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zepskies · 9 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 16

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Run to You” by the Pentatonix

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: Physical altercation, perilous situations, fire hazards, injuries, angst, Nick and Azazel being evil psychos.

Part 16: “Break Down the Gates”

The holiday couldn’t last forever. Eventually, you had to go back to work.

Dean didn’t like it, and neither did you. Hell, even Sam had tried to find an opening in the district attorney’s office for you. Unfortunately, all of the positions you were remotely qualified for were filled.

And as your bills had to get paid, it meant you had to take Betsy all the way up to the 22nd floor of the Savage & Co. building on a Monday morning.

Dean was already calling you.

You couldn’t answer until you got off the elevator and away from its shitty reception, but you let out a sigh before you called him back.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hey, sweetheart. How you doin’?” Dean asked.

“I’m good. I just got to my office,” you replied. I was also fine 20 minutes ago on the road.

You had to be patient though. You knew he was worried about you, now for more than one good reason.

“Good. Got your taser all charged up?”

“Yep, it’s in my purse,” you said. You closed the door to your office and locked it. “Which is going in my desk. You’re at the station?”

“Yeah, having my coffee right now.”

“Okay, tell the guys I said hi.”

“Will do,” said Dean. “You need anything, just call me. If you can’t get ahold of me, call Cas, or Sam, or even my dad.”

“I promise I will,” you replied. “I have to get to work here, but I hope you have a good day. And be safe.”

“That I will,” he promised in turn. “You too, baby.”

You smiled.

Once you hung up with Dean and got settled at your desk, you started by powering through your work emails. All too soon, however, there was a knock at your door. You fought against the tremor of unease that ran up your spine.

“Who is it?” you asked.

“It’s Marv,” replied your coworker, through the door. “Since when do you lock yourself in your office?”

You let out a breath and smiled. You got up and went to let him in. “I’ve found that people are less likely to interrupt me when they can’t get in.”

When the door opened, Marv gave you a look of begrudging acceptance.

“I hear ya,” he said. The man was a hermit himself, so if anyone was going to understand your self-barricading, it was Marv.

He handed you a hard-copy manilla envelope containing his monthly report, because he also had a disdain for email.

“Why don’t you give this to Nick yourself?” you asked with a frown.

Marv held up placating hands. “Because he’s an ass, and I can only deal with so much idiocy in my life.”

“Then give it to Josh! He’s the new Senior Manager,” you pointed out.

“Josh kisses Nick’s ass. Therefore, he’s become an even bigger idiot,” Marv replied. “I’m telling you, my constitution just can’t bear it.”

You rolled your eyes and took the folder from him. “All right, get outta here. I’ll deal with this.”

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. He soon left to return to his hole of an office. You’d only been in there once. It had been stacked to high heaven with books and loose papers. You didn’t know how the man functioned, but you assumed it was equal parts caffeine and Prozac.

So you took the report, and you went up to the 30th floor for the first time in months.

You went down the hall to Josh’s office first, but you could hear from the other side of the closed door that he was locked in a meeting with one of the more difficult clients.

You could come back later, or just drop the folder off with Nick’s assistant.

You went back down the hall and found that Nick’s office door was cracked open, but you weren’t about to go in, even just to deliver a simple report. You didn’t want to speak to him, let alone enter his office.

His assistant was out on a break, it seemed, so you couldn’t just give it to her. You contemplated leaving it on her desk with a note. But that’s when you heard the voices coming from within the office.

“As you know, my father’s back in town,” you heard Nick say. You inched closer to the door and cautiously peeked through the three inches of space in the doorway. There was another man inside, slightly taller than Nick, but leaner. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a plaid shirt. His long arms were crossed as he listened.

You could tell by the way he stood, however, that this wasn’t an associate from one of their accounts. He didn’t look like a businessman or a lawyer. The way he stood was sharper, more calculated even in his laxness.

Your brain caught up with the conversation as Nick continued to speak.

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Keep an eye on the cop. Wait for an opportunity.”

“Together, huh? Azazel has his orders. You trying to take his place?” the other man replied. His voice was thin and nasal. You saw his profile, however. His eyes were dangerous.

Your gaze widened at the implications of his words though. Azazel?!

“Dad agrees with me. The guy’s not getting the hint, so we’ll need to remind him who really makes the rules,” Nick said.

You blinked in shock. Holy shit…Nick’s father is Azazel.

You clasped a hand over your mouth before the gasp could escape. A sharp breath still echoed through the hall. The men’s heads began to turn, but you did as well—away from the door and booking it down the hall as quietly and quickly as you could.

Your heart pounded while you searched for a way out of the hallway, out of plain sight. You found the nearest bathroom and went into the women’s. It seemed empty, at least.

There you rushed into one of the stalls and locked it. You realized that you had your phone in your pocket, and you took it out with trembling hands. Your thumb hovered over Dean’s name as panicked breaths escaped you.

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

“He’s Nick’s father,” you hissed. Trying to contain yourself and speak quietly was not easy. “I met him once at a company networking event, like a month after I got hired. Daniel Savage. He built Savage & Co. from the ground up. But he handed off the reigns to Nick years ago.”

It seemed to take John a moment to compute on that one, but he eventually replied.

“You’re at the office now?” John asked.

“Uh, yeah!” you replied testily. “I’m hiding out in a bathroom stall.”

“Okay, take it slow, all right?” he said. “You’re gonna go back to your office, calm. Like you didn’t just hear what you heard. You’re gonna take an early lunch, and you’re gonna come straight to the precinct for me. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

You took a deep breath to steady yourself as you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay. I need to call Dean,” you said.

“I’ll fill him in. Just focus on getting out of there,” John said.

You agreed, but you still felt shaky when you ended the call. No one had entered the bathroom, and it had been a few minutes already, so you chanced stepping out of the stall and into the hallway. That too was empty.

You sucked in another steadying breath. This time you went down the stairs to get back to your office. It felt unusually warm in the stairwell. Hot enough that you actually started to sweat on the way down to the 22nd floor.

Damn, did the AC break or something?

You made it back to your office, though when you opened the door, you were unable to be relieved. Nick sat in your chair at your desk. He gave you a smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to be in here. Get out,” you snapped. You had no patience for another tête-à-tête with him today; especially after what you just saw.

And it hit you then. You were a witness.

You eyed Nick more warily. He had one of his gold golf clubs in his hand, and he leaned on it as he stood. He set up a putter’s stance next to your desk and hit a golf ball with a gentle swing. The ball rolled into your flat shoe.

“I want to go over that report you brought upstairs,” he said.

You shook your head and went cautiously over to your desk. Your purse was inside (you were kicking yourself for not taking it with you upstairs). Nick was too close to your desk for comfort, until he moved to retrieve his golf ball. It allowed you to move farther into the room.

“Anything you want to discuss can be done via email. Right now, I’m meeting a friend for lunch,” you lied. Your gaze was off the man for maybe a few seconds while you grabbed your purse from inside the desk. Another realization hit you in that moment.

How did he know it was me who brought the report?

By the time you looked up, Nick was shutting the door to your office. He tilted his head at you with a darker edge to his smile.

“You saw something you weren’t supposed to. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” he said.

You steeled yourself with a breath. You felt inside your purse, and your hand wrapped around your taser. You pulled it out and switched it on, pointing it towards him.

“Step away from the door or I’ll fry your ass,” you threatened. It lost its effect somewhat, with the way your hand was shaking, but it was a threat, nonetheless.

Nick raised his brows at you. He still had his golf club in hand. His movements were slow as he stepped away from the door, and closer towards you.

“Sure you know how to work that thing?” he teased with a shrug of his shoulders. “If I were you, I’d take a breath. Relax a bit. Come sit on my knee.”

That last bit was teasing, despite the way he eyed you, even now with a shade of desire. The kind that claimed and stole in its taking. It made you want to spit in his face.

“You’re a bastard,” you replied. “Turns out, the bastard apple doesn’t fall far from the bastard tree.”

“Watch it,” Nick warned. You saw the dangerous edge in his blue eyes. “That’s my dad you’re talking about.”

He swung the club at your head.

You managed to duck, yelping as it crashed into a lamp instead. You tried to run for the door, but that was when Nick grabbed you by the hair and nearly yanked the hairclip right out.

A short scream escaped your lips as you grabbed for his wrist. He shoved you hard into the wall, where you lost your footing and fell. Your head cracked against the accent table that once held the lamp, and your vision blurred on the way down. Glass crackled under your arm and bit into your cheek.

A strong hand grabbed you and hefted you up. You felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of your face as you stared up into his. It must’ve been blood, but all you could focus on was the satisfaction in Nick’s eyes. Finally, they seemed to say.

But then he paused. Confusion was written across his face.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. You both saw it climbing under the door of your office.

It was a distraction that broke you out of your frozen fear.

On pure instinct, you jabbed at Nick’s ribs with your taser. His hands fell away from you and he went down like an elephant, jolting and writhing on the ground. You gasped for breath above him while you realized what you’d just done. You tilted your head down at him.

No, you weren’t done.

You grabbed his golf club with your free hand. When he tried to reach for your ankle, you jammed the heavy club into his hand until he shouted in pain. For every moment of frustration, anxiety, and fear this man had caused you, you gave it back to him with one heavy swing of that club into his stomach. (And maybe one more for good measure.)

He doubled over, groaning, coughing a bit of blood. You tossed the golf club and grabbed your purse with a shaking hand. You left him where he laid.

As soon as you open the door, however, you were pushed back by the cloud of incoming smoke. You coughed and squinted against it, but your eyes widened again when you realized what was happening.

The building was on fire.

For some reason the alarms weren’t going off, but it was clear to see what was in front of you. Smoke was clogging the halls. People were rushing out of their offices for the stairwell. You couldn’t help glancing back at Nick; he was slowly pulling himself to his feet.

Part of you knew he might not make it if you left him, but when he looked up at you, with pure hatred, your fear overrode any mercy that might’ve made you turn around.

So you fled for the stairwell behind the small crowd. There were flames making their way down along with the smoke. That was all right, because you all were running in the opposite direction.

You had to blink a drop of blood out of your eyes, and you raised a shaky hand to a cut above your brow, which was also tender to the touch. You were bleeding, clearly, but you couldn’t think about that right now. You were just trying your best not to get pushed or trampled while you hastened down several floors.

The signs pointed to Floor 10 when you felt a buzzing in your pocket. It was your phone, you realized. You were about to fish it out of your pocket, but you were forced to stop short on the stairs, along with everyone else.

The flames were coming from the floor below as well, blocking your exit.

Once again, Dean frowned while checking his phone. You still hadn’t answered his text from an hour ago. Benny came to sit beside him on the couch in the firehouse common room.

“What’s got you spacin’ out?” Benny asked, noting his friend’s mood.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “But I’ve got a bad feeling, Benny.”

Benny’s brows furrowed. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Before Dean could answer, his phone rang in his hand. He perked up to answer it, until he realized it was his dad calling. He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dean greeted.

“Thanks to your girl, we know who Azazel is,” John said. “Daniel Savage. Nick is his son.”

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach; his shock was followed swiftly by worry.

“What? How’d she find that out?”

“She called me this morning. I told her to come straight to the precinct, but she’s not here yet. That was an hour ago,” John said gravely.

Dean’s eyes widened.

And then the alarm sounded overhead. Over the intercom the dispatcher reported a working fire at a commercial building. The address was the same as your work building: Savage & Co.

“Is that you?” John asked, once the intercom message was finished.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He was already up and out of the firehouse, getting his turnout gear on with the phone pressed to his ear. His heart was hammering in his chest, but his tone was rock steady.

“If she’s still in that building, I’m gonna find her.”

Firehouses 18 and 20 had already arrived by the time Firehouse 25 got to the scene of the Savage & Co. building. The flames were sky-high, consuming from the top and the bottom. Just by looking at it, Dean thought there had to have been at least two points of origin (where the fire was started). He doubted this was an accident.

“Okay, 25,” Chief Singer said to the entire Truck 79 and Rescue Squad crew. “House 20 got here first, so Chief Sanderson’s calling the shots. He requested our help in clearing the first five floors. Their crew is already on floors 30 through 20. House 18 has the middle.”

Dean went up to Bobby and spoke just loud enough for him to hear. He filled him in on what John had just told him about Azazel, and that you were most likely somewhere in the building.

“She’s in there, Chief. I have to find her,” Dean said.

Bobby saw the desperation in the younger man’s eyes, and he sympathized. “Have you tried calling her again?”

“She’s not answering,” Dean replied. “If he found out what she knows, he could be after her. That means she could be somewhere near the top.”

“Or she’s in the middle. Or she’s already out of the building,” Bobby reasoned. He quelled Dean’s protest with a raised hand. It then fell on the younger man’s shoulder. “I understand, son. But I’ve got a protocol to follow, and so do you, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s lips pressed together. He knew his rank and his responsibility, but you were in danger. You could already be hurt, or trapped, or…

Dean rounded up Truck 79 with swift, barking orders. After donning their helmets and masks, his and Benny’s team made their way inside. The first floor was wall to wall rolling flames. The heat was nearly overwhelming, like entering the gates of hell.

There was no moving safely through the first floor, so they had to move on to the closest stairwell and try to make it up to the second. Dean held Benny back for a moment.

“I’m going up! Stick with the guys,” Dean said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony inside the stairwell.

Benny frowned. “What’re you doin’? You heard the Chief!”

Dean shook his head. He knew he was about to defy a direct order, but he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that you were still in the building somewhere.

“I’ve gotta find her,” he said.

“You think I don’t want to find Andréa?” Benny said. “She hasn’t answered my calls either. They could be anywhere, Dean!”

Dean clasped his friend’s shoulder. “You’re making my point, man.”

And he took off up the stairs before Benny could stop him.

“Damn it, Dean!” Benny shouted after him.

“Where’s he going?” Jack asked. He and Gordon were the only ones to hang back while the rest of their crew followed their orders and searched the second floor, not realizing that their Lieutenant was no longer with them.

“To go be an idiot,” Benny growled. But he wasted no more time. He followed Dean up the stairwell.

Gordon shared a quick look with Jack before he started his own climb up the stairs.

“You can follow protocol, or you can back up the Lieutenant,” Gordon called down.

In that moment, Jack made a decision. He followed Gordon and Benny.

You had to follow the rest of the crowd after you all couldn’t make it down the rest of the stairs safely. It landed you somewhere on the 10th floor, where the group scattered. Your head was aching, your heart pounded in your ears, and you didn’t know where to go.

You fled for the stairwell on the other side of the building, and in turning a corner, you smacked right into Andréa. You gasped when you caught hold of each other.

“Oh my God!” she cried, and she grabbed you into a hug. “Are you okay? Why’re you bleeding?”

“Catch up later,” you choked out. It was so hard to breathe; you were coughing every few moments.

She looked on you worriedly and let out a cough herself. “Come on.”

She pulled you along with her by the arm. You joined a smaller group that were heading for the opposite stairwell. Unfortunately, not all of you would make it there.

A piece of the weakened ceiling crumbled and fell in a fiery heap. Andréa had been just a couple steps in front of you, and it meant you saw it before she did. You pushed her forward so she would make it across. You were forced to stop short and protect your face from the embers.

You nearly tripped and fell back, but you used the wall to steady yourself. You looked up at the sound of Andréa calling your name. You found her terrified face. There was now a wall of fire separating you from her and the rest of the group.

“Keep going!” you coughed. “I’ll find another way.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!” she called back. She pushed away the man that tried to urge her on towards the stairwell.

“Go!” you shouted, even though it raked across your throat. You forced yourself to straighten up and turn away from her. The only chance you had was if there was a way around this hallway that still led to the stairs.

Oh shit, you gasped when you turned the corner. The fire was only getting worse. The building was being consumed, and you almost couldn’t see past a few feet in front of you with all the smoke. It stung in your eyes and clogged your throat.

You stumbled along until you found a room that you could escape into. It was another restroom. The fire hadn’t yet reached inside the women’s bathroom on this floor; maybe you could wait it out like you would a tornado.

Okay, clearly I’m fucking delirious, you thought. You huddled in a corner under the sink and tried and failed to take even breaths without coughing or panicking. You pulled out your phone with shaking hands and tried once again to call Dean. The reception was absolute shit in the entire building now.

It rang, and rang, and rang. Tears slipped down your cheeks.

But despite your dismayed thoughts, he actually answered.

“Hey! Baby, are you there?!”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You clutched at the phone. “Dean!”

You coughed, and you realized smoke was rising under the bathroom door now. The fire would spread here soon enough.

“Where are you? I’m here at your building!”

“Bathroom, 10th floor!” you managed to reply. “I couldn’t get out.”

“It’s okay. I’m coming right now,” he said. “Stay put for me.”

“Yeah,” you said, with a shaky breath. You couldn’t exactly leave. “Dean, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Where’s…r—oom?”

He was glitching in and out. You gripped the phone tighter in panic. “Dean?”

“Can…ear m…”

“Dean!” Your tears fell anew. You had another reason to struggle for breath as you tried to reach him.

You slid out from under the sink to try and get better reception, but it was no use. The call failed.

“Shit!” You nearly tossed your cell across the room out of sheer frustration.

Then you paced back and forth, trying to think of what to do. Should you leave your momentary shelter to go and find him, or would that just run the risk of him never finding you.

You didn’t know. You didn’t know what to do.

God, I’m so fucking screwed…

You slumped against the wall and tried to stifle your coughing, all while you also tried (and failed) to form some kind of a plan.

Until the bathroom door bursting open startled a scream out of you. Was the fire coming in?!

The move did allow more smoke to infiltrate the bathroom, but instead of the fire, you saw a firefighter in all his gear. This time, it did include the helmet.

“Fire Department!” he called out.

You would know that voice anywhere. And even through the mask, you recognized the man’s eyes when he went to you.

“Dean,” you sobbed. It was halted only by a series of lung-wracking coughs and wheezing. He quickly took his helmet and mask off so he could fit the mask over your soot-covered face.

“It’s okay, deep breaths. I gotcha, baby, just breathe,” Dean encouraged. His arm was around your waist, holding you close while the oxygen finally allowed you to take in slower breaths and relax against him.

“Okay, let’s get out of here, huh?” he said. He put his helmet back on.

You grabbed the front of his jacket. “Don’t you need the mask?”

You were still having trouble breathing, coughing on every other word. Dean shook his head.

“You need it more right now,” he said.

You realized that Benny was holding the bathroom door open.

“We gotta go!” he said.

“Benny, Andréa was here,” you said. His eyes widened behind his mask. “She got out, I think. She made it to the west stairwell.”

“Okay, yeah, because no one’s getting out the east wing,” Gordon said. You noted him standing just behind Benny, with Jack in tow.

“There’s a block,” you said, pointing just ahead where you saw the pile of debris. More parts of the ceiling had crumbled around it, making it a fiery minefield. There was no other way around it at this point—only through it.

Gordon and Jack went through first, followed by Benny. With their jackets and protective gear, they were able to jump through like a flaming hoop. And they would be able to help catch you and Dean from the other side.

“Okay, you ready?” Dean asked.

“If I say no?” you said, holding onto him tighter. His hand soothed over your hair. You’d lost your clip a long time ago (along with your purse), so your hair was probably wild and frizzy and covered in soot, along with the rest of you.

Dean grinned down at you. “Then I’d say, don’t you worry. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

Even now, through your fear, he could make you smile. You steeled yourself and took a breath. You could hear it so clearly with the mask on. That, and your own heartbeat.

He counted down to three, and on the last beat, Dean covered your head and shoulders and ran with you under the flame-covered ceiling. He managed to help you jump over the fiery debris on the ground. On both of your heavy landings, a wooden support beam fell.

There was a shout from Benny, but it was too late. All Dean could do was cover you. The beam broke over his back and knocked his helmet clean off. He took you with him when he fell.

Your scream rang out—half at the fall, but mostly for Dean. It was Benny who dragged you and Dean out first. Gordon and Jack took over hefting an unconscious Dean, while Benny hauled you up onto your feet and led you to the west stairwell.

You passed out just as you felt fresh air hit the mask.

You woke to bright, fluorescent lighting that made you wince. An oxygen mask covered your mouth and nose and was strapped around your head. You made a sound of discomfort and tried to take it off, but a hand stilled yours.

“Don’t.”

Eileen’s concerned face came into view. You were confused, though happy to see her.

“You’re in the hospital,” she said. When you tried to speak, she held up a finger to you. Wait, said her eyes.

She took out her phone from her jean pocket to text someone.

“Sam is coming,” she told you, before she drew closer to sooth a hand up and down your arm. You felt tears in your eyes at just that small comfort.

They fell in earnest when Sam entered your hospital room. His eyes held the concern of a friend and a brother as he approached on your other side.

“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked, laying a hand on your shoulder.

You wheezed a breath and rasped, “Water.”

Sam nodded and grabbed you a plastic cup filled with cold water. It felt like literal heaven once the mask was off and you were able to drink. He helped you while Eileen held the mask away from your face.

After you’d had all you could drink, he took the cup and Eileen placed the mask back over your face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked, after clearing your throat. You still sounded like a chain smoker, and your head was pounding. “Is he okay?”

“He’s stable,” Sam said, with a sigh. But when he didn’t offer anything more, you raised expectant brows at him.

“What else?” you said. Your tone told him not to skimp on any more details.

Sam’s gaze met yours. “The beam burned through his jacket, on his back. It hit his head. They…had to perform a minor surgery to relieve the pressure in his brain, but he’s stable in recovery now.”

He was quick to add on that last bit when you began to crumble. Eileen encouraged you to breathe through your tears. The oxygen could only do half the battle if you didn’t breathe properly.

“I want to see him,” you said.

Sam frowned and held up a placating hand. “I don’t think that’s—”

You ignored him and tried to sit up. With or without his approval, you were getting out of this bed.

“Okay, you’re not listening,” Sam sighed, though he immediately went to help you. He shot Eileen an imploring look over your head.

She got the hint and helped you on her side. Together they helped you stand while you removed the mask, then the heart monitor and other wires taped to your torso.

The Emergency Department team had left your pants on, thank goodness, but they’d clipped through your blouse and bra. So the paper gown was mostly to cover your top half like a light blue poncho. It was a bit airy in the back, but Eileen held it closed for you. Right now, you didn’t care much about your modesty. You were also walking around the hospital barefooted.

At least Dean was on the same floor. It was just a long walk down the hall.

“Can you call Benny and ask how Andréa’s doing?” you asked, coughing a bit.

Sam eyed you in thinly veiled concern, but he agreed. The last he’d heard from Benny was that Andréa had been cleared by the paramedics with minor smoke inhalation. You were clearly worse.

Sam held you upright when you finally saw Dean. He had to guide you into a chair beside Dean’s bed, where he slept on his side. On his back was a large stretch of white gauze across his upper back, from nearly shoulder to side at an angle.

“The doctor said they’re only second-degree burns. It looks worse than it is,” Sam said quietly.

Eileen rubbed your back in the hopes that you’d stop crying.

You could only focus on the gauze, the smaller nicks and burns around Dean’s face, the bandage and thick gauze near his temple where they’d apparently had to drill into his skull. He also wore an oxygen mask, because if all that wasn’t enough, you were sure “smoke inhalation” was on the list, thanks to the way he’d given you his SCBA mask.

Gently, very gently, you took his hand. Your thumb swept over the back of it, over each knuckle.

“Did they say when he’d wake up?” you asked. You rubbed at your aching stomach. Does smoke inhalation cause nausea too?

Your chest was also tight. You’d head back to your room sooner or later and get the oxygen mask back on.

Before Sam could reply, you heard a groan below. You looked down at Dean with wide-eyed hope. It took a moment, but his eyes slid open. They were unfocused and dark, until they found your face.

You smiled tearfully. “Hey, baby.”

Your free hand caressed his cheek. His eyes briefly closed at your touch. When he realized you were holding his hand, he squeezed a bit. That was enough for you.

Just then, however, you had to let go of his hand. Whatever was left in your stomach from this morning seemed to be revolting. You turned your head quick to throw up onto the hospital floor.

Both Sam and Eileen called your name when you slid out of your chair and onto the floor. You blinked tears out of your eyes…or actually, it was black spots encroaching on your vision.

Sam pushed the chair out of his way to get to you. He gathered you into his arms and shouted for a doctor while Eileen went for the emergency button on Dean’s hospital bed.

The last thing you saw was Dean’s worried face out of the corner of your eye, before the blackness took you.

Dean could barely speak behind his oxygen mask, but Sam saw his worry as the nurses carried you away in a stretcher with Eileen following close behind. Sam crouched in front of his brother and clasped his hand.

“She’ll be okay, I promise. I’m gonna look out for both of you,” Sam said. “Right now, you need to sleep.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. In that small gesture, Sam also saw his stubbornness. He almost smiled. You and Dean were a match made.

“Just rest, Dean. I’m going now to check on her, but not until you close your eyes,” Sam said. It took another stubborn minute, but Dean eventually relaxed as well as he was able. His eyes closed as he fell back under the pull of medication and painkillers.

“How’s he doing?” came the voice of their father in the doorway. Sam’s expression morphed from gentle to austere. His head turned towards his father.

“How does he look like he’s doing?” Sam asked. “He had a burning ceiling fall on him. He has the mother of all concussions, and he just saw his girlfriend collapse.”

John was quiet, in contrast to his youngest son’s ire. He stepped into the room and watched his eldest. Sam saw the man’s age in the lines around his eyes, in his slow gait when he raised a gentle hand to comb through Dean’s greasy hair, mindful of his injuries.

“This shouldn’t have fucking happened,” said John. His voice was tired and gruff. Sam knew what the weight of guilt looked like, but what he didn’t yet see was regret. If John hadn’t kept digging, digging, Azazel wouldn’t have taken it this far.

Okay, Sam didn’t yet have proof that Azazel burned down the Savage & Co. building…but he didn’t believe in coincidences.

“No,” Sam said. “It shouldn’t have.”

“What the fuck was that?!” Nick shouted.

He was still dusted with soot and sporting some cracked ribs from the day’s activities. He’d stumbled into his father’s house, taken a bottle of bourbon from the man’s shelf and started drinking straight from the crystal glass.

Daniel eyed him coolly from the balcony, smoking a cigar. “Whatever do you mean, son?”

Nick was furious. He stomped over, not caring how expensive liquor was splashing on him.

“Why’d you burn the whole damn building?” he demanded to know. “I could’ve died!”

“Alistair got you out, didn’t he?” Daniel pointed towards his son with the hand that held his cigar. “See, unlike you, I think ahead.”

“I’m serious,” Nick hissed. “Our company is still important—”

“My company,” Daniel interjected, “is not that building. However, the building itself was a liability.”

Nick’s brows knit together in confusion and anger. “What the hell’re you talking about?”

Daniel took a long drag of his cigar, puffing in Nick’s face. The latter coughed. As if he hadn’t had enough smoke in his lungs today.

“Don’t you see?” Daniel asked, with a sigh that also said he wondered how he could’ve produced such a moron. “It puts distance between you and ‘Azazel’ if you’re also a victim of his threats. It destroys any physical evidence of me having been there, along with any files you would’ve eventually had to turn over to the police and the FBI.”

Nick let that idea sink into his brain. He realized that it did make sense…but he deflated as something else occurred to him.

“Uh…see, that would’ve worked, but, we have a problem,” Nick scratched his head. “Someone knows who you really are.”

By the time Nick finished explaining about you, and what you’d overheard, Daniel’s sharp gaze managed to strike fear into Nick’s heart.

Yet to his surprise, the other man’s temper didn’t blow. Daniel kept it all inside as he continued to smoke. Cigars tended to pacify him better than cigarettes.

His lips twitched at a humorless smile. “Well, that is a problem.”

“But she probably died in the fire, so we’re good,” Nick shrugged.

“No, I doubt she did,” Daniel sighed. “You’re not that lucky.”

He rolled his shoulders. Then he grabbed Nick’s arm and twisted, until his was crying out and pinned to the nearest wall. Daniel threatened to put out his cigar in the soft underbelly of the arm he held.

Nick looked up at his father with wide, pleading eyes.

“Like everything else, that girl is a problem I’m going to fix,” Daniel said. “Along with the whole Winchester brood.”

AN: 🫣 Don't hate me lol. It gets better for them, I promise. But we have a few more chapters left to go and a few more twists in store!

Next Time:

The first time Dean was awake for longer than a few minutes, he asked about you.

Sam wasn’t surprised. He was frankly relieved that he had an answer for his brother.

Keep Reading: PART 17

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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coveholdenmyluv · 6 months

Text

Mean Girls - E. Jaeger

synopsis. Eren's the new kid at Trost Academy and being fresh meat in his senior year isn't easy. Especially so when the only friends he's made yet have managed to convince him to help them mess with "The Plastics". The problem?

He's got the biggest crush on their queen bee, Y/N.

series masterlist.

chapter warnings. Foul language, suggestive content, rich ppl, vomit, comedy, simping (eren almost creams his pants multiple times wtf man), second hand embarrassment, revenge revenge revenge

chapter synopsis. Eren’s first day at Trost goes horribly wrong but, hey! There’s sloppy joes? Armin and Mikasa won’t let Eren’s injustice go so easily…

chapter 1. Trost Academy

Trost district.

A paradise where sports cars, shopping centers, and marbled water fountains lined the streets from north to south and east to west.

And smack bad in the center of the bustling city stood an enormous pristine building lined with white bricks and polished blue tinted windows. Its entire essence oozed ideal perfection. Trost Academy, the city's pride and joy.

A fortifying standing contradiction to the boy currently planted at the front gate.

Beads of sweat could be seen sliding down the crevices of Eren's face, whether from exhaustion or nerves he couldn't yet tell. As if being the new kid in his senior year of high school that was in an entirely different city wasn't bad enough, the dumbass forgot to change the time his alarm went off. It had slipped his mind the night before that a new school meant a differing schedule, hence himself still operating on Shiganshina High's delayed timetable.

Luckily for him, mommy Carla wasn't so stupid, so when she noticed that Eren hadn't descended down the stairs for breakfast yet, you best believe she went in there and whooped some Jeager ass. It was because of Carla's thoughtfulness that he was only running behind a full ten minutes, though Eren doesn't take much time to get ready.

So here he was, taking in the glory of what was to be his brand new alma mater. He leisurely made his way to the front gate and displayed his temporary ID to the security guard who in turn allowed him to finally step foot inside his latest ecosystem. Which is actually a very humorous way to describe the academy since usually when a person pictures an ecosystem, one would see animals, trees, water, or any natural aspects that came from wild life.

The academy is the exact opposite of that idea; as opposing as black and white. Not a single weed out of place or bird shit staining any of the bricks - it's clear that someone takes exceptional care of the place.

It is currently 7:15 am and Eren had just acquired his schedule as well as his locker number from the front office, he is now waiting patiently for his student body president to show him around the halls as well as to grab his permanent ID from whatever room they were being made in — he has already forgotten the exact number.

Just as he was falling asleep in the very comfortable chairs of the front office, that almost caused him to froth at the mouth when he realized they were indeed massage chairs, an enthusiastic voice introduced themselves.

"Hey there! You're Eren, right?"

Right before his eyes stood a tall, tan, and freckled god. His dark hair was parted in the middle, with some of it ghosting the top of his face, and the freckles that decorated the apples of his cheeks only enhanced the bright smile he directed towards Eren. His clothes were impeccable, without a wrinkle in sight, and a very obviously expensive diamond studded watch was wrapped around his wrist, putting Eren's own withering one to shame; he'd gotten it on his twelfth birthday as a present from an aunt that he can't remember the name of.

Never in his 18 years of life has Eren ever met someone so blindingly bright, he was almost forced to use his hand as a shield for his eyes at the light that protruded from the boy before him.

"Uh, yeah. Eren Jaeger. I'm guessing you're the one that's gonna show me around this... palace?"

A pellucid laugh fell from the freckled boy at Eren's joke, though he's not sure if he would consider it as such since it's not at all a stretch of the truth, as he placed a hand on his chest to steady his vibrations.

"Yup! Marco Bodt, your new student body president. Welcome, I will do the honors of showing you around campus, to your locker, and attaining your student ID. Class starts at 8:00 so we should get going, Eren." He instructed as he held the door open for the latter. "Can I call you that by the way? I know in Shiganshina it's customary to go by last names, but here we're encouraged to refer to each other by first names because it apparently 'boosts our camaraderie', which is a weird way to think about it since it's not like we're soldiers or anything." He chuckles. "Anyway, if that bothers you then it's totally fine! I can refer to you however you prefer."

"Eren's just fine," He reassures the boy, "Can I call you Marco?"

"Marco is perfect! Well then, let's get going, Eren." Marco says as they finally begin the tour.

As they begin to cruise the halls, Marco begins to offer Eren peculiar information about the places they walk past, as if they are on some safari adventure with teenagers replacing the animals and yellow "Caution! Wet floor!" signs replacing the trees.

Although, usually tour guides speak about history or interesting facts and not... whatever the hell Marco was saying.

"And this is the janitor's closet! You can usually spot at least two people in here making out, just try to not get caught by our janitor, he's small but very scary. I also advise that if you plan on taking more than two people in here, maybe you should reconsider and instead take it to the stairwell just down the hall. Based on my past experiences, it can get pretty cramped in here." The student body president explained with a laugh that threw his head back.

Eren blinked in perplexity at the load of information thrown at him just now, though it's not like he'd be of any need for it. Eren gets no bitches.

"This window right here is where one of my best friends had their first kiss!" He exclaims as he points at the window overlooking the front garden, before he excitedly shifts his attention towards the boy's bathroom on the other side of the hall. "Oh! And just down that way is the restroom where one of my other best friend's got their first blowjob... although, I don't know if it counts since the girl threw it all back up, hmm." He ponders deeply.

That was traumatizing for two reasons: for Marco's best friend experiencing the matter and for Eren since he had NO NEED FOR THAT INFORMATION.

"Wow, you guys sure have a lot of history here." Eren offers unsurely.

Marco agrees with a nod, "That's right we do, we've been here since freshman year so these halls have seen many of our milestones." He explains with a fond expression. "By the way, right down there is the common room that we use to chill on our free periods. Feel free to join my friends and I if you ever see us hanging around here during lunch or just need some company."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," Though, Eren doesn't think he'd be able to look Marco's best friend in the eyes after what he's heard.

"Great, now let's head to-" Marco begins before his sentence is interrupted by a high pitched voice.

"Jean, just leave me alone for once, please."

Marco halts his movements and turns to the cause of the disturbance which in turn causes Eren to do the same.

It looked to be a short boy with shoulder length blonde hair and azure eyes that remained obstructed by chunky rectangular glasses. He was being cornered by a taller boy with light brown hair that was slicked and parted, with a heavy amount of gel, and matching colored eyes. The taller boy had his arm perched up against the wall, effectively caging the blonde and thwarting any attempts at escape.

"Eh? Armin, y'know I can't do that. Why don't you yell a little louder so that goth friend of yours can come to your rescue yet again, yeah?" Says the one that Eren guesses is named Jean.

"How about you grow some balls and ask her out instead? Not that she'd say yes, anyway." Armin had mumbled the last part but Jean had heard it loud and clear.

"You don't know what you're talking about Armin, shut the hell up!" Jean says, (yells) whilst he throws his hands up defensively.

The blonde rolls his eyes in irritation and with many cracks to his voice present in his statement, he says, "Why should I? It's not like the whole world doesn't already know about how much of a try hard you are when she's around! Why don't you try licking her boots next time you see her, huh?"

"Oh yeah? Keep talking shit, let's see where that gets you."

"Woah, calm down Jamal. Don't pull out the nine."

"Why I oughta-" Jean begins as he raises his fist, only to be stopped mid swing.

"Is this... fun for you?" Eren asks with a furrow in his brows. His right hand grips Jean's left arm which effectively stops his fist from hitting Armin's frail face.

"Who the hell are you?" Jean asks, irritated.

"Does it even matter? Why bother the kid when he obviously hasn't done jack shit to you?"

"And how do you know he hasn't done jack shit to me? Maybe you should mind your own."

"I heard your conversation. Besides..." Eren looks to Armin and sizes him up before he turns back to Jean with the most deadpan expression one could muster. His point was spoken without words. What could he do to a guy like Jean?

"Hey!" Armin squeals in offense.

Jean nodded in agreement, "Okay, you've got a point, but still, I mean he could've fucked my girl and you wouldn't even know that you're defending a shit person."

"You've gotta get a girlfriend first, Jean. Then we'll see what I do about that." Armin mutters bitterly.

"You better shut your ass up, runt. Before I fuck your nose up more than it already is." Jean grits.

Armin gapes in offense, "WHAT- okay... new insecurity unlocked."

Jean then turns his attention back to Eren. "Anyway, this was an A & B conversation, so C your way out of it." He says oh so maturely.

"How about you make me?" Eren narrows his eyes.

"Okay! Let's all calm down, alright?" Marco finally intrudes as he places himself between the two boys. "Jean, come on man, don't make me tell Y/N about this. She should be finishing up morning practice soon anyway, you should go meet her at her locker like you always do!" He offers, effectively having an effect on the light haired boy. His shoulders relaxed from their tense position at his friend's reassurance.

"Fine." He relents. "Walk with me though, and don't you dare say a word about this to Y/N or else I'll piss in your backpack later." Jean threatens as he pulls himself away from the situation.

Marco giggles nervously as one of his hands rises to rub at the back of his neck, "Sorry about him you two. He didn't mean any of it!" He laughs off the conflict.

"Yes I fucking did!" Jean affirms from down the hall.

"Anyways, so sorry Eren. I'll be right back, I've gotta walk Jean back to his caretaker for the morning." Marco whispers with a palm shielding his lips. "I'll be back in just a sec!" He exclaims and hops off into Jean's direction.

"Why do you always take his side, Marc? I literally almost cried on the spot right now." Jean could be heard whining as both boys rounded the corner and walked out of sight.

A beat of silence occurs where the latter pair were left, before Armin exclaims.

"Uhh, oh!" He turns his body to face a trash can before whispering into the opening, "Mikasa, you can come out now."

Eren lifts a brow as he watches the cover of the trash can lift itself from the inside, and out stepped a girl dressed head to toe in black attire with two dark pigtails and bangs that frame her pale face. She held a black book in her manicured hands. Black nail polish, black lipstick, black fishnets, silver skull rings, and a black choker were more than enough of a hint to Eren for him to realize that this was the goth friend Jean had mentioned earlier.

The sight of a girl stepping out of an empty trash can should have caused him to gape in surprise, but at this point he was ready to expect anything more from his first day at Trost Academy.

"Thank you so much! Uhm, Eren was it? You looked as cool as the guys from 21 Jump Street!" Armin exclaimed and it was only then that the boy held the DVD case in his hands. Who the hell uses DVDs anymore?

"No," The girl declares as she lifts her book to her face, "You must be the dark knight called forth by my curse, here to fight off that man."

"What? Uh- no, I'm just Eren. It was no big deal." Eren deflects as he places his hands into his pockets.

To tell you the honest truth, Eren was shitting himself on the inside during the encounter with the jerk from earlier. He didn't know where he gained the courage to actually stand his ground, much less for someone else.

"You'd think a school as nice as this one would have no tolerance for bullying, though."

"Well, money talks, I guess." Armin says as he attempts to locate his lenses that had fallen during the ruckus.

"I've been trying to hex him since freshman year, but it won't work for some reason. It's like there's a force protecting him from me..." The girl says as she picks up the discarded glasses and hands them to her blonde friend. "Perhaps the Marco rumors are true. It'd make sense if he were an actual angel sent from above-" She continues.

"Wait, what? Who the hell made that up?" Eren asks.

"Beats me, though if I had to guess: I'd say Sasha or Connie." She answers.

"Who are they?"

"They're only two of the plastics." Armin pipes up.

"Plastics? As in, like, a mannequin?"

"What?! No, the plastics are..." Armin began only for his voice to die off as his eyes drifted behind Eren.

"Sorry about that again, Eren!" Marco apologizes as he reappears suddenly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. We really should get going though, we still need to stop at a couple more places and then grab your ID. Oh! Good morning, Mikasa." He looks a bit out of breath, as if he had run the whole way back. The girl being addressed only waved daintily and then shielded herself with her book, probably due to how scintillatingly bright Marco's entrance was.

"That's okay. Yeah, we should." Eren replies.

"Bye Eren! Oh, you should sit with us at lunch later!" Armin bids the boy goodbye.

Eren nods in agreement as he follows after his designated guide, off to somewhere he would probably have to listen to bizarre stories about. It seemed as though Marco could never run out of those, some even filled with normal teen acts and others that cause him to question their sanity.

"Hey Marco, Armin mentioned something earlier today..." He spoke up.

"What's that?" Marco asks as he provides him his full and undivided attention.

"What are 'The Plastics'?"

Marco is visibly stunned by his question for a moment, only for his eyes to give a flicker of boredom before the corners crease in their usual upbeat manner.

"Oh, uhm... I'm not quite sure what you mean." He answers with a gritted smile. "Sorry, I don't think I can help you there."

Eren notices Marco's hesitation, though the only movement he offers is an unsure nod of his head.

A brief moment of silence ensues over the pair of boys, before it's gently shattered by the freckled boy.

"Hey, Eren?"

"...Yeah?"

"A little word of advice from someone you, hopefully, trust to guide you in the right direction?" He suggests hesitantly and Eren finds himself subconsciously holding his breath. "You shouldn't believe everything people say around here, 'kay?" Marco says with a gentle grin.

Well, gentle is what Eren guesses it's supposed to be, though the edges are too frigid for it to be considered so. He couldn't help but sense some sort of hidden lingering emotion layered into Marco's chocolate eyes. Perhaps there was also disappointment?

But, if so, directed at who?

"Yeah, thanks... I'll uhm, keep that in mind." Eren replies. He couldn't help but feel as though he was the one who had created that disappointment, and for a reason he couldn't tell you, Eren didn't like the idea.

He hadn't noticed that they made their way to a hallway filled to the brim with lockers lining the walls and students idly loitering around. Checking his wrist watch, he realized they only had 20 minutes until their first class of the day had to begin. As Eren was inspecting his watch, he failed to notice that Marco had halted his pace to peer in the direction they had just entered from.

It was as if the next few seconds moved in decelerated speed. Eren bumped into Marco's chest which in turn forced the boy to look up at the taller boy, only to notice the smile and excited flutter of his hand directed to someone currently behind him, effectively making his own head turn to face the stranger.

In walked a girl that wore a cute blue top with lace adorning the neckline, paired with a matching skirt and sneakers. She had gold, diamonds, and pearls furnishing every inch of her body — from her headband, to her ears, neck, wrists, and even a single ankle. She trotted down the freshly mopped hallway with poise and what Eren noticed to be very toned legs that could have only been worn by someone that took great care of them. Her entire presence demanded the attention of everyone blessed to be in her vicinity.

And so, that's what she got.

He didn't even need to look around to be able to tell that everyone had paused their activities to look at the elegance that was her. How could they when it had seemed as though she had just descended from the heavens above?

...Or, was that simply Eren thinking that part? Maybe that was just a him thing...

"Hey Y/N, good morning sugar! Did you just come from practice?" Marco asks with a noticeably brighter smile than all the ones Eren has seen today; the only grin he could think to rival this one was the one he offered Jean earlier.

The girl noticed Marco as well and her once weary gaze perked up at his presence.

Eren didn't notice it before, because of his ogling, but she was noticeably out of breath and her hair was wet. Did she just step out of the shower? He couldn't fathom how anyone could look so attractive freshly out of a bath... He usually resembled a wet dog.

"Morning Marc', I'm surprised you aren't with your steed right now. Did mom and dad get into a fight again?" She says with a playful lilt to her voice — that Eren could have sworn had visible italics, for some unknown reason. Her voice was so fluid and velvety that his knees almost buckled on the spot.

"Not yet," Marco grimaces with a chuckle. "I'll join you guys in a bit! I'm showing the new kid around right now. Student Prez business, you know the works." He explains with a thumb jutted towards the aforementioned student.

Eren made a mental note to bow down and kiss Marco's feet later to display his gratitude for the brisk switch of attention, for it caused the embodiment of perfection to direct her stare onto his spellbound face. She raised a brow at him before she dropped her gaze to his feet and leisurely dragged it up his entire frame.

Eren almost moaned.

"Morning, new kid." She greeted, though her tone was noticeably far less light when addressing Eren than it was when she spoke to her friend, and then turned her attention back to Marco

It seems she has deemed Eren irrelevant.

"Hurry it up, Marco, 'less you want to tarnish your perfect attendance. I'll be with the diva, I can sense he's in one of his daily moods. I can tame him, but I'll need your help soon." She teases with a roll of her eyes.

A boisterous laugh fell from Marco's lips, "Yeah, I'll join you guys in a bit. Save me a spot-" He halts mid sentence upon noticing Eren's vibrant flush.

The shorter brunet had acted nonchalant throughout the entire duration of his tour, so it baffled Marco just how quickly he altered his tune.

The Student President looks to his friend, poor Y/N who has just gotten out of morning practice and now has to deal with Jean's morning fit. Her legs probably ache and he knows how much she hates the feeling of her wet hair dampening her back, she deserves a small break this once, right?

So, he looks to Eren once again, and then to Y/N, and then repeats the process about five more times.

"What are you doing? Your head's gonna fall off-"

"OW- ooh..." Marco suddenly grips his stomach in agony and hisses through his teeth. "LORD HAVE MERTHY, I'M ABOUT TO BUST!" He yells and dramatically slams himself against the lockers behind him.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Asks Y/N, concern and shock etched into her features.

With a matching look on his face, Eren reaches a hand out in an attempt to help stable the boy. "Marco, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine! I just need to drop a deuce real quick." Marco reassures, which causes both of their brows to rise, though he pays them no heed. "Y/N, you wouldn't mind showing Eren to Dr. Hange's room, would you? He's still gotta get his permanent ID and I don't want to leave him alone. He's just a baby." He says while mustering up the best puppy dog eyes he has ever used.

She's always been a sucker for doe eyes.

"Sure? Are you totally sure you're okay though? That was super sudden-"

"Yup! All fine and dandy, I gotta go. Have fun!" Marco exclaims and runs off to someplace god only knows with how his legs are clenching together.

"He's so fruity sometimes..." Y/N mumbles as she watches him leave, before she shakes her head and extends a jeweled hand towards the boy beside her. "Anyway, sorry about that. Was it Evan?" She asks unsurely.

"E-eren." He says with an audible voice crack, which in turn causes him to clear his throat and deepen his voice dramatically. "It's- I'm just Eren." He says and accepts her offering.

He has to make a lasting impression.

As soon as he takes hold of her soft and manicured hand, he swears he feels some sort of electrical current running through from his head to his toes. Golden sparks flew around her frame and blew some of her hair away from her cheeks... or perhaps that was the effect of Eren's heavy ass breathing fanning across her skin. She noticeably grimaces at the feeling and flinches away before she steadies herself once more.

"Well then, 'just Eren'. The name's Y/N, and sorry about Marco by the way. He's usually really composed so I have no idea what got into him just now. Wow, your hand is super sweaty..." She adds as she pulls her own away from his.

Eren pays the comment no mind and instead murmurs in an hypnotic state, "Y/N, wow that's actually really pretty."

"Oh? Why do you look so surprised?" She asks with a teasing tilt to her lips, her sultry tone of voice was an obvious attempt to loosen them both from the tight restraints their first meeting held them in. Though, she failed to notice how her continuation had gravely affected the boy. "Do I look like I would have an ugly ass name or something?"

"No! That's not what I meant at all." Eren vehemently stated. "I mean, why would anyone say that? You're really pretty, like prettier than your name- prettier than me!" He nervously chuckles.

"Oh, and that's such a valid standard because you're a pretty princess, aren't you? You think highly of yourself, don't you?" She continues her teasing, though Eren still doesn't take the hint.

Shit, he's already messing up. That's okay, he still has time to fix this.

"What?! N-no, that's not what I meant either! You're just like the prettiest person I've ever met, I don't want to cause you any insecurities!"

"Oh trust me, you won't. I know I'm-"

"I over lick my lips when I'm nervous! Sometimes it causes them to get chapped so I have to carry chapsticks with me everywhere." Eren also overshares personal, (embarrassing), information as a nervous habit. Word vomit, if you will.

A trait he is unfortunately exhibiting right now.

"Uh, okay?"

"When I was younger I used to eat the wax from my ears because I used to think it was the same as bees wax, therefore I convinced myself it tasted like honey comb."

Her jaw drops and the teasing grin is gone, clearly being caught off guard by his disturbing words. "Ew..."

"Anyway, you're way prettier than your name! I swear! I could prove it to you?! What do you want me to do? I'll do it, just say the word!" Eren hastily deflects as he flails his arms around and word vomits onto the glistening marbled floors. It's a pathetic sight, really. His insides feel like they're burning an inferno that he can't contain. His stomach begins to churn and suddenly he feels what he imagines Marco had felt earlier.

Does he seriously have to take a deuce right now? Perhaps he should have gone with Marco instead...

"Hey, dude... are you okay? You're looking really pale-" Begins the girl, though her attempt at showing concern was halted by Eren's loud and body convulsing gag.

Oh no... He can feel it, not word vomit, actual vomit pounding its way up his throat, climbing and begging to be released. Sharp talons cleave the walls of his esophagus so heavily that he feels as if he can't breathe. He has never in his 18 years of life felt like this and before he can even attempt to force himself to stop... it overflows.

Spewing out of his lips and onto the girl right before him was his double quarter pounder with cheese, large fries dipped in his Oreo McFlurry, and sprite from last night. All over the most beautiful girl he has ever laid his eyes on, the girl of his dreams.

And it's only then that Eren realizes they weren't alone.

Every single pair of eyes within the vicinity were glued onto their forms. The way Eren hurled and bent forward right onto Y/N's chest.

"What the actual hell?!" The girl shrieks as pure shock and disgust pours into her features. Eren feels hot tears gather on his waterline from the sheer force his body was using to dump out their contents. "What is wrong with you?!" She asks but garners no response as his mouth was preoccupied.

He tries to speak but every time he makes an attempt, his body curls inwards and begins to retch once again, "Shit, I'm so-" He begins, but to no avail. Not unless soiling a pretty girl's outfit counts as any benefit, at least.

"Are you fucking serious right now?! This is fresh Prada! Ugh, you indigent bum, I hope you know this costs more than your damn miserable life!"

It's safe to say that Eren has made his lasting impression.

About 30 minutes after his projectile vomiting incident, Eren and Y/N are walking the same hallway they had met in, on their way to Dr. Hange's room for a stupid ID that he doesn't even care about anymore. Not when he can feel the wrathful glare from the short janitor stabbing at the side of his head. Eren grimaced as he walks past and murmurs a soft apology for creating the mess he was required to scrub until the floor glistened once again.

How did he already get on the janitor's shit list?

The girl beside him wasn't a fresh breeze on a sunny Sunday morning either. Rightfully so, considering she was forced to go shower again, though at least she was smart enough to store an extra pair of clothes in her locker. Here she was sporting yet another skirt, only this one was a vintage green finished with a mermaid hem. Her top was matching in color with some sort of floral pattern that Eren decided suited the way she smelled, and a small cardigan laid right on top. Her head was adorned with a white headband that matched her sneakers.

This chick seriously can't look anything less than perfection, can she?

Eren himself hadn't gotten any of last nights dinner on his own clothes, thankfully since he was not smart enough to do the same as the irritated girl. He better be extra thankful because of course he chose to wear a white button up today and there is no way he would have gotten the stain out, much less the smell.

They walked in silence, side by side, as the girl gripped the strap of her handbag... is that Balenciaga? Either way, Eren struggled to match her pace. She was absolutely pissed, that much he could tell.

He didn't know what to do, he could barely bring himself to speak. He felt that if he attempted to, he might puke all over her designer clothes again and he doubts she would have a third outfit prepared.

She would, but that's not important.

He really really wants to apologize, perhaps he can pay her back? Maybe he can sell one of his kidneys on the black market? Would they even pay him enough for that? He could probably find a nice corner and advertise his virginity to cover the rest, he's 18 now so it should be legal, right? Or, perhaps he will forever stay in debt to a girl he met in high school that pranced around in designer clothing and handbags. No one would ever think to hire him for any respectable position in that case.

He's fucked.

"Uhm..." He starts.

She sighs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Listen, I'll do you a favor. Let's just forget all about this and look the other way. As long as we never interact again, this will fade sooner rather than later and I'll have received my package from UPS or FedEx or whoever the fuck, and gotten a replacement for that really cute top you just ruined. Capiche?"

Eren sputters at her solution, staggering at the thought of never interacting and going their separate ways. Though, he supposes this is better than resorting to the black market. Perhaps they truly could move past this hurdle and live as simply acquaintances — acquaintances that harbored very ill memories of each other.

"Okay-" He began, only to get interrupted by a ping in her hand.

She had barely even glanced at it, really it was not a salient thing on her mind. She would have left it at a single glance would it not have been for several more following in succession. Only then did she spare it a second glance and the horror painted on her face was a tale tell sign that whatever it was that she read was not ideal.

"Oh no... no no no no, shit!" She cursed and rapidly tapped her fingernails on her illuminated screen.

A video played on her phone, loud enough to reach Eren's own ears. There was retching sounds, a gag, and then a splash. 'Are you fucking serious right now?! This is fresh Prada! Ugh, you indigent bum, I hope you know this costs more than your damn miserable life!' Followed after from the same velvety voice that made him weak in the knees.

"Evan-" She called as she shoved the phone towards Eren's face and his worst fears were confirmed.

Someone had recorded the entire event.

It was posted to the schools Snapchat, Instagram, and Twitter. There were comments, hundreds of them, and memes were already being made of Eren's face in pure agony. His teary eyes and sweaty face were plastered on every social media. He doesn't know if he's lucky that everyone is in class at the moment so that no one could actively laugh at him or if he was doomed because he's alone in a hallway with his newfound crush as his retching sounds echoed from the phone in her dainty hand.

"This is so bad! No one is gonna let this shit go anytime soon." She states as she reads the hundreds of loathing comments. "Look, I overreacted back there-"

"Just save it, okay? Thanks for walking me but I think I've got it from here." He says and hurriedly runs with his tail between his legs as she stares at his retreating form. Her jeweled hand finds itself aching to reach out, but she forces it to stay glued to her side.

"Well... fuck."

Three.

That's how many classes Eren has had to sit through as people stare and gawk at him. Some are bold enough to point and laugh, though never to the extent where they would say anything to his face, while others resorted to mocking him behind his back, but the worst of them all?

The ones that look at him with pity.

Eren absolutely abhors being pitied.

He hates it — hates to be babied and hates to be coddled. He's a grown ass 18 year old man (boy) and has no need for people to feel sorrow for him when he's the one controlling all of his own actions.

He's a grown ass man (boy), alright. A grown ass man (boy) that just finished crying in that, surprisingly clean, bathroom stall because of the sheer humiliation that he felt. The ignominy that he had a moment of weakness caught on camera and shared with the entire school. The indignity of the fact that he ran and cried uncle from her.

If only she hadn't been there, then maybe he would have been spared the embarrassment. If only Marco hadn't needed to take a shit. If only Jean hadn't been messing with Armin this morning, then perhaps he wouldn't have had to intervene and therefore would have arrived at Dr. Hange's room on time and missed Y/N's entrance, she would have never made him weak in the knees and tongue tied. Nothing would have been spilt aside from his drool. None of this would have happened.

All of those thoughts ran rampant in Eren's head, so much so that he didn't even notice the lunch bell had rung until he felt someone continuously poke his shoulder.

"Wow you have tiny shoulders!" A tall girl with brown hair pulled into a pony exclaimed.

Swatting her hands away, Eren asks irritated, "What do you want?" Though, he knew it was pointless. She was probably there to ridicule and taunt him into crying some more, which he would totally give into.

"Uhh, the lunch bell rang already, so-"

"Oh, t-thanks." He answers.

She didn't recognize him? She isn't laughing at or deriding him, that's amazing! Maybe people have already begun to forget! That's what always happens after a major incident, so perhaps his life will be back to norm-

"Hey, wait! Aren't you the guy from that video? Oh, man! You puked all over Y/N, didn't you?" She asks, throwing her head back in a guffaw. "Dude, I've never seen her make that face before-"

"Sash! Are ya coming or not? They're leaving us behind!" Calls a boy with a silver buzz cut, his head and torso peeking into the emptying classroom buoyantly.

"Hey, Connie! Come look! It's the guy from the video, the one that squirted his juices all over Y/N!"

"I did not squirt my juices!"

"No fucking way! Man, you're famous!"

Just as the lively boy was making his way over to Eren's desk, Eren abruptly stands from his seat, the metal scraping at the floor harshly, and hastily grips his backpack.

"Listen, just leave me alone. I did not squirt my juices and I most definitely am not famous. But, you know what? Since you're both so insistent, why don't I give you an autograph?!" He erupts and then shoves two of his fingers down the back of his throat, gagging in the process.

"Woah! No need, we're fine..." Connie takes a step back and shields himself with his arms.

Eren glares sneeringly, "Apologies, I must have squirted all my juices for the day, I'm all out." He bites sarcastically and stomps his feet all the way out the door.

"What's wrong with him?" Connie asks his friend.

"He seems really upset, I don't know why, though." She answers obliviously.

"Beats me," Connie shakes his head dismissively and charges on with why he was originally even there. "Anyway, I was trying to tell you that we should go before they run out of sloppy Joes! You know Reiner doesn't give a damn about his bank account when they serve those, and if we don't go now... they'll all be devoured."

"Devoured?!" She screeched. "I'll kill the big oaf!"

"Then hurry your fat ass up, he's got a head start already!"

"What if we jump him in the lunch line? Oh! We could take his wallet too!"

"Girl, he's six foot four. The only things you'll be jumping are his man knockers, now get your ugly ass to the cafeteria."

"I mean, if that was the result of my actions, you would not catch me complaining-"

"Let's. Go."

"Eren! Over here!" Armin, the blonde from this morning, called out.

Eren had just arrived at the expanse cafeteria, and to say he's about to piss his pants would be the understatement of the century. He had hoped to simply grab a tray of those magnificent looking sloppy Joes and then retreat back into the safety of the biggest stall available in the men's restroom to finish his crying session. Though, before he could even grab a tray, he was eagerly waved over by the goth girl and scrawny boy from earlier. They didn't seem to be laughing at his expense, and he had to admit, the familiar faces brought him a comfort he desperately needed at the moment.

"Hey," Eren greets as he sits across from the duo who contrasted each other so much so, it was almost amusing to him. They were sat at a round table near the back that allowed them clear views of the others surrounding them.

"Hey, how have you been?" Mikasa asks softly. He can tell she is trying her best to be as consoling as possible, considering the obvious shit day he's had.

"As well as I can be," He answers with a sigh and then drags his hands down his face in exhaustion. "I assume you guys have seen the video?" He asks with a wince, already having accepted what answer he would receive but still afraid of it. He settles his backpack on his lap and wraps his arms around its waist — he still hadn't stashed it away in his locker in fear of walking down that familiar hallway once again. It was as if he had developed PTSD or something of the sort that had him feeling like he would reenact the entire fiasco a second time. Not to mention, the hallway would surely be filled to the brim with other students and he couldn't bear to have all eyes on him again. Simply walking into the cafeteria had a dozen holes being burned on the back of his head, he doesn't want to imagine what kind of attention he would garner then.

"Everyone and their mothers have, I'm so sorry this is happening to you, Eren." Armin says sympathetically.

"Oh no, not the milfs." Eren grumbles as he squishes his face into the top of his bag.

"It's the plastics, Eren. What can you expect?" Mikasa grits bitterly, her eyes scrutinizing a table not far from her own. "I bet Y/N planned this all out, some kind of sick scheme to assert her dominance over the fresh meat."

"Mikasa... even if that were true, she's the one that got her clothes ruined. What good would that have done for her?" Armin rebuts.

The girl looks appalled that her friend would even ask such a thing. "Armin, she's loaded. The cost of an outfit like that is pocket change in her eyes." She reminds him. "Trust me, that was a minuscule loss to her father's bank account."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't put it past them." He agrees.

"Uhm," Eren interjects with a raise of his had as if he were in the middle of a lecture. "What the hell are 'The Plastics'?" He asks with his fingers making air quotations. "Armin mentioned them earlier too, so I asked Marco about it but he said he didn't know what I was talking about."

"Of course he said that, he's a part of the problem!" Mikasa exclaims a bit too loud for Armin's taste.

"Calm down Mikasa, they'll hear you!" He ushers the girl, not noticing he too has reached her level of volume. "Okay, Eren. If you want to survive, cause you're not gonna thrive unless you're one of them, you'll need to know who the hell they even are." He tells him whilst jutting his fingers in the direction that the girl beside him was just glaring at.

At a table not too far from their own, that they held a near perfect view of, sat a group of 8 teens. Although they all looked drastically different from each other, not to mention how they act, one thing was certain in what they had in common.

The blistering amount of confidence that oozed from their pores.

There was no doubt about where they all stood in the social hierarchy, the energy they exuded wouldn't allow any shred to sprout. The auras around them were asphyxiating and wouldn't let them go unnoticed, it was as if those same auras had wrapped their tendrils around each person present in the room, forcing them to bend knee to their will.

"Those eight are who we call 'The Plastics'." Armin explains.

"Cause they're all fake conniving bitches." Mikasa grits. It was clear that the girl had it out for them personally, though the reason for that is still a mystery to Eren.

"Tone it down, 'Kasa. They'll hear you."

"Whatever."

"This seems very personal. What'd they do to you?" Eren asks as he leans his chin on his palm.

"What do you mean?" The girl asks.

"Well, you seem to really hate them. Like you have some kind of personal vendetta."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, why?"

Before she can answer, Armin interjects, "Funny thing, Y/N and Mikasa were actually really-"

"Armin!" She interrupts his explanation, to which the boy sputters at her exclamation.

"What?"

"Can you not, right now?" She grits at the blonde, before she directs her attention back to the brunet before her. "We should give you a bit of background first, so you're somewhat familiar with who they are."

Both teens make intense eye contact before nodding their heads in sync and announcing, "Here's the mother fucking tea."

"Sasha Braus and Connie Springer," Armin says while jesting to a pair of students sitting beside each other, both having just sat down and were unleashing their wrath onto the other members of their table. It seemed they had been served whatever was left of the sloppy Joes which meant that they had less meat than the rest. "AKA: thing one and thing two. The most dumbest people you will ever meet, much more walk the planet."

"Armin sat beside them in Film theory last year." Mikasa adds.

The boy in topic nods vehemently, "They genuinely didn't know that Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana were the same person."

"I honestly don't even know how they got in with that kind of crowd, maybe their looks?" Mikasa thinks aloud.

"Either way, be wary. Just because they're stupid, doesn't mean they aren't as vicious as the rest. They know everything about everyone and are almost always at the center of rumors and drama. Also both stupidly rich." Armin warns.

Eren's face grows distant as he looks their way, reminiscing on his own interaction with the two. "Those two laughed at me in class earlier. I nearly thought they hadn't recognized me, but of course that was too good to be true." He says.

"No surprise there," Mikasa scoffs, "One time, they were caught trying to kill a ferret. The devils almost suffocated the poor thing with their bags." She explains as her fists slam down on the table brutally.

Armin's shoulders jump at the sound of the impact and one of his hands fly towards his head to adjust the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "The worst of the worst." He agrees.

Pointing to the boy familiar to Eren's eyes, the galled teens continue, "Next, we have Marco Bodt - our student body president. The quote 'nicest person to ever grace these halls' end-quote... well I call bullshit."

"There's rumors that he's been sent by whatever god you believe in to watch over the plastics. To be completely honest, that was probably started by Connie or Sasha, which wouldn't surprise me."

"On the surface, he's a real nice guy... almost too nice." Armin adds as he squints his eyes in suspicion. "It makes you wonder if it's all a farce."

"Oh, it totally is. I've heard rumors of him snapping at others and then proceeding to bribe them to keep their mouths shut." Mikasa nods.

Eren begins to ponder all previous interactions he's had with the boy, almost saddened at the thought of Marco's extremely friendly demeanor being a farce. "I never thought of it like that, it sucks actually. I thought we could have been friends."

It's Mikasa's turn to warn the brunet this time, "Zon't zo it, girl. Zon't zo it."

"Now, Ymir..." Armin begins before his face scrunches up and his eyes shoot to the ceiling. "I'm gonna be honest, I have no idea what her last name is." He resolves.

"She's a part of the varsity girl's soccer team." Mikasa finishes as she juts her chin to a tall tanned girl sat beside Sasha. She donned dark brown hair tied into a low ponytail, and freckles littered her cheeks. She howled in laughter with her arm laid behind the seat of the blonde beside her. "She's a rude bitch and sarcastic to everyone except Historia, who she has a god obvious thing for. Well, obvious to everyone except Historia herself. Which brings us to-"

"Historia Reiss, she's your stereotypical popular girl — blonde, hot, and captain of the cheer squad." Armin interjects.

Next to Ymir was a small girl with vibrantly golden locks that could only be rivaled by Armin himself... not only that but they had nearly identical jeweled eyes. One could think they were somehow related, if not for their entirely opposing backgrounds. That one being Eren.

"Woah! Armin, is that your sister?!" Eren exclaims, staggering at their resemblance.

"What?! No!" The blonde exclaims, "Everyone always thinks that..." He grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

"I thought the same thing too." Mikasa snickers, "But, the more I've gotten to know Armin, the more contrary they get and now I can't even imagine them within an arms length of each other."

"Anyway! She's also crazy rich." Armin deflects.

"Uhm, isn't everyone in this school rich? I'm pretty positive I'm the only exception." Eren determines as he gestures to the rest of the tables littering the room.

Armin gapes like a fish out of water, "Well, yeah... but we mean Elon Musk rich! When we say rich at Trost, we don't mean normal rich, we mean buying an island rich. I have half the mind to seduce Reiner and get that bag, the big oaf won't know what hit him - I'd be set for life."

"How did you get in here, anyway? Are you like Einstein smart or what? What's your deal?" Mikasa bluntly asks.

"I wish." Eren answers, "In actuality, my dad's a doctor so we're doing well enough, though our net worth is nothing compared to everyone else here. I think I'd have to give the credit to my mom though, she recently got a new job in the fashion industry, which is why we had to move."

With a face that contradicts her words, Mikasa nods, "Interesting. Anyway, I heard Historia once made a girl cry in the restroom! Apparently, she cut the girl's hair because it looked better than her own." She informs them.

"That's downright cruel." Armin squeaks as he clutches the strands by his face.

"Next, we have... ugh, Jean." Mikasa groans and then faux vomits, which Eren finds to be insensitive, considering his experience with the action today.

"He's arrogant, cocky, and never leaves me alone." Armin grimaces.

"He's a wannabe delinquent and a whore for attention. Also, another addition to the stupidly rich club and best friends with Y/N. They're like Yin and Yang, but more alike than different." Mikasa glares at the fawn haired boy who is in the middle of flipping the bird to Ymir.

"Now, Reiner Braun. He's your stereotypical jock — blonde, hot, and captain of the men’s varsity lacrosse team."

"He's a weird one, sometimes leaning more towards a decent guy and then the next moment he's acting like... well, a jock. Pretty sure he has a thing for Y/N, too." Armin adds as the teen quite literally proves his point, feigning a yawn and laying his arm on the backrest of her chair. Though, the girl abruptly stands up and out of reach.

Weird.

"I think they've hooked up at least once. Of course, that's just what I've heard people whisper around them. No surprise, he's rich as hell as well." Armin finishes.

"And last but not least," Mikasa's once hard glare turns piercing and no longer exhibits a frosty aura. Instead, her irises project blazing infernos. "Y/N Ackerman. If the academy had a royal court, she'd be the one sat cozy on the throne. Queen bee, you could call her. She's also the captain of the girl's varsity soccer team. Don't be fooled, because she may seem like your typical selfish backstabbing slut faced hoe bag, but in reality she is so much more than that."

Eren can't help but feel as though those two have a personal history that can't be uncovered with a simple glance. Though, he notes how one sided it looks to be.

As he goes to glance at the girl they are currently gossiping about, he notices that her spot at the infamous table was vacant. The only people left were the rest of her friend group, all of which sporting dumbfounded faces.

Dumbfounded faces directed towards his own table.

Why are they looking his way?

"Hey, Evan, right?" Says that distinctly velvety voice that forces Eren to be grateful he's sat. His knees wouldn't have been able to handle his entire weight, not this time.

Mikasa gapes at the sight of the girl standing before their table, before she steels herself and returns to her signature glare. "It's Eren. Eren Jaeger." She reminds with gritted teeth.

Y/N noticeably winces at her slip up, "My bad, I'm terrible with names."

"It's fine! I'm just Eren." Eren hastily reassures as he stares up at her in a daze.

The girl chuckles softly, "Okay, just Eren." She corrects and then her eyes dart across the cafeteria to assure that all eyes were on her, as she intended. Her class did not disappoint. The oh so easily influenced senior class of Trost Academy granted her their fully undivided attention. Every breath turned stagnant, chewing halted, and conversations left on hold in hopes of finding out what the hell their most prestigious alumni wants with the social rejects.

She clears her throat and asks profoundly, "Why don't you come to my game today? We're playing home, and afterwards we're heading to my house to celebrate our inevitable win. There'll be pizza for dinner, on me." Her eyes dart to the other two across from him and her smile grows tight. "You can even bring your... friends." She says, though her words sound unsure and awfully forced.

Multiple beats of silence follow the offer, no one daring to move a muscle in fear of furthering their own confusion.

What? Why is this happening? What's her motive? Is she going to humiliate him again? Hadn't she had enough of that this morning? Eren wants to genuinely ask himself those questions, but in truth, he folds at her mere presence.

He's left with his jaw dropped and exchanges panicked glances with Mikasa and Armin.

Mikasa's expression of bewilderment fades into one of distaste and suspicion. "Now, why the hell would we do that? Princess."

"Because I'm inviting you? Obviously." The H/C girl retorts with the same bite in her tone. The room goes quiet once again, before she decides she has had enough and sighs in exasperation. "Look, I'm not about to grovel at your feet, I'd rather not crease my sneakers; they're Italian leather. You either come or you don't." She finishes and then leans Eren's way, causing him to catch a whiff of her floral perfume. "Think of this as a way for me to help you out a bit. You... didn't deserve that humiliation. Especially not on your first day." She whispers and juts her head to the eyes around them.

Oh, wow. It seems that she's attempting to make it look as if they are both on good terms, friends even. An attempt at fixing his reputation, which means she feels bad.

His heart is going to explode, and he's begging himself to keep whatever remains in his stomach where it should be.

His head nods buoyantly, "Yeah, I'm in love with yo-"

"Yes! We accept your invitation and will be cheering from the stands at 6 pm today. Don't worry your pretty little head, you'll see us there." Mikasa announces abruptly and fixes the girl a determined stare.

"Oh..." She breathes, almost as if she didn't expect the results she was given. "You're sure?"

"Yes, no take backsies." Mikasa says with a taunting smile.

"Okay then, cool. I'll- uh, see you guys later?" Her gaze moves to Eren for confirmation.

The boy nods dumbly, with pink dusting his cheeks. "Yeah, I'll love you lat- I mean! I'll see you later."

The corner of her lips rise slightly at his outburst and she tilts her head curiously, before she nods and retreats back to her seat beside Reiner, the seven sat around her giving her matching shocked expressions.

As everyone slowly snaps out of their dazes and begin to return to their own activities for the remaining of the time they had left, Y/N's friends aren't as willing to glide over what had just occurred.

"Y/N, what the hell was that? Since when do you do charity?" Asks Jean with a concerned expression.

"Don't tell me that's your way of atoning for the puking fiasco..." Ymir adds.

"We told you that it wasn't your fault, hon. It was the assholes that recorded everything and made it a bigger deal than it had to be." Historia reassures as she sits up from Ymir's hold.

"Are you beating yourself up about that, Y/N?" Connie asks sympathetically.

Reiner places his jacket onto the girl's shoulders and takes a hold of one of her palms comfortingly. "Do you want my last sandwich?" He offers.

"What? No, I mean sure I felt bad earlier but that's long since worn off. I'm trying to fix my own reputation here!" She answers boldly, "Have you seen the comments on the video? I'm being called a snobby uptight bitch. Yeah, no way am I gonna let that continue." She scoffs.

The entire table nods and murmurs their agreements, considering they probably would have done the same. It's not like she truly had harmful intentions, she just figured she could kill two birds with one stone.

"I'm not gonna lie though, can you really blame me for feeling just a tad bit bad for the guy? He already looks like a total loser. It's affecting him as much as it is me, so why not try to help the both of us out?" She explains, "Though, I didn't think they would actually agree. Especially Mikasa."

"So... no sandwich?" Reiner asks again.

"Rei, of course I want your sandwich." She answers and he happily slides his tray her way.

"To be honest, the kid's weird for projectile vomiting on his first day, but I can get behind your idea." He admits as he leans back in his chair.

"Well, you've surely seen better days." Marco comments sympathetically. "You sure you're fine?"

"Yeah," She answers, "Though, I barely got any sleep last night. Auggie had his band over because dad wasn't home, and he learned how to work the power box, so now I can't just turn it off whenever I want because the fucker will just turn it back on." She sighed as she bit into her sloppy Joe.

"Ooh! When are they gonna play for us again? They're improving so fast, I bet we could get them to play at Miche's Diner." Sasha suggests eagerly. "Speaking of, when the hell are we going back? It's been forever since I had that mouthwatering burger in my stomach!"

"Sasha, you're slobbering. Also, we literally went last weekend, what do you mean 'forever'?" Jean reminds the girl.

"I said what I meant and I meant what I said."

"Anyway, lighten up, Y/N. That loser is hardly important enough to let him get you down." Jean chuckles as he ruffles her hair, effectively tarnishing her picture perfect hairstyle.

The girl groans and jerks her head away, "I'd never let a man tell me what to do, now fix my hair you rat. I can't be seen like this." She finishes and points a manicured finger to her head, which the boy rolls his eyes at but accedes nonetheless.

"Oh, I know!" Marco exclaims with a nearly visible lightbulb above his head. "Why don't I bring Megan over to your house tonight after the game? That'd be nice, wouldn't it?" He suggests after having been brainstorming a way to lift her spirits.

"Oh wow! Yes, I miss Megan so much, please bring him over Marco!" Sasha says as she throws her torso on the table, cupping her hands together in a pleading motion.

"Yeah, I've been needing my weekly trauma dump, so that'd be nice for me too." Reiner agrees.

"I haven't been able to buy him snacks because I've been saving up for my club penguin membership." Connie whines dramatically.

"Connie, you're loaded. What are you talking about?" Jean deadpans.

The boy crosses his arms and glares at his freckled friend beside him, "Well, someone here said I couldn't use my parents' money on Megan anymore."

The boy in question simply rubs the back of his neck and chuckles, "Well, last time I let you, you ended up buying him way more than just food. Trust me, you've given him enough, get your club penguin membership."

"Look cueball, all you've gotta do is make a couple bets on who you think is gonna win tonight and then when we inevitably do, you'll have enough for Megan, your membership, and more. Donezo." Ymir says with a smirk, obviously very confident in her team's skills.

"And where the hell am I gonna find someone willing to bet against you guys?"

"Just go to the other side of the stands, Stohess is cocky as shit. Trust me, you'll find tons of betting twerps."

"Cool, good point."

"Now, let's just hope your new friends aren't bad luck charms, Captain." The brunette turns towards the girl in topic. "Last thing we want is this attempt at mending reputations to come bite us in the ass."

"Oh please, Ymir." Y/N scoffs sarcastically, "You make it seem like they're out to get us." She chuckles at the idea.

"Even if they were, what's the worst they could do?"

"Guys, what the hell just happened?" Eren asks with his mouth agape. Armin brings his hand up to close his jaw manually.

"I think we just got invited to a party? Is it even a party? Only the plastics ever get to celebrate with the captain after their wins, of course there are a few exceptions but I never thought we would ever be included in those exceptions!"

"I think I almost creamed my pants." Eren murmurs as he calms his heart rate from his latest interaction. "Wait," He redirects his attention to the ravenette, "Why the sudden change of heart, Mikasa? I could have sworn you were committing mental arson just now."

"Don't you guys see? This is our chance — we can finally get close to the plastics and ruin them from the inside out." She explains with a menacingly calculative expression on her face.

Both boys gawked at the girl and the sheer audacity she had to suggest such a thing, until Armin couldn't bear to contain his disbelief. "Are you crazy, Mikasa?! What are you on? How would we even pull that off?!"

"I don't want to do that, you sound psychotic. This is like some weird wannabe spin-off plot from some 2000's movie that we would never do justice and leave all the viewers complaining about how we should leave iconic films alone." Eren states adamantly. Her idea sounds cruel and he honestly doesn't know if they would deserve to be the pawns of some sort of revenge plot.

"Eren, she humiliated you. You might have your doubts of if she meant to ruin your first day at a school such as this one, but that's just how she works." Mikasa grits and her piercing stare somehow grows even fiercer than ever before. "She makes you think she cares and then when you need her the most? Bam! She drops you like a damn potato. She's the most backstabbing bitch to ever backstab!" She defends herself whilst her hands repeatedly make stabbing motions towards the boy's chest.

Eren's face contorts into a grimace, "This seems more like it's for your own vengeance than mine." He states as his arms cross over his chest.

"Yeah, Mikasa." Armin interjects, "Even though I don't like them very much, ruining their lives is a little too far; even for me."

The girl steadies her breath as she calms herself and reels in her resentment. "Alright, relax. I just worded it wrong." She reassures, though Eren doesn't know if he believes her. "What I meant is that we should take this opportunity to mess with them a bit. Maybe knock them down a peg, no biggie. We have nothing better to do and it's not like this invitation will actually spark some type of friendship with any of them. It would simply never work."

"...How would you know that?" Eren asks, though what he really means is, why? For what reason would no sort of relationship have the ability to form? Was the idea of being associated with people of their status so inconceivable?

"Eren, she couldn't even remember the name of the guy she completely humiliated just a couple of hours ago. Your name. She couldn't remember your name. Trust me, I know."

Ouch. That one cut deep, much to his surprise.

"Well... perhaps this would get Jean to leave me alone. At least for some time?" Armin mutters with his chin between his index and thumb.

"Exactly," Mikasa agrees. "Armin stops his bully, Eren gets his revenge, and I get the pleasure of partaking in and watching the collapse of the hierarchy."

Armin giggles conspicuously, "I mean, as long as this is just a bit of horseplay... nothing different than playing chess, right? I'm in."

The pair then turn their heads to the remaining member of their newly formed trio, who seems to be in deep thought.

Is Mikasa right? Could this simply be a game to Y/N? One that she would have no problem turning and stabbing him in the back in order to win? Everything Mikasa and Armin have said makes perfect sense, they sound like an awful group of people. But if so, why the hell is Eren hesitating so much?

He resides to closing his eyes and takes a thoroughly deep breath, relaxing his mind for what he can tell is a monumental moment that will determine his experience at Trost Academy. If he accepts, who knows what could go down? Not to mention, he might end up on the IT girl's shitlist. Though, if he declines, Mikasa and Armin would ditch him and then he'd be all alone in this enormous school filled with people who ridicule him left and right.

He can hear them laughing from the distance, condescending laughs that grow distinct the longer he keeps his eyes shut. They were taunting, as if they were testing his will or patience...

No.

Eren does not want to experience humiliation any longer. He hates to feel inferior and for as long as they are still standing, that feeling won't disappear.

Knowingly declaring war, Eren announces his final decision. "Alright, what do you have in mind?"

Mikasa's eyes grew darker than they have ever been, and Eren could almost see the snake slithering around in the deep irises that made up Mikasa Ackerman's mercury eyes. "Thanks for asking, I've already got an idea. It's got to do with tonight's game. After all, what's a queen without her throne?"

And as the vindictive girl begins to elucidate her plan, Eren finds his gaze straying to the girl that stood above him moments ago. She's sat at her table at the center of the room, or was it truly the center of the room? Perhaps it simply felt that way. Eren was convinced that no matter where she stood, she would always be the center in his eyes.

He doesn't know if he likes that fact.

She laughs at the way Jean ruffles her hair for the fourth time, berates the boy, and then returns the favor. And Eren can feel his heart crack just the slightest bit as he thinks of what he agreed to partake in. He feels as though if his heart ruptures just a few more times, it'd bleed out. Though, perhaps it will already be too late then, and he wonders just whose will break first.

But, then again, Eren has always been a sore loser.

Tag list: @idreamitski @str4wberrylover @jesus-son-of-god @hoejosblindfold [dm or comment to be added or removed!]

A/N: Happy birthday Eren! My little war criminal ♥︎

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prettyboykatsuki · 7 months

Text

CIRCLE HAUNTS | TAKAMI KEIGO (HAWKS)

✮ tags ; dead dove: do not eat, gender neutral reader, no quirk au, horror + suspense, themes of cannibalism, implied / depicted cannibalism, noncon kissing + biting/drawing blood and flesh, intentionally open-ended, institutionalized cannibalism, white collar crime, yandere!hawks, 18+

✮ wc ; 9.9k (??)

✮ a/n ; another comm for the beloved @bitchkiss, thank you for your patience and also for letting me post.

✮ synopsis ; you move into a suspiciously nice house in the shizuoka prefecture, and meet your good-looking and unnerving neighbor. nothing is how it seems.

An abandoned house. Mostly functional in the outskirts of the Shizuoka prefectures in a lived-in district.

On auction for a little less than 7 million-yen. Located in a not quite suburb. Too much land between acres and backyards to qualify that way. All the other houses are within walking distance though, and there’s no shortage of places to go with a fair bit of time and energy.

By all measures, a perfectly good house in a perfectly good prefecture. Even now you’re not sure why it went on sale. You stare at it, outside cream colored with a gate and a cat bowl left on the porch from the previous owner - food gone to dust. Something looms on at the doorsteps, the sun-cast shadows almost as dark as oblivion night. In the front yard are wild strawberries and bushes of ivy.

It’s a home, no matter which way you look at it.

But you can’t bring yourself to walk inside.

You placed your bets on this house completely on a whim months ago.

You’d been looking for a house. No that’s not it - it was more that you’d started to look at houses. An important distinction in this instance, because you weren’t looking to move when you began. You wonder if it’s a rite of passage in your adulthood to peruse listings for places you can’t afford. Dreaming habitually of your landlord's body on a cross or of in unit washer/dryers. You weren’t unhappy with your living arrangements when you started doing it, but the longing for autonomy sunk its teeth into you and showed no plans of letting go. So browsing through houses idly, wine-drunk and exhausted, became something of a regular practice.

It was three months ago, during that practice (and after an especially scathing argument with your roommates) you’d gotten drunk and committed your usual routine. Cracked open a wine cooler, took off your clothes until you were down to your underwear, and cracked open your laptop to look at more property listings. That time, with a little more weary bitterness in your heart than all times before.

The search process for Japanese property could range anywhere from uneventful to laughably cruel at any given time. Whether it be listings for upend mansions in Tokyo or worn down one-bedrooms in Osaka. For every house that seemed livable, there were ten or fifteen completely out of reach or in complete shambles.

When you came up on thee listing initially, it felt too good to be true. A house in Shizuoka with lots of yard space. A house with decent upkeep and an even larger kitchen - and nice tatami in one of the siderooms. A beautiful house in a beautiful area, on auction instead of the normal sale. Some people had bid on it - but the pool was still low. Seven million yen was your final bet - the mortgage would only be a little more than your rent. You’d put your name down on a whim. With a laugh.

Laughed yourself unconscious and forgot about it until a month passed. A call from an unknown number to your personal cell.

A call from a realtor. Your name, miraculously, got chosen with the highest bid. The house was yours if you wanted it. You could move in as early as May.

You were convinced it was a scam at first - like any normal person with common sense would be. Immediately rejected. But the realtors assured you over the line that it wasn’t a scam, that the previous owners just didn’t want it anymore. Some kind of emergency. Of course - you didn’t believe them at face value either. So you did some research, went to tour the house, tried to gather information proving the whole thing was a hoax.

But there was nothing you could find even after plenty of internet sleuthing and asking everyone in your life to help you vet. When you mentioned to everyone, not a single person advocated for you staying in the city. Your job even offered to move you to the Shizuoka branch.

It was a good opportunity. There’s a coastal path not too far from where the house is. The previous family didn’t take the cat or any of his papers with him - but he’s friendly from what they say. There’s lots of space indoors and out.

It’s a cheap price, for a good house and you’d probably never get an opportunity like it again.

Something is wrong with it. You can tell that just looking at it now, despite how picture-esque it is on the surface. It’s a beautiful house. There’s even a second story and a balcony. You could plant a garden in the yard and still have space for grilling outside.

It’s a beautiful house.

And something is wrong with it - but you’ll never get an opportunity like this again.

Maybe you’re more of a conspiratorial person than you thought.

You look at the truck you’ve hauled all your things in. Your loved ones have been helping you in moving in the rest of your belongings over the last few months - so what's left is mostly lightweight knick-knacks and essentials. Clothes too. The car is parked along the side of the road with the back popped open for easy access. You shake yourself off your thoughts like you’re trying to banish them.

It’s a beautiful day outside. Early June heat that’s enough to warm but not enough to burn or swelter. The sun beats down on your skin, the sounds of gnats buzzing and the breeze rustling the overgrown fields makes your heart swell. You take a breath and remind yourself it’s a good opportunity. Stretching your arms over your head, your spine cracks. Putting your hands on your hips, you nod enthusiastically, encouraging yourself to try harder.

“Let’s just rip the bandaid off,” You mutter. You pull your keys from your front pocket, planning on opening the door first before hauling the rest in.

The sound of an engine makes you turn your head towards the road. A silver car, something compact - drives along the edge of the pavement. Your expression changes as the car starts to slow in front of the house. Your house. You’re never going to be used to that. Are the realtors coming for a visit? Your move-in date was set months ago, so they should know you’re here.

The car halts to a stop a few feet from your own truck, the tinted windows rolling down to reveal a good looking blonde man. He can’t be much older than you. He lets his arm hang out from one side of the window.

His hair is pushed back and shiny, and he’s wearing a button up shirt and brown pants. There’s sunglasses resting on top of his head. He kind of looks like a douche, but you try not to let first impressions sour your views. You give him a confused look, instinctively backing away as he smiles at you.

“You must be the new neighbor. Heard someone was moving into this place after the Nakamura’s left, but there’s always rumors like that floating around here,” He says, talking so much at once. You kind of have a hard time getting used to him.”But I’m glad to see that it’s true. Gets a little lonely out here if all the houses don’t have people in it. In my opinion, at least.”

You give him a blank stare. He holds out his arm to you through the car window. You have no reason not to take it, and it seems rude for you to decline - so you shake his hand. His grip is firm and assured, golden eyes narrowing into something pleased. You feel a shiver run through you.

There’s something about him.

“Uh, do I know you?” You say instinctually. This catches him off guard. He pauses before breaking out into a laugh.

“I’m Takami Keigo! You’ll hear people call me Hawks too though. I’m your neighbor. My house is..” He points north, “..the one ‘bout two minutes that way. I’m very involved with the community here. It’s pretty tight knit.” He explains to you. It doesn’t reassure you for some reason. You think it’s supposed to. “Is there anything I can help you with? Looks like you’re still moving in.”

You make an expression of distrust towards him but his smile remains unfaltering.

“I’m alright,” You supplement, trying to keep the peace. “I wouldn’t wanna keep you but I appreciate you coming to meet me.”

He looks like he’s considering the words, enough to turn himself around and leave. After a few seconds though, he pulls away and parks his car on the side of the road in front of your house. When he emerges from the front door - his expression doesn’t change at all. His smile is disarming. He’s not a terrible guy to look at - but you wonder what he’s doing so far from the city.

The way he dresses is metropolitan. His shirt is loose but his pants are fitted like their tailored - expensive fabrics that the big suits from your job wear. He’s wearing slacks when he’s not working, and loafer shoes that don’t seem suited for the outdoors. You’re not far enough in the country to be expecting country folk, but the area is relegated to families. Something suburban and simple about the people you’ve met so far, yourself included in some ways. No one like him.

You go with your gut about him and keep a distance.

It might be too early to completely shut him out - and you do want to get along with the people here if you’re going to take permanent residence. Not friendly, but comfortable. You figure it might be less precarious to go with whatever he’s interested in. He’s not going to harm you in broad daylight, not when he’s dressed like that. And you’ve already had so much apprehension since you’ve moved - you’re almost hoping there’s something you’ve overlooked about him. Something to assure you’re just engaging in some self-sabotage about everything.

You soften your posture and put on a business smile. There’s a ghost of something - intrigue maybe, but it’s gone before you catch wind of it. You wonder if you imagined it.

“Well if you insist, but I don’t want to leave you with nothing,” You offer to him, as charismatic and naive as you can spin yourself. Neither of you seem to believe it, and the whole conversation feels like a sham. But he hasn’t turned to leave in offense, so you keep going “I do have some drinks inside and I’m curious about the neighborhood.”

His grin widens.

“June heat like this is the perfect weather for a cold beer. Would be great with some meat,” He hums noncommittally. You try your best not to let your face crack into distrust. “What do you need? Just some boxes carried inside?”

You nod.

“Yeah. It’d be nice to only make a few trips here and there.”

“Easy peasy. You didn’t give me your name though. Little impersonal, don’t you think?”

You’d prefer he didn’t know it - but perhaps that’s asking too much since you’re letting him move things into your house. You give it to him neutrally, picking up a tote that you can carry along with your keys. Takami picks up your things swiftly. The boxes he chooses are heavy - you know that because of the way they’re labeled. The gesture is effortless though, and you’re not sure if it’s good or bad that you’ve noticed.

“Pretty name.” He tells you, and you do your best to not make a face. When he notices your staring, he tilts his head to one side. His teeth gleam an unnerving white. You can’t get over the yellow-gold of his eyes. “Surprising, right? But I’m stronger than I look.”

He waits for you to walk in front of him. Maybe it’s the paranoia, but it strikes you somehow. How he’s trying to appear. He’s perceptive. You walk in front of him, starting down the concrete path to the front of the house.

“Any reason or are you just a gym buff?”

He thinks about how he’s going to reply, but doesn’t meet your eyes to look at you when he does.

“Got into a lot of fights as a kid so I had to get strong. Something like that.”

When your eyes meet the second time, you can tell he’s seeing what you’ll probe out of him. Wanting to know what questions you’ll ask.

“Rough childhood, then?”

Bullseye, if his reaction is anything to go by. He hums and chuckles, still carrying the boxes. You fidget with your keys, the door sounding with a faint click as you push it open with the weight.

The lights are all turned off. It’s not your first time seeing the house - but the first time seeing it furnished in full. For weeks you’d been putting your furniture in it, and putting food in the fridge to make moving in smooth. All the other times you’ve been inside, you’ve never felt one way or another about it. Living there wasn’t actualized for all those months - but looking at your things, new and old, makes it all feel real.

It’s a moment too intimate for a stranger to bear witness to and you think he’s probably well-aware. He doesn’t say a word, just observes you from the corner of his eye. When you come out of whatever trance you were just under, he whistles.

“Nice decor,” He compliments - a fair attempt at lightening the mood. “Where should I put these?”

“Those can just go behind the couch for now, thanks.”

He listens to you wordlessly, dropping the boxes off. You watch the light of the sun reflect onto him. He’s yellow gold. You think your mother might find him good looking. He stands back up and meets your eyes. Piercing, underneath everything. He has marks on the corners of his eyes that give you the impression of a bird. A hawk scoping for something to peck at.

“Two down, about how many more to go do you think?”

“I think 6, give or take. And then some luggage with my clothes.”

“Let’s get to work then, shall we?”

You give him a tight lipped smile.

“Of course,”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to bring all of your belongings into the house. It’s a short few trips and there isn’t really much small talk for the two of you to engage in during it.

Once it’s over you, you thank Takami for his hard work and reward him with a beer as promised. You’re sure he knows that it’s only formality - but he’s completely comfortable in overstaying his welcome.

The two of you sit on the steps leading up to the front of your house - a cold beer in hand. The sun is starting to hide behind the clouds, and that deep shadow seems to cast once again. Over the both of you this time, and not just on your front steps. You let your nail push the tab of the can open, a soft carbonated hiss sounding as you depressurize it. Takami follows suit. He holds the can up to yours and looks at you before you can drink.

“Cheers to our hard work,”

You try not to balk at him, indulging his odd behavior per your own sanity. He’s aware of your apprehension, but his persistence is almost impressive. Another tight lipped smile. “Cheers, Takami-san.”

You take your first sips in complete silence and don’t look his way for any reason. You need the brief respite of peace to deal with the terrible weight of the pit in your stomach, still lingering. You wonder if his presence is worsening it, or if this is another thing your imagination decides to supplement. The cool liquid and faint sourness of Sapporo ease your mind, if barely. You observe the can in your hand momentarily, pretending to read the label.

He takes a similarly long sip of his drink and then lets out a semi-obnoxious aah. You peer over at him.

“Thanks again for helping with the move.” You say, mostly trying to fill the space with conversation so you don’t have to talk to him more than necessary. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” He says, waving his hand around in front of him. “Like I said, it’s a pretty tight knit community around here. I’ll introduce you to everyone whenever you’re free. They’re good folk.”

There’s something in his voice when he adds the last words. You wonder if you’re overthinking it again.

“Is that so?”

He looks at you, but you don’t meet his gaze. “Mm. A lot of people move out here to get a break from the hustle and bustle of the city. Hard-working folks. Families. It’s good to know them,”

You wonder if you’re being too honest about yourself - but decide that there isn’t anything he could do with the information you’re about to tell him.

“Interesting. I always grew up in the heart of the industrial district, so that’s lost on me. I even lived in Shinjuku for a while.” You offer mindlessly. “A good change of pace I guess.”

“Oh, we’re the same then,” He offers. You want to ask him to elaborate on what that means, but he brushes over it just as quickly “You’ll like it here then. Just knock on my door if you need something.”

He looks at you again that time, some knowing in his gaze. You try not to react in either direction, just nodding your head silently as you drink more of your beer.

“Yeah,” You offer, not looking towards him, “I’ll do that.”

For all the evading you down when you speak to Keigo, it was no lie that you spent most of your life living in the heart of the city.

The hustle and bustle of Musutafu, in the industrial districts of various prefectures - all of that was what you were accustomed too. When you were in your late teens and moved out for the first time - you lived in Shinjuku for two years and worked in the nightlife trying to pay for your tuition.

You would’ve never predicted a suburb for your future. It’s not the environment you know well. You can’t help but wonder if it’s always so… quiet.

In the time you’ve started living in your new home, not much has changed in your daily life.

Your initial paranoia has faded out enough to go about your responsibilities in peace. The previous family’s cat occasionally returns back to the porch, and you’ve started to buy it food just in case it decides it wants to stay permanently. A brown tortoiseshell who is always a little worried. You eat breakfast at the same time, but sleep in later since the Shizuoka branch you’ve moved to is a shorter commute. You still take your daily walks, and sometimes you’ll take some time to visit the coastal path and lay your eyes on the open water.

(The ocean doesn’t feel as comforting as it once did. Maybe it’s symptomatic of your own grievances, but looking at the endless expanse - your throat closes with the fear of it swallowing you along with it.

If it did, who would come find you? So far from everything you know?)

You’re entering into mid June, brushing along the edges of July. The heat is starting to be too much. You can’t stay outdoors for too long without feeling like your whole body is going to melt into the concrete and evaporate you from the inside. The nights get chilly, but the days are long. Humidity makes your skin sticky with sweat, and you’re running up your water bill with just how often you bathe.

Everything here is by all means much more uneventful. Some parts of it unsettle you. The nights are eerily quiet and before dawn breaks, there’s always a thick head of something perspiring in the horizon like fog.

Most days, the only people you talk to in person are your co-workers. Your friends live back in your hometown, so you only see them on weekends. Same with your family. It’s just you, and some after work dinners.

But mostly you.

And Hawks. You call him Hawks, in your head and Takami when he speaks. But Hawks feels more apt.

Hawks, seemingly, does not care what face you show him. Nothing stops him from showing up at your door at one time or another - always before you’re going on your walks.

(You want to ask how he even knows your schedule, but you doubt he’d give you any straight answers.)

And he doesn’t leave. You don’t think he would, no matter how rough you were about telling to fuck off. How demanding. You don’t want to confront him out of self preservation. It’s not easy to tell him to fuck off for some reason you have trouble placing. When you normally would, when it’d normally be so easy. You do it at your job all the time, to men much more important than him.

When he comes by, he hangs at your gate and never crosses the threshold to enter. He won’t move unless he’s invited in. You give up on being nice. If you offer him a glass of water, he’ll always agree just to see your expression change. He’s polite to make you uncomfortable. Says please and thank you, and makes conversation with you like he’s interested. An amalgam of reasons that you don’t like his company. Inescapable kindness that lends itself to plausible deniability.

What do you do for work? Oh, what’d you study for? Where are you from? Where are your parents from?

You never want to answer his questions. But he stays, lingers longer if you don’t. He archives the information, you’re sure - but you don’t know what for.

He knows what he needs to know. You live by yourself and your family is farther away. But he always wants to know more, always lingers at the gates - waiting to be let in despite how tight you’ve got your fingers on the lock.

You try not to involve yourself with him more than necessary. You avoid him if you’re walking around the neighborhood for any reason, and you never ask him about himself. He never tells you about himself either - but you can’t be sure why that is. If it’s for your sake or for his.

You try not to get used to him, but it doesn’t surprise you to see him just outside of your door. Sun pours over him in white rays like melted iron, but he’s the same as always. Same smile, same golden eyes, same unnerving expression.

He waves at you politely as you let your bodycon bag hang off of one side - a single headphone in as you look at him. You don’t bother smiling.

If it bothers him, it doesn’t show on his face.

“Hi neighbor,”

“Hey,” You reply, walking closer to the gate. It’s almost routine, but you try your best not to get used to it. No point in getting comfortable. “You’re here again,”

He laughs good-naturedly. “I am. Good to check in, no? Don’t want you getting lonely out here by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,”

He laughs again, but he sounds more sincere.

“Going on another walk? You should be careful in this heat, you know. Take care of your body and everything.”

“I’ll be fine,” You offer, standing in limbo and waiting for him to leave. “Thanks for your concern.”

“So cold to me,” He quips. So he does know. “Hope it’s a nice little workout for you.”

You sigh as you make more small talk, mostly tuned out of whatever he’s saying.

“Got any plans for today, Takami-san?”

He pauses before smiling to himself. He lets his arms cross over the metal of your gate, but doesn’t flinch when the heated edge touches his bare skin. You wonder about it, go to ask - but he’s talking again before you can.

“I do, actually. Gonna go into the shop today and get a new fridge,” He tells you, his grin bright and unusual. You’re surprised. He never tells you anything about what he’s doing, no matter how casual. Nothing more than whether he’s working or not. “I’m out of room in my old fridge, so I’m upsizing.”

“Out of room?”

You ask before you can calculate the correct move. It’s a slip up, you both know it. His smile widens just barely, nodding his head and closing his eyes.

“Mm. Ran out of space. A lot of mouths to feed.” He says, and opens one eye playful. “A lot of people live with me. Too big of a house to leave everything all empty.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Oh my roommates?” Hawks says, and you nod. His smile gets bigger. “They’re kind of a rag-tag bunch. Not sociable like me. I can always bring them to meet you - if you’d like.”

“No need to trouble them.”

“But you should get to know the people who live here a little better,” He insists, finally backing away from your gate. “It’s good to be familiar with your neighbors. I’ll try and direct people to you. Word’ll get out faster that way,”

You go again to protest, but he cuts you off a second time - seeming faux apologetic about your upset.

“You should come over for dinner next week, too. Meet my roommates. At 7 ish, we should all be together. They’d love to meet you,”

You meet his eyes and wonder if his invitation is as deliberate as you assume. When you peer into them, you confirm that it is. He’s not forcing you. You’re sure that if you rejected him now, he’d return to the way he was. He might fake being hurt, but he’d still visit you at your door. He’d still linger, still be there. He’s inviting you in on purpose. Dinner with his roommates is a less than casual affair - and nonsense for your relationship.

It’s a bad idea, and maybe a trap. You’re almost positive of that.

But if you did go - it’d confirm things. You’re positive of that too. You’d know for sure if you were being paranoid, if you went into that house that looks just two minutes away and saw the inside of it. You feel your heart pump through your body as the sun moves away from the clouds. There’s no longer a shadow cast on your face. Just pure, blinding heat.

You shield your eyes with your hand, all too conscious of the heat crawling up your back and the tightness forming in your stomach.

“Sure,” You reply, noncommittally - trying not to show too much of any one feeling. No advantages. But you feel like you’ve already lost. “I’ll see if I can make it,”

“See you then, neighbor,” He waves, finally turning to leave. “Looking forward to it.”

He’s true to his word on multiple fronts. Which. Doesn’t comfort you.

An official dinner invitation, and more importantly - sending out the other neighbors to come and meet you. He’s made a point of making good on both vaguely threatening promises.

Like your old living arrangements, you don’t go out of your way to talk to anyone here. You’re busier in the Shizuoka branch (though you like it there) and you find that there’s more daily upkeep with the new and improved space. Plus it’s mostly family folks and retired couples - no one you have any business speaking with for more than five minutes. So you’re not really going out of your way to socialize.

You never planned on being buddy-buddy with any of the people who live in the area, anyway. Acquainted and friendly at best.

But in these last few weeks, folks from all up and down the streets have arrived at your doorstep bearing all sorts of gifts. Fruits and desserts and other housewarming things they think you'd find helpful. They come so often even you have a hard time refusing them, though you’ve wormed your way out of any of them coming inside of your home or crossing far-past the threshold of the gate.

On the surface, they’re good folks like he described them to be. There’s no distrust to the conversation, nothing they want to wield against you.

But something's off. And isn’t that always the case here? You’re starting to feel like you’re repeating yourself. Stuck in a loop, some kind of odd deja vu.

It’s two things you notice. They’re both minor, but they bother you.

The first is the way they describe Hawks.

Nothing but good things. Which makes you sound like a bitch, even to yourself. But it’s weird. The kind of kindness that doesn’t feel real. Empty praises like a helium balloon. Last week one of your neighbors described him as benevolent and his wife agreed whole-heartedly. Each time you wonder if you’re thinking too much about it. Benevolent isn’t a word you’d use to describe anyone you like, no matter how well acquainted.

You know people as charismatic as him so you know that it’s something people do. He’s a good guy, but you don’t know him so you say empty, kind things. Still, it bothers you. And it’s like they say. A friend to everyone is a friend to no one.

It’s uncomfortable that no one shows any sign of disagreement about how kind he is. That there’s no hesitant glances or country gossip. That not one old lady has pulled you in for gossip and wine. There’s no character. No humanity.

It’s backwards but there’s too much harmony. In the people, in the weather, in the road - paved perfectly with no cracks. Everyday of June since moving in has been nothing but blue, cloudless skies. A bright vivid sun concentrated into one shape, heat casting the illusion of waves. No June rain to water the gardens or wash off the dusty roads. No lightning storms that send all the animals howling, no winds strong enough to dust a city into the sea.

It’s not nothingness. There’s something to that at least. If it felt abandoned, it might feel less unsettling. An abandoned place is a familiar one, a memory from your hometown. An abandoned place usually means that someone lived there before you. At least ghosts are the promises of people, even deceased.

Is there something more nonexistent than a ghost, while still being material? You don’t know what that would be.

Hollow but not empty - the skeleton of a suburb. Like something has been carved out of it and replaced. Unnatural, man-made. It never fails to make all the hair on your neck stand.

Then there is the other thing.

Well it’s a stretch. Even you can acknowledge that it might just be coincidence. But nothing here feels like sole coincidence except for the fact you’ve been unfortunate enough to end up here.

A lot of people in town have… injuries. Particular ones. The elderly couple up the street has a lost leg and missing pinky between the two of them. Of the few other people living alone here - all three of them have some type of it - a part of them completely gone. A lost eye or arm, or visible scars along their sides like something’s been … cut out of them.

You know how it sounds. Even to yourself, you’ll reprimand your imagination. It’s not something you can discern meaning from, not something to draw conclusions from. This is Japan, a Japanese suburb with little kids playing in fucking mud and wild strawberries and bushes of ivy.

Maybe the people who retire here are veterans, or maybe Hawks has some kind of charity.

Maybe it’s something not sinister, because what else could it really be?

You keep trying to convince yourself that this time it really is your paranoia. Because even if you examine that, try to unravel - what does it leave you with but more questions?

You want answers. Need them so you stop tossing and turning. But even if you’re to get answers, you aren’t sure if you could trust them. You trust your gut - yourself and only yourself.

You know something is wrong, but just how wrong do things get before the point of no return?

But you can’t help living here if something is wrong. As wrong as you think. If it doesn't go away, what then? What happens to you? Neighbors keep meeting you and people keep being injured and tight-lipped and hollow eyed. Something is always waiting for you in the dark.

You want to get ahead of it, no matter how fucking sick it makes you. You have to know or it'll swallow you up.

You just want to put the whole thing to rest, and get answers. You’d take fake ones to placate you if they were believable, you’d take anything to get your fucking mind off of it.

But the longer you stay, the longer you live at the edge of the road, the longer Hawks waves to you as he passes by your place - makes you feel like you can’t rest until you know.

You need to know for sure.

It rains.

The day he invites you over for dinner, just two minutes down the street - it rains. Harsh, July rain that sounds like it’s running against the ground. Thudding as it floods the streets and turns the Earth to mush. You couldn’t have expected it. It’d been sunny in the morning, but it’d all gone gray outside while in the office. And then it got darker and heavier, like nightfall early.

You were soaked on public transport on the way home, tracking mud into your front door as you walked along the grass back to your own home. You had enough time, at least - between getting home and going over to shower and sit down.

In the two hours of your arrival from the office and your invitation - you pretend for a while that none of it is happening. You read on your couch and pet the cat you didn’t adopt. You listen to music and pleasantly paint your nails up until you have to get ready, because you don’t really want to get ready.

You’re being dramatic. Or you’re not. But you don’t want to go. You don’t want to know what happens when you get there. You think about canceling. Taking a raincheck because of the weather. Feigning an illness for your not-cat.

Something is wrong with this place, and it’s bothering you. But you don’t know if you’re prepared to find out what.

You decide to go, because the other option is remaining in the dark. You could tell him that you want to reschedule, but just like you trust your gut on most things - you get a feeling this is the only window you’ll get to find out anything important. Like if you do it another day, you’ll get the same hollow facade as always.

So you dress yourself slowly. You take an umbrella, and lock your door shut. You even say goodbye to that cat that isn’t yours. You’ll make it back in one piece but something will change once you go. Both of these you believe with full conviction.

But you go. You go.

When you get outside, you open your umbrella up and put it over your head - walking out past your front gate and onto the sidewalk.

It’s not a lie that Hawks is the neighbor closest to you. He lives within walking distance, less than ten minutes from you. The neighborhood is more compact closer to his place, your own house being more isolated - the first house when cars turn the corner.

You don't know what the house looks properly, only what it's like vaguely in shape and color. On the walk there, it’s the only thing your eyes can focus on. You stare at it aimlessly as it comes into your vision line.

It’s obscenely big. You don’t know how many people are living inside for that to be the case, but it sticks out. Even in your time in the city, you’ve never seen a house that size just out in the open, so protruding. It feels invasive.

You feel something forming in your gut as you start to approach the gate. It doesn’t look so different to yours.

Clearing your throat, you approach.

In the clear distance is Hawks, in front of the open door like he’s waiting for you. It’s still light outside, but the weather makes everything dark. The warm light pouring out of the open door casting shadow onto the concrete above it. Hawks runs to meet you at the gate to open it, not bothering to grab something to cover himself with. The rain soaks his head, makes his hair fall a little flat.

There’s a girl waiting by the door with him, younger than you both - who’s looking at you with a wide smile. Her teeth are sharp like fangs. You can see them from afar, and better as you get closer.

Hawks is quick as he unlocks the latch for you. He pulls the gate back and ushers you with his hands on your waist. Instinctually - you hold out the umbrella to cover his head. He gives you a smile as he leads you through to the front of the house. The rain feels like it gets heavier as he does.

When you’re underneath cover, you’re rushed into the foyer of their place before you can think twice.

The door shuts behind you, the noise of the rain muffled. You miss it and you want to go outside again. You look at the door as it shuts, and the girl with him closes it and looks at you.

She’s cute. She has to be a student, but she looks nothing like Hawks. He walks over to her and pats her head.

“This is Toga. She’s the youngest of us. She won’t be joining us for dinner ‘cause she’s going to see her girlfriend, but she wanted to see the new neighbor.”

You give her a passive glance. She smiles at you.

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” She drawls the end of the word, then looks you up and down. “Hawks keeps talking about you all the time,”

“Aw, c’mon now Himiko-chan, don’t embarrass me in front of our guest,” Is what he says, but he doesn’t look embarrassed at all. “Take your raincoat and umbrella. Say hi Uraraka-san for me,”

“Uh-huh, I will. Bye-bye,”

You watch her get dressed for the rain and turn to leave. The brief sound of the rain returns and you’re all but too aware of how much you want to turn back from whence you came.

Hawks takes your jacket for you. His voice guides you to putting your shoes in the rack, telling you where the house slippers are for guests.

You’re not particularly trying to listen, but you’re out of your own body. The muffled rain thunders, cries out - makes you jump in your own skin. Lightning flashes through the whole house.

He looks at you bemused. “Just a little rain,”

“Right,” You reply, itching to get control of yourself “Been such a clear summer, so it spooked me,”

“Are you off put easily?” Hawks asks. You close up your umbrella and hang it against a wall “You seem like it,”

You shake the water off your face and neck and shake your head. “Not particularly. Just not used to living here yet.”

He nods sagely. “You’ll get used to it. But enough out of me, I’m here to introduce you to my roommates. You’ll have to forgive their curiosity, especially Touya.”

Curiously, Hawks doesn’t proceed with his usual testimony and fair. He doesn’t tell you that they’re good people, like he normally does. Just smiles, coyly, and gestures you to the corner of the hall.

From the kitchen on the other end of the foyer, you can hear sizzling and cutting - something being hacked away with a butcher's knife. Hawks waves your thoughts away as you turn your head towards it. “That’s Kurogiri. He learned we were having guests so he took up cooking. He’s the best at it, and I’m pretty decent. Himiko too.”

“Oh, that’s kind. What are we having for dinner?”

He stops to look at you. He holds his stare too long.“Meat. With some sides and rice, of course. I think it’s steak but Kurogiri doesn’t like western sides. You eat meat, right? You mentioned wanting to barbecue,”

You hesitate. Something slips in his face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. You nod. “I uh do meat. I try not to lately, to save money.”

He laughs. “Well, we have plenty to go around. Please eat as much as you like,”

You frown at him.

“...Thanks for the offer,”

He doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t make a punchy quip, or have a fresh joke like normal. Just nods aimlessly before giving you another familiar business smile.

“Lets not keep ‘em waiting,” Hawks offers, as he walks you into the basement. The darkness at the end of the stairwell puts a familiar gnawing in your stomach. “I’m sure they’ll want to meet you sooner, rather than later.”

They’re not what you expect.

His roommates. You’re expecting people like him. Metropolitan, overly friendly types. You’re expecting people he gets along with well, and some of them do.

But they’re nothing like Hawks at all, not even close.

Most of his roommates remind you of the kids living on the street during your life in the industrial districts. Rag-tag bunches who got in trouble with the law frequently, always in and out of the penal system.

Of his roommates, Shigaraki is the most antisocial. He doesn’t say anything when Hawks drags you to his room. Hawks doesn’t seem to be expecting anything either, but he does ask if the former will join you for dinner. Shigaraki looks you up and down, then laughs for the first time, and says not tonight. Hawks shrugs and moves on.

There’s Twice too, and he’s kind. Of them, you think he’s the nicest. He’s the closest with Toga. A bad past, he’s fond of Hawks (though you can’t be sure Hawk’s is fond of him.) Apparently he has some kind of condition and disorder, he tells you candidly - but he’s not unpleasant all the same. At the very least, he doesn’t offset some baser instinct to run far in the other direction.

You meet Magne, an older girl and another man who doesn’t tell you his full name. Hawks calls him Compress, but he introduces himself to you as Sako. He tells you he won’t join you all for dinner - holds your hand, places a kiss on the back of your palm as an apology. The gesture weirds you out, but you try to keep the peace.

Hawks tells you he’s a performer and you believe him.

The last person you meet is Touya.

Touya is interesting. He has thick scars along his face and neck, burn marks - but he’s got a handsome face. Hawks seems most hesitant to introduce you two, but they room together. You want to ask if that’s necessary, given that there’s so much space in the house but refrain.

When Touya greets you, his grip is casual and firm. He mostly seems disinterested, except when you’re in closer proximity to him.

Enough for him to flash you something pitiful. Something knowing, something… like he’s condescending you and pitying you all at once.

He’s the one, of all of them, that leers at you the most openly. He assesses you, polite in his introduction before turning to Hawks. They communicate something to each other wordlessly and you don’t like any of it. After whatever that had been, Touya simply turned to examine you, shrugging as he agrees to dinner and slinking back down into his room.

After a while, you go back downstairs. Hawks doesn’t tell you anything about his living space. Just sits you in a living room and chats with you until dinner is ready. Chats hollowly about the same pointless dialogue fodder he always does. He stares at you with each word, and you try your best to ignore the shivering it incites.

He’s relaxed with the charade here, but he keeps it up exceptionally well irregardless.

Nothing is strange in a way that makes all of it strange. The rain pounds against every window like it’s begging to be inside and the doors sometimes shake when thunder claps. But nothing is wrong in a way you can prove. His roommates are nothing like you thought they’d be, and only serve to prove that you know even less about him than you might’ve assumed.

He’s quick, on all fronts, to brush over any questions.

Whatever you want to know about, Hawks won’t let you. But it’s not out of secrecy. If he could tell you to be patient without spoiling your little game, you’re sure he would.

The pit of your stomach only grows heavier as the evening continues. Even though he hasn’t done anything to warrant your increasing distrust. Nothing feels as it seems.

It’s nearly eight o’clock when Kurogiri calls you all to have dinner.

Hawks send you into the dining room alone.

The walk into the dining room feels like it goes on forever. The hallway remains dark. At the end of the tunnel is a kitchen. A brightly lit dining room with warm lights and a table that seats many people. On the table, there's a bottle of sake and glasses. A pitcher of water with lemons cut into it, and plenty of sides.

On display though is meat. A lot of meat. Meat you can’t identify any one way, and that doesn’t smell like any other meat you’ve ever had. Hawks mentioned steak, and you can’t be sure it’s not that. It just doesn’t look like it from this distance.

The tables are all set-out, and there’s a steak on each plate.

Kurogiri is polite when he greets you.

“Oh,” He says, thinking to himself. “You must be the guest. Sit here. Keigo insisted I sit you next to him,”

You’re startled, but nod your head. “Nice to meet you, Kurogiri-san,”

He shakes his head. “The pleasure is all mine,”

You sit at the far end of the table, and let Kurogiri pour you a glass of water. The rest of the housemates start coming into the kitchen. Magne, and Twice, and Touya mostly - along with Hawks at the tail end. He comes around the redwood table to join you. He sits at the very head while everyone sits in what seems to be their own assigned seats. Touya sits directly to your right. Kurogiri sits at the opposite end of the table, glancing at Hawks.

“Master Shigaraki won’t be joining us?”

Hawks shakes his head. “Said he wasn’t. You can always bring him something to eat.I can take care of your guest.”

Kurogiri pauses, then looks at you. He shakes his head. “Just be careful, Hawks.”

“Have some faith in my hosting skills, Kurogiri,”

You watch on in silence as Kurogiri fixes things in a tupperware. Master Shigaraki?

“Sorry about the delay!” Hawks offers, all of a sudden. You look at the plate in front of you, and all the bowls alongside it before looking back towards Hawks. “Thanks for joining us for dinner. Please eat as much as you like and consider this our formal welcome to the neighborhood,”

Touya laughs hard beside you. “Laying it on thick aren’t you, Keigo?”

He replies in his unflinchingly calm voice. Touya must really get under his skin though, because you can hear his demeanor crack just barely. “Just being welcoming. Wouldn’t kill you to take a page out of my book, I don’t think,”

“Enough bickering,” He supplements, throwing his hands up. “Let’s eat,”

There’s a resounding itadakimasu around the table before the sound of cutlery begins to scrape against the ceramic plates alike.

For the first time all night, you check into your body and stare down at the plate in front of you. It feels like all your blood is rushing to your ears. Your heart pounds, blood thrumming through your nerves as you examine the plate. There’s a cut of meat on it, tender with herbs - and a side of rice and pickled vegetables. The ceramic plate it’s on is red, a deep sort of maroon. Painted birds decorate the sides along with thin leaves and branches. The other cutlery is nice. Heavy stuff, nothing cheap. Even the chopsticks have good weight.

You feel out of body as your hand reaches for them, swallowing thickly and not looking up at anyone for any reason. From the corner of your eye, you see Touya who seems to be watching your every move. Hawks doesn’t pay you any mind. You wonder why he’s doing so deliberately.

You use a spoon to help pick up rice. You eat the vegetables plain. It hurts to chew and swallow even though none of it’s dry. The lemon water you drink from the cold glass cup doesn’t soothe your throat.

The blonde glances at you. He reaches towards the sake bottle and cups circling the centerpiece of the decor and hands you a glass. “This’ll warm you you,”

You look at him, and briefly at his plate. He hasn’t touched the meat yet. You take the glass from him and sip in long drinks until you reach the bottom.

But the feeling doesn’t leave you. You wonder if you’re imagining it.

It’s meat. Beef, from what they tell you. You look up to see Twice across the table, tearing into the flesh with his teeth - and something inside your gut churns hard. Your focus is unbreaking as you see it. Teeth sinking into flesh. The outside a golden brown but the inside raw and red, fatty and bleeding. Twice’s plate pools with what looks like blood. Steaks bleed, you know that.

And everyone is eating comfortably, like nothing is wrong. Except Hawks. He has yet to cut into anything. He mimics you. He’s waiting for you to eat first.

“You should eat first,” He goes as far as telling you. His smile gleams. Pearlescent white teeth, golden yellow eyes, blackness in his pupils like oblivion. “Feels a little rude as the host.”

Fuck. Something is wrong. It’s screaming at you. The sound of scraping and chewing and swallowing becomes a cacophony as it grates on your mind. You try your best to be unaffected and drink more sake. You keep your voice calm.

You won’t panic. You can’t panic. You steel yourself.

“No no, please - go ahead. I’m a little tired so I don’t feel like chewing, is all. It’s fine, I promise.” You offer, then stare at him. “Eat.”

He looks at you surprised, and Touya laughs besides you.

He shrugs though, and eats. Unconcerned with you, with refined manners and well practiced etiquette. Hawks is polite when he eats.

He cuts through the thick hunk of meat with a sharpened knife in precise, even squares. He’s an expert at it. You watch as the outside cuts open. Underneath the brown is tender red. Bleeding red. It’s practically raw on the inside, blood spilling out from the open slices. It has that soft texture of raw meat. Hawks uses his chopsticks to grab the piece, and it yields underneath the pressure - squished between the ends.

You watch as he chews it. You watch carefully.

There’s delight in the act of eating. He savors when he chews, slow and deliberate and when he swallows - he seems especially pleased. His expression changes after the first few bites, repeating it over and over. You feel bile rise in your throat.

“It’s good you know,” Hawks hums, looking at you so deeply you feel suffocated. Flying close to the ground to pin you right when you’re least expecting, how typical. It’s so like him it makes you sick. “You should give it a try,”

You clear your throat.

“I will. I uh, I do need to use the restroom though.” You say quickly, trying not to heave. “Where would that be?”

Touya snorts. “Down the hall on your left.”

Before he can get a word in edgewise - you bolt. You nearly knock the dining chair over with how swift you carry yourself on your legs. You run, speeding off towards the bathroom. Grabbing the handle you nearly slam the door as you hurry yourself inside.

Your chest feels tight as a sense of nausea overwhelms you, mixed with some morbid sense of relief. You were right. You were right about everything.

They’re taking body parts - this much you’re sure of. You can think of what they do with them. Selling them is a lucrative business. But eating them? It’s a level of depravity so far beyond your scope - you can’t help but feel nauseated.

Your hands grip the linoleum sink as the fluorescent lights of the bathroom flicker overhead. Your complexion has gone pale with disgust. Your stomach feels especially tight, soured. It’s almost painful how sick you are. Sweat drips along your back and into your shirt - all down the crown of your head. White knuckling the edge of the sink, you stare into the linoleum and take deep breaths trying not to fucking puke.

You’re in too deep. You were weeks ago. Maybe the minute you clocked that something was wrong about him, like you’ve seen past a carefully set-up illusion.

By rights of the illusionist, it’s only inevitable that he comes after you. You either die with his secret or become part of his magic act.

You don’t know which things he wants more.

By the time you steady your breathing at all, you hear the bathroom door click open behind you.

You nearly scream.

Hawks closes the door behind him. The enclosed space of the bathroom makes your chest ache, as you back into the sink. He looks calm. You ready yourself to run.

His eyes no longer shine. They’re almost dull, copper in color as he stares at you with a lazed smile. It’s like the mask has all but shattered. Leaving you two in this cramped, airless, stale room. Your stomach clenches, muscles tight with adrenaline. You think of all the ways out, but Hawks leans his weight on the door to keep you from running.

“Relax,” He offers, no longer pretending. “I won’t hurt you. And you’d rather not get the attention of my housemates, I’m guessing,”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You fucking—you eat people?”

He smiles. “You know, it’s pretty clever of you to figure it out. Most folks here are too stupid to see through it, but you noticed right away. I was really interested in that when we first met,”

He stands up straight, readying himself to approach you.

“Stay the fuck away from me,”

He leans against the door and puts his hands up, but not because he’s trying to appear unthreatening.

“It’s a good gig. Cheap property, more people move in, more business. When someone proves loyalty, they get a cheap mortgage and live for a small price. Up until now, no one just moving has been able to get out of it. Except for the family before yours. Still feel sorry about that one.”

The dread that washes over nearly has you throwing up. You dry heave. Hawks smile only grows.

“But you noticed right away, which was interesting. So I started getting intrigued by you. I wondered how far you’d go to find things out, and it was farther than I expected. It’s good to be clever,” Hawks offers. He steps closer to you this time and you go to defend yourself, grabbing something from the counter to hit him with. You find nothing. “Not so good to be nosy. But you couldn’t help yourself, huh? I like the spunk, at least.”

“You’re a monster,” You say and you mean it.

“It’s a house full of them. I’m just the spokesperson. And this is a lucrative business practice. My colleagues aren’t the social type, so I handle all the HR. I can’t have some newbie who just moved in fucking the protocol,” Hawks hums, tilting his head at you. “In a way I’m helping you,”

“Helping me? How in the fuck are you helping me?”

It’s a swift movement where Hawks pins you. You go to move, to hit him - to scream. But Hawks is fast. He’s strong, and completely swift - and when he grabs you to pin you to the sink, you’ve never felt more completely helpless in your life. You bite his hand, but he looks at you steadily. Cold.

“No one will help you even if you scream, so don’t scream,” Hawks reprimands, almost bored. “Cops don’t come here anyways. I would know.”

He pulls his hand away from you.

“What do you want from me?”

Hawks looks surprised then laughs.

Before you can protest any further, you feel the grip on your arms and body tighten painfully. Hawks ducks his head down against your throat, and in one motion bites. He bites hard. You can feel it break the skin, and that time you scream. You pull away, but his teeth scrape and scrape and scrape till you’re bleeding.

He sucks the blood and licks the flesh, like someone might eat bone marrow from a carcass. You can feel it then. He’d devour you into nothing if he could - while you’re still all pieced together. You look at his mouth when he pulls away, covered in your blood. Some of the skin he’s taken off, just barely. Your whole body feels feeble as he goes again to lick up and clean the sensitive wound.

Your knees feel weak as he pulls away. Your blood is on his mouth. There’s surely more on his hands. You feel sick all over again. You’re gonna throw up.

“It’s simple what I want,” Hawk’s says, and then narrows his eyes at you “I like to play with my food before I eat it,”

Your eyes narrow.

“There’s no way I’d let myself wait around here to be killed.”

“Who said anything about killing, stranger? Just eating. It’s good practice to eat. We’ll eat together. We’ll eat each other. It’s romantic, don’t you think?” Hawks hums, hugging you to him. And it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, for exactly what he really is. “Eating together is a basic facet of a healthy connection.”

“A healthy connection? You’re insane.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m in like. Different things.”

You try again to pull away, but remain stone still in his arms. For now, there’s no escaping. But you thrash and thrash and thrash. It comforts you.

“I’ll never take it lying down.” You tell him, as seriously as you can.

He gives you a smile. It’s pearly white. It’s unnerving. It’s genuine. Your heart feels heavy as the weight and implications all sink in. Oh, he’ll chase you - if it means getting to eat you alive.

Thunder strikes the house. The walls shake. July is unwelcoming and gloomy.

But Hawks’ eyes shine yellow gold like a false sin as he looks down at you in awe.

“I’m looking forward to it, neighbor.”

#cannibalism cw #noncon cw #yandere cw #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #writing tag #sorry if there are . still errors

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mousyatlas · 5 months

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prompt from: @rabbitbites: modern au where feyd and paul are fwb, feyd wants to be more, but Paul is still trying to get over the loss of his father and breaking things off with chani and they have an angsty make out sesh about it [note: mature.]

The campus courtyard was a busy place. Off-world students enjoyed the splendor of Caladan. Those who grew up on the ocean planet continued to bask in the dreary rain and lush, green surface of the farming district. Paul Atreides had been born and bred on Caladan, sequestered to an estate near the sea where his father once oversaw the political wellness of its citizens. Leto’s death still turned Paul’s stomach. Eight months since the accident, still a wound too raw and festering to ignore.

Rain fell in drizzly sheets across the university and Paul walked through it without bothering to pop open his umbrella. Water beaded on his forehead and streaked his face, but he didn’t mind. He walked past one of the square lecture halls and cut across the lawn in front of the library and then made his way through the iron gates, stepping up onto a damp sidewalk. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

[feyd] you want a beer

Paul typed out whatever you’re having and hit send.

This quarter was almost over which meant Paul would have to start preparing the syllabus for next quarter. There was always an influx of students in the spring, cramming to get seats in prized classes with experienced professors. Paul Atreides, well, Professor Atreides taught a history class specializing in sietch formation on Arrakis, home of spice. And home of Chani Kynes, who would soon return to the desert planet, called back to her upbringing by golden dunes and Shai Hulud. By an unflinching duty to her people. Things hadn’t been the same between them since his father had died. They weren’t technically together anymore, they weren’t officially apart either. She had a key to his loft; he knew the code to her garage. She cooked him delicacies from Arrakis sometimes; he brought her boba and sushi sometimes. They slept together because it felt right. Because they didn’t have much time left and she knew his body, and he knew hers. Because for the last two years, Paul had loved her, and she had loved him.

Losing Leto changed everything though.

It started small, the grief binge, chasing adrenaline. Paul drank a six-pack one night, then a fifth of liquor the next. He went out with one his students after that, railing spice cut with something from Kaitain at a nightclub in the city. That same night, he met someone. Handsome, trouble. In his right mind, Paul would’ve walked away. But Feyd-Rautha, dressed in a fitted black long-sleeve, leather belt cinched around dark denim, had looked at Paul from across the dancefloor. They became fast friends, laughing under bright neon. Paul left with him, found something greasy at a food truck, agreed to meet again another night. Post-work drinks, like the one he was about to have, turned into time spent at Paul’s loft, watching a filmbook or cooking together, talking about the band Feyd-Rautha was in, one he couldn’t seem to get off the ground, or meeting at Feyd-Rautha’s apartment to play a boardgame or catch up. They commiserated about lost family. Feyd let Paul listen to unreleased music and Paul waxed poetic about the Known Universe. The first time Paul kissed Feyd-Rautha on the mouth at a nightclub, his mind had been glittering with spice, bloodstream tainted with whisky. They’d fucked in the bathroom like clumsy teenagers, Feyd’s palm rucked up Paul’s shirt, Paul’s pants pushed to his thighs, Feyd trapping him against the stall, chewing at his throat, and Paul spending at the first breath Feyd sent coasting along his earlobe. In the morning, they vowed to never do it again. Two days later, Paul showed up at Feyd’s apartment, sober but lonely, and Feyd didn’t turn him away.

Since then, for a handful of months, Paul Atreides and Feyd-Rautha met to talk, drink, fuck, read together, kiss lazily on the couch, share meals, fall asleep. Feyd was Paul’s friend, in a way.

Paul shouldered through the door at a small dive bar near Feyd’s apartment and took off his coat, draping it over his arm as he approached a dingy booth across from a dartboard. Feyd sat with his eyes on his phone, flicking through social media. His fair skin was warming as winter gave way to spring, but nothing could completely chase the milky glow from his complexion. He wore a leather jacket, one Paul had seen many times, and glanced at him as he fell into the booth opposite him.

“Got you a red,” Feyd said, knuckling a frosty glass toward him.

Paul nodded. “Appreciate it.”

“You go to therapy today?”

He took a long drink. “Can we not — "

“So, no,” Feyd grumbled.

“I don’t need grief therapy, I’m fine.”

“If a therapist opened a textbook right now and pointed to potential grief therapy client, your face would be on the page.”

Paul shifted his jaw. “I’m figuring it out on my own.”

Feyd-Rautha furrowed his naked brow and gave a single nod. “You following Chani to Arrakis?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Yet.”

“Feyd…” Paul heaved a sigh and took long pull from his beer. They’d talked about it before. The idea of them. Usually drunk, usually in bed or tucked away in the dark. But they had talked about it. And Paul knew, despite Feyd-Rautha’s stoic demeanor and cold exterior, that he wanted more than what they had. More than friendship pushed to the brink of catastrophe.

The longer Paul used Feyd like a coping mechanism, the more entangled they’d become. Paul knew that already. He’d known that since the start.

“Look, I can’t…” Feyd paused to breathe. His jaw slackened and he talked with his hands, knuckles flexed, long fingers bent oddly to match his mood. Frantic, anxious. Angry. “I won’t keep doing this, okay? It’s not good for me, it’s definitely not good for you.”

“Yeah, and what’s good for me?”

“Sobriety, probably,” Feyd deadpanned, gesturing to the almost empty beer. “Stability. Therapy. Enough sleep.”

“And what if I don’t want you to be good for me?”

Feyd snapped. “You think I don’t know how we got here? C’mon, Paul. I’m not exactly your type.”

Paul felt the comment before it came out, barbed and hot. “You’re not, no.”

“Okay,” Feyd heaved a sigh, defeated, and stood. He threw a few bills onto the table and walked away.

Paul listened to the hard pound of his boots on the floor. A part of him, the stubborn part, fully intended to stay seated and let him go. But the part of Paul Atreides who loved how Feyd laughed and curled close to him at night and ate popcorn with him at the theater and panted in his lap was stronger than the grief-stricken young man left in Leto’s shadow. Paul finished his beer and darted after him, catching Feyd by the elbow outside the bar.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, squeezing Feyd’s arm hard. “I’m sorry, you know I’m sorry.”

“I don’t, actually,” Feyd said, yanking away. He turned down an alley, trudging into the dark. Rain fell a little harder, splattering his leather jacket. He angled his mouth over his shoulder. “What’re you sorry for?”

Paul stomped after him, pawing at his shoulder. “We’re here because I’m a mess,” he confessed, halting Feyd in his tracks. “Because I met you and I liked you and — ”

Feyd whirled on him. His strong hand landed at the base of his throat. He pushed him backward, sealing him against the concrete, and seized his neck, angling his face upward. “And?”

“And you make it easy. This, us, it’s easy,” he said, sighing. “Don’t take it from me yet. Please,” he whispered, craning against Feyd’s hold. “Let me keep you a little longer.”

Feyd-Rautha kissed a fire into him. Paul hardly had time to register he was being kissed at all until Feyd was prying at his mouth, licking between his lips, breathing hard. The cold rain kept falling, and Paul reached for Feyd’s face, cupping his cheek, then palmed his nape, hauling him closer. Feyd’s teeth slipped across his bottom lip. Paul nipped at his mouth, chasing the sensation.

“I might not be your type, but you’re mine, you hear me?” Feyd rasped, biting tenderly on the slope of Paul’s jaw. “You’re mine.”

“I’m a liar,” Paul said, gulping in air before he ducked down, searching for Feyd’s plump mouth. “You’re exactly my type, exactly.”

#dune #paul atreides #feydpaul #feyd rautha #dune fanfiction #paul x feyd #feyd x paul #feydpaul ficlet

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leggerefiore · 1 year

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Quagsire

cw: fluff,

pairing: Rika/Reader

summary: You return from a trip to Johto with a gift for your girlfriend. She loves it for a different reason then you intended.

Rika sighed as she checked her phone again. Was your flight delayed? Her eyes went to a nearby screen. There was nothing to alert her to that. She ran her fingers through her hair. No messages from you, not that you could while the plane was landing.

You had gone out of the region on a trip to Johto, claiming to want to see the historical districts of Ecruteak and Violet City, while also seeing how different the battling style was there in comparison to Paldea. She would have loved to join you, but getting the time off just seemed impossible. There was always something that needed her attention as an Elite Four member. Though, she was glad to see you off, with a request that you bring her a gift back to make up for her not getting to go.

Today was your return from Johto. She had specifically requested off so she could spend some quality time with you. Yet, the universe still seemed to be denying her that. Shaking her head, she looked at her phone again. Nothing. Before she could wander away from the gates, though, a familiar voice yelled out her name. You rushed over to her with a bright grin while carrying all your luggage. Rika felt her lips twitch up into a grin at seeing you finally.

She caught you in a hug as you put down a bag to squeeze her tightly. A chuckle left her, “I thought your plane got lost or something.” Your warmth instantly soaked into her and dispersed any lingering frustrations. With a light laugh from you, both of you headed out of the busy place and went home.

Once you had your bags tucked away, you both crashed on the couch. Rika turned on the television to some boring show that mostly served as background noise as you cuddled up together. You were exhausted from the trip, and she was exhausted from the extra work she had to do to get today off. Her arm was tightly around your shoulders as she laid a kiss into your hair.

Everything seemed to be pointing to you both taking a nap.

Until you suddenly jumped out of the embrace to rush into the bedroom. Rika watched your rapid shift with a confused expression. You scrambled to search through your bags before returning with a pokeball in your hand. She cocked a brow up. A battle? Honestly, she would have preferred a nap, but if you insisted, she guessed. Before she could send out a pokemon, you quickly gave the pokeball to her.

“Your gift,” you smiled at her brightly, “I found a pokemon I thought you'd like!” Rika's eyes went wide. You got her a pokemon? Did Johto have interesting ground types? She did not think so, but the green-haired woman would never reject a gift from you. Sending it out, she watched a… familiar shape come out of the light.

A confused blue pokemon took shape as it looked around the apartment. Rika almost wanted to laugh. “A Quagsire?” she knelt down to pet the water fish pokemon, “Aren't you a cutie? You have a look in your eyes just like my Clodsire.” The Quagsire gave a “d'oh?” in reply to the woman's questions. It did lean into her hand, however, deeply enjoying the petting. “Babe, is this guy even a ground type?” she asked you, genuinely wondering. She knew they were related to Clodsires as they both came from Woopers, yet this pokemon just screamed water type. Then again, her Wishcash was both, too.

You nodded, “She's a water-ground type! I found her wandering alone as a little Wooper while exploring a route near a cave. She was too cute to just leave on her own, so I ended up training her.” Rika felt a bit flustered that you were gifting her a pokemon that you trained yourself. The Quagsire suddenly seemed even cuter to her.

“She's a great gift, no doubt,” she rubbed the pokemon's blobby head again, “Buuuut, what if you kept her, and we battled together as a Quagsire-Clodsire combo?” The idea entered her head and just would not leave. It was simply too much of a romantic thing for her to resist. You both standing side by side as couple trainers with your themed teams. Aces both being from the pokemon same family. She loved the idea a lot. When you two won, she could squeeze you into a hug and kiss you while your confused ground-fish pokemon watched.

You tilted your head in consideration. Quagsire could be bred to gift her a Johtonian Wooper in the end. Plus, there was an appeal to her idea. You nodded and knelt down with her to lean into her side. “Sure,” you agreed, “Let's become an annoying power couple in Paldea.” Her long hair tickled your skin as you nuzzled into her shoulder. A chuckle came from her.

Rika moved to peck a quick kiss on your lips to seal the deal.

#pokemon x reader #pokemon rika x reader #rika x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon rika/reader #rika adores the wooper you later gift her too. its your shared child according to her.

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easternmind · 1 year

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The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part II

This article is the continuation of a previous post.

Any comprehensive history of 20th century Hong Kong is not complete without a chapter entirely dedicated to the architectural and urban planning puzzle that was Kowloon Walled City. Quite unlike any other slum in Asia or elsewhere in the world, the extreme conditions under which its inhabitants lived captured the attention of various international journalists and photographers whose reports of this accidental labyrinth, in turn, inspired some of the most remarkable artistic explorations of our time. In this regard, video games did not remain impervious to the powerfully stimulative imagery, as much a reference today as it was when its hardened concrete walls still stood tall.

Kowloon's Gate Suzaku VR - Jetman - 2017

Kowloon's Gate made a most unexpected comeback twenty years after the original episode via the crowdfunded VR project Suzaku developed by Jetman, a studio founded by and composed almost exclusively of ex-SME/Zeque staff. While it is not the remaster many had hoped for, essentially consisting of a walking simulation through some redesigned locations from the original, it does a commendable job in faithfully replicating its instantly recognizable, light-starved alleyways in competent high-definition. It is also the only VR-compatible entry from this list, granting it a degree of uniqueness over its counterparts.

Stranglehold - Midway/Tiger Hill Productions - 2007

Stranglehold is the result of a collaboration with Hong Kong movie director John Woo, developed as a direct sequel to his heroic bloodshed classic Hard Boiled, featuring Chow Yun-fat in the role of detective 'Tequilla' Yuen in his unending confrontations with organized crime. One of the game's most unforgettable levels, Slums of Kowloon, takes place during a particularly rainy day, seemingly in those last days when the zone had been emptied of residents and demolition work was well underway. The visual representation of the quarter is suitably evocative, its buildings in complete state of disrepair, the remnants of local businesses or places of prayer still discernible from under the piles of steel and cement rubble.

Resident Evil 6 - Capcom - 2012

For all its shortcomings, Resident Evil 6 partly succeeds in taking the first two episodes' concept of parallel storylines and realizing it to a much fuller extent. Its choice of different characters translates into entirely different campaigns, locations and playing styles. The very first scene in Chris/Piers' campaign occurs in the fictional Chinese city of Lanshiang, modelled after real-life Hong Kong. The mayhem in the main streets forces the player to take a detour into a location named Poisawan, which bears a striking resemblance to the Kowloon district. Though an unofficial representation, it is among the most skilled replications of the scenery we find in the vast photographic repository of the area. The degree of minutiae with which the district's haphazard electric installation is replicated, alone, suffices to demonstrate a true commitment to authenticity.

Paranormal HK - Ghostpie Studio - 2020

Few would dispute that Kowloon is, itself, naturally conducive to sentiments of dread and anxiety. Paranormal HK is a 2020 made in China production reviving the defunct neighbourhood in a gripping, blood-curdling contemporary ghost story. The player is the cameraman of a paranormal-themed TV show exploring the zone during the evening of the Zhongyuan festival, a scheme suspiciously akin to that of Akira Ueda's 2004 game, Michigan: Report From Hell. As a result of the thorough research work performed by its creators, as well as the impeccable usage of contemporary 3D graphics techniques to achieve accurate lighting conditions, players may momentarily experience the feeling of walking into a photo of the actual city as it existed in the mid eighties.

Sifu - Sloclap - 2022

Notwithstanding of its renaissance during the 128-Bit era, the beat 'em up genre is commonly associated with the arcade games of the late 80s and 90s, the period of time when it flourished and, arguably, reached its zenith. The simplicity of controls and ease of access sufficed to attract players to the arcade cabinet, while the frequently extreme levels of difficulty of advanced levels ensured a steady flow of cash for arcade room owners and game development companies alike. Nevertheless, the genre has but perished and, in many aspects, recent years have indeed elevated it to unforeseeable degrees of complexity. Sifu, by Sloclap, synthesizes the elation of digital hand to hand combat simulation with the real-life complexity of mastering a martial art.

As is the case of previous entries in this list, Sifu makes no admitted reference to Kowloon or Hong Kong. However, the designers left little to the imagination in what pertains to their inspirations when taking on the task of constructing the game's environments. Another notable coincidence stems from the fact that this production was made possibly with the support from a celebrated independent game funding group going by the name Kowloon Nights.

Stray - BlueTwelve Studio - 2022

Stray is one of the most revered independent video games in recent memory, and justifiably so. The long development process yielded many benefits, judging from the consistency and attention to detail that engrossed many an avid player. That the main character is singularly charming feline may have played an equally crucial role. The creators have made no effort to conceal the fact that the notorious Hong Kong district was a pivotal influence to the design of its nameless city. The first indication can be spotted in the game's earliest footage, in which a black cat traverses a street where a particularly conspicuous sign boasted the initials HK. Stray is less concerned with presenting a precise replica of Kowloon than it is about summoning the very essence of its atmosphere. Moreover, in an exquisitely poignant way, its ending lends an entirely new meaning to the term walled city. In the future, robots may well take the place of humans. Invariably, the Walled City is no more. Slitterhead - Bokeh Game Studio - Work in Progress

An sequence of unconscionable mistakes from the part of Sony Computer Entertainment's management galvanized Keiichiro Toyama to part ways with Japan Studio, as it once was, and establish his own game production label. Their debut title, Slitterhead, is described as a grotesque survival horror experience, a genre within which the author moves with matchless ease. Among the few certainties regarding this project is the fact that it will take place prominently - if not exclusively - within the Kowloon City province. A wide variety of aspects included in the preview footage leave the viewer optimistic as to this being one of the most accomplished portrayals of the district ever seen in a video game. Subtle yet telling signs already demonstrate the creator's in-depth knowledge of the quarter's architecture and history. Take, for instance, the suggestive image of the airplane flying mere meters above the top of the buildings. Although the growth of Kowloon was for the most part ungoverned, buildings did not rise above a certain height, even as inhabitants claimed for increased availability of space. This is due to the fact that airplanes landing at the nearby airport would be required to make their descent at relatively low altitude, performing a tight curve as they soared just above the enclave, thus preventing construction from expanding upwards. Another scene shows a child playing on the rooftops of the buildings, which once again is consistent with the documented habits of residents who, starved for sunlight and open space elsewhere within the city limits, had little alternative than to take the stairs all the way to the top.

Warehouse Kawasaki Arcade

I would be remiss not to make some form of allusion to Warehouse Kawasaki, an arcade built to replicate the Walled City with unthinkable detail. Though its ultimate purpose was for visitors to engage in digital entertainment, the venue was scrupulously put together. Point in fact, many of the objects used in the construction of the five floor amusement centre were imported directly from Hong Kong. Like so many other Japanese arcades, it closed its doors in 2019.

In recent years, a rather similar initiative was taken by the Chinese in their attempts to build unique mall spaces. The 文和友 malls in mainland China, found in Changsha, Guangzhou and Shenzhen, attempt to reproduce the walled city aesthetic. Local residents inform me that these are increasingly lacking in foot traffic, for which reason the majority of their stores are closed. Other digital replicas of Kowloon

A number of other videogames set in or deriving inspiration from Kowloon could not be featured in this article. A frequently cited reference in this context is the action/adventure game Fear Effect, one which I emphatically dispute. No doubt remains as to it being located in a futuristic version of Hong Kong, yet I could discern no parallels with the walled city, save for those scattered second-hand visual motifs that were no doubt imported from sci-fi classics such as Blade Runner or Ghost in the Shell.

The Utelek Complex stage of Deus Ex: Makind Divided presents a similar situation, where the overall atmosphere of the futuristic favela bears some resemblance to Kowloon, without meeting the specificity quota that would warrant a more comprehensive exploration.

The 2004 Shout! original Kowloon High-School Chronicle for the PS2 is a unique case, in that it borrows the city's name despite taking place in a massive, Tokyo underground dungeon that is later revealed to be a maze-like Egyptian pyramid. The odd choice of title remains unclear. Shadowrun: Hong Kong game (screenshot above) contains a very direct mention of Kowloon as the place in which an entire episode comes to pass. Another project still in development, Kowloon's Curse (screenshot below), is following the lead of many popular independent horror games in recent memory by using a visual design and structure that elicits memories of the late Playstation/early Dreamcast era. A short prequel episode was made available earlier this year, for free.

Additionally, I refrained from mentioning the Kowloon maps in Call of Duty: Black Ops or Counter-Strike: Global Offensive, as I perceive both games to be insufficiently relevant to merit study or contemplation.

A space that refuses to be forgotten

(China rooftop stage from The King of Fighters 2003)

It would be a gross overstatement to claim that Kowloon is a recurring location or level design motif in videogames. The relationship between digital games and the real life ghetto has been one of sporadic references. What makes the subject so engrossing pertains to the quality of the relationship, particularly that of a small cadre from among the titles featured in this article. Kowloon's Gate was one of the most relevant game creations of the 32-Bit era, a game deserving of reverence and cult following inside and outside Japan. Likewise, Shenmue II is the second instalment of a truly ground-breaking and highly advertised series whose production costs alone were unmatched until quite recently.

Moreover, this is an affair that is far from concluded. The unexpectedly high number of allusions to Kowloon in videogames released or revealed just last yet demonstrates that its aesthetic is still very much present in the minds and hearts of artists and designers working in the field. The walled city lives on as a digital demarcation that is certain to resurface time and again in years to come.

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 1 year

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Capitol Punishment II

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 3.3k

Part I | Masterlist | Part III

Then came the 74th Hunger Games. On reaping day you woke up in bed with Haymitch. “Here we go again,” you muttered dryly as you sat up.

“I know,” Haymitch agreed solemnly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Stay by me, I don’t want you to be taken without me knowing.”

You agreed, standing up to get ready for the day.

As mentors you were allowed on the train whenever you wanted so once Haymitch was ready you headed over. As for the reaping, news had reached you that Katniss Everdeen had volunteered for her little sister. “She just signed her own death certificate but hey, at least sponsors will like her,” Haymitch said.

“Hopefully not too much,” you muttered.

Soon enough the train was moving and you had finally convinced Haymitch to go out to meet the kids. You walked into the dining room as Effie, District 12’s escort was talking to the kids. “Ah, and these are Y/N and Haymitch, your mentors!” she said excitedly.

Haymitch made a beeline for the alcohol while you went to go sit in front of the tributes. “Peeta, Katniss,” you greeted.

“So where do we start?” Peeta asked eagerly.

“Woah is that how you talk to a lady?” Haymitch interrupted, bringing you your drink. You definitely weren’t as much of a drinker as Haymitch but you certainly drank to take the edge off occasionally.

“Sorry,” Peeta mumbled, looking down at his feet in embarrassment.

“Don’t be. And don’t listen to Haymitch, he’s a drunk,” you dismissed playfully. “Seriously, don’t be sorry. I know you guys are angry, scared, whatever. I’m going to try my best to help you, prepare you… get you sponsors,” you added after a second, knowing what that meant for you.

“Let me handle to sponsors,” Haymitch cut in. “And as long as you’re going to be productive, I don’t need to be here,” he said, going back to his aloof persona he presented to everyone but you. He pressed a kiss to your temple before heading back to no doubt your room, bringing a bottle of whiskey with him.

“I didn’t realize you two were…” Peeta trailed off.

“Not many people do. And we were all each other had after my games,” you shrugged. “Like I said I’m going to try to ensure your survival but I will say this— the life of a Victor is a tortured one. Keep that in mind before you’ve gone through the torture of the games only to die at the end, having fought so hard for no reason.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Katniss asked, the first words she had uttered to you.

“Yes,” you had uttered point blank. “I don’t have the same fate as most Victors but had I known what was coming I think I would’ve stepped off that platform before the timer hit zero.” They sat in your words for a second, not sure what to say. “As for the games there are two basic methods. Either go out of the gate killing everyone you can, which will make you a target and you’ll likely be killed in the bloodbath. Or you can hide for a little while, wait out the masses. As District 12 I strongly encourage you to run away from the cornucopia. That knife, sword, spear, bow and arrow,” you looked at Katniss, “whatever is not worth getting trapped by another tribute because you will more than likely lose. These careers have not only been training their entire lives, their bodies are better prepared to fight which brings me to my next advice. Eat now. Food is fuel and the more fuel you have, the longer you can go.”

“Is that how you won your games? Running away?”

“Yes and no. I stalked other tributes. The girl from district 5 my year? I waited for her to fall asleep then I stole her supplies.”

“Did you kill her in her sleep,” Katniss pressed. You felt like she was daring you to reveal yourself as a monster.

“Yes,” you relented, challenging her stare. “I cut her carotid in her sleep. I couldn’t face what I had done so I ran. I then killed every career tribute in my games by sneaking up on them and killing them from behind. So watch your back and wait for the others to show you theirs. Like I said the life of a Victor is a tortured one.”

“So should we utilize that strategy?” Peeta asked, breaking up the tension.

“Theoretically yes but there’s also strategy before the games. You’re going to be out on display, then you’re going to have three days of training, and your final chance to get sponsors before the arena is your interview. Unfortunately as District 12 you’ll probably be coal miners, I was covered in coal dust and dragged down the strip half naked but you have a new stylist so hopefully it’ll be better. As for training, focus on survival. You’re not going to learn how to throw spears of knives in three days. After three days you show off your skills to the game makers who will give you a score. The higher your score the more likely you are to get sponsors. Of course you may want to lay low for that because a low score makes you not a threat. I scored a 3, one of the lowest in history. Johanna Mason from four years ago also won that way. As for your interview, Cesar is going to try to help you as best he can so be as charming as possible but that part is ultimately out of your hands. The Capitol people love District 1, after that they pretty much tune it out,” you rolled your eyes. “Then the next morning you’re brought to the arena. Any questions?” They both stared at you blankly. “Well if you’ll excuse me there’s pretty much nothing you can do on this train to prepare except eat so…” And with that you left, going to your and Haymitch’s room.

The next morning you were surprised to wake up alone for the first time in seven years. You made your way to the dining car in time for Katniss to stab next to Haymitch’s hand. You immediately felt a protective surge but it was quelled by Haymitch’s words. “Look at you, just killed a placemat,” he taunted, pulling the knife out of the table. “You really want to know how you survive? You get people to like you. Not the answer you were expecting, huh? You’re in the middle of the games and you’re starving or freezing. Some water, a knife, or even a few matches can mean the difference between life and death. And those things only come from sponsors and in order to get those you need to make people like you. And right now, sweetheart, you’re not off to a very good start.” Katniss looked like a kicked puppy, her tough demeanor probably having never been questioned since she was a provider within District 12.

“There it is!” Peeta exclaimed, dragging everyone’s attention from Katniss. Out of the window you could see the shiny buildings of the Capitol across the lake. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread every time you approached the Capitol. But here Peeta was, waving at the waiting crowds.

“Better keep the knife. He knows what he’s doing,” you commented, picking up a roll before sliding out of view of the window. You’re sure Snow would punish you if the people of the Capitol saw you in your pajamas.

Making your way into the bedroom, Haymitch followed you. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just have to get ready,” you dismissed, pulling out a sundress. “That was quite the speech you gave Katniss,” you changed the subject.

“She’s arrogant, she’s a fighter, she thinks she can win the games but she’s too arrogant and it rubs sponsors the wrong way.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with rubbing the sponsors the wrong way a little,” you sighed. “May save her if she does win.”

“But she needs sponsors to win,” Haymitch argued.

“You didn’t have sponsors,” you protested.

“Yeah but look at me now, a good for nothing drunk!” Haymitch raised his voice.

“Look at me!” you yelled. “I get dragged out of my home, out of my bed, out of your arms to be a slave to the very same sponsors who saved my life and it makes me want to end it all every day!” Tears stung your eyes now.

Haymitch froze. “You actually thought about killing yourself?” he asked in a broken voice.

The tears began to fall seeing how hurt he looked. You looked down, nodding almost shamefully. “I’m so tired of being used. But I haven’t because of you. Both because it breaks my heart to hurt you that way and because you’ve given me a reason to live.”

“Y/N…” Haymitch said softly, reaching out to you.

“We have to go,” you brushed off, not wanting to deal with what you had just revealed. Wiping your tears you quickly changed before leaving the train. You put on a sweet smile, hoping your eyes weren’t too puffy as you stepped off the train, waving and smiling at the Capitol citizens.

You were quickly brought to the tribute’s building where you met up with the other trainers in the lobby. “Finnick!” you greeted your only friend.

“Y/N!” his face brightened. “How are you?” he asked greeting you with a hug.

“I’m good,” you answered. “Where’s Annie?” you asked, looking around for the redhead.

“She wanted to stay home this year so Mags filled in,” he nodded to the older woman who was listening to Beetee’s rambling. “Where’s your shadow?”

“Uh I don’t know… we got into a little spat on the train over the tributes,” you answered a little embarrassed.

Before Finnick could respond, two peacekeepers came up to you. Both yours and Finnick’s hearts dropped, not sure who they were here for. Games season was when you both were busiest. “Y/N L/N, please come with us,” one ordered.

You sighed in defeat. “Tell Haymitch,” you requested, looking at Finnick. He nodded as you walked out of the lobby, one peacekeeper behind you, the other in front.

Haymitch eventually stumbled into the lobby with the other former victors after quickly downing half a bottle of whiskey. His mind was reeling with the idea that you had wanted to kill yourself. But since you didn’t want to deal with it, he didn’t have to deal with it either.

He walked into the lobby, finding Chaff from 11. “Hey Chaff, have you seen Y/N?”

“Hey, I’m sorry Haymitch, haven’t seen her. I’m surprised you let her out of your sight,” Chaff chuckled. “How are you two?”

“Oh we’re good except we got in a little spat on the train. Nothing big it was just about our tributes. Thanks though, I’ll catch you later,” Haymitch said, already walking away. He searched through the faces of the crowd, becoming increasingly frantic and afraid for you. He continued scanning for yours until he spotted an all too familiar one. “Finnick!” Haymitch called.

“Haymitch! There you are,” Finnick said in relief although he still looked frantic. “Look, I gotta talk to you-”

“They took her, didn’t they?” Haymitch finished cynically. “God I let her get away from me for one minute and they swoop in like-”

“Haymitch she’ll be back before you know it,” Finnick tried to calm him down. “She’ll be alright, she’s dealt with this before.”

Haymitch didn’t say anything, instead pulling out a flask to take a swig. He felt so guilty and angry at himself for not being there for you. He also knew you were scared, every time you came back you were shaking in fear.

Soon after the mentors were allowed to go up to their rooms and Haymitch had to suffer through the long elevator ride as it had to stop at every floor to allow the other mentors to get off on their floors.

When Haymitch reached District 12’s floor he was itching for a drink, his flask having long been emptied. He made a beeline for the bar, pulling out some scotch. He took a swig, savoring the burn as a way to distract himself before pouring it into his flask for later. He then stumbled his way to his room, freezing when he saw a vase full of white roses on the dresser. He picked it up, nearly dropping it due to his anger and drunkenness, bringing it to an avox. “Get rid of it,” he ordered, knowing that it was a sign from Snow that he was always watching.

Haymitch eventually passed out, waking up only when the door whirred open. He opened his eyes to find you looking through the closet to find something to wear. The sundress you were still wearing was a little ripped at the hem and at one of the straps. When you turned around he could see hickies littering your neck and chest. Seeing what someone had done to you Haymitch lurched out of bed, realizing what he had thought were hickies covering your neck were fingerprint shaped bruises. Someone had choked you so hard they left most of their handprint on your neck and arms. Haymitch had seen you in the post sex-slave state more times than he could count but it had never been this bad. “Who did this to you?”

“It’s not like it matters, we can’t do anything,” you dismissed, your voice hoarse from crying or screaming, probably both. You went to move past him and into the bathroom but he grabbed your arm. You quickly pulled out of his grasp, his heart dropping into his stomach when he saw fear painted across your face.

“Oh- no- I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. You know I’d never hurt you,” Haymitch pleaded with you to forgive him. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being afraid of him, the one person who was supposed to protect you. “Let me start a bath,” he said, leaving no room for objection as he rushed into the bathroom.

Fortunately the Capitol’s plumbing system was way better than District 12’s because the bath filled up with warm water and bubbles in only a few minutes. Haymitch went back out into the bedroom to find you already naked, a small blanket wrapped around you. “I couldn’t stand to be in that dress anymore,” you explained bashfully.

You made your way into the bathroom looking at him hesitantly before you dropped your blanket. “I’ve seen you naked a hundred times,” Haymitch tried to laugh to lighten the mood. You tried your best to give him a smile, dropping the blanket to reveal more bruises before quickly submerging yourself into the tub. As you did, Haymitch came to kneel next to you. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I will be. If this is what I’ll be doing from now on I’ll just have to get used to it I guess.”

“How long have you been suicidal?” he asked gently.

“Hay-” your protests were suddenly cut off by his voice again.

“You’ve been feeling this way for god knows how long and I never even noticed!” he said, mostly angry with himself.

You sighed. “Ever since I realized that this,” you gestured to your body, “would be my life.”

“Y/N I’m so sorry.”

“‘S not your fault,” you dismissed. “You’ve kept me alive. I’m only here because of you.” You reached a hand out to cup his jaw, running a thumb over his cheekbone. He leaned over the tub and you met him half way, enjoying his always gentle kisses compared to the rough ones the Capitol stole from you.

Two days of training went past and the five of you were eating dinner. “Tomorrow is your final day of training and then you’ll be individually evaluated by the game makers for your score so start to think about what you want to show them should you decide to go for a high score to get sponsors,” you advised.

“Katniss can shoot,” Peeta said. “I’ve seen it. She brings deer to us. My dad always talks about how she shoots them right in the eye, keeps the pelts from getting damaged,” he explained both optimistically and with a touch of frustration.

“Okay good, show them your skills and I can guarantee there will be a bow in the cornucopia,” Haymitch said.

“Peeta’s strong,” Katniss added, frustration evident in her tone. “I’ve seen him throw a hundred pound sack of flour over his head.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone with flour,” he protested.

“But you can fight. You have a chance-”

“I have no chance!” Peeta interrupted Katniss. “When my mother came to say goodbye she said District 12 may finally have a winner. She wasn’t talking about me, she was talking about you!” The table sat in stunned silence. I felt for him, it’s hard to go into the arena with absolutely no one cheering you on. He stormed off, Katniss following not even a minute later along with Effie shouting about manners.

Uncomfortable with the lingering tension you turned to Haymitch, a playfully quizzical look on your face. “Why’d he say ‘District 12 may finally have a winner?’ I won 7 years ago.”

Haymitch chuckled into his glass. “I don’t know about you but everyone remembers my victory.”

“That was like 24 years ago, grandpa,” you poked fun at him.

He laughed, grabbing a bottle of wine. “Take your glass,” he said with a mischievous smile. You didn’t question him, grabbing your glass and following him, giggling like a teenager.

He led you to the back of the penthouse where there was a decently hidden set of stairs that led to the rooftop. You stood in awe of the sparkling city below you. “Y’know as hellish as this place actually is it’s very pretty at night,” Haymitch said, taking a gulp of wine.

“You're right about that one,” you agreed, reaching for the bottle to fill up your glass. You turned your attention upward, disappointed to see the sky. “There’s no stars because of all the light,” you commented sadly.

“At least it’s not covered in smog,” Haymitch offered, referring to the eternal coal smoke emanating from District 12.

“Do you remember that night we spent in District 11 during my tour? The sky was so clear you could actually count the stars.”

“Hmm I remember making you see stars,” Haymitch said cheekily.

You gave him a playfully scolding look, “Shut up.” While sex in the Capitol was a job to you— a task you had to complete— sex with Haymitch was about intimacy. You had been hesitant at first, still traumatized by your first experience but Haymitch allowed you to take your time and eventually you were close enough with him to go all the way.

“What?” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Are you seriously going to tell me I’m wrong?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head a little. “Don’t get too cocky,” you giggled. Haymitch laughed too as he tilted your head back to meet your lips in a drunken kiss.

Part I | Masterlist | Part III

#haymitch #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #capitol punishment

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y-rhywbeth2 · 7 months

Text

Lore: Baldur's Gate #1

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

The City | Demographics | Law & Legal System | Administration & Government | ??? - WIP

Might as well start compiling lore on the namesake of the game...

Featuring the city aesthetic (the depiction of it in-game wasn't nearly grey, damp or claustrophobic enough) and a mostly complete overview of the city and its major areas: the Lower City, Upper City, Outer City, Undercellar and Undercity.

Cultural titbits: like why you can't have animals bigger than peacocks; that you shouldn't live here if you have claustrophobia; how the Patriars clearly have it out for people with hay fever; the constant mould problem; where to go to get a glowing tattoo, a fake tan and the magical equivalent of a plastic surgeon; and why, in fairness to the Banites, the city requires very little effort to turn into a nightmarish police state under the control of an evil deity.

And if your Dark Urge is a sewer gremlin then that's a life choice they're making, not a Bhaalist thing: the Undercity isn't in the sewers.

The city state of Baldur's Gate is one of Faerûn's more important ports, situated geographically between the massive trade centres of Athkatla and Waterdeep. It began its life as a fusion of the early fishing hamlet of Loklee (formed around 0 DR) and the pirate and smuggler hub that formed nearby. It was a popular port with a shipyard and visitor's wharves by 204 DR. The natural harbour the man-made harbour is built on is one of the only places in hundreds of miles that's safe for ships to dock at.

Due to the lack of nearby settlements to form competition, the trade hub attained city status and import early in its existence. It briefly fell under the early kingdom of Shavinar, though this was mostly a technicality and the settlement continued to govern itself and continued to do so when the kingdom fell in 277 DR.

The area was first officially recognised in the history books as the city of of Baldur's Gate in 446 DR.

The primary spoken language of the Gate is Chondathan, however during the Spellplague the city attracted enough refugees to become one of Faerûn's most populated cities, and it's a diverse enough location that many people are at least bilingual (not counting Common): many speak Chondathan, their native/ancestral language and a third.

As a major port the city has always been something of a melting pot and encouraged a policy of tolerance - you don't want to drive away merchants and trade, after all. Likewise, in the interests of encouraging trade, the city has enforced a stance of political neutrality and refuses to be drawn into international problems.

Officially, the city prides itself on being welcoming to all ways of life, to the point where anyone and anything goes as long as they obey the laws and don't rock the boat; even the open worship of the majority evil gods is completely unremarkable - what if you want to trade with a place where those gods are a major religion, after all? While Umberlee is worshipped everywhere near the sea (under threat of tidal waves and drowning in retribution for not worshipping her), Baldur's Gate is one of the few places she has an actual temple.

A shrine to any god - regardless of what their faith does or preaches - can be established in any of the temple districts for public worship, and the law will pay it no mind.

This reputation for tolerance and neutrality means it tends to be one of the first choices for refugees and immigrants looking for a new start. The city is extremely crowded, with many people packed into tight spaces and narrow streets, and its population numbers surpassed the metropolis of Waterdeep decades ago; standing at 42,103 people in the 14th century, it has likely more than doubled since. Visitors often find it incredibly - possibly intolerably - loud and busy, while locals consider them to be backwater farmers who don't know what civilisation looks like.

While the city doesn't discriminate legally against any groups, its reputation for tolerance is somewhat overexaggerated. Peoples who are viewed as monstrous by the Realms at large, such as orcs and other goblinoids, or drow, can expect to feel unwelcome as with everywhere else. The recent wave of unwanted human refugees from Calimshan have a strained relationship with the established Baldurians, who view them as foreign and wish they'd just assimilate and start speaking Chondathan already. The city is a human settlement by culture and demographics, retaining its historical human majority, and while the demihuman minorities are part of mundane everyday life, there have been incidents such as in the early 14th century, which saw the rise of The Sure Helm: a human supremacy group who had an issue with the non-humans in their society and were known to carry out hate crimes on the likes of half-elves and half-orcs if they thought they could get away with it.

On a slightly saner note: you have the freedom of religion to worship a god who demands slaves and blood sacrifice, but it's a bad idea to advertise that... Or get caught slaving and murdering, unless you're a very high ranking priest.

Local bards tend to refer to the city as the Cresent moon in their lyrics and poems, after the shape of the city layout. The musical traditions of the Gate focus on "brassy-voiced tenors" and "delightfully smoky altos".

Baldurians frown on drunk, debauched and disorderly behaviour in public: there's no space for this nonsense and you're keeping everybody on the street awake.

The gate has an array of cosmetic services available in the markets of the Wide, where - as well as mundane tattooists and piercers - one can hire wizards in the market to perform cosmetic alterations with transmutation magic: glowing tattoos and other strange illusions, tans, magically affixing gems and jewellery like pieces to your body, changing hair colour, texture and style, changing your eye colour, altering your height or your weight or your sexual dimorphism, etc etc.

It's considered bad luck to harm a cat. Many of the animals moved into the area by hitching a ride on sea traffic, and as they're extremely useful for keeping vermin down both on land and at sea, Baldurians are fond of them.

If you need help carrying your shopping or finding somewhere in the city, most street corners have youths known as "lamp boys" and "lamp lasses" you can hire - so called because of the lanterns they carry at night. With the founding of the newspaper you can also find them hawking the daily papers.

The trade the city brings is the lifeline of the Sword Coast (South), and the only place one can buy foreign and luxury goods in the entire region. That said, these goods come at a significant mark up compared to the prices you'd find in Waterdeep or anywhere in Amn.

The majority of silver trade bars (bars of metal used in place of coins, for ease of transport) are made in the Gate, and the city sets the standards for this form of currency.

The city has always been heavily policed, and is known for being quiet and one of the safest cities in Western Faerûn; Baldurians don't expect much if any major disruption to the city's day-to-day life.

The city has its own City Watch - member of the watch being readily identified by their black helms, bearing a red stripe down one side - however the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company is the first thing that comes to mind when you mention law enforcement; you can barely go more than an hour without seeing at least one uniformed officer.

The City Watch used to be the city's police force, however by the end of the 15th century the Fist has taken on much of their role, and the Watch now functions purely as the private law keepers of the Upper City. They are permitted to live within the Upper City, and positions in the watch are now mostly hereditary.

Even when the Watch was the official city police the Fist boasted an army a thousand strong. By the start of the 15th century the Fist had taken over city patrols in a semi-official capacity. The two groups also overlap, and many of the Watch are also secretly members of the Fist. One in ten people in the gate - Watch or otherwise - are spies and informants for the mercenary company.

They may not be fully reliable as a police force however, as they are known to chose not to deal with some problems, declaring it a problem for the watch to deal with. Notably they do not police the Outer City and refuse to touch anything involving the Undercellar.

The Flaming Fist also has outposts in other realms, where it guards the foreign trade interests of the city, such as Fort Beluarian (a hamlet of 313 people) in the jungles of Chult on the Southern end of Faerûn. Being mercenaries, they are available for hire for any purpose that isn't considered flat out evil.

Of course the heavy policing and massive police presence, to anybody who cares to look closer at the city's outward appearance of security, is a giant tip-off that the city has a thriving underworld. The Thieves Guild is an ever-present force, and the religious tolerance means that there are a lot of other organised crime syndicates (ie the priests), murderers and extortion rackets running around. Such organisations keep close diplomatic ties to the Grand Dukes and the commander of the Flaming Fist.

The weather conditions are typically rain, sleet or fog depending on season and time of day, and the streets and buildings are almost constantly wet either from the weather or the sea. The architecture is almost entirely stone, as it's less likely to rot. The streets are often slippery, and straw or gravel from the river is sometimes thrown over the cobbles for grip. The citizens take advantage of the moisture and damp to use their cellars to cultivate edible fungi. Damp, mould and mildew are a common menace, but it did lead a wizard named Halbazzer Drin to make his fortune by inventing spells that banishes mildew (12gp per casting) and dry out an area without damaging anything (10gp), so services exist if you need to hire them. The spell is not known outside of the city; Drin refused to sell knowledge of the spell to anyone for any price or offer. Due to the damp, the streets have no banners or other hanging fabrics around.

Buildings tend to be tall and narrow, with shuttered slit windows placed high up, which will be firmly shut at night and all day in winter, to keep out the gales and invading gulls looking for places to nest. The extremely narrow streets of the Lower City are full of window planters and hanging baskets of flowers, providing the sole spot of colour amongst the grey. As the city streets are so steep and narrow, the city has a ban on allowing animals larger than a dog into the city (it's too difficult for them to navigate and likely to cause traffic issues).

Boxed in by its thick, heavily fortified city walls and with no space to expand the city has largely built upwards, and the streets are filled with stone buttresses and arches supporting the upper floors.

Due to its stony architecture and frequent overcast, the entire city is often referred to as the Grey Harbour by residents. (This is also the name of the actual city harbour)

The city is built into the chalk white cliffs around the harbour, growing in elevation until the settlement stops at the outermost walls.

By the 15th century, the city was firmly divided into the Lower and Upper Cities, the latter of which is built into the highest elevation, cut off by a wall. In the population boom that followed the mass immigration of Spellplague refugees, many people were forced to make space for themselves outside of the walls, building the Outer City. Beneath the city lies the Undercellar

Descending from the Undercellar is a labyrinth of tunnels leading down into caverns buried beneath Baldur's Gate; housing the ruins of a forgotten era, where the Temple of Bhaal stands over the ruins, surrounded by the restless spirits and walking corpses of undead residents ancient and brand new.

The Lower City houses most of the city, crafts and trade.

With the narrow spaces, cliffs, tall buildings and arches, the city can get rather dark at night. What public lighting is available is maintained by the citizens themselves. The wealthier parts of the Lower City, like Bloomridge, use oil and wick copper bowls, while poorer areas make do with candles in tin lanterns, usually such things are mounted on the walls and ceilings of the darkest corners; but when you want to navigate at night you'll usually be hiring lamp lads.

The Grey Harbour is one of Toril's most famous and best ports, frequented by legitimate merchant captains and pirates alike; many of the families living on the docks are the families of sailors. The area is very industrialised, sporting the shipyard, multiple cranes and railway tracks used to facilitate the moving of goods. The most notable structures are the Harbourmaster's Office, a tiny building with barred windows that deals with all trades and taxes - and the Water Queen's House at the end of the pier, which everybody with a brain makes offerings to and nobody looks too closely at whatever the Umberlant priests get up to in there, because the vast majority of people like breathing.

The Gate has little in the way of large fanciful festivals, but specific streets in the Lower City are prone to a centuries old tradition of "cobble parties", where the people living on a street pull up some chairs, benches and barrels and gather outside to share a mild drink, tell stories and chat. An ongoing cobble party can be recognised by the bright rose-red torches that are hung up along the street walls - these torches are made at Felogyr's Fireworks and can be bought almost anywhere in the city.

Bloomridge is as close the Upper City as you can get without actually gaining access, and houses the Gate's middle class. It was initially built in elevated platforms cimbing up the Upper City's walls using magic and Gondian engineering. It's various attractions - including fanciful architecture, florists, artisanal boutiques, fancy open-air kaeth houses (cafes) and dining houses (restaurants; also known as "skaethars" or "feasthalls"), and elaborate hanging gardens and floral arcades - made it attractive to those with wealth but no pedigree.

The district expanded as those who could afford to do so began purchasing and razing the original, less fancy buildings in the vicinity and building estates on the ground where they used to stand. Those who can't quite afford that instead opt to live in high class apartment buildings and flats over the local businesses. Buildings here often have rooftop gardens and balconies with pleasant vistas.

The Upper City is located in the oldest quarter of the city, the Lower City being built outside of the walls and stretching down to the harbour and then having the lower city walls constructed around it. The only gate connecting the two halves is the eponymous Baldur's Gate, the first of the many city gates constructed. It's also heavily guarded and the only gate by which outsiders may access the Upper City; there are numerous smaller gates, but they are exclusively used by patriars and those bearing family livery or bearing a letter of employment signed by a patriar. This district houses the Gate's oldest and most powerful families: anyone who isn't a patriar is either a servant or a watchman, who will most likely be a member of a family that has served a patriar family/the Upper City for generations. The exceptions tend to be a handful of the most successful and affluent business owners whose businesses have become popular enough with the nobility to be welcomed in. Every business and city service in this district exists to serve the upper class exclusively.

It's the most open and colourful part of the city; the shutters and doors are painted in fresh, vibrant paints. The streets are broad and well lit with ornate enchanted lamps; the terrain is mostly flat, unlike the streets of the Lower City, which can often resemble giant staircases.

Businesses that would cause unpleasant smells are banned from the area, and the Upper City maintains many gardens, windowsill planters and trellises where flowers bloom and fill the air with pleasant scents (unless you have hay fever, anyway). Wandering minstrels provide ambient music as they wander the streets - usually a singer playing a lute or harp accompanied by a flutist and perhaps a drummer who may provide a chorus.

They've also got drains, so the streets are less inclined to flood or turn to mud the way the rest of the city is.

There are no inns or alehouses here: a noble who wishes to drink will either host a party, attend a private club, or go slumming in the Lower City.

The Upper City houses the High Hall, also known as the ducal palace; the administrative building that provides a place for feasts, court hearings and government meetings. The meeting rooms are and have always been open for public use, however there is a rule that states you cannot rent a meeting room there twice within 48 hours (to stop people from monopolising the rooms). The High Hall used to be a more grim, military building but has since been renovated to appear more bright and friendly as a PR stunt following a giant riot over taxes.

The other two of the city's temples are located in the Upper City, the Lady's Hall - a Temple of Tymora - and the High House of Wonders, the temple of Gond (who is near enough the city's patron god). The building serves various purposes: a temple, workshops, factories and laboratories. When something deemed ready for the eye is released it can usually be viewed in the Hall of Wonders: a science museum across the street to the temple.

It's also where the Gate's largest marker - the Wide - is situated. It's the only large open space in the city, and the only open air market. Outside of festivals, performances and music is banned in the area. The Wide is usually packed with people forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, and those who are hired to perform deliveries in the Wide are always tall and large, capable of seeing over the heads of the throngs and pushing their way through. Goods are carried atop tall poles that are strapped to the deliverymen's chests or backs. Prices are lowest in the Wide compared to anywhere else, and any transactions that cannot be performed within a licensed store must take place here by law.

Permits to rent space in the Wide for the day are limited, and they usually go to whoever has the money to bribe the bailiff, watchmen and other officials who have sway in over the market's administration - which is usually the merchants of the Upper City.

As well as the usual fare of goods, the Wide offers a large range of cosmetic services including the mundane body modifications and stylists that one would find on Earth, and more esoteric concepts that can only be accomplished with magic; such services and the artisans who provide them are seasonal and ever changing. The Wide is the most colourful spot in the city, and the only place that's the exception to the lack of banners and other hanging fabrics. Historically the Wide was open all day and night, but in recent times the watch has been closing the area at dusk - nobody except for the patriars may have use of the Upper City after dark.

The Wide is only closed if the area must be used for something else, such as public Highharvestide festivals... or because a patriar decided to close it off for private use, such as a ball or wedding.

Just outside of the market area is the rest of the Upper City's commercial area; stores, insurance offices, trade guildhalls, Ramazith's tower and the public entrance to the Undercellar - a flight of stone stairs leading down to a pair of heavy oak doors at the southern edge of the market. The doors are shut, but the Undercellar never closes and if you knock somebody will open them and usher you inside.

The Undercellar is a maze of underground passages lying beneath the city - mostly vaulted stone chambers created from the interconnected and abandoned cellars of the old Upper City, with hidden exits all over the city. Those who know where these exits are tend to guard them jealously, but may be willing to allow the Thieves' Guild access for coin or service. The Guild itself controls a fair few of these exits, and has been working on expanding the network.

It's also the playground for the criminal underworld of the Gate. The Undercellar's public image is that of a rather unprincipled festhall (a specific form of adult entertainment venue in the Realms that serves as a fusion of casino, bar, lounge, spa, brothel, playground, BDSM scene, LARPing club and so forth), which in a way, it is. Due to its dangerous reputation, it's incredibly popular, especially with those who are trying to look edgy and dangerous (particularly teenagers).

If one is openly carrying weapons, you can expect the armed guards stationed in the room to start following you closely; otherwise they'll leave you be. The guards are unlikely to care much about any disturbances, so long as they don't start disrupting everybody's business. Customers are not to venture further into the Undercellar without permission and an escort.

And behind that edgy, but mostly harmless veneer visitors play at and never see past is the real Undercellar, which is every bit as dark as its rumoured to be.

The Guild has its offices down here, and other rooms are used for varying purposes by other criminals. Want to put a hit on somebody, watch somebody get murdered in a Bhaalist red room, smuggle people or whatever crimes against humanity you feel like seeking out, this'd be the place to do it.

The Undercellar is policed by nobody except the criminals who do their work down there; whatever might take place down there, neither the Watch nor the Fists have any desire to know about them if you try and bring them to light. Want to avoid bad things? Don't get involved with the Undercellar.

The sprawling, pitch-black maze - if one knows how to navigate it - is a good way to get around the Upper City without detection. Somewhere down there is a passage that goes deeper, leading further into the earth and into the Undercity.

The Undercity is, clue in the name, the dead remains of a city buried beneath the living Baldur's Gate (specifically the original city that became the Upper City). At its heart is the Temple of Bhaal, and the city is inhabited by Bhaalists, alive and dead; the original, now undead, inhabitants of the undercity and any victims of the temple that have joined them.

The Outer City, Cliffgate and Blackgate are not technically parts of the city, being constructed outside of them.

The soil surrounding the city is little use for agriculture, but it is sufficient for grazing, so most farmers are the likes of shepherds and cattle farmers. As livestock and large animals are not permitted inside the city, cattle markets, stables and such businesses will be found there. Many of the less pleasant businesses, such as butchers and tanners, have relocated here to spare the rest of the city the smell and mess.

Much of the structures are semi-permanent in nature, and the areas are not subject to official oversight or in possession of any particular infrastructure. They aren't policed by the Fist or the watch, the area is near enough lawless, and crime is frequent. "Security" tends to be overseen by the Guild, and while the government doesn't tax outside the walls, residents still have to pay their dues to the local thieves and thugs.

The Outer City is as crowded as the Lower City, but less sanitary or orderly: these places are dirty, loud, smell a lot and tend to be quite dangerous. Many of the residents are farmers, criminals and foreigners and immigrants of varying generation who can't afford or find a place in the city proper.

The Blackgate is the historical slum area, and grew around the inland-facing Black Gate to the North West, growing around the Trade Way connecting The Gate to Waterdeep.

The Tumbledown district, located in Cliffgate outside the city gate of the same name, is the middle child of the expansions, leading down the cliffs. The land was owned by the Szarr family generations ago, before they were all (supposedly) slaughtered by a rival family in the night. Tumbledown is an extremely foggy area, full of graveyards and tombs, and rumours abound that the ghosts of the dead Szarrs haunt the streets there and steal people away. People do disappear there, but most people are sceptical that it's due to ghosts.

The Outer City is a newer, larger slum that grew around the Basilisk Gate and spread along the Coast Way - the road between the Gate and Athkatla - as the city population exploded at the end of the 14th century.

Immigrant communities have taken the opportunity to build their own settlements in the Outer City, styled in their own architectural styles, such as Little Calimshan; a tenement on Wyrm's Crossing is exclusively occupied by halflings; Whitkeep houses a gnomish community who does most of the city's tinsmithing; half-orcs lodge in Stoneyes; a shield dwarven community is located in Shieldgate.

These communities are considered outsiders by most Baldurians, and generally there's no love lost between those inside the walls and outside.

#...the Durge player in me is looking at all the various ways one could go undercover as an assassin I must admit #Karlach is actually a good example of how surnames work in the Realms: she was born/raised in Cliffgate so it's her “surname”#long post

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beardedmrbean · 6 months

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Bad Dragon is suing SinSaint over copyright infringement of their dildo designs. What I want to know is, can you copyright the shape of a dog's dick? Because if you can, you shouldn't be able to.

I did knot need to hear about this one.

one more pun

TSG is gonna be one of the more reputable sources for this one

MARCH 25--A manufacturer of “fantasy-themed sex toys” has accused an upstart Brooklyn, New York firm of knocking off its distinctive designs, according to a federal lawsuit alleging that the defendant has infringed on copyrights for dildos such as “Spritz the Seadragon” and “Tyson the Water Buffalo.”

In a March 20 complaint filed in U.S. District Court in Arizona, Bad Dragon Enterprises contended that its “sculptural” products have been illegally copied by SinSaint, which is headquartered in a Coney Island warehouse and advertises that all its “Ethically Manufactured” toys are “made in Brooklyn, USA.”

Bad Dragon, which noted that it has had “significant commercial success” in the adult toy field, alleged that SinSaint has been selling the duplicative dildos through its website and other trade channels, including the recent AVN Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas (where the new firm’s exhibitor booth was next to that of the all-nude Palomino strip club).

The lawsuit identifies 13 separate dildos that Bad Dragon claims have been copied (and renamed) by SinSaint, which was incorporated in New York last year. The colorful silicone toys feature scales, tentacles, suction cups, and other design elements meant to mimic the genitalia of dragons, sea creatures, and other fantastical characters.

Some of the Bad Dragon products that SinSaint is accused of swiping are “Kelvin the Ice Dragon,” “Stan the T. Rex,” and “Vergil the Drippy Dragon.” SinSaint has not been accused of pirating other Bad Dragon offerings like “Jason the Demogorgon” or “Cuttlefish of Cthulhu.”

According to the lawsuit, SinSaint’s counsel last month stated that the company had begun removing “some of the allegedly infringing listings for product redesign.” This response, Bad Dragon contended, was “unacceptable,” adding that it “continues to be harmed by Defendant’s ongoing, unlawful conduct.”

The Bad Dragon complaint seeks an order enjoining SinSaint from continuing any further alleged

copyright infringement and seeks “disgorgement of all of Defendant’s profits” related to the artificial penises. The company may also seek statutory damages of up to $150,000 for each of the dildos in question.

For more than a decade, Bad Dragon has sought trademark and copyright protection for various product lines. While often successful, the firm’s application to trademark its “Cum Tube” was abandoned after a government attorney rejected the ejaculating dildo because the “applied-for mark consists of or includes immoral or scandalous matter.” The application included a very NSFW image, which can be found on the U. S. Patent and Trademark Office website.

According to an August 2023 trademark application, SinSaint’s owner is Oleg Semenenko, 50, a resident of Brooklyn’s gated Seagate community. Semenenko lives less than a mile from SinSaint’s warehouse, which shares an address with GlobMarble, an industrial molds business for which Semenenko is listed as “manager” in a separate trademark application filed this month.

In a brief interview today, Semenenko was asked how a dildo firm grew out of his original business. “We work with rubber,” he replied. Semenenko dismissed Bad Dragon’s claim that its products were unique and original: “How can octopus hand can be your idea?” (4 pages) ____________________________________________

Hope the judge that did the recent trump case gets this one, even though I know that's basically impossible, just the thought of making him listen to hours of testimony about how these rubber fantasy dildos are protected by copyright or trademark law, or something like that is funny to me.

It's not a revenge thing wanting it, just a keep him humble thing. I know you think you're hot shit now, so here listen to these arguments for a bit.

Totally different note, I'm wondering how long until the discourse starts up, or if it has already started up, where using horse dildos is either bestiality or a gateway to bestiality because what with the way people treat cartoons of fictional people I can't imagine it's far off or not already here.

Look to japan for the tentacle ones.........

#anonymous

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oweninadaydream · 7 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

“I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar.

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)"

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead.

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept.

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her.

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However, nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body.

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature.

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience.

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day.

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured :

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

#oweninadaydream #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #female reader #fem!reader #the hunger games imagine

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 6 months

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here is a little introduction to the original fantasy world i came up with for the eflorr trilogy.

series masterlist | pinterest board | playlist | masterlist

Welcome to the world of Tyhmalaa. Our stories take place on the continent of Aton where the two major kingdoms (Eflorr and Obelón) have had a feud spanning decades.

here is a little list of facts to give you a sense of what kind of realm this is:

currency: platinum, gold, silver and copper

monsters: yes

magic: no

calendar: the year is just divided by the four seasons (each with 90 days in them) with 7 days in a week (Moonsday, Tidesday, Windsday, Thundersday, Fogsday, Stormsday and Solarsday) and the year shift is on the longest night of the year on the 30th day of winter

year the first story begins: 856 PR (post-rimesunder, an ancient white dragon that once froze the entire continent of Efira for 2 centuries till he was slain)

climate: the weather in Aton goes through all four of the standard seasons (sping, summer, autumn and winter), though most of the stories take place on the northern side of the continent, so it is on the colder side.

religions: there are multiple gods people worship (some notable ones are: Apa – goddess of wilderness and the sea, Kotris – goddess of knowledge, Cicero – god of war and peace, Zondür – god of atonement and love, Sona – goddess of life and death)

kingdoms on the continent: Eflorr (capital: Borün) and Obelón (capital: Ingorn)

maps and doodles:

it took me around 30 hours of work to draw all of these, but it was super meditative.

map of the continent of Aton.

⊠ squares = capitals

⊗ circles = smaller towns

△ triangles = speciality locations

the continent of Efira is located to the north east of Aton.

Fort Borün. The ivy-covered stone castle on the top of the cliff is home of the royal family of Eflorr.

Elm Square. The beating heart of Borün, it is not only a central meeting place for all, but also the district where the majority of the city's shops, taverns, etc are. The town square gets especially sparkly during the seasonal festivals with booths are stalls crowding the market.

Willow Grove Cemetery. As the name would suggest, a large weeping willow tree grounds this cemetery that it is built around. Although Eflorr as a whole commonly isn't very religious, this graveyard does house a few alters and shrines to various deities.

The Valerian Ward. You'll find all manner of schools, museums, as well as Borün's beautiful aquarium in this part of town.

The Port of Borün. The city's docks are always bustling with excitement and possibilities.

The Western Farms. Up on the hill that swiftly blossoms into The Noll Woods, are a plethora of rolling fields and cosy cottages.

The Beach. Down the little steps on the northern side of the docks is not the only way to access this cove. Though the steep path some way further north is no secret, not everyone is privileged to the knowledge that the castle's cellar opens up into a cave system that leads out onto the beach. Created as a safety measure and a last resort for the royals to escape, the tunnels most commonly got used by the young royals as a daring playground.

The Tulip Neighbourhood. The homes in this part of town have generous courtyards that bring the households together.

The Dandelion Quarter. Part residential, this neighbourhood also houses a grand park (The Riverview Public Park), where combat courses/training are held every weekend, as well as The Water Lily Orphanage.

The Snowdrop Sector. For those not inclined for the bustle of the city's centre but still want to live close enough to the action often settle down in a little cottage out in this district. Many also chose to retire out here, living out the rest of their days in a cabin by the sea.

The Barracks. Through the main gate lies a grand courtyard to welcome you to the castle. The surrounding buildings are designated mainly for the wardens. There are living quarters for them, training areas, armoury, small stables that also house the royal horses, as well as the city's small garrison.

The Western Wing. In here lies many of the more public spaces: throne room, ballroom, banquet hall, servants quarters, the kitchen, war room, the meeting room that's utilised mostly for gatherings with the town council.

The Conservatory. This secluded greenhouse was built as a memorial to King Edward III. who apparently had quite the green thumb.

The Topiary Garden. A private courtyard separating the two main buildings is a serene space where one can come sit on a small bench and listen to the trickling water of the fountain in the centre.

The Eastern Wing. This part of the castle is home to the royal's private chambers as well as numerous other spaces such as the library.

The castle also has a basement that's not only utilised for storage (both of common items as well as the most precious that's kept safe in the grand vault) it also connects to a tunnel system that leads all the way out onto the beach.

#eflorr au #lea’s writing

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memoirsofasim · 7 months

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Rising early Celeste and Alonso ventured into the jungle one last time to locate and find more hidden treasures and relics. They visited the Omiscan Royal Baths again, one of Celeste's favorite places, and after digging up some crystal's they headed back to the rental to pack up their belongings.

Final summary below.

Archaeology Scholar

achieve L10 Archaeology skill ✔

write a good Archaeology book ✖ (Celeste & Alonso)

give a successful Archaeology lecture ✔

Jungle Explorer

open 3 rare Omiscan treasure chests 1/3

find 5 Omiscan treasures 2/5

Final summary: this was probably my least favorite adventure with the Westbrook's. I have played in Selvadorada before with other sims but not really to this depth and not really attempted to complete the aspirations.

Selvadorada is definitely a beautiful world but it is quite small and there are not many districts for your sim to visit so it can get a bit tedious going to the same places every time. They stayed 12 sim days and manged to complete almost all the milestones in the two world related aspirations. Selvadoradian Culture and Archaeology skill were the two easiest to complete. Basically just talk to the locals a lot and excavate/use the Archaeology table a lot. 👍

Something I found annoying with Jungle Explorer aspiration was once you get to the last milestone it's actually hard to complete 2 of the 3 requirements because your sim has already visited the temple a few times and already found/opened treasure chests which could have gone towards the final requirements. 🤔

It was still fun though and there were two gates that never opened in the jungle so maybe on their next trip we can explore those two hidden areas.

Thanks for following along! 💗

#The Sims 4 #TS4 #Sims 4 #Globetrotter Challenge #GT Westbrook #WB Selvadorada

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callsign-dexter · 8 months

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Flirting with Risk 18+

Request: Okay, I might have the idea of another sequel of Gossip and Glances where Antonio sometimes gets really touchy at work and always tries to be close to you.. but you also fear that you get in trouble with Voight but he surprises you by saying he already knows about you and that it's fine as he knows you do a good job. So Antonio continues with his behavior and at home he can finally spoil you in all the right ways ? 🥵🔥

Pairings: Antonio Dawson x Intelligence!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut

Masterlist

First Installment: From Colleagues to Lovers

Second Installment: Gossip and Glances

Third Installment: Flirting with Risk

A/N: Thank you to the anon who sent this in! @talesofreading and @imagine-all-the-fandoms here is another smutty one for you!

You and Antonio have been dating for 3 months now but to you it felt even longer. Everybody at work knew that you two were together because of him wincing when he leaned up against the back of his chair and hissed. The men pried it out of Antonio and the girls pried it out of you when they dragged you to the locker room. The only person that didn't know, or at least you thought didn't know, was your boss Hank Voight. When nobody was around or it was just your coworkers you two were pretty handsy but the minute you heard Hank you both straightened and acted like nothing happened, although when you looked over to Antonio, he just smirked at his computer screen and you rolled your eyes but smirked as well.

Recently though he has been flirting with risk and to be honest so have you but he was the worst. It was one time during a briefing that he was the worst. He stood extra close to you and his hand would occasionally pump yours and you did it right back. Antonio slowly moved his hand across the desk and onto your back at first that didn’t bother you but when he got down to your ass and he lightly slapped it which made you jump a little and squeal not expecting it, you covered it with a cough “Are you alright Y/N?” Hank asked you and you nodded.

“Sorry it was just a little tickle. Please continue.” You said and he nodded and turned towards the board and you briefly turned your head and glared at your boyfriend who was just smirking and eating up the attention. You turned back to the briefing but caught the eye of the girls who were smirking and you rolled your eyes but continued to listen.

“Antonio and Y/N I want you to go and check out the coffee shop owner.” Hank said and you both nodded and then he gave everyone else their assignments. Antonio and you went to your desk and grabbed your things and he opened the gate and held out a hand signaling you to go first which made you smile and as you were walking by, he patted your ass and you turned and looked at him with a glare. You quickly hurried down the stairs with him behind you. When you both got in the car you smacked him on the arm and he jerked back.

“Aww what was that for?” He asked and you looked at him in disbelief as he rubbed his arm.

“That was for almost getting us caught!” You shouted at him and he smirked.

“You liked it though.” He said with a smirk and started the engine.

“Yes, I did but we have to be more careful. We don’t want Hank to know.” You said and he smirked.

“How can I resist when you look so damn irresistible?” He asked as he stopped at a stoplight and leaned over and kissed your neck but gently nibbled on it and it made you moan. You just happened to look up and the light was green.

“Tonio light green.” You moaned out and he turned away from you, you whimpered when he pulled away but he needed to focus on the road. His hand came over the console to hold yours and you gladly accepted it. Meeting with the coffee shop owner was quick and easy and surprisingly you got a lot of information and then you were headed back to the district. Nobody was there having still been out and you made sure Hank wasn’t there and when you confirmed that he wasn’t you grabbed Antonio’s belt loops and pulled him over to you as you leaned on the desk. Your lips met in a feverish kiss and then your tongues were battling for dominance and teeth were clashing against teeth, his hands went to your face and into your hair. It would’ve gone on until he ended up taking you right then and there but a throat clearing made you stop and turn to the top of the stairs. Kevin, Adam, Kim, Jay, and Erin were standing there smirking.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account.” Kevin said and got a hit to the chest but Kim. You were blushing like mad that you got caught but Antonio was smirking like he was proud that you two had gotten caught.

“Get a room.” Adam said

“Don’t tempt us.” You said finally finding your voice and everyone laughed as everyone scattered to their desks, you went to your desk and began working and Antonio came up behind you and watched you work since. He was super close, close enough you could smell his cologne the both of you talked about the case and getting input from your team members when you voiced your findings. It wasn’t very long until Hank was coming up and you were pushing your boyfriend away but he stayed close. You always feared that Hank would find out and then there would be consequences. Hank walked into the bullpen and you pushed Antonio away secretly. He walked back to his desk and began working.

It had been a few hours and you wanted, no need, something to eat and drink so you went to the break room. You were bent over looking through the fridge when you felt someone behind you and then hands on your waist, you knew who it was. Lips quickly found yours as you grabbed some food that was in the fridge and walked over to the counter, you moved your neck to the side “What are you doing, sexy?” He asked in your ear and you turned your head and gave him a kiss.

“Getting something to eat, handsome.” You said when you pulled away. “We could get caught.” You said as he kissed you again.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He said but then there was a knock on the door and you once again knocked him away and turned towards your food while Antonio turned to the person leaning on the counter.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t Hank.” Jay said as he walked into the break room. “You two are flirting with risk.” He said and then you turned towards him, taking a bite of your food.

“I keep telling him that but he won’t listen.” You said and elbowed Antonio in the stomach and he let an ‘oof’ Jay just smirked.

“Just be careful you two.” He said and you nodded and then you were walking back out to the bullpen while Antonio stayed to talk to Jay, he watched you walk away with a smirk on his face.

It was in the middle when Hank appeared. “I wanna talk to you two.” He said then turned to walk into his office and you looked at Antonio with a scared look on your face and he shook his head and walked over to you.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m right here with you.” He whispered and you nodded. You both walked into Hank’s office as the others watched with smiles. Hank was leaning on his desk, arms crossed as you both walked in and stood in front of him like kids who got caught stealing something, your head was down and hands interlocked with each other and Antonio was standing close to you.

“I know you two are together.” Hank said and your head shot up.

“You do?” You asked and looked at Antonio with a shocked look on your face and he did to then you looked back and Hank and he nodded.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out.” He said

“How?” You asked, still trying to process everything.

“It was easy. You both are coming at the same time if not a second to a minute after each other, when it used to be 1 hour after each other. You both defend each other. You both protect each other and yes, I know your partners but this goes past just being partners. You both stand closer to each other during briefings. Also, you both disappear pretty much at the same time.” Hank said and smirked when your mouth fell open and Antonio had an unreadable expression on his face.

“How long have you known?” Antonio asked

“Since the day you both showed up at the same time and Y/N was wearing your hoodie.” Hank said “Just as long as you both keep it professional you can stay together but once your love life starts interfering with your work then we'll be having a totally different conversation.” He added, " Understood?” He asked you and Antonio, both of you nodded.

“Understood.” You both said at the same time and Hank nodded. You both walked back out and Kevin was the first one to speak up.

“So…. what happened?” He asked

“He knows.” Antonio said “But that just means that I can be loving to my girl now here.” He said and hugged you from behind and gently squeezed you. You shook your head and then you both got to work although he kept his antics up and now that Hank knew you started to get handsy yourself and Antonio ate it up.

When you were done for the day, you were ready to go home and finish what you both started. “You guys coming to Molly's?” Erin asked.

“No, we're going to stay in.” You said and she smirked.

“Don't have too much fun.” Kim said and you threw a paper ball at her and she ducked while she laughed. You grabbed your stuff and then joined Antonio at the top of the stairs and began to descend down them.

“Have a good night you two.” She said with a smirk and you flipped her off. You both walked to Antonio's car silently and got in.

“Now he knows and we can do anything we want.” He said gripping your chin lightly and kissing you.

“We have to keep it professional, Tonio.” You said when you broke away from the kiss.

“We will, when others are around but when they're not then you're all mine.” He said and you smiled and nodded he had released your chin.

“You're all mine too.” You said and kissed him “Now let's get home and maybe we can continue this.” You said with a smirk and a wink. He pulled a face and groaned then before you knew it you, he was speeding out of the parking lot and towards his apartment.

When you arrived at the apartment, he was quick to park and you both hurriedly walked in and got on the elevator. You pressed the all too familiar number and once you were sure the doors were closed you were quick to kiss him. It took him by surprise but he quickly followed the kiss. He was quick to turn you around so that your back was on the elevator wall. “Jump.” He said in a husky voice and you quickly did as you were told. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. “You're so beautiful.” He said when he pulled away and looked you in the eye. Then you brought his lips to yours as the elevator dinged. The kiss broke and you looked over to see you were on your floor. He didn't put you down, he instead walked with you clinging to him and went back to kissing you, you could feel how hard he was through his jeans and you had no doubt that you were soaking wet.

“I need you, Tonio. Need you so bad.” You said as he stopped at his door and dug out his key and he broke the kiss to be able to see what he was doing.

“Soon, Baby. Soon.” He said and unlocked the door and pushed it open then he shut it with his foot and locked it blindly. “Can't wait to get you out of these clothes and see all of your sexy body.” He said against your neck and you clenched around nothing and you moaned. He walked to his bedroom with you wrapped around his body and still having a heavy make out session. Antonio gently put you on the bed and then crawled up your body after having removed his shirt and pants leaving him in his underwear that was tented with his erection and you could feel your mouth water. You would love to get your mouth around him but he had other plans as he started to undress you. When he was done you were completely naked and exposed to him and he sat back on his knees and just stared at you.

“Like what you see?” You asked and that damn smirk popped up on his face.

“Absolutely.” He responded and he was quick to shed his underwear and have them join the pile on the ground. He didn’t waste any time by giving himself one pump and then he was hovering over your body. You could feel him at your entrance. “Remember to tell me to stop if something isn’t right.” He said and you nodded and then he was slowly pushing into you, both moaning at the same time.

“Fuck. Feels so good.” You moaned out as he halted and letting you adjust. After a minute you looked at him and nodded “Move.” You said and he obeyed. He set a slowly steady pace filling you just right and hitting you in the right places and the all-familiar stretch was perfect.

“Fuck, always so tight for me. Such a good girl. Gonna marry you one day and pump a kid into you, our perfect little family.” He said not knowing what effect it had on you. All you did was moan as you started to close.

“Faster, baby. Faster.” You said and he picked up his pace. “Feels so good!” You screamed out not caring who heard “Wanna have your kids and be your wife.” You moaned out, head thrown back and fingers digging into his shoulder blades and slowly making their way down his back. Antonio hissed from the pain but didn’t stop.

“I’m close, baby.” He moaned out and as his thrusts started to get sloppy.

“I’m close too.” You said he dropped his head into the crook of your neck and you could feel his hot breath on your neck. His grunting and moaning were bringing you to the edge. “Cum with me.” He said as one of his hands came down to your clit as the other stayed by your head. He started to rub your sensitive clit and you felt his thrusts become even more sloppier. His head went down to your breasts and started to give them attention equally.

“I’m gonna cum.” You moaned out a warning and that just seemed to make him pick up speed. That rubber band in your stomach snapped and you were cumming hard. You heard him moan out and stilled and you both came together. As you both came down from your highs he slowly pulled out and watched his cum leak out of you and smiled and then fell on the other side of you. You both just laid there. “You really mean it?” You asked him, looking at him.

“Hmmm?” He asked

“About marrying me and making me a mom and you a dad.” You said reminding him. He turned to you and propped up on his elbow.

“One of these days.” He said and you smiled.

“I would love that, you know.” You said and he smiled.

“I love you.” He said and kissed you.

“I love you too.” You said and then you both got under the covers and fell asleep cuddled together thinking about what the future has to hold. You couldn’t wait to marry him and be the mother to his kid.

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