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san8ny · 7 months ago

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Intermission

Ellie Williams <3

Synopsis: Ellie and you haven’t spoken since highschool, you two never really that close. One day, the all-star hits you up upon getting kicked out. You down to help her steal from her own childhood home or nah?

w.c: 4.1k / warnings include: Ellie is a bit rude in the beginning, some Joel slander, she’s just hella uptight, mutual pining, kissing, she makes out with your hooha, but it’s hot. ;-;

“Am I even doing this right?” you mutter down at the pocket knife you had angled, poorly sharpening it’s blade with the edge of the worn-down whetstone you and Ellie happened to find upon arrival to Joel’s cabins.

She gives you, and both the board, a once-over before turning back to the picture frames lined up on the wall, “Sure.” Rolling your eyes, you throw the knife onto the counter, “You know, I didn’t know he had such a swanky place.”

“Yeah. Reeaal swanky.” She huffs, scrunching her brows in annoyance when the clatter of the knife you’d just thrown doesn’t quiet down immediately, “You find the checkbook yet?”

Ah, the checkbook. You almost forgot she recruited you out here to practically rob her adoptive dad blind.

I mean, fuck, had you had the luck of being in her place— living so lavishly, you’d let the bastard yell at you all he wanted.

Dragging your finger tips across the wooden counter, careful to not splinter them, you push yourself off where you were leaning, and walk towards the stairs, “Doesn’t it make sense for him to like, I don’t know, have it upstairs?”

Ellie runs a hand down her tired face, letting out a huge sigh before turning towards when you stand near the railing, your foot already placed on the first step. Why didn’t she think of that before? She gives you the green light, following behind as you ascend up the stairs. She finds her breath hitched and her eyes closing in further irritation when you suddenly stop, her face parallel with your lower back due to the step-to-height difference.

“Is that you?” You say, a smile stretching on your face as you point towards the meek framed photo that hung above the handrail, depicting a pre-teen Ellie in a science museum tee, Joel slightly crouched behind her with two thumbs up. You almost would have missed the small smile she has in the snapshot had you had nor squinted, “Didn’t know you had a dimple. Do still have it?” You ask, turning down towards where she stood.

“No. Now move.” She huffs, bumping your shoulder as she takes lead, climbing up the rest of the stairs. Rude. Nonetheless, you follow her as you enter into the main hallway. How the hell was a cabin this big? you’re only in it for, like, less than a season— Right? Not like you would know, the fanciest thing you’d ever seen was the time you went to Dina’s Bat Mizvah down at the community center and got to see a chocolate fountain, granted it was years ago, it’s the closest thing you’d ever experienced comparisable to ‘upper echelon.’

She seemingly notices your distant stare, harshly bringing her palms together in a large clap thus pulling you out of your thoughts. Clearly taken aback, you meet her blank gaze, “You take the attic, i’ll take the main bedroom”

“Where—

“Down the hall, to your left. You’ll see the ladder cord hanging.” She cuts you off, already walking away and into one of the many doors you could only assume led to Joel’s bedroom. Okay! This should be easy!

It was not easy.

On your hands and knees, you cough uncontrollably from the dust that blocks insulation. It errupted when you pulled the damn ceiling ladder cord down. All this money and they couldn’t fucking dust it once in a while? Wait, when was the last time this place was even entered? That was the question you asked as you slowly tip-toed up with wide eyes. immediate, you’re met with U-haul boxes, plastic dinosaur figurines and some comics.

In that moment, you smile a bit as you kneel on the floor, grabbing the Stegosaurus and T-rex as you gently knock them against eachother, playing with them.

Though you swear you were being satirical when you began toying with them, you couldn’t help thoughts drift to a younger Ellie playing with these like you were. She’d probably always call dibs on the Carnivore, giving the other person an eyeroll when they cry at how unfair she was being for never giving them a turn at being the razor-bearing predator. ‘Skill issue’ she’s also snicker when the kids run back to their parents.

When you finally put them down after some time, you walk over to one of the several moving boxes. Some tattered, some dirty and some even still closed up. It was wrong for you to have been snooping around her childhood home, sure, but she’s also stealing from her own said home— so you can’t be that bad. Reaching into the closest one near you, you pull out a small velvet belt. One that stroke resemblance to the ones you’d see in the cheesy karate-cop movies your dad had been a fan of. Another, and another and shortly, you have a large array of belts, with at the very bottom of the box containing a small plaque of achievements, ‘Ellie Williams’ printed in fine, gold lettering, ‘Graduate from the Jackson institute of Martial Arts.’

Of course, she was a prodigy at everything. What wasn’t Ellie good at? She’d been your highschool’s valedictorian a couple years back when you both were about to graduate, given the golden chance to speak at the commencing, well, was. That was before passing the chance onto the second runner without a second thought; she claimed she wasn’t the talking type and just casually went about her day, like it wasnt the opportunity most students would have killed for. Students like you, who spent all night and day to even make a dent in the social stratosphere that was highschool.

Given now you both were in your early 20’s, you still hold admiration for Ellie. Maybe that’s why when she randomly called you to hangout after years, you didn’t question it, or even second guess yourself.

How long Ellie had been standing there watching you coo over her baby pictures was something you, and both she couldn’t answer. Originally wanting to smack you on the head or scare you, she couldn’t help but lean against the attic wall, eyeing the way you carefully place her achievements down like they were the most important thing to you.

You’d always been like that since Ellie can recall meeting you. Always so nice, so sensible, always the first one in the room to make light out of nothing. You definitely would have been burnt on the cross or something for just how smiley you were if you were alive back in that day. Ellie found you interesting in ways she couldn’t configure why.

She and Joel had a falling out a couple of weeks ago. He cut her off of all financial support, insisting she get a job or a higher education like her peers were. A few profanities and insults were thrown around, leading eventually to her getting kicked out. Funny. Though she never cared about being embarrassed or the opinions of others, she did feel some sort of seeping humiliation. So, with the money she had, she booked a hotel and called you up. She chuckles when she remembers the first time she sent the address, your hesitancy to type back as you get the wrong, but expected idea,

‘ .’.im not fucking u lol’

‘wth no I got kicked out’

‘OHHH srry!!! D: ‘

The chuckle that hears behind startles, your grip seemingly loosening on the picture frame you had in-hand meeting the floor in cruel shatters. Quiet consumes you both with your hands shaking erratically, “O-oh my god? i’m so sorry, I don’t even know why I did that. fuckfuckfuck!! It was an accident. I can pay for that! Like, i’m so so sorry—l” you frantically plead with her, your eyes alternating from her and the bloody gla—bloody?

“You’re bleeding.” Ellie sighs, softly reaching forward to grab your wrist, pulling you around the mess you caused. You didn’t even realize you were until you felt the blood drip from your ankles down to your shins, staining your bleach-white socks in scarlet droplets.

“I messed up, Ellie, i’m really sorry.”

“Can you like, stop apologizing? It’s fine. Didn’t even know when that picture was taken anyways.”

Somehow, her words worsen your hysteric state, you sinking down back onto your knees as you sob. Oh god, she didn’t even know when that picture was taken meaning it’s that long ago. Ellie stares at you clearly with a panicked look, not really knowing how to comfort you— or anyone for that matter. Again, you were more of the sensible one between them, even if you two hadn’t exactly been all that close growing up in the same town, school and similarly interconnected friend groups. ‘What would you do?’ So, Ellie slightly crouches down, her squeaky sneakers noising as she awkwardly encircles her arms around you. Clearly taken aback by this gesture, you peer up from where your head was buried inbetween your knees and instead, at Ellie, who’s usual laid-back expression is replaced with furrowed brows, her eyes not meeting yours and some reddening on her cheeks. “Y-you’ve seen the picture frames around, man, I see myself all the time. It’s fine.”

You sniffle abit before giving her a coherent answer that isn’t just hiccups, “Im sorry.” She sighs before slightly reaching up to pat your head, “Please stop crying, I think i’m more off-put by your ugly cries than you breaking shit.” That tugs a laugh out of you, pushing Ellie away as she matches your grin. “I mean look, you ruined my tee.” She wasn’t lying, you look down to her white tee and it was absolutely soaked with shed tears belonging to you. You gently run your thumbs over her chest in a bad attempt to wipe your embarassingly smeared mascara off, but it only recieves a small whine from Ellie, who backs away immediately. You’re left confused when she gets up, clearing her voice. “We should continue searching.” With that, she leaves the attic, leaving you up there and with multiple. How could ones demeanor change that often? You almost noticed the sensitivity in her chest.

“Pfft, softie.” You mutter, a smile on your lips as you follow her down. Eventually, Ellie is the one to find the book, it’s placed inbetween some folded jeans. ‘Fuck yeah..’ She bites her chapped lip as she flips through it. Enough pages for her, and a good forged signature she’d mastered when he’d be too lazy to sign her field trip permission slips— guess something did pay off. You stand there with crossed arms, feeling a bit squeamish all of a sudden, like the thought had hit you finally, Ellie is moving away. She notices you when she lifts her gaze up, puzzled with your stance, “I told you it’s okay, the picture frame can be replaced.”

“I don’t want you to move away.”

“What.”

“I won’t repeat myself.” You shake your head defiantly, standing your ground when she towers over you, all these years and when you two have somewhat of a bond, she wants to move away? And maybe yeah, you had it coming, being easily-attached to somehow who’d you’d only started recently hanging out with. “What makes you think I care?” She mocks, looking at you like you’d grown an extra head, she’s almost astonished with your stupidity, why would she have dragged you all the way here to just, stay? Something with the way she says those words churns humility deep in your gut, who were you to even admit that to her? You flail around your arms passively as you back away, a croak in your throat, “Just something I said. You’re a cool person.”

“Right, well, I got the checkbook meaning we can get the hell out. Seeing this place almost makes me want to not drain Joel’s pockets.” She yawns, throwing you the book before retreating into one of the previous rooms, though before, she asks, “Say, where’d we put the keys?”

Who had the keys?

Comically enough, sirens began to faintly hear in the back, and your gaze locks onto Ellie’s, “Fuck— find the keys.” She says, running back into the room. How petty was her dad to call the police on them? Well, petty enough to have alarms laying around incase his thieving daughter comes around. You, instantly begin to eye around for them, palms growing clammy at the aspect of being arrested now comes into plan as the sirens grow closer. Finding them, you call out to Ellie who seemingly was already on her way once she heard the jingles of them, “Out the back. You’re gonna run, and not turn back, ‘alright?” She whispers, grabbing you and running towards the kitchen door once the front door is knocked.

Once it’s kicked in, Ellie manages to get out with a groan, definitely a bruiser, but nonetheless, they make it out of the area without getting caught. While she hasn’t broken a sweat yet, you were coughing up a storm like you were earlier, eyes tearing up as you let them out in fits. She gently rubs your back, looking around for where their parked car was, it was a good idea they’d parked so far away- granted it was flawed in multiple ways, it came out in their good favor. Once you’d caught your breath, Ellie hums, “You know where we parked?” You nod, looking around, “Yeah. near the marked tree, you smeared my lipstick over it..” She scrunches her nose to prevent a loud laugh from coming out, your sadness over lipstick being funny to her, “Right. That way.”

You both find the car and enter, ellie starting the car as she backs up and maneuvers around the various tall trees it was parked around before getting onto the main road. You don’t say anything for the majority of the one hour ride, those 60 minutes feeling like the longest ones to Ellie who’s gotten use to your talkitive habits. So when she asks you if you want aux, you shake your head— deflating her mood. She sighs, lighting up a cigarette at the light and rolling down the window. You just lean your head back and rest your eyes, emotions running through that you couldn’t even seem to process. Tiredness, embarrassment of her flat out saying she’d never stay for you, getting almost booked by the police, and just ones you didn’t want to acknowledge at all. You wanted to just, go to sleep.

Ellie, on the otherhand, feels nothing but anxiety gnawing at her. Why does she care so much whether you talk to her or not? She’s never even liked talking, and somehow, the thought of never speaking to you again after this makes her feel nauseous. Would you text her? Call her? Visit her if she left? Would you buy the nearest train ticket if she told you one day to come when she settles into her new place? Or would you just move on? Would you move onto some cooler girl in town to befriend? Some other girl you’d look up to, some other girl who would show you the hidden gems around town you’d been asking her to, Fuck— some other girl you’d give all your affection to. Ellie swerves the car, and had it not been your quick-wit to pull the steering back, she might have crashed the vehicle.

Pulling over, she places her head lightly on the leather wheel while you stare at her in bewilderment, “Are you crazy?! What was that?!” You say with a slight twitch in your eye at her loss of control.

“I don’t want to move away.”

“You literally have to, we’re on the side of the road and your emergency lights aren’t on so.”

“I’ll stay.”

“You can’t, that’s like, against the rules. I don’t know, my permit is expired.” First order of business, obtain a license.

“In Jackson. I’ll stay in Jackson.” She mumbles, lifting her head up to stare at you. This feels like a joke to you, like Ellie might just begin laughing at you when you show the tiniest bit of you of relief. So, you just match her stare, tiling your head. “Why?” Why? What do you mean why? Ellie wants to scream, why don’t you look happy? She’s staying for you.

“Just..wanted to.” She says after a beat or two, pulling the car back onto the road as she nears your house. Giving a curt nod, you look out the window, your knees feeling wobbly like a teenage girl all over again as you suppress asking questions to the clearly disoriented freckled girl. Once on arrival, Ellie expects you to leave and slam that door but instead, you sit there for a bit.

“My mom isn’t here.” You say, chewing your inner-cheek.

“You don’t have a spare key or ‘sum?”

“No no I do, it’s just— want to come in?” You ask her with big eyes, your hands folded on your lap like a child on their best behavior to get something.

“Did your mom bake that pie you got me last time?” She’s referring to the Cherry Pie your mom made last time you two hung out.

“Is the sky blue?” You say, with a smile, trying to lighten the mood that’ll need more than just that to recover.

“It’s grey but I see your point. I’ll go park, leave the front door open.” She smiles when you nod, skipping out of the car and into your home.

When she does so, and enters your door, she’s met with a warm wafting smell of baked goods. Ellie might gave been fairly thin, but she had a nose on her, leading her to the kitchen. You’ve changed out of your dirty clothes, she notices, you now wearing some small pajama shorts and a tanktop. You’re bent over the oven, grabbing the treats out of the pre-heated oven your mother had likely left them in to retain warmth.

“You’ve got to stop doing that.” You mutter, almost dropping the tray of food while Ellie smirks

“Can’t really promise accepting an apology if you dropped those.” She says, walking on over to where you stood by the kitchen island. Something in the way she says that so..flirtatiously, makes you look back at her twice. “Whatever. Do me a favor, take the plates out while I cut the pieces.” Ellie nods, walking over to the several arrays of cabinets. Though, upon doing so, she notices your refrigerator, decorated in colorful magnets, children’s literature and most of all, a picture of you, and an older woman. You were younger, hair a bit longer than you had it now, and a wide grin with your front tooth missing. You couldn’t of been older than 6, Ellie thinks. Smiley.

“This your mom?” she asks, running her fingerpads alongst the smooth film while you hum, nodding. “Yeah, it’s my mom” You say, handing her a slice of piece when she gives you the plate, “You look alike.” Ellie concludes when you two begin walking upstairs to your room.

It was certainly your room, is what the auburnette thinks as she sits on your bed. Messy bedsheets you never got to make, clothes scattered near your closet and other things you never got to clean up when she’d called you up this morning at such an ungodly time to divulge you in on her scheme,

though now, upon her decision to stay in the town, it seemed a bit for nothing. It’d be a funny story to tell with you. With you, she thinks, watching as you chew the treat and sit on the rugged floor as you flip through TV channels. Eventually settling on some show Ellie never knew was still even airing. She quietly sinks from the bed, onto the floor herself, sitting close to you as your gaze stays glued to the blaring screen, flashes of color reflecting onto your face as each scene passes. Ellie finds herseld staring at you, a person she once found so inconspicuous now becoming the very reasoning she stays in a town she hates so much. Whatever you had the girl under needed to be looked at.

“Do you like me?” Is what she wants to ask, but “Do you have a boyfriend?” is what she settles for.

You turn to her, meekly shaking your head. Since when was she sat so close to you?

Ellie nods, looking back at the show to get you to, before asking another question, “Girlfriend?” You shrug, “I mean, I use to talk to this one girl..”You mutter, before Ellie finds herself furthering it, “What happened?”

You sigh, before pointing a finger, “Don’t laugh.” you glare. Ellie smiles, nodding. “She told me she was straight after like 2 days AND THEN, i saw her kissing on Judy.” Ellie snorts, “No fucking way, Judy the librarian?” You nod, burying your face in a nearby throw pillow.

“I need a drink.” You mutter, getting up and leaving the room with Ellie in it. You return shortly after with a bottle of wine and some glasses. The girl groans as she stretches, “Now you’re talking. Pour me some.”

Eventually, the topic heads in the way of relationships once more, with you two telling each other of your awful sex lives in the majority straight town Jackson was as you sip.

As Ellie tells one, you find your eyes feeling heavy, alternating between her green eyes down to her pale pink lips. You nod, poorly attempting to give the illusion you were following along with whatever she was saying. Ellie, herself, wasn’t all that there but she was better. She’d stopped talking long ago and was just moving her lips with no dialogue coming out whatsoever, seeing if you’d ask why she halted her story. She licks her lips, leaning back as she places her glass down on the nightstand near her— jean-clad thighs spread tantalizingly as your gaze drops to them.

Her years of martial arts and track did her well, you admit, hoping it wasn’t obvious you were ogling the girl.

“Were you mad at me earlier?” you whisper, fidgeting with the loose seam of her jeans as you notice the difference in how she was acting at the cabin, and how she is now. Ellie hums, matching your small voice. “I was more so mad at myself.” She answers you, her hand finding where yours toys with a string, “Not at you.”

You nod, not really having anything to say.

“Can I kiss you?” you finally utter, liquid courage taking over as Ellie thumbs your soft hips from where you sit so closely. She gives you a soft ‘yeah’, pulling you onto her lap. You begin by littering feathery pecks along her jaw, her sensitivity earlier when you touched her chest beginning to make sense when goosebumps begin to arise along her pale skin, her nipples hardening as the hair on her neck stands before kissing her deeply.

You two kiss slowly for a while, finding some rhythm as it slowly turns into something else. You gently gasp when Ellie rocks your hips onto her thigh, making you detach from her mouth and straddle it the way she wants you to. The rough texture against her jeans on your soft shorts makes you huff a bit, face burning up as you grip her shoulders.

“You’re my sweet girl, you can do it.” She murmurs lowly, watching you grind all over her, your slick slowly starting to seep onto her denim pants— all like she wanted. You nod, frustrated to the brim of tears when you can’t seem to fuck yourself on her thigh well. Ellie pushes you down, caging your legs in between her hips as she tilts her head back down, "Seems like you're not the only sweet girl wanting my attention.." She smiles as you moan, the heel of her palm placed directly on your touch-starved mound, giving it just enough pressure and angling to make you whine out a small 'Ellie..'

She gives you finally what you want, sliding your shorts to the side and sighs when she sees just what a mess has been waiting for her.

No underwear?

You attempt to leverage yourself by sitting up on your elbows but Ellie pushes you down, hiking your hips up even more with a singular grasp of your shins as she kisses directly on your puffy pussy, your messy sap smearing all over her lips before giving you a grin,

Oh, you'd pay her what she was worth alright. Maybe returning Joel's checkbook can wait after this.

[All credits to the owner of the picture above!! i got it from popipa on pinterest]

#tlou 2 #Ellie Williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x f!reader #wlw #tlou 2 smut #sapphic #ellie williams blurbs #ellie williams hcs #ellie williams smut #the last of us hbo #the last of us game

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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I thought that this 1885 Victorian in Helena, Montana was so pretty with it's colorful paint designs and rounded porches, and it is lovely inside, but it has one peculiar feature. 3bds, 3ba, $500K.

The front door opens to reveal a beautifully delicate railing and an original fireplace. The floor has been replaced and they added a lovely inlaid circle. There's also a wonderful original light fixture.

That divider piece is so pretty.

This entrance hall is amazing. Look at the windows, railing, and fireplace.

In the sitting room is a gorgeous fireplace- look at the tiles! And, even the fire screen is beautiful.

In the dining room is a lovely built-in china cabinet and it looks like the former owners left that sideboard.

And, then we enter the next room. What the hell is this? Beautiful fireplace, a built-in cabinet, original doors with transoms, and this monstrosity of a shower with a toilet standing there. Note the 2 industrial lights above the shower. I think that if they needed a shower it could've been done nicer. This is a big room, they could've enclosed it.

They have a closeup of the beautiful fireplace, but that shower and toilet ruin it.

I'm not keen on the modernized powder room, but I prefer it to the one in the other room.

I kind of like the vintage kitchen.

But, this. The size of this Aga stove. It's worth about $32,000. Also love the exhaust hood. I would buy this house for the stove and tear that stupid bathroom out & redo it.

There's lots of storage. The backsplash would have to go, it's much too modern.

The primary bedroom is large and has a door to the wonderful 2nd fl. porch out front.

This pretty bedroom is a good size and has a sweet stained glass transom. Love the lilac trim and crown molding.

Not lovin' this tub, but the room is kind of cute.

There's lots of potential in the attic and the current owners started to finish it, so the insulation and new windows are in and the other supplies are here.

There's no garage, but there's a large parking area.

Nice big yard. The lot is .29 acre.

Beautiful mountain scenery across the way.

They included this helpful diagram- since an Aga stove has no knobs and is always on, you simply select the oven you need. Like, if you want to roast something, you would choose the upper right oven, and if you want to keep the dish warm after cooking, you just transfer it to the oven on the lower left. Same thing with the burners on top. I think that the newer models come with rings so, if you wanted a lower heat you would use 2 or 3 rings to raise the pot or pan.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1701-Cannon-St-Helena-MT-59601/78160724_zpid/

#victorian house #victorian architecture #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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cleolinda · 1 year ago

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I grew up in a haunted house and I didn’t notice

This is not a story about boo ghosts or shadow people. If it were, I would have figured it out, at least.

When I say "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice," you have to understand that there was a lot going on with this house. It's not the house that I've written about currently living in, the one with newspaper and soda cans stuffed where insulation should have been, the one with constant home-repair calamities. No, my childhood home was a crumbling pile of red brick built in the 1920s. Narnia was in the backyard, and the back deck was my ship on the high seas. The house was surrounded by banks of flowers, lilies and irises and roses, and it was full of creepy shit I didn’t even blink at. I loved it.

It didn't look haunted, or even particularly historical. It was almost disappointingly normal—I lived on a street with a house that had a turret, for God's sake. No, it was just old and small. There's a lot of pre-Depression houses getting torn down in these suburbs; my town has been awash in construction for the last 20-30 years as people buy up cheap old houses, raze them, and squeeze mini-mansions onto their tiny lots, all to get their kids into a good school system. It gives me a chill to think of it, but yeah, that might happen to my childhood home someday, small and plain and unassuming as it is. My pirate ship has already been renovated into an extra bedroom, the new owners told us.

When we moved into the house in 1983, though—it had clearly been renovated in the '60s or '70s; the wallpaper was hideous, and the upstairs bathroom was carpeted. Shag-carpeted. The house had closets the size of shoeboxes; my bedroom, the one with the peach wallpaper, didn't even have one. The room down the hall had four, including one cut into the wall, under a slanted ceiling tucked beneath the roof, that looked like you'd stash a witch there when the Salem HOA came by. There was a fan in the attic—well, first of all, the attic was just one more room on that upstairs floor. It was directly across from the (carpeted) bathroom, and that room (lit by one ominous, hanging bulb) was just a short corridor with storage spaces on either side, hidden behind big sliding doors. And the fan at the very end was built into the brick outer wall of the house. Like our house was functionally open to the elements, between the blades of that fan. I have no idea what the fuck anyone was thinking when they built that, and how the fuck anyone kept the wildlife out.

We certainly couldn't. Squirrels lived in the roof and bowled with acorns. It was like listening to a pinball machine at night. I have an abject horror of cockroaches because sometimes an adventurous one would fall off the ceiling in the middle night, onto me, while I was trying to sleep. (Like, try to imagine that—you’re awakened from a dead sleep by a vague, paper-light skittering sensation up and down your arm. When Pennywise comes to me, he will show up as a cockroach.) But wait! There was more! We had herds of crickets in the basement that felt compelled to jump at people. Sometimes there were centipedes! Those were polite enough to only come out at night. In the dark.

By the way, that basement was totally unfinished. I don't mean that it just had exposed beams or concrete walls. I mean that the basement had uneven, mostly shoulder-high masonry walls, and then it was just open on three sides, extending under the rest of the house. Like just dry red Alabama earth and rocks and grainy dust tumbling around in this vast, dark—it wasn't even a crawl space, a child could have stood upright in it. This child? Oh fuck no. And the washer and dryer were down there. I had to creep down there, down a rickety plank staircase, past the staring dark caverns of my own basement, through a low-lying fog of aggressive crickets, go BEHIND THE STAIRCASE, and then do my laundry there. There was also a firewood pile by an old fridge, and only God knew what was under that.

None of this was haunted. All of this was completely normal to me. This isn't even the haunted part.

So let's go back upstairs. The ground floor was lovely, homey, fine except for the time the living room ceiling fell out due to water damage. Upstairs was where it got weird. I've talked about being mildly bullied as an unknowingly autistic child; home was where I felt safe. In my bedroom upstairs, I had all those My Little Ponies and my easel with all my crayon-drawn fantasy maps and all the stories I wrote. It didn't matter if roaches fell on me in the deeps of the night; home, that's where I was happy. So when I was a young kid and I felt like a vampire was following me down the hall at night, I assumed I was just being silly.

I was aware of vampires in the 1980s as, like, the Count on Sesame Street (ah ah aaah), and Count Chocula, and Count Duckula on Nickelodeon, and the Bunnicula books that I loved. As a kid, I wasn't aware of movies like The Lost Boys or Near Dark, or any vampires that weren't broad caricatures of the Bela Lugosi look. I loved Spooky Stuff—I'm from the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark generation—but vampires didn't scare me.

But when I had to get up in the middle of the night to go down the hall to the (carpeted) bathroom, I always had the sensation that something was following me as I was going back to my room. Something Dark. Not terribly tall, maybe not even much taller than me. And somehow, I visualized this deep in my mind as a vampire. Kind of a silly one, you know, the white-tie formal wear and the ribbon medal and the cape. I wasn't desperately scared that a Chocula was behind me, but I knew that I needed to get back to my room quick, and, at all costs, I must never look back. I must never look over my shoulder or else I would See It, something silly massing in the dark—and, brother, Eurydice would have been safe with me. Never stop running, never look back.

And I'm sure all kinds of kids develop little superstitions like this. It's probably a developmental thing, like having an imaginary friend (which I also had at some point). Even as a seven year old, I was thinking, This is silly, I'm just making it up (but not looking back costs nothing. Not looking at monsters is free). And I continued to think this, until I laughingly told my younger sister this at Sunday Family Dinner one night. We were both in our thirties at that point. And my sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears. And she told me that when she had a bedroom upstairs, there was Something in there.

I won't belabor the exact setup, but at one point, we got it into our heads that we'd like to switch bedrooms, just for a change. I was 14, and I moved to her ground floor bedroom with the flowered white wallpaper and the big bright windows, and she went upstairs and took my room with the peach wallpaper and the cool slanted roof-ceiling (and no closet).

There were three other rooms on that upper floor (and I promise you this is important):

1) One was a small, windowless room that we used as a playroom, with weird cerulean blue carpet and sky blue wallpaper, one dim light fixture, and a little door in the wall that led to dark nothing. Like, you opened it, and you were confronted by a mass of pipes and machinery and just enough space to edge leftwards in the dark. Towards what? Fuck if I know, I sure as hell wasn't going in there. I think it was supposed to be for access to the HVAC system. I don't know. It was fucked. But when I was a young child, I had cooked for my baby dolls at our plastic play kitchen right next to that door, nbd, because apparently you put me in a creepy situation and I just go, yeah, we live like this now.

(I had not ever felt alone in that playroom, but I had also been too young to articulate that. Of course I wasn’t alone! I was with my dolls!)

2) The next room was the (shag-carpeted) bathroom. It had a big mirror over the sink counter, very typical, facing a vertical mirror that was behind the bathroom door. I've heard two mirrors facing each other can create a portal for the spirits, if you believe in that kind of thing. I once did the "Bloody Mary" thing there and nothing happened, idk.

3) The next room was the bedroom with four closets, where an older family member lived with us, and when she moved out, my sister moved to that room.

?) The fourth room, not really a room, was the dark, narrow attic.

So, Grownup Family Dinner at my current house, a few years ago: my sister told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her. I'm not sure if she actually said it lived in the little Hide A Witch closet or if it was just kind of... ambient. I don't know what it looked like, or if we're talking about ghosts or Something... Darker, or what. I don't think she's entirely sure herself. She doesn't like to talk about it in detail a whole lot. What I know is that she felt it was there, and she had chosen that room to sleep in as a young teenager, and not a lot of sleep was to be had.

"I never really sensed anything, like… demonic," I said, puzzled. "Just the Chocula that followed me." And my sister was like, ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF??

"What about Rebecca??" she sputtered.

Oh, yeah: Rebecca. (A name I've changed at my sister's request.) I had a friend as a teenager who liked to mess around with ouija boards (AM I LISTENING TO MYSELF?), and we did a session at her house one time wherein we discovered that the ghost of a girl? young woman? named Rebecca lived (so to speak) at my house, and she had been murdered by her boyfriend. How we arrived at these specifics, I don’t remember, but I had told my sister about it because I thought it was interesting, and also, I was kind of a shit. My friend also decided she had her own ghost named Dusty. It was all one big [citation needed, footage not found], but it was also part of our family lore.

So, many years later, my sister told me that she had long felt—without knowing about the Chocula—that there were two spirits on the upper floor of our childhood home: the dark one, and a younger, lighter one. I sat there at the kitchen table and thought about it.

"You know, I did kind of feel like there was someone up there, when I was a kid," I said. "Sometimes I would go into the attic, and it felt scary, but like there was something there watching that was okay? Like having a lamp on in a dark room, kind of. It’s weird, because it’s just a feeling, I remember it very clearly, but I didn’t really question it or wonder."

I thought a bit more.

"Oh yeah—there was also the time I just really felt compelled to go color in the playroom by myself at midnight, and it kind of felt like someone was there."

My sister stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone "go white" until that moment.

"Yeah, I just woke up and had this idea—I was maybe nine years old? That it would be super cool to do stuff at night when I was supposed to be asleep, so I got a flashlight and went into the playroom—"

"IN THE DARK??"

"Well, yeah. If I had turned on the light, someone would have seen it and told me to go back to bed. So I set this flashlight on the floor and got out the crayons and colored in one of my coloring books a while. Maybe the She-Ra one?"

Thinking back on it now—of course I was sitting right by the scary door. I think we all, you and I, saw that coming.

"And I had the same feeling I had in the attic. Like someone was sitting on the floor across from me, friendly, I guess I would say female, and it was cool. Like, it was chill."

My sister looked like she was about to pass out.

"I don’t really know how I could sense this then but not really say anything about it, or even think about it, until now," I said, shrugging. "I’m probably imagining it."

I’ll throw in here that one of the dolls I had in that room was a Raggedy Ann. Like, just for extra hilarity, Wee Cleo is hanging out, coloring, at midnight, with a ghost and a fuckin’ Annabelle.

So: My sister is adamant that our childhood home was haunted. And apparently I was entirely blasé about it (maybe possessed?), but then, I was dealing with a lot of suburban wildlife. My problems with that house were far more immediate. And crawly. Nor can we prove that the house was haunted—I certainly haven’t looked up any homicide records—and I don’t think that Vibes, In Retrospect, are valid evidence on my part. But I find it interesting that I knew what she was talking about. I find it interesting that I was like, "Yeah, that was chill." And I find it interesting that when I went away to college, and I lived in a dorm suite where sometimes I’d be the only person there while my roommates were out,

I remember noticing that it was the first time I’d ever felt alone in a room.

Who was that imaginary friend I'd had?

I asked my sister to read over this, partly because I wanted to see if she’d be willing to describe the Something Dark.

"Oh, I’ll tell you anything you want," she texted back, "but that’s not how it happened."

#part one of two #me for some reason #story time with cleo #tl;dr my childhood home was fucked up and I was hilariously unbothered about it #insects cw #long post #the haunting of jones house #spooky season #halloween everyday #first look on patreon

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yokohamapound · 11 days ago

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This is very silly - but what would the reactions be of the ADA to you, a friend, abruptly crashing through the ceiling?

“Hey, Ron.” “Hey, Billy.”

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Nakajima Atsushi, Izumi Kyouka, Tanizaki Jun'ichirou, Edogawa Ranpo, Yosano Akiko, Fukuzawa Yukichi

Contents: gn! reader, falling through ceilings

Dazai Osamu

Dazai does a credible job of masking any surprise when you come collapsing through the ceiling. Do you know why? Because he isn’t surprised at all. He’s sitting on one of the green couches in the reception area, his headphones cupped over his ears, when the ceiling splits open and dumps you into the office.

His eyes flicker open briefly as your form rushes past him to tumble to the floor at his feet in a cascade of insulation and plaster.

You’ll never know whether or not he deliberately loosened that board in the loft before he sent you rooting around up there for whatever obscure object he wanted from storage, but you have your suspicions, and he knows you have your suspicions.

“Nice of you to drop in. The vacuum’s around here somewhere. Best not leave that mess or Kunikida will go through the roof, and then we’ll have a skylight.”

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida is just trying to get through his day, to follow his schedule, and make sure that all his paperwork is filled out correctly and on time.

Imagine his despair when you crash through the ceiling tiles and land on his desk. He stiffens, then expels a deep, bone weary sigh as plaster dust settles on his shoulders and hair, making him look like he’s turning prematurely grey—which he might, at this rate.

He removes his glasses and takes out a small cloth to polish the dust off them, before placing them back on his face and pushing them back up the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

“I presume you’re not injured?” When you assure him that you’re winded but nothing’s broken, he nods. “I’m going to have to fill out another purchase order for building repairs. I really don’t have time for this.”

Nakajima Atsushi

Poor Atsushi. He’s just minding his own business when you come crashing through into the office. His jaw falls open, but he’s only shocked for a moment. His hero complex kicks in and he throws himself forward, slamming into the ground a moment before you do and letting his own body break your fall.

Martyr much, Atsushi?

“Are you okay?” he babbles, when you roll off him.

He’s fussing like an old woman, trying to pat you down to make sure nothing is broken.

“Do you need to go to the hospital? What happened?!”

Yosano Akiko

Yosano’s been with the Armed Detective Agency for long enough that she’s seen almost everything in her time. You stepping on a busted floor panel up in the lift and falling ass-over-teakettle through the ceiling?

No biggie.

She emerges from her medical room, already snapping on a pair of latex gloves with alarming efficiency. Her eyes glint.

“Oh, dear. That looks like it hurts. Shall I make it better?”

“No! No, I’m fine, just winded!”

“Now, now, you might have broken something…”

Izumi Kyouka

For all her apparently stoic, emotionless demeanour, Kyouka hasn’t lost her startle reflex. When you come tumbling in from the loft, she immediately suspects it is some kind of targeted attack from the Port Mafia, the Guild, the Rats in the Hall of the Dead, the Hunting Dogs (dude, the ADA has got to up their life-insurance policies), or even some new threat.

She launches Demon Snow into attack mode, only to realise it’s you face-planting amidst a snowdrift of broken plaster and crap from storage.

“...”

Kyouka stares at you.

“You should be more careful.”

Gee, thanks, Kyouka.

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo’s been waiting for this to happen to someone ever since he noticed the hairline crack running along the ceiling plaster. The second he heard someone tell you to go upstairs and rummage through those boxes of old files, he’s been counting down the moments.

“Five, four, three, two, one…”

On cue, you come tumbling down from the attic.

He pops a chocolate truffle into his mouth and looks over at you from his desk, where he’s lounging back in his chair with his feet up on the wooden surface.

“Hey, now you’re down here, could you get me a soda?”

Tanizaki Jun’ichirou

It takes Tanizaki a little while to notice the ceiling bulging. He yelps when you come tumbling through, scattering paperwork and Naomi and pens everywhere.

Another graduate from the School of Martyrdom, Tanizaki’s solution is to fling himself forward to try and catch you. With mostly ends up with getting in your way and sending you to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Naomi, seeing this, immediately rushes up to the attic to have her turn.

Fukuzawa Yukichi

I don’t know why, but I feel like Fukuzawa is highly attuned to the sounds around him, down to the vibration of the air. He’ll feel a disturbance (in the Force) before the ceiling cracks open. Perhaps a few grains of plaster dust will trickle down and alert him to the impending disaster.

His head jerks up. He knows you were sent up into the loft/attic of the office building on some errand. It doesn’t take even his honed instincts to put two and two together.

In a blur of motion, surprisingly fast for a man of his years, he springs forward and extends his arms, snatching you from mid-fall before you can splat on the office floorboards. He holds you aloft, a stoic expression on his face as a piece of ceiling tile lands on his head and cracks apart.

“Are you well?” he asks, stern, followed by: “Did I not tell you to watch your step up there?”

#yokohamapound #bungo stray dogs #bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #dazai osamu #kunikida doppo #yosano akiko #nakajima atsushi #edogawa ranpo #izumi kyouka #tanizaki jun'ichirou #fukuzawa yukichi

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siriusleee · 1 year ago

Text

ii. sage green

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.5K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: I want to desperately thank @gazs-blue-hat, @lethargicluv, and @victoria-writes-sometimes for proofreading this for me when I was in an exhaustion field brain melt. If you'd like to help wake me up, my Ko-Fi is always open for commissions and donations. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

At first, you think it’s the sun warming the attic enough to be stifling, to wake you up from the heat pulling the air from the room.

But your nose catches up with the rest of your brain when the acrid smell of fire catches your senses. You’re awake in an instant, shooting up from your spot. Blind panic overtakes you first; your hands scrambling in the darkness for something . Instinct has you reaching out for a fire extinguisher, for a way out of the room, fingers scrambling against the splintery wood before the rest of you catches up with the situation. It takes almost a second too long before your brain finally processes that there is no fire extinguisher, nothing to do but try to escape.

You scramble to tug your boots on, shoving your thermal blanket into your pack at the same time. Slinging it across your back, you fumble for your bow and arrow pouch; your fingers pull against the rope you’d tied to keep the attic door shut, and in the darkness, you can’t undo it.

The blind panic starts to rage inside of you. Smoke is filtering faster through the cracks in the flooring, obscuring what little you could already see in the moonlight filtering in through the little attic window.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, repeating it louder as your fingers slip against the rope. “Fuck.”

When the hint of flames shows themself at the edges of the attic door, you abandon the attempts to pull the rope off. You pick your way across the attic, lungs screaming as the oxygen is pulled into the fire. The little window overlooking the back garden shatters easily under the weight of your bow slamming into it. But as you watch the glass shards tumble onto the roof, you know that even if you could slice yourself to bits and not attract the Biters, you would never fit through the window. Gulping down the fresh air, you try to hold it in your lungs as long as possible before you’re forced to turn back to the rest of the smoke-filled attic.

Your feet stumble against what you can’t see - you have to pull the rope away from the door. The only other option is to -

The floor falls from beneath your feet. Rotted drywall and insulation rain down with you; your back slams into something solid, a sharp pain shooting through your spine and rib cage. The blaze from the hallway illuminates the sage walls; as you try to catch your breath around the lack of oxygen and the pain spitting through you, you realize that you’ve crashed into the empty nursery.

From the first floor, just loud enough to be heard over the fire, the groans of the Biters come to you around the ringing in your ear. Struggling to breathe around the smoke and moldy insulation that fill your mouth, you scramble to your feet. The taste of iron coats your mouth; through the dirty window, you see a group of Biters congregating on the front porch of the little house.

Whatever human instinct has forced you to survive these past 5 years takes over; you push through the half broken bedroom door and stumble directly into a Biter.

There was a saying - it slams into your brain as you watch the burning mass roll towards you - that whenever soldiers go to war and their adrenaline starts to pump, explosions turn into little “poofs” and gunshots no more than a “pop.” You wonder if it was the adrenaline that turned the Biter’s unearthly wailing into a soft whisper as it flails on the landing, hand reaching for your ankle.

Without thinking, you kick out; the flames bite at your boots, at the skin that shows above the leather. The bottom landing is ablaze, the floor beneath you buckles; the house groans with the weight of the fire and the Biters groan and wail in hunger. Any minute the entire place is going to crumble down into a pile of burning bodies and dust and take you with it.

You stumble past the burning Biter, shoving it away with the end of your bow so that it falls down the steps. Feet heavy and lungs screaming from the lack of oxygen, you punch your way into the other bedroom. Without thinking, you throw yourself through the half open window.

The ground races up to meet you; you try to catch your feet beneath you, but you collapse into darkness instead.

The ringing in your ears is thunderous; the hands that pull at you try to rip you apart. In the darkness, you feel yourself slam into something hard and cold, feel hands slap at the fabric covering your legs. You try to lift yourself, to swing at the force but your body won’t do what your brain is telling you and you wonder if you’ve already been bitten and this eternal blackness is just the beginning of the end.

The ground pulls from underneath you and vaguely you realize that you’re moving. The growling of an ATV cuts through the darkness you’re hovering in along with the feeling of cold metal biting into your back. Your sight is the last sense to come - the sun trying to break through the horizon just barely illuminates the hulking figure driving the ATV - fuzzy at first and then coming into sharp focus.

You thrash out, becoming keenly aware of ropes wrapped around your ankles and feet. You teeter dangerously on the back of the ATV as you roll. In the corner of your eye, you can see the entire village ablaze, the howls of the Biters nearly drowned out by the crackling of the flames. One large hand reaches back to grip the front of your shirt and pulls you back before you can fall off. Too scared to fall off of the back, you lay still.

Like a deer, dressed and ready for slaughter, you ride on the back of the ATV until the flames of the village are gone, and the forest swallows the two of you up. Heart in your throat, you wonder if finally, the body snatchers had gotten to you.

You struggle against the rope binding your hands together. If you can get your hands free, you can fight against him - you’d rather be subject to the Biters, to starvation, than end up the dinner of a savage from the woods.

But the struggle is for nothing: there’s a blinding pain crawling up your legs, and you’re distinctively aware of a pain in your side that you think might be a broken rib. The inside of your mouth and throat are covered in the thick taste of ash and burning Biter and iron. Your soot lined lungs can barely pull in a breath - there’s just not enough strength for you to break free.

The sound of the ATV changes to a lower purr and the vehicle jerks as the driver downshifts. You nearly tumble off the back, but your kidnapper’s hand reaches back around and grips your shirt again.

He doesn’t let you go until the ATV cruises to a stop beside a felled tree, propped up against a second fallen tree, ivy and moss trailing down from where the two meet. When he shifts in his seat to turn the ATV off, you see your bow and pack on the front of the ATV behind a dusty red gas canister and a rifle.

You can’t tell if it’s the angle you’re laying at or if the guy is just huge; there’s not a chance in hell you can fight him off - especially not with the pain that’s radiating through you as the adrenaline wears off.

But it kickstarts again when he turns to you - his eyes are dark in the shadows cast by his mask. A graying skull stares down at you, and you know he’s going to take you to a body farm, that you are fodder beneath his gaze.

He reaches towards you; you jerk back, heart in your throat. The little animalistic part of your brain that’s kept you alive for so many years takes over; you thrash away from him, rolling off of the ATV and slamming into the ground. Your teeth clack, pinching your tongue in between, and fresh blood blooms in your mouth.

“Stop it,” he growls out, peering at you over the edge of the ATV, annoyance written into the wrinkles around his eyes.

You wiggle away from him in the dirt, but this time you don’t escape his hands as he grips the front of your filthy shirt and hauls you upright.

You don’t know what to do, so you spit on him. Saliva and blood spray across his faded black jacket; he doesn’t let you go, and doesn’t even seem phased by your actions. Instead, he drops you down onto your feet; you teeter, struggling to stand with the rope wrapped around your ankles; he keeps one steady hand on your elbow to keep you from falling.

“That make you feel better?” He asks, voice rough and low. You keep your mouth shut; if he’s going to take you to a body farm, he’s not going to get you to talk or beg.

“What were you doing there?”

The silence stretches through the forest; the man breathes heavy through his nose, the sound muffled by the black fabric and skull. This close you can’t tell if it’s real or fake, but you don’t want to find out.

“Are you one of them?”

“One of who?” The question escapes you before you can stop it. But once it’s gone, you realize the ball is in his court - the only bit of power you had was your silence, and you gave it away.

“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

You chew on the possibilities, but you have to admit that if you don’t answer he may just leave you tied up here for the Biters to find.

“I’m moving north, to where it’s too cold for them during the winter.”

It’s not a good enough answer; he squeezes your elbow. Beneath his fingers, the joints rub together, and you can’t help the yelp you let out.

“I was staying the night there! My group has stayed there for years on our way through.”

“Where’s the rest of your group?”

It’s iron and pennies to say it.

“They’re all gone; I’ve been on my own for the past year.”

He must believe something written on your face because his grip on your elbow loosens. Slowly, he reaches down to tug on the ropes binding your ankles and then your wrists until they fall loose. He keeps one hand on you as he drags you over to the ATV.

“You’re not going to let me go?” Your voice rises in pitch with each word.

“Dunno who you might run back to.”

He shoves your pack in your arms. Beneath it is another pack, this one dark black and dusty. He slings it onto himself, along with your bow and arrow carrier. The rifle also comes off of the ATV and over his other shoulder. He never lets go of the grip on your arm, pulling you around painfully as he moves.

“Go move the ivy out of the way,” he says, shoving you towards the two fallen trees. You eye the rifle on his back - it would drop you before you could get ten feet. So you follow his directions, pulling back the ivy. Behind it is a cut out in the hill, a dark pit, and for a moment you think he’s going to push you in. But then, without a sign of a struggle, he pushes the ATV into the hole and you realize it’s a hiding spot.

He pushes you out of the way, rearranging the plant life until it again looks like just two trees toppled onto each other. With a smooth, practiced motion, the rifle slides into his hands, and he gestures toward the open forest with it.

“Start walking.”

You don’t know how far the two of you walk; the cold starts to seep through the thinning material of your boots, and with each step the burns and bruises you acquired during the house fire grow more painful - the sharp pinch in your rib makes it hard to breath, but you don’t want to show a sign of weakness. If he thinks you’re not eatable, he might just shoot you where you stand.

But you know that if your feet are beneath you, you have a chance of running free.

The horizon grows gray with the threat of snow; some flurries that must have fallen in the nighttime cling to the highest branches of the tree. It isn’t until your feet are numb, and you can’t feel your pinky toes that you finally ask the question that’s been nagging at you for hours.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“You can just slaughter me now if you think I’m going to let you take me to that farm.”

His footsteps don’t falter behind you, but when he speaks you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“I’m not going to eat you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The trees start to grow thicker around the two of you, the snow growing heavier on the limbs until finally, it starts to dust the ground. Your whole body is numb at this point, and whatever has been keeping you together is starting to fall apart. Your tongue is dry and fuzzy, stomach empty. You think for a second that he might be trying to walk you to death, that he might find some sort of pleasure in watching you break down as you walk.

The rough edges of a cabin peek out at you from the trees and snow. The barrel of his rifle digs into your back, pushing you towards the cabin. You stumble over your boots, nearly tripping from the weight of your pack and empty stomach. Your kidnapper herds you towards the door, pushing you out of the way to unlock it with a key tucked beneath his jacket until he can shove you inside.

Inside it’s dark and dusty; your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness when the door finally shuts behind you, trapping you in the place with your kidnapper. A thread of fear tries to go through you at the thought of what he might be doing to you in the dark, but you’re too exhausted for your heart to beat faster.

He leaves you standing there to fumble with something in front of you. A moment later his face is illuminated by an oil lamp blazing to life. It illuminates just enough of the room that you can see a small fireplace and little couch on the opposite sides and a little kitchenette you’re standing in.

You stand awkwardly as he shuffles around the room, shrugging his pack off, lighting another oil lamp, but never dropping his rifle.

He turns towards you, gun held loosely in his hand and studies you over the top of his mask.

“What’s your name?”

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #zombie au #simon riley zombie au

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callsigns-haze · 7 months ago

Text

Short love: Chp 18

Summary: The is about widowed father Bradley Bradshaw who enlists his brother-in-law Jake Seresin and childhood best friend Robert Floyd to help raise his three daughters, eldest Donna Jo Margaret (D.J for short), middle child Stephanie and youngest Michelle in his San Diego home.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Warning: Fluff, flirting

With a shared vision in mind, Jake and Y/n roll up their sleeves and dive into the renovation project with gusto. The attic, once a neglected space filled with dusty boxes and forgotten treasures, is soon transformed into a bright and spacious bedroom, complete with multiple functional areas.

Together, they brainstorm layout ideas and design concepts, drawing inspiration from magazines, online resources, and their own creativity. They envision a space that is not only stylish and modern but also practical and versatile, catering to their various needs and preferences.

The first step is to declutter and clear out the attic, sorting through years of accumulated belongings and deciding what to keep, donate, or discard. With determination and teamwork, they tackle this daunting task, motivated by the prospect of creating their dream bedroom.

Once the space is cleared, they begin the renovation process, starting with structural improvements such as insulation, flooring, and walls. Jake's handyman skills come in handy as he handles the more technical aspects of the project, while Y/n lends her creative touch to the design and decor.

They install large windows to let in plenty of natural light, creating a bright and airy atmosphere. They also add built-in storage solutions to maximize space and organization, ensuring that every corner of the room is utilized efficiently.

As Jake focuses intently on drilling the wooden plates into the walls, Y/n watches with a mixture of amusement and admiration. She can't help but chuckle as she sees him maneuvering the drill, occasionally getting stuck or encountering a stubborn spot.

"Need a hand there, handyman?" Y/n teases, her laughter filling the room.

Jake looks up with a playful grin, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "I've got this under control," he insists, determined to conquer the task at hand.

But as he continues to drill, a particularly stubborn spot causes the drill to jam, and Jake lets out a frustrated sigh. Y/n can't help but laugh at his predicament, finding his determination endearing.

"Maybe I spoke too soon," she quips, moving closer to offer her assistance.

With a grin, Jake accepts her help, and together they work to free the jammed drill and continue with the task. As they work side by side, their laughter fills the room, turning the mundane task of renovation into a fun and memorable bonding experience.

As they continue renovating the attic, Jake and Y/n find themselves knee-deep in paint cans, power tools, and endless to-do lists. Despite the occasional mishaps and setbacks, they tackle each challenge with determination and a sense of adventure.

One afternoon, while attempting to install a new light fixture, Jake finds himself tangled in a mess of wires, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to decipher the instructions. Y/n watches from a safe distance, stifling a giggle as she sees him struggle.

"Need any help there?" she offers, trying to suppress her amusement.

Jake grumbles in frustration but eventually accepts her offer, grateful for her assistance. Together, they work to untangle the wires and install the light fixture, laughing at their shared clumsiness and enjoying the camaraderie of working together.

Another day, they decide to tackle the task of painting the walls, armed with brushes, rollers, and plenty of drop cloths. But their ambitious plans quickly take a comedic turn when Jake accidentally spills a can of paint, sending a cascade of white paint splattering across the floor.

Y/n's eyes widen in disbelief as she surveys the mess, but before she can scold him, Jake bursts into laughter, realizing the absurdity of the situation. They spend the next few hours cleaning up the mess, turning the ordeal into a lighthearted paint fight and making memories in the process.

Despite the inevitable hiccups and mishaps, Jake and Y/n press on with their renovation project, fueled by their shared determination and love for each other. With each coat of paint applied and each piece of furniture assembled, they inch closer to transforming the attic into their dream space, creating a home that reflects their love, laughter, and unique bond.

Jake looks up from his work as Y/n enters the room, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she approaches him, a small item hidden behind her back. He furrows his brow, curiosity piqued by her secretive demeanor.

"Hey, Mr. Handyman," she says smiling and kicking her feet.

"What do you have there?" he asks, unable to contain his curiosity.

Y/n smiles mysteriously, holding the item out of his reach as she teases him with a playful gleam in her eyes. "You'll have to wait and see," she says, her tone teasing and coy.

Jake chuckles, leaning in closer to try and catch a glimpse of what she's hiding. "Come on, don't leave me hanging," he pleads, reaching out to try and snatch the item from her grasp.

But Y/n deftly sidesteps his attempts, dancing out of reach with a playful laugh. "Not yet," she says, her smile widening as she revels in his curiosity.

With a grin, Jake sets down his tools, determined to uncover the mystery behind Y/n's secretive behavior. He follows her playfully around the room, determined to discover the surprise she's hiding. And as they laugh and tease each other, their bond grows even stronger, fueled by the joy of their shared antics and the love that binds them together.

Jake's eyes widen in astonishment as Y/n reveals the positive pregnancy test hidden behind her back. For a moment, he's speechless, the weight of the moment sinking in as he realizes the significance of what she's showing him.

"Is this...?" he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, unable to fully comprehend the news.

Y/n nods, her eyes shining with unshed tears of joy as she confirms his silent question. "We're going to be parents," she says, her voice trembling with emotion.

A surge of overwhelming happiness washes over Jake as he wraps his arms around Y/n, pulling her close in a tight embrace. He presses a kiss to her forehead, his heart bursting with love and excitement for the new chapter they're about to embark on together.

"We're going to have a baby," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and awe.

As they stand together in the newly renovated attic, surrounded by the promise of their growing family, Jake and Y/n share a moment of pure happiness and anticipation for the journey ahead. With their love as their guide, they're ready to embrace the joys and challenges of parenthood, knowing that they'll face them together, hand in hand.

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#hangman imagine #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman seresin #hangman top gun #jake hangman fic #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman x reader

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teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps · 10 months ago

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 2 years ago

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So... you're a bat

Summary: You move to a new town for work, you need a house... you didn't expect a housemate to come with it.

Pairing: Vampire!Natasha Romanoff & Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 2462

Warnings: Mentions/hints of past murders

A/N: Hello everyone I actually managed to write :) It's just a nice fluffy fic with vampire Nat being a cool housemate! Hope you enjoy!

(and also my fics haven't been doing so well since I keep disappearing and reappearing, so any reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!)

—————————————————

The house viewing was pointless; moving across the country for work - on a minimal budget, you were just looking for anywhere to live, no matter the condition. And this was your only option. A house that was being sold for cheaper than any apartment’s security deposit; it was practically free, and from the viewing, you could see why.

A dilapidated mansion on the verge of collapse, the stairs had fallen in years before, so there was no access to the upper floors. Windows were smashed, floorboards were rotten, and some ceiling tiles were non-existent. No wonder the real estate agent looked so surprised to hear you take it on the spot.

What could you do? You didn’t have the money for anywhere else. And this mansion had one redeeming quality in that its front room had been done up by a previous homeowner, redecorated and fully insulated to make it livable. When you wondered aloud why they had stopped at just that room, you were shut down, the agent insisting that was a question you didn’t want answered.

Off-putting, to be sure, but you left it at that.

—

There wasn’t much for you to unpack; the single livable room was fully furnished and decorated within the day. Almost everything you needed, packed into one place. It wasn’t really that different to a college dorm, and you’d survived that before.

A chill hit you the second you opened the front room door, making you hesitate in the doorway. It would be so cosy to stay in the warmth, but instead, you braved the cold, final box in your arms.

Creaks echoed around the frame of the house with every step you took; it felt like they would echo forever – until another gust of cold wind rushed through the windows to smother any other source of noise.

With it came an even higher-pitched squeak, and flaps of wings came startlingly close to your ear. You turned just in time to see a flash of black graze past your face.

You yelped and stumbled, only just maintaining your hold on the box and keeping your balance.

When you regained your stability, you glanced in the direction the flapping had gone. A bat stared back, perched on the exposed house supports.

Bats in the attic. Another of the many mentioned issues that came with the property; this was just one you’d forgotten about. They were most likely the reason the house hadn’t been torn down decades ago, and why repairing the house was such a difficult task. How could you not disturb them in a place like this?

The bat had watched, unblinking, through your whole musing. You darted your eyes back to it, then ducked your head and carried on to the kitchen, shutting the door behind you.

—

You crossed paths with the bats constantly; each time they would brush close then stare – pure black eyes, unblinking in their gaze. It was creepy, and you learnt to stop walking around in the dark, when flapping wings and grazed touches would be the only indication of where they were.

Still, if the bats weren’t leaving and you weren’t either, it seemed the only solution was to take care of them.

You searched for their diets; results indicated insects, fruits, or even blood - depending on the species. It was informative, but with one issue. You hadn’t a clue of the species.

That was how you ended up with a bowl of berries in one hand and a bowl of beetles in the other, climbing up the rickety stairs on your elbows and knees. It was one of the worst ideas you’d ever had. There was no railing for you to hold, and you wouldn’t trust any one of the steps with your full weight, not after two instances where the stairs crumbled into dust underfoot. It became even more of a crawl the further up you got, but you were determined to get there and finally managed, both the bowls and yourself left intact.

Once again, the bat sat patiently at the top, having watched the entirety of your slow ascent. You wondered why you only ever saw one at a time. Did they take turns coming out? Or was there only one? TV always showed them in groups but you had no idea, pop culture isn’t always the most reliable source.

“This is for you,” you told the bat, setting both bowls down. You’d give it a day to see which one was preferred. At least you’d have use of your hands the next time you scrambled up.

—

“NEITHER?!”

Both bowls remained full. The bat had inspected it. You’d watched the bat inspect it. And it had taken nothing.

“If you don’t like berries or bugs then what do you eat?” you mumbled, gathering the bowls back up.

“While the berries are preferred, my palette is actually a bit different.”

You really couldn’t be blamed for screaming. Which was then drowned out by smashing ceramics, which you also couldn’t be blamed for. The sudden voice startled you and your body’s reactions kicked in, taking control of your actions to drop everything and flinch forward, away from the voice.

The upper level wasn’t prepared for such a forceful step, and suddenly the environment blurred, everything looking like it was shooting up… or you were falling down.

“Oh. oh, shi- I’m so sorry!” the voice rambled, “I didn’t mean to scare you!” It has a body now, a redheaded woman. She had rushed forward and caught you, stopping a potentially deadly fall.

You paused. “You snuck up behind me. In my house. And didn’t mean to scare me?”

“I forgot you could understand me.”

“What does-”

Before you could even ask, the woman decided to show you, morphing into the ever-watching bat before your eyes. This also had the effect of removing her arms, and you dropped to the floor once again. The thud echoed.

The woman morphed back into a human, just to gape at you. When you groaned, she raised a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m-”

You waved her off before she could apologise. Yet she continued. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m a vampire.”

“It’s fine.” You stood up slowly, clutching your chest as you did. “So… you’re a bat.”

“Oh… would you prefer blood then…?” You mentally slapped yourself. Why was THAT your reaction to a vampire in your home? They were creatures you thought belonged to fiction. And seeing someone turn into a bat was definitely not a regular occurrence. Was it offensive to ask if she wanted blood? A stereotype maybe?

“Blood would actually be much better, yes, but I have my own sources.”

“Thank god for that because the beetles were hard enough to source.” Speaking of, they’d been on the floor before you fell… you really hoped there weren’t squished beetles stuck to your back. Your cheeks started to heat with embarrassment, what if the vampire’s first impression of you was just falling and having beetles squished into your back?

“Um… I would like to apologise about the stairs though. They’ve been falling into disrepair for centuries and I’ve been meaning to get them fixed. When you can fly upstairs though it’s easy to put it off, then people keep moving into my house and I couldn’t do it without exposing myself, and I guess the years just slipped away.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just stay in my own bit downstairs and then-... did you say this is your house? Um, is it okay that I’m living here? It’s just that someone kind of sold it to me and I have no money or-”

“You have been a gracious guest so far, I see no reason for you to leave.”

“Thank you then, I’ll stick to my own areas and leave you some privacy in your own home.”

She nodded, and you turned away, cautiously approaching the stairs.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

“You know my name?”

“Of course. I’m Natasha. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

—

Vampires had messed up sleep schedules, you learnt that one fairly quickly. Every few minutes another thud reverberated outside your window, almost shaking the house with the weight. You checked your phone; it was 4am.

You didn’t even bother getting changed. Only one person would be up at this time, and if she was going to wake you so early before your alarm, she was also going to get the worst version of you: tousled hair, cartoon pyjamas, and so sleep-deprived you would fight a bear if it meant you could go back to bed.

When you opened the front door, there Natasha stood, in just a vest and jeans, on the back of a pick-up truck. Where she got the vehicle was beyond you, but it was filled with dark oak wood planks, and she was lifting several trees’ worth of it at a time, dropping it down onto the floor to produce the bangs that woke you.

“NATASHA…uh… I don’t know your last name.”

She smirked. “Romanoff.”

“NATASHA ROMANOFF, IT IS 4AM! What on earth are you doing?”

“I didn’t want to risk you hurting yourself on the stairs now you live here, so I thought I’d fix them.”

“I’ve lived a lot of lives.”

“By yourself?”

“Can you at least let me sleep first? I’ve got to be up in 3 hours for work.”

“Right, yes. I forgot about those things. I’ll wait. See you later, Y/N.”

With that, she flew off, while you rubbed your eyes and returned to your room. Did she even have a clock? You should get her a clock.

—

Graciously, Natasha did wait for you to awaken before she continued, and by the time you left the house, she had moved on to hauling the wood inside.

Upon your return, the stairs were near completion; the redhead had a drill in hand, securing the final few steps with remarkable speed.

You didn’t even register the ‘wow’ that came out of your mouth until Natasha turned, grin widening to see you home.

“You like it?”

“How-? I mean, yeah! It looks amazing! But it’s been like, ten hours?”

“Practice enough and you get faster.” She shrugged.

“That much faster?”

“Well…that and vampiric super speed.”

“Oh-”

“It’s cute that you believed me though,” she said with a smirk. You grumbled at her smugness, her arms were stretched over the step behind her and a playful grin adorned her face.

“You were nicer as a bat.” You teased, sticking out your tongue. Your confidence did not come with the same ease as Natasha’s seemed to - leading you to exhale far too heavily when she laughed, relieved that it hadn’t pushed the boundaries of your newfound friendship/living situation.

You noticed Natasha raise an eyebrow, but she didn’t question it further. She just kept up her smile until you began to walk away - at which point she called out for you again. You spun on your toe the second you heard her, looking up quizzically. She wasn’t in the same spot. Before you could even narrow your eyes at the –now vacant– spot, Natasha reappeared in front of you, followed by a characteristic rush of air.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” The vampire apologised, paying little concern to how far back you’d jumped. “The stairs just need to be finished and uh, I was wondering if you wanted to join me? It’s nice having someone to talk to again.”

You smiled. “What do you have for me to do?”

—

The stairs were a massive improvement; your one-room house suddenly became a whole mansion for you to explore. Which, admittedly, meant more issues for you to find. Natasha had done centuries worth of dusting though, so at least they were clean issues.

But broken floorboards, collapsed ceilings, smashed windows…there were a whole host of issues, and had you friendly resident vampire not been there to help, you might have just smashed the staircase down again and ignored it all.

As it were, you did not destroy Natasha’s hard work. The vampire saw the stress in your eyes the second you made it upstairs, so she volunteered to repair the house as best she could. She’d acquired a whole host of skills over the years, so her work would save time, money, and the hassle of hiring builders. And she’d enjoy it – she reassured you of that.

It took over your lives for the next few months. When you weren’t at work, you would be helping her, though, with Natasha’s speed, she still ended up doing at least 90% of the work. But she seemed to enjoy the company and praised your small achievements, so that was enough for you.

When it came to housemate bonding activities, you had to say, the standard drinking games didn’t come close to completely remodelling a mansion together. She could tell you the history of every room, the moments she’d spent in there, the functions, even down to the original decision on wallpaper. It was fascinating, and offered an insight into how Natasha once lived: regal and rich and respected enough to own an enviable mansion. And now she spent her days hammering floorboards into place with the broke, graduate, housemate she had acquired.

You asked her then if she missed it; the parties, the customs, the people.

Natasha hesitated, casually holding the entire wall frame upright as she paused to think. “No,” was her simple answer. “I’ve lived too many lives for far too long to miss them all. I learn from them, I enjoy the memories, but I move on.”

You both fell quiet, silently returning to the build. How long had it taken Natasha to stop missing the past? You had a couple of decades of memories, and even that was enough for you to miss and grieve the past, but she had centuries. Lifetimes of experiences also meant lifetimes of loss.

“This, though.” She interrupted, “This will be a memory I enjoy. It’s been a long time since I’ve made one of those, so thank you, Y/N.”

“I’m glad I met you, Nat.”

“And I’m glad I didn’t drain your blood.” She grinned, fangs on display.

You sighed. “Ever the affectionate, Natasha.”

—

It was interesting, to look back on life and see what might have been. Natasha advised against it, and given her experience with life perhaps she was right, but you couldn’t help it. One house viewing, accepting the least hospitable house you’d ever seen; had led to this. You owned a mansion now, restored to its full glory and craftsmanship. And you’d gained a friend in this new town, an immortal housemate, like it was no big deal.

So many memories for the future you to enjoy.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #vampire!natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff & reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff & y/n #marvel #mcu

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hhighkey · 3 months ago

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Decode // Chapter Twelve, Bloodied Angel

Dracule Mihawk (opla) x OC (female)

Rating: mature

Story Contains: live action characters, related and non-related one piece plots, unspecified religion, OC is a nun on sabbatical, trauma, violence, age gap (40 v 23), insecurities and self doubts, possessive / protective behavior, kidnapping, true loves, eventual smut

Masterlist

There wasn’t much else to see in the dilapidated manor Giorgio was keeping her in. If you didn’t include the damned torture basement.

Sabine had carefully, and woefully, tread along each hallway and into more rooms. Abandoned and dirty. Dust scattered in the air, she found herself struggling to breathe more often than not. Drifting along like a ghost, puffy red eyes and a spinning mind that caused her to feel like everything was moving in slow motion. She found a surprisingly workable kitchen and off that was the only place with life. Properly insulated walls, a clean bed and bathroom. It must have been Giorgio’s room, and surprisingly the puppet allowed her to clamor through it, rifle through his drawers. Nothing of individuality about him that gave her insight into him, no ammunition she could use to help herself.

The dread of every creak, every scatter of mice along the floor causing her to panic- it was taking its toll. Once more she found herself growing tired, as if waiting with each chime of a clocktower that counted down to her coming doom. Like he was playing a sick game with her mental state, forcing her to wonder, to second guess, to keep her on her toes. An anxious ball formed in her chest, and oh how it pulsed and throbbed, made her feel like her body was crumbling in on itself.

One place yet to explore. Stairs going up. Of course, she thought. Stairs down led to a room filled with death so she could only imagine what stairs upwards led to. Almost humorous to her, in the messed up sense of things, a faint chuckle leaving her lips as she began to take the stairs. Her legs screaming for reprieve from all the wandering and crouching, and reaching she’d done today in the name of escape.

Sabine ran out of steam to yell at Giorgio's devil fruit powered puppet almost an hour ago. All the wine bottles shattered proved such. At this point it was like an obsessive pet that won’t leave your side, just… with more ability to bite. It still startled her, each time she caught sight of its black eyes and grueling teeth, claws.

Cobwebs lined the way up to the attic, faint lights flickered above as she continued on. Inching closer and closer, a static noise rumbling at the back of her head. She almost expected something to jump out with each passing moment since she’d awoken. Expected herself to walk into an unfortunate situation that resolved in her doom. If only she’d had a weapon.

A door at the end of the hall, its white paint in ghastly contrast to the darkness of the attic. The paint was chipping away and nail marks scratched along the lower foot. Like each door she’d come to before Savine cringed as she grasped the handle, said a prayer and thrusted it open.

“Wha-”

Wide eyed Sabine stared at the girl on the ground in the corner of the room, a chain around her ankle. A heap of blankets at her side, a makeshift table with water, and what might have been a bathroom door to the left. The attic had no windows, the air was musty and reeked of bodily odors.

“Oh no,” The girl stammered, “Well fuck.”

Sabine hurried to the girl’s side after the initial shock, grasping hold of the chain even as her vision went blurry for a moment, “Are you okay?”

But the girl didn’t respond, because in the light she could now see the puppet. Her mouth dropped open, shell shocked at the gruesomeness that hovered in the doorway, its aura plentiful, heavy as it made the air murky like turning a fresh pond muddy. Sabine looked over to see it and she shuddered.

“He.. Really wants to torture you making it look like that.” The girl grimaced looking at Sabine, “For me he made it look like a regular man.”

Sabine swallowed hard, “How long have you…”

“Been here? Few weeks maybe, but with you arriving?” She sighed, collapsing back against the wall, more annoyed than anything, “Got a few days.”

Her voice was caught in her throat, unsure how to speak to the other captive. Too much casualness in her body language and in her lack of fear that from Sabine’s experience with confessions, was of someone who’s given up.

“Few days?”

“My name’s Eve.” Eve, who had similar hair to Sabine’s, gave Sabine a half hearted smile, “There was another girl when he brought me here, her name was Angelina. After two days he took her, so remember my name, please. I don’t even have it in myself to care right now.” She closed her eyes, resting her head into her palms.

“I’m Sabine.” What could she say as dread filled her? Sabine raced to find the right words, so she could only whisper out her name to Eve instead.

Solemn silence amongst the harsh wind that whipped tree branches against the manor’s attic. Miniscule noises of scratching and chittering that probably belonged to creatures trapped in the decaying attic and roof.

Sabine faltered. She wanted to fix this, to busy herself with something that’d make her useful. She knew not how to sit and spend time with herself, she always needed guidance. And as she stumbled to her knees it hit her full force, realization that for years she’d not lived her life with autonomy. Always staying within bounds, the rules, reliance on another.

Nothing would sway her for the time being, the sudden urge to break out the fine lines she stayed between. That door to the left did open to a bathroom, small and dirty. It angered her, that Giorgio would force women to live without dignity for their finals weeks to days. As she shuffled about going through the desolate drawers and bottles in hopes of finding anything- in the back of the cabinet, where the sinks pipes were- was a canister. A canister of metal, a glint to it with signs of rust along one side. She picked it up, feeling its weight in her hands, it had some liquid in it.

Eve watched Sabine rustle around with a look of determination, a woman on a warpath as she came back to inspect the chains.

“What are you doing?” She hissed.

Sabine shook her head as her fingers danced along the cold of the chains. Closer to where the chain met with the ankle cuff, there was discolor. And discolor, whether it was rust or due to strain, didn’t that mean that section could be weaker? One tug then two. The part nailed to the wall did not move an inch.

“Hold on.”

Grabbing the canister Sabine had a thought, one she did not have the mental stability to properly think through. She knew not of physics or thermodynamics of objects, nor if it was in the realm of possibility to break a chain. Or if she were strong enough.

It was the painful blossoming of guilt and throbbing to do something right, that pushed her forward. She needed to help, needed to try or else Sabine swore she’d never sleep at night again. Like a final promise to herself that helping Eve would fulfill her promises to herself, that this had been her purpose, and she could walk away from the Church with her head held high.

With a deep breath, Sabine raised her arms above her head as she gripped the top part of the canister. Her aim was at the part of the chain she pulled taut. With all her might and the help of gravity, she struck. And again. Eve realized, tried to pull on the chain so it would not move when Sabine continued to try.

“Hit this part,” Eve turned the chain link so it was on its side rather than flat, a slight difference but the options were limited. Hope the canister would connect just right. She really hoped so, especially as her arms burned and screamed in pain. Harder and harder to raise them.

A chink in the chain, a chip of the metal laying beside them. The two stared at each other in awe through the vibrating tiredness that worked its way up.

The puppet hadn’t moved, Sabine made sure to watch it with each blow. Perhaps it would not deem freeing Eve as a reason to come alive. Then maybe the two could buy more time, think of something, or at least find Eve something to eat.

“It doesn’t seem to care?” Sabine whispered, gathering her bearings through the blaze in her arm muscles.

The second a loud crack went down as the canister hit the chain link splitting it, the puppet reacted like it was called to life. As if encoded to react upon unacceptable behavior it roared to solidify and grow with frightening antagonism.

Air swirling with darkness, bloodlust seemed to seep through the floorboards. Like in slow motion watching the demon come at them while they stared, frozen. Limbs chilled in place, so shocked that Sabine thinks she iced over completely. Canister foregone, kneeling on her knees with her mouth agape and eyes widened. It was the newly freed Eve that had the gall to act.

“Sabine, go.” Eve tried to push at her; tried to push her to stand up on her feet, but it was too late.

A heavy gust of grayed air, thick dust particles concentrated on the air at the puppet’s hand and it formed a butcher’s knife. Glistening, horror came over Sabine as she realized it wouldn’t be a mirage like the thing she’d chucked wine bottles through earlier. The puppet was once more the physical version of the demon she knew. Its eyes no longer empty, filled with a vicious hunger of a predator who hadn’t had a meal in days Its body language tense and engaging as it edged closer, playing with its food- her.

Sure, Sabine had been questioning her faith a whole bunch the last year plus. Even prior little flitting feelings would arise; she'd have to shove back down for the sake of survival in the Sisterhood. But right now, if there was ever a moment she quite frankly did not believe and everything preached about the Father was a load of bullshit– it was this moment. Because if that figure above truly loved her, this wouldn’t have been happening. There wouldn’t be people like Giorgio who tortured for fun. Children wouldn’t be harmed. And it suddenly seemed so clear as Sabine put herself in front of Eve in a protective manner…

The knife plunged into her abdomen as she shielded the emaciated girl, then shoved aside by the now lively puppet. A startling scream sounded beside her, then a sickening crunch as Eve’s arm bent the wrong way, her bone sticking right out like a snapped twig.

Sabine tried to call out for her but her vision went spotty. Intense contractions of shooting pain traveled to each extremity of her limbs. Head dizzied by the extraordinary ache in a way she’d never experienced before, along with a heated rush of something liquid.

It descended upon them in a way meant to mock. The wide, sharp toothed smile beaming atop them, was unsettling and cruel. It made her stomach lurch, her brain flicker in overstimulation before she could let out a screech. Hands out straight as if it would shield her or push the demon away, but it did nothing, not as its icy fingers grazed along Sabine’s tear streaked cheek.

Sabine shivered, whimpered and closed her eyes as it continued to touch her. It was clearer now that its own actions seem to resemble how Giorgio held himself, that he’d be the type to play with his food before eating it. That he’d touch her through the inhuman puppet to make her body recoil in discomfort.

Her eyes wrenched open as the touch disappeared, she heaved through the expansion of pain at her abdomen that began to stretch along her whole body.

The room seemed to spark alive in a multitude of different colors before the puppet began to fall apart, a vortex of black inky shadows seeming to become one with the air in the attic room. Swirling. Gone. Sabine almost didn’t believe her eyes, nor how the air seemed to feel pounds lighter and easier to breathe in. Was it invisible? Would it come through the floorboards or walls next? Through the pain at her side she tried to steele herself through it, to keep herself steady as her consciousness wavered.

“It means.. He’s summoned it.” Eve blanched, her face pallid and eyes dull.

“W-What?” Sabine asked, trying to keep consciousness as she stared down at the hilt of the knife. Her hands ghosted along her skin as blood trickled from the wound, clouded debating thoughts as her pointer finger trailed down, numb at her side.

“Don’t… Pull it.”

“Eve?”

Sabine couldn’t move from where she sat disoriented, not as Eve’s head lolled back against the floor with a thump, not as the blood pounded in her ears, and not as her toes began to lose feelings. Blood pooled beneath Eve’s broken arm. Sabine tried calling out to her, tried to reach her with the very tips of her fingers. But Sabine felt herself start to go. A numbing gray took over her as she slid down against the wall in a final bid to keep herself from bleeding out.

More tears as her chest constricted in panic. She’d wished for a different ending. Wished she got to see more of the world, meet more people, just… be something more. A sob escaped her lips, with a final jagged breath as she cried thinking about all the people she wouldn’t be able to bid goodbye.

“Where is she?” Mihawk’s voice was frighteningly low, steady as Yoru blocked the man from moving- at the neck.

Giorgio, a bloodied and beaten mess, stared at him from down on his knees like a scared doe, blubbering nonsense as he begged for his life. He was a coward. A coward in his foolish confidence that left him the second Mihawk unsheathed Yoru. A coward in how he fought, instantly needing to call upon his short lived devil fruit powers that allowed him to create a puppet-like creature from air to fight. And as he laid his eyes upon a demonic-like figure that mimicked a member of the church, Mihawk knew that was the face behind Sabine’s nightmares.

“Who?” Giorgio hacked up bloody mucus as he still tried to play coy, as if it was one last stand. But his body was broken, he was in no situation to bargain.

“You took something of mine, someone who belongs to me, and you’ve done god knows what to her… I’ve used up all my patience on your pathetic sniveling. Where. Is. She?” Mihawk hissed, the blade cutting further into the man’s neck. A fresh rush of blood dripped down his front.

“My home.”

“And where is that?” Annoyance fluttered through him at a great speed. He needed the clutching and twisting within his chest to cease.

“Meadow.. Lane,” Giorgio sputtered, the color beginning to leave his face from the wounds Mihawk had left during their short duel. If you could even call it one, “Outside the… Eastern gates, hidden.”

Not needing him anymore, his blade struck. A clean cut. Giorgio’s body fell to the ground, limp, with an empty thud.

Within an hour of finding the hotel room empty, Mihawk had begun his search for Sabine. He went to the Cardinal she trusted, then informed the marines of everything he discovered. When looking at the mess that took hold of this island with impatience and blinding anger, Mihawk would get the answers he needed. People were more willing to share information without a smiling, encouraging nun standing there which stopped him from dishing out any pain. A sharp-eyed Warlord would have anyone shaking, spilling information from their tongues just to see him leave. The longest part of the night into the morning was tracking down Giorgio, as not many knew him enough to truly remember him, only off rumors. Mihawk realized something was very wrong after a tavern keeper told him of other missing women he’d not heard of prior.

He made his way to the Eastern Gates of the city, mixtures of exhaustion and adrenaline swirled through him, licking at his heels as he pressed forward. The foliage was dark green, dense and the ground still dewey with the scent of after rain. Less upkeep towards this area was clear, splintering fences and overturned rocky paths, branches wild and untamed; it was as if a completely new island. Mihawk followed his senses, walking along a muddied path through a thicket with pieces seemingly carved out from years of usage. A secret passage of sorts, stomped weeds and brown grass that led him deeper into the wilderness.

Until a dilapidated manor came into view. Weathered brick walls slowly dilapidated with time, glass missing from windows. Parts of the roof were beginning to sag. Vines crawled up and expanded along the surface, like veins underneath the skin. There was nothing inviting about the looming building that appeared abandoned, no signs of life, aside from dots of light deep within he could just make out.

Giorgio was dead, there’d be no overhanging dread of someone with devil fruit abilities to worry about. And he had moments at most before the Marines came, tipping them off was probably his best path as a Warlord. Let them clean up this mess, he’d grab Sabine and go.

Finding Sabine was the priority. Mihawk had already come to the conclusion she always would be. He’s anxious to get to her, blood coursing through him feeling thick, like he’d explode from the pent up emotions. Emotions he wasn’t used to. Murderous intent had lived within him, but killing Girogio hadn’t ended it, and stepping through the main doors of the manor didn’t either. Desperation to lay his eyes on her, hear her voice, feel her touch.

Mihawk systematically began to search, the sound of his heavy boots on the rickety floorboards as loud as a gunshot. His stomach was a churning mess, lurching up into his throat as more time passed. The heavy scent of wine wafted on the stale air, shards of colored glass littering the ground of a grand room, Mihawk’s hands clenched at the sight of two wine glasses untouched. Sabine’s aura was unmistakable amidst a heavy fog of disarray and fear. An unsettling feeling took form in him, the foundations of this place screamed out not in fear but in melancholy. Hollowness.

As he ascended splintering steps, Mihawk felt his throat tighten, mouth going dry. He continued with careful steps, though doubtful of another advisory waiting behind any corners. The end of the tiny hall in the attic called out to him. Urged him forward. And he complied.

Brows downturned as he considered unsheathing Yoru. The door was half ajar, the stench of iron and blood clear. It made his stomach sink to the floor. Blood nor death had ever bothered him before, however as he thought of Sabine? He wouldn't be able to handle that. Not with her.

He stilled upon pushing open the door, air stolen from his lungs. A deathlike nausea bubbled from his gut to his throat as his golden eyes narrowed in on Sabine. A small pool of blood lay beneath her, her clothes deep with red from the stab wound in her side. His chest lurched with despair, like claws sinking into him imagining the worse as he rushed to her side.

Sabine’s breaths were shallow. But nonetheless they were there, and that allowed Mihawk to keep his composure. Already did his skin crawl with the impulse to take his anger out elsewhere, the lack of control an unusual thing for him to feel or to have and it made him panic; yet on the outside he still appeared to be his apathetic self.

Her lips were drained of color much like the rest of her skin. Eyes moved beneath the lids as she was clearly stuck in an REM state of dreaming, or nightmares. Hair splayed with no care but around her as if it were a halo, her a sleeping angel even with dried, caked blood maiming her. Mihawk’s heart thumped crazily at the sight of her, her unending beauty even at a moment like this. The faintest of whines from his throat escaped, Mihawk never wanted to see her like this, nor feel how life drained from her.

“Look what you’ve gotten yourself into. I lose you for no more than a day.” Mihawk cooed under his breath, a finger stroking along her paling cheek before picking her up bridal style. Cradling her limp body against his chase, breathing in her scent as if it would cure the unsettled anxiousness within him. That having her in his orbit would make him whole, back in control, make his purposes set straight again.

He did not care that her blood permeated into his clothes. He also did not care for the other girl passed out beside Sabine, he’d let the Marines handle her. And the rest of this manor. Mihawk’s job was done- getting Sabine back, now he needed a doctor.

Mihawk let his worries run wild as he took Sabine from that wretched place, leaving behind the reek of death and loss, the thick air that set out to choke. Left behind the dust that stained furniture black and the mold that blotted along the plastered wallpapers. He let himself worry for her health like a mother hen as she began to shiver even with his body heat, the glint of the blade taunting him from her abdomen. Taunting him by letting them know he failed to keep her safe. So he let himself imagine her dying, losing her before he properly had her, how it would wreck him. Because he deserved that if she did die. It wasn’t until he placed her in the care of a doctor did he let his intrusive, darkly rampant thoughts cease. And then he waited.

posted: august 29 2024

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