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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 4 months ago

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A Freak and a Basket Case— The “Seven Inches of Satanic Panic” Edition

An Eddie Munson x OC Fanfic

The good lord (me) intended this to be an OC x Eddie fanfic, and by god, that’s what y’all are getting from here on. The original reader insert series will be discontinued for now, unless I really get the urge to go back and revisit it.

For now, just enjoy what I originally wanted. Which was over 3,000 words of self indulgent OC fanfic to help me get past these dark times. Life is too short to worry about being cringy.

Warnings: period typical racism, swearing, mentions of suicide, mentions of abuse (more tags to be added as the story progresses).

Divider by: @strangergraphics-archive

Pairings: Eddie Munson x OC

Word Count: 4,088 words

[Next Chapter] — [Master List]

Chapter One - Don’t Talk to Strangers

“I'm danger, I'm the stranger.

And I, I'm darkness, I'm anger, I'm pain…”

Hawkins, Indiana was going to be hell on earth. Of that, Alejandra Perea was certain.

She didn’t want to move here in the first place. This whole situation was horseshit. Spur of the moment pendejadas from the family matriarch in command of a newly formed triad where there had once been a quartet. Leaving everything behind, even if it meant new and exciting things on the horizon, it wasn’t necessary. The family did not need a fresh start over in a new state.

No, what everyone needed to do was to start looking harder. She could still remember the advice given to her nearly a year ago, as it was the only solid and reliable advice she had received at the time. Expand the search area, but make sure at least one person stays at the home base. Keep the name in the media as much as possible, even if it meant taking out another loan to buy airtime on the radio stations locally. Question everything. Look for abnormalities, and above all: report, report, report!

Doing something was better than doing nothing, and if Alejandra’s family was any kind of concerned, they would be more aware of the rampant corruption and blatant conspiracy afoot throughout this whole situation. She could see the truth laid out in front of her, especially when there was a way to physically connect the dots. Soon she’d need another Big Chief Tablet to jot down her notes, and since the one sad little general store in town didn’t even have what she needed, the lack of consistency and the unfamiliar stationery was already making her panic.

So instead of playing pretend— telling herself that she would bide her time until she could find a way back home— Alejandra decided she was going to do what she did best when she wasn’t listened to: shut out the entire world, and focus her attention inward as her plan formulated.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer…

“Sit up right, huevona! You’re going to mark my seats.”

Reluctantly, Alejandra slid her feet off the tan leather bucket seat, hoping that the battered treads of her Chucks left marks. Instead of facing her mother’s lecture, Alejandra spent the morning commute looking out the window with a scowl. She wanted to be anywhere but here. This podunk midwestern vibe was horrible. Unfamiliar. A hostile environment of mostly blue collar workers that could sniff out even the most light skinned Latina in a crowded room. Like a petulant child, she kept her thick framed glasses smudged with the oil from her cheeks. Just so she wouldn’t have to actually see Hawkins.

Her mother – Carla Perea– obviously noticed the scowl, and she sighed deeply before trying to speak again.

“I know you’re not happy, but this is a new start for us. Try to make the best of it, huh?”

Alejandra kicked at her blue Jansport backpack.

“And why couldn’t we just have moved somewhere else in New Mexico?! Chingao, you didn’t even think about it, you just put your finger on the map and ya!”

“Watch your mouth, Alejandra.” mom snapped, “And stop with that mocho talk! You know it wasn’t just putting a finger and ya. We needed a fresh start, and Hawkins was the best choice we could make. It wasn’t as impulsive as you make it out to be, it’s what’s best for all three of us.”

“And what the hell about dad?!” Alejandra demanded. “Huh?! How the shit are you honoring your marriage vows by just abandoning him like that?! Better or for worse my fucking asshole!”

Her mother's eyes narrowed as she drove. Obviously her daughter’s backtalk had hit a raw nerve. One of Alejandra’s new found talents was shit talking, the same venomous spitting that only cobras in certain parts of Africa and Asia had mastered. It had only been a year and some change since she’d honed the skill, but this kind of irate wit was too well honed for it to be new.

This talent had been latent. As if waiting for the perfect opportunity…

“What’s done is done.” Carla hissed, knuckles going from tawny brown to white grip, tightening her hold on the steering wheel.

“It’s been over a year, it’s time to accept he’s not coming back. Basta!”

“Bullshit…” Alejandra hissed.

And she would have kept going, if not for Carla deciding that morning to wear her leather belt around the waistline of her denim dress. And not just any belt. Oh no… It was the thick one with the sterling silver Gary Reeves buckle.

The thing about Gary Reeves: his silver work conchos with the fine needlepoint lines hurt like a motherfucker. Especially if there weren't any soft turquoise chunks on the front to cushion your ass from a chingazo. Alejandra wasn’t wearing the right kind of clothes for a fight, anyway. Months of trial and error taught her that her Wrangler culottes – along with a paperback copy of Heretics of Dune tucked in the back pocket– were the only acceptable armor if she wanted to talk shit back to her mother.

So instead of pushing her luck, Alejandra quietly resigned herself to her repetition. Unwilling and unmotivated to start a battle, when her mother was armed and willing to pull off into a Hawkins public parking lot to humiliate them both.

I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

The Dodge Aspen continued down the unfamiliar streets at a snail’s crawl. Cars boxed them into the single lane going down Cherry Street towards the cluster of schools. Even though the realtor had boasted about the house’s proximity to the finest education in Roane County, the motorists of Hawkins, Indiana managed to turn a ten-minute drive into almost forty-five minutes. Luckily, Carla had anticipated this.

By five thirty that morning, mom was already blasting a mixtape of los classicos, banging on Alejandra’s bedroom door and setting off the barking of the family’s two dogs. Tiffany had almost tripped Alejandra in the bathroom, both dog and girl yelping as Alejandra stumbled and nearly smacked her head on the counter. Scruffy had refused to go outside into the dog run, so everyone stopped what they were doing and aided in chasing him out the back door into the yard with Tiffany at his heels.

And then that darned cat…

Unruly and orange Ripley had puked all over Jaime’s work pants, while he screamed at Alejandra to help him find another pair in his mess of a room. Useless from years of mi hito syndrome, he complained when his sister refused vehemently to take time from blow drying her curls to iron his creases. They’d gotten into a screaming match, until Carla finally conceded to do it for her son to “keep the peace”.

It had been a shitshow of a morning, an omen of things to come.

Carla blasted the horn at a green Gaucho with a white stripe that nearly sideswiped her, the dented vehicle trying to cut in front of their sedan into the lane and nearly taking out a couple of other cars with it.

“Pinches babosos!” Carla growled under her breath.

Alejandra was too pissed off to laugh.

The two women stayed in silence for some time, until at last Alejandra spoke up.

“You couldn’t have picked somewhere with raza at least? Like California?” she muttered, watching the faces of a group of younger teens crossing on bikes at the light.

“I’m light skinned, and I bet I’m the darkest one at school… A la chingada mujer.”

“What does it matter if there’s no raza here?!” Carla demanded, pounding her fist on the tan leather of the middle console, “Get over it. There’s no way we could have managed in California. I’m not going to kill myself working three jobs with your tios in Lynwood!”

“Enserio, mom?! You waited until right at the start of senior year, you didn’t want to wait?” Alejandra whined.

“Wait for what? Wait for you to fail another year in Pojoaque?!” Carla hissed, clearly fed up with her daughter’s bullshit, “I’m not waiting on you to pull your head out from your ass. So shut your mouth, and quit complaining or I will pull this car over. I swear to God.”

Alejandra shut her mouth. She tucked herself into the side of the passenger door with arms crossed, laying her head on the cool glass of the window and curtaining her teary brown eyes with her dark hair.

What could she say back to that?

Her mother was right. A reminder that she was a failure wasn’t necessary. The reminders of lost scholarships and a tanked GPA would follow her the rest of her life. And sometimes, if Alejandra pressed hard enough on the backs of her thighs, she could still feel the sting from the welts she’d gotten for failing senior year back at Pojoaque High School.

This change was stupid. A lot had changed in the past year. Too many things.

I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

The reasonably happy, vibrant teenage girl that her mother knew was gone. Instead she was replaced by a bitter, angry young adult at eighteen years of age that had her innocence ripped away too young. Alejandra was now compulsive in her actions. Self-soothing in the oddest ways as old, pre-established habits became worse or new symptoms developed.

Pacing up and down the hallway listening to music on full blast was not anything new, chewing on the cuffs of her clothes or on the floss of her friendship bracelets was. As was the rebellion of dyeing all of her clothes some shade of black or gray. Carla had lost her mind when she saw all of the blouses, skirts, and Gunne Sax dresses had been dyed one weekend. It had taken hours to get the stains out of the washer and out of the bathtub at the old apartment back in New Mexico. Chalk that up to another lesson from the Gary Reeves belt.

And then she started failing all of her classes…

Much like any child, Alejandra had always been a bit of a space case. Living half in her imagination and reading weird books, or bothering her parents with second hand anecdotes of aliens and weird monsters. Like any other student, she wanted to spend her afternoons at play rather than at the family dinner table doing homework. Yet that had all been innocent fun. Science fiction books and fairy movies did not a troubled teen make, but lately that vivid imagination was shrouded in grimdark. She read gory novels of true crime and abductions, of both the supernatural and natural genre, rather than bothering with anything like cracking open a chemistry book or meeting her tutor at the library for help with remedial math.

Obsessive thoughts, spiteful biting comments, obsessions with dark media, lashing out and isolating away from everyone… This was not normal. This was not Alejandra Perea’s normal. To everyone else, it wasn’t like her not to care about things.

But she did care. Just not about the things everyone else thought was important.

She currently cared only about two things: the death of Frank Herbert, and Hector Filemón Perea.

I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration…

��Mija, I know this isn’t ideal. But you’re strong. You’re going to do fine. Just please… Please try to make the best of this situation. Do it for me, huh?”

The scenery of green trees scattered among the brick-and-mortar buildings of Hawkins held no interest for Alejandra as she ignored her mother. Normally, she would have been captivated by all the greenery. Save for a few day trips to the Jemez Mountains, Alejandra had spent the majority of her life staring at the same desert scrub brush, sand wastes, clay mountains, and adobe houses. Along the road, there were trees and quaint little homes painted daisy yellow, gray white, or the occasional brick and mortar Georgian style home if the occupants were wealthy.

Not one person had the familiar mud brick walls or coyote fencing made of latillas and bailing wire.

Hawkins had boasted four seasons, farmlands with adorable animals, and that unique charm only available in a majority blue collar midwestern town. New Mexico had maybe three seasons and pissed off raza, but she would have given up four seasons and Midwestern charm for the sand and red clay mountains any day. New Mexico was closer to what was important.

New Mexico was closer to dad…

It only got worse as the car approached the high school. Carla pulled into the drop lane; the car still idle as she stared her daughter down with a hard gaze.

Absolutely no move was made to exit the vehicle despite the impatience of the cars behind them. Alejandra stared at the collective student body of Hawkins High with disdain, downright disgust even. As if she would rather swallow glass than get out of the Dodge. She began chewing on the sleeve of her large jacket, already beads of sweat were forming on her forehead from the balmy morning with high humidity.

“Stop chewing on it, you mensa, you’re going to ruin the sleeve!” Carla barked, swatting her daughter’s hand.

Alejandra moved the cuff away from her mouth but said nothing. Instead, she focused on fishing in the pocket of her oversized jacket for her one escape that didn’t have wheels. She produced a battered Walkman with a scratch and sniff sticker on the back. After opening the tape deck, she rooted through the various jewel cases of cassettes in her Igloo Playmate, yanking out a well loved tape from the depths and popping it in.

She pressed play. The volume was turned up so high that her mother scowled when she heard what was blasting from the orange foam speakers of the headphones.

“Come on mija, you couldn’t pick something happier for your first day?”

“Nope.” Alejandra growled, pushing the Walkman into her jacket pocket, “I’m not picking shit else. I’m going to play this fucking tape so loud, that everyone is going to stay far the fuck away from me. Fuck these people, and fuck you too.”

Despite her mother’s sputtering protests and grabbing hands she unbuckled herself, threw open the car door, slung the backpack over her shoulder, and slammed the car door on the way out as she ran towards the double doors.

Not even a whole minute had passed, and already Alejandra was making enemies out of the preppy crowd of Hawkins High. Stomping her way through throngs of students to the front office, she bumped the shoulders of anyone who got in her way, nearly sending some lanky string bean of a freshman flying into his little group of friends.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, frigid bitch!”

She barely heard him over the music, but she did catch the insult.

Who cares? Kick rocks. Kiss my ass. Fuck yourself with a bent tire iron, you little fucking twerp.

I will face my fear… I will permit it to pass over me and through me…

She hoped the coordination of the day would repel everyone too, not just her shitty attitude. Unlike everyone else who had set up their first day back ensembles with care the night before, Alejandra threw whatever she had on hand on. That morning she came to school in a black cardigan layered over top a gray linen dress, black tights layered with dirty socks, beat up Chuck Taylors that had been everywhere from White Sands to TRC, and her dark brown curls straightened with her trusty Gillette Supermax, sprayed in place with a liberal amount of Aquanet. The piece de resistance was the jacket. Even though it was the end of August, she wore a large Carhartt jacket covered in kitschy buttons and patches. Even in the hottest months of the year, that damn thing never came off.

“What are you wearing that jacket for?” asked the school admin assistant, in lieu of a good morning.

Alejandra shrugged noncommittally as she removed her headphones. She stood awkwardly in the front office, and was about to say some smart ass remark when the admin’s hard stare stopped her sharp tongue short.

“... you’re going to boil alive before lunch…” muttered the admin, fanning her neck with a manilla folder, “Heavens to Betsy, I’m sweating just looking at you!”

“... I’m a new student. May I have my school schedule, please…?” Alejandra grunted.

“Ah.” nodded the admin, pulling open one of the drawers on her filing cabinet, “Name?”

“Alejandra Perea…”

“There’s no one here by that name. I only see an Alexandra Pera here.”

Alejandra winced.

Are you fucking kidding me, bitch? Where on my fucking birth certificate did it ever say fucking “Alexandra”?! And how in the hell is “Perea” too difficult for you to say?!

“Yeah… That’s me.” she admitted, then couldn’t help herself, “Alexandra Perea.”

The admin stared down from her imposing cherry wood desk, eyes laser focused at Alejandra from over the top of her large bifocals. Evidently, she did not appreciate being corrected.

“Young lady…” snapped the admin, tapping her eggplant colored nails against a file folder, “We do not tolerate troublemakers at this school. I suggest you quit playing your little games, and say your name correctly when asked. Is that clear?”

Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you-...

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am…” Alejandra muttered, looking at her shoes as she took the class schedule and locker assignment from the admin.

The headphones went back on as soon as the admin was done talking. That poor Walkman was blasting so loud, everyone else in the hallway was forced to listen in on James Hetfield’s vocals. That fucking bitch of an admin pissed Alejandra off so much, she could not help but lunge at and startle a few innocent girls in pastel color culottes as they passed by. It was her one line of defense; to deter the general populace of Hawkins High, she had decided to be a goddamned menace to anyone who could not give her a detention.

It was unfortunate really, because no matter how hard Alejandra tried to deter everyone away, it took her ten minutes to realize that Hawkins High– home of the Tigers– had fangs that could snap even the most ironclad of wills in half.

She was drastically underprepared for the high schooler’s reception to her take no shit attitude. One big dude in a letterman that she shoulder checked did not hesitate. He checked her right back, right into the tan lockers lining the halls. The resounding crash of her body colliding with metal was loud and embarrassing, causing a few passing members of the pep squad to point and laugh. As they passed they said hateful, evil, ignorant shit, screaming it into Alejandra’s ear while yanking her headphones off. They wanted her to hear everything. One even yelled out a slur.

All the hate caught her off guard, and she almost checked someone else by accident.

“Watch where you’re going, fucking gap tooth bitch!”

A foot flashed out from some wastoid and sent Alejandra toppling. She would have hit the floor and broken her glasses, had not her oversized jacket caught on the door handle to the girl’s bathroom. She hung there for a few seconds, and felt everyone’s eyes on her. Ugly peals of laughter followed. Her face turned crimson.

I will permit my fear… no… I will allow… No! I… I will permit my fear to pass over me and… and through me…?

It was fucking humiliating. She wanted everyone to go away and leave her alone. Yet in her hubris and rebellion, the attempts at being a badass only ended up attracting every kind of attention she did not want.

Pulling herself off the handle, she immediately threw open the door and hid in the girl’s bathroom. Pushing past a girl in a blue gingham sundress and a strawberry blonde side ponytail, she ran for the nearest empty stall to lock herself in. The tears could not wait until she was sure the bathroom was empty. Loud and uncontrolled sobs began to emit from her throat, the noises so awkward she did not hear the whispers of the other girls as they exited the facilities.

Fuck this day. Fuck this town. Her arm was hurting from where she hit the lockers, her pride was wounded, and Alejandra wanted out. If she could just run away now and hitchhike with the first car she saw, she would do it.

I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

This was not how the second senior year was supposed to go. Senior year was supposed to be the last hoorah. A happy time to start preparing for reality. For college plans. Not a time to be stuck in a small Midwestern town that felt like a foreign country. And certainly not a time to be dealing with racist, shit attitudes.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration…

Dainty footsteps approached the stall as Alejandra bawled like a baby, a soft knock on the door making her freeze.

“Go away!” she cried, voice small and hoarse from the sobbing.

I will face my fear…

“… Hey it’s… It’s going to be okay…”

A soft, delicate voice answered. Not one familiar tone in that voice, the only hint to the identity of the one speaking was a pair of powder blue pumps at the opening of the bottom of the stall. Alejandra did not know the girl, nor did she want to.

“Go away…” she begged, face burning with embarrassment as she groveled like a prisoner for her freedom.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me…

“Please… Please just go away and leave me alone!”

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see that you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, cabrona… Quien te tiene?

The blue pumps hesitated, but eventually walked away. Leaving Alejandra to her sobbing.

She sat there on the toilet crying until the late bell rang, and everyone had cleared out of the bathroom to their first period class. With her glasses all smudged up from tears and snot, she took a moment to wipe them off with the hem of her dress, and eventually exited the stall with her tail between her legs.

Stopping at the sink, she began cleaning up. Alejandra took off her glasses and began washing her face with cold water. Blotting with a paper towel, she took a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled, before making up her mind.

She would not be going to class today, or ever again for that matter.

Every part of her mind was made up. Now it would only be a matter of time to find an out.

The gears were turning as she put her headphones on, fast forwarding the cassette to her favorite song before sliding the orange headphones over her ears. Maybe she could walk home, steal Jaime’s ranfla to make her escape. No, probably she should walk down the road to the elementary school and steal the Aspen. Mom’s sedan was inconspicuous, and it would blend into the sea of cars on the freeway better than Jaime’s well loved blue 1972 Chevy Monte Carlo.

Besides, the Chevy was out of the question until Jaime got back from work at the Hawkins Water Utility, and she was not going to wait that long for him to come home. The elementary school was a closer walk, and as she walked out of the girls bathroom without checking if the coast was clear, she began to formulate how she was going to break into and hotwire her mom’s car (she knew how to do neither of these things, but she thought a good old college try couldn’t hurt).

As Alejandra power walked to the front entrance double doors, she heard nothing. Saw only the sweet promise of freedom. Walking quickly, unaware of the noise she was making, and drastically underprepared for the biggest shock of her life.

She felt herself being snagged by the backpack straps, her heart dropping into her ass as she was pulled to a chest.

The headphones were yanked from her ears, and a low voice with hot breath began muttering in her ear.

“You’ve got bitchin’ taste in music there, princess.”

Alejandra jumped ten feet, and screamed.

“FUCK ME FREDDY!”

“ Without change something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken. ” - Frank Herbert

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson x oc #stranger things original character #stranger things oc #original character #original character fanfiction #A Freak and A Basket Case

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ayyy-pee · 1 year ago

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𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗞 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

❥ Slutting Gojo out for an entire week (lovingly)

❥ Gojo NSFW Week Twitter - AO3 Collection ❥

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

Day One: Exhibitionism

Crave You

❥ Gojo Satoru x f!Reader ❥ Exes to Lovers

Satoru hates the fact that you've been out of his grasp all this time. He loathes that you’ve been in the arms of another man, that you’ve had someone else warming his side of the bed, let someone else taste you, hold you, feel you the way he used to.

You may be over Satoru, but Satoru has and will never be over you.

Day Two: Face Fucking

Ten Minutes

❥ Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Satoru puts his mouth to good use for once.

Day Three: Body Worship

A Taste of You

❥ Gojo Satoru x f!Reader ❥ Vampire AU (TW/CW: Light blood play)

In all his years on this earth, Satoru is not sure he's ever met someone as sweet as you. Literally. You taste divine, like what he'd imagine heaven would be if he weren't doomed to an eternity in hell after this life. And he'll do everything in his power to make sure you know how much he appreciates what you give to him.

Day Four: Masturbation (Mutual)

Back to You

❥ Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru He feels the surge of cursed energy before he's even had a chance to slip his robes off. The warping has long stopped surprising him. Foolish, though. If word got out that The Strongest was detected anywhere near his organization, the higher ups would have their heads. But...perhaps it's the thrill of getting caught that has them finding their way back to each other over and over throughout the years. His robe falls loosely to the floor, the cold air rolling across his back as he speaks a hushed:

"You're late, Satoru."

Day Five: Cum play

A Taste of Me

❥ Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

There's nothing Satoru loves more in this world than you...and maybe the taste of himself on your tongue.

Day Six: Rimming

❥ Gojo Satoru x f!Reader x Suguru Geto

Now that you and Suguru have taken the next step in your relationship (eating Suguru's ass), he wants to make it a regular part of your sex lives. You're okay with that! But why is Satoru here coaching you through how to please your boyfriend? **PART 2 to DEEP DIVE**

Day Seven: Free Day (Shhh it's a surprise)

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sogoodtoheritsvicious · 5 months ago

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it’s tiiiiimeee

i haven’t watched this show in full in five years 😵‍💫but it’s october and i was gonna watch thee byeler episode aka 2x02 on halloween anyway so i thought i might as well rewatch the entire show and make it everyone’s problem

forgot about the jumpscare being right at the beginning

baby will <3

they were all BABIES and now they’re all grown and the damn final season still hasn’t premiered lmao

dustin was so adorable

“it was a seven.” “huh?” “the roll, it was a seven. the demogorgon, it got me.” the way will was incapable of lying to mike, GOD, i feel sick

fun fact: will’s adorable little “see you tomorrow!” is immediately what made him my favorite

“kiss your mom ‘night for me!” lmfao

forgot how damn good the jumpscares are

gonna need mike to see will with a gun at least once before this show is over

“damn,you look like hell, chief!” “oh, yeah? well, i looked better than your wife when i left her this morning.” HELP

“lonnie used to call him queer.” “is he?” FUCKING HELL, HOPPER 😭 i completely forgot about that scene lmfao

EL, MY BABY

benny was such a good man :( he didn’t deserve to die

that poor dog was so hated irl 😭

“you think we got a problem here?” my brother in christ, a boy is missing

“i’m the only one that cares about will!” mike loves will so much, i’m gonna cry

i completely forgot about hop’s daughter

mike sneaking out while steve’s sneaking in 😭 this show is also a comedy

winona ryder the actress that you are

chapter 2

maybe i’m going to find out in this ep i can’t remember if they ever investigate benny’s death or link it to everything else that was going on

“stop it, you’re freaking her out!” “she’s freaking ME out!” lucas was the only real one in the beginning

poor baby. el didn’t even know what privacy was before this moment.

“oh, you can speak!” she gets that a lot 😭

mike and el had so much potential as friends, FUCK the duffers for ruining them by making it romantic. now they don’t even seem like they like each other

i hope s5 focuses on more on will and lucas’ friendship

jonathan was such a good brother

brenner. always at the scene of the fucking crime.

mike naming his dino ‘rory’ because he roars 🥹

FUCK BRENNER ALL MY HOMIES HATE BRENNER

karen was such a good mom in the beginning

i hate lonnie with a passion, he’s an abusive piece of shit who should’ve been killed off

i don’t blame lucas at all for the way he was acting with el at first

“one kid goes missing, the other one runs wild? some real fine parenting right there.”

they kept pointing out so many similarities between will and el, i can’t believe they didn’t go anywhere with it

“can’t ask a corpse a question.” die. just die.

nancy: *losing her virginity*

barb: *losing her life*

chapter 3

“no one breaks in here.” yeah, they just break out

love jonathan but steve wasn’t exactly wrong about the pictures

joyce byers the mother that you are

mike wanted nothing to do with el once they found will’s “body” but we’re supposed to believe that he loved her the second he saw her in the woods.

chapter 4

i can’t believe they showed that mike has all of the drawings will has created and expected us to be normal about it

“screw his funeral!” “what?!” TEARS

jonathan loves joyce and will so much 🥺

steve was such an unbearable asshole

can we PLEASE talk about charlie being able to hold his own with winona in that scene about will’s body? we already know winona’s gonna blow it out of the water but he did just as well

completely forgot about mike doing el’s makeup this episode dkfkgjd

“where are you from, exactly?” “bad place.” 😭

that troy scene still sends

“the kid is dead. end of story.”

they put too much pressure on el. i hope when all this shit is over she’s able to just be a normal kid.

this show used to be so fucking good

i love how hop tries lying to the state trooper and when that doesn’t work he just knocks him the fuck out 😭

I FUCKING HATE LONNIE

i’m so glad they had jonathan realize that joyce was telling the truth about everything that was going on instead of just dragging it all out.

chapter 5

hate lonnie for taking advantage of joyce when she’s clearly in a vulnerable position

“wait until we tell will that jennifer hayes was crying at his funeral” lmao

all this season is showing me is how severely they’ve robbed us of joyce and will scenes in future episodes

“man, these aren’t real nilla wafers.” mr. clark must think they’re horrible friends, i’m crying. dustin is right, though, fake nilla wafers suck.

“it might even swallow us whole.” and that’s exactly what’s happening by the end of s4

“he’s wanted to go to nyu since he was six. years. old!” she should’ve killed lonnie right then & there

can’t prove it but jonathan fell in love with nancy the second she shot that can on her first try

jonathan clocked nancy’s ass BAD in the woods

forgot just how much lucas hated el this season

byeler and jancy have paralleled each other too many times for it to just mean nothing in the end.

chapter 6

the jumpscares in this show are top tier

what i love about this show is how it still has me holding my breath even though i already know what’s going to happen

“i don’t wanna be alone. do you?” “no.” i was gonna say he wouldn’t be alone cause joyce is there but i remembered he doesn’t wanna tell her til it’s all over

early jancy were so awkward, i love them <3

“i could have been killed!” “which is exactly why we need her. she’s a weapon!” but mike loves her at this point, right?

lucas loves will so much, it’s a shame we haven’t seen much more of their friendship

“you’re my best friend, too.” “okay :D” dustin looked so happy 😭

“what’s the weirdest part? me or the bear trap?” “you, definitely you.” pls

jonathan beating the shit out of steve was so satisfying

“only love makes you that crazy, sweetheart.” i’m not even gonna say anything. you all know.

we don’t give mike enough appreciation for being such a selfless person. he did everything he could to find will, he almost killed himself to protect dustin, he let el live in his basement without even knowing her, etc.

“she’s our friend and she’s crazy!” i love dustin with my whole heart

BABIES 🫶🏼

chapter 7

“if anyone asks where i am, i’ve left the country.” this season is really reminding me why mike was my favorite in the beginning

i wanna hug el so bad

“our son with a girl?” ted, to mike:

“a psychotic child broke his arm!” “a little girl, chief. a little one.” “that tone! do you hear that tone?” “honestly, i’m just trying to state a fact. it was a little girl.” this entire exchange is sending me so bad

“you couldn’t take jonathan byers.” get his ass!

it was such a great choice to have joyce be the first one to ever give el comfort because she’s such a soft, comforting person and i can’t think of anyone better

chapter 8

made it to the finale! gonna be honest, i didn’t think i’d get here in only two days but this show sucked me in the exact way it did the first time

“go to hell.” joyce is everything

waiting til this episode to give flashbacks on hop’s daughter was an excellent choice

steve just wanted to apologize to jonathan and now he’s an exasperated mother of seven. life comes at ya quick!!

choosing not to acknowledge that scene beyond this for the sake of my mental health

el is a badass but she shouldn’t have to be

brenner should’ve never made it to season 4

these kids acted their ASSES off in this show

GOD THIS JOYCE, HOPPER AND WILL SCENE

you’d think everything that went down would make nancy and karen care more about mike and pay attention to him but it doesn’t. mike deserves so much better.

will is in a hospital bed worrying about jonathan’s hand. I LOVE THIS KID.

byeler hug <3

they all really wanted to tell will about jennifer hayes crying 😭

“her name’s eleven.” “like the number?” he sounded baffled lmaooo

getting will back must’ve been so bittersweet for nancy

hop keeps throwing away lit cigarettes and all i keep thinking is that he’s gonna start a wildfire eventually

mike’s soft ‘see you, will’ 🥹

the camera!!

“your wife doesn’t have time to cook for me.” pls

the byers family 🫶🏼

my love for this show has officially been revived. rewatching this reminded me why i loved this show so much in the first place. the acting is amazing, especially from the kids, the writing was great, and the fucking jumpscares were incredible. i’m so excited to start season 2!!

#stranger things s1 lb #long post #stranger things #will byers #joyce byers #jonathan byers #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #el hopper #jim hopper #steve harrington #dr brenner #anti mileven #<- i don’t think i said anything too bad but i do not want those ppl in my mentions #byeler #byler #<- target audience

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sunnyie-eve · 9 months ago

Text

1 | Raised For

Series: Devoted Friend

Paring: (Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character Featherington!)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none

| MASTERLIST |

"Mama, if we do any tighter I'll die. I can't breathe in this ridiculous thing." Paisley groans in pain as her mother goes on talking about how she could squeeze into a smaller size.

"She looks like she's going to pass out, mama." Penelope says as Paisley does feel herself getting lightheaded.

"Fine, loosen it just a tad." Their mother tells the maid and when Paisley could breathe slightly better her mother says enough, "You are 24 yet still not married Paisley. You are setting no example for your sisters." She adds as Paisley gets her dress put on.

"You act like I never get any suitors, mama. I just don't choose any of them because none of them stand out to me." Paisley sighs as she's turned around to face her mother.

"Which is going to make no gentleman want you at some point."

Paisley looks over at Penelope who gives her a sad smile. Even though one was the oldest and the other was the youngest, they were the closest in their entire family. Paisley was Penelope's best friend way more than Eloise Bridgerton was. Paisley practically raised Penelope pushing maids away from helping at times because she wanted to take care of her growing up.

The carriage ride was silent the whole way not a single family member talked to each other. Paisley hated being presented like she was an item to buy on the market. When it was their family turn to be presented to the queen, Paisley was the only one who acted right in front of the woman walking along side her mother while her sisters were in front. She's had plenty of practice acting doing it for the past seven-ish years.

The queen didn't care much for them but Paisley always caught her eye. She didn't understand how such a beautiful woman didn't have a husband yet. Queen Charlotte stands up walking out of her way over to Paisley raising her chin, "Flawless and beautiful as always, my dear." She goes to sit back down to motion them to them step aside.

Before they could even walk off Prudence faints from her corset being too tight. "She's not used to it being so tight." Paisley tells her mother, who just gives her a mean look.

Heading in the way out back to the carriages Paisley feels a tap on her shoulder causing her to turn around to see Benedict Bridgerton with a smile on his face.

"You please the Queen once again." He says making Paisley laugh, "I'm not surprised as always."

"Oh, quit being a gentleman Benedict. It's so tiring." Paisley rolls her eyes.

"I can't be a good friend by giving you a compliment?" He laughs while she just looks at him.

"No, you can but I find that sometimes it's unnecessary." She continues to walk with him following behind, "For example, just a few seconds ago." She looks back with a smile.

"I don't think it was unnecessary."

Paisley sighs stopping to face him with smile, "You're a man... And men don't think." Before Benedict could respond her Mama called for her to hurry up, "Goodbye Benedict."

Back at the Featherington house their mother rants about Lady Whistledown probably being Violet Bridgenton. Paisley looks over at her younger sister reading her book, who glances over at her as well. Paisley was the only person who knew Penelope was Lady Whistledown because she came across her writing one day secretly then called her out on what she saw the next day put out. It was one of their many secrets they kept to themselves.

Hearing their mother talk about how many ladies she has under her care so Penelope gets up saying she could sit this season out but their mama says no.

"What she is, is two stones heavier than she ought to be." Prudence says causing Paisley to look over at her.

"Mm, those blemishes on her face are quite difficult to conceal. Ooo, perhaps some arsenic and lead might help." Philippa adds.

"What you two should do is keep quiet." Paisley speaks up, "Prudence, you need to work on your smile. Philippa, work on not sounding so annoying with your voice."

"Paisley!" Their mother turns to look at her going through the cards of men.

"They were rude first." She gets up leaving the room to go to her own and on the way passes the cousin that was staying with them. Paisley greets her before continuing on her way.

For the ball at Danbury House, Paisley wanted the night to fly by. It was just going to be the same as always. A rotating door of men having her constantly dance all night flirting with her but in the end disappoint her not catching her interest.

"Why don't you be bold and ask him for a dance?" Paisley bends down to Penelope's level as she watches Colin dance.

"Are you out of your mind?" Penelope looks at her with wide eyes.

"Sorry, I forget you're only confident as LW." Paisley giggles, "I'm off for a drink."

As she was getting herself a drink, Benedict catches sight of her in the distance, "Excuse me, I'll be right back." He tells Colin, who was standing with him.

Colin shakes his head at his brother watching him make his way over to Paisley. To him he felt that Benedict had a secret crush on her but was too scared to admit or just didn't know it yet.

"A lady like you shouldn't be getting her own drink." Benedict states causing Paisley to roll her eyes at him.

"I don't need a man to get me a drink when I'm very capable of doing it myself, Mr. Bridgerton." She gives his a polite smile.

"You really don't want a husband do you?" He laughs.

"You know me so well. That's one of the reasons why me and your sister, Eloise, get along so well."

"She says she inspires to be like you. An independent woman who doesn't care what others think about her. Not afraid to be herself and show off how smart she is as well." He lets her know.

"I must thank her next time I see her then for saying such things about me." Paisley looks around and sees a few other gentleman looking her way at times. "Hopefully no one will come bugging me tonight. I don't feel like dancing acting like I'm interested in what they have to say. It's always the same ones trying every season." Paisley laughs looking back at Benedict, "You would think they would give up but no."

"You're such a strange woman, Paisley. I know how your mama is so how did you stray off from what you were taught?" He asks her.

"I learn other things and I know my worth. I know I could be something bigger than just some man's wife and give him children. Yes, I want to be a mother someday but I want to be a mother who truly loves her husband. I want a special bond with them, Benedict. My mama and papa don't entirely love each other. I want what I your mama had with your father. The way she talks about him and how much they loved each other. The friends to lovers."

"And how are you supposed to have that if you don't give anyone the time of the day to show you?" He asks making her sigh.

"I can read all these men like a book, Bridgerton. I know exactly what they want from me, and none of them want to start a friendship first." She explains walking off from him leaving him alone.

He knew she was right about the fact everything she just told him. He's had many men ask him all kinds of questions about her since they knew how they were good friends. Not a single one really cared about how she was or what she liked to do. It was always about how well does she follow instructions, how seductive she was, asked him if he knew any dirty secrets about her. The most common was has he ever seen anything that he could describe to them about how she looked in less clothing.

"No luck brother?" Colin joins his side.

"What?"

"She didn't want to dance with you?" Colin chuckles.

"I didn't ask her to dance Colin. I was asking why was she getting herself a drink."

"Why ask when you already knew the answer to that? We both know how she has no desire to be here or find a husband. She's ranted to me many of times in the past couple of days when she was over." Colin says looking over at Paisley looking bored as a gentleman man was now talking to her. "I feel bad for her deep down. Just look at her. Poor girl needs saving."

Paisley stares at the man, that was a good amount of years older than her, talking about himself non stop. She would just smile nodding her head not really listening to what he was saying. She would just tune him out and pay attention to the music that was being played.

"Don't you say?" He asks causing her to hum.

"I'm deeply sorry, what did you say?" She asks kindly.

"That the thought of double digits for children sounds ideal for a happy family. I come from a family of fourteen all close in age." He repeats.

She couldn't help but choke on her spit, "Excuse me, I need a drink." She tells him.

"I'll get it for you, Miss Featherington."

"No, please. I can get it myself Lord Albrecht." She smiles then walks away picking up speed to get away faster.

"Miss Featherington," Paisley hears as she walks by someone so she stops to face them.

"Oh, Lady Danbury. It's lovely to see you." Paisley bows to her as Benedict stood next to her with a drink since they had just been chatting.

"Don't you look lovely this evening. Will I not be seeing you on the dance floor once again?" She asks her.

"Oh, you will Lady Danbury." Benedict smiles finishing his glass as Paisley looks at him confused.

"I will?" Both ladies say at the same time.

"Yes. Miss Featherington, shall we?" He takes Paisley's hand into his leading her to the dance floor.

"What are you doing?" She asks as he makes her start to dance with him.

"Saving your butt, that's what I'm doing. You know she'll ask you why once again and I saw Lord Augustus eyeing you while chatting with friends. It looks like he was going to walk over to you with a creepy look on his face." He lets her know so she glances over at him and he looked annoyed.

"He is always creepy when he talks to me. I hate being alone with him."

"Exactly why I asked you to dance." He tells her.

"Technically you didn't really ask if you dragged me out here." She corrects him.

"Do you want me to stop and tell him he can take his turn with you?" He smiles looking down at her as they kept dancing.

"I'll kill you Bridgerton."

"You would never do such a thing because you love me and would die without me." He laughs and makes her giggle as well, "I saw Lord Albrecht chatting with you."

"Oh yes, he was saying how he wants children in the double digits. How he comes from a family of fourteen, all close in age." She lets him know.

"I get I come from quite a large family but it's not that large. I couldn't imagine that many children. And the poor women never getting a break from being pregnant."

"How many do you want?" Paisley asks him.

"Never really thought about it. Like you, I know I want children one day but it's not a main priority of mine at the moment." He tells her the truth.

"Obviously since you're 26 and still not married or engaged. You're not even looking since you hate going to social events. You and Anthony both don't seem to care really." Paisley points out.

"Excuse me, but you're the oldest daughter turning down every proposal she's gotten since becoming of age." He says causing them to stop dancing.

"And you are the second oldest son, who has a couple of years on me, who hasn't even tried finding someone." She stares him in the eyes, "It's unfair. You and every man can get away with it, but us women can't because that's all we're taught to do." She huffs, "Goodnight Bridgerton." She leaves him.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #violet bridgerton #oc #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #portia featherington #regency era #high society #period drama #romance #falling in love #masterlist

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ya-zz · 1 year ago

Text

So this is a rewrite of a challenge I took part in back in May whilst I was coming to the end of uni. When rereading it, there were so many mistakes and some of it didn't make sense, so here we go. A rewrite and the entire thing in one post.

Because this is a rewrite, the rules of the challenge are no longer followed. The original document stood at 6,200 words, and this one is more.

Read the original here!

CLOSURE (rewritten)

Word count: 6675

WARNINGS: Depictions of violence and torture.

Ramattra had sought refuge after his attacks. Null Sector had failed, Overwatch had destroyed everything he had worked hard for. He fled when he realised how dire his situation was, returning to Shambali in hopes they would let him back in without questioning his disappearance. Although Mondatta was deceased, the monastery was still thriving and the monks accepted Ramattra just like they had done when he first arrived there after the awakening.

Though, his hatred for humanity was known by many - too many, in fact. However, it never deterred you from wanting to know him. You would always find him in the same places, whether it was the library, the courtyard or in his room whenever you passed by while running errands for those in the monastery. Ramattra was always doing something whenever you saw him - reading, meditating or sparring with the other monks. No matter what, he was always busy.

You never approached him though as you wanted him to approach you first. Of course, whenever you two happened to cross paths you would greet him like you would any other omnic; a friendly “hello” with a smile. At first, Ramattra would barely pass a glance at you, but over time, he expected your greetings and that smile of yours.

He followed his routine effortlessly, much like you did and each morning there you would be, walking past and greeting him before going about your day. It was the same in the afternoon and in the evening. He never admitted it, but he was growing used to having you, a human, around in the monastery.

When the omnic broke his routine and speaks to you, it catches you off guard.

“Would you care to meditate with me?” He asks, stopping just short of you and awaiting your answer.

You look up at him, eyes wide slightly as you wonder if you heard him right. You must’ve been staring for a lot longer than you had thought as he breaks the silence, voice low and almost sounding irritated.

“Well?” The omnic cocks his head, optics looking down on you.

All you could do was nod in response, still startled by the fact that he had asked you to meditate with him, pulling you away from your schedule and into his.

Ramattra starts walking without saying anything else and you follow behind him just as silently. His routine was back to how it was, but this time, you were in tow.

The pair of you reach the hallway that leads you into the shared meditation room. It was large and dimly lit by several candles that littered the floor and walls. Seven other monks sat silently on the floor, sitting on cushions as they continue their meditation while you and Ramattra head for the back corner of the room. Being careful in your steps, you keep close to the taller omnic.

He sits down after finding his spot in the corner. His back straightens, legs crossed and his head bows down. You put a human width gap between you and him as you take a seat next to him, copying his posture. Your hands rest on your knees as your eyes close, breathing slowly becoming steady.

You could hear the soft hum of his inner workings, fans slowly whirring as his chest rises and falls, imitating a humans breathing. The only sound in the room was the soft humming of the omnics, a faint buzzing that calmed the discord within your body.

Ever since you had arrived at the monastery, you felt at peace, you felt at home; it was an escape from wherever you had come from a year ago. The surrounding area was full of life, truly a place worthy of calling home. The trees were shades of pink in spring, always green in the summer, and the mountains were covered in a blanket of snow throughout the year. When it was dark, the village below would glow yellow with life. As the minutes passed by, the lights would slowly get dimmer as stores closed. The bakery would close it doors and start preparing the next days bread and cakes. The flower shop would put its display inside and then hand out some singular flowers to those who passed by before locking up for the night.

The monastery would glow all year round. While some residents went to their rooms, others would stay late to clean, others turn to roam the halls alone. Everyone here was friendly, caring in their actions and words towards you. They treated you like family, even if you were human.

The hum of Ramattra’s body got slightly louder, or maybe it had always been that loud. Your ears picked up the noise rather quickly and in the time you had your eyes closed and opened them back up, two monks had left and one was just getting up to leave.

They look over at you and nod gently, the rise and fall of their shoulders make him seem apologetic, as if he was apologising for disturbing your meditation. You smile back at them, shaking your head, dismissing their worry before looking back down at your hands. You fidget in your position before finding some comfort on the stone floor. The footsteps of the other monk faded and it was back to near silence. It was peaceful.

Ramattra tilts his head to the side, pondering some thoughts. As he looks up, optics scanning the room, you catch his attention and he looks over at you. A silent sigh escapes his body as he watches your head bob, your breathing was slowing down. You had accidentally dozed off, truly a deep meditation on your part.

He moves closer to you, his knee eventually touching yours and it was as if you could feel something pulling you to rest on him. Your body slumps against the omnic, instantly finding comfort against his rigid body. A content sigh escapes your lips as you fall deeper into sleep.

Ramattra turns his head towards you again and watches the rise and fall of your chest. Something inside of him feels warm, his fans picking up speed to cool him down. He has never felt this before, and it’s with a human of all things.

He looks ahead, eyes scanning the room. The remaining omnics were still quietly meditating, head bowed and legs crossed. Ramattra straightens his back before returning to his own meditation, however he has began to focus on your breathing, the slowness of it, how in rhythm it was. His mind starts thinking about how fragile human life was, how weak they were to him and how he could crush anyone without thinking twice. He turns and looks at you again, wondering how fragile you really were. He wonders what you think about him and his kind, whether it was possible to coexist peacefully.

The omnic pauses in thought. You were here in the Monastery, with him, surrounded by other omnics. You had already made your choice. It brought a little comfort to him, despite his hatred for humanity still running high.

For weeks he had watched you run around the monastery and you would always be doing something, but never really keeping to a schedule apart from waking or sleeping at the same time. There were always the moments that would always be on time though, and that was when you would greet him with a smile before walking away. He would always wonder what you thought of him, if you were somewhat scared and only friendly from fear of his model.

He looks down at you, pondering these thoughts. The soft breaths that you release were like another meditation to him. He was content in that moment.

You shift slightly on the floor, head still resting on Ramattra’s arm. Your ears pick up the inner workings of his body and they are louder than they were before. It was almost soothing to you, relaxing your mind further.

Time seems to pass slowly, but it was a comfortable speed as the two of you remain seated in the room, the candlelight illuminating your features with a soft, warm glow.

The initial seven omnics had since left, and Ramattra’s personal schedule was behind as he refuses to move your sleeping body. He stays seated far longer than he had initially planned, but he doesn’t want to disturb you. A few more omnics came and went, but the two of you remained.

Ramattra had been keeping watch of the time, his schedule now completely out of whack. He places his hand on your head which makes your body flinch in reaction. You almost jump awake, heart racing as you sit up with a sore neck that you rub tenderly.

“I suppose you were tired.” He states matter-of-factly as he turns to look at you, optics scanning your body when he notices your increased heart rate.

You look back at him, eyes widening. “I… I am so sorry!” Your cheeks warm up as you realise you had fallen asleep on the omnic.

His gaze was still on you before he stands up.

“Perhaps, you should go to bed.” His voice was cold. “I have time to make up.” Ramattra walks away, leaving you in the room alone. Part of him was annoyed that he didn’t keep to his schedule, another part of him was annoyed at himself for saying what he had when he left, but another part of him was grateful for the time he had spent with you, granted you were asleep for most of it.

Standing slowly, you walk out of the room silently, trying not to disturb the other monks that had arrived moments prior. Your cheeks stay warm as you start walking back to your living quarters, shivering slightly from the cool breeze that passes through the open windows.

Just as you turn the next corner, Zenyatta appears, almost startling you much like Ramattra did earlier on in the day.

“Hello, [y/n].” His voice was mellow as he speaks. There was a certain charm to it that you could never quite place.

“Hey, Zen…” You stop walking, wanting to converse with the omnic monk.

“What seems to be troubling you?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side. Zenyatta seems to be more observant than you thought.

You look at him for a moment before replying. “Nothing, really. I’m just tired.”

Zenyatta nods. “I see… I do not suppose you have seen my brother around here? Ramattra?”

“He left me a few minutes ago.” You look away, feeling somewhat ashamed.

“Left you?”

You nod. “Yeah. I fell asleep on him while we were meditating.”

Zenyatta chuckles. “He did not mind?”

“I don’t know… I woke up and he left, saying he had ‘time to make up’.” Your eyes widen slowly as you realise you may have caused his irritability. “How long were we there?”

“I do not know. I shall ask him when I find him. Go, rest up. You clearly need it.” Zenyatta puts a hand on your shoulder, wanting to reassure you that you could not help the situation.

With a small nod, you leave the monk, your room in sight.

…

Ramattra finishes his duties two hours after his initial schedule had ended. He lets out a low sigh as he made his way back to his own living quarters. Upon reaching his room, he hums quietly as he sits on the edge of his bed, the thoughts of you returning to his mind. He wonders where you had come from and what your past was like…

That’s when something clicks inside of him. He had seen you before, many years prior to the pair of you meeting at the Monastery.

Back when Null Sector was in its prime, Ramattra and his troops would gather any human that was still alive after they had attacked and transported them back to the countless air vessels for questioning. Many died on the way, some in the middle of interrogation, others would die after one round of torture. He felt guilty remembering this, but then he remembered - you were one of those people taken. You had survived the journey, survived the countless interrogations, and multiple rounds of torture.

You were, at the time, one of the strongest humans Ramattra had ever seen. Strong through will and by the Iris, you were strong enough to last his beatings. You were not a part of Overwatch, or even had any military background. You were simply a human civilian.

He, as much as he hated to say it, admired you back then. As much as he tried not to, no matter the countless fighting against his systems, he couldn’t help but think about what he did to you;

Countless days and weeks went by and yet you still hadn’t given up and died. He had beat you, kicking and punching every part of your body. He vividly remembered your screams as you cried out in pain over each onslaught. Of course, you spat back at him any chance you had, the blood spattering on his cowl, chest or feet which in turn only angered him more.

Despite everything he had put you through, you never gave up fighting for your own life. He admired you to the point he became lenient, offering food and water to keep you breathing. He ordered some of his omnics to treat your wounds before he would abuse you once more a week or so after. He tortured you to the very brink of death, and yet you somehow survived.

Null Sector was attacked a few months after you had been captured and taken there, but nobody was searching for you. Nobody knew you were even there. You laid under the rubble until you had enough strength to pull yourself out and you ran as far as you could.

Ramattra never saw you after the attack, and he shook the feeling of you being dead away. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he missed you back then. Whether he missed the violence, or truly missed you, he couldn’t quite place that feeling. Turns out, he missed you.

Of course, it has been a year since then and he has long since tried to forget the whole ordeal and was trying to better himself. He has found peace even though somewhere deep inside of him, he still hates humans for what they did.

He slumps on his bed, head low as he thinks about everything. He can’t shake the screaming from back then and he fears he was spiralling back into his anger. He places his hands on his head, the metal tapping against his face plate. He lets out a low growl, irritated at himself for bringing everything back up.

When he arrived at the Monastery, his brother said that there was a human living amongst them and that they meant no harm to him or to the others. Yet, despite Zenyatta saying this, he still believed otherwise and was cautious of you from the very first day. It took him this long to figure out that you were his prisoner all those years ago.

Ramattra wants nothing more than to go over to your room and apologise for what he had done to you back then, but did you even remember? Do you remember what I did to you, he thinks to himself. What if you did remember but he brings it back to the surface and traumatises you again? He has long since changed his ways, wanting nothing more to do with Null Sector and to find peace within himself, but there was that turmoil inside of him again that he had only just gotten rid off.

It pains him deeply, far greater than he would like to admit.

The omnic lets out a low sigh, body deflating as he falls to the floor. Meditation was the only way to get rid of these thoughts… at least, that’s what happened the last time the memories of his dark past resurfaced.

He crosses his legs as the hum of his body fills his room. No matter how hard he tries, the screaming returns and it only gets louder, his fists tightening in response. His head tilts slightly as the red lights on his forehead flicker.

Erasing his memory was one thing he cannot do and he hates it. All he could do was remember the past and the pain.

…

The following day was nothing but cold and rainy. The only times you left the monastery and the confines of your room was to run down to the village to pick up some books that you had on hold that weren’t originally in the monastery library, and running through the garden to deliver a package to another monk.

Arriving back, you shake off your jacket before hanging it up next to the door and then head to your room for a towel, however, you turn the corner and Ramattra was standing in your doorway.

“Everything ok?” You ask, approaching from behind, hoping to not startle him.

Ramattra turns to face you. “I was wondering where you were.”

“I was out delivering a package.” You stand in front of him. “Can I?”

He nods and moves to the side, letting you into your room.

“Thanks.” Just as you enter, you sneeze.

“You will catch a cold-”

“I know. That’s why I came to dry off.” You grab a towel from the bathroom as you dry your head and neck.

Thats when Ramattra freezes upon noticing the back of your neck when you turn away from him. He doesn’t say a word but his mind was racing with too many thoughts and screams of the past.

There, scarred on the back of your neck;

‘ZERO’

“Hey!” You wave your hand in front of Ramattra’s face. “You still on?”

Ramattra shifts his head down slightly, optics scanning you as he replies. “Yes.”

“Ok, well, I need you to move so I can leave my room.” You step back, looking at the omnic in front of you.

“My apologies.” He steps aside, but before you completely go past him, he grabs your arm.

You turn and look at his hand, then up at him, your face showing no emotion.

He knew, but he wasn’t sure if you did.

“Your neck. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” You take your free hand and rub the back of your neck feeling the raised scar.

“You do not remember?” He asks, his voice was low.

You nod in response. “I don’t remember much before coming here. I didn’t realise I was scarred until Zen pointed it out when we were cleaning together.”

Ramattra releases your arm, his hand falling by his side. He didn’t say anything for a moment.

“What do you remember?”

You completely turn and face him. “Being on a train coming here. Anything before that is fuzzy. Look, I have to go. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

He stares at you for a moment before nodding. He follows you out of your room before leaving in the opposite direction.

Part of you wonders why he wants to know if you remembered anything before coming to Nepal. You truly had forgotten about the past but never really questioned it. You were happy in the Monastery and didn’t want that to change.

Zen gently taps you on the shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Is everything ok, [y/n]?” He asks with his head cocked to the side.

You nod. “Yeah. Ramattra noticed my neck… Seemed troubled by it.”

“Oh?”

“He asked if I remembered anything.” You look away.

Zenyatta just looks at you, face expressionless as always.

“As I said to him, the last thing I really remember is being on a train coming here… Anything before that is fuzzy…” You look back at your friend, a small awkward smile on your face.

“Would you like to remember?”

“What?”

“Would you want to remember?” He repeats.

“I heard you.” You look at him, examining his features, though getting nowhere.

“Talk to him.” He places a hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before leaving.

“You know, don’t you?” You watch as he leaves. “Please, tell me!”

Zenyatta completely ignores you as he disappears further into the Monastery. You stare in his direction with endless thoughts running through your mind. If he knew this entire time…

You spent the rest of the day wondering what had really happened in your past and how did Zenyatta know? Why did he not tell you before? The scar on the back of your neck itched slightly which only irritated you more as you went about your duties.

Ramattra’s schedule was just about to end when he saw you walking by. His fans speed up, the nervousness now rising in his body.

“[Y/n].” He calls out to you. He attempts keeps his nerves pushed down.

Instantly you turn and look at him, forcing a small smile as he gestures for you to follow him, to which you do and walk behind him to his room. A slight warmth filled your cheeks.

He sits down on the chair and leans forward, signalling for you to sit on the edge of his bed. He looks at you, not knowing what to say or even how to start it.

“Zenyatta knows… Doesn’t he?” You break the silence as you sit down.

The omnic nods, bowing his head. “I asked him not to say anything.”

“You know my past too?”

Ramattra nods again.

“You were my prisoner…”

“What?” You stare at him, eyes wide. “You’re joking-”

He cuts you off. “I am not.”

You keep staring at him, eyes searching for answers. “Tell me the truth.”

“You were my prisoner.” He repeats.

Something about his tone makes you freeze.

“You say you do not remember, well… I am here to tell you.” He looks at you, his head tilting to the side. “Believe me or not, let me speak.”

All you did was nod in response, an anxiety bubbling inside of you.

“A year ago Null Sector was raided and shut down. Before that, we were thriving and leading a new liberation for several years. Each attack I commanded always came with casualties from both sides. It was a literal war.” Ramattra keeps his optics on you, a warm yellow glow only to be hid by his face plate. “It was not long before my hatred grew and we ended up taking human soldiers and civilians back to our vessels. You happened to be one of them…”

You stare at him, eyes wide with each word he said. You could feel your heart racing in your chest as you listen.

“I had my team torture them… torture you… for answers. Even if they died, we did not stop. But you… You kept fighting.”

All you could do was stare at him. There was a disbelief coursing through your head as he continues.

He looks at you, wondering if he should go into detail. He didn’t want to, but something was telling him that you didn’t believe his words.

“You were kept in secluded room at the back of the prison we had. It was reserved for those with potentially good information… but you had none, yet I decided to keep you. I kept watch of you through the cameras, your screaming and crying still haunt me to this day…” He looks down briefly before turning his gaze back to you. “I kept you there for months until we were shut down completely and destroyed. Part of me feared you were dead. I…” He hesitates for a moment. “I saw something in you that I never did with anyone else.”

“Then… What about my neck?” You speak out.

The lights on his forehead flicker before he answers. “I wanted to keep you permanently. To… Own you. I branded you, much against your will.”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room.

“You wanted to own me?”

He nods in response. “Yes. I wanted you.”

You stare at him again, still trying to comprehend the entire situation. “But… Why?”

“You were unlike any human I had ever met. You kept fighting when everyone else gave up-”

“When everyone else died, you mean.”

“I suppose…” His voice was low before it clicks, resetting. He wasn’t used to doing this much apologising. Hell, it was probably the first time he felt guilty for what he had done.

“You left me for dead, right?”

His head jolts up to look at you. “That-” He stops speaking, trying to think. “No. Well, I mean yes, but I did not have a choice.”

“What exactly did you do to me?” You wince just at the thought of it. You knew exactly what he was. A ravager, a machine built for war. Only a part of a single evolution before all construction stopped of these beings. They… He, was built to kill with no hesitation, yet there you were, sat on his bed, listening to his excuses for what he did to you. You were alive because he refused to kill you, because he ‘saw something in you.’

You are scarred for life because of him, yet you still have your doubts.

For the first time in his life, he feels uncomfortable. It was an entirely new feeling to him. He shifts in his seat, his head tilts to the side, lights flickering on his forehead again.

“We-”

“No, what did you do to me?”

He hesitates before speaking. “The scars on your wrist are from the chains that bound you to the wall and floor to stop you from fighting back. That did not stop you, of course. That scar on your arm was from me cutting you, same on your stomach…”

You look down, rubbing your wrists in response. You wondered something similar when you arrived at the Monastery. The mention of the scar on your stomach was all the confirmation you needed.

“I beat you within inches of your life. I was… angry. Furious. I did not stop no matter how much you screamed. Even now, it still haunts me. I could not kill you… Something inside of me prevented me from killing you back then.” He lets out a small sigh, looking down at his feet. “You… were special.”

The uncomfortable silence in the room returns. Neither knowing what to say until the omnic speaks out.

“I am sorry… For everything…” He adjusts his position on the chair. “I wanted to use you. Back then… We needed someone as strong as you. I commanded my men to hold you down so I could brand you as mine. Zero… Zero was the name I had given you-” He stops speaking as his memory goes into overload.

His fans whirr loudly in a sorry attempt to calm him down. You can see him struggling, the lights on his forehead flickering in quick succession.

“You don’t need to continue…” You speak out, standing up from the bed. Carefully, you approach him.

He looks up at you, and it was as if something just snapped inside of him. His body moves on its own, embracing you tightly.

The sudden motion causes you to jump, the coldness of his chest pressing against your cheek, a starking comparison to your warmth. His hands easily wrap around your back, pulling you in closer, the tightness of it making you feel strange considering the situation.

“I am sorry… I am so sorry…” His words were barely a whisper in your ear, a low electric rumble. You can hear the guilt in his voice.

A ravager apologising… It was certainly something new.

You move your hands to gently tap his back, the heat he was releasing was way above his normal levels.

“It’s okay.” You mumble against his chest, not really knowing what else to say. The quiet humming from his chest was loud in your ear, taking you back to the other day when the pair of you were meditating.

The both of you stay like that for a few moments before he let go of you. With his memory in overload, he couldn’t even get another word out. He stares at you, the expressionless face of his making you feel slightly uncomfortable as you look back up at him.

“I- I need some time…” You speak out, your voice was quiet. There was so much to unpack, so much to remember.

Ramattra could only nod in response, cursing to himself for not being able to respond. I am sorry…

Looking up at him one last time, you smile gently before walking out of his room, the anxiety rising inside of you as you make your way back to your own living quarters.

The rain was still coming down as you pass the windows, it did not seem like it was going to let up anytime soon.

The next few days were going to be tense.

You avoided him, and rightly so. The hours turned into days and then a week. Everytime you’d see him, you would walk away, and he couldn’t blame you for doing it. In fact, he expected it. He knew it was going to take time, and a lot of it, to recover from what he had said.

His scheduled never waivered, so you knew where to be when he wasn’t. You didn’t exactly know what to think. You believed him, of course you did, but you were conflicted. How can I forgive him?

Another day had passed and the air outside was warm as you take a seat on a stone bench. A breeze passes your body, sending a chill down your spine, but you shake it off. Although the sky was littered with clouds, it was still a nice day. The sun behind you added a warmth to your body, the back of your neck slowly heating up.

You bring a hand up and gently rub over the scar, a sigh escaping your lips as you look up to the sky.

So many thoughts ran through your mind, and as much as you didn’t want to remember, you had to remember.

“I want to remember.”

…

The pain ran through your body, the screaming ringing in your ears. There was no chance at fighting back, no way to fight back. All you could do was take it, take everything he hit you with. The blood pooled around your body as you lay there, weak and defenceless on the floor.

“Such a pitiful human.” He spoke, voice mocking you as he put his foot on your chest and pressed firmly. “Just give me what I want and you can leave.” He was lying, he knew he was, but he wanted to see you suffer.

“Fuck you-” You spat, eyes narrowing at him.

He looked down at you before he dug his foot into your chest, eliciting another scream from you.

“That is no way to speak to your superior.”

“Go to hell!”

Before you could even blink, he pulled you up from the stone floor, hand around your neck in a vice grip and it was tightening.

“Give me one good reason why I should not crush this pretty little throat of yours.”

You spat blood at him, the red trickling down his face plate. In response, he squeezed tighter.

“You will regret that.”

Through struggled breaths, you kept your eyes locked on him.

He kept his grip firm on your throat before throwing you back down onto the floor, your head connecting with the stone floor and inevitably knocking you out.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you eventually woke up. Your ankles were shackled to the floor, arms raised above your head, slowly going numb from the lack of blood running through them.

“Finally.” A familiar voice spoke out as a hand grabbed your face. “Perhaps you have learned from your mistakes.”

The hand moved to lift your head up.

“How much more can you take?” His optics wandered to your bruised neck, purple and blue marks covering the flesh. He let go of your head before walking away.

Your head dropped, facing the floor. Staggered breaths were the only noise heard in the room. With blurry vision, you looked up, wincing, staring straight at the omnic.

“You humans and your looks. Pathetic. You are nothing.” He approached you again, towering over you. “You will die here.” The sinister tone in his voice returned as his fist came down and connected with your face.

A yelp escaped you, head twisting at the impact.

“Then…” You started, spitting blood to the floor. “Just kill me.”

He was almost shocked by your words, a deep laugh followed behind as he gripped your face.

“Not yet. I am not done playing.”

Ramattra squeezed your cheeks harder as he stared, the lights on his forehead flickering a furious red. He noticed your heartbeat racing before letting go, a sinister feeling rising inside of him. He kept his optics on you, before he turned and walked back to the wall.

He watched as you struggled against the restraints as his arms crossed over his chest. He wanted you to suffer, always on edge, not knowing what was going to happen next.

Something shifted inside of him, making him stand as he pulled out a blade from his pocket. Your eyes widened as he approached you.

“Don’t you dare.” You spat, clearly agitated.

He laughed. “Or what?”

You shut your mouth as he laughed again.

“That is what I thought.”

He dragged the blade across your stomach, the blood coming through the ever growing cut. You cry out, begging for him to stop.

“You are in no position to demand anything.”

He leaned in closer, whispering in your ear.

“You are mine. I will do as I please.”

The venom that dripped from his voice scared you, and you had every right to be scared. Your body trembled, the cold hitting your skin as he left you there, shivering against the coldness of the chains.

It took everything you had to not black out again, but another punch to the face had you out cold.

Time had since passed, how long, you were unsure. Days? Weeks?

Things had changed, and that terrified you to the core. He was almost nice, whether or not that was a part of his tactics made you tremble. His soldiers fixed you up, although sloppily, they made sure you were still breathing, that you were still alive. They gave you water and food, and he even let you sleep every now and then.

He returned some time later after his last assault on your body, the bandages that covered your body only fueled his fire more.

There was a unknown hesitation as he approached your body on the floor.

“Get up.”

To his surprise, you did. He grabbed you by the arm and dragged you out of the room and down the hallway before throwing you to the ground.

“Stay still, this will hurt.”

The sheer panic that raced through you as he stood behind you shook your body violently. Two of his soldiers came into the same room, grabbing your arms to stop you from fighting back. Their grip on your arms tightened as he pushed your head forward and the smell of burning metal surrounded you.

“Don’t move.”

Without another word, scorching hot metal connected with the back of your neck, the skin sizzled as you screamed out, trying to move away from the burning sensation.

He held it to your neck for a few seconds before removing it, admiring the burnt mess of your neck.

“You belong to me.” He spoke, tone dripping with malice as the soldiers let go of you, letting your body drop to the floor.

Your heavy breathing filled the room before Ramattra turned you over with his foot, looking at your pained expression. He knelt down, hand grasping your chin.

“You are mine.”

Your body jolts up, breathing heavy as sweat drips down your cheeks. You must have screamed as Zenyatta appears outside of your room.

“[y/n]!?” He runs over to you, placing a hand on your forehead. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What is the matter?”

Your breathing slows down at Zenyatta’s touch as you nod in response.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You scared us.” He pulls up a chair and sits next to you. “We found you sleeping outside and you were cold to the touch.”

“I fell asleep outside?”

Zenyatta nods. “Brother Ramattra carried you inside.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He feared it was because of him.”

“Yeah… It was.”

The omnic titls his head.

“I remember…” You let out a shaky breath. “I remember everything he did to me…”

“He wants to fix it.” He speaks, placing a cool hand on your arm. “He is worried about you.”

“I know.”

Silence fills the room before it was broken by a gentle knock at the door. You and Zenyatta look up, staring at the larger omnic in the doorway.

“Ah, brother, we were just talking about you.” He rises from his seat, gently patting your arm before walking towards Ramattra. He gives a small nod before walking past him.

“[y/n]...” He takes a tentative step forward.

“Ramattra…” You move your gaze away from him. “T-thank you for carrying me inside…”

“It was nothing.” He lets out a small sigh before approaching you. “I… am sorry.”

The room was filled with silence once more as Ramattra sits down on the chair next to your bed.

“I was worried.” He admits. “It is my fault you are like this. That… You are scarred because of me.”

You shake your head. “You did what you needed to. I am still alive because you let me live.”

“That does not excuse my actions.”

“Ramattra,” You pause, looking at him. “It’s okay.”

“It is not okay.”

A small sigh escapes you as you reach your hand out to him. “It is okay. I’m telling you it’s okay.”

The omnic looks up at you, with his head titled to the side. “After everything I have done to you…”

“We’re here now. As Zen would say, let’s not dwell on the past…”

Ramattra takes your hand in his as you smile at him, a soft expression on your face. His metal thumb gently grazes over the skin.

“[y/n]...” He looks down at the floor. “I-” He stops talking as your hand caresses the purple metal of his cheek.

“I know. Let’s… Let’s move past this, okay?” Your smile was small as you bring his head up to look at you. “We can figure this out.”

He looks at you, a silent sigh escaping his body. “I would like that… I just do not know if I can forgive myself for what I have done to you.”

“Ramattra, please. What’s done is done, we cannot change that. I finally get some closure after all this time.” Your thumb gently grazes the purple of his cheek. “I promise you, I’m fine.”

He nods at your words. “There is so much I want to do to fix this.”

“You do not need to do anything.” Your smile was warm as you look at him. “Your apology is enough.”

Ramattra shakes his head. “It is not.”

“It is.”

“[y/n]...” He leans into your touch, bringing his own hand up to hold yours.

“Come here…” You gently pull his head forward and he stands in response. Your arms wrap around his back and he feels the tightness of your hold. “I forgive you, Ramattra…”

His hands were hesitant in returning the gesture, but as he places his hands on your back to hold you, a shaky sigh escapes him. He couldn’t quite process it - your forgiveness after everything, but there was one thing he did know.

He was forgiven.

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch fanfiction #yazzfics #rewrite

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milune-vox · 5 months ago

Text

The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

previous chapter <=> next chapter Chapter 8:

(weeks after the last date)

Wisdom is often associated with old age.

Now, he is, in fact, old. Older than the vast majority of human beings around. One would assume that, in all his time on Earth, he would have accumulated a wealth of wisdom.

This assumption is incorrect.

The only bit of wisdom he’s ever retained is this: wisdom, as a state of mind, as this stoic, zen master type of attitude, is much like the art of balancing pebbles in neat little heaps at the water’s edge. No matter how much one masters the art, when a wave comes crashing down, the entire structure is ruined, finished, gone—you’ve got to rebuild it all. Start again. There’s no going against the power of nature through sheer fuckin' will, contrary to what some might believe.

When you’re struck down, you’re struck down.

When you’re drowning, you’re drowning.

You’re always where you’re at.

Right now, Hob’s in a rather miserable place. He’s so tired he wants to die.

But that’s not what he’ll do. It’s just how it feels. He knows that he will never ask for death, thank you very much.

This is another thing he’s learned in his long life. Most feelings are bullshit. Most thoughts are too. Meaning, anything he’s previously stated in the haze of his exhausted mind probably was bullshit as well. And perhaps believing it is bullshit is also bullshit in its own right.

They are but consequences of things that are far removed from his motivations and spirits.

Tired? Suddenly he curses the world and wants to bite the bullet.

Sick? Suddenly he dreams of curling up in a ball under the sheets to never come out again.

Hungry? His thoughts spiral into horrible recollections of what it felt like to starve, and despair claws at him, making him want to eat until his belly bursts.

Restless? He wants to break jaws and snap necks and bash skulls in. Those of others or his own. Not too picky in those moments, truthfully.

He has learned to recognize when his mind is bullshitting and discard its input, focusing on getting rest, treatment, or a nice, healthy, balanced meal. As for the restlessness, a bit of workout usually does the trick.

But sometimes, he is a little too tired, too sick, too hungry, too restless.

Too heartbroken.

Sometimes, he just wants to give in and stop fighting, because, what’s the point, his mind asks in a sultry, apathetic voice, what’s the point of life, of going on, of—

A neighbor knocks on a wall and shouts, “Oi!”

It’s not for him, who’s been staring in silence at the wall from his seat on the couch for the better part of an hour. It must be for the students next door, partying hard, walls pulsing with music and shouting.

Yeah, right. That’s why Hob still can’t sleep. Not just the heartbreak this time.

He rubs at his face and sighs. What a fucking day.

He wishes he was privy to more occult knowledge, if only to get ahold of some metaphysical line and ring Dream up.

“Hey there, friend,” he would say. “I know you kind of left in a hurry last time, and I feel like I must have done something wrong again, though, unfair, like, you could have told me if I’d done something to offend you, right? Anyway, not the point. If you are not too mad at me, would you please come on down from wherever your bloody realm is, and sully yourself with my o-so-beneath-you human presence, and just, I don’t know, put me to sleep for the next hundred years? Like, if you’re going to make me wait, might as well not be conscious this time around, alright? I’m tired. I’ll still wait, okay, but I’m tired. I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired—”

The more he thinks about it, the more his lips start shaping the words, silently first, then a murmur, then he speaks them out loud, and his voice breaks, and he does it again and again until he breaks down in tears.

It happens for a total of seven seconds, after which his face, contracted in sobs, goes blank, and he stares off into the distance with an unbothered look.

His rational mind catches up with him and very helpfully provides that self-pity isn’t a very productive course of action. What’s the point of moaning about his issues? It wouldn’t fix them; it would only make them worse, deepen the wound, twist the knife in.

No need to get worried over things out of one’s control.

And so he goes, putting down the first pebble on the shore.

He rises from the couch, feeling like Atlas carrying the world, his body an uncanny mix of numbness and ache, his joints feeling every bit their six hundred years of age. He does not notice the mysterious figure looming down the street below, nor the gun glinting discreetly in a gloved hand.

***

A small black dot grazes the heavy sky. The rain has let up, for now. The dot free-falls like a meteor, but before it reaches the ground, its trajectory pulls up, aiming toward the castle with the speed and precision of a guided missile.

It flies through the open doors, under the ever-watchful eyes of three terrible gargoyles, past countless rooms and corridors.

Finally, after a convoluted, impossible route, it perches at the top of an extinguished candelabrum, its claws clicking against the metal as it shifts anxiously from foot to foot.

“Matthew,” greets Lucienne, her eyes still set on the book she’s reading. She gestures with a swift, accustomed motion.

“Eh, hi boss lady. How you been?”

No matter how many times Dream scolds him, he never drops the nickname. Lucienne doesn’t comment, so he thinks he’s in the clear.

“I have been well, thank you,” she replies, then adds, looking at him over her glasses, “Busy, as you can see.” Matthew considers leaving, though he truly doesn’t want to. His questions have questions, and he can’t think of anyone else to ask in the Dreaming. “Sorry,” he mumbles half-heartedly under her stern glare.

She focuses back on her book, and after a while, comments nonchalantly, “I’ve heard the weather has been less than desirable. I believe I can see the clouds slowly lifting?” She looks pointedly at the high arched windows further down the alley.

“Yeah,” Matthew sighs, answering the unasked question. “He’s with his sister right now, I think. Cool lady.”

“He is?” She stops reading for a moment, surprised. Then her face softens, and she nods to herself. “… Good.”

They sit in silence a while longer until Matthew’s claws start clicking against the metal perch again. Eyes snapping back to him like a librarian catching a noisy visitor, she asks, “Did you want something else?”

Matthew puffs his little feathered chest, bracing himself for the question he’s been burning to ask. “Do you know why he’s been like that? I don’t mean to snoop or anything, but, err, I’m Dream’s raven. I got to, maybe, know about stuff so I can help out? Like, if he’s in danger or something, I’d like to know.”

She halts, breathes in, then sighs. “He is not in danger, and he hasn’t confided in me. If he had told me and not you, I wouldn't break his trust by sharing with you.”

“Ah, okay, well, no, that’s fair, I guess.”

He’s still shuffling on his feet, now in tune with disappointment. “I guess I’ll—” he starts, but is interrupted by Lucienne’s voice.

“However, I have an inkling as to what might have happened.”

“Oh yeah?”

She takes too long to answer, and getting restless, he flies to perch on her chair’s armrest, ready to give his best impression of a begging cat if that’s what it takes. “Come on, spill the beans. You can’t tease a big reveal and drop it like that. You sound like a Marvel post-credit scene, you’re killing me, Lush.”

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “I believe it may have something to do with a friend of his.”

“He’s got a friend?” he croaks, perhaps too surprised, for Lucienne raises an eyebrow. He rushes to correct himself. “Not to be disrespectful or anything, but he’s not got a very, uh, friendly personality. I mean, he’s nice enough with us. Sometimes. But how did that happen? Do I know them? Are they here?”

“He is not in the Dreaming. Hob Gadling belongs to the Waking.”

“Oh, it’s the guy, isn’t it? The guy from the pub. And the flat. And, yeah, I guess it makes sense they’d be friends; they met quite a few times. I just assumed it was some kind of business, like, made sense, you know. Usually, it’s how—wait, what did you say his name was? Hob? Never heard that one.”

“An old nickname. Several hundred years old, to be more accurate.”

“Yeah, well, he must be an interesting fellow if he caught the boss’s attention—wait, when you say several hundred years, you don’t mean… it’s not just an old nickname, is it? Please don’t tell me the dude is actually that old.”

“He is. I don’t know his exact age, but considering the number of centennial meetings, I’d wager he is around 600 years old, yes.”

“Centennial what?”

“Our Lord meets with one Hob Gadling every century. Or so it was the case. We understand this schedule has recently changed.”

“Holy shit. Leave it to the boss to have the weirdest friendship in all of existence. Well, if they’ve been meeting more often, shouldn’t he be, like, in a good mood?”

“He has been. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“...Yes? I don’t know. He’s been okay, I guess. Well, before it all went to shite.”

She sighs.

“Flowers.”

“What about flowers?”

Lucienne takes out a book, revealing pressed roses inside.

“Pressing flowers, Lush? A new hobby?” Matthew asks.

“I’ve been finding them in the castle. In the library. Growing unbidden, in secret places. Barely noticeable for now, but it’s happened before. If the sun comes back, and it seems like the clouds might be dissipating, then they’ll start growing everywhere.”

“I, yeah, I mean, I guess it’s nice that we get spring here, although with all this rain they’re probably all—oh. The flowers are like the rain. They, like, mean something, don’t they? What is it?”

Lucienne raises an eyebrow at him, waiting patiently with a knowing look. Matthew suddenly caws in realization.

“The boss has a crush!”

She immediately returns to her reading, dismissing him with a swift, “I wouldn't dare comment.”

He knows that in Lucienne’s talk, it means nothing but a resounding yes.

“Damn,” he mutters, thinking. “Daaaamn.” He pauses before asking, “Do you think they had a lover’s spat?”

She seems to mull over her response, her eyes stuck on the page, her lips thinning in consideration. Then, she slowly closes her book without making a noise and places it in her lap. She turns to him, and he starts feeling nervous. Solemnly, in a soft, confidential tone, she tells him:

“Our Lord has had some… unfortunate, if not downright tragic, forays into love before. It’s not the first time we’ve had such wretched weather. He will need our support in these times—not our gossip.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. No more questions. Damn. That dude must be something special to get the attention of Dream of the Endless, though, right? I kinda want to meet him. And pluck his eyeballs out if he’s responsible for this rain.”

She chuckles softly, readjusting her glasses with practiced ease.

“I would advise against it. You know the fate of the last denizen of the Dreaming who felt inclined to prey on dreamers’ eyes.”

“Ouch, yes, true. But if he hurt the boss? I’ll give it a shot.”

She smiles a patient, knowing smile at him, and he ruffles his feathers, all bravado and no thought. She shakes her head softly and resumes her reading. Matthew remains, climbing atop the back of the chair to sneak a read from behind her shoulder. As rays of the sun break through the clouds, they traverse the arched windows to fall on them. It is peaceful for a while.

And it remains so until the Dream Lord himself arrives in the library and announces:

“Lucienne, I will be leaving shortly.”

She raises her eyes in consideration, taking in his solemn demeanor, and suggests innocently:

“To the Waking, my Lord?”

He looks wistful, and both she and Matthew wait with bated breath for his answer.

“To Hell.”

“Again?!” Matthew caws indignantly.

And so the events continue to unfurl, as they did, until, finally, the time comes to visit the Waking. Their Lord has accomplished much in these last months. The Dreaming is now bursting at the seams with flowers, set in eternal spring.

“Lucienne,” he starts, and she nods, reading his intention in the slight awkwardness of his posture, the tentative happiness that struggles to rise from his stony expression.

“You’re going to the Waking,” she says, not asking.

A small smile graces his lips at last.

“Indeed. I count on you to watch over things in my absence. I should return in a day.”

“Of course, my Lord.” As he takes hold of his sand and prepares to leave, she adds, “Please do greet Hob Gadling from me.”

He stops, then slowly nods in her direction. They exchange a commiserative gaze, and then Dream disappears in a swirl of sand.

Lucienne goes back to her duties. She starts planning out the day. Some nightmares have been unruly, quite unsettled by the charming weather and the beautiful flowers, which they claim are detrimental to their “whole vibe.” The most recent nightmares had such interesting expressions, anchored in the Waking’s changing times. If only for this, it was good to see her Lord more connected to the Waking. In the past, she had feared for him whenever he left the realm—and if she still did, to some extent, worry—she considered it part of her job, for few beings knew him quite like she did. Now, she knew perhaps this wasn’t true anymore, and she felt warmth and relief at the knowledge. She had, of course, investigated the man, and, though some parts of his long life inspired disdain, he had most definitely changed over the years. His dedication to her Lord was evident through his actions and his dreams. She tried to avoid reading too much into them—it felt quite inappropriate.

Lucienne is about to leave the library and go about her duties for the day when, unexpectedly, sand rises back to where Dream had disappeared not long before. She frowns. It is abnormal for her Lord to return so soon after leaving. She braces herself for a storm. Something must have gone wrong.

She is proven correct when faced with a wide-eyed, terrible-looking Lord Morpheus: his appearance is disrupted, the pretense of humanity but an empty shell from which dark power oozes. His eyes have regained their natural state, galaxies swirling wildly in them.

“My Lord?”

“Lucienne. I need to look at Hob Gadling’s books.”

She’s usually quick on her feet, but the surprise halts her step, and Dream's voice thunders imperiously:

“Ñ̶̩̲͉̠͓̰̹̞̥̽͂͋́̄̅̍̊̈́̂͆̑̊̑ͅͅo̵͍̼̠̖̪̦̤̟̪͇̠͂̃̽͜͜ͅͅẇ̷̺̫̻̥̦͛̑̀̑̅̂́̈̇́̍̕̚.̷̩̰̜͍̯̯͉̗̀͑̄́̕.”

#Dreamling #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus #the sandman fanart #dreamling fanart

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 2 years ago

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based on this

He’s halfway through the portrait to the common room when someone calls his name.

“Weasley.”

Ron pauses. It’s not that he’s not used to being stopped (though typically it was proceeded by a sharp Mister); it’s that he’s not used to being stopped by this bloke. It takes him a full minute to look around. After all, Ginny might be nearby.

But there’s no one. She’s not here. Ron is. The reality of what’s happening is even more mind-boggling when he turns around, brows furrowed and says, “Yeah, Riddle?”

Tom Riddle is what Ron can only call an Apex Slytherin—top of the food chain, probably drinks the blood of innocents out of solid gold goblets, professor’s favourite, sneaky and conniving and outrageously good-looking.

It pains him to admit that last part, but game recognises game.

And there he is, slightly up the hall. Standing back straight, tie straight, head-boy pin straight, announcing Ron’s name. What in Merlin’s name is going on?

“Have you seen Potter?” The way Riddle asks questions is like how his mum asks questions. It’s with that eerie knowing, like they already have a script of what you’re going to say and expect you to say it exactly as written or face the consequences of lying.

But he’s pretty sure Riddle won’t punish him with no quidditch or send him to his room for the evening, so Ron shrugs. “I dunno. Harry’s probably in the dorms.”

Riddle sighs, “Yes,” and sounds ever put-upon. It only confirms Ron’s working theory of an invisible script. “I would like to speak with him,” he continues.

They stare blankly at each other.

...Is he meant to say something? If Riddle wants to speak to Harry, he can speak to him. What’s this have to do with Ron?

It goes on until he nods slowly, hoping that’ll make Riddle spell things out a little clearer. Eventually, Riddle closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “Fetch him for me.”

It’s definitely not a question. Ron can hear absolutely zero question in Riddle’s tone of voice.

Now, he may not like the guy, but he’s not stupid enough to risk pissing him off. “Uh, sure? Give me a minute.”

When Riddle nods, Ron finally crosses the frame. Then he does something he’s never had to do in all seven years of his Hogwarts life; he watches and waits for the portrait to shut entirely. Just in case.

The common room is always crowded after dinner, and today is no different. It takes him longer than ever to make his way through the room, dodging questions and pranks and careless remarks—and those are just from Ginny. Though, he thinks it probably hasn’t been that long at all.

…But there’s a concerning weight pressing against the back of his skull, burning a hole into his brain. He swears it’s Riddle’s anger rising as the minutes pass. Or maybe he’s just been cursed. He did turn his back on Riddle for a second, after all. That’s plenty of time to horrifically maim Ron with an undetectable curse that slowly rends him into a vegetable…

Finding Harry is a relief he hasn’t felt since making the quidditch team.

However, it seems Harry’s in a bit of a mood. He’s lying face down on his bed, glasses still on, robes a mess. Ron’s not sure what’s happened to cause this, but he’s got a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with tall, dark, and edge-lordy out in the hallway.

Well. Ron’s made it this far. So even though Harry can’t see him, he thumbs over his shoulder roughly to where Riddle is waiting and says, “Hey, Harry. Someone was asking for you or something-”

“Tell them I’m dead,” immediately comes muffled out of the Harry-shaped lump before he could finish.

And Ron… Nah, he’s not gonna argue. “Uh...” It takes him all of three seconds to lock in on a plan. “Alright?”

He’s out of the dorm and into the common room in a flash. It takes a few minutes to convince Ginny, but when she hears it’s for Harry’s sake, she’s happy to drop everything. And ultimately, Ron returns to Tom Riddle a new man.

Riddle quickly looks him up and down, most likely cataloguing the obvious lack of Harry along with everything else. The first crack in his polished veneer is the small line between his brows.

“Weasley...” he starts and stops. Stares a few moments longer as if debating whether the answer to his next question is important enough to hear and gives in, “What happened to you?”

Internally Ron thanks the Slytherin learned temptation to have all the information possible. Externally Ron heaves and sniffles. A few more tears slip down his face, and his voice cracks for good measure as he says, “Harry’s died.”

The second crack is a slight frown that tugs at Riddle’s lips. “I just spoke to Potter before dinner. He was perfectly fine.”

"Yeah, well," Ron prepared for this, “it’s happened all of a sudden.” He wheezes, “He fell off his broom during a pickup round of quidditch. It was so fast. He plummeted before anyone could get their wands out to stop him-" he shudders and holds his hand to his mouth.

So overwhelmed he must look (thanks, Ginny) during this fake dramatised retelling of Harry’s untimely death because Riddle’s face turns white as a sheet. It’s the most emotion Ron’s ever seen on him.

For a moment, just a small moment, Ron wonders if this is a bad idea.

And then Riddle is turning about face and marching down the hall, going who knows where to do who knows what. It’s plenty of time for Ron to shrug off the worry and wipe away the fake tears.

Too late now.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #my fic #part one #pov: ron #900 words #this is horrible but i laughed and i hope you will too #part two to come soon (hopefully)#potential title:#fic: in loving memory

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one-n-only-cedar · 6 months ago

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Chapter 1: Alone

“Loneliness is the feeling of being alone even when you’re surrounded by people.” ‒ Wayne Dyer

Seven years ago, a small group of humans called “Conduits” emerged - each with the ability to manipulate and even weaponize a unique form of matter. The Department of Unified Protection was formed to hunt down and indefinitely detain all Conduits (Reclassified as Bio-Terrorists) to protect the population.

Music rattled the walls of the small room as I nodded along, quietly mouthing the words. The noise of the city was mostly drowned out, only the rare loud honking of passing cars and a few choice words from the neighbor to their dog managed to be heard over the song. My fingers struggled against the soft material of my tie as I tried to recall the way Mom had done it last time. A useless endeavor, but I tried anyway.

A slightly chilled breeze slid from my half closed window, lifting the corners of my posters and hanging papers revealing the old peeling paint and scuff marks of my bedroom walls. Bits of character, as my Mom called them, but eyesores nonetheless. *Speaking of eyesores*, I bitterly thought to myself as my eyes wandered to the reflection of my stupid outfit in the mirror. A simple white button down that was just slightly too big for my thin frame, a torn up pair of pants - the nicest ones I owned - and the tie, the stupid yellow tie that I couldn't even figure out how to tie. A great start to an already horrible night. A knock sounded at my door, and I paused my music.

"Come in!" I called, and my mom opened the door.

"Hey Pooh," she said softly, "you getting ready?"

"I don't know if I'm gonna go."

"Oh come on," Mom said "it's the senior party, you're a senior. You should go!"

"Mom," I said softly "no one wants me there."

"Pooh," she says gently "it doesn't matter what other people think or want. You should go. Make some memories, you'll regret it 20 years from now."

I sigh, staring at my reflection in the mirror once more. Making sure everything was in its place If I was going out it all had to be perfect. If I could appear put together, if there was no weakness for the vultures to hone in on. Maybe I could fly under the radar.

"Okay, Ma." I said putting on a fake smile amd turning away from my reflection "I'll go."

She smiled, a wide smile that spread through her whole face. She had the kind of smile that would melt all my insecurities. I smiled back hoping she didn't know it was fake.

"You look great Pooh. Don't worry."

With that I stepped outside, the spring air holding a bit of a nip; I didn't mind the cold, it was the rain I wanted to avoid. Dark storm clouds rolled in overhead. I rushed my walk keeping my head down and weaving through the labyrinth of streets and alleys. We lived in a not so great part of Nova City-The burrows is what most people called it. The rent was cheap and the streets "unsafe", there were so many abandoned buildings in this district it got a reputation for the homeless and any shady individuals looking for a place free from prying eyes.

I passed by a broken down car on my race against the rain, finally I stepped out of the Burrows and into the waterfront district only a block away from the venue. The change in scenery would have been shocking if I hadn't been making this walk for 4 straight years. The old rundown buildings shifted almost immediately to newer more well kept ones, the streets were newly paved and a very clear line of new asphalt acted as a physical reminder of the border between the two districts. Even the street lamps on the "right" side of the city were newer and actually worked

The Venue for the senior party was a small indoor area the walls made of glass and a little raised area for dancing as well as plenty of areas for sitting. My entire class was there sectioned off in their little groups. As I approached nervously two students sitting at a small folding table stopped me. One, a male student with shaggy black hair spoke up,

"Sorry this party is only for Reeves High Seniors."

I nodded, "Yeah I know."

"You're not fooling anyone buddy." Replied the girl next to him, she had red hair that was pulled back in neat braids. "We know all the 2017 class students."

I smirked at that, "then you'd know me."

The girl scoffed and rolled her eyes, "fine smart ass what's your name?" She asked pulling out a yearbook she'd obviously brought to get signed

I debated just walking away; why was I even here? No one wanted me here, but I sighed "Ezra Sims."

The boy scrunched his eyebrows, as if he was thinking very hard, it looked painful. Then his face relaxed as the girl found my senior photo in the yearbook.

"Oh," she said jaw dropping as she made the connection "Oh my god I am so sorry."

I shrugged, and walked in. Wading into a sea of faces, luckily only some of them looked at me and it was just passing glances. Unfortunately apparently the only person who knew I existed was Theo Williams a big bulky fucker who thought it was funny to make my life a living hell. He sneered as he walked towards me his two buddies James and Frank laughing at some stupid joke he made.

"Well if it isn't Pisshead." Theo said earning some laughs from his cronies

I cringed, "Theo leave me alone."

"Or what you gonna cry to mommy?"

"Yeah go cry to your mom, loser!" Frank said

"Frank what the hell have I told you about that!?" Theo whined

That seemed to distract Theo long enough for me to slip away weaving between the many groups who were all crowded together. 137 students and the only one who remembers my existence was the douche who sought me out for emotional torment. I shouldn't be here, I'm just taking up space someone else could take. Wasting air someone else could be using to laugh with their friends or celebrate the end of the school year. I started to make my way back towards the exit when I got bumped from behind slamming into a girl causing her to spill her drink all over herself.

"Watch it ass wagon!" She cursed

I looked behind me to see the shaggy haired kid from the gate looking at me apologetically

"Sorry" he called over the ambient noise before turning his attention back to his friends.

I just rolled my eyes and scooted my boot. Rushing toward the door.

"Leaving so soon?" Called a female voice

Once again stopped in my tracks I turned and came face to face with the redheaded girl. She'd apparently stayed behind to work the gate while shaggy joined the party. She looked at me like she was sizing up a large bag of garbage she had to deal with. Her gaze felt like a million tiny hands moving all over my body, needless to say I was uncomfortable.

"Uh yeah, I-"

"Listen," she cut me off "I'm sorry I didn't know who you were, but don't you have any friends? Someone here has to be glad you came. You can't just show up and then leave!"

"Uh I don't think anyone really knows that I exist so I won't take it personally."

She stepped back looking sad, as if she was looking at a dirty puppy someone abandoned on the side of the road. She opened her mouth to say something but I didn't hear it as the back of my head suffered a blunt force. I heard the terrible sound of Theo's nasally laugh he sounded like squidward and Nelson Muntz the bully kid from Simpsons rolled into one stinking wad.

"Sorry Pisshead!" Theo jeered. "Watch where you're going."

"Theo fuck off!" The girl swore "he wasn't even moving!"

"Stay out of it Marie, he won't fuck you." James called

Theo sneered at her, before turning his attention back to me he balled his fist up to punch me again but Marie, the redhead stepped in the way.

"You gonna hit me?" She challenged

Theo dropped his fist, "no you'll just call your daddy and have him sue me." He said sounding defeated.

That was when it clicked she was Marie Scott, a Junior: her dad was the CEO of Gemini Tech the developers of the Constellation Operating systems 50% of smart phones ran off of. I didn't really take the time to be astonished because the fight was over and I needed to hightail it out of the area before my limited protection was taken away.

I was a block away before anyone even turned to face me. looking over my shoulder I saw Marie yelling at Theo as him and his friends laughed. When I made it back to the Burrows I slowed down, attempting to catch my breath. I walked a few more steps but as I rounded a corner a homeless man slammed into me throwing me to the ground, I watched as he ran off disappearing in an alleyway.

Part of me wanted to just stay on the ground, to sit and wallow in my god forsaken luck. The part of me that wanted to go home and drown my sorrows in a sea of pixelsted demon blood won out though and I stood up. Hoping mom wouldn't be too mad about me ditching the party.

I was nearly home when a sketchy black car drove up beside me, the tinted windows half rolled down.

"Hey kid," Came a deep voice. The man was wearing shades and had a bald head, he was wearing a black suit with some kind of special pin on the lapel "We're looking for a man, maybe you've seen him? Looks kinda homeless a little on the shorter end."

I sighed, "Yeah he just bowled me over in the street, he was running that way."

"Thanks kid, you should get inside. Dangerous place to get caught in the storm." Came the ominous reply

I'd made it home without any further incidents, my mom was at work so hopefully I could get away with throwing some time into my games before crawling into bed. I grabbed myself a snack and a bottle of cold water. Sat down at my computer and just as I was about to turn it on the power cut out.

"Fuck!" I yelled out, the perfect ending to a shitty night.

I examined myself in the mirror making sure my graduation robe was on straight, putting the cap on over my kippah and taking it off repeatedly. The deep blue of the silk robe looked ugly over my body, my favorite part was the yellow ribbon that hing from my cap. At some point during my constant fussing my mom came in,

"Time to go Pooh." She said smiling broadly

Sitting in the crowd felt even more lonely than the party did. Soon the announcer called the top of the class up to give a speech. It was James the shaggy haired kid from the party. I wasn't paying full attention as he spoke but soon the crowd roared and I followed suit.

Then we walked, I heard the names being called. "Ivy Adams, James Danse, Marcy Long, Tony Redgrave" and so on until I heard my name "Ezra Sims" a shout came from the audience probably my mom.

After I got my diploma I had to wait until the rest of the class walked and then it was time to leave, or so I thought.

"Oh Pooh I'm so proud of you!" My mom gushed as I tried to navigate through the crowds. "Wait! We can't leave I gotta get a picture of my handsome man!"

I wanted to complain but I complied stepping in front of the large stadium sign. Behind me the signed read 'Nova Center' and the Nova Tower loomed over like a big phallic shaped reminder of the city's wealthiest inhabitants. My mom flashed the picture and the white light filled my eyes.

I blinked away the flash throwing my mom a glare but she smiled barely spreading her scarlet lips. The smile didn't reach her eyes it never did, almost like she wasn't actually happy.

"Oh Alice, got top of her class I couldn't be more proud of her." My mother said talking to the reporter, she'd never say it to me just about me.

I suffered through more interviews plastered on a smile and trudged through the day. Then finally it was time to return home, and I went straight to my room. My mother had been talking to me but I ignored her locking the door behind me. I had more important business to take care of.

#infamous game #infamous oc #infamous second son #infamous equilibrium #its back #Ezra Sims #Alice Mitchell

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