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sylvesterelle · 10 days ago

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Meditations in an Emergency

Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 1 of 2, 5,857 words, mature, cw: alcohol, cannabis

Read on A03

"I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. "

Frank O'Hara, "Meditations in an Emergency"

“I just think people should compliment each other more, that’s all,” you declare, biting the cherry off plastic sword that Kat, the bartender, had stuck in your Dirty Shirley. “Like we think these things all the time. Her scarf is pretty, or that guy’s got a cool haircut or whatever. We notice them, we think about them, but so rarely do we say it, you know? Even though being complimented is the best,” you say emphatically, using the tiny sword to punctuate your words.

Kat nods and gives you a second cherry, because Kat is good people. Kat serves you doubles while charging for singles and listens to you ramble and lets you spread your notebooks and laptop on the bar when it’s slow, like tonight.

It’s early on a Friday evening which means you’re supposed to be writing. You pay the bills as a ghostwriter during the week and you like it, you do. The flexibility to work strange hours typing late into the night, remote so you write wherever you want like coffee shops and cocktail bars and anywhere loud enough to drown out the more distracting of your thoughts.

But you spend so much time devoted to other people’s work that you’d promised to set weekends aside to work on your own ideas. Easier said than done, when there isn’t an irate publisher on the other end setting deadlines and demanding pages. And the problem with your own ideas is that you just have so many of them; find it hard to devote yourself to one without getting distracted by another, your hard-drive a graveyard of drafts in various states of decomposition.

But routine helped, so there you’ve sat every Friday night for almost two months—even if you’ve spent proportionally less time writing than people-watching and sweet-talking Kat into making you interesting drinks off-menu (“This is a dive bar,” she’s told you more than once. “We don’t even a menu to be off of.”)

It’s not not part of your writing process, you reason. You’re a firm believer that life is stranger than fiction, and many of your most delightful ideas have come from observations and unusual interactions—the very reason you’d been thinking about the importance of compliments.

“I just think we should be more intentional about finding joy in each other. For example, what would you say, darling Kat,” you begin, batting your eyes at her sweetly, “if I told you that you look fucking incredible now and always, you’re so hot it gives me hives if I look at you straight on, and more specifically that little curl that’s coming out of your ponytail is particularly fetching and I like it a lot?”

Kat rolls her eyes, which is as good as a smile for her. “I would say you should slow down on the Shirleys.”

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends, not really, but there was a familiarity and ease in the relationship now that warmed you. You’d met her your very first night while on your usual ramble to learn a new place, begin to make sense of its curves and corners and spirit. The neighborhood you’d found an apartment in wasn’t the best, but it was furnished and month-to-month and good enough for you. Best of all, you’d only needed to wander in the snow a couple blocks before you’d struck gold: drawn like a moth where a plain, unmarked door had opened, spilling warm light and the sounds of overlapping laughter into the night.

Inside it really was a dive, all sticky floors and old dollar bills pinned to the ceiling, a jukebox that took dimes and a blonde bombshell behind the counter who served with a decided lack of smile. But a week of you showing up and chattering at her had cracked that icy shell enough to get a name and a few raised eyebrows instead of complete silence. By the time you’d earned your discount as a regular around the third week, she’d occasionally comment on your more interesting trains of thought, offer some piercing observations and insights of her own if she was in a good mood.

A couple more weeks, and you know her well enough to bring a second iced coffee when you arrive for the evening, Kat pulling a bottle of Irish cream from the well as you remove the lids in a dance that has become comforting in its routine.

Yours is now slowly melting beside you, momentarily abandoned in favor of the syrupy-sweet mess that was waiting for you. Kat’s sipping the last of her own as she considers her verdict on your compliment, hip propped against the side of the bar.

“I don’t know if I’d particularly appreciate a stranger saying that to me. Don’t want strangers saying anything to me, really,” she frowns, “but particularly the bit about the hives.”

“Alright, I might have gone too hard out the gate with that one,” you admit. “But more importantly, I think you might be in the wrong profession for strangers not talking to you.”

She flips you the bird, heading to greet the two regulars that had slipped into place at the end of the bar. It was still early enough in the night that the place was mostly empty, only a few singles and two-tops stopping for an after-shift drink, giving you and Kat plenty of time to talk. It’d get rowdy enough later on, the voices louder, the jukebox queue a little more violent—but you’d found that among the chaos was often when you did your best writing.

“Hives aside, you know what I mean though, right?” you continue when Kat returns. “Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.”

You ignore this, already imagining renting a sailboat somewhere sunny, tropical. “I always thought it’d be fun to be a sailor,” you say dreamily. “Kerouac was a Merchant Marine, did you know?"

Kat makes a face.

“What, you didn’t like the book?” You’d loaned her a copy of The Dharma Bums the week before, slim and beloved enough that you carried it with you instead of borrowing from the local library, like you usually did. You had a collection of library cards now, rattling around in an old Altoid tin—the only souvenirs you kept from all the various cities you’d visited in your travels.

“It was fine. Good, even, if you’re into that sort of thing,” she say, swirling her coffee around. “He’s just so fucking mopey. I wanted to shake him, like c’mon man, you need to stop thinking about your life and actually fucking live it.” Kat’s the most animated she ever gets. Which, admittedly, is just slightly more expressive than usual: eyes narrowed a little further, three degrees more derision in her tone.

Kat prefers nonfiction. History. Facts. Still reads everything you recommend, but rarely finishes one without getting frustrated with protagonists making dumb decisions and whining about their life choices. And while some of the books she recommends to you are a little dry at times, they’re certainly illuminating—and the last one about organ harvesting was surprisingly catalytic for plot ideas.

You shrug, acknowledging the point. She’s not wrong, but you tend to live most of your life in your own head and your own worlds, so it doesn’t bother you in quite the same way. Although, now that she mentions it…

“You know, all of this is kind of to my earlier point. Giving someone a compliment is like the ultimate shortcut to living outside your head. You’re not all wrapped up in your own issues and thoughts, but appreciating the world and the people around you. Even if you don’t say it—which you should—it means you’re paying attention. Noticing.”

You drain the last of your Shirley, swapping it out for the iced coffee and swirling around the diluted ice. “Proposal: we make a game of it, tonight. We notice.” It wouldn’t be that different from what you and Kat normally did; share little observations on other patrons, trade theories on this person’s job or that person’s backstory. They’d just be a little more…intentional about it. "Keep your eye out for any interesting hats or weird pins or extremely sexy noses and come and tell me. That way we can both enjoy it,” you entreat, clasping your hands together in anticipatory delight.

You know better than to suggest Kat actually compliment anyone. You’re optimistic, not delusional.

“What constitutes an extremely sexy nose?” she asks, frowning at you.

You shake your head pityingly. “Oh Kat, that’s something you feel in your heart.”

She rolls her eyes and heads to the other end of the bar, where a nicely-dressed couple sink uncertainly onto the cracked vinyl stools. Looking around like they might be feeling just a wee bit out of place. You catch the woman’s eye, smiling broadly. “I love your dress,” you tell her, and feel the joy of her answering blush bubble sweet and bright in your veins.

…

You pride yourself on having excellent ideas, but this is easily one of your best. You get a tremendous amount of writing done, unusually productive while riding the high of giving out compliments left and right. Not so many that it feels insincere and never any you don’t mean. But Baader–Meinhof was a real sonofabitch because it’s true that the more you look, the more you see to appreciate.

Like Bobby, the union electrician with his first name embroidered on the pocket of his work-shirt. It catches your eye because it’s not machine-printed but carefully done by hand, illuminated when he leans over to order a Schlitz. His wife’s work, he shares you when you comment on it. “She’s paid special for her embroidery but still makes time to do every last one of my shirts. So I can carry her love around all day,” he says proudly, unabashed even when his friends tease him good-naturedly.

Then there’s the lady whose cheetah-print nails match her furry coat, who winks at you when she catches you looking admiringly from across the bar. Right after her is the burly biker who reveals an entire themed photoshoot of his toy poodle when you compliment the photo on his lockscreen. Others in between, some you speak to, some you don’t—but all you appreciate in a way you vow to do more in the future.

Inevitably, little pieces of what you observe trickle onto the page, fleshing out bits of characters and sparking ideas you jot down in bursts of inspiration. You won’t know until later if you’ll end up keeping any of it, but you like the thought that that you’ll always have some part of this moment—the people, the place, the time—woven into your writing. A little souvenir in-and-of-itself.

Though the night gets progressively busier, Kat swings by from time to time to share her observations: money fished from strange locations, custom bank cards, funny pins she read when customers leaned close to shout their orders over the music—partially your fault, after you compliment an old geezer’s song choice and spend twenty minutes with him, combing through the catalogue and cackling as you feed dime after dime and queue enough dad-rock to last a fair few hours.

All told, you’re feeling fucking incredible as it nears midnight and the synth solo from Toto’s “Rosanna,” has you wriggling in your seat. You’ve a few thousand words under your belt and the high off all those little moments of kinship is making you feel sparkling and happy and well, which, historically speaking, is sometimes a challenge for you.

You grin at Kat when she slumps next to you, enjoying a brief reprieve from new customers.

“Whatcha got for me, killer?” you ask, fishing in your bag for a granola bar. She takes it with a grateful look, shoving half of it in her mouth and talking as she chews.

“You’re gonna fucking love this. A mohawk, dude. In 2024.”

You perk up, looking around the room. It’s pretty packed now, but you can’t believe you missed a cut that attention-getting. “Liberty spikes?” you ask hopefully. You adored the punks of your acquaintance; always had interesting thoughts and insider tips on the local music scene.

Kat shakes her head. “Nah, it was cut short. Gym rat type, I think. Good tip, nice accent. Scottish,” she clarifies around the last of the granola bar. “Talked some shit about the ‘natural superiority of whisky over bourbon’ when he got a Maker’s for his friend.”

You hum, still craning your head. “See where they sat?”

She shakes her head. “Asked about smoking though, so probably on the patio.”

Calling it a patio was generous—a small bit of grass with a couple white lawn chairs and an ashtray, mostly. But there was a heat-lamp that worked roughly sixty percent of the time, which made the bar very popular with those in the know on cold nights like this.

“Speaking of, ‘bout time to take your break?”

If it wasn’t too busy Frank, the bouncer, would watch the bar while you and Kat split a joint in the back, sitting in companionable silence and pointing out shooting stars and passing satellites—clear skies a benefit of the city’s frigid nights. Kat knew a startling amount about astronomy but absolutely nothing about astrology; could tell you the history of the universe up to the surface of last scattering, but blinked at you when you’d asked if she was a Scorpio or a Capricorn.

Kat checks the clock then whistles to get Frank’s attention. You shove your laptop into your bag but don’t bother with a coat—your cheeks are flushed from the warmth of the crowd and you don’t mind the cold, not really.

The patio initially looks abandoned, silent but for the wet sound of car tires moving through the snow-choked alley. Not totally surprising; most balk at below-zero temps even with the lamp. Snow clumps heavy and wet on top of the plastic chairs and the overturned garbage pail that serves as a footrest but the sky is clear, a thousand tiny pinpricks of light visible in the heavens. You breathe in until the night air fills your lungs and you feel fresh and clean and cracked open wide, just pouring out love into the world.

Movement in your periphery catches your eye and oh, Kat was right, not a punk at all.

You’re not quite sure what to make of the two men standing half-shadowed near the lamp. Big is the first word that comes to mind and perhaps that’s sufficient for now, since you can’t seem to stop ogling the breadth of their shoulders and mouthwatering thighs long enough to notice anything else.

Kat had thought gym-rat but you’d put money on those bodies not just being for show—there’s too much power, too much potential for carnage disguised in that plush softness that comes from muscles in repose.

“Why hullo there, barkeep,” the one with the shaggy, soft-looking mohawk greets Kat jovially, his Scottish accent just as charming as promised. “And barkeep’s friend,” he adds, nodding to you as you come close enough to get a good look at his face. To latch on to details like the too-blue shade of his eyes and the too-sharp canines in his smile, the silvery-white starburst of a scar across his stubbled chin.

“Christ you’re pretty,” you hear yourself say. This happens sometimes, your mouth just venturing off on its own to get you into trouble.

Kat groans overlap with the man’s chuckle. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,” he says, propping the lit cigarette between his lips and sticking out a hand. His palm is warm and callused against your own as you properly introduce Kat and yourself.

“I’m Soap, this here’s Ghost,” he offers in turn, nodding towards his friend who steps forward, murmurs a quiet greeting. He’s enough in the light now to reveal dark eyes shadowed under a hood, skeleton gloves and a matching skull-print balaclava pushed up far enough to accommodate a lit cigarette.

“Fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” you grin at him, immediately charmed by the weirdness of it all.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the man says affably, his voice a rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t smile but there’s a little twist of his mouth that could be amused, if you squint.

“Jesus Christ,” Kat mutters, eyes shutting briefly in second-hand embarrassment. “She’s on a mission about compliments tonight, noticing people,” she tells them with bemused emphasis, turning to clear off the chairs and kick snow off the garbage can.

“I just think it’s important to be more open with our affection, even with strangers. Especially with strangers,” you argue, dropping into one of the seats and pulling out the battered Altoid tin that holds your stash and a few pre-rolled joints. “Will this bother you?” you ask the men, holding up one.

They shake their heads, amused.

“Good, because it’s my fucking bar,” Kat snorts, grabbing it from your fingers and dropping into the chair next to you.

“What, you own this place?” you say, flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kat holds the joint in her mouth and cups a hand around her lighter flame, coaxing it to life despite the wind. She takes a deep drag, tilting her head up before releasing a thick cloud of smoke into the air.

It looks wicked cool right up until she folds in half, coughing desperately on the tail end of the exhale. You can’t fucking blame her; you’d bought it off your teenage neighbor, a science prodigy who claimed to have developed the perfect strain. Ivy League, he called it, since it had paid for his entire college fund.

Kat straightens up, red face feigning composure as she passes you the joint. “You never asked,” she finally says.

And that was just…well, fair, actually.

“Huh,” you say brilliantly, struggling not to cough on your own exhale and bidding adieu to any dreams of looking cool in front of all the fucking fashion models around you. “You know, I did wonder when you’d get in trouble with your boss about the free drinks thing. And the drinking on the job thing. And the this on the job thing,” you say, frowning as you contemplate the joint.

You offer it up to the men and Soap takes it, your hands brushing long enough to send a little fizz through your blood.

“You’ve known each other long, then?” he asks, taking a puff. Turning a vibrant shade of red as he heroically—and futilely—tries to hold in a cough.

“Oh, we go way back,” you say very sincerely. “I helped her bury the body of her ex-husband years ago, a mafioso named Jimmy the Janitor because he cleaned up, if you know what I mean.”

“I met you two months ago. And I’m a lesbian,” Kat contradicts blandly.

“I didn’t know that, either!” you exclaim, smacking her in the shoulder. “What the fuck, dude, I would have tried flirting with you ages ago.”

“You’re not my type,” she says devastating, and Ghost snorts when you dramatically mime a dagger to the heart. The joint glows red between his full lips, crossed with scars that shine silvery in the moonlight and trail up beyond his mask. Exhales in one long, smooth breath and looks suitably smug about it, the fucker.

“I do seem to remember you saying something earlier about me being ‘so hot I give you hives.’” Kat reminds you. “You telling me that wasn’t flirting?”

“Nah, that’s just being neighborly,” you beam at her.

“I shudder to think what your flirting does look like.”

“That’s the appropriate response, honestly.”

Ghost barks out a laugh and you shoot him a cheeky wink before turning back to Kat. “Alright then killer, gimmie the goods. What is your type?” you prod, hooking your ankle around her own. “Is it a black cat, golden retriever thing? I can bark, babe, just say the word.”

Soap damn near chokes on his drink but Kat only sighs, more fond than exasperated. She takes the joint and leans in, bringing your faces only a few inches apart. You watch, riveted, as she brings it to her cherry-red lips and inhales deeply. Holds your gaze and leans ever so slightly closer, the moment stretching into eternity as she releases a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke directly into your face. You bring a hand to your mouth, think you might actually be drooling.

“MILFs,” she answers finally, devastatingly. She tucks the joint between your fingers before patting your hand and heading back inside—as good as a kiss on the mouth from anyone else.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap's voice is rough as the door closes behind her.

“You’re telling me, pal,” you sink comically in your chair. “I think she broke me.” You’d already been drunk off the night’s joy but now you felt lightheaded with desire, literally dizzy with it.

This is not an uncommon response to Kat, you suppose. Nor, you expect, to the pretty lads that remain.

You summon your forces and sit back upright, kicking over the newly empty chair in offering. Ghost takes it, the plastic frame creaking under his bulk while Soap drops down on the garbage pail, resting his elbows on jean-clad knees. You pass around the rest of the joint in companionable silence, and it’s just…nice, all of it. The cold at your back and the heat of the lamp on your face, the fading alcohol buzz replaced by the sweeter, steadier high of the weed, always better at gentling your nerves and clearing your head. The easy camaraderie of smokers cast out into the cold, the same thing in almost every city and country you’d ever seen. You smile, thinking back on all those shared lighters and bummed cigarettes over the years. All those ships passing in the night.

“Gettin’ us a refill,” Soap finally says, standing up and snagging Ghost’s empty glass, hooking their pinkies together briefly in the action. You note it and immediately drop the thought, scalded. Know you will literally, actually combust if let your brain run-rabbit imagining the two of them together. All that muscle, all that strength, curved around each other, curved around you…

“What’ll it be, bonnie?” Soap’s warm voice snaps you out of your reverie and you flush, sure from his smirk that he can read the direction of your thoughts. You were legendarily bad at poker—couldn’t keep a neutral expression if they paid you to.

“Dealer’s choice, please and thank you,” you grin at him despite your embarrassment; turning down a free drink is against your moral code.

He gives you that shark-like smile and Ghost tsks as he heads inside. “You’ll probably regret that, birdie. Johnny’s got atrocious taste.”

“Aye can fucking hear you, you Manc twat,” Soap calls from the door, a little extra Scottish in his snark. Ghost chuckles lowly, stretching his feet out into your space.

“It’s Manchester then, our kid?” you tease, kicking your foot playfully against his boot. Leaving it there when he lets you. “Whose your fighter then, Liam or Noel?”

He considers for a moment. “Liam. I like his spunk.”

“’A man with a fork in a world of soup,’” you quote, nodding approvingly. “I get that.”

You toy with the Altoids tin and debate lighting up another one.

Ghost fishes a pouch of rolling tobacco out of the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and holds it up questioningly. “Clever boy,” you praise, and he leans forward to pass it to you, big hands dwarfing your own. When he settles back in his chair, he tangles his feet with yours properly and you feel a little flutter low in your belly.

You prep the blunt in a practiced motion, balancing the tin on your knees as you sprinkle the peaty tobacco overtop the flower evenly. “I’ve always been more of a Blur than Oasis fella, myself,” you finally offer to distract from the weight of his gaze. “Damon Alburn, the man you are,” you say, putting a fervent hand to your heart.

“Oi, we talking about the Gorillaz then?” Soap calls out, juggling glasses as the door shuts behind him, muffling the chatter from inside. “Fucking choon after choon, them,” he declares, dropping back onto the pail.

He passes Ghost a rocks glass filled with an inch of amber that matches his own, his eyes tracking where your tongue runs across the filter paper, wetting it. He trades you the finished smoke for a glass with something alarmingly orange in it, another plastic sword stuck with three cherries laid across the top.

You sniff skeptically, all sweet and citrusy and strong. “This must be off-menu.”

“Dive bar innit, no menu to be off of,” Soap points out, and you smile at the familiar response.

You take a curious sip, looking up in surprise when you taste a bright splash of orange and vanilla across your tongue. “That’s fucking incredible,” you say, eyes wide. “What is it and why haven’t I been having it all night?”

Soap grins at you, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Had a feeling you were a lass that’d enjoy a slow, comfortable screw against the wall.”

Ghost groans, and you squint skeptically at Soap. “Who doesn’t, what’s that got to do with my drink?”

Soap laughs, delighted. “That’s the name of the drink, bonnie. A Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” he says with emphasis.

Ah. Well. That’s—oh, motherfucker. “Does Kat know that?” She’s probably laughing her ass off inside, the sadist.

“Oh, aye. She seemed amused. Though she made an unnerving amount of eye contact while stabbing the wee cherries,” he says, eying the garnish. “Scariest fucking thing I’ve seen in a minute. Put me in mind of someone we know, actually,” he says, giving Ghost a wry look as he takes a sip and sets the glass down.

He pulls out his own lighter to coax the blunt to life, a battered Bic with SOAP scrawled in thick, Sharpied letters. He lets out a pleased sigh as the opaque smoke curls through the cold air then leans forward to rest his elbows back on his knees.

“Now, as for why you weren’t getting it slow, comfortable, or otherwise before now, I couldn’t say,” he tells you, blue eyes glinting with mischief. “But I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re more than happy to provide for the rest of the night. Isn’t that right L.T.?”

“Right enough there, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice is closer to a growl, setting off a delightful curl of heat in your belly.

You nibble on your straw and pretend their attention isn’t going straight to your head, twice as good as the drink or the drugs. “You know what they say about variety and spice of life. Might get bored with just a screw against the wall. Got any thoughts on horizontal surfaces?” you tease, enjoying the way Ghost smirks around the blunt.

But oh, is that a dimple you suddenly see carving out of one scarred cheek? Before you’re even conscious of it you’re balancing one hand on his knee and leaning in for a closer look. “I adore your dimple,” you tell him sincerely, undoing any hope you had of appearing cool and hard-to-get. “It is very cute.”

You give him a businesslike pat on the thigh and start to pull away, but he catches you gently before you get too far.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he purrs, petting over the soft skin of your wrist with one gloved thumb. “We’ll keep you entertained, don’t you worry. Bored is the last thing you’ll be, right Johnny?” Ghost says, squeezing gently once before letting go. You try to play your delighted shiver off as one of chill, but you suspect your violent blush isn’t selling it.

“Oh, I fuckin’ swear to it, L.T,” Soap answers, winking at Ghost before unfolding his big bulk from the garbage can. “We’ll give you what need, bonnie, promise. Starting with this.” Then his arm is around your waist and you’re in the fucking air and—

Oh, that’s not so bad, actually.

Soap sinks into the lawn chair and settles you across his lap, surrounding you with delicious warmth and a scent like whisky and salt air. Your brain goes a bit soft and cottony for a moment and you latch on to the gentle pressure of his arms. Manhandling has always been a shortcut to your most devastated self, the kind of stupid and sweet and sated that you’ve only found once or twice through chemistry or luck or sheer fucking determination, and it bodes very well for the night to come.

Besides, for all he wears only a bomber jacket, the Scotsman is radiating heat like a furnace and it’s the perfect sensory foil to the plummeting temperatures, a few clouds coming to fleck the sky.

“Saw you shiver. Couldn’t let our girl be cold now can I?” Soap says, chucking you under the chin like a kid. Should be stupid but you fucking like it, can’t help but smile up at him. Can’t remember the last time someone treated you so sweet, like you were something to protect. To indulge.

Ghost’s eyes are fond on the pair of you, reaching out to trap Soap’s feet the same way he had yours a few moments before. One of his hands reaches to splay possessively over your thigh, resting it there and turning your insides liquid.

There’s no reason it should be as easy as it is, getting all wrapped up in each other as the night stretches on and the clouds continue to gather, chatting quietly and smoking through the rest of the blunt and finishing your drinks just as the first fat, fluffy flakes of snow begin to fall.

You watch, delighted, as the storm kicks up in a sudden flurry, a magical, glimmering coat that turns the world into one whole thing. Untouched and perfect and silent except for the tides of your breath and the slight hum of the heat lamp, small sounds within a vast, quiet night.

You sigh in Soap’s arms, totally and unexpectedly content, luxuriating in the way your blood hums in anticipation of the night’s inevitable conclusion.

People asked if you got lonely, sometimes, travelling the way you did. Never staying anywhere for more than a few months, only occasionally breezing through past towns for a few loved-up reunions before the wind starts pressing at your back.

And though it’s true you’ve been seeking a place of your own, a place where you could belong, this, too, means something. To have these beautiful, fleeting moments of connection with once-strangers, to lose yourself completely in the headiness of such quick intimacies, no less passionate or kind or devastating for their brief duration. All those countless moments of connection—romantic, sexual, platonic—coalescing into a kind of soft sweetness to hold on to long after you’ve forgotten a name or had a face grow fuzzy with memory.

All of that sweetness is swirling inside you as you nudge Soap’s chin with your head, drawing his attention from where he’d been conversing softly with Ghost, one hand petting absently at your waist.

“Take me home?” you ask softly, and his eyes melt at the question, his hand coming up to thumb a little desperately at your mouth.

“Oh, the Cap’n would love that,” Ghost drawls. “Fall arse-over-tits over a sweet thing like you walking through the door.”

“My home,” you clarify, though you’re not opposed—especially if their friend (captain?) looks anything like them. “I live like four blocks that way,” you chuck a thumb vaguely over your shoulder.

“Well why didn’t you say so, bonnie’,” Soap says, standing up and dumping you on your feet. Before you can be too offended, he grabs your chin and presses his mouth against yours, searing hot and leaving you breathless when he pulls away too soon. You look up at him a little dazed and he pets his thumb across your chin, grinning. “Ghost is right. Too sweet for your own good, darlin’. T’wouldn’t be right for us to let you walk home alone, sweet thing like you. Not in a neighborhood like this.”

“Au contraire mon frère, I’m fast as shit,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes. This occasionally happened when you got crossfaded in particularly the right way, became possessed with the urge to tear off down a darkened street, drunk on the feeling of wind against your face and your heart hammering in your chest. Feeling like you could fucking fly. “No bad guy’s gonna catch me, no way.”

“That right, little rabbit?” Ghost moves as silent as his name, a sudden warmth at your back without you even noticing he’d left his chair. He curves that big body around you, nipping at the soft skin at your neck and caging you in against the firmness of Johnny’s chest. “Gonna let us chase you?” he near growls.

The thought sends goosebumps rising along your arms. To be wanted, to be chased. To be caught. Ghost groans when you lean back against him, tipping your head back to nip at his jaw in return. “Home. Now,” he commands lowly, pulling down his mask.

You can’t help your shit-eating grin as you tug them through the door and the thinning crowd to collect your long-abandoned things from the bar.

Kat eyes the three of you suspiciously. “If I find cum anywhere on that fucking patio I will have your balls in a bear trap,” she threatens.

“No promises,” you wink at her, laughing when she flips you the bird. You shrug on your coat and pick up your bag, which Ghost immediately appropriates, slinging it over one shoulder. He ignores your amused tug on the strap, looking over your head to plot the swiftest exit.

“Don’t wait up, babe!” you say, blowing a kiss to Kat as Ghost tows you and Soap toward the door.

“Call me if you need help burying the bodies,” Kat offers in response, and you cackle at the uncertain looks the late-night crowd shoots you both.

And then it’s just the three of you and the cold and the night, pressed together like you’re one body in the snow-crowned streets.

#call of duty #ghoap #ghoap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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muletia · 14 days ago

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𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 ₊˚⊹♡

obsessed!smokescreen x human!reader

summary: you and smokescreen are trying to watch a movie, but his irresistible and constant need for closeness stubbornly gets in the way. will you make it to the end? (spoiler: you won’t)

cw: fluff, suggestive, obsessive thoughts, unhealthy clinginess, possessiveness, very mild not nsfw dub-con, biting/marking, very light manipulation from smokey

word count: 1570

Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Consciousness drifts into another dimension, and your head slowly tilts forward further as you lose contact with reality and embrace sleep with open arms. But alas, sleep is not meant for you—not yet. Your boyfriend is keeping watch, ensuring you continue your fight to stay awake. And when he's near you, he seems unusually attuned to moments like these.

"Hey, hey, don't drift off on me now," he pleads, voice desperate, because this isn’t your first slip-up. "We just started the movie!"

"Ah, sorry," you mumble, rubbing your face to try and wake yourself up, which works. For now.

Your attention returns to the flickering TV screen in the garage, and for a moment, you really do feel alert. You're not proud of how easily you drift off, especially with company, but the day's events are catching up to you, pulling your eyelids downward. You’d promised him you’d finally finish this movie together— you’ve both tried to get through it multiple times, only to be interrupted every single time by something—or rather, someone.

That someone is none other than your personal heater sitting next to you, the primary disruptor of your small private movie nights.

And, as you catch him from the corner of your eye, it's clear he’s got a new idea for spicing up your passive movie-watching routine. His broad smile is utterly contagious, and you fight hard not to let your lips curl. It’s endearing, but you’re not falling for it—not yet. You know exactly where this evening will go if you give him your attention. After all, you’ve lived this scenario many times before.

"Optics on the screen," you chide softly. "We just started the movie, hypocrite."

"Oh, I am watching," he replies, with mock indignation.

"Not me!" you sigh. "We’re not restarting this movie for the tenth time. Look at the screen." You motion toward the brightest source of light in the room.

He knows he should listen. He’s the one who suggested the movie night in the first place. He also chose the film—one of your favorites—because he wanted to experience it with you, to watch your reactions, hear your thoughts, and discuss it afterward. All of it was just a way to interact with you, to be showered in your attention. To absorb it like the finest energon, savoring its addictive sweetness.

It’s not his fault that everything you do is infinitely more interesting than any fiction on the small screen. Sure, he likes human culture and finds it genuinely fascinating—but only because you’re at its center. You’re the one who reveals its secrets, who offers him glimpses of the daily life he so desperately wants to be a part of. Watching movies together lets him simulate that life. He knows he should use every chance to learn more about your world. The problem is, he can’t focus.

It’s not as if there are moments when he thinks of you more or less. No—he’s always thinking about you. Seven days a week, every hour of Earth’s solar cycle. During missions, patrols, recharge—even when he’s with you. It’s suffocating, overwhelming his processor, a constant need to express his untamed emotions, but with no outlet to relieve the ever-growing weight.

Having you by his side is wonderful—feeling your scent, your warmth; brushing shoulders and sharing a blanket. But, ever ambitious, he needs more. Thoughts of you provide only fleeting satisfaction, failing to meet even a fraction of his desire. They leave him helpless once again.

Smokescreen doesn’t want to be just an observer anymore, a witness to the action around him. Those days died with Cybertron.

He wants to feel, touch, and explore, even though he already knows every inch of your body—every mole, scar, and birthmark. Alien, but captivatingly beautiful. Unparalleled softness. Addictive. Meant to be worshipped and adored. It’s no surprise his servos fit your curves perfectly, as if you were made for each other—not just in spark, but in body too. No stimulant could compare to the euphoria of adoring you. No human cinematic masterpiece, no mission, no praise from Optimus Prime himself.

"You’re incorrigible," you sigh. "You just missed the most important part."

Suddenly, he realizes he’s spent the last several kliks staring only at you, fantasizing about physically expressing all the emotions roiling within him. His servos are trembling now, and he has to touch you—to prove how much you mean to him, how vital you are in his life.

Electricity courses through his frame—a signal of surpassing limits. He’s nearing a breaking point, teetering on the edge of abandoning the careful balance of your relationship. Can’t let that happen. He accepts destroying himself, allowing his yearning for you to dictate his sanity, but no scars could ever mar your soul. No matter how many he bears himself.

His trembling servos find the fabric of your shirt and gently tug at it. Enough to send a signal, not to frighten. If you pull away—he’ll shatter.

"Hey," he begins. You glance at him briefly, but your eyes quickly return to the screen. He tugs harder, practically pawing at your stomach now, desperate for attention. "Please, I don’t want to watch the movie anymore. We can finish it another time, can’t we?"

He knows he’s repeating himself, using the same lines he always does. It’s cheap and undignified, unworthy of someone whom even Optimus Prime considered passing the Matrix to. But his need has consumed him, taken over his frame and spark, which craves you so intensely that static buzzes in his audials. Every molecule of his being chants your name, begging for you.

He moves closer, exerting pressure. It’s a dangerous game, one that could easily irritate you. But he’s so desperate he has to play his cards on this gambit.

"I promise we’ll finish it next time, okay? [Name], please, I need you."

"We could also finish it tonight, hmm?" you offer.

"But I already missed the most important part."

"You’re smart—you’ll catch up on the plot." He sees your playful smile, teasing him with your intentions. But this time, he’s too overwhelmed to join in the game.

One servo continues tugging at the edge of your shirt while the other slides beneath it, cautious and precise—while he still has the control to be so.

You finally give in, unable to focus on the film any longer.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that," you warn, finally turning your head toward him.

What greets you are wide, pleading optics, shimmering with need. Begging for you. Beautiful, but deceptive. Luring you into a trap. Or maybe you’ve already been ensnared? Enchanted into letting him do more—letting his servo wander further up, finding its way to your chest.

"Incorrigible," you murmur, tilting your head slightly to one side, exposing your neck—his canvas for the evening. "But at least I’m not sleepy anymore."

"Good," he purrs near your neck. Warm, processed air brushes against your sensitive skin. "I’m going to show you how much you mean to me. I’m afraid it’ll take a very long time."

Servos press tightly to your body, while dentas leave their mark, creating art from love bites—one of his favorite human inventions. Such a pity he couldn’t bear them himself—would flaunt them proudly if he could.

"I wish they lasted forever," he whispers, kissing the bruised skin, already intoxicated by your closeness, even though it’s only a fraction of what he craves.

"And I don’t," you admit. His response is a hurt whine, but Smokescreen quickly resumes his work, moving slightly higher. His marks always came out messy, more like bites than love bites, but he was so proud of them that you couldn’t bring yourself to criticize him. At least, not directly.

"One of my friends noticed them once. She thought I’d been mauled by a wild animal."

You feel him smile against your skin because it’s an accurate description of his love. Wild, untamed.

"Sorry," but it's also unimaginably tender. "But you like them, right? I’m good at this, aren’t I?"

"You’re unmatched, love."

Not sensing the sarcasm, he holds you tighter, as if he wants to merge you both into one being. Feels his trembling spark yearning for a bond, a union with yours. And while you can’t grant him that, the mere act of sharing the most intimate, vulnerable parts of himself is satisfactory. Not enough, because nothing ever will be. Just like the love bites, the most blissful interfacing, or kisses and cuddles. They work for a brief moment, a fraction of existence. They fill the void, which begins emptying the moment you part.

"I need more," he groans. "Please. I need you."

"I wish you were this eager about watching movies."

You reach for the remote because yet another movie attempt has ended in failure. Your boyfriend doesn’t appreciate your effort to put some distance between you, even for a few millimeters. His servos hold you firmly in place, and his dentas possessively catch your neck. Luckily, you don’t have to reach far.

"We’ll manage next time," he promises, though the absent tone of his voice makes it clear he’s lying. You know he won’t last. He’ll falter at the start, trying to make up for lost time by showering you with affection, though it’ll only be a fraction of what he wants to give.

"Hard to believe that."

"Mhm, love you too," he mutters, utterly enraptured by your closeness.

#transformers x reader #smokescreen x reader #obsessed!smokescreen

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mj0702 · 1 year ago

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The other Bronze – Pt. 3

For all the patient waiting people (like @valewosomtb) and my Bubs (I'm proud of you and always will be ❤️)

And please remember - this is pure fiction... so it doesn't need to make sense 🤣

You wandered the streets of Barcelona gotten lost a long time ago but not caring to open google maps.

“Seriously Luce.... kicking me out so you can... probably get some” you mumble to yourself rounding the next corner.

The next thing you knew was that you were sitting on your Ass with a beautiful girl across from you, looking just as baffled before starting to talk to you in spanish. You made the international known sign for “I don't understand” by shrugging your shoulders as you try to push yourself up again.

“Ehrm... damn... what was the spanish Word for English...” you mumbled to yourself before looking at the woman “Inglés?” you ask embarrassed

“Of course” the woman said laughing as she stood up herself offering you a hand “I said I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going”

“Oh god no, I wasn't looking... I... kinda got lost and am too lazy to open maps” you say before you wince as you push yourself up from the pavement

“Are you okay? You look like you hurt something” the woman asked concerned

“Yeah I'm good” you wave off, knowing fully well you weren't good. You definitely sprained your wrist – if not worse. Ugh – your sister will kill you. Such an inconvenience.

“Are you sure?” the woman asked you again this time with a little insistence

“Yeah, I'm sure – you speak very clear english for a spanish person” you said and tried to change the topic

“Oh I'm not Spanish – I'm in fact German... we learn english in school” she winked

“Oh German... now that's interesting” you muse, a smile tugging on your lips

“And why's that?” the woman asked

“I... don't know... I thought it would be nice to say that” you rubbed the back of your neck smiling embarrassed.

The woman laughed loudly “At least you didn't make any bad jokes about us not being funny... that's a plus” she winked before looking at you “Where are you from?”

“Born in Aberdeen, raised in Berwick-upon-Tweed... generally speaking – I'm from England” you grin

“What brought you to the most beautiful city in Europe then?” the Woman asked smiling softly

“Visiting family... Y/N by the way... I thought I should introduce myself before you declare me as unpolite” you continue to grin as you offer your left hand for her to shake

“Left Hand? You english People really are something else” she smiled before taking you're offered Hand “Caroline... friends call me Caro”

“I may or may not have sprained my wrist – that's the reason for the left hand... but yes, we're also something else... so tell me... Caro... what brought you to Barcelona” you tested the waters by using the Womans short name

She smiled “Feeling bold, are you? Assuming we're friends and using my Nickname without even asking”

Again you were thrown off guard by her forwardness “Ehrm... I thought if you tell me something like this, I... could just... you know – use the information”

This time the Blonde laughed freely “Don't sweat it... it's okay... Can I... maybe interest you in drinking a coffee with me?”

“Like a date?” you said confused

“More like a “I'm sorry I ran into you and put you on your ass” coffee” the blonde smirked

“In that case... I'll pay for yours, you pay for mine... I also put you on your ass” this time you smirked

“Deal” the blue eyed girl said smiling “I know a small coffee place not far from here if you're interested”

“Sure... lead the way” you said, your sprained wrist momentarily forgotten. That's until you wanted to put your hand into your pocket. Suddenly you got painfully reminded of your small incidence as you winced for a second.

“You are very gullible, you know... I could be a serial killer” the blonde said smirking

“It's statistically highly unlikely that two serial killer run into each other and then go out for a coffee” you shrug nonchalantly while the blonde laughed out loudly.

You arrived at the small coffee shop, which was a cute one. A little hidden away from the bigger streets, it immediately got calmer and quieter – for the first time since you touched spanish ground, you allowed yourself to breath. Caro took you through an Archway into a beautiful courtyard where she pointed to a little – tiny even – shop with three or four tables. You stopped in the middle of the courtyard and slowly spun around taking in the beauty of this place. The sandstone Walls looked like they could tell endless stories about colourful festive evenings, calm mornings and lovers.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” the blonde German asked quietly

“I couldn't find the right words to describe this beauty even if I tried” you whispered back still looking around in awe.

“Let's get this coffee and you can stare some more” Caro teased but her voice still soft before she walked towards the little shop, greeting the Owners like they were family.

You sat down at one of the tables while still staring around, waiting for your new found friend to return. There was wild Ivy growing up the walls at some places making it even more mysterious and beautiful. Your companion joined you at your table smiling brightly.

“I gather you're a regular?” you grinned at her nodding towards the Shop

“What gave it away?” Caro laughed “The greeting or that I know there's a Coffee Shop so well hidden that not even many Barcaloneans know of its existences?”

“The Greeting and the fact that I didn't order anything...” you mused smiling “... and yet there are two cups of coffee being prepared”

“Good observation skills, I'm impressed” the German smiled “The owners are former Neighbours of mine... they helped me a great deal when I first came to Barca a few years ago and I still come around every time I'm in the area to say hi”

“That's nice... that you still come here to say hi” you say softly “... friendships like this are important... now... what am I getting?”

“I assumed you're a “Cortado” girl...” the blonde winked

“Huh... come again?” you asked confused

“Cortado... the best you could compare it to is a Latte Macchiato... It's an Espresso with milk... “ the German explained “Just... never call it Latte Macchiato... it's a Cortado”

“Got it... Cortado” you say serious, trying to pronunciation right as you repeat the spanish word

“Sounds good” Caro grinned as your coffee gets served by an elderly Woman “Gracias Nana” the blonde grinned graciously

The two of you drank your coffee in silence before starting to talk about nothing and everything at the same time. You really enjoyed the time with the blonde, who was very easy to get along with. She was funny, witty and light-hearted. You shared a few good laughs while she also taught you some real spanish (unlike Mapí did) so you would at least be able to order your coffee the next time on your own. In her company you absolutely forgot the time – which resulted in also forgetting your “engagement” with Keira.. and Alexia... and Lucy... and Mapí. As the sun started to set you realised that you might talked longer with the German as you planned – and that your Phone was dead.

“”Ehrm... I really have a good time... I REALLY do... but... what time is it?” you asked embarrassed after you checked your – very VERY – dead phone.

“Just before 6pm” your new friend answered with a glance at her watch

“Uh oh” was the only thought on your mind which also made it out of you verbally “How far is that football place from here?”

“Camp Nou? About 30 Minutes, why?” Caro looked at you confused as you try frantically to restart your Phone.

“I'm dead... I'm so SO dead.. my Sister is going to kill me” you said panicking “I was meant to meet her at Camp... Nope at 3”

“Yeah.. you might be a little late for that” the blonde said awkward “Come on... I can either get you an Uber or I deliver you – and take the blame... or should you rather go home?”

“Ehrm... I don't really remember where “home” is” you confessed embarrassed, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Camp Nuo it is then... come on” your new found friend said smiling already standing up.

You follow suite standing up rummaging in your pocket pulling out the 20 Euros that Lucy gave you putting it down on the table

“Leave it... it's covered already” Caro said grinning pushing the 20 back into your hands.

“But..” you said dumbfolded looking at the bill in your hand

“Mauro and Valeria are family... it's on the house” the blonde winked and started to walking away after yelling a goodbye towards the elderly couple.

You stumbled after her trying to keep up “But we had a deal”

“Next time” the german waved off already a few steps in front of you her mobile in her hand ordering an Uber.

You just needed to wait around five minutes for a car to pull up and Caro opened the back door

“Your chariot awaits, my lady” the german grinned waiting for you to climb into the backseat

She gave the driver the destination and you were on the way towards Camp Nuo. As the Uber pulled up you immediately spotted a small group of people.

“I'm so dead” you mumbled as you saw one of them roaming in front of the group a mobile phone in her hand before it makes the way to her ear to just be brought back down seconds later

“Let me guess.. the one trying to call you is your sister?” the blonde german smirked at your frozen like state pushing you out off the car following closely behind

“Can we just drive off a...” you started but got interrupted by loud angry yelling

“Y/N BRONZE!!!! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS???!!!”

“Bronze??” Caro asked confused “As in Lucy Bronze?”

“My sister” you mumbled quietly as you took cover behind the blonde

“Oh my god” the blonde whispered shocked

“Is she coming over??” you asked from behind her not daring to look

“She tries... other people holding her back... is that Alexia Putellas?” your new friend mumbles back standing frozen in place

“Probably” you whispered “You seem to know players... is Keira Walsh in that huddle somewhere?”

“I think so... I mean I'm not sure” the german answered lowly

“I call out for her and you have to tell me if someone reacts, okay?? KEIRA????” you yelled from behind Caro hoping that Keira was still around

“Yep... someone just looked over” your german friend said as Keira looked over

“Good.... can you bring me over to her without Lucy noticing?” you questioned

“Ehrm... this is Lucy Bronze we're talking about.... I don't think there's anything that goes unnoticed by her” Caro mumbled back

“You give her too much credit” you rolled your eyes behind the taller woman “Okay... maybe you could distract her and I run over to saftey – namely Keira”

“How should I distract a world class defender? Have you seen the stuff she pulled off at the Worldcup??”

“Ask her for a Autograph or something... go fangirling” you said pushing your friend forward.

“Absolutely not” Caro said shaking her head “Ooooooh... they're coming over”

“Okay...” you said panicking “You go left, I go right”

“You do realize that they have zero intrest in me, right?” she asked you raising an eyebrow

“Damnit” you swore quietly

“Cariño” you suddenly hear behind your human shield “would you mind stepping around this nice woman”

“No” you mumbled now grabbing Caros shirt

“Cariño” Alexia said but you heard her warning tone “I promise Lucia won't hurt you”

You peeked around your human shield to see Lucy a few feet away flanked by Ingrid and Ona and her face showed pure fury. Alexia stood right in front of Caro and you acting like a mediator.

“It wasn't my fault, I swear” you rushed out but stayed behind the german

“I didn't say it was but we were very worried” the spaniard said calm “now please step around that poor woman who you roped into this”

“Her name is Caro and she's german” you said still not moving from behind her

“Hola” Alexia said to your friend not sparing her a second glance “Do not make me get you out from behind her”

You reluctantly step around Caro standing now next to her your head hung low

“Thank you” the blonde spaniard said before she grabbed your wrist pulling you away a bit

“Alexia please” you digged your feet into the ground trying to stop the unievitable “She'll kill me and it was really an accident”

“She won't kill you stop being so.. dramático” Alexia said calmly as she pulled you over to where the others were standing.

You looked back over your shoulder towards your new friend who had a sorrowful look on her face waving slightly before turning around ready to leave

“Wait” you called out to her “I still owe you this coffee... Alexia please... One minute, okay”

Alexia stopped and let go of your wrist turning around to you

“You can't out run me... even if you try...” she warned you

“I just want to make sure there's a chance I can pay back my depth” you rolled your eyes

You quickly walked back to the german pulling out that 20 Euro bill scribbling your number down pushing it into Caros hand

“Call me... when I charged my phone again” you smiled then turning around walking back to the waiting Barcelona captain

“Wise choice not trying to run” Alexia said smiling slightly

“It's not like I would come very far” you shrugged nodding towards the bunch of football players standing a few feet behind Alexia

“True... now come one – you have to explain quite a bit” the blonde smiled encouraging at you pulling you along towards the small crowd

“Do you actually know what I just went through???” Lucy yelled the second you were close enough “I thought you.... I don't know... got killed or laying dead in a ditch or something!!”

You stepped behind Alexia hiding behind her. You knew your sister loved you to death so her yelling at you was bad

“Lucia” Alexia warned noticing how it effected you “We said no yelling... explain what happened Cariño”

You shook your head taking a step back just to feel someone cutting off your escape route. When you looked around it was Keira who had a blank look on her face

“It was really an accident Kei... I swear... Lucy gave me money and said I should go to the next Starbucks... I didn't want google the route, so I got lost and just wandered around... I met Caro because I ran into her and put her to her ass so I wanted to apologise by buying her a coffee and she said she knew a nice place and so I went with her... it was a really cute place and I forgot about time and when the sun set I checked my phone to see it died” you said talking one mile an hour trying to convince her that you didn't want to cause trouble on purpose.

Keira took a deep breath listening closely to your rant before holding up a hand

“Bitsy do you realize how much you had us worried... I mean I'm used to you wandering off but you don't know this city – as beautiful as Barcelona is, it can be dangerous... you don't know where to go and where to stay away from... hell Bitsy you don't even speak the language” she said and you saw that Keira held herself back

“I really didn't mean too” you answered sadly looking down

“I know... but that doesn't make it any less scary for us” the englishwoman said quietly before engulfing you in a bear hug.

“Will she kill me?” you mumbled into Keiras shoulder as you hugged her back

“No” the englishwoman chuckled “she probably handcuff you to herself... or bring back the dino-harness”

“Ugh... please don't let her” you groaned being remembered of one of the most embarrassing things Lucy ever done to you

You were about 10 when Keira took you to Lucy who was playing in Lyon at the time. They decided it would be a good idea to go with you to the park so you can power yourself out. Needless to say that you indeed used the whole park – much to the dismay of Lucy who had her first ever panic attack because she lost you. After that incident she immediately bought one of these kiddi-leashes to keep you in check. And not only did she make you wear it when you three were out in privat – oh no... she'd made you wear it when she went to training. So the first time you met worldclass players like Wendie Renard, Amandine Henry or Dzsenifer Marozsán you were strapped in a kids harness which had a dinosaur design – to be exact a dino whose biting his own tail - with a leash attached to its back. Looking back now it was probably the saftest – but also the most embarressing - option for you since you would have definitely wandered off exploring Stade Gérard Houllier and probably have gotten into trouble somehow. So you spent a whole training being tied to post next to the pitch solmley to the fact that Keira had something else to do and couldn't take you with her.

Now as Keira hugged you tightly and brought back those memories which resulted in you pressing your face into her shoulder. Just as you got comfortable against Keira you got ripped away from her embrance and found yourself at the receiving end of another tight hug.

“Never EVER do that again, Bubs” your sister mumbled into your hair “You can't just disappear like that... I was so SO scared”

“I'm sorry, Luce” you mumbled back thankful that she got over her initial angryness

“Are you okay? Nobody hurt you, right? Who was that woman?” Lucy fired question after question as she pushed you backwards to take a look at you

“I'm good Luce... really” you said hiding your slightly swollen wrist “That woman was Caro... I ran into her and she helped me getting here”

“You can't just go with strangers, Bubs... I thought I drilled that into your head back in Lyon” your sister said and looked at you somehow helplessly

“It wasn't like I knew where I was or something” you rolled your eyes “She seemed nice and she really helped me”

“Cariño” you suddenly heared behind you again and it made you jump a little

“Hm?” you hummed carefully turning around facing Alexia

“Are you really okay?” she stared down at you and you knew that she knew.

“Yes... yes I am” you tried to sound convincing but your voice betrayed you at the end

“Oh my god, you aren't” your sister exclaimed “Tell me.. you did get hurt, didn't you?! Is it bad? Do you need an ambulance? No wait... I drive you... Ona... get the car – we need to go to the hospital and you need to translate”

“Lucy!” you yelled “I'm fine... no ambulance, no hospital... calm your tits”

“You know you were never good at lying, Bitsy” Keira grinned “And if even Lucy picks up on it, then it's a really bad attempt”

“I'm not lying” you pressed still hiding your injured wrist

“Are we stretching the truth again then?” Keira asked knowingly

“Maybe” you said, looking down starting to kick the pavement embarrassed

“Show me immediately” Lucy demanded and already started to inspect your face moving her hands down to check your shoulders

“Keira” you whined trying to get away from your sisters prying hands

“Lucy stop it... it's her left wrist” the englishwoman rolled her eyes

“How did you... outch Luce” you started as your sister grabbed your wrist making you hiss out in pain

“You're not as sneaky as you think Bitsy” Keira grinned

“But I... Ow Lucy... that hurts man” you said bewildered before your sister put a little pressure on your wrist which hurts a LOT

“You tried to hide it very well – yes you did” Keira chooed and pinched your cheek “But not well enough for me or Alexia”

“Why would you hide something like this, Cariño?” the barca captain wanted to know

“You saw how she reacted and she didn't even know I was injured... OW!” you said nodding towards your sister while Lucy was prodding your wrist

Alexia delicatly took your hand out of Lucys hands and inspected it closely turned and stretched it carefully. You hissed at some of the movements even trying to pull away at one turn but one stern look from the blonde spainard made clear that you wouldn't get away

“It hurts” you mumbled as you tried to pull away again

“I bet” Alexia said quietly still inspecting your wrist “Looks like a sprain but to be sure you need some... radiografía”

“I need WHAT?” you squeaked shocked and scared at the same time

“Ona... what is radiografá” the spainard asked her teammate

“X-Ray.. you need some x-rays” the young catalonian said

“HA” Lucy exclaimed in a “I told you so”-tone

“Nooooo” you whined and JUST stopped yourself from stomping your foot

“Come on Bubs...” your sister said lovingly as she laid her arm around your shoulder and pulled you towards her Cupra “... I heard the spanish hospitals are quite an experience”

“Keira” you whined begging looking at her with big puppy eyes

“I'll meet you there okay?” the englishwoman said reassuring

“Excuse me... I'm there with you, you don't need to whine for Kei” Lucy said accusing

“But Keira knows everything about me... you're like a piece of swiss cheese sometimes” you said embarrassed

“I know EVERYTHING about you” your sister exclaimed outraged

“What's my blood type?” you raised an eyebrow

“Red” your sister shrugged as she opened the back door of her car for you

“Nope... uh-hu... I won't let you take any responsebility or make any medical decision when your answer is “Red” as a blood type” you shook your head fast

“Bet Keira doesn't know either” Lucy rolled her eyes looking over towards her fellow england teammate

“AB positive” the blonde said before entering her own car

“Seriously??” Lucy exclaimed throwing her arms up in annoyance

“I'm driving with Keira” you said quickly trying to get into her car

“You're not” your sister grabbed your shirt pulling you back “Stop being a child and get in the car”

“Then I want to ride shotgun” you said stubborn

“Ona is riding shotgun” Lucy said calm

“Ona is what?” the short woman asked confused pointing at herself

“You front” Lucy pointed at her girlfriend “You back” she pointed at you

“Why?” you whined again

“My Cupra has a lot of buttons – you will push all of them and probably break it” your sister explained

You huffed offended but climbed into the back of the sleek black car.

“Fucking finally” Lucy sighed and rolled her eyes after she closed the car door

“Be nice... she's upset” Ona said over the roof opening the passenger side door climbing in

“I'm upset too” your sister mumbled getting into the driver seat and started the car to drive you to the hospital.

The drive only took 15 minutes but for you it became nearly unbearable. You hated hospitals – with a passion. You had to spend some time in hospital when you were about six years old due to a burst appendix and since that time it was a mission to get you to put a foot in said buildings. It took Keira a lot of bribing to get you to visit Lucy when she had her knee surgery. That's how bad it was – you wouldn't even enter a hospital for visiting others.

“Come on, Bubs... let's get this wrist checked out” Lucy said softly as she leaned in the open car door. You didn't even noticed the car came to a halt before being deep in thoughts what could go wrong with a simple check-up. They could discover something worse and will keep you in there and probably maybe surgery and something goes wrong and you're going to die on that table. You decided right there and then you won't enter the hospital – there was a high risk of dying and your life just begun.

“Bubs?” your sister tried again seeing you spiraling, your forehead showing wrinkles you keep biting your lip your eyes staring into nothing

“Let me... you know how she gets about hospitals” Keira said softly arriving just in time to see you in distress “Get her checked in, I'll get her in there okay?”

“Kay... thanks Kei...” Lucy sighed then looking at Ona sheepishly “you need to help me... these forms are probably in spanish”

The short catalonian grinned “Aren't you around long enough to know basic spanish by now?”

“Speaking it... not reading it” Lucy mocked her girlfriend

As the two Barca players entered the hospital to get you checked in for your wrist Keira slipped into the backseat of Lucys car right next to you.

“Hey Bitsy” she said quietly trying to get your attention laying her hand carefully on your knee

“I don't want to go in there, Kei... I'm going to die” you said in a monotone but slightly panicked voice

“You're not going to die” the blonde chuckled “They'll do the same as Alexia did, test your ability to move in different directions then decide to take some.... how did you always refer to x-rays when you were younger?”

“Bone pictures” you mumbled

“They will take some bone pictures see that nothing is broken, then either put a simple bandage or a splint on it and we're out again – if you're good, I tell Ona to tell them to give you the good painkillers” Keira tried to walk you through whats most likely to happen.

“But if they discover something wrong with my wrist and they want to do surgery and something goes horribly wrong and I die on the table?” you looked at your comfort person horrified

“Not going to happen, Bitsy... It's just a simple check... and you have too much movability for it to be broken... it's just a sprain, okay?” the blonde englishwoman smiled reassuring

“You promise?” you mumble leaning into Keira

“I promise... now come on... your sister already came out the entrance looking for us three times now” Keira smiled at you

“She should calm her tits...” you rolled your eyes annoyed

“She was so worried, Bitsy... her session today was shit because she felt one guilty for kicking you out and two she was scared that something happened to you... I know you're a big girl now and you definitely can look after yourself but this is still a unknown city to you and honestly Bitsy – if you take a wrong turn you could end up in a very bad area and get killed”

“I really didn't mean to worry you...” you mumbled ashamed

“I know... but cut her some slack... she loves you to bits... she would do everything for you – always have and always will do” the englishwoman smiled while opening her side of the car taking your right hand into hers pulling slightly for you to follow her

“Took you long enough” Lucy whispered so only Keira could hear her

“We're here, aren't we?” the fellow english fired back a little annoyed

“Ona is talking to the nurses if there's anything they could do to get us through faster... I know every minute spend in here she's more likely to bolt” Lucy talked quietly always having an eye on you as you clutched Keiras hand hard.

“She's scared... she's convinced they'll take her in for surgery and she's going to die” the blonde explained as she let you squeeze her hand to the point where it became numb.

“Is there anything I can do?” your sister asks her ex-girlfriend getting a little concerned herself

“Hold her? Tell her you won't leave” Keira said simply and the second she finished Lucy was out of her seat, crouching in front of you

“Come here Bubs... just like old times” she smiled at you before prying your hand off Keiras and pulled you forward so you had to stand up. She then sat down in your place and now pulled you down into her lap holding you tightly

“I've got you Bubs... you know I won't leave and everything will be over quickly” your sister mumbled into your hairline as you laid your head on her shoulder getting tired after your long, eventful day. You were just about to close your eye for a long needed nap as a nice looking young woman with light blue scrubs and a white lab coat called out your name

“y/n?” the doctor called out and Lucy nudged you slightly as Ona made the doctor aware that you were infact there

You slipped of Lucys lap but didn't move until your sister pushed you forward always having her hand on your back.

“I think Ona should come too... I don't speak spanish and yours is probably shit...” you mumble tiredly

“I'll let you know that I speak excellent spanish, devils spawn” your sister growled back but you heared that it held no bite

“You're probably not even able to order a coffee” you spoke quietly as you followed the doctor

“I can even order an apple pie on the side” Lucy smirked at you – knowing it would ease your nerves a bit since this is the only thing you always find the most important to learn first.. how to order food - as she pushed you through the door of the trauma room closing the door behind you so your exit was blocked and you couldn't run off.

It went just as Keira promised you and nothing bad happened. The woman palpated your wrist in several different places moved it around a bit and decided to take some x-rays to be sure. After three failed attempts to take some pictures of your wrist without Lucy in the room the nurses begrudgingly allowed your sister back in the room. The moment Lucy stepped in your line of sight you relaxed and held still for the few minutes it took the nurses to take the x-rays. It wasn't really your fault that you panicked when they told you – in spanish of course – what they wanted you to do and you got “slightly” irretated when they just grabbed your arm. At least you didn't bite anyone this time. Now you were seated in the trauma room again waiting for the doctor to come back to review your pictures and tell Lucy what her treatment plan was who then would tell you. The woman looked at the pictures closely before speaking to your sister.

“You have a really bad strain.. nothing broken, just really really badly sprained wrist... you'll get a splint for now and as soon as we're home we'll ice it” your sister told you softly holding your good hand.

“Okay” you said carefully not trusting the process

“You're going to be okay Bubs” Lucy soothed you “just a splint and we're on our way home, okay”

“Do they have cool colors?” you asked quietly

Lucy turned towards the doctor repeating in spanish what you just asked

“Which color do you want?” your sister asked you

“What are the colors of Real Madrid? White and Gold if I'm right, right?” you grinned wide at Lucy who looked betrayed

“Hell to the no” Lucy exclaimed outraged “In no way you enter my home in these colors... what a disgrace”

“White and gold?” you asked the doctor directly but she just looked at you bluntly so you decided to take a different approach

You stood up – slowly so your sister wouldn't think you're trying to bolt – going to the door, opening it and yell from the top of the lungs for Ona. The small Player came sprinting down the hallway coming to a skittering halt in front of you

“Yes?” she said a little panicked

“What's white in spanish?”

“Blanco, why?” the blonde spainard looked at you confused

“And gold?” you smiled at her

“Oro” she looked even more confused than before and it didn't help that Lucy groaned behind you

“Blanco and Oro, sí?” you turned around looking at the doctor grinning from ear to ear

“Sí” the doctor grinned leaving the room

“I can't believe you” Lucy exclaimed throwing her arms up in defeat “using my girlfriend for your pettiness”

“What just happened?” Ona asked getting more confused by the second

“She wants a splint in the colors white and gold...” Lucy groaned

“That are Reals colors” Ona exclaimed shocked

You just sat on the bed grinning widely as the two women in front of you started a discussion in spanish. Soon the doctor came back with a white splint with gold around the edges showing it to you

“Tanto?” she looked at you

“Ehrm... sí?” you answered unsure looking at Ona for help

“Sí muchas gracias” the spainard smiled politely

You got your split fitted to your wrist and with a description for some – apparently very good pain meds courtesy of Ona – you leave the hospital with your entourage of three world class football players.

“See Bitsy... nothing bad happened... I’m proud of you for not bolting” Keira smiled warmly as you crossed the car park.

“Yeah Bubs... I’m actually REALLY proud of you... I know it’s somehow a big deal for you but you took it like a champ” Lucy also smiled widely as she kept her arms around your shoulders keeping you close to her side

“Real colors, I can’t believe it” Ona mumbled next to Lucy “and I helped... what’s next? Sitting in the Real section at the El classíco?”

You laughed at Onas antics “Get used to it, Batlle... you’ll get used and abused from me until there’s nothing left to squeeze out of you” you laugh

“Welcome to the Family”

Now it was Lucy who burst out laughing with Keira following suite also laughing heartwarming. Onas face showed pure horror as you four reached the cars.

#lucy bronze x reader #keira walsh x reader #ona batlle x reader #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso image #barca femeni

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lets-try-some-writing · 3 months ago

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I have observed several types of fic writers, and so for kicks and giggles, here they all are. Each of them scares me for different reasons.

The Prepared And Ready To Publish™:

Several documents dedicated to worldbuilding, planning, cross referencing, character lists & traits, plot twists, and then the actual fic document.

Dedicated to the max to creating a rich world. Probably knows more about the niche thing than you ever will. 100% could have written a thesis and chose to do fic instead (or did both at the same time).

Created a masterpiece and promptly vanished off the face of creation before coming back in with another banger to crush souls and save fandoms.

Their arrival is akin to the birth of a new era because they never fail to somehow make a niche ship popular, make a headcanon fanon, or otherwise give so much depth and interest to a character or setting that whatever they have devised is largely accepted as gospel by their readers.

They either use a high end writing program or wordpad. There is no in-between.

Mysterious. Very mysterious. Reasons for this mysteriousness vary between fics and authors.

100000/10 would be friends with them if I could. Legendary writers. But also they scare me because ??? What void offered you such power ?????

The Baby Writer:

All vibes and loosely strung plots.

It may not make the most sense, but good gracious the dedication is there.

Notable lack of comprehension when it comes to characters and places, but it's bad form to not leave a kudo because it takes guts to post anything in fandom.

They are still figuring things out and their grammar or formatting (possibly both) is probably a mess, but they've put heart into their work.

Sweetest rays of sunshine who want to be involved and are eager to learn the ropes.

The fandom's young ward or despised new arrival (depends entirely on fandom popularity and age).

8/10 would happily offer advice to them. Just can't read their work for too long without wanting to throw it into grammarly. The fear factor comes in the form of the miraculous misuse of fandom terminology. (Yeah it's tough bud, the fanon is wild. But goodness that term/canon word does NOT mean what you think it does.)

The Smut For Your Soul:

Meticulously plans the smut with all the loving care of a sculptor.

Somehow plot got involved.

Miraculously, they managed to not include an iota of plot and it has somehow managed to work.

Headcanons abound and cuteness and or angst lurks merrily behind every corner.

The tags mean everything and nothing at the same time. They are but faint guides to the fae wilds ahead. Tread lightly.

Has a mountain of unfinished WIPs that will follow them to the grave or emerge ten years after conception to grace whatever fandom spawned the idea.

The fandom thanks them for their service, although often that praise is late or hits like a freight train.

???/10 I personally avoid smut but I have friends who write it so it really depends. Terrifying because you never know who falls into this role of writer. It could be anyone. Normalcy is a mask poorly adorned for the sake of conforming to The Great Machine.

The Angst Lord:

Has a million slightly different ways to hurt their blorbo. Each are somehow more horrifying than the next.

The embodiment of the iceburg videos seen all over the net. Ask one question and you shall unravel and scheme of torment so great you shall regret having dared to speak up.

Has dozens of WIPs or unwritten ideas that they claim they will return to.

They are controlled by passion and emotion and can and will insert their own complicated situation into a fic.

Almost nothing is off limits.

Arrives to the fandom ready to brawl and somehow ends up respected or feared. They often stare in bafflement as they end up unscathed and watch angry comments fly toward the arguably innocent shippers.

Generally some of the nicest people who happen to enjoy inflicting The Horrors upon someone fictional.

'10/10 would befriend and promptly regard like a wild racoon. Offerings of angsty ideas yield delightful commentary. But also I need to prepare myself for anything they say because O U C H my SOUL.

The General Writer:

Fluff, cuteness, possibly a delightful touch of angst and pure unbridled creative simplicity.

They may not have the most brutal or soul wrenching tale, but they always manage to write something that someone, somewhere, desperately needs.

Devastatingly underrated and deserves far more praise for their contributions to the fandom.

Produces some of the softest of scenes and the most touching of interactions between characters in a contained, careful crafted, tale.

Introducing new ships or family dynamics in such a tasteful manner that brain chemistry can easily be altered.

Arrives to the fandom as a lurker and shows their appreciation through their work. Oftentimes, they are very quiet and go unnoticed.

INFINITE/10 Love these writers, honestly a gift to fandom. The sheer level of dedication to producing fluff is astounding and scary all at once.

The OC X Canon:

Has so many ships and headcanons that it's astounding.

The lore development rivals IDW and Lost Light combined. All the kudos to them for putting their souls into their characters.

The dedication is mind boggling.

They put up with so much crap they could be in MMA Wrestling if the verbal assaults translated into physical strength.

Has so many adjustments to lore and whole AUs devoted specifically to creating a perfect world.

Skilled in the extreme (or not) at integrating their ocs into canon.

Arrives to the fandom not intending to make ocs. Leaves with seventeen leashes for their new abominable creations. Is loved or hated by literally everyone, sometimes for no reason.

6/10 perfectly lovely people but very niche in their interest and thus not everyone's cup of tea. Scary because that level of sheer willpower is meant for demi-gods.

There are more types of writers, but these feel like the big overarching ones. Which kind of writer are you? :D

#fic writer #fanfic writing #types of writers #fanfic stuff #lets try some writing mumbles

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buskingalbatross · 13 days ago

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AmazingPhil channel marathon musings

during a pre-show q&a back in november, in response to a question about what show someone should binge next, dan said they should watch all of the AmazingPhil channel from the start. I was not the person who asked this (nor was I at this show), but regardless I did decide I wanted to take dan’s suggestion seriously. just a few days ago, I finished watching all of AmazingPhil in chronological order. and now i really want to talk about what it was like and why I would recommend marathoning his channel to pretty much anyone—because it was a blast.

I watched all of the 369 currently public AmazingPhil videos over the course of 35 days, which is from my perspective a pretty casual marathon. 369/35 = roughly 11 videos a day, though due to algorithm and monetization policy stuff, phil’s videos became longer in duration around 2015-2016; for many years, most of his videos were around 4 minutes long or less, which for me meant that early on in this marathon I was watching more videos per day, and then later on my pace slowed. phil’s videos with dan are usually pretty long as well, so if I had something like a baking video or wdapteo up next to watch, I might have only watched one or two videos that day.

unsurprisingly, watching all of phil’s videos in order in a relatively short span of time gave me a really cool perspective on how phil has grown as a person and as a YouTuber over the past eighteen years. surprising to me, though, was how I felt like watching his channel in such a linear way felt a bit like coming to know who phil is for the very first time, again. despite having watched his videos for over a decade, i feel like i understand his style and creativity and personality more fully, and in general better, than I did before. watching 2007 phil become 2009 phil become 2011 phil and so on in the span of a few days or a week meant seeing clearly how his sense of humor evolved, how his editing and creativity developed, how his perspectives on life and relationship with his audience shifted. much as when you binge an entire tv or book series and immediately afterwards feel like you’re brimming with information, and have all the context, that’s sort of how I felt. and it was new for me because I’d never done that with phil’s content before—I’d never followed the course of his life the way you might a fictional character’s.

AmazingPhil is also an incredible capsule of 2000s, 2010s, and 2020s Western internet culture, obviously. it’s like an anthropologist from the future with a very hyperspecific thesis topic’s dream treasure horde. what a person can learn about one corner of the world, and one corner of society, from AmazingPhil’s videos is, well, a lot. I see so much cultural value in AmazingPhil, it’s insane. his videos are not sketches, essays, and commentaries on society and life like Dan’s, but I’d make the argument (as I’m sure most of you would) that they’re just as important and critical to helping people understand themselves and the world they live in. and the kind of people they want to be, too, perhaps.

there were also certain videos that stuck with me more than they had in the past. I discovered new favorite videos and videos that I considered more interesting than I previously had. (I tried just now to make a list of some of these but it rapidly got too long, so instead I’ll restrict myself to mentioning only one, a new favorite, from 2021: “I Got Catfished.” - which i think is a fantastic example of phil’s storytelling style). dnp have both said before that they view life as a performance – and phil is without a sliver of doubt a magical and incredible performer. he knows so well how to tell stories with words, pacing, structures, and effects that are hilarious and entertaining; he turns anecdotes from his life into these amazing whimsical pieces of art made in a way no other person has ever made things. YouTube has from the beginning presented him with the perfect way to be creative in a way that suits him. and more than that, i found that it was never even remotely unpleasant to watch his videos every day for over a month. there is simply not an AmazingPhil video that doesn’t bring me joy and make me sit there smiling like a fool. my cheek muscles are probably stronger than they were 35 days ago.

so, to you I say, go: watch all of AmazingPhil, draw your own conclusions from his current oeuvre and deepen your parasocial relationship with Phil Lester in ways you cannot yet comprehend. I really recommend.

(final notes: one side effect of watching all of phil’s videos was being unexpectedly yet thoroughly convinced he does indeed possess psychic talents. even though i don’t believe in magical anything, i do now believe phil lester inherited prescience from his grandmother.)

(also dan is completely right that every time phil changes his hair, he regenerates into an entirely new man.)

(also also I made an AmazingPhil spotify playlist that is highly specific to my music tastes but that anyone is welcome to listen to all the same) ✨🐗💙🥱

#if i'm honest sharing my thoughts about dnp like this makes me anxious i am a lurker and a fic writer at heart so #if you disagree with my thoughts simply do not let me know #but also if anyone wants to talk about this or other dnp topics feel free to dm anytime :>#phil lester #amazingphil #dnp #dan and phil

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lovystar · 1 year ago

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❝ A PRINCESS’ WILL ❞ ; BADA LEE

synopsis──after an assassination attempt, the queen invites the very best fighters from across the land to compete for the great honor of protecting you, the princess.

content──bada lee x unnamed fem!oc (reader). princess!reader, soldier under disguise!bada. currently unedited, pls be nice lol. fictional combination of medieval european and korea’s joseon dynasty aspects bc im not too concerned about making it realistic. incorrect pronouns (when not in bada’s pov). this world is matrilineal bc I said so. bada's a flirt. eventual smut w/ switch!bada.

word count ── approx. 5.4k

───

YOUR MOTHER’S STRONG HOLD—on the country, on the castle, on her children, and on you in particular as the oldest—was suffocating. You were destined to rule over millions, and your mother would not let you forget it. You had to be strong, caring for your people but unforgiving to others. That’s how she ruled. She’d shape you to be the same queen she was, and she’ll drill it into your head herself if she needs to.

Your pride would never allow you to say this to her face, but you supposed that she did a good enough job. The people loved her: she kept them safe and fed, gave them more than enough to start caring beyond their necessities and seek self-actualization, to flourish in the arts. She wasn’t very popular among foreign lands, and you might even go on to say that they feared her. She was often fair when wronged, but very rarely did she ever pardon those wrongs. She has never, in the time you've been alive.

Once, when you were very little and you were still taking lessons with some children of noble descent, you heard them repeat a saying they’d learn from their parents:

“Loving are her eyes, beauty bestowed, but fear the night the Hawk catches you lurking near her nest, lest you desire your entrails be fed to the eyas nights on end.”

They spoke of their Queen with reverence and adoration.

Her way of ruling worked well for many years; you got to live a life of peace and prosperity the entirety of your childhood. Not many other kingdoms can say the same.

On top of your queenly history lessons and politics and mathematics and the sciences, she wanted you to be good at protecting yourself. While she has acquired the most apt Royal Guard, a future queen must still be able to hold her own. She ordered only the best archers and swords to teach you, and you were…decent, at it. The years of practice successfully stuck some things into you: how to hold a sword and a bow and arrow, which body parts to target, how to be light in your feet (this one was specifically useful whenever you wanted to leave the royal palace).

In your defense, your natural sensibilities were drawn to something else entirely. You’d always say reading was a more sensible passage of time. You would spend hours upon hours lounging in one of the library nooks or on a blanket in the palace gardens, surrounded by the pastel of the flowers.

You were in that garden when the assassin took a knife to your throat.

You lived, but it scared your mother terribly. Surprising—since you’d never known her to be a person who had any fears. In your mind, it could only mean two things. One, she loved you to some extent—she might just have a weird way of expressing it. Two, someone was threatening her bloodline and consequently, perhaps more importantly, someone was threatening her throne.

And she will not let that happen in her lifetime.

───

It has been two weeks since your throat was sliced open. Two weeks since the doctor instructed you to minimize strenuous activity and if you could, stay in bed as to not open the stitches.

‘You don’t know how lucky you are,’ the doctor has told you every day after your daily checkup. You know this, of course. Had the knife gone any deeper and had your court ladies not been around the corner, you’d be dead. It was, however, a hilarious thought that someone would bring a blunt knife to an assassination.

Your mother didn’t think it was funny. But in your delicate state, the anger in her eyes had never been funnier, and it pained your throat whenever you’d attempt to laugh.

“Will you stop it? The doctor spent hours on those. What will we do if they scar?” You rolled your eyes in response and she scoffed. “Glad to see you’re as genteel as ever, it’d be a shame if you had lost that lively nature of yours.” It sounded sarcastic, but she meant it. She did not want you to be passive. In her mind, that would only led to you becoming spineless and spineless Queen can't rule. You ignored her words, instead gesturing for one of the maids to bring you a cup of water.

“I’ve arranged for the competition to take place tomorrow, do you think you’ll be up for it?”

You furrowed your brows, “Competition?” Your voice came out roughly. The stitches began to itch.

Your mother groaned, “Please refrain from speaking, but yes, competition, have you not been listening to me? The best soldiers and eligible men have been traveling from across the nation for some time now. The men will fight and we shall see who is best equipped to protect the Crown Princess.”

“Must—” you coughed, “must we make them fight? Can’t we just pick one?”

“Just pick one?” She looked into your eyes incredulously, “You must have hit your head and injured your intelligences if you think I’d let just any one person be in charge of you. You must have the best.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Very well.” She nodded once, “The doctor has cleared you to attend so rest, you will be awakened bright and early tomorrow!”

She walked out of the room and left you to your devices. You sighed. You allowed your court ladies to help you out of your daily garments, clean your wound, place the ointment and replace the bandage.

You repeated the process in the morning, placing a necklace over the bandage, ensuring it is not too tight but stays in place. You prepared for the days’ events, and after a couple of restrained breaths, you walked out of the room with your court ladies in toe.

───

Bada Lee spent her childhood just outside the place. Her family had raised generations of soldiers, many of which served in the Royal Guard. That was, until her father was dismissed and demoted to being a simple guard in the rural countryside. He had dedicated his entire life to the Queen and it was a shock to everyone when he’d been told of his dismissal. Up to his last breath, he’d grow angry whenever she’d asked him why. Why did we leave? How could a loving Queen throw us away as if we were nothing? She’d been upheaved from the City, and littered some place where she’d have to fight if she wanted anything to come from her life. Well, fight harder than she’d have to in the City.

Still, she knew that it didn’t matter where she was. Whether in the Capital City or the countryside, external expectations would have her be a wife and a mother soon after. She watched her mother suffer under these conditions, watched her neighbors, and the change in her friends’ nature as they came of age and were married off. They were all unhappy.

She’d be damned if she was destined to a miserable marriage. But above all, she’d be damned if she dies a nobody. Just another woman, forgotten by history.

Nope. That’s not her.

Growing up, she loved watching her father and brother train. She’d try to join, but her father would quickly push her away. She would try day after day, but it couldn’t be helped. So she turned to making her own sword out of a fallen tree branch. She’d copy their movements, the placement of their feet and how the air would rest in their lungs and rush out with the lunge of the sword—well, the lunge of the stick for her. Her brother agreed to train with her, but in his teenage years, he grew resentful of her talent. He decided to begin training a different skill, archery, but soon enough, he realized that this too came naturally for her. Over the years he turned to different combat skills, only for Bada to overpower him again and again. One day, he stopped helping her at all.

It was a cold winter when the sickness spread across the countryside. It was the sickness that took her father and it was the sickness that took her brother. The town had to develop a new burial site due to the amount of people that died at the beginning of the season. Death didn't relent there; people continued dying and dying until that site was full with bodies.

By the time her family succumbed to their sickness, there was nowhere to put them. For days on end, her only company was their cold bodies. She had placed them in a separate room, putting as much distance as she could. As the winter grew colder and she stared at the makeshift tomb’s door, she realized she depended entirely on them. As it stood, she was nothing, less than nothing, by herself. It was a matter of time before someone hunted her down, a young woman without any male relatives left and tried to turn her into a sellable thing.

She’d be damned.

In a feat of fear and anger, she grabbed her brother’s clothes and changed into them and styled her hair as he would. She looked into the small mirror, surprised to see that her crazy plan might just work.

But she needed to make people think it was her that died.

The day the town hall proposed a mass burial, she changed her brother’s clothes into her own and loosened his hair from the top knot it was in. She shaved his beard, feeling disgusted at the act and with herself for feeling the need to do this. She pushed through: this was about her survival. She reported the bodies, and snuck into the site later that night. Sure, she would be shamelessly taking her brother’s identity from this day forward, but that did not mean she would bury her brother in anything other than his clothes. She did not want that karma. Plus she could afford to lose one of the five hanboks.

The next day, she watched anxiously as they buried the mass of bodies.

She should’ve felt terrible about her relief once they were under the soil, and she did, she would miss them. At some point during the week she lived with their corpses, she forgave them for any bad they did to her. She could only think of the good things now, her father’s jjigae and her brother’s light banter.

She did feel bad, but at the same time, a weight had been lifted. She wouldn’t need to get married now, she could pursue something, she could walk around at night without a chaperone and she could talk to people without worrying about being seen as vulgar.

Yes, under her disguise, she was finally free.

───

Lee Bada had been Lee Hae for a year by the time the Queen requested all eligible soldiers to report to the Capital City. Her commanding officer recommended her to go as one of the top soldiers under his command. She has managed to climb her way through the ranks, demonstrating her strength wherever she went.

Nobody knew the Mother of the Nation had called them to the palace, but if only the strongest were allowed to go, then Bada was going to make sure she was at top.

It was strange being back in the Capital City and even weirder to see the inside of the palace when all she’d known before was its gates.

Bada stood in line with the rest of the soldiers in the palace’s courtyard, towering over some of them. Her back maintained straight, her head held high, as the Crown Princess approached the Queen. She bowed to the queen and sat down next to her. Bada controlled her facial expressions, but her feelings couldn’t be helped. The Crown Princess had made the soldiers wait under the sun, and now she had the audacity to look bored. Despite being so far away, she could see the way you whispered into one of your court ladies’ ears and how they covered their mouth. The laughter showed in their eyes though. In contrast, your attempt to cover your giggle was lazy, your hand falling from the front of your mouth before you could control your expression once more. Bada wanted to scoff. Had you no decency? Before Bada’s bitterness could grow further, the Queen began speaking.

“Welcome, loyal soldiers and citizens. I have invited you here today to compete for the highest honor of joining the Royal Guard and protecting your Crown Princess.” Her open palm gestured to her side, where the Princess sat gracefully. “It is a title that comes with great responsibility, and requires skill, power and loyalty. It would please me for each of you to partake and serve your country in the process. If you wish to stay, please take a step forward.”

Each of the four hundred soldiers took a step, the sound booming through the courtyard. Bada did not look to see if any citizens had stepped forward.

“I am so glad! The competition consists of a six stages with different ‘games.’ You must accumulate enough points in each stage to successfully move up to the next one. Today, we shall begin the first stage. You must ride out into the woods and bring back a rabbit that has been trapped and hidden. There are only two hundred rabbits.” the Queen paused and with a clap of her hands, “Go!”

───

“I don’t get the point of this game,” You stated without looking up from your book. “They’ve been out there for hours and no one is back yet.”

“Patience, daughter,” the Queen responded, “There must be a basis to being a good protector, is there not? Wouldn’t you say that enduring long distance and persevering in the woods is a good baseline?”

“You are so creative, Mother,” you sighed into your book, “You can come up with such fantastical scenarios.”

“So you would rather have someone who doesn’t know how to endure long distances riding and persevere in the woods?”

You didn’t respond.

The first to arrive was a seasoned soldier. He had been part of the Royal Guard for more than a decade, and was known for his hunting skills. The second person caught your mother’s attention. One tall and broad-shouldered man rushed through the Palace gates with 4 rabbits hanging from his horse with a robe. He dismounted, grabbing the robe, throwing it on the ground and bowing before the Queen.

“Seowol from the Southern coast, your Royal Highness.”

“Seowol?” Your mother questioned, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I do believe you were only supposed to take one rabbit.”

“I wanted to secure a strong position, your Highness.” He remained in a bowed position, looking down, his arms stiff along his body.

“Certainly! Please follow eunuch Jinho to the bathroom and a change of clothes. You’ll be called when everyone has arrived.” He looked up and nodded, and quickly did as instructed.

The court ladies swooned over the man once he’d walked away, but you hardly moved.

“Did you see the way he looked at you? Oh!” the young lady fanned her hand. You chuckled, amused by the younger girl’s reaction.

“The way he got off his horse and showed the rabbits, he was so cool!”

“And handsome! Don’t forget handsome!”

You rolled your eyes at that one, “He wasn’t even that handsome.”

“So you do think he was handsome!” They all laughed, having caught something in your words.

“Listen to me, I said he was not all that handsome.” You repeated, “I’ve seen better.”

They gushed, trying to get you to elaborate, but your mother was beginning to look at you sideways. You thought it was better to stop then. With the light hearted fun you were having with your ladies, you forgot all about the dull ache of your throat. The reason you were having this ridiculous competition in the first place. The truth was there was something about Seowol that disgusted you. You couldn’t quite place it, it could be the abruptness in his movements and the way he threw the rabbits on the ground, or perhaps the coldness behind his eyes. A mindless cruelty to innocent beings.

Returner after returner, it was the same and they started blending into each other. They’d rush through the gates, and present the robed rabbit in front of the Queen before they bowed. They announced their name loudly, as if shouting would make the Queen remember them better. The cook would take the rabbit and disappear to the kitchens.

That was, until number 73th entered the yard. The sun was beginning to set, leaving the sky in a canvas of lovely purples and pinks. You didn’t notice him at first, but soon your ladies began to whisper. This particular soldier entered calmly, and only one hand on the horse’s bridle. A small ball of white highlighted by the black of his uniform. As he got closer, you saw that the white speck of fluff was the rabbit. He cradled it on his left arm, making sure it didn’t jump or fall. Once he’d reach the stage, he dismounted carefully. You noticed his height, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out how his shoulders managed to look both broad and slender at the same time. He came closer, bowing deeply before your mother and to your surprise, he began to approach you.

He was quickly stopped by your mother’s guards blocking his path.

“Please, your Royal Highness, let him approach,” You surprised yourself. For the past two weeks, you were scared you were growing paranoid of strangers and people in general. The fear was earned to some extent, you had just been attacked, but you were even more afraid that you’d grow to be scared of everyone, everything, and never come out of your bedroom ever again. Though, now, as you look over at your mother to let the stranger approach you, it seemed this fear wasn’t going to be an issue after all. You were going to be okay. In a lower voice this time, “Please, Mother.”

She rolled her eyes discreetly, waving her hand. “Let him through.”

The guards retracted. The man moved closer to you, and he bowed. You noticed the smoothness of his jaw, the curve of his lips and the pretty way his lashes decorated his pretty brown eyes. He was pretty. So much so you held your breath when his eyes finally met yours.

“My Princess.” He smiled, “For you.”

Oh.

Someone behind you gasped, and you were glad for the noise because that way he might not be able to hear the beating of your heart.

“May I?”

You nodded, despite not knowing what you had agreed to. The man walked even closer to you, and you unconsciously leaned forward. He placed the bunny in your hands, and you searched for his lingering fingers through the white fluff. He retrieved far too soon. You wanted to touch him for some reason. You wanted him to get close again and you wanted him to call you, once again, his prin—

“And what might your name be?” Your mother was not amused.

“Soldier Lee Hae, your Royal Highness.” He addressed his queen but his eyes never left yours.

“Lee, huh? You do know that was your dinner, correct? You won’t have dinner?” Your head snapped to your mother. She could not possibly!

“As long as my Princess is content, my stomach shall never be empty.”

Your head snapped back at him, a slightly ajar mouth. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly, but a sharp pain in your neck scared any adoring feelings away. The stitches tugged on your skin, and you brought your hand to your neck.

“Very well, no dinner. You may sit down, Soldier Lee Hae.”

───

Well, that was fucking stupid. Bada groaned, grabbing her stomach. She just had to give that damned rabbit to the Crown Princess, didn’t she? Even now, hours after dinner and well into their resting time, Bada could not decipher why she chose to spare the rabbit.

You had just looked so beautiful, and before she knew it, she was right in front of you. And as she remembers the look on your face when she gave you the bunny, your parted lips and your widening eyes as you looked up at her, Bada realized she only regretted her choice slightly.

There was no denying your beauty. Everyone knew that while you might be the Crown, you were also the prettiest bird in the eyes of the people.

But Bada couldn’t get distracted. She came here with a purpose. She was going to join the Royal Guard and bring back honor to her family. You might have been eye candy, but it didn’t change the fact that you represented what Bada lost, what she never realistically had a chance at.

It killed her. It killed her that they had a woman King and yet every other woman was still viewed as inferior. Did the only women that mattered lived in the palace? You got to be trained, you got to study the books—why couldn’t they? Why was it that she will need to pretend to be a boy for the rest of her life to feel free?

Could it be helped? Would you be different from your mother?

Her mind turned to her selfish thoughts. Perhaps she could use today’s events to her advantage. She could grow closer to you, on purpose this time, and perhaps that’d help her on the long run. She’d earn her position, of course; that was nonnegotiable.

The hunger grew furiously as she got lost in her thoughts. She couldn’t take it any longer. She got up, quickly wrapping the tight cloth over her chest. She hid a small knife on the inside of her left wrist, a security measure, though she was unlikely to need it. She grabbed something to cover herself with and left the small room she’d been provided with.

She was lucky to finish stage 1 where she did. When the last of the 197 soldiers that would pass on to the next stage arrived, they were well into dinner. The Queen had stated that for the remaining stages of the competition, only the top half scorers would receive a sole bedroom. Everyone else will sleep in the Great Hall. She reasoned it was to keep up the morale and ramp up ambition. It certainly did motivate Bada though. She did not wish to sleep uncomfortably among the stinky men. It was so weird, Bada knew they showered and mere hours later, a musk would develop around them.

She walked towards the kitchens as quietly as she could. Once there, she rummaged through the shelves, searching for something that was not a raw vegetable.

“Please, please, please…” She murmured to herself, and in her desperation, she did not hear the footsteps coming from the side entrance.

“Who is there?” A voice resounded. Bada froze, quickly kneeling down and hidden under the shelf. Fuck! “As Crown Princess, I command you to reveal yourself!”

The Princess? What was she doing up this late?

Bada had hoped that it was a younger staff member also searching for food (someone she could try her charm on), a simple guard (someone she could try to relate to and proclaim guard-to-guard solidarity), hell, she’d even hoped for a thief (someone who was even guiltier than she was). But the Princess? The Princess was someone she could not face. Perhaps for more than one reason.

As discreetly as she could, she crawled towards the end of the shelf. Across from here, there was a long table she could hide under and right across the table was the entrance.

She could make it.

If only she hadn’t run directly into the Princess’ feet.

She landed on her knees, and dread filled her head. She hung it in shame, some hair coming loose and framing her face. So this is how she would die, huh? With nothing to her name, a mere soldier title that she didn’t even earn herself. She would die without a legacy, without—

“Is that you, Lee Hae?” Your voice sounded extra sweet under the moonlight. “How come you’re out here at this time?”

She wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole. But there was no getting out of this.

“Princess Royal, please forgive my shamelessness.” She did not look up, still on her knees. “In my hunger, I forgot my place. I beg for your forgiveness.”

There was a long silence after Bada finished talking. Should she have said more? She was already on her knees, what else could she do to humiliate herself in front of the Princess?

“You’re telling me my contentment was not enough for you?”

Bada lifted her head quickly, only to realize too late you were mere inches away. You were so close she could count each beauty mark, each freckle on your face. She’d kiss them if you’d let her. She shook her head. Stupid Bada, concentrate on not dying!

“That isn’t it at all, my Princess.” She shook her head violently, to which you chuckled in response, lifting your hand to cover your mouth.

“So you’re a liar, then.”

“No, no! I am not, my Princess,” Bada opened her palms, “I will admit that as earnestly as my heart believes a smile from you is all I ever need to survive in this world, my earthly body persists in imprisoning me with cravings. I sincerely did not mean to succumb to my hunger.”

You watched the young soldier as they hung their head once more. You thought Lee was…funny. Funny in a very lovely and forward way that you couldn’t help but want more of. You brought a hand closer to her face, fingers lifting her chin.

Bada allowed the princess to lift her face, flushing at the contact. She could feel the heat rushing to her face, and it embarrassed her that you could have this effect on her. How you made her lose composure.

“Look at me,” you stated. Your head followed the brown eyes as they moved, trying to get them to look at you. “Soldier Lee, look at me.” You said it firmly this time around. Finally, the person in question did as asked. Big eyes looked up at you, begging for something you weren’t sure you could give.

“You know, Soldier Lee, you are the prettiest man I’ve ever met.”

Oh.

Widened eyes and dropped jaw, “I—”

‘I am not a man,’ she wanted to say. She almost did, and the fact that she nearly gave herself away scared her. She had never come this close to telling someone the truth. Not on impulse nor consciously. To the Princess no less! She was a mess. She’d better get a hold of herself if she intends on making it through.

Bada had proven that she was good with words, and here you were, leaving her stunned. You enjoyed it, maybe a bit too much. Abruptly, you stood up, leaving the soldier down on her knees. You offered a hand, and it was like a spell being broken. She took it. She gathered herself and she was back into the charming and highly trained voice. Your curiosity for the soldier grew as you watched; there was just something that screamed constraint in the way Lee spoke, but for now, you chucked it up to the respectability rules of the Queendom.

“I am sorry for interrupting your night, your Highness. I will take my leave.” Bada turned, but was quickly stopped when you grabbed her wrist.

It surprised both of you. As a noble princess, you had been taught from a young age that nobody but appointed servants get to come in contact with your skin. Yet here you were—two for two.

“Well, actually,” you began, “I’m here because I did not want you to go to sleep hungry.” You let go of Bada’s wrist, and she already missed the warmth of your skin on hers. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched her outside of training.

You signaled for her to follow you. She did, and you guided her to a small table on a corner. A small, white towel covered something and when you lifted it, Bada’s eyes widened. A golden serving tray filled with dishes.

“I ordered something be cooked for you,” you said, hands fidgeting, “I’m afraid it’s probably cold by now. I would’ve tried to get you sooner but my Mother kept me by her side much longer than I expected.”

“I—Thank you, your Royal Highness.” Bada bowed, stomach rumbling and mouth watering. “Thank you.”

“Please, you don’t have to do that.” You said quickly, “You were kind to me, and I couldn’t let my mother punish you for it.” You moved to pick up the tray, glaring at Bada when she tried to hold it for you instead. “I can do it! Plus, I know a spot.”

You walked gracefully, quickly, without spilling a single thing on the tray. Bada was amazed. The both of you stuck to the sides of buildings, remaining in the shadows. Bada anxiously looked around; what would people think if they saw her with the Princess? What rumors will they spread, and how much will they cost her? Her life?

“Through there.” The door was covered with greenery, and Bada could not see the door.

She moved closer to you, whispering into your ear, “where?”

She genuinely couldn’t see it.

You shivered. You could faintly feel her chest against your back, and the warmth it radiated.

You shook your head.

“Here, hold this.” You passed the tray to Bada, making quick work of the hidden door. You opened it and walked through. You moved the vines for Bada, she bent down and met you on the other side.

“Wow…” She gasped. It was a beautiful space, filled with colorful flowers and a pond, four trees on each corner. There was a small house, and Bada doubted it was more than just a bedroom and a bathroom.

“It is the old gardener’s place, but he died and it became abandoned.” You said, placing the tray on the wooden ledge in front of the small house. “The new gardener had a family, so he understandably needed a bigger space.”

You giggled nervously, and Bada found herself loving the sound. She got so lost in your voice and the pretty flowers that she nearly forgot how hungry she was. Nearly.

Bada sat down next to you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I know!” She said excitedly, your eyes sparkling with joy, “Mother thought of destroying it and building something else but I just loved it so much, I wouldn’t let her. I begged her to let me have it for days, she agreed eventually and now it’s my little place! Very few people know about it; my Mother, the new gardener, my lady-in-waiting, you…”

You finished shyly, smiling at Bada before quickly looking away. Would it be too forward of her to grab your face and make you look at her?

Yes, she decided, yes, it would be.

Her stomach growled.

“Oh,” You gasped, “Please eat! I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“Please, eat with me.”

“No, no, I ate quite well earlier,” you said, “and you didn’t!”

“I don’t want to eat by myself,” Bada said, “Princess, eat with me, please.”

“I’m telling you I won’t,” refusing her once more, “I'll force feed you this meal myself if you don’t start eating soon.”

“Is that a proposition?” Bada smirked. Your cheeks grew warm against your will.

“I only mean… I want you to eat, you have gone hungry because of me. I don’t want you to be hungry any longer.”

“Would you feed me then?” Bada’s eyes looked down at yours, “If I asked you to?”

You cleared your throat, eyes meeting. “Forgive me, soldier, if I’ve come across in a certain light. But I will never feed a man with two capable hands of his own.”

Bada saw the intensity in your eyes, and how they refused to look away from her hers. She leaned closed, eyes growing dangerous the longer she stayed fixated on you.

“You say ‘a man with two capable hands’ but what if I wasn’t a man? How can you be sure that I am?” Bada brought a hand closer to you, “How do you know these work?” She had gone crazy. In your gaze, she had forgotten herself.

Still, in the back of her mind: if she wasn’t in disguise now, would you feed her then?

You finally broke eye contact, looking down at Bada’s hand. It surprised you how much you wanted to hold it, it surprised you even more when your body started reacting to it. A simple hand with long fingers. A calloused hand from days spent training, yet unlike the hands of the men you’ve encountered. Their hands didn’t bring this strange feeling to your stomach. You mind showed you images of these very hands moving along your body; from the nape of your neck, down your side and in between your—

You scoffed, and then chuckled, “Please don’t be ridiculous, soldier Lee. Now, eat, the food is getting colder by the second.”

Bada covered her feelings with a laugh. She was relieved you ignored her impulsive questions, and at the same time, your response left a bitter taste in her mouth. You were just being nice this entire time? Was there really nothing else in your lingering touches and loving eyes? They were childish questions, but it stung nonetheless. She sighed internally; she couldn’t possibly be getting this close now. It was normal to a certain extent, she had the tendency to develop crushes all the time. Sure, developing one in the Princess would complicate the 'get close to you and advance her career' plot, but she was already here.

All her crushes have faded with time, and this one will too.

Bada finally began eating and she was grateful to you once again. She said so, with cheeks full of food and complete disregard for rules. Rules, you had both broken some many of them already, why start caring about them now?

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #bada x reader #bada lee x fem reader #bada lee x oc #bada lee x y/n #x fem!reader #wlw

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euphemiaamillais · 1 year ago

Text

favourite crime - coriolanus snow

coriolanus snow loves you… but when he learns that he’s being sent back to the capitol—well, he can’t have any loose ends left back in district 12.

dark possessive!coriolanus snow x district 12!reader

cw: 18+//dead dove do not eat!!!//snuff//mentions of loss of virginity//mentions of murder//coriolanus snow’s disgusting inner monologue//murder//strangulation//piv sex//mentions of guns

reader discretion advised!! i do not condone any of these themes, this is merely a work of fiction

IB: @shellxrls

when you’d first laid eyes on private snow at the hob, you never would’ve thought you’d end the night with your lips wrapped around his cock. no, you were a good girl. you didn’t do things like that, and certainly not with strange men in darkened corners. but coriolanus was different. he made your core burn with desire, and your heart skip a beat every time his icy eyes flicked over you.

you spent many evenings with him—friday nights especially—legs spread, letting him touch you in ways you’d never known before. he liked that you had been a virgin; the thought of corrupting this stupid little district girl and turning her into his whore. you belonged to him now, and he’d have you whenever he pleased. you were nothing more than a hole to fill his desire with.

you were head over heels for him—so when he told you he’d been given a discharge to return to the capitol, he’d thought his pretty little doll would be delighted for him. you’d had fat tears streaming down your cheeks, mascara running—you’d worn it just for him, to look pretty—clutching at his arms and begging him to stay.

you couldn’t leave district 12, no. you didn’t belong in a place like the capitol.

the way you were begging was so pathetic; getting on your knees, weeping, voice strained with frustration. he couldn’t believe how he’d done this to a girl—lucy gray was never like this. when he’d left her for you she’d simply resigned herself to singing not-so-subtle tunes about how much of an asshole he was. well, at least before he killed her.

you were different. you were his little doll. his and his only. that’s why you had to return to the capitol with him—he’d have packed you into his bag if there had been enough room. it was a shame they didn’t allow for pretty whores to travel with the peacekeepers.

‘please, coryo,’ you cried out, hands clutching at his trousers. ‘don’t leave me, i- i love you!’

your attempts at flattery were ridiculous, but in a way he knew that you did love him. he didn’t love you, exactly. he loved knowing that he possessed you, that your heart entirely belonged to him. but he could never love a whore from the districts—especially not 12 at that.

‘is my bunny sad that i’ll be going home?’ he cooed, clutching your chin with his large hand. you were so small. he could break you if he wanted to…

‘mhm. gonna miss you so bad, coryo,’ you gazed up at him with wide-eyes—they looked so innocent as they glistened with the tears of your upset.

‘gonna miss your cock, and your tongue…’ you sighed wistfully. ‘gonna miss riding you and having you fuck me full of your cum.’

your lips are turned into a pretty pout, and he wonders then and there whether or not he should get his cock out and shove it past them. make you drink up his seed one last time. or perhaps he could bend you over his bunk and put a baby in you—then you’d always have something to remember him by.

no—that would make you a loose end. and he can’t have loose ends. you can’t know that he shot the mayor’s daughter because she pissed him off too much—or that his songbird, lucy gray, now lay somewhere at the bottom of the lake by the cabin.

he decides he can spend one last night with his little bunny. just one night. but then he’s clearing up loose ends. you’d never assume what he had been planning, no, you’re far too dumb to understand that. you see the good in everyone; and that made his chest burn with fury. how could you be so fucking innocent?

‘bunny…’ his voice trailed off. you nod, awaiting him to tell you something, anything—did he love you too?

‘i’ve got an idea. one last special night, just the two of us, hm? down at that cabin by the lake,’ he stroked your cheek. how sweet you looked like this, all red in the face. ‘i’ll give you a night worth remembering. let you sit on my face.’

you gave him an eager smile, and he knew his little bunny was just too stupid to know she was falling into his trap.

—

this was where he’d killed lucy gray, too. that had been a cold, rainy day. just like this one. you’d been so easy to lure into his trap; meeting him by the hanging tree in your prettiest dress—one with tiny pink flowers that came just above the knee. you’d even tucked a flower behind your ear. how sweet.

you couldn’t wait to spend your last night with coryo. you’d been singing all day, and practically skipped to meet him with a little bag full of some food and your toothbrush. you’d flung yourself into his arms, not caring about the consequences of being caught with a peacekeeper. he’d be gone by tomorrow morning anyways.

the walk to the cabin had tired you out considerably, and so you clung to coryo like a pathetic little bunny, letting him lead the way. you’d miss clutching his biceps, feeling the taut muscle beneath his shirt, the way his dog tags slapped against your face as he pounded your cunt raw.

he delighted in the way he’d get to have you one last time, tonight. that at some point, the only thing warm in your body would be his cum, leaking out of that tight cunt of yours. even though you were stupid, he did have to admit that your willingness was something he adored. the way he could just fill you up at any time, and in any hole—you never complained.

he’d corrupted you, watched you bleed as his big cock stretched you out that first time. he loved the way your eyes swelled up with tears and you begged him to stop—‘it hurts, coryo!’ you had clawed your nails into his back. ‘too big!’—but he didn’t stop. he knew you had to learn to take it, and that you did. you had such low self-esteem, you would practically grovel at his feet everytime you so much as made him frown. you’d do anything for him, and that was the way he liked it.

complete control.

the cabin was warmer than the tender breeze outside, and you were so grateful to get in there, shivering in your little dress. coryo had dressed more appropriately, in his day clothes, and he watched as you shivered. god, you were so helpless.

he set his things down, and when you had laid down on the bed to rest your eyes for a while, bundled up in the ratty old blanket, he checked under the floorboards. there it was—one last gun, wrapped in a green cloth. if you tried to run, he’d use it on you. he’d deliberated over which way to kill you, which way wouldn’t damage that pretty little face of yours.

he thought that one simple shot to the chest would do it—it would be instant too. but he wanted to watch the life drain out of you, watch as you whined and begged for him to save you. watch how your brows would furrow and your eyes would grow wide with fear and realisation that you were just another loose end to him. he’d never loved you. he’d loved the control.

but coriolanus had also debated choking you out—maybe he wouldn’t remove his cock from your throat while he fucked it, and pinch the tip of your nose so you’d stop breathing. how pretty you’d look, trying to take his cock and at the same time, fight for your life. he’d shoot his hot load down your dead little throat once you’d stopped breathing. a reminder that you were his, and no one else’s.

no, he couldn’t let you live.

he shut the floorboards when he heard you stirring—you must’ve fallen asleep. how sweet. in a few hours you’d go to sleep one last time—but it would be an eternal slumber. he wanted nothing more than to bring you back to the capitol and make you his little whore—you couldn’t be his wife; think of the shame and embarrassment that would bring. but you could be at his every beck and call, be there to relieve any tension he had. it was just so unfortunate that he wasn’t allowed.

he’d put your body to rest with lucy gray’s, down in the lake to let your pearly white bones be the fishes’ dinner. he couldn’t bury you out in the woods; they’d find you there, one way or another. instead, he’d let them think you’d just disappeared. people disappeared out in the districts all the time. especially stupid little girls. who would care if a pathetic runt who took peacekeeper cock vanished? he doubted you had many friends, and your parents were both dead.

you wouldn’t be missed.

it was some time later that you woke, and your stomach grumbled. coriolanus was sitting in the rickety old armchair, carving what looked to be a spear with his pocketknife. you watched his muscular arms move back and forth as he stripped the stick of its bark. something about his strength made your thighs burn.

you got up, bare feet cold against the wooden floorboards, and peered into your bag. you’d made enough food for the evening; you had even splurged and gotten yourself a precious block of cheese. you figured it was only appropriate, what with it being your last night together and all.

he looked up from his makeshift weapon—though it wasn’t all that, really—and gave you an award-winning smile. your heart leapt at his sweetness. you couldn’t believe he wanted to spend one last night with you.

‘you’re so pretty, bunny,’ he remarked, watching as you laid out the food.

there was bread, a few flimsy butter knifes—you’d not be able to defend yourself with those; besides you were just so weak. you’d even snuck a bottle of wine at the market when the peacekeepers weren’t looking. you wanted it to be special, to send him off happy and thinking of you.

your chest twinged with a heavy sadness. you wished you could go with him, follow him to the capitol and maybe, stupidly, marry him. you wanted to be his forever. you’d give him lots of children and they’d have white-blonde hair and icy blue eyes. you’d make sure he was satisfied every day, and cook and clean and whatever he required of you.

but you were to remain here, in district 12. marry a man covered in coal who worked himself to the bone in the mines. have skinny little babies who starved from the lack of food, struggle tooth and claw just to put dinner on the table every night. your time with coriolanus had been your only taste of luxury, of richness. he’d told you how in the capitol, there were buildings that reached the sky, and that every night people would feast on the finest food from the districts. you were reminded, with your own hunger pangs, the sacrifice that you had to make.

no, you’d never be good enough for him. future president of panem.

‘coryo, come eat,’ you said, standing proudly beside your food which you’d laid out neatly on the table.

he obliged—he was hungry, after all. he’d not eaten since last night. the food looked tolerable too, and the bottle of wine tempted him to be more considerate. just so his little bunny wouldn’t be suspicious. he doubted you were clever enough to figure out his intentions anyways.

‘i hope you like it,’ you remarked meekly, sitting down beside him and beginning to devour the food.

he opened the bottle of wine, and although it was completely uncivilised, he took a large swig. it was terribly sour, not like the good stuff they had in the capitol. he reckoned you’d never even tasted real wine. how pathetic.

‘how lucky did i get, with my little bunny,’ he smiled, stroking your head fondly.

‘i’m the lucky one,’ you said in your saccharine tone. he wanted to roll his eyes—you were so sickeningly sweet. ‘you’ve been so good to me, coryo.’

‘yeah?’ he asked. he liked how much you sought to stroke his ego. it made his cock hard the way you were just so utterly desperate to please him in every manner.

‘mhm,’ you said, chewing on a piece of bread. the cheese made it taste so delicious; sweet and creamy.

‘does bunny like the way i always give her whatever she wants? fill her up with my cum just like she asks?’ he watched as your cheeks burned red with abashed shame.

‘coryo…’ you whined, pressing your thighs together.

he loved the way you were already squirming, just from the mention of being fucked. what a fucking slut. he bet you had soaked through your panties, just waiting from him to bury his cock deep inside you as you whined for him to go harder. he’d show you harder. perhaps he’d wrap his big hands around your tiny, little neck, and squeeze too hard. god, you’d look so pretty with the air sucked out of your lungs, gasping and panting as he filled you up one last time.

‘oh bunny, don’t tell me you’re wet already?’ he cooed, standing up from his chair.

whatever, he didn’t really need to eat anyways. he couldn’t possibly be hungry when he’d been feeding himself with the own sick ideas in his head. food could wait—he’d need to tend to his little bunny first.

you nodded dumbly, clenching your thighs as the slickness pooled in your panties. you couldn’t help it, it was your last night with coryo. you wanted him more than anything else, more than you ever had done before.

‘p-please,’ you whimpered pathetically.

‘does bunny want me to fuck her? make her cum?’ he laughed, stroking your smooth arm. you were so warm. so full of life.

‘mhm, yes,’ you moaned, slipping one hand between your thighs to rub at your aching clit.

seeing this, coriolanus yanked your hair, causing you to gasp and sputter. how dare you touch yourself? you were his! his to have and do as he pleased with! you felt a few tears spring to your eyes, and he laughed, seeing how stupid you looked, weeping because he pulled your hair. he wondered how much you’d cry when he squeezed at your airways; watching them constrict between his big hands.

‘you know my rules, bunny,’ he clucked his tongue in disapproval. you glanced up at him, his icy eyes singed with coolness.

‘i’m sorry, sir,’ you replied. that name made his cock stir. he couldn’t keep himself from devouring you for much longer.

he dragged you from the chair and shoved you down against the bed. you were giggling and gasping like a little fool—it made his blood boil. you wouldn’t be laughing when your heart pumped with its last beat and your legs went still.

‘be a good girl, bunny,’ he commanded, trapping one leg between your thighs to stop you from grinding against the mattress.

you watched as he unbuckled his pants—he was never one for dawdling, preferring to get straight to the point—and eyed his bulge hungrily. you wanted to use your mouth on him, feel him stretch your lips out and fuck your throat as you gagged on his length. you’d miss how big he was—so big that you often ached for days after he fucked you.

he cupped your chin in his hand again, and pressed a kiss to the corner of your jaw. he had no intention of being gentle with you, this final time. you were merely his to use for pleasure. a little fuckdoll to fill up with his cum.

you moaned as he pulled his boxers down and his cock sprang free. you would never get used to the sight of it—the huge, throbbing thing. you couldn’t wait to have him bury it inside of you, feeling it nudge against your most sensitive spots.

‘need you, coryo,’ you panted. ‘need you in me.’

you pulled your panties off, feeling your own slickness pressing at your inner thighs. coriolanus grabbed the base of his cock with one hand, and pushed you down against the bed with the other. he wanted to take you like this, so he could watch the life drain out of your eyes, one last time.

‘gonna fuck you so good, bunny,’ he mused, hiking your dress up and sighing at the sight of your wet cunt. he would miss it, he did have to admit. what a shame it wouldn’t get wet for him anymore in a few hours. but if he couldn’t have you, nobody could.

‘mhm,’ you gasped as he pressed the tip of his cock at your sopping entrance.

god, you were so pathetic. so wet for him, so fucking desperate for his cock. he knew you probably wouldn’t have even let anyone have you, after he left. but he couldn’t bear the thought that somebody could take advantage of you, coax you into their bed and let them bury their cock in you. no, your cunt was his only. nobody else could dare touch his bunny.

he groaned as he pushed himself all the way in, feeling your walls stretch around him. you were still so tight, even after all the abuse to your hole with his big cock, the way he stretched you out, you were still tight as the first time he’d had you. you didn’t complain as much anymore though, not like you had that first time—weeping for days after with the dull ache of being fucked.

coriolanus began to thrust, grabbing your hips with firm hands, bucking into you with lusty vigour. your tits bounced in your dress, and you couldn’t help but gasp and mewl each time his cock bucked into your tight hole. his cock throbbed, feeling you clench around him, the way you sucked him in with your slick want.

he’d never forget this night. the last time he’d have you. the way you were so utterly perfect.

‘taking me so well,’ he grunted, watching as you moaned at the pleasant feeling of his big cock burying itself deep inside you, brushing against your cervix.

‘harder,’ you gasped, clutching at the sheets. you wanted to know you were his.

coriolanus couldn’t resist this, of course. he wrapped your legs around his waist, and plunged himself deeper into you. his balls were slapping against your perineum now, and the cabin filled with the reverberation of skin against skin.

you kept gasping and begging as he drove himself into you. you could feel yourself edging closer—you’d been so wet the whole way here, you were soaking at the thought of him having you one last time.

it was beginning to piss him off, though, the way you were being so loud. normally, he loved it, your moans letting everybody know how well he was fucking you, branding you as his own with his cum. he wondered what you’d do if he choked you right now—would you attempt to run? if you did, he’d get that rifle and shoot you. he couldn’t risk having you running about district 12 when somebody else could get their hands on you.

no more loose ends, he reminded himself.

he reached his free hand out, caressing your cheek, and then trailing them down to your neck. you giggled as he wrapped his fingers around your neck—it was so little that his whole hand could fit you inside of it. he’d choked you before, and so you didn’t assume anything of it. he pressed lightly, and you let out a sigh, body humming with want.

‘good girl,’ he mused, pounding you with his cock at the same time.

you let out a pretty moan, pussy clenching just right around him; he couldn’t help but grunt at how pleasant it was. you’d probably still be tight for a few hours after he kills you. maybe he’d fuck you again, but you wouldn’t be warm, or wet. just cold. he decided against it. he’d fill you up with his cum just as the life drained out of your eyes.

he pressed harder, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. it hurts, and you glance up at him with a worried look, eyes stretching wide. he doesn’t pay heed to this, and merely keeps thrusting, moving your hips closer to his to hit at a new angle.

he saw your breathing go rapid, and your eyes dart about the room in panic. poor bunny. he really didn’t want to have to kill you, but you can’t be his forever, and how can he accept that? if you’re dead, you’re nobody’s but his. especially since he’ll fuck his cum deep into your stiffening body; you’ll have part of him in you forever.

he could hear the sounds of your vocal chords straining as he clasped tighter at your throat. it would be a shame that you’d be left with a rosy imprint of his fingers around your neck, but it made him smile a little, that you’d be branded with his mark until you rotted.

‘coryo!’ you whimpered, clawing at his chest.

‘shhh, be quiet, bunny. take my cock like a good girl,’ he murmured, slamming into you.

it hurt—the way he was crushing your neck, your tendons beginning to strain around his touch. it felt like there was no air left in the world; you were beginning to grow tired, your breaths haggard.

‘p-please,’ you felt tears spring to your eyes, and watched as he laughed, a maniacal grin creeping across his lips.

he shook his head, grunting as your walls contracted around his cock. he was so close, but you were being a bitch and taking too long to die. he clamped down on you harder, causing a gasp to escape your lips. you couldn’t speak—your hands were clawing about desperately, legs flailing about.

you were terrified—what was he doing?! why did he want to hurt you? just minutes ago he was telling you how much he wished you could come back to the capitol with him and be his wife. he wanted to dress you up like a pretty doll and make you grow fat with his children.

‘don’t cry, bunny,’ he laughed, watching as your legs stilled.

you were so tired. it felt like there was no blood in your legs; they grew stiff and numb. your head spun.

‘you’re all mine bunny, forever,’ he smiled as your body grew limp.

you were terrified—eyes beginning to lose their shine, lips trembling with fear. you couldn’t feel your arms now, or the way he was bucking into you. his thrusts were slower now—he was close. watching the life drain out of you made his blood course through his veins with a delicious speed.

you mouthed out a ‘why’ as your body went completely frail. in one last act of betrayal, your cunt gushed around him as he squeezed your neck; airways completely constricted. your lips were beginning to blue now, and he frowned—he had really liked how plump and red they were when you sucked him off.

coriolanus felt himself finish; cock shooting thick loads into your still-wet cunt. he couldn’t help but grunt as he spurted himself into your pretty hole. the way you’d finished just as your heart had stopped beating and your lungs had given out. your final breath wasted on cumming. you really were a whore.

he ran his hands over your body, frowning at the ugly ring around your neck. at least he didn’t have to deal with your blood. that would’ve been so fucking messy. having to mop it up, and the way you would’ve screamed. at least you couldn’t scream when his hand was clamped around your neck.

when he pulled out, he watched with sick delight as his cum spilled out of your pussy. the thick, pearly loads trickled down your thighs. your limbs would be pliable and floppy for another two hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to fuck you again. that was too far, even for him.

he looked at your face, which was stretched into one of fear. your eyes were still, but wet with the tears. so were your cheeks—they still retained that innocent rosiness which he so loved.

he wished lucy gray had looked so pretty when he’d killed her. she’d screamed when his bullet pierced her chest cavity, and she’d bled all over his jeans as he’d held her. you were so docile, even in death. you’d given him one last thank you when you’d came, and he knew you’d be his forever.

darling, dearest, dead. the words rang clear in his head. he’d read them in an old novel. they were fittingly appropriate for the situation. it was so sad that he had to kill you, but it was a bitter and necessary pill to swallow. he had to return home to the capitol, marry that bitch livia cardew, and set his sights on what mattered most.

you were just a little doll he’d had his fun with on his summer vacation—you were just a poor district girl. what did you matter? nobody would miss you, and when he became president, nobody would know that he’d watched the life drain out of three pathetic girls.

that would be terrible for his image. he did what needed to be done. his pretty bunny would be his forever, and he’d secure his place in the world.

no more loose ends.

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chenlesfavorite · 3 months ago

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[TEASER] love in the dark. lee haechan

— summary : you love haechan, you truly do, you wish to be with him till death do you part though your families aren't fond of each other and he can't officially court you, your meetings are always secret. but everything becomes complicated once your parents tell you that you're promised to a complete stranger.

— pairing : haechan x fem!reader

— genre : angst, forbidden romance, secret relationship, arranged marriage

— extra : regency era, oneshot/imagine, open ending

— author's note : it's my birthday and I promised I would upload an imagine... didn't say if it was gonna be the entire thing tho so here's a little teaser for it <3 the full imagine will be released once I'm back from my break :)

— teaser word count : 851 (final w.c will have around 3-4k)

reminder that this is pure fiction and not an actual depiction of how they act.

The ballroom is glittering under the golden shine of the grand chandelier hanging above, the violinists playing a melody fitting for the current waltz unraveling. Gowns twirling around as the gentlemen lead their ladies with grace.

Amidst the setting, you feel out of place, your heart weighing you down with the secrets you keep inside it. Your feet are moving along the rhythm of the waltz, but you're buried inside the garden in your mind.

Your eyes are drawn to the figure standing in the corner of the ballroom, his fingers delicately wrapping around the glass filled with the finest wine as his eyes that know your secret follow your every step.

Though you have not exchanged any words with him the entire evening, the tension was present and you know who the figure is. One might say you know him like you know the back of your hand.

The young gentleman you’re dancing with notices your breathing switching to a heavier pace, making your distracted self quite visible. “Lady L/N, are you feeling well?” The gentleman could not resist but ask, his expression carrying concern.

“Ah, I’m well. I just seem to be a little out of it as I’ve been on my feet all evening, pardon me.” You reply, your lips curling up into a smile as you do not wish to worry the gentleman.

Putting on a quick smile is no hard work for you, after all, you have learned the practice of masking your true feelings and intentions. But one person could see through that very easily and he was still watching you from the corner.

As the waltz draws to a close, the figure watching you makes his leave by going up the stairs. You are more than sure he’s going to the balcony. You politely curtsy to the gentleman who just danced with you and you excuse yourself from the ballroom floor, slipping through the sea of people.

At last, you reach the balcony, the cool breeze of the night hitting you and of course, your guess is right. He is here.

You did not think he would come tonight, especially considering his family did not receive an invitation to the ball due to your families not being fond of one another. But alas, that was stupid of you to even ponder about, after all, wherever you are, he will be there too.

“You should not be here, Haechan.” You say in a quiet tone, approaching him with a voice that carries the slightest anger in it, mixed with worry. “And yet,” He steps closer to you. “Here I am.” That cocky smirk appearing on his face, that smirk that just makes you want to hit him.

“You did not receive an invitation!” You exclaim, though by the looks of it, Haechan just did not seem to mind nor care, this is just a game to him. A game that he loves to play. “You think too little of me if you believe an invitation could keep me from you.” He replies, his voice a soft murmur. The moonlight cast a glow over him and his eyes showed a glimmer of mischief.

You step back, the railing of the balcony pressing against your back— your breath catching in your throat. “Haechan, if anyone were to see us— if they were to know you are here—”

Your words are cut off and a light gasp escapes your lips as he holds onto the railing, trapping you in between his arms. Your eyes lock onto his, his stare sending a shiver down your spine. “Let them see, let them know,” He whispers in your ear, his low tone sounding alluring.

“I care not for their gossip, nor for the rules of society. I care only for you.” Haechan leaves those words lingering in your mind as he starts to look directly at you. You narrow your eyes, a light scoff coming from you despite the red color rushing to your cheeks. “You think this is just some grand jest, don’t you? Do you have any clue of what you risk— what we risk?”

Haechan lets out a chuckle, his breath warm against your cheek. “Risk? I risk nothing. It is you who risks everything.” He pauses before continuing. “Your reputation, your family’s pride, their plans for your future... and yet,” His voice softens. “Here you are.”

Your heart starts to pound heavily in your chest, the anger in you battling with something deeper that was inside of you, something so dangerous. You search his face for any signs of seriousness behind that smug facade of his.

You lightly push him away as you clear your voice. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have followed you.” You say, turning away from him as you start to head for the doors of the balcony.

“But you did, you smile and dance for the others but you always come back to me because you know your heart belongs to me.” His voice fades away as you rush back inside the manor, the heat becoming very evident on your face.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

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covenha · 2 months ago

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Synopsis: Sunoo realizes that his love language is acts of service. Pairings: sunoo x fem!reader Genre: fluff! so much fluff I got cavities from writing this WC: 1356 Warnings: mentions of academic stress and insomnia a/n: I had fun writing this one, really had to destress from all the studying I've been doing these past few days so this fic is a lil self-indulgent whoops. anyway, this is also a work of fiction so don't forget to touch some grass after reading! lmao jk but as always feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated! and requests are open so if you guys want me to write something lmk :))

Sunoo can admit, he always felt like he was pampered.

It’s not like he didn’t like it. Heck, he enjoyed the feeling of his members being attentive to him. The way that Jay cooks meat just the way he likes it. The way that Jake lets him get away with mistakes in his grammar because it’s just “part of his charm.” Or, the way that Jungwon always let him have a few bites of his sweets even though Sunoo definitely said he didn’t want to order one of his own.

Which is why it was such a refreshing feeling to be with you. He never really knew what his love language was until he met you. So here are the three times that made him realize his love language was acts of service.

It was late at night, midterms were coming up and things were not looking up for you. With so many enzymes to memorize and so many cascades to internalize, if you had to look at one more diagram with arrows one more time, you were simply going to go clinically insane.

“Why won’t this get in my head?! Who even named these stupid enzymes? Argininosuccinate synthetase? Sounds like something Elon Musk would name his child.” You bonk your head with your notebook, clearly on the brink of insanity.

“Hey,” Sunoo’s soft voice cuts through your inner monologue. “You doing okay? Is it the krebs cycle again?” You sigh.

“There’s just so much to study for, I don’t think I can cram it all inside my goldfish brain.” You pout at the notes scattered across the desk in the room.

“Hey, babe, you don’t have a goldfish brain. C’mon, you’re one of the smartest people I know.” Sunoo starts to get up from his lying position on the bed.

“You don’t have to get up, Sun. I can manage this on my own, just need to whine about it first.” You give him a little smile while shrugging your shoulders.

Sunoo drags the bean bag chair at the corner of the room and sets it right beside you.

“Okay, we have a few hours before your exam. We can work with this. We just need to mix some active recall into the review!” Sunoo beams up at you as he lay in the bean bag, notebook in hand.

And for the rest of the night, and well into the morning, Sunoo helps you study for your godawful Chemistry midterm. The look you had when you got back your results, passing your midterms exams with the brightest smile on your face, he just knew that he had to protect that smile.

One thing that Sunoo learned about you quickly was that you loved to drink matcha. Sure, to him it tastes like grass, but he liked mint chocolate things so who was he to judge? You loved going to this cafe two blocks from your apartment, it was owned by an old Taiwanese couple who immigrated a couple years ago. You were one of their longest regulars. So it was quite upsetting to find out that they were closing up shop for good.

Ever since that cafe closed, you have tried looking around for the next best matcha but, sadly, none have come close to beating their matcha latte. One month into the search and you had all but given up on your matcha latte dreams. That was until one day you woke up to the smell of green tea in your kitchen.

“Sunoo? What’s that smell?” You nose around the hallway leading to the kitchen.

And much to your surprise, a glass of green goodness is being served up on the kitchen island.

“Sunoo? Is this what I think it is?” You ask in surprise at what you see. You go up to him and hug his side. He throws his arms around your waist, hugging your form.

“Well, I know you’ve been looking for a matcha latte replacement and haven’t found one yet, so I decided to do a little digging. Asked for their recipe and tried to make it myself. I hope it tastes okay.” He mushes his cheek against your head then smiles down at you.

“Sunoo, you really didn’t have to do this….” You look up at him. You felt all warm and fuzzy.

“Well, I can’t have my little girlfriend go for too long without her matcha latte. She’s gonna start tweaking.” He teases. You just poke his cheek and decide to taste his drink.

You knew that whatever it tasted like, you were going to love it anyway. But one sip of the green drink and you felt your heart soar at the familiar taste.

“Sunoo, this tastes amazing!” You look back at him with a surprised look in your eyes.

“Really?”

“No, really! Like it tastes just like how they make it. How did you pull this off? I’m actually so impressed right now you don’t even understand.” You keep taking sips of the drink, savoring the green tea goodness. It feels like an old friend has come back from the dead.

“Well, I actually found the son of the owners and emailed him asking for the recipe. I really didn’t expect to hear anything back from him but he surprisingly gave in.” He smiled. His heart felt like it could burst from the compliments you gave him.

“This is too much. You didn’t really have to do all this for some silly drink that I like, noo.” You put down the drink and hug him.

“But I wanted to. Really, if it means seeing you happy I’d go to Taiwan myself and ask for their recipe.” He kisses your cheek. You sigh at this.

“You’re just the best.” You hug him tighter. He beams at this and you guys revel in each other’s warmth.

It was going to be “one of those nights” you feared. Sleep had yet to take over your body despite the many hours of tossing and turning in your shared bed. Sunoo lay beside you, soft snores and even breaths coming from his side of the bed. Deciding that you were not going to be sleeping anytime soon, you get up from the bed and head to the kitchen.

You trudge towards the kitchen and grab a glass of water. You look up at a clock to check the time, 2:37 AM. You decide to do some cleaning up in the kitchen to pass the time. As you are wiping down a surface in the fridge, Sunoo’s voice startles you.

“y/n? What are you doing up?” You jump a little as Sunoo makes his presence known. He notices this and softly apologizes.

“Couldn’t really sleep. So I decided on kitchen duty.” You motion to your gloved hand wiping down the fridge shelves. “Sorry if I woke you up. You can go back to bed. I’ll finish up in a bit and try to fall asleep again.”

He silently walks up to you hugging you from behind. Then he mumbles something into your hair that you don’t quite catch.

“Noo?” You ask him to repeat himself.

“Wanna go get some ice cream?”

So that’s how you end up buying ice cream at a convenience store at 3 AM. As you guys walk back to your apartment, Sunoo looks down at you happily snacking on your ice cold treat. Your ruddy cheeks from the cold autumn breeze nipping at them, your tired eyes from the lack of sleep, and your hair haphazardly thrown into a bun.

“What is it?” You ask him, noticing how silent he is.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head.

“Is there something on my face?” You motion towards your face.

Sunoo just smiled at himself, telling you that there was nothing on your face. And as the two of you neared the entrance to your apartment he mulled over some thoughts. Even though he was munching on some mint chocolate ice cream, which he could argue was one of life’s best delicacies. He thought that maybe, no surely, he liked being the reason you smile a whole lot more.

#sunoo x reader #sunoo fluff #kim sunoo x reader #kim sunoo fluff #kim sunoo hours #sunoo hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #enhypen blurbs #enhypen scenarios #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen sunoo #enhypen fluff

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jinxedshapeshifter · 8 days ago

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Analyzing Klavier's Behavior Because I Am Nothing If Not Predictable*

*But also I made this post at 2am and am determined to see it through

Alright so a few days ago I posted this reblog of a response to a post I made mentioning that Klavier's behavior that is so commonly poked at as "Klavier, there was a murder" could very well be a coping mechanism. As you'll know if you've read the essay I wrote on the parallels between Ryulock and Homumiko, I really like to analyze fictional characters. So I have decided to analyze Klavier Gavin's behavior throughout his appearances because there's implications in there that I think aren't talked about enough.

(Also important to note because I feel like it'll come up; this is all my interpretation of Klavier's behavior based on a combination of personal experience and just how I read his behavior. I am not going to claim my analysis to be objectively correct.)

Part 1: A Brief-ish Summary of Klavier's Canon Appearances

Klavier's only canon appearances are in Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney and Turnabout Academy in Dual Destinies (which is a shame but that's not my point). In the latter, he's not acting as Prosecutor Gavin, he's acting as Rock God Klavier. I still think, for the sake of context, it's important to go over these appearances and how he acts during each one.

Turnabout Corner

Our first introduction to Klavier is in Turnabout Corner, the second episode of Apollo Justice. He's introduced as a cool, suave prosecutor that likes to throw his weight around a little (as indicated by him overriding the police and allowing Trucy and Apollo to investigate People Park), and it's easy to (correctly) assume pretty early on that he doesn't really care about giving information to the defense like every other prosecutor in the series (something that will come up later). In Turnabout Corner, we also learn about Klavier's status as a rockstar, and how he usually acts during court proceedings. Apollo's first impression, which carries over into Turnabout Serenade and is still part of how he sees Klavier into Dual Destinies, is that Klavier tends to not take things very seriously.

Turnabout Serenade

Turnabout Serenade is... interesting. We see a side of Klavier that he seems to want to keep under wraps at first — he's a perfectionist when it comes to his music, and his focus is on Daryan's missed cue, not the fact that a murder happened at his concert; notably, he's focused on Daryan's fuck-up, when he's not the only one who messed up during the concert. He comes off as irritable during investigation segments, seeming to put on a mask of his usual confident and carefree attitude when Apollo and Trucy show up.

This is also the first time Klavier starts to get honestly pretty mean when even the implication that something he didn't want to be true is true is suggested. The second Apollo implies LeTouse was murdered during the second set (which is when he first presents the igniter) Klavier gets mean ("Herr Forehead, don't destroy what little respect I have for you!" which implies he never had much respect for him in the first place, which I'd argue is not the case but I'll get into that later). We get into Daryan's testimony once it's made clear that Daryan's a suspect, and at that point he's less mean to Apollo and tearing into Daryan instead. Turnabout Serenade alone shows that Klavier's views of people can and will change on a dime.

Turnabout Succession (2019 section)

I'm gonna get it out of the way now, Klavier is a brat during the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession. This is relevant; he seems to have grown out of this by Turnabout Corner, but he's still prone to being a dick. Klavier's also much more egotistical during the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession; most notably, he brags about the success of The Gavinners multiple times during the trial (which Phoenix describes as an "utter lack of humility"). As a 24/25-year-old, he's not normally an egocentric asshole; this trait only really shows itself during times where he'd be stressed. Again, we'll get to that.

Turnabout Succession (responses to Kristoph's involvement)

The first reaction to Kristoph's involvement is when Vera mentions the commemorative stamp with Troupe Gramarye on it, and he gets intense about asking Vera about what the first forgery she made was. He actually scares Vera and concerns the judge:

And this is where he first breaks down. Trucy gets concerned, Apollo has to tell him to calm the fuck down because he's badgering the witness (at which point Klavier calls Phoenix Apollo's "soiled, sullied mentor"), and then Vera collapses from atroquinine poisoning and the trial ends. I cannot imagine what the next span of time before the trial continued was like for Klavier.

Once Kristoph actually takes the stand, Klavier's quite quiet for a while, aside from defending Kristoph when you press certain statements (and even then, Kristoph will not hesitate to talk over Klavier). Apollo even mentions that Klavier's acting different, and decides it's because Kristoph's in the courtroom. Klavier gets so upset that he can't even function properly, which Kristoph blames on Apollo ("My, my. You've upset my poor brother to the point of uselessness."). Klavier does eventually snap out of it and accuses Kristoph of bluffing, and the rest of the trial he works with Apollo to convince the jurists that Kristoph is behind Drew and Vera's poisoning, not Vera (although he does tell Apollo he's leaving the case if he can't prove Kristoph is behind forging the evidence in the Zak Gramarye case).

Klavier's behavior in the 2026 sections of Turnabout Succession very much remind me of 17-year-old Klavier, and his breakdown sprite does not help this (which I've also done an analysis on. Parts of that analysis will be relevant later). Again, this will come up later.

Turnabout Academy

I personally think Klavier's behavior in Turnabout Academy is also similar to his behavior when he was 17, although in the complete opposite direction from Turnabout Succession. Looking at Klavier's behavior in Turnabout Succession's 2019 section vs his behavior during Turnabout Academy, I am immediately struck by similarities. Notably, Klavier exhibits some degree of inflated self-confidence (he calls his own voice "godlike" if you present the tape recorder to him, tells Apollo and Athena to find the Gavinners banner, leading Athena to wonder if he just wants his banner back, claims the burnt fragments of the Gavinners banner is a "challenge directed at [Klavier] and Gavinners fans everywhere"), which leads him to put down Apollo specifically (telling Apollo that the role of a fledgling lawyer is one he was "born to play," calling Apollo a wet blanket, "That feigned swagger does not suit you in the least," probably jokingly accusing Apollo of destroying the statues of Klavier and Phoenix).

It's all behavior that feels like it should come from 17-year-old Klavier, not 25-year-old Klavier, at least not under most circumstances.

Part 2: A Slightly More In-Depth Analysis of Klavier's Behavior

Klavier's behavior, notably, changes depending on the circumstances he's in. I think it's important to figure out what the baseline for adult Klavier's behavior is before we go any further however.

I, personally, think the baseline for Klavier's behavior is most clear in Turnabout Corner. He doesn't have any personal involvement in the case beyond Apollo getting Kristoph thrown in prison, and he's pretty chill the entire case. It feels like, at the very least, he's adhering to his rock god persona (and I don't think it's a stretch to assume that's at least partially what he's like when he's not masking anything). Turnabout Corner serving as the baseline for Klavier's behavior also makes sense from a writing standpoint. So, I'm going to use Turnabout Corner as a baseline for Klavier's behavior. Now that we have that out of the way, let's analyze Klavier's behavior.

Part 2.1: Turnabout Serenade

So, first of all, let's look at the transition from Turnabout Corner to Turnabout Serenade. Klavier's having fun, he's at a concert and performing with someone he looks up to and admires. Then, tragedy strikes. A murder happens during the third set. The pianist for the second set is arrested. Daryan missed a cue he shouldn't have missed. This is the first time Klavier is aggressive. It's the first time we see perfectionist Klavier. The second Apollo and Trucy show up, he starts acting like he did during Turnabout Corner. To be completely clear, I do think he was genuinely happy to see them. I don't think his behavioral change when Apollo and Trucy show up is entirely a front. At worst, he's pretending everything's fine by acting like he normally would. Two explanations I can think of for this:

Maybe he just doesn't want Trucy and Apollo to see him like that.

Maybe he doesn't actually care how Trucy and Apollo see him, and he pretends everything's fine by instinct.

Additionally, this is the first time we truly see the extent of how egocentric Klavier can get. He opts to completely ignore the fact that a murder happened at his concert and instead focuses on Daryan's missed cue. That's what we see, at least.

By the end of the case we find out that missed cue was crucial evidence. That missed cue had implications for the entire incident. It's also implied in Turnabout Corner that Klavier is always multiple steps ahead, and in Turnabout Academy he suggests that the missing Gavinners banner is relevant to the case, and it ends up being crucial to the case. Exactly like Daryan's missed cue.

I don't think Klavier was just being an egocentric asshole here. I think he knew that the missed cue was somehow relevant, especially if he noticed Lamiroir and Machi's mistakes during the second set. If he did notice the mistakes Lamiroir and Machi made, then noticed Daryan's missed cue, I don't doubt he'd think they were somehow related. The one thing saving him was that the entire case, both the defense's side and the prosecution's side, hinged on the murder taking place during the third set, so he gets fucking mean when it's implied the murder might've happened during the second set, because there goes any plausible denial. Once Apollo suggests the murder happened during the second set, Daryan's alibi goes out the window, and he becomes their prime suspect. Basically, Klavier's aggression in Turnabout Serenade, and potentially how set on figuring out Daryan's missed cue he was, was very likely him getting defensive.

Part 2.2: Turnabout Succession

Not gonna talk about the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession much here. Klavier's behavior in Turnabout Succession is very much like his behavior in Turnabout Corner. That is, until Kristoph is made a suspect in Drew Misham's murder.

Klavier's pretty much the same as he was in Turnabout Corner for most of the first trial of Turnabout Succession. He's enjoying himself (a fact Apollo and Trucy mention), he's having fun teasing Spark Brushel a bit.

And then Vera brings up the commemorative stamp with Troupe Gramarye on it. As I mentioned above, he gets so intense about finding out what Vera's first forgery was that he scares Vera, concerns the judge, concerns Trucy, and has Apollo telling him to calm the fuck down because he's badgering the witness. Even taking 17-year-old Klavier into account, that's incredibly out of character for him. 17-year-old Klav was a bit mean to witnesses, sure, but he never badgered them. This exact moment is where, upon replaying AJ:AA, I was like "holy shit, you can pinpoint exactly where and when Klavier realizes Kristoph's involved in this."

During the next trial day, he's out of character on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, by which I mean he's too quiet. Klavier's usually talkative and flamboyant. He likes to test Apollo and Apollo's theories. He likes getting under Apollo's skin. But the second Kristoph's on the witness stand we don't get any of that. He's just quiet and he lets Kristoph talk over him. Kristoph's presence is enough to make him uncharacteristically quiet (which makes me wonder what the fuck their history is, especially with Klavier's "Spinning out of whose control? Mine? ...Or yours?" line after Kristoph says he's spinning out of control and the fact that what triggers Kristoph saying that in the first place is Klavier saying "Let's clean out the family closet" and Kristoph claims Klavier's going to say something he'll regret, but that's a different post for a different time). Klavier eventually gets so desperate for proof that Kristoph killed Drew and tried to kill Vera that he literally begs Apollo to prove it. Once Klavier has seen evidence that would indicate that Kristoph is guilty of Drew's murder, he's mostly back to his normal self.

Part 2.3: Turnabout Academy

Turnabout Academy is interesting because Klavier's behavior still feels off but you aren't playing as Apollo; you're playing as Athena, who doesn't know what Klavier is usually like. Klavier's a lot nicer to Athena than he is to Apollo (he is still a bit mean to Athena at points, just to be clear). I personally think it's because Klavier knows Apollo but doesn't know Athena well, but that's just an assumption, I don't think there's really evidence to support it.

Anyway, Klavier's behavior during Turnabout Academy feels pretty similar to when he was 17 in my opinion. He is brutal with Apollo. Klavier:

Tells Apollo that the role of a fledgling defense attorney is one he "was born to play"

Calls Apollo a wet blanket

Calls Apollo a stick in the mud

Accuses Apollo of destroying the statues of Klavier and Phoenix TWICE (probably jokingly but that's still mean, Klavier. This is also, notably, reflective of Klavier accusing Apollo of setting his guitar on fire in Turnabout Serenade)

17-year-old Klavier, while he doesn't target anyone specifically, is a fucking brat. He's irritating and he likes harassing people (like how 17-year-old Klavier was ever allowed in a court of law is beyond me. Granted this is the same court system that let an 18-year-old with a whip prosecute cases but I digress). In some of 17-year-old Klav's dialogue, we also get a taste of just how egocentric he could get at 17. Some of 17-year-old Klavier's lines in the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession that had me like "wow, never has a more irritating 17-year-old existed":

"Herr Detective, this is my stage. Can the antics."

"And I haven't proven anything yet, beyond my good looks, and startling record sales."

"...Would you hold me accountable for a mistake made in my youth?" "That was just this morning!" "...I am still young."

"I would hope the defense refrains from its customarily broad, sweeping accusations."

"...Truly, there's no substitute for experience. Nothing blinds one to the truth so effectively."

I can 100% see some of those lines also coming from Turnabout Academy Klavier. That then begs the question; if Klavier had evolved past acting like this by the age of 24, why is he back to acting like that by the age of 25?

Simple; it's very likely the same reason his behavior was the way it was in Turnabout Serenade. Constance Courte had personal significance to Klavier and quite literally shaped how Klavier prosecutes cases. Klavier says this himself; "She may have taught the judge course, but she had a huge impact on me. She was fond of saying, 'The end is only justified through proper means.' She wouldn't tolerate dishonesty and always revered what was right beyond all else." From the beginning of the case, it's had more personal significance than any of the cases Klavier prosecuted (while other cases did have personal significance to him, it was only ever clear near the end of the trial).

The thing about Turnabout Academy is that, in terms of Klavier's role in the story, it is incredibly similar to Turnabout Serenade. Here's a list of similarities just to show what I mean:

Both cases involve Klavier having Apollo and the individual he's investigating with figure out something that doesn't seem to be significant to the case but is actually crucial evidence (Daryan's missed cue in Turnabout Serenade and the Gavinners banner in Turnabout Academy)

Both have personal significance to Klavier in some way (Daryan was the culprit of Turnabout Serenade and his mentor is the victim of Turnabout Academy)

You would not be blamed for saying "Klavier there was a MURDER" every time he shows up in both cases

Klavier's roles in Turnabout Serenade and Turnabout Academy are similar enough to me that it caught my attention almost immediately (in fact, I tagged the screenshot I posted of Klavier telling Apollo and Athena to look for the Gavinners banner as "turnabout serenade ass behavior"). That also means that his behavior is similar in both cases; the primary difference, in my opinion at least, is that Klavier's more intense and mean in Turnabout Academy (which was obvious to be quite quickly).

Part 2.4: Klavier's Shifting View of Kristoph

(This isn't important I just wanted to bring it up)

It's made pretty clear in Turnabout Succession's 2019 section that Klavier has a positive view of Kristoph. Klavier takes Kristoph at his word that Phoenix is going to present forged evidence and keeps him anonymous when he mentions that he gave him the tip that Phoenix would present forged evidence. He was excited to go against him in court (which just makes the fact that Kristoph forged evidence to beat him a lot more sad), something he even acknowledges when it's made clear that Kristoph forged the diary page that got Phoenix disbarred ("...Kristoph! We were supposed to face each other in that trial! A fair fight, brother to brother! I deserved that much! You let me borrow the victim's belongings... ...You showed me all your research on the case!").

We can literally watch this crumble during Turnabout Succession. He knows Kristoph is a good defense attorney; when Apollo first meets Klavier in court, Klavier says that he's prosecuting the case because he wanted to see the true strength of "the little boy who bested" Kristoph, which at the very least implies he respects Kristoph's skills as a defense attorney. That's completely crumbled by the end of Turnabout Succession, with Klavier literally telling Kristoph "You're not needed anymore." It's honestly really sad to watch too. It makes you wonder what was going through his head during that span of time during Vera's trial where Klavier's just not as talkative as he usually is and Kristoph's on the witness stand.

(To be clear, I think Klavier knew Kristoph was a piece of shit before Turnabout Succession. I don't think Kristoph's emotional abuse of Klavier started during Turnabout Succession, and I very much think Klavier knew that Kristoph was a piece of shit because of it. However, I don't really think he would've expected anything that came out during Turnabout Succession, which is why he reacts how he does. I also think it would be safe to assume that either Kristoph only started emotionally abusing Klavier after Zak's trial or Klavier realized that's what he was doing after Zak's trial, due to Klavier's attitude toward Kristoph holding the implication that if Kristoph was actively being abusive at that point in time, Klavier didn't realize it)

Part 3: What We Can Conclude About Klavier Based On This Information

I've mentioned it before (in fact it's in the Klavier breakdown animation analysis I linked earlier in the post), but Klavier's behavior comes off as him not having been able to properly grow up, whether because he became a celebrity when he was 17 or for some other reason. It's like he regresses back to 17 during traumatic situations, or possibly has some sort of relapse if we assume he got mental health treatment between the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession and the start of Turnabout Corner, and his behavior supports that, which is fucking heartbreaking. It's like he's putting on a mask of maturity because he was forced to. By who? Could be anyone. He could've felt obligated to do it by his status as an international celebrity. He could've been pressured into it by the Gavinners' record label (assuming they weren't indie). Kristoph could've pressured him into it because Klavier had eyes on his every action on a global scale. He could've experienced some kind of psychological trauma that caused it. There are so many potential explanations here and they're all fucking heartbreaking.

Part 4: Conclusion

So. 3.3k words later. This is longer than my Ryulock/Homumiko essay. Anyway, conclusion: I don't think Klavier's ever been flanderized. I think people are misreading his primary trauma response (that being, some form of regression or relapse). He's not even the only person this happens to in the series (*stares at Athena*), it's just not obvious with Klavier if you don't consider ALL his behavior together, including his behavior when he's 17 because that's really what explains his behavior in my opinion. Klavier's behavior isn't easily explainable in a nearly 3.5k word essay without knowing how he was at 17.

And yes, you could argue that this is all coincidence. You could argue that none of this was intentional, especially when you consider how Ace Attorney is written. Someone who goes into Dual Destinies without playing Apollo Justice first won't get the additional context required to recognize the full extent of Klavier's behavior.

I would beg to differ however. Some of Phoenix's bitchiness from Apollo Justice is still present in Dual Destinies and Spirit of Justice, and I very much think that was intentional. Apollo's behavior in 5-4 and 5-5 are very much indicative of him having trust issues as a result of everything that happened with Kristoph and that's a hill I'll die on. Simon still acts the same as he did in prison, likely as a result of either trauma, habit, or both.

If you think Ace Attorney doesn't reference past games in characters' behavior, you're underestimating Ace Attorney's writing. I absolutely think Klavier's behavior in Turnabout Academy and his behavior in Turnabout Serenade are meant to be reflective of each other. I'd be genuinely surprised if that's not an intentional parallel and if it doesn't indicate something about Klavier's response to traumatic events. Even worse, I am quite sure that Kristoph has put him down over this. Hell, you could argue that his comment about Klavier being stressed to the point of uselessness is him putting Klavier down for how he copes with trauma. It explains why he was so quiet while Kristoph was on the witness stand, actually.

I also don't think Klavier's as egocentric and quite as much of a perfectionist as he lets on. I think it's part of what I referred to earlier as Klavier relapsing. I very much think he might've been like that at 17, but much like his other behavior at 17 it feels like he grew out of it, and he has a tendency to fall back into it during traumatic situations, whether it's as a defense mechanism or just how his brain responds to trauma.

Essentially this causes traumatic situations for Klavier to turn into him bottling everything up, which comes across to other people (including anyone who decides to play Apollo Justice and Dual Destinies) as irritability. This happens to me too; I'm prone to emotional overreaction but I've gotten to a point where I tend to bottle it up instead of doing literally anything else.

Capcom, please for the love of the Holy Mother give Klavier therapy.

#i worked on this for six hours pls reblog it if you think it's worth anything lmao #(nobody asked but this is almost 4k words. of just me talking about klavier)#also deepest apologies for any inconsistencies. when i do stuff like this i tend to think while i'm typing which leads to inconsistencies #ace attorney #apollo justice ace attorney #dual destinies #klavier gavin #ace attorney analysis #character analysis #aa4 #aa5 #apollo justice spoilers #dual destinies spoilers #aa4 spoilers #aa5 spoilers #tw abuse mention #long post

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archivequinn · 8 days ago

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MADNESS (Eddie Munson x American Horror Story: Asylum)

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

Summary: Three years after his disappearance, Eddie Munson is arrested for the murders of Chrissy Cunningham, Fred Benson, Patrick McKinney and others, but the truth is very different. Unable to convince anyone that Vecna exists and that he is innocent, he is locked up in an asylum. But the only way out is to prove to his psychiatrist that he is not insane. If he fails to convince the psychiatrist, he will be executed as a murderer. He must hurry to do so, because Vecna has returned to finish the bloody unfinished business and take revenge.

As Eddie fights for his life, how far can his psyhiatrist go to save him when she finds out he is innocent? Perhaps the only reason his psychiatrist wants to save him is not because of Eddie's innocence, but because they have developed feelings for each other over time. In the midst of all this confusion, a series of secret experiments on patients in the mental hospital and a series of dark secrets make everything more difficult.

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Mentions of execution, Execution, Death, Mental Health Issues, Asylum, Mental Hospital, Horror, Psychological Horror, Survival Horror, Thriller, Claustrophobia, Prison, Doctor/Patient, Serial Killers, Hospitals, Pain, Depression, Violence, Blood and Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, death of a family member, Nudity, Smut, Sex, Slow Burn, Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, TraumaPost-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Disorders, Smoking.

Before you read:)

This fan fiction is inspired by American Horror Story: Asylum. It contains a lot of horror and thriller content. Since the story takes place in a mental hospital, there may be various triggers. Please check the tags first as there is a lot of violence, sexuality and depression contents. This story is for adults, so close the page if you are a minor.

Please let me know if there are any tags I forgot to add. read on ao3

Dr. Oliver Owsen was deeply interested in what Arthur had been doing. In short, he was searching for someone named Ginny. After checking all the hospitals, he had come here as a last resort. One of the reasons that brought him here was that Dr. Arthur had also worked at the last hospital where Ginny was seen—at least, that’s what Violet had learned.

Who was Ginny? How did Oliver know her? Why was he looking for her? Frankly, Violet didn’t care much. The only thing she cared about was that she was tired of all the dirty dealings in this hospital always going unpunished. Someone needed to expose everything happening in this place.

Apparently, Violet no longer had the authority or power to do that. But she could help someone who did—namely, Dr. Oliver Owsen.

After finishing her therapy session with Oliver, she glanced over at Eddie, who was whispering but speaking heatedly with someone in the corner. Because of his fluffy curly hair and tall stature, she couldn’t see who he was talking to.

She went over to John and Max and gestured toward them with her head. “What’s going on over there?”

John rolled his eyes and sighed. “Our only ticket out of here just flew out the window. The guys who were supposed to get us out have now come inside. ”

Violet frowned. “Steve is here?” John sighed again in frustration and threw himself onto the couch. “Steve and his buddy. Now we have two more people we need to keep safe.”

Violet wondered what they were talking about. Eddie’s anxious appearance was fueling the growing fear inside her. When the door to the common room opened, everyone turned their heads in that direction. Prosecutor Robert Hills had finally graced them with his presence.

As Violet tried to predict his next moves, she noticed Eddie clenching his fists and shooting hateful glares at Robert. The tension escalated as Robert approached; Eddie looked like a tiger waiting to pounce.

Robert, however, walked calmly as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t turned their lives into hell. Without looking at anyone, he went directly to Max, extended his hand, and introduced himself.

“Hello, Max, I’m Robert Hills, the prosecutor in the Eddie Munson case,” he said with a fake smile. “We’ve actually met before, but at that time, you had just come out of a coma. I understand you want to update your statement. The necessary procedures have been completed for your release. Come to my office, and we’ll update your statement. Afterward, you’ll be able to leave this place by the afternoon.”

When Max looked nervously at Violet, she nodded in approval. At least someone would get out of here.

After Max left, Eddie, Steve, and a blond young man approached Violet. When the young man extended his hand, Violet shook it and learned that his name was Jonathan.

“We need to make a plan with you. But not here. Where’s the safest place?” Eddie asked, quickly darting his eyes around at everyone. Steve and Jonathan shrugged and looked at each other. “They haven’t given us a room yet,” Steve replied. Violet raised her hand and said, “Max is staying in my room. She could return from Robert’s office at any moment.” Eddie put his hands on his hips and turned to John. John, somehow, had produced a chocolate bar and was eating it. With his mouth full, he looked at each of them in turn and said indifferently, “What?”

John’s single room looked like a five-star hotel suite to Violet. While the double rooms gave off the impression of a mousetrap, this one felt relatively spacious. Jonathan had brought a chair from the common room and was sitting with his feet propped against the headboard of the bed. Steve sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. John had sprawled across the bed so much that Eddie and Violet were forced to squeeze into one corner of it.

Eddie smiled and patted his knee twice—a wordless way of saying, “Come on.” Violet smiled back, got up, and sat on Eddie’s leg. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she rested her head against his soft hair. Eddie’s scent and warmth created a brief wave of calm within her.

John pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on. “So, you want me to burn a little girl now, is that it?” he said, examining the lighter closely.

Jonathan replied, “Not burn her, just bring the flame close. If she gets scared, we can figure out if Vecna has taken her or if he’s still inside her.” John rolled his eyes and said mockingly, “ Of course she’d get scared, genius. Everyone’s afraid of fire.” Then, suddenly, he thrust the lighter toward Jonathan. Jonathan toppled off his chair, and Eddie’s giggling filled the room. Violet, sitting in Eddie’s lap, couldn’t help but chuckle as she felt the vibration of his laughter.

Steve said, “It’s not logical to burn her, but we could touch her with something heated by the lighter,” his face thoughtful.

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “You do realize we’re talking about a person, right?” he asked.

John added dramatically, “Also, I don’t want to go down in history as an arsonist. I don’t want to be the first person people think of when they hear the word ‘fire.’ ”

Violet bit her lip, smiling. “I think you’re a bit late for that.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Eddie said, “Something keeps poking me. Dude, your bed is so uncomfortable.” He looked annoyed. John smirked slyly, and Eddie gave him a suspicious look. “What are you up to?” he asked.

When Eddie lifted the cushion on the bed, the pile of junk food, cigarettes, and cassette tapes underneath. Eddie turned to Violet with a mocking expression. “And we thought the real spy was Robert. Turns out the real sneaky one was right next to us all along,” he said.

Folding her arms across her chest, Violet asked, “How did you even get all this stuff in here?”

John put on an innocent expression, pursing his lips and raising his hands. “If you had a brother working here, you’d also have someone bringing you whatever you wanted,” he said.

Suddenly, Steve stood up excitedly. “This brother of yours… Can he smuggle anything in?” he asked.

Eddie placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, smirking. “I don’t think he can smuggle in what you’re thinking about, dude,” he said with a sarcastic grin.

Steve stared at Eddie for a few seconds, then raised his hands. “No, you idiot. I’m not talking about what you think,” he said.

As Eddie burst into laughter, Violet realized his joy came from being surrounded by his friends. Even in the midst of all this chaos, Eddie’s happiness was contagious. He was like a bond that brought his friends together. Somehow, even in these tough times, being with them gave Eddie a small sense of peace.

John asked, “Hey Steve, what do you need? What’s on your mind?”

Steve said, “If your brother can smuggle in a heater or something similar, Violet could say she’s cold in her cell and turn it on. That way, we wouldn’t have to burn Max, and we could still learn if she’s sensitive to heat.”

John threw himself onto the bed with a disappointed look on his face. “Brendon can only smuggle things as big as what he can fit in his pocket,” he said.

Eddie added, “And even if he did smuggle in a heater like you said, we don’t have sockets in our rooms.”

Jonathan turned his chair backward and leaned his head against the backrest. “Besides, Max is leaving in a few hours. So this plan wouldn’t work,” he said.

“Maybe you could’ve just asked,” said a sudden voice.

Everyone turned to see Max standing at the door. She rolled her eyes, walked toward them, and took the lighter from John’s hand. She lit the flame and brought her hand close to it, almost touching it. She didn’t react at all and then shrugged as she looked at them.

“I mean, there are five of you, but if I added all your brains together, it wouldn’t equal Nancy’s.”

As Violet looked on curiously, wondering who Nancy was, the others all nodded in unison. The three of them moved so in sync, it was like watching the three wise monkeys.

Max clenched her fist and held it out toward Eddie. Eddie mirrored her gesture and bumped fists with her.

Max continued, “I changed my statement about you, Eddie. The prosecutor said you might be able to get out of here in a day or two. Oh, and he’s waiting for you in his office now. As for me, I’m leaving. This madness is too much, even for me and even they call me MAD MAX.”

She finished her sentence with a laugh, but as she smiled, her eyes filled with tears. She hugged Eddie tightly.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Eddie. You’re the big brother I never had but always wanted. I’m sorry for everything that happened. I love you.”

It was clear that Eddie was struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. He hugged Max back in return.

Violet silently made a wish: I hope it happens as she said. I hope Eddie gets out of here.

Eddie opened the door to the prosecutor’s office and stepped inside. He hadn’t bothered to knock, not even out of courtesy. He went straight to the chair and sat down. Prosecutor Robert was organizing files with the male nurse standing beside him. This nurse was the same jerk who had taken Eddie to his cell on his first day at the mental hospital.

Robert picked up a piece of paper, held it up in the air, and shook it noticeably. “Do you know what this is, Edward? ” he asked. “Eddie,” Eddie replied calmly. He hated being called Edward.

Robert continued, “This is your ticket out of here, Edward. It’s the petition Max wrote, saying you’re innocent. I could send it right now, this very minute, and you’d be a free man tomorrow.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, already guessing where this was headed. “But?” he asked tersely.

Robert stood up and began speaking as he gazed out the window. “But your girlfriend and your friend will stay here. I don’t think you’ll ever see them again.”

He then picked up a blank sheet of paper and placed a pen from his pocket onto the desk. “If you write here that you take full responsibility for everything and claim that Max wrote the petition out of fear, then maybe I’ll give a statement saying you’re insane. That way, you, your girlfriend, and your friend can live happily here forever.”

Eddie crossed his arms and spoke with determination, “No. I’m getting out of here. Then I’ll take Violet and John with me. And there’s no way you’re going to make me do this.”

Robert leaned forward, placing both hands on the desk as he fixed his serious gaze on Eddie. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough. Edward, if you don’t write what I’ve told you, you’ll be the only one responsible for what happens next,” he said in a threatening tone.

Eddie gritted his teeth. “What are you going to do? Rat us out again, you Snitch Snitchson?” he shot back.

Robert responded with a filthy grin. “How about we give your girlfriend a nice volt of electricity right in front of your eyes, Edward? Will you still keep up this defiance then?”

When Eddie walked out of Robert's office, his hands were trembling. The prosecutor had given him two days to think, but there was nothing Eddie needed to think about. He would never allow Violet to be electrocuted.

But he didn’t trust Robert either. If he wrote the statement taking responsibility for the crimes, he was told he’d be deemed insane and allowed to stay there. But what if it was a lie? What if Robert took that statement and used it as evidence?

In that case, Eddie would be doomed, and Violet would never get out of here. He felt like a rat cornered in a trap.

He walked into the common room and looked for Steve and Jonathan. However, none of his friends were there. His eyes landed on Brendon, who was trying to get an old woman to drink soup.

Eddie approached him and asked, “Where’s John? Violet? Or the other two idiots?”

Brendon paused for a moment, his gaze drifting to the wall. “John’s in his cell. I don’t know where the two idiots are. I think they went to beg Manager Wilson to let them share the same cell. As for Violet, I last saw her with Doctor Oliver,” he said.

Eddie’s already frayed nerves worsened. He didn’t like Oliver at all; there was something off about that man, he thought. Deciding that John was the easiest person to locate, he headed toward the cells. Just as he reached the hall, he saw John walking toward him, grinning.

“Dude, you won’t believe what happened,” John was saying.

The only thought running through Eddie’s mind was: Wait until you hear mine, John.

John’s gaze turned to Eddie with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Eddie was about to start talking when he saw Steve and Jonathan approaching from a distance. He gathered all three of them and led them to the cafeteria. Since no food was served at this hour, the place was quiet. Once everyone sat around the table, Eddie explained the blackmail Robert had used against him.

Steve suddenly stood up and started pacing around the table. His tension was evident in every movement. “Dude, you can’t write that statement. It’s obviously a trap. He’s going to take that paper from you and have you executed. The guy’s too smart,” he said. John, however, responded with a hesitant expression, “But if you don’t write it, they’ll torture Violet.” Jonathan, trying to lighten the weight of the situation, said, “Do you think Vecna’s inside this Robert guy?”

Eddie frowned as he spoke. “Could be. The guy has this grudge against me that I can’t figure out. Anyone would think I killed all his loved ones.” Steve sat back down and took a deep breath. “So, what are we going to do?” he asked. Jonathan followed with a question that hung in the air. “Do we have to escape again?”

Eddie shook his head as he answered. “We can’t escape. Oliver told Violet that all the patients in Ward C have been moved. I’m sure they’ve locked the doors too. We’re stuck here.” Steve, searching for a glimmer of hope, said, “Max got out. They’ll help us once they realize we haven’t left.” But Eddie still had doubts. “What if it’s too late?”

At that moment, everyone at the table seemed to focus their attention on the door. When Eddie looked, he saw Violet and Oliver walking toward them. Rolling his eyes, he muttered in a jealous tone, “One day, I’m going to land a good punch on that Oliver.”

When Violet reached them, she sat next to Eddie and took his hand. Oliver, on the other hand, started shaking everyone’s hands one by one. When he reached Eddie, Eddie only touched his hand lightly and responded with a fake smile.

Violet spoke with a serious expression on her face. “Oliver has something to tell you.” Eddie turned his head as if uninterested, but curiosity was growing inside him.

Oliver began to speak. “I know about the experiments and filth that Arthur has done. And I know he values those experiments too much to destroy them all at once. Those patients are somewhere in this hospital right now. I know that. And I’m sure, after your escape plan, he’s no longer keeping those files in the manager’s office. He must be keeping them in his own operating room. I’ve tried to get in there, but unfortunately, I’ve failed. No one can enter there except the assistant he keeps by his side.”

Eddie’s voice broke the silence in the room. “I’ve been inside,” he said.

Everyone turned to look at him. John had his head down, staring at his shoes, as if he already knew the answer. “When they gave me the electric shocks... I was in his operating room,” Eddie added. John raised his head slightly and spoke. “There’s only one way to get in there, and I can tell you it’s going to hurt.” Oliver slammed the table in frustration. “Great. Just great. So how are we supposed to get in?” Eddie fixed his gaze on Oliver. “Why do you even want to help us? What’s in it for you?” This question made Violet squeeze Eddie’s hand, but Eddie’s mind was elsewhere. He could understand John—he had followed Arthur this far and ended up stuck here. Violet was in trouble because she wanted to help Eddie. And Eddie himself had become a target after uncovering Arthur’s experiments. But what was Oliver’s motivation?

Oliver pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, his eyes turning to Violet. “He’s not the first doctor to fall in love with his patient,” he said. Eddie was confused. Was he in love with Violet? He opened his mouth to say something, but Oliver, realizing the misunderstanding, raised his hand to stop him. “No, not Violet. Ginny. I fell in love with her. She was transferred to another hospital at the time. I planned to follow her to wherever she went. But I couldn’t find her anywhere I went. It was like she had disappeared. There was no record of her anywhere. At the last hospital she was seen in, there were reports of other missing cases. Guess who the doctor there was?”

John, clenching his teeth, answered, “Arthur.” That single word revealed the weight of John’s guilt.

Jonathan, processing Oliver’s words, asked, “So, one of the patients in Ward C that he’s experimenting on could be Ginny?” Oliver shrugged as if to say he didn’t know, but his expression showed he thought it was possible.

Steve voiced his thoughts aloud. “Since we can’t just go up to the guy and say, ‘Hey, experiment on us too,’ or, ‘Go ahead and fry us like potatoes...’” John paused for a moment and looked into Eddie’s eyes. Then he turned to Violet.

Eddie shook his head in refusal. Jonathan and Steve understood the situation, but Oliver and Violet were looking at them with curiosity.

Violet, unable to bear it any longer, asked, “What’s going on here?” Steve turned to Eddie, about to say something. “Robert made Eddie an offer…” he began, but Eddie kicked him under the table. Steve groaned in pain. Violet suddenly stood up, crossing her arms, and spoke in a stern voice. “ I said, what is going on here?”

Eddie realized he had no choice but to tell the truth. With a sigh, he stood up, placed his hands on Violet's head, gently pulled her closer, and looked into her eyes. "Robert said he’d declare me insane in court if I wrote a letter confessing to all the crimes. And if I don’t... he said he’d torture you," he said.

Violet frowned as she looked at Eddie. "You didn’t agree to write the letter, did you?" she asked.

Eddie’s voice trembled, and he struggled to find the words. "How could I not? Violet... If they touch you, I’d die. I can’t let that happen," he said.

Violet stepped back, her expression revealing her anger. "If you write that letter, Eddie, you silly, the first thing Robert will do is drag you out of here and take you to court. You have a chance to escape, Eddie. Nobody else here does, but you do. You will never write that letter," she snapped.

She stepped forward, placing her hands on Eddie's face. Eddie put his hands on hers in return. Tears were streaming down Violet’s cheeks. Eddie’s eyes were also filling with tears. "You will never write that letter, Eddie. Promise me," Violet said, her voice trembling.

Eddie found it hard to respond to her insistence. "Violet..." was all he could say. "Promise me!" Violet shouted, tears streaming down faster.

Eddie pulled Violet close and rested her head against his chest. He held her tightly as sobs echoed through the room, placing his head to stop hers. For a moment, silence enveloped them both.

Oliver broke the moment. "Actually..." he said, as though a new idea had just occurred to him.

Everyone turned to look at him. His expression suggested he had figured something out.

John intervened quietly, "This could be really dangerous."

Oliver continued to explain his plan. "Just five minutes is enough. Less than five minutes, even."

Eddie and the others tried to grasp what he was suggesting. John, however, seemed to have already figured it out. Still, the group turned their expectant gazes toward Oliver, waiting for clarification.

Oliver elaborated. "When they take Violet into that operating room, you’ll go into the operating room too, Eddie. Isn’t that right? They’ll make you watch as they torture her. The door will be open. There’ll be staff. There’ll be doctors, nurses. It’ll be a crowded room, and while everyone is focused on the girl being tortured, no one will notice someone rifling through cabinets and drawers."

Steve interjected, " Someone who works there..."

Jonathan picked up the thought, "Like Brendon. "

Eddie raised his hand in frustration and let out a hysterical laugh. "Do you realize what you’re planning?" he said, his voice full of anger.

Violet turned to Eddie and said resolutely, "Let’s do it."

Eddie shot Violet a sharp look, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her angrily. "Violet. I will never allow such a thing. Never," he said.

As Eddie’s anger made his breaths heavy, his thoughts echoed in his mind. He wouldn’t watch them torture her. Not for five minutes, not even for a second. The plan was to steal the files while everyone was distracted with Violet. But for Eddie, this was unacceptable. If he were the one lying on that table, he would do it willingly. He had done it before, and just remembering the pain made his whole body tremble. But for Violet, never.

"What if the files aren’t where you think they are?" Eddie asked, his voice a mix of anger and worry. "What if someone notices you before you even get there? And let’s say you get the files. Then what happens to Violet?"

Violet took Eddie’s trembling hand and brought it to her lips. Her gesture was meant to both calm him and provide comfort in this difficult situation.

John stood up and came over to Eddie. Trying to encourage him, he spoke softly, "Do you remember the song you sang to Violet, Eddie?"

Everyone was looking at Eddie with sad expressions. However, expecting him to agree to this plan didn’t seem very fair. The anger and helplessness within Eddie were written all over his face. John continued speaking.

“You've got to lose to know how to win,” he said. It was a quote from the song Dream On that Eddie had once told Violet.

“We won’t let anything happen to Violet. We all love her so much. But we have no other choice. If they send you to your death, then how do you plan to protect Violet when you’re dead? Don’t rely on me; I’m the arsonist. Remember? After you, I’ll be the first one they come for.”

Oliver spoke, trying to calm the situation. “We’ll be quick. We promise,” he said.

Violet looked into Eddie’s eyes with a deep expression. “Can we talk for a moment?” she asked. She took Eddie by the arm and pulled him a little further away from the others. Eddie was struggling to control his emotions. If he weren’t so ashamed, he would have collapsed to the floor in sobs. Violet’s determination, however, was hidden behind the tears in her eyes.

“I can endure five minutes,” Violet said. The determination in her voice made Eddie feel even more helpless.

“I know the dose they give. I know this torture they used to do in the past. As long as they don’t exceed a certain dose, I can endure it. When I confronted Wilson about it, he said they only give the ‘legally permitted’ dose. That makes it 100 volts. Five minutes won’t cause severe trauma to my body. I’ll just recover slower than you did. Maybe by then, we’ll be free.”

Eddie gritted his teeth as he looked at Violet. “No matter what I say, you won’t back down, will you?” he asked.

Violet slowly shook her head to indicate no. Her decision was final. Eddie realized that she would proceed with this dangerous plan with or without him. If it was going to happen, at least he had to be by her side.

Together, they returned to the others. The group, looking at them with curious eyes, was impatient to learn what their decision was. Eddie carefully raised his finger and pointed at each of them one by one.

“If anything happens to her, it’s on you. I will never forgive you,” he said. His face was serious and threatening. These words created a slight sense of relief within the group, but the fear was still evident in their eyes.

Oliver finalized the plan and distributed tasks. “Go and tell Robert that you’ve rejected his offer. John, you go and inform Brendon. When they take Violet, we’ll be ready. As soon as we get the files, you tell Robert you’ll write the statement he wants. When they take Violet to the infirmary, we’ll get you all out of here. But we can’t all fit in one car.”

Violet smiled. This smile lightened the tension in the room, even if just a little. “My car is still parked outside. I’m sure the keys are in the guesthouse. You get the keys, and we’ll find someone to drive,” she said.

Steve raised his hand and volunteered. “I’ll drive.”

When Eddie told Robert that he was rejecting his offer, the expression of shock on Robert's face said it all. He had been completely sure his plan would work, but seeing Eddie refuse the offer made it inevitable that he would become suspicious. In response, Eddie, thinking that Robert might already be suspecting something, bluffed, “You wouldn’t dare anyway.” But deep down, he knew Robert would.

In the dim light of the room, Eddie held Violet tightly. Today could be the day. They had to understand that sometimes you have to lose to win. His eyes had been brimming with tears since the morning, and now they were starting to burn. As the memories of what he had experienced in this room before came rushing back, he began to tremble.

When they started laying Violet down on that stretcher, he questioned how he had been convinced to go along with such a stupid plan.

He tried to stand up and go to Violet, but the guards immediately moved to grab him by the arms and forced him back into the chair. His attempts to intervene were futile. As they began smearing that gelatinous, sticky substance on Violet’s forehead, the helplessness inside him grew.

“Stop! I’ll write the statement! Wait! Don’t do this! Don’t touch her!” he shouted.

Violet looked at him and gave him a pained smile, a single tear sliding down her cheek. She slowly shook her head, signaling no. At that moment, Eddie froze. Was this all part of a plan?

The door opened, and Brendon entered the room. His icy blue eyes met Eddie’s, and he shook his head no. Eddie wondered why Brendon wasn’t rummaging through the cabinets and hurrying to find the files. His mind was in chaos… but deep down, he knew the truth.

Violet had planned everything, solely to prevent Eddie from writing that statement and taking the blame. There were no files to be found, and no one was coming to retrieve those stupid files.

Eddie was furious with himself for even thinking that the files might still be there. Those men had probably already fed them to the shredder.

Violet had warned the others to stop Eddie from surrendering himself and ending up in the electric chair. She had orchestrated this as a way to sacrifice herself to save him. And now, Eddie was forced to watch her suffer.

He struggled against the chair, but three men held him down tightly, making it impossible to move. The tears streaming down his face blurred his vision.

Robert walked around to stand behind Eddie, placed his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, and forced his head to stay fixed on Violet. Leaning down, he mockingly whispered in Eddie’s ear, “I hope your freedom is worth this, Munson.”

Eddie tried to turn his head, but no matter what he did, it was useless. His movements were completely ineffective. Arthur stuffed a cloth resembling a gag into Violet’s mouth.

“Try not to scream too much,” he said before putting on his gloves.

Eddie was overwhelmed with unbearable helplessness. His voice had gone hoarse from screaming, and now all he could do was plead in faint whispers. Arthur turned to the nurse beside him and calmly gave instructions.

“Let’s start with 150 volts.”

“Please stop!” Eddie screamed. Manager Wilson and several guards had also entered the room, making it so crowded that it was difficult to move. Three guards held Eddie down firmly, while Robert kept his head fixed on Violet. Two nurses were holding Violet down on the bed.

Violet’s hands and feet were tightly strapped to the bed. One of the nurses was waiting to check her pulse, while the other was ensuring Violet didn’t move too much during the electroshock. The nurse picked up the electroshock device next to the machine and handed it to Arthur.

Everyone in the room watched in fear, wondering if Arthur would really go through with it. As Arthur prepared the shock device, a nun entered the room and stood by Violet’s bedside. “May God forgive your sins,” she whispered to Violet.

Violet’s fear-filled eyes were testing Eddie’s limits. Eddie was crying so much he could no longer speak. With all the strength he had left, he begged Robert.

“I’ll write whatever you want. I’ll sign anything you ask. Kill me right now. Please, kill me. I’m begging you, kill me but don’t let them touch her!”

Eddie glanced at Brendon, hoping he might help somehow, but Brendon was just standing there, frozen in fear, waiting for what was about to happen. At this point, only God could help them.

Dr. Arthur positioned the shock device on Violet’s head. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, then took a deep breath.

Arthur turned to Eddie and yelled angrily, “Shut him up, or I’ll increase the voltage!”

Robert grabbed one of the cloths from the nearby table and shoved it harshly into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’s screams echoed throughout the room. Even God seemed to have abandoned them.

When Arthur pressed the button on the control panel, one of the nurses holding Violet checked the pulse in her neck. The other glanced at her watch while gripping Violet’s arm tightly. The nun standing at the head of the bed tried to steady the part of the electroshock device touching Violet’s head. The electricity was so strong that the lights on the ceiling dimmed and flickered constantly. Eddie’s guttural, animal-like cries grew more muffled.

Arthur spoke without taking his eyes off the device. “Let’s make it 200 volts.”

Brendon stepped forward and shouted angrily, “Are you insane?! You’re going to kill her!”

Arthur ignored Brendon’s words as if they were nothing more than the buzzing of a fly. He continued turning the dial on the machine to increase the voltage. One of the nurses holding Violet shouted in a panicked voice, “Her pulse is racing! She can’t take it!”

Violet’s initial screams had turned into gasps and choking sounds, as though she were struggling to breathe. Her entire body convulsed uncontrollably. Tears streamed from her eyes, and her entire body trembled, down to every strand of hair. Meanwhile, Eddie was writhing in helpless desperation, the nails of those restraining him digging into his skin.

Suddenly, Robert exclaimed, “What the hell is that? For Christ’s sake…” Everyone turned their heads to follow Robert’s gaze. The nun had momentarily pulled the electroshock device away from Violet’s head.

Violet continued to convulse. The electricity coursing through her body caused her muscles and joints to seize involuntarily.

At first, Eddie thought everyone was staring at him. But when Robert slowly removed his hands from Eddie’s head and stepped back, Eddie lifted his head and followed Robert’s gaze. Looking at the door, Eddie realized that everyone in the room was staring in fear at the same spot.

It all happened in an instant. When Eddie looked in that direction, he nearly fell off his chair in terror. The nurse standing next to Brendon was slowly rising into the air. Her pupils had turned completely white, and she appeared to be in a trance. Eddie had seen this sight before. Three times, to be exact: with Chrissy, Jason’s friend Patrick, and Violet.

It was him. Vecna was here.

As everyone ran toward the nurse now floating near the ceiling, Arthur, Wilson, and Robert seemed frozen in shock, rooted to the spot. Eddie’s thoughts were clear: He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t a killer. The proof was here, alive, for everyone to see. Now everyone would know that Eddie hadn’t made all this up and that everything he’d said was true.

When the nurse’s right arm suddenly snapped, everyone in the room started to scatter in panic. Female nurses and nuns were screaming at the top of their lungs. Eddie began crawling on the floor, trying to make his way toward Violet’s bed. He didn’t care about the kicks and stomps from the frantic people running past him. He couldn’t control his hands or feet out of sheer terror. His brain had shut down, and his movements were reduced to instinctive thrashing. Finally, he reached the stretcher where Violet lay.

Brendon suddenly appeared, running toward him. He grabbed Eddie by the arm and pulled him to his feet. Without saying a word, Brendon began dragging him toward the door. Eddie, bewildered, protested.

“Wait! What are you doing?! I have to get Violet!” he shouted.

Brendon angrily grabbed Eddie by the shoulder and shoved him toward the door. “Go save yourself! Go! I’ll take care of her!” he said firmly.

Eddie tried to re-enter the room, but just then, he saw the lightbulb inside explode. Screams echoed in the darkness. Someone else inside had been taken, now a victim of Vecna.

At the end of the corridor, Steve and Jonathan appeared. They ran toward Eddie and grabbed him by the arms, dragging him away. Eddie resisted with all his might, but when he tried to speak, he felt the pain in his throat. As he saw Brendon rushing back inside, everything became blurry. His vision darkened, and silence enveloped him.

When he opened his eyes again, he realized they were driving through rows of trees. His head was resting against the window, and they were in a car. As his vision cleared, his eyes focused on the sign by the roadside, "Welcome to Hawkins!"

Eddie suddenly straightened up, causing Jonathan, who had been dozing in the seat next to him, to wake up and look at him. “Hey... You’re awake. Are you okay?” Jonathan asked softly.

Eddie realized he was in the back seat. When he looked ahead, he saw Hopper in the driver’s seat and Steve next to him. Both were looking back at him with curious expressions. A frustrated smile spread across Eddie’s face.

“Am I okay?! What am I doing here, huh?! Take me back to the hospital right now!” he yelled angrily.

Jonathan explained in a calm voice, “Your innocence was proven, Eddie. The judge saw Max’s statement. Plus, Manager Wilson signed off this morning saying you’re not insane. Right now, the culprit, ‘Henry,’ is being hunted everywhere. If they can catch him. You’re free now.”

Eddie clenched his teeth and said in an icy voice, “Stop the car.” Hopper kept driving. Eddie shouted louder this time, “I said stop the car!” Hopper slammed the brakes, and the car came to an abrupt halt. Eddie opened the door and started walking away without looking back.

Steve ran after him, trying to catch up. “Eddie! How do you plan to get to Michigan from here?! On foot?!” he asked, concerned.

Eddie stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and asked without turning around, “Is Violet dead, Steve?”

Steve stayed silent for a while. The expression on his face made it clear he was trying to avoid answering. Eventually, he turned around, looked at the others, and scratched the back of his neck.

Eddie shouted angrily, “Do you expect me to leave her and John there and come here to start my ‘new life’? If they’re still in there and I’m out, it’s my fault! How could you leave without them?!”

Hopper approached him calmly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Our priority was getting you out, son,” he said in a serious tone.

Eddie took a step back, causing Hopper’s hand to fall from his shoulder. He raised his hands to his head, nearly pulling at his hair. “Take me back there. I need to get them out. I have to save them,” he said. He was trying to speak angrily, but his voice sounded like that of a desperate victim pleading for their life.

This time, Jonathan stepped forward and spoke to Eddie. “Eddie, it was Violet and John who made us promise to get you out of there safely and bring you here. No matter the cost, we swore. They want you to move on with your life.”

Eddie quickly approached Jonathan and shoved him. Jonathan looked surprised but didn’t retaliate. Eddie continued angrily, “Isn’t Nancy your girlfriend? If the same thing happened to her, would you leave her there and move on with your life?”

He stepped aside and then moved toward Steve, shoving him too. “What if it were Robin in there? Isn’t she the sister you never had? Would you leave her there and start a new life?” he said, his voice trembling.

Eddie’s eyes filled with tears as he added, “You might love me, but if I survived in there, it’s because of them. Do you understand what you’re asking of me now?”

Hopper took a deep breath, removed his hat, and held it tightly in his hands. He was trying to find the right words. “Son, even if you went back there right now, they wouldn’t let you see them. We need a plan. Right now, you’re the only witness who knows what’s happening there. We can’t let them take you back inside. We have to think logically,” he said firmly.

Eddie, trying to believe but still hopeless, asked, “How?”

Hopper shrugged and replied, “We’ll get a search warrant. You’ll tell the national media everything that happened there. We’ll shut that disgusting place down for good, and no one will ever go near it again. But we can’t do it this way. Even the worst plan is better than no plan. You can’t just go back there on a whim.”

When Hopper gestured toward the car with his head, Eddie turned back to Jonathan and looked him in the eyes. “Is Violet dead?” he asked.

Steve chose to speak this time. He bit his lip and answered with pain in his voice. “She’s not dead. But it can’t be said that she’s alive either. They practically fried her brain. Filthy bastards,” he said angrily. Eddie, trying to stay calm, walked toward the car. About half an hour later, they reached the town center. But just then, a large crowd began running toward the car. Eddie, trying to figure out what was happening, glanced at the others in the car. They were just as confused as Eddie. When Hopper stopped the car, Eddie slowly got out.

This crowd consisted of the people of Hawkins. Dustin was at the forefront. He ran to Eddie and hugged him, and then the other kids followed, wrapping themselves around him. Max, on the other hand, stood at a distance, looking at Eddie with an embarrassed expression. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she stood silently.

Max spoke with a trembling voice. “They told you what I did to you… I’m so sorry…” Eddie felt the moment, surrounded by the kids. Struggling, he reached out his hand toward Max. When he made a slight nod, as if to say, “Come on,” Max hesitated no longer and ran to him, hugging him tightly as well. Eddie realized how much he had missed them. These kids were his family. Since his uncle’s death, they had never left him alone. Then, he turned to the crowd waiting ahead. After letting go of the kids, he walked into the midst of the crowd. The expression on everyone’s face was the same: guilt. A deathly silence prevailed. Eddie began looking at the banners they held and read each one out loud, in a clear voice. “We’re so sorry, Eddie.”“We’re so happy you’re back home.”“We knew you were innocent.”“We’re sorry.” As he read each banner, Eddie burst into more hysterical laughter. Eventually, his laughter ceased, and he placed his hands on his hips, giving the crowd a stern look.

“You can take your apologies and shove them up your ass,” he said, as parents hurriedly tried to cover their children’s ears. Eddie stepped closer to them and continued, his voice filled with anger. “Why are you covering their ears? You let them hear the disgusting stories you told about me, didn’t you?” he said, his voice trembling with rage and pain. Eddie looked into each person’s face. He stepped toward the crowd and raised his voice. “A week ago, the same people who wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if they saw me on the street are now looking me in the face and apologizing, is that it?” he said. The fury in his words pierced through the silence like a knife. He took another step and his tone grew louder. “You’re the same people who didn’t believe me when I said I was innocent, the ones who collected signatures to send me to the electric chair without a trial. Do you realize that?” Hopper, leaning against his car with his hat in hand, watched the scene unfold. Those surrounding Eddie followed his every move, curious about what he would do next. Eddie walked toward the banners in people’s hands. He grabbed them one by one and threw them to the ground. Then he turned to Hopper and asked for his lighter. Hopper silently handed it over. Eddie bent down and lit one of the banners. The fire quickly spread to the others. Eddie stood in front of the burning banners and raised his voice even more. “Because of the music I listen to, the clothes I wear, the hair on my head, because I wasn’t one of you, you've targeted me. Because that’s what you are. You always judge a book by its cover. You called me a murderer, but while the real killer of those kids was out there, you wasted time chasing the wrong person, making you the true killers of lost time. You’re the reason my grieving uncle took his own life. These banners you wrote with your bloodstained hands have now ruined two more innocent lives. If only once… just once, you had chosen to believe me…” Eddie’s throat tightened; he couldn’t swallow. Steve and Robin quietly approached him, taking him by the arms. They tried to lead him away from the crowd. Eddie turned once more to look at the burning banners and the guilt-ridden faces staring back at him. The pain and anger inside him grew larger with each passing moment. This town owed him a youth. It owed him a graduation. It owed him a family.

They were finally sitting in Mike’s house, in the basement. They were waiting for a voice to come through the walkie-talkie placed in the middle of the table. Before leaving the hospital, Steve had left a walkie-talkie with Brendon. Somehow, when the lights went out and the doors were locked, John would be able to reach them through this walkie-talkie.

Eddie’s eyes kept glancing at the clock. He felt like time wasn’t moving. Back in Chassell, evening would fall quickly, and the doors would shut in no time. But here, in Hawkins, it was as if time had stopped. A voice came through the walkie-talkie, filling the room. “Is anyone there?” Eddie grabbed the walkie-talkie reflexively. “Oh my God... John, is that you?” he asked, his voice trembling with both hope and fear. John’s voice echoed through, cutting the static. “Thank God you’re okay, Ed!” Eddie’s voice was filled with desperation. “John. Please tell me. Is Violet okay?” The voice from the walkie-talkie went silent for a moment. The quiet made everyone in the room more impatient. Then John’s voice echoed again, slow and hesitant. “As okay as she can be.” Eddie’s voice wavered between hope and despair. “Can I talk to her? Please. Can Brendon take the walkie-talkie to her?” John remained silent for a moment, then spoke in a regretful tone. “I don’t think that’s possible, Eddie.” Eddie’s determination was evident in his voice. “We’ll come there tomorrow with a warrant. We’re going to get you out of there.” John took a deep breath, his voice full of sorrow. “Dr. Oliver submitted a petition to the board saying Violet had overcome a critical condition. They’re going to transfer her to another hospital.” Eddie quickly asked, his voice filled with concern, “Where?” John’s response was vague and helpless. “I don’t know, but you better hurry. Eddie, I hate to say this, but I don’t think there’s much left of Violet anymore.” Eddie’s face turned pale, and fear was evident in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice cracking. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling. John spoke quickly to end the conversation. “I have to go. Manager Wilson has increased security. He’s terrified because of the things he saw related to Vecna. We’ll talk later, Eddie.” As the voice from the walkie-talkie faded, Eddie threw it onto a chair. He paced the room, consumed by anger and helplessness. “Damn it. I have to go there. I have to get in.” Dustin spoke, his face filled with worry and disbelief. “Eddie, have you lost your mind? We literally risked our lives to get you out of there. You just got out. Now you want to go back in?” Without thinking, Eddie ran to Eleven. He grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Can you reach Violet? Please.” Eleven shrugged, her expression uncertain. “Do you have a photo or something that belongs to her?” Eddie paused for a moment, then shouted in frustration. “Damn it. No.” At that moment, Lucas suddenly spoke with excitement. “No, wait! We do!” Everyone turned their curious eyes to Lucas. He was quickly rummaging through the magazines and newspapers on the table. “Here it is!” he said, holding up a newspaper clipping and handing it to Eddie. Eddie stared at the clipping in his hands, focusing on the photo. It was taken the day they escaped from the hospital, after a car accident. The photo showed the crashed car, along with John, Eddie, and Violet. He read the text beneath the image silently, each word catching in his throat like a lump. “Two patients who escaped from a mental hospital and the hostage doctor they took with them were involved in a car accident. One of the patients and the young doctor died at the scene.” This report had been the trap set to admit Violet into the hospital as a patient, ensuring her family wouldn’t come after her. With trembling hands, he handed the newspaper to Eleven. He also took off the bandana from his head and gave it to her so she could blindfold herself. Silence filled the room. Everyone was waiting for Eleven to try reaching Violet. A few minutes later, Eleven pulled the bandana from her eyes and looked at Eddie. She slowly shook her head no. Max walked over to Eddie and hugged him. She gently wiped away the tear that had fallen from his eye. “Don’t be sad,” she said softly. “When I fell into a coma, El couldn’t reach me at first either. But now I’m here.”

Hopper placed the paper on Wilson’s desk and then slammed his fist onto the table. His face was taut with anger. “We have a warrant to search for Violet George. If I want, I’ll tear this place apart,” he said, his voice filled with determination. Wilson, however, didn’t back down. In a composed manner, he replied, “You can’t search for Violet. Because there’s no such person .” These words pushed Eddie over the edge. He strode quickly toward Wilson, but Steve immediately stepped in front of him to stop him. Eddie’s anger was written all over his face. Hopper fixed a hard stare on Wilson. “Wilson, are you not afraid of what’s coming your way?” he asked. Nodding toward Eddie, he added, “You’re really testing my limits not to let Eddie destroy you.” Wilson didn’t flinch. He responded coldly, “You can’t search for Violet because there’s no such person here. Yes, a temporary doctor was assigned to handle her case while Eddie was here. And that doctor died in a car accident. Try keeping up with the news.” Eddie took a furious step forward and shouted his question. “If she died in the accident, where’s her body? Where’s her grave?” Wilson replied with a mocking tone, “That information is only available to family members. And you’re not one of them, Mr. Munson.” Eddie’s hands were clenched into fists, trembling with rage. Hopper, however, took a deep breath and signaled with a nod for them to leave. Eddie couldn’t believe how quickly Hopper was giving up. He looked at him in shock, but Hopper’s face betrayed no emotion. Once they were outside the hospital, Eddie could no longer contain his anger and started shouting. “You said you’d get her out! I trusted you!” His voice was thick with both frustration and helplessness. Hopper calmly placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and said in a reassuring tone, “We need to get back in there. I mean you.” Then, with a faint smile, he added, “We’re going to bury these bastards in a septic tank, son.” Eddie paused, taken aback by Hopper’s resolve. Slowly, a smile returned to his face, and he nodded in agreement.

After dropping Eddie off in front of the hospital’s guesthouse, Hopper quickly drove away. He had mentioned a soldier friend of his, someone he spoke highly of. It was a name Eddie had heard before but had never met. This person was one of Hopper’s connections from Russia. Hopper had said they could help and even alert U.S. National Security. But while Hopper was handling his affairs, Eddie was determined to get back inside. The sky was slowly darkening, providing the perfect backdrop for another covert mission. Eddie noticed a tall figure approaching from the distance. It was clearly a man. Speaking to himself in a low voice, he thought, “I hope it’s Robert. So I can give that bastard what he deserves.” It wasn’t who he was expecting, but if Robert showed up, Eddie knew exactly what he would do to him. Anger burned like fire in Eddie’s veins. What Robert had done to them would not go unpunished. A list ran through his mind: Dr. Arthur, Manager Wilson, Prosecutor Robert... These were at the top of his target list. And then there was the nun who stood over Violet and gave her electroshock, and the male nurse who had walked with him when he first arrived at the hospital. All of their faces were etched into Eddie’s memory. He believed it was his duty to make these assholes pay, especially since the police seemed to be doing nothing. But Eddie couldn’t help asking himself: “Am I strong enough? Am I brave enough?” He had never been in a serious fight beyond high school scuffles with other teens. Yet he was convinced that these people didn’t deserve to breathe. Eddie wouldn’t let the fate of the past dictate his future. The things he once believed in had been lost under Vecna’s chains. But now there was no running. Only fighting.

When he realized the approaching person was Oliver, he stood up from the sidewalk where he had been sitting. The person he had been waiting for was finally in front of him. Oliver looked surprised when he saw Eddie. Quickly, he pushed his curly hair away from his eyes with his hands and took a step toward Eddie, extending his hand. “Eddie? What are you doing here? You left, I thought they saved you,” he said, his voice full of astonishment. Eddie gave a bittersweet smile. He wanted to show Oliver the determination in his eyes. “It would be better if we talked somewhere more private,” he said, and Oliver nodded, motioning for him to follow.

As they entered the guesthouse, Eddie took a long look at the door he believed once belonged to Violet’s room while climbing the stairs. He couldn’t think about anything but Violet. The regret inside him was growing. “I wish I had never dragged her into this,” he thought to himself. But what was done was done, and Eddie needed to find a way out of this chaos.

When Eddie and Oliver entered Oliver’s room in the guesthouse, Oliver threw the bag in his hand into a corner. He loosened his tie with his hand and took a deep breath. “What do you want to drink?” he asked, heading toward the fridge. Eddie, trying to maintain his composure, replied, “Something cold would be nice.” Oliver took two cans of soda from the fridge and handed one to Eddie. He sat on the opposite couch and opened his can. After a brief silence, he spoke. “You’re here to ask about Violet,” Oliver said, looking directly into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie hadn’t opened his soda yet. His eyes were filled with anger and despair. “Nobody’s telling me anything about her,” he said. “Oliver, you’re her doctor. I know you know something. And don’t think I’ve forgotten the dirty game you played with Violet. You tricked me! You let her sacrifice herself for me! But I still need you. Please, tell me, is she okay?”

Oliver placed the soda on the coffee table. He clasped his hands together and remained silent for a moment. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Finally, he spoke, “Eddie, the dose of electricity Violet received caused significant damage to her brain nerves. I don’t think she can even handle her most basic needs on her own right now. I don’t know when—or if—it will pass. I think she may have sustained permanent damage.” These words drove Eddie mad. “Do you think ?!” he shouted, leaping to his feet. His eyes were blazing with anger. “For God’s sake, did you study all those years to get that medical degree for nothing? Don’t you understand what’s happening to your patient? How is she?!” Oliver continued in a calm tone, unfazed by Eddie’s anger. “Eddie, mental illnesses are not like physical illnesses. When you have the flu, you get treated, we give you medicine, and tell you when you’ll recover. But we can’t predict when a virus growing in the mind will pass. I don’t know Violet’s condition, and I won’t be able to assess the extent of the damage for some time. She can’t even speak.”

Eddie turned to Oliver in horror. His eyes were filled with desperation. “I need to see her, Oliver. I’m begging you. Help me get in there,” he said, his voice both pleading and determined. Oliver took a deep breath and shook his head negatively. “The person you want to talk to isn’t an ordinary patient. And I can’t arrange a visit for you with a patient who is officially recorded as deceased. Wilson and the others are breathing down my neck. They’re just waiting for a chance to lock me up in blue clothes as well.” Eddie continued impatiently, “I didn’t ask you to arrange a visit for me. Get me in. As a patient. ”

Oliver raised his eyebrows in shock. He looked at Eddie as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You just got out of there, and you’ve already forgotten how you got out? If you go back in, you might never get out again. Are you insane?!” Eddie stared directly into Oliver’s eyes and replied, “If I were insane, would you admit me?” Oliver gave a faint smile. “I still wouldn’t, Eddie. We promised Violet… We would save you.”

Eddie angrily sat back down on the couch. His hands were clenched into fists, and his eyes burned with rage. “If one more person says that, the next one is getting punched. Enough already. Didn’t you come here looking for Ginny, Oliver? Aren’t you staying in this disgusting place because you think she’s here? Would you leave?” he asked, his voice rising in fury.

Oliver met Eddie’s words with a moment of silence. Instead of answering, he headed inside. A short while later, he returned with a pillow and a blanket in his hands. He tossed them onto Eddie. “Get some rest tonight. We’ll see what we can do tomorrow,” he said in a soft tone.

Eddie had been staying in Oliver's room at the same guesthouse for three weeks. During this time, they made a plan every day, but something always went wrong. Eddie needed to get inside; every second without news from Violet and John was growing heavier. Three weeks had passed, and he hadn’t heard anything about them. He had seen Brendon a few times from the window, but Oliver warned Eddie strictly not to make any contact with him. Oliver had mentioned that Violet’s condition had slightly improved, but it wasn’t enough for Eddie. He couldn’t even imagine how bad Violet’s state was. His patience was running thin.

Meanwhile, Hopper kept calling and asking if Eddie had gotten into the hospital yet. When Eddie turned off the stove after heating some canned food in the kitchen, he heard the door lock turn and stood up. When Oliver walked in, his face was filled with triumph. Eddie raised his eyebrows and looked at him curiously.

Oliver’s face was glowing with excitement. “It worked, Eddie!” he said enthusiastically. Eddie asked in surprise, “What? How?!”

Oliver continued smiling as he explained. “You’re going back to that hospital tomorrow.”

Eddie smiled and gestured toward the table with his head. Oliver excitedly rushed to the table and sat down. He pulled out a file from his bag and slid it in front of Eddie.

Eddie picked up the file and began to go through it. It was an application form. It belonged to a family from a farm in Detroit who had applied to the hospital, claiming their son was “possessed by the devil.”

Eddie looked at Oliver with confusion. Oliver smirked slightly and pointed. “Look at the child’s name and surname.” Eddie glanced at the corner of the file and read the name written there: Edward Francis Munson. A surprised smile appeared on his face. “All the Edward Munsons in the country must be nuts, I guess,” he said sarcastically.

Suddenly, a realization hit him, and he asked quickly, “Wait a second, are you going to get me inside pretending I’m this kid?” Oliver grinned and nodded. Eddie hesitated for a moment but couldn’t hold back his objection. “But what if the kid’s family comes in and asks about the application status? And everyone in that hospital knows me. They’ll know I’m not this kid. Wilson will never let me in.” Oliver spoke with confidence. “The kid’s family applied to several hospitals along with this one. And right now, one of them has already accepted them. We even had a document confirming their acceptance, but guess what—I ‘accidentally’ fed it to the shredder...”

Eddie was first shocked, then burst into laughter. “Alright, the family won’t come. How are you going to get me inside?” he asked. Oliver maintained eye contact with Eddie as he spoke decisively. “I’m a doctor, remember? If I submit a petition diagnosing you as ‘schizophrenic’ and get this file approved, once they realize there’s another Eddie, it will already be too late. They’ll think they’ve admitted another Eddie. And don’t forget—they’ve already issued death certificates for two living people. They’re aware of this. If they try to kick you out after admitting you, they’ll be in trouble because it’ll be revealed that they issued fake death certificates for you. So, Eddie, I’m asking you one last time. Do you really want to go in? Because you might never come back out.”

Eddie nodded without hesitation. “I accept the risk,” he said.

The next day, Eddie was waiting in front of the hospital doors. He ignored the curious glances from the staff passing by, merely raising his middle finger at them mockingly. At that moment, Oliver came running out of the hospital and approached Eddie. He motioned with his head that they needed to move. Eddie followed Oliver.

The pair headed toward the laundry room they had gone to the first time they entered the hospital. When they entered the laundry room, the same secretary, with the same indifferent attitude, gestured toward the section with clean clothes. Eddie removed his rings. As he started taking off the sleeveless denim jacket he wore over his leather jacket, the secretary was watching him closely. While taking off his t-shirt, he winked at the elderly secretary and headed to the section with clean clothes to put on the blue clothes.

After putting on the blue clothes he returned to Oliver, who was waiting by the door. “Can I go see Violet now?” he asked. Oliver shook his head. “First, we have another task. We’re going to the manager’s office,” he said. Eddie nodded in agreement. As they walked down the corridor, Eddie saw Brendon coming from the other direction. Brendon initially glanced at Eddie and turned his head away. But a second later, he froze and turned back to Eddie.

Brendon’s eyes widened as he recognized Eddie at the end of the corridor. He struggled to catch his breath as he spoke in astonishment. “Eddie?! You... This clothes... What are you doing here?!” Eddie smiled and responded calmly. “I’ll explain everything. Can you bring John and Violet to the common room? I’ll be there shortly.” Brendon, unsure how to respond to this unexpected request, nodded and quickly walked away. Eddie and Oliver had reached Manager Wilson’s office. With a sly grin on his face, Oliver knocked on the door and went inside. Eddie could hear the conversation inside clearly as he waited outside.

Wilson began speaking in an irritated tone. “What is it now, Oliver?” Then Arthur’s stern voice followed. “Didn’t we tell you not to come here unless it’s something important?” Oliver didn’t seem to take the situation seriously. He replied in a relaxed manner. “I want to introduce you to the patient you admitted today.” Wilson sounded exasperated. “Are we supposed to meet every patient we admit? Get out.” Oliver chuckled and added, “You’ll want to meet this one. Eddie, come on in.” Eddie pushed the door open and stepped inside. The expression that appeared on Wilson and Arthur’s faces was pure shock. Eddie watched this change with great delight. The satisfaction on his face was almost a challenge to the dismayed mood of those in front of him. Wilson quickly opened the drawer next to him and pulled out a file. He flipped through the pages so fast that they almost tore. Finally, he stood up and angrily pointed his finger at Oliver. "You... You played us, didn’t you? You tricked us. Do you think you’re very clever?" Oliver didn’t seem affected by Wilson’s threatening demeanor. He spoke calmly. "If you want, you can discharge Eddie right now. But that will lead to two outcomes. First, a public lawsuit will be filed against you for endangering public safety by releasing a potentially dangerous 'schizophrenic' patient without completing their treatment. Or Eddie will sue you after being discharged because you admitted the wrong person and kept someone innocent here. In short, Manager, you’ve stepped in it. You have no choice but to keep him here." Arthur, who had been quietly listening to Oliver, turned to Eddie with a conflicted expression. "You shouldn’t be here," he said. Wilson glared at Eddie with a displeased look, while Arthur stepped forward and began speaking in a threatening tone. "You think you’ve done something clever by coming here. Right now, you’re nothing more than a lamb that’s returned to the wolves’ den." Eddie, unfazed by the threat, replied. "Want to give it a try? This time, we won’t stay silent. We won’t let people like you torment people like us. By the time I’m done here, Arthur, they’ll strap you into a straitjacket and fry you." Arthur’s face reddened with anger at Eddie’s words, and he snapped back. "Do your worst, Munson." Eddie kept his composure and delivered one final remark. "Careful, or my worst might blow up somewhere inappropriate for you." Despite Arthur’s shocked expression, Eddie merely stared at him coldly. Oliver took Eddie by the arm and led him out of the room. Together, they walked toward the common room.

In the common room, Brendon and John were sitting on a couch. The moment John saw Eddie, he jumped up and quickly embraced him. Tears streamed down his face. "You’re an idiot, Eddie. You’re an idiot for coming back here," he murmured. Eddie hugged John tightly in return. His eyes were searching for someone else. John noticed that Eddie was looking for Violet, and his expression suddenly turned serious. Bowing his head slightly, he spoke. "I wanted to warn you before you see her, Eddie. I’m not sure if you can handle it. Actually, I asked Oliver to wait a few weeks before bringing you in. Seeing her in those first moments wouldn’t have done you any good. She’s a bit better now." Eddie interrupted John’s explanations, impatiently asking, "Where is she?" The lump in Eddie’s throat made it hard to breathe and swallow. John nodded toward Brendon. Brendon silently left the common room and returned a few minutes later, walking with someone holding onto his arm. Eddie froze for a moment when he saw that person. Was that... Violet? Violet was stumbling as she walked and struggling to stay upright. Her gaze was vacant and fearful as she glanced around. Even from a distance, it was clear her mind was in disarray. With each step, she looked at Brendon in fear. Brendon spoke softly, encouragingly, as if trying to reassure her. "It’s okay. We’re almost there." Eddie noticed the red scars on either side of Violet’s forehead. The wounds had scabbed over, and some areas had stitches. The sight made Eddie’s hands tremble. He couldn’t stop the tears welling up in his eyes. Violet and Brendon had barely managed to cover a few steps in a minute because of Violet’s frightened and shaky movements. John watched Eddie’s face, waiting for his reaction. But Eddie didn’t know what to say. Violet was standing in front of him, but she wasn’t the Violet he knew. An indescribable fear filled him. Brendon walked over to Eddie and placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is her good state, buddy," he said. "At least she can form sentences. She couldn’t even swallow without help before." Brendon’s attempt to console him only deepened Eddie’s pain. When Violet finally reached Eddie, she still wasn’t lifting her head. Eddie gently held her face with his hands and raised it. "Violet?..." he said, his voice trembling. Violet looked into Eddie’s eyes, frightened. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable. Eddie, feeling like she might break if he touched her, slowly pulled his hands back. At the same time, Violet took a step back and hid behind John. Like a child embarrassed and hiding behind a parent, Violet peeked at Eddie from over John’s shoulder. Then she leaned into John’s ear and whispered. Her voice was soft but clear enough for Eddie to hear. Violet tilted her head toward John’s shoulder and whispered fearfully, "John... I don’t know him..." After those words, tears streamed uncontrollably down Eddie’s face. John bit his lip and grimaced, hugging Violet tightly. As Violet’s sobs grew louder, Eddie stopped trying to hold back his own tears. At that moment, Oliver moved to Eddie’s other side. "For now, she only trusts me and John," he said quietly. "She doesn’t recognize anyone else. We don’t know when she’ll come around or start remembering things." Eddie couldn’t find anything to say. The lump in his throat felt like a sharp blade, making it impossible to swallow. John looked into Eddie’s eyes and spoke firmly. "But that’s not our biggest problem," he said with determination. Eddie fixed his gaze on John. What could be worse than this?

Oliver pointed to someone sitting in the corner. At first, Eddie couldn’t recognize who it was. There was a familiar feeling, but the person had changed so much that it was hard to remember. He was clean-shaven, wearing blue clothes, and his haggard appearance made him nearly unrecognizable. But when Eddie looked closer, he realized. This was Prosecutor Robert Hills.

When Robert saw Eddie, he stood up. Eddie held his breath. Rage enveloped his entire body, and his vision seemed to darken with fury. There was only one person responsible for Violet’s condition, and that was Robert. Dr. Arthur might have strapped her to that bed and administered the electric shocks. Manager Wilson might have turned a blind eye or even supported it. But the one who started it all, the one who pulled the pin on the grenade, was Robert.

Eddie started walking quickly toward Robert. Robert took a step back at the sight of Eddie’s furious approach. He was taller than Eddie, but that didn’t matter to Eddie in the slightest. Just before landing his fist on Robert’s face, Eddie’s expression shifted into a cold smile.

With Eddie’s first punch, Robert was pushed back against the wall behind him. He tried to shield his face with his hands, so Eddie directed his next blows to his groin, stomach, and ribcage.

As the assault intensified, Brendon and Oliver rushed to intervene, grabbing Eddie’s arms. But Eddie didn’t stop; he began kicking Robert instead. Finally, Robert fell to the ground, curling into a fetal position to protect himself.

Oliver, furious, grabbed Eddie and shoved him forcefully. “Do you want to end up in a cell your first day here, Eddie?! Get a grip!” he yelled.

At that moment, Wilson and Arthur entered the room, probably having heard the commotion. They stood there with expressions of both concern and curiosity. When they saw Eddie, they exchanged a sly smile and simply watched the scene unfold.

Arthur spoke in a mocking tone, “So, you’ve seen the big surprise, I take it.”

Eddie shouted angrily, pointing toward Robert. “What is this asshole doing here?! Did you put him here so I’d kill him and become a murderer?!”

Wilson shrugged nonchalantly and replied, “Do whatever you want with him. We’re done. Just try not to make too much of a mess. Bloodstains are hard to clean.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Wilson and Arthur turned and left the room without the slightest concern. Meanwhile, Robert struggled to his feet, clutching his stomach. Slowly, he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and took a deep breath.

Breaking the silence, Robert spoke in a pained tone. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it, Eddie. I don’t have much reason to live anyway.”

Eddie fixed his gaze on Robert and raised his voice. “Shut up. Don’t try to play the victim. I don’t feel a shred of pity for you, Robert. You deserve every bit of what’s happened to you.”

Robert lowered his head at Eddie’s harsh words. With a slight sigh, he said, “I can’t blame you for thinking that way. If you were in my shoes, maybe you’d understand.”

Eddie laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. You’re a disgusting piece of trash. We trusted you, and you threw us back in here. You’re going to rot here, Robert,” he hissed.

Robert replied calmly, “So will you. You’re no different from me now.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened further. As he lunged forward to attack again, Brendon quickly grabbed his arm and forcefully pulled him back. “Can’t you see? He’s provoking you. They’ll really lock you up if you keep this up, Eddie. Let’s get out of here,” Brendon said, his voice carrying a clear warning.

Clenching his teeth, Eddie broke free from Brendon’s grip and turned away, heading toward where Violet was. Violet watched Eddie’s approach with fear. As he got closer, she retreated further, hiding behind John. Eddie tried to put on a soft and innocent smile. All he wanted was for Violet not to be afraid of him.

When Eddie reached out his hand, Violet locked eyes with him. Eddie spoke gently, “Hi, beautiful, I’m Eddie. Do you remember me?” he asked. Instead of answering, Violet looked over to the corner where Robert stood. Her gaze clearly revealed that she was now afraid of Eddie because of what he had done to Robert.

When Eddie saw that look, he bit his lip. Suppressing the wave of regret rising within him, he took another step closer and gently took Violet’s hands in his. “He’s a bad man,” he said, his voice trembling.

Then Eddie looked deeper into Violet’s eyes and continued, “I would never hurt you, Violet. I’d never let anything happen to you again. Never,” he whispered. The sincerity in his words seemed to slightly ease Violet’s apprehension. Instead of pulling her hands away, Violet held Eddie’s hands in return.

Eddie was sitting at the long and uncomfortable cafeteria table with John and the others. It had only been three days since Eddie returned to the hospital, and he had been waiting for news from Hopper ever since. Hopper claimed he was making arrangements, but whatever he was arranging, he needed to hurry. The hope inside Eddie was fading a little more with each passing day.

He looked at John sitting across from him. John was playing with his food, appearing distracted and lost in thought. Eddie turned his gaze from John to Violet sitting beside him. Violet was trying to eat, filling her spoon with soup and struggling with her shaky hand. But her wrists were so weak that the soup spilled all over her before she could even bring the spoon to her mouth.

Eddie picked up a napkin from the basket next to him and gently wiped Violet’s mouth. Then he placed his hand over Violet’s trembling one. Violet looked at Eddie with surprise.

“Hold on, sweetheart, let me help you,” Eddie said with a smile. He took Violet’s spoon and began helping her drink the soup.

John rubbed his face with his hands. Taking a deep breath, he grumbled, “How much longer is this going to go on? I can’t stand seeing her like this. We need her right now.”

Eddie set the spoon aside and raised his head slightly. “She’s in this state because of me,” he said, his voice breaking.

John sighed and looked at Eddie. “We’ve talked about this, Eddie. It was her choice. No matter what you did, she would have sacrificed herself anyway. For your freedom.”

Eddie replied sharply, “Freedom, for me, isn’t outside these walls. It’s wherever she is, John.”

John rolled his eyes and spoke in a sarcastic tone. “Dude, if you don’t get out of here, you’re not going to marry her and live happily ever after. You’ll either die from the filth here or the experiments. This place isn’t safe for anyone.”

Eddie ran his hand through his hair and chuckled lightly. “Speaking of filth, we could use a shower,” he said.

John nodded in agreement. Eddie continued, “I’ll take Violet to her room and be right back.”

When Eddie took Violet’s arm to support her, she clung tightly to him. She did this every time they were going somewhere. She held on so tightly that her nails dug into Eddie’s arm. She was afraid of everything and everyone, as if she had aged prematurely. Her memory was completely blank; she remembered nothing and no one. Eddie placed his hand over Violet’s and spoke softly.

“Baby, you’re cold,” he said. He took off his jacket and gently placed it over Violet’s shoulders. Then he leaned down and zipped it up.

Violet suddenly asked, “What day is it today?”

Eddie looked up at her, as if not understanding the question for a moment.

Violet continued with a hint of curiosity in her eyes, “Have I ever asked you this before?”

A smile spread across Eddie’s face. He stood up quickly, pulled Violet close, hugged her tightly, and stroked her hair while inhaling its scent. “Yes, my angel, you’ve asked me. Every day, you used to ask me. Do you remember?”

Violet nodded slightly in affirmation. She was beginning to remember. Eddie waited patiently. No matter how long it took, he believed Violet would get better. Even though Oliver had said Violet might regain some memories but would never be the same, Eddie didn’t want to believe it. Violet was his Violet.

After taking Violet to her room, Eddie went to the men’s bathroom. John had already filled the tub with hot water and gotten in. There was no privacy here; all the tubs were lined up side by side.

There were no curtains or stalls in the bathroom, as if the only way to prevent people from harming themselves was to leave everything open. But in this hellish place, where rapists and murderers roamed freely, was this truly the safest solution they could come up with? Lost in these thoughts, Eddie took off his clothes, threw them on the floor, and turned on the water in a tub.

He got into the tub, trying to relax. His eyes fell on John in the next tub. “Got a cigarette?” he asked, dunking his head underwater and wiping his face as he surfaced. John bent down, grabbed a cigarette, and tossed it to him. Eddie struck a match, lit his cigarette, and leaned against the edge of the tub, watching the smoke drift through the air as he sought a moment of peace.

John suddenly jolted and spoke. “Hey, someone’s coming.”

Eddie quickly flicked his cigarette to the floor. The room was already filled with steam from the hot water, so it was unlikely anyone would suspect the smoke. When Eddie saw that it was Robert who had entered, he sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. He would have to light another cigarette. Robert walked over, turned on the water, and sat on the edge of the tub as it filled, looking as if he hadn’t expected to find them there.

Eddie took a drag from his cigarette and spoke with a mocking expression. “What’s up, Robert? Here to wash away your sins?” he said, smirking slightly. Robert didn’t reply.

For three days, every time Eddie saw Robert, he made snide remarks, trying to provoke him. But no matter what Eddie did, Robert rarely reacted. Still, it was fun to mess with him like a cat playing with a mouse. Robert was terrified of Eddie, and Eddie enjoyed it.

John joined in with a laugh. “Oh, come on, Eddie. Even if Robert washed with all the water in the city, he still wouldn’t be clean. He’s got the blood of the innocent on him,” he said sarcastically.

Robert silently took off his blue shirt and looked at Eddie as he spoke. “You know, Eddie?” he said, his voice carrying a hint of mockery. Eddie looked at him with an indifferent expression. Robert continued in the same calm tone, “It doesn’t suit you to treat the only person who can help you like this.”

A look of anger spread across Eddie’s face. “Help me with what, exactly? You’re not capable of helping anyone but yourself. We’ve seen that once, and we’ve learned our lesson,” he said sharply.

Ignoring Eddie’s reaction, Robert replied, “I can heal Violet.”

With these words, Eddie slowly straightened from where he was. Holding onto both sides of the bathtub, he stood up. He grabbed the towel nearby and wrapped it around his waist. Water dripped from his hair and body, forming small puddles on the floor. As the sound of his wet footsteps echoed through the silent bathroom, he walked toward Robert. His eyes radiated sharp anger in response to the words he had just heard. "What did you say?" he asked harshly.

Robert rolled his eyes, ignoring Eddie's reaction. "You heard me," he said indifferently.

Meanwhile, John, observing the situation, burst into laughter. "A seasoned doctor can't do anything, but our little runt prosecutor is going to heal Violet? Really?" he said mockingly.

Robert tilted his head slightly and looked at John. "Do you honestly think that's my profession? A prosecutor?" he retorted.

Eddie took a deep breath and leaned against a bathtub, speaking with a disdainful expression. "You're right. Prosecutors are men of justice. The only thing you'd be fit for, Robert, is a circus freak," he said coldly.

Robert turned off the faucet filling the tub and replied in a calm tone, "Fine, if you don’t want my help, that’s your choice."

Eddie's expression hardened. "You're right, we don’t. Because there’s nothing you can do," he countered.

Robert stared at Eddie’s face for a moment before slowly stepping toward him. The distance between them was nearly gone. Eddie had to straighten up from where he was leaning. John, startled by the sudden movement, became alert. As a trained officer, he was ready for any threat and quickly stood up.

Robert extended his hand toward Eddie. As Eddie tried to figure out the meaning of this gesture, Robert turned his arm. Eddie froze in place as if rooted to the ground, staring at the tattoo on Robert’s wrist. He quickly looked over at John. John, who had approached with the towel still tied around his waist, was also looking at Robert’s extended hand.

John asked in astonishment, "003? What does that mean?"

Eddie’s voice was filled with mixed emotions. "You’re one of them… like Eleven," he said.

Robert nodded in confirmation. Eddie ran his hands over his face, muttering, "But… How? Why? What?"

Robert responded with a sly smile on his face. "You couldn’t even figure out where it was coming from, could you, Eddie? Why I was so determined to see you dead? Because he wanted it. Vecna. Henry, to be precise."

Eddie spoke as if the air had been knocked out of him. "You knew about Vecna all along. You knew about the murders. You knew everything. Even while we were running."

Robert nodded in acknowledgment of Eddie’s words.

Eddie’s gaze was fixed on Robert. The questions in his mind grew with every passing second. "I don’t understand. What are you doing here?" he asked.

Robert took a deep breath and answered with a composed expression. "I started working for Vecna, and we became… connected, in a way. If he dies, I die too. So I have to do whatever he wants. When I came here, my main goal was to have you executed. But then I realized something even Vecna didn’t know. Eddie, you’re not so different from me after all."

Eddie’s eyes narrowed further. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Robert continued, "You remember the day Violet was hooked up to the electroshock machine. Two people in the room went into a trance and died. You saw it, didn’t you?"

Unwillingly, Eddie nodded.

Robert’s words were chilling. "That wasn’t Vecna. It was you, " Robert said with conviction.

Eddie’s teeth clenched as he retorted angrily, "You’re lying."

Robert maintained his composure as if he had anticipated this reaction. "Believe me or don’t. Until that moment, even I didn’t understand. Because Vecna wasn’t there. I can feel him. I know where he is. He was definitely not there that day. And I wasn’t doing it either. Something like that requires great power, pain, and anger. And at that moment, you were the only one in the room with those feelings. You did it."

Eddie’s voice rose, filled with conflicting emotions. "I didn’t do anything! I… I don’t have any connection to Vecna! I’ve never even seen him alive!"

Robert stepped closer to Eddie and pointed to his side, where his kidneys were. "You don’t need to see him to be connected to him. The demobats bit you. Hive mind. You’re connected to him now. So Eddie, if Vecna gets hurt, if he dies, you’re connected to him. You’ll die too. You have powers you don’t even know about yet. And you don’t realize how dangerous you are."

Eddie’s eyes were burning with anger. "I don’t believe a single word you’re saying, Robert. Even if I assumed it was true, I would never serve him," he declared with determination.

Robert smirked mockingly and shrugged. "You don’t choose to serve him, idiot. He uses you whenever he wants. Since you were bitten, has he ever tried to come and hunt you down? Have you ever found yourself passed out without meaning to?" he asked.

John, overwhelmed by the conversation, raised both hands in the air. "Wait, wait. What’s a demobat? I don’t understand anything. Is someone going to explain this to me?" he asked desperately.

Robert began speaking calmly, as if giving a lecture. "Vecna was once a normal but dangerous kid with superpowers. I was the same. I was always different. But one day, in the lab where the doctor who wanted to test our power worked, something happened. A portal to another dimension was opened. Vecna is now the king there. And everything connected to that place serves him. Eddie was bitten by the creatures there. And he quite literally came back from the dead. You remember, don’t you, Eddie?"

Eddie lowered his head and said nothing.

Taking encouragement from the silence, Robert continued. "Your survival isn’t a miracle. You weren’t supposed to live. He brought you back to life. Just like he brought me back and bound me to him. Now, you were saying we’re not the same, that we’re different. Doesn’t seem so different to me, huh?"

As these words echoed in Eddie’s mind, he couldn’t help but ask another question. "What you said about Violet. Were you serious?"

Robert, exuding confidence, raised his hand and moved his fingers one by one. "I have my own tricks."

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