweet little puppy. Couldn’t help yourself now, could you? Now that you got that out of your system, we need to leave.” I don’t respond as he slowly walks me away from the apartment, closing the door in the process, leaving Jared behind us as we walk out of the complex.

———————————————————————————————————

I didn’t realize I fell asleep until I woke up in silk sheets. As I look down I see that my chest is no longer bare. No, instead it’s covered by a red and black ombré sweatshirt. My eyes go up and I look at my surroundings.

The walls were a cool gray on the top half and black on the bottom with a line of deep red separating them. The bed was a queen size with black sheets and red bedding. The bed post was simple with cedar wood. Next to the bed was a small side table that looks like a slice out of a wood trunk that had a plain lamp with a white shade on it contrasting to the dark color scheme of the wood.

I pulled my feet out of the sheets to see my feet were bandaged. The bottom of my feet had brown spots of dried blood from the glass cuts. I hiss as I put my weight on them when I stand up. My legs are slightly shaky, but my full control of them is mostly back.

I walk towards one of the two doors and slowly push it open. It was a bathroom. There are black tile floors which contrast with the white appliances. There was a decent size bathtub without a shower head above it. The toilet was bright white and looked like was cleaned quite often. The countertop for the sink was white marble with a simple, small mirror above it.

My appearance wasn’t the best. Red tear streaks went down my face. My eyes were still red from crying. My hair was thrown all over the place, which was typical bed head. It was much worse when my hair was longer. I had my down past my shoulders a long time ago. I would always through it into a messy bun before first period.

I also lost my long hair though. It was around the time I lost my Jared. He had started taking medication after he got out of the hospital and the withdrawal symptoms on the day he ran out were really bad. I still have a scar on my leg from it. But he cut my hair off that day. Once we got a refill and he calmed down, I was swarmed with apologies. And I forgave him. I always forgave him. Even when he didn’t deserve it. But I thought if I did, I might get the man I was in love with back. But I was stuck with the man that had possessed him.

My lips were another thing I noticed. Jared’s blood, now dried, was still on my lips. I grab the white hand towel and quickly wet it. I bend over the sink and start scrubbing my lips, trying to get the image of Jared’s dead body out of my head.

As I go to put the towel back, something catches my eye. A drawer under the sink is slightly open allowing the light through the tiny window to hit something metal, give the shine that hit my eye. I open the draw wider to find a pair of scissors, the type you would find in a barber shop or hair salon. I pick them up and examine them. There was little rust indication that they weren’t new, but other than that they looked in good condition.

An idea came to my head, causing me to quickly pocket the scissors. I walk out of the bathroom and open the second door. A hallway is what I was greeted with. With a had in my pocket, death gripping the scissors, I walk outside the room.

I make my way into the kitchen to see my kidnapper in front of a stove, stirring something in a pot. My eyes wander to the front door.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath realizing that I had forgotten my glasses in the room. My vision wasn’t too bad, but the door was too far away to see how it was locked.

My mumble was apparently loud enough to gain his attention. The man turns around and smiles at me. The light may have been on in the apartment last night, but this was the first time I got a good look at him.

He had black hair that was long enough that some fell in front of his eyes with a deep, almost unnoticeable red tips. His eyes were a deep brown like a natural soil, not the ones you buy at the store. His nose was slightly skewed as if it had been broken before. He was not pale like Jared or me, but not tan either. He stood tall, maybe six foot or more. He had a smile that gave off fake sweetness.

“Puppy, it’s about time your up. I was just making something for us to eat. Come, sit.” The way he said the last words made it sound like he was talking to an actual dog. I warfully walk towards the kitchen island, which also was white marble, and sat down in one of the barstools.

“Do you like the sweatshirt pup? I wanted to make sure I had something that fit you.” I don’t respond, he sighs.

“Pup, I know you’re not mute, I heard you last night and just now. I want a verbal response when I ask you a question. I do understand why you didn’t speak last night and I’ll let it slide. Okay?” Remembering when Jared went through this phase I quickly respond with a quiet,

“Yes, sir.” His eyes widen at my response.

“Pup, please don’t call me sir. I’m not that old. My name’s Damien.” I grip the scissors tighter in my pocket as he moves closer until he’s next to me. He, unlike Jared yesterday, gently grabs my chin so our eyes meet.

“What about you pup? What’s your name?” My eyes dart to the door behind him, then back to his stare.

“Alex,” is all I say before removing the scissors from my pocket and stabbing him in his shoulder, causing his grip on me to loosen and a hiss to escape his lips. I escape his arms and run for the door. But I quickly come to a stop was the door become clear. Around ten different locks were on it, he would be able to get me before I had a chance to get the first five unlocked.

I turn back to see him staring at me with wide, almost black, eyes. He takes a step towards me. I bolt past him and into the room I woke up in, slamming the door behind me. I quickly grab the side table, the lamp falling off and bulb shattering in the process and put it in front of the door.

I push against the table attempt to make some sort of barricade with my limited supplies until I can think of a way out of here. My attempt fails and the door is pushed open, causing the table and me to fall down. More specifically, the table fell on top of me.

I look up in terror to see the ma- Damien looking down at me. Blood is falling out of the wound and some fall on to my face as he bends down and removes the table. I can feel myself start to freeze again, but I won’t let it happen. I scoot backward as he continues to walk towards me until I’m pushed into a corner.

He bends down and I quickly make an ‘x’ over my face with my arms in preparation of being hit. Instead, he moves my hands from my face but doesn’t release them.

“ I’m not going to hit you pup. I won’t ever hit you. I go by a simple rule. An eye for an eye. If you hurt me, you get punished,” I flinch at his words, “But if I hurt you, I get punished. Now does that sound fair?” I stare at him for a long time before nodding.

“Verbal responses pup.”

“Yes, Damien.” He sighs.

“We’ll work on that later. Now though, you need to listen to me.”

“Okay,” I whisper. He lets go of my hands.

“Now, remove the scissors.” I look at him before carefully wrapping my hand around them. He nods his head and I slowly start to pull the scissors out. He hisses in pain until they are completely removed. The blood flow speeds up and in the light, it has an almost white shine to it.

“Remember how I cleaned my knife yesterday? Well, I want you to copy that.” I whimper at the idea of having the terrible copper taste in my mouth.

“Come on pup, it's only fair. You did stab me.” I sigh in defeat before repeating what I saw last night. My finger slowly glides up the scissors until I reach the tip. I look to see my finger covered in the same shining liquid before giving it a small lick.

It tastes different than I expected. The copper taste isn't the first thing that hits me. Instead, I'm hit with a salty, bitter taste with the copper following after it. What's worse than the taste is the texture. It wasn't liquidly like it looked, no. It was warm and silky. I fight my stomach, trying to keep yesterday’s breakfast down.

“Licking it off wasn’t the only thing I did last night.” I grimace before slowly putting my finger in my mouth. He smiles and threads a hand through my hair, causing me to shudder as I start to suck the disgusting fluid off my finger.

Unlike Damien yesterday, when I removed the finger from my mouth it didn’t make the sickening pop, but instead, a trail of saliva connects my finger to my lips. He breaks the trail, wrapping my saliva around his finger, before licking his finger clean.

“There’s another side pup.” He says while wiping his finger clean on his pants. Using the same finger that was just in my mouth, I wipe the other side of the scissors until my fingers are covered in the same red. I bring my finger to his lips as he did to me yesterday. He smirks before putting my finger in his mouth.

If sucking on my own finger wasn’t weird enough, this was a different experience. I feel every vile movement he makes. Whether his tongue trailed its way over my finger, or when his cheeks hollowed, I felt every violating movement.

He removes my finger from his mouth and I’m quick to wipe it on my pajama bottoms.

“You did so good pup. You ready for the next part?” I whimper at the idea of this continuing on. But I nod my head.

“I’ll accept the non-verbal response for now pup, but next time no exceptions. Now, sit your finger in the wound.” I look at him with wide eyes.

“Are are you su sure?” I ask. He nods his head and smiles.

“I’m sure pup. Now go on, be a good puppy.” I sigh and gently put my finger on the blood gushing wound. With a shaky breath, I push my finger into the wound up to my distal interplanage joint. There’s probably a simpler name for it, but I can’t remember at the moment. He hisses in pain but doesn’t tell me to stop. When he stops hissing, I hear how shaky his breathing is.

“Good pup,” It’s almost like a whisper when he says it, “Now move your finger around a bit, but don’t go any deeper.” I can feel my heartbeat rise as do what I’m told. I start off slowly pushing my finger back and forth, the motion causing the wound to bleed fast, covering my hand in it.

“You’re a good pup. So good for me.” I shudder at the praise as the image of the worst night of my life comes into my head.

‘ “You’re so good at that princess. So good for me. Such a good little pet.” ‘ I start to cry from the memory. I had almost forgotten about it until now. Jared had been there to save me before things get worse and I just want that to happen again.

“It’s okay pup no need to cry, it’s almost over.” He says while wiping the tears off my cheeks.

‘ “Don’t cry princess, it’s almost over. Then we can get onto the fun part.” He licks the tears off my cheeks.’ I wanted Jared to burst through the door and pull me away from him. I want Jared to kiss my forehead and tell me that I’m safe. I want Jared.

“Can you hear me pup? I need you to breathe.” I didn’t realize I was having an attack until now. I start trying to steady my breathing as he treads a hand through my hair. When he did it before it felt wrong, but now it was almost comforting.

My breathing patterns slowly became normal as his hand left my hair.

“It’s okay, Alex.” It’s the first time he has used my real name, “Can we continue? I know you want this over with as soon a possible and I’m fine with that.”

“I I think I think so.” I stutter out. He smiles with that fake sweetness again.

“Good. Now remove your hand,” I do so to see that it’s almost fully covered in his blood, “and replace it with your tongue.” My eyes widen with shock.

“Wh what?” I ask in disbelief. He moves his shirt down so the wound was easy to get to, also exposing blood stained skin in the process.

“I want you to clean the wound the same way you cleaned your finger. Do that and we can be done with this.” Is this man insane?

“What, what if I refuse to?” His expression goes dark.

“You don’t want to find out. Now go on.” I can feel my whole body shake, but I do as he says.

I gently start by placing my lips on the wound. I open my mouth to do the first lick but was met with the wound gushing blood at the same time. I’m quick to close my lips after that, swallowing fast so I don’t have to deal with the texture or too much of the taste.

“Try starting lower pup, so you don’t get a mouthful again.” He says. I move lower so I’m near his collarbone to start. I grudgingly start to lap at the blood, slowly making my way back up to the open wound itself. My face feels covered in blood but is washed away with my tears. As my tongue glides over the wound itself, I hear him hiss in pain.

I pull away from his body and look him with pleading eyes. He leans towards me and runs his tongue over my blood stained lips, not trying to force his way inside my mouth, but more as a cleaning manner.

He pulls away and stands up, taking a few steps back. I didn’t realize I was leaning against him until I collapse to the ground, covered in blood, tears, and a mix of both mine and his saliva. I wrap an arm around myself and start to sob. I shouldn’t have said anything yesterday. Maybe Jared would still be alive, holding me as he starts to wake up. Or maybe we both be dead. Either option would be better than this.

He walks out of the room as I turn so my face is to the wall as if it was my protection. I hear his footsteps as he enters the kitchen, then the sound of water running. He’s probably cleaning the wound, leaving me here covered in his blood. I should go clean up myself, but I don’t have the strength to get up. I’m drained emotionally.

The water stops and I hear cabinets open before closing. He's probably looking for a first aid kit. The sound of a fridge opening confuses me. What does he need in a fridge? Silence takes over as my sobs dies down.

I hear footsteps come become louder before there’s a shadow above me. I turn my head to see him place a tray on the ground. On the tray is a bowl, a facecloth, and a water bottle.

“Wash up pup, then we can have lunch,” Damien said. I turn completely around and scoot towards the tray. I reach towards the face cloth to find it’s already wet. I quickly wipe my hand before going to wipe the blood and tears off my face.

I put the face cloth down once I found my face clean enough for now. I grab the water bottle and start to clean out my mouth. I spit the water in the bowl, feeling the awful taste slowly leave my mouth with each mouthful of water.

Once the water bottle is empty, the taste is still there, but mostly gone. The salty and bitter taste is gone, but the copper is still there. I look up to see Damien looking down at me.

“You all set pup?” I sigh and nod. I still feel absolutely disgusting, but I'm clean enough for now. He reaches a hand out to me and I hesitate for a moment before taking it. He walks me into the kitchen by the hand and leads me to the same seat I was at before I stabbed him. He squeezes my hand before releasing it as I sit down. I’m quick to wrap my arms around myself, using them as some sort of fake protection.

“I hope spaghetti is fine. If not I can make you something else.” I stare at the floor and hug myself tighter.

“It’s fine,” I mumble into the sweatshirt. He sighs and I hear what I believe to be the stove turning off.

“Look,” I tear my eyes away from the floor to see him draining the steaming water from the pot, “I know we got off to a bad start-” I roll my eyes “-but I want you to know I have no intention of hurting you, in any way.” I sigh before making direct contact with his eyes for the first time.

They way he’s looking at me wasn’t like when Jared would lie to me. It’s a strange mixture of searching and, fear. His eyes show old age that contrast with his young form. His eyes are heavy and sunken. The bags underneath were quite clear, as if he hadn’t gotten a decent night sleep in months.

I’m the one to break the eye contact and the heavy silence.

“Would,” I sigh and hug myself tighter, “Would you be mad if I said I don’t believe you?” I meet his eyes again, but only for a moment as he turns back to the spaghetti. His eyes showed something close to disappointment.

“It’s okay.” He puts a plate of spaghetti in front of me before going to a small pot on the stove. “I gave you a bad impression of me, I understand why you’re wary of me.” He turns around with the small pot in his hands, turning it slightly to expose the red inside.

“Sauce?” I nod. He opens a drawer and grabs a fork and a spoon before walking so he stood next to me. I move over ever so slightly. He puts the fork by the plate before moving the pot so it’s above my plate. The sauce seems thinner than usual, covering the pasta more like a salad dressing than anything. I shake any speculation away, it could just be the brand.

He moves back towards the stove and I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He reaches above the stove and opens the cupboard to grab two wine glasses. He places one in front of me and one on the other side.

“I-I do-don’t drink,” I say as he grabs a wine bottle out of the fridge. He ignores my comment and starts pouring me a glass.

“It’s not that strong. Come on now, eat.” He starts to pour himself a glass. I sigh in defeat before picking up my fork. He put his plate next to me before sitting down and eating himself. The copper taste is still in my mouth as I eat, but I try to ignore it.

I give a sigh once my plate is half empty. The copper taste just won’t go away. I pick up the wine glass and swirl it around a bit. If it gets rid of the copper taste in my mouth so be it.

...

It did not work

Tags: @punttonsanders @tributes-vamps-and-ginnyweasley @chrystalyasama

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