#so it's honestly for the best bc she was in so much pain when it started i will never forget it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dwaekkilinos · 8 months ago

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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a horde.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t horde unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the horde up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the horde. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the horde without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the horde up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the horde approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the horde to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the horde getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the horde, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The horde was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the horde following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the horde you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the horde was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The horde.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that horde and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that horde to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

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meangirls-imagines · 7 months ago

Text

Coachella Diaries

Description: Reader works for WWE and gets hurt during Wrestlemania, causing her to go on a months long break. She goes to Coachella Weekend 2 to support her girl.

WARNINGS: fluffy as shit, slightly suggestive at the end, reneechella (bc that's a warning itself)

Y/N stepped (as best as she could) off the plane and sighed at the California sun hitting her body.

Her body was exhausted. Wrestlemania was the 6th and 7th, she performed both nights and unfortunately had torn a couple of ligaments in her foot. She worked through the pain and helped make Wrestlemania record breaking. She had gotten surgery on the 16th, which meant she unfortunately missed the first weekend of her girlfriend playing Coachella.

Reneè was also understandably upset, not at Y/N, but at the fact that her girlfriend had to get surgery and she couldn't be there. Luckily for Reneè, Y/N had her fellow superstars keep the blonde updated. The doctor had cleared Y/N for travel on the 18th and she landed in LAX on the morning of the 19th.

Towa had been the one to help Y/N plan this out, picking her up from the airport. The musician smiled as Y/N hobbled towards her with her bag. "There's my favorite cripple! How's the foot?" Y/N smiled and hugged the girl. "It's definitely injured. I'll be out for a minute but honestly, I'm not mad, I need a break."

Towa laughed. "Ain't that the truth? If I have to hear Reneè freak out about every bump you take, I might've gone crazy." Y/N blushed. Reneè was always very protective of Y/N, not that her profession helped with that. The blonde loved and hated watching Y/N do her thing. Yes, Y/N looked hot but if Y/N had to take another spear from Roman Reigns or a stomp to the chest from Finn Balor, Reneè was going to commit murder.

This new era of WWE meant the return of inter-gender wrestling, with Y/N leading the charge. She had become the inaugural WWE World Heavyweight Champion, holding it for 316 days. She had been a part of the two biggest main events of Wrestlemania history, which is where she tore the ligaments in her foot. Never the less, she persisted and opened the next night of Mania, unfortunately she lost her title but the ovation she got when she got backstage was worth it.

She was thrilled to help Cody finish his story but also was happy that she could get a break. She saw the doctor who gave her the diagnosis and what doctor to see and she was on her way.

She had messaged Towa the night she found out and set the surprise up.

As the two ventured out of the airport, they caught up with each other, Towa informing Y/N of her love life and what not. The two reached the SUV and began the drive from the airport to the AirBnB they were renting for the festival. During the two hour car ride, Y/N had told Towa about some backstage drama happening as the Brit ate it up.

After 2 and a half hours, they finally made it to the house. Adam had been standing outside, waiting for them as they pulled up. The man helped Y/N out of the car and gave her a hug. "There's my favorite former champ! Congrats on the run. It was a rollercoaster." Y/N smiled and hugged the man back. "Thanks Adam! It was definitely a rollercoaster! A fun one though! So, where is my girl?"

Adam laughed. "She's out in the back with everyone else, they're pregaming before we go. Are you sure you can handle going out?" Y/N nodded. "I slept on the plane ride here. Perks of using the company jet." Adam nodded as Towa met up with them, handing Y/N her bag. The trio headed inside.

Adam and Towa headed to the back to distract everyone while Y/N slipped into the room Reneè was staying in. She took in a deep breath, breathing in the scent of Reneè. God, she missed it so much. She changed quickly, putting on the custom "Reneèchella made me gay" shirt and some shorts before getting the message from Towa to make her appearance.

She grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed out to the backyard. The group all did a "cheers" before taking the shots provided for them. Y/N decided to speak up. "Do I get a shot too?"

Everyone turned towards the new voice but no one turned quicker than Reneè. The blonde stood shocked at the sight of her girlfriend, boot and all, standing in front of her. "Holy fuck! Reneè ran to where Y/N was standing and hugged the girl tightly. Y/N laughed and kissed the blonde's head. "Hey superstar. I've missed you." Everyone was aww-ing at the scene, some clapping.

Reneè pulled away from the hug and pressed her lips to Y/N's, kissing her for the first time in weeks. The group cheered as the two kissed, causing Reneè to slip them off. After a minute, the two pulled away and Reneè began to scratch the back of Y/N's neck. "You're really here!" Y/N smiled and kissed her nose. "I am. Now I think it's time to have some fun." Reneè smiled and pulled Y/N over to her friends.

The group was watching Chappell Roan absolutely kill it when fans began to notice the couple being all cute.

@y/nisthechamp: GUYS! I'M AT COACHELLA WATCHING THE QUEEN CHAPPELL ROAN AND RENEÈ AND Y/N ARE LITERALLY 10 FEET AWAY FROM ME AND THEY ARE SO CUTE!! Y/N IS HUGGING RENEÈ FROM BEHIND AND THEY ARE SINGING AND DANCING!!

@/reneerappslut23: guys. i just saw a video of reneè and y/n all cozy at coachella and my heart 🥺

@y/nfan123: just saw a video of reneè grinding on y/n while they were watching t-pain. don't know who i wanna be more...

@/reneefan253: guys. reneè cannot keep her hands off y/n. she's always rubbing her back or the back of her head or her shoulder. WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN?!

The group made their way back to the house, all breaking off to their respective rooms, sleepily exchanging good nights. Reneè and Y/N made their way to Reneè's room. The two flopped on the bed, Reneè snuggling into Y/N's side. "I'm so glad you're here. I can't wait for you to see me perform." Y/N kissed the blonde's forehead. "Me too baby."

The next day was a lot of the same, more musicians sets, more drinking, etc. Sunday came a lot faster than Y/N expected and she found herself sitting in Reneè's trailer with her, the girl getting ready for her set. Reneè was looking on her phone as her hairstylist finished up her look. Y/N decided to take a stealthy picture and post it on her insta with the caption "coachella ready", tagging Reneè.

Comments started flooding in immediately. One that stood out to Y/N was from her not older sister Liv Morgan.

@/yaonlylivvonce: We are so excited to see her!! Drinks after?

Y/N smiled and responded to the girl. Adam poked his head in and informed Reneè she had five minutes. The blonde thanked him, took a deep breath and pulled Y/N with her to the wings of the stage. To Y/N and Reneè's surprise, Alyah was waiting for them. Reneè squealed, wrapping Alyah in a tight hug. Y/N smiled at the pair and took a picture of them hugging. Alyah pulled away and hugged Y/N too, scolding her about her injury and how she should've been more careful.

Reneè saved Y/N by pulling her away from Alyah, wrapping her arms around Y/N's waist and burying her face in her neck. Y/N rubbed the blonde's back. "You're gonna do amazing out there Reneè. Please remember to drink water though. Don't need you passing out on stage." Reneè chuckled as she heard her intro being played.

"Well, I guess that's me." Reneè pulled her head out of Y/N's neck, leaning up for a kiss. "I love you." Y/N smiled and pecked Reneè's lips. "I love you more. Now go kill it." And with a playful smack on the butt, Reneè went out on stage.

"Tasted the blood in my mouth, and left you there to bleed out.."

Y/N being there must have flipped a switch in Reneè because the girl was putting on a SHOW. Y/N had to keep herself from drooling watching her girlfriend do what she loved. Y/N's fav part do far had to be the Willow ass shake. For scientific reasons, of course. Y/N saw Towa getting her in-ears put in and grabbing her guitar. "Go kill it out there, Birdie." Towa winked playfully at Y/N and went out on her cue from the blonde.

The two were soon joined by Coco Jones as they performed "Tummy Hurts". Y/N smiled at hoe happy her girl looked. Watching Reneè perform was Y/N's favorite thing to do. She loved how confident Reneè was on stage and how carefree she looked.

After a beautiful rendition of "Snow Angel", Reneè gave her thanks to the crowd and jogged off stage. One of the crew guys poured a little bit of water on the back of Renee's neck, to cool her off, as the girl walked straight into Y/N's open arms, almost collapsing in the embrace.

"Fuck Reneè, I'm so fucking proud of you, superstar." Reneè blushed and hid her face in Y/N's neck. "I couldn't have done it without you here." Y/N laughed and kissed the blonde's temple. "You did it last weekend." Reneè pulled away from Y/N's neck and smiled at her. "Yeah, but it wasn't as fun." Y/N rolled her eyes and kissed Reneè, unaware of Towa taking a picture of them.

Everyone praised Reneè and her performance before they walked back to the area where her trailer was. Alyah spoke up. "So, what's the plan now?" Reneè smirked and looked at Y/N. "Well, Y/N and I are going to go back to the house to...catch up and we'll meet you guys later?" Towa and Alyah shared a knowing look before nodding and going to watch another set.

Y/N looked at Reneè confused. "Catch up?" The blonde nodded. "Mhhm. I'm planning on reclaiming my favorite seat..." Y/N caught on and blushed, allowing the blonde to pull her to the car waiting for them.

Yeah, Towa and Alyah would be fine on their own for a while...

#renee rapp x reader #renee rapp imagine #renee rapp

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skele-bunny · 2 months ago

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Thinking About Polyghouls Basic Dynamics...

(and some)

There's a bit of a hierarchy as there is with any packs wether topside or pit! There's the pack leader, then second and third command. That would be Dewdrop, than Aether, and then Mountain. They're looked at the most for guidance, like learning the human tongue, what to do, or even sexual/romantic guidance.

Most packs will become poly and this one wasn't spared :3 Dew, Aeth, and Mount already had an ongoing relationship. First one to join that was Rain, then Swiss, then the girls, and then Copia! Sunny, Rory, and Phantom then followed.

OHHHHHH my god they're all so stupid over each other tho. There's affection almost every minute, nicknames or pet names left and right. The pack hierarchy doesn't play into the relationship at all, but it is a bit obvious that Dew plays into it a bit more. He's more likely to initiate affection than vice versa. Just leaning over the couch to kiss Sunny's cheek or butt his horns against Cumulus', pulling Swiss down next to him on the couch for cuddles.

There's very casual and comfortable nudity in the den, plus it's just more in their nature to be bare than wear clothes. Does lead to some fawning and touches, plus exhibition and voyeurism.

Date!!! Nights!!!!!!

Can be movies, to activities like arts n crafts or cooking, or just simple days out. Usually always ends with a ghoul pile and a lot more affection. Sometimes there's more specific dates within the pack but their all inclusive date tends to cater to everyone.

When Copia comes over, they'll usually peer pressure (jokingly) him into joining their casual nudity and date night. He's sooo stressed all the time! He needs to relax! A lot of attention is on him, and is put in the middle of ghoul piles. He really does love his ghouls and does his best to learn their separate cultures and give them gifts in relation to it; otherwise just from his silly old man heart.

Now, there's also some agreements among the pack for comfort as well :3

CW - Nursing/Lactation, Breeding Mention, Egg/Oviposition

Rain and Dew both need assistance with their milk and egg laying. It honestly surprised Dew that he still had some of his water features but hey! The body is a surprising thing. Rain needs it a lot more as Dew is (literally) dried out and a lot more rare. Water ghouls constantly produce milk even outside of a heat, so they need relief and there's a LOT of willing volunteers in the pack to latch on to them.

Rain can produce his own eggs and also lay eggs with his tentacle. If he's laying, he'll need a partner to lay them inside, and feels soo much better after. If he's expelling, just needs someone to hold his hand and monitor him while he's snuggled in his bathtub. Not uncommon to see one of the ghouls with some egg bumps near Rain's cycle time

Dew produces his own, and he used to have a very high clutch count, but now it's heavily decreased. It's the same as Rain, but he does experience some pain with expelling so that's why Aether is usually the one to assist him.

Speaking of Aether! Breeding bull Aether my beloved. Very high sex drive, and he's either jerking himself off or buried deep in one of his mates. When he and Sunny retired, poor girl was his walking fleshlight bc everyone else was gone LMAO. He has a very heavy knot, and is locked to his partner for a good bit. Caused a few pregnancy scares before, but he just breeds sooo deeply. It's very uncomfortable for him to go a long time without it, so someone usually volunteers. (Cough cough dewphantomrory cough cough)

Cumulus needs accommodations for intercourse as she has bad knees and asthma. Can involve a sex swing, stool, or sometimes she needs water to be more comfortable. There's always an inhaler nearby, too! So if Cumulus ever needs something specific, everyone's more than happy to do whatever it is or get something to help.

Copia is a minute man. That man can only cum three times and he's done for. That leads to him being a VERY big vouyer watching the ghouls go at each other. At first it startled him from how rough it could be and sometimes bloody, but learned it's just their normalcy. They're all very gentle with him, taking time to prep, make sure he's satisfied, and comfortable. He gets a lotta aftercare too they love him sm :3

#the band ghost #ghost band #rabrev writing #cw breeding #cw lactation #cw nursing #cw oviposition #nameless ghouls #papa emeritus iv #papa copia #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #cumulus ghoulette

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kentopedia · 1 year ago

Note

How do you think Nanami would take care of his gf/wife when she's on her period?

omg THIS REQUEST <3 i think about him every time im on my period bc i just know he would be the very best :(

kento is (of course) a knowledgable man when it comes to this ! he thinks it's ridiculous when men get uncomfortable or awkward about periods. he will encourage conversations about it, because he likes to understand how you're feeling and what you need from him !

when you've been together for long enough, he definitely reaches a point where he knows when your period is going to come. he is super observation of all the little changes in the way you act, even if you aren't very good about tracking <3

and he is so prepared ! if you're on your period or close to it, he'll carry a couple tampons in his pocket just in case you accidentally forget :,)

if you have pretty bad mood swings, he is obviously not judgmental at all! he is so so patient with you, because it's not your fault your hormones are all mixed up, and you're crying to him for no reason in the middle of the day :(

he is definitely the husband/bf that knows if you prefer pads or tampons, which brand you like, etc, ! and he will alwaysss go pick them up for you if you ask. he's a mature man

and he'll spoil you a little more than usual for sure. especially if you (like me) get more depressed or anxious right before your period.

he'll pick you up flowers, cook you dinner, buy you some little gifts just to cheer you up

even if that makes you cry ten times harder

and he sends you the sweetest little messages throughout the day just checking up on you: asking if your cramps are super bad, if you're feeling better, little i love you's, things like that !

he always wants to know if there's anything he can do to help you out. and even if you're the type to insist you'll be fine, he just wants you to know that you can lean on him if you need to.

during your period, if you get home after a long day very fatigued, he'll rub your back and massage any part of your body that hurts

ooh he loves taking a nice hot shower or bath with you too to help your pain

if it's sometimes hard for you to work up an appetite during your period, kento would be super conscious of that. he notices immediately, and wants to make sure you're taking care of yourself and your body!

& of course, he'll get you pain killers and heating pads to help your cramps !

he loves when you lay curled into him, partially on his chest so he can rub your stomach. the feeling of his warm hand pressing soothing circles into your skin is better than a heating pad anyway

if you get super fatigued during your period, kento really really doesn't mind picking up some of the chores around the house for a few extra days.

honestly, whatever you need, kento is willing to provide for you! if you just want some space, he'll let you have that too. he just really wants you to communicate your needs, that is so important to him

NSFW BELOW

just for the record.

if its something that will help your cramps go away, kento does not mind period sex at alll

he's a sorcerer, he has seen his fair share of blood, has cleaned up plenty of wounds, he doesn't get queasy or weird about it.

and he loves you so so much, he hates seeing you in pain :( he'll do anything he can to help, especially if he gets some enjoyment out of it too hehe

#kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#kento 💋 ⋆ ˚｡⋆#tw period #cw periods #xoxo rylie 💌 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

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atlabeth · 10 months ago

Text

(they all say that) it gets better | luke castellan

bleedin' me dry for context (this is that reader's origin story!!)

summary: a look into your unclaimed year.

a/n: does it still count as fluff if you already know it doesn’t end well? idk but i’m having fun writing for this pair so it’s okay. i hope you guys are enjoying reading them!! this ended up becoming a hell of a lot longer than i thought it would be but these kind of one shots are my faves to write lol

title from teenage dream by olivia rodrigo bc apparently guts teenage angst works very well for a demigod who feels like they're worthless and unwanted for a good period of time!! shoutout to the gods

wc: 11.4k JESUS

warning(s): fem!child of demeter reader. typical anger at the gods, but luke is actually pretty sweet! crazy. mostly hurt/comfort, reader is going through it at the beginning (mentions of injuries and almost dying), honestly she's going through it the whole time but luke is very nice to her lol. barely proofread bc proofing 34 pages is a nightmare !!

It was your first day as a demigod and you were already off to a bad start.

You didn’t remember much, obviously. There was a lot of stumbling, barely held up by your satyr as you crossed the border, and then full on collapsing. Somehow you managed to stay conscious all the way to the infirmary, enough to hear shocked murmurs from the people-like blobs around you and terrified, whispered affirmations from your satyr as he ran along with whoever was carrying you.

You didn’t remember much. But you do remember thinking what a shameful existence it would be to die at fourteen.

And now you were sitting in an uncomfortable cot, staring at the wall and counting divots. The first half of your visit was only there in flashes as you drifted in and out of consciousness, but now, unfortunately, you were fully awake. You belatedly wondered how many other kids began their camp life with a stay at the infirmary.

The thought was dashed from your head as you jolted and cried out in sudden pain, and you shot daggers with your glare at the boy next to you.

“Sorry.” The boy fixing you up was about your age, and he almost seemed to glow from within. “You dislocated your shoulder—I was popping it back into place.”

“You could have warned me,” you seethed.

“I did,” he said, and when he placed his hands on your shoulder they actually did glow. “You just weren’t listening.”

“...Sorry,” you said after a moment. “I’m having a rough day.”

He shook his head with a slight smile. “It’s expected.”

“It’ll be okay,” your satyr said, and some of the tension left your shoulders as you looked over at Tate. He’d been by your side for the past two weeks of disasters, and you’d saved each other’s lives more times than you could count. You were just thankful he didn’t have to watch you die. “Jace is one of camp’s best healers. You’re in good hands.”

You nodded, not wanting to cause any more problems, so you bit your lip and bit your tongue and let him heal the rest of your injuries in silence. He was done soon enough, and you could feel both their eyes on you as you rifled through your backpack. Thankfully, Tate brought it in as you were dying. Your own blood stained the nylon.

“How do you feel?” Tate asked anxiously.

“Better,” you said, tearing your eyes away from it as you continued making sure all your belongings were still there. “A lot better. Not like there’s much competition.”

Tate chuckled, and Jace picked up a small bag from the bedside table and handed it to you—it looked like there were little pieces of fudge inside. “Here.”

“What’s this?” you asked as you took it.

“Ambrosia,” he said. “Wait a few hours before you have a piece, and only have a little if you feel a lot of pain. I already gave you nectar while you were out, and the last thing we need is you burning up.”

You looked at Tate with raised eyebrows and he smiled a bit. “Ambrosia and nectar are the food of the gods. It heals demigods in small portions, but take too much and you’ll get a fever. Worst case scenario, you’ll literally burn up from the inside.”

“Oh,” you said, and you stuffed the bag into your pack before zipping it up. “I’ll… I’ll wait.”

“Probably a good idea,” Jace said, and he looked over at your satyr as he stood up. “I’ve gotta get back to my sword-fighting lessons. Can you give her a tour?”

He shook his head. “I have to debrief with Chiron and Mr. D. There were some… rough things on the road.” Tate looked at you. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes— are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“It’s fine,” you said with a smile. “Do your thing. I’ll look around some, then we’ll find each other later.”

Tate nodded thankfully and went through an open door opposite your bed, and Jace gave you a tight smile as he started to put away all the medical supplies he used on you. You sighed, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked out.

You shut the door behind you and blinked rapidly as you tried to adjust to the sunlight. Then, you heard someone sigh.

“Thank the gods you’re okay.”

You turned to see a boy standing up from the wall. Dark curls hung just above his eyes, a contrast to his tanned skin, slightly red from exertion. He was wearing the same bright orange shirt that your healer was—Camp Halfblood, it said in curved text. He was far too pretty for his own good.

“I’m the one who carried you in,” he said, and you realized you were frowning. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” you said. “That’s… that’s nice of you.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve gotten someone new,” he said. “Even longer since they’ve had such a dramatic entrance.”

You shrugged. You didn’t exactly know what to say to this boy. “Sorry.”

He paused for a moment, and then he nodded. “Not one for conversation. That’s fine.”

“I did almost just die,” you said wryly. “I’m fresh out of icebreakers at the moment.”

“Maybe I can help with that.” He held out his hand. “Luke Castellan. Head Counselor of the Hermes cabin, and apparent rescuer of damsels.”

You huffed a laugh as you stared at him. “I’m a damsel?”

“I’d say you were in as much distress as someone could be back there,” he said with a shrug. “I practically saved your life. I think that deserves a handshake.”

The slightest bit of tension dissolved from your shoulders and you shook his hand. His smile grew.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, dropping his hand. “You were pretty rough when I found you.”

“Better,” you said, though you grimaced a bit as you tested your shoulder, and you decided to switch your pack to your other side. “Whoever that guy in the infirmary is, he’s good.”

Luke nodded. “Son of Apollo—they’ve got healing abilities. Very useful when we’re all constantly getting injured.”

Your brows knit together. “So it really is all real.”

“You were nearly dead on our doorstep, and from those claw marks I’m guessing it wasn’t just a bad fall.” Luke offered a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ve known it’s all real for a while.”

“Of course,” you said. “It’s just weird to really know that it’s all real. To see all of you, really. Just knowing I’m not alone.”

He nodded. “That’s the best thing about it, knowing you’re not alone.” He looked around at your surroundings—various campers chatting as they walked with each other (some glancing at you as they went by), distant shouts and cheers, and a perfectly blue sky matching the perfectly blue house you just left.

“I’d say the worst thing about it is feeling like I still have no idea what’s going on,” you said. “Unless the gods exist just to be deadbeats. That’d be disappointing.”

Luke actually laughed at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you found yourself smiling a bit. “I can tell we’re gonna get along.”

Your own smile returned—it was like his joy was infectious. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he nodded. “Just… try not to throw the gods’ names around like that. They don’t like to be talked about unless they’re being revered.”

You huffed. “Sounds like an interesting place.”

“Camp Halfblood,” he provided, and he gestured around you with his hand. “Keeping young heroes safe for over three millennia.”

“What,” you said wryly, “are you their PR guy?”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “It’s something Chiron likes to say.”

“You’re the second person to mention Chiron,” you said. “Who exactly is he?”

“You haven’t gotten a tour yet?”

You gave him a look. “Come on. You carried me in. You think I could have gotten a tour between then and now?”

“Fair,” he admitted, and he tilted his head. “I can give you one, if you’re so inclined.”

“I said I would wait for Tate,” you said. “He’s my satyr— I figure I owe it to him.”

“C’mon,” Luke said. “He’s meeting Chiron and Mr. D—that’ll take long enough on its own, and if we don’t get out of here soon enough, you’re gonna get dragged into a whole other conversation with them. At least this way, you can get a little bit of downtime before all the lore of this place is dropped on you.”

You bit your lip, and then you sighed and nodded. “Fine. But it can’t take too long.”

Luke smiled and held up three fingers. “Halfblood’s honor.”

You didn’t know where to start.

There were far more people than you expected, not nearly enough beds for all of them, and half were talking and a quarter were fighting and the others were just completely unfazed. All you could do when you walked in was stare.

“You get used to it,” Luke said, glancing over at you. “Everyone’s nice, I promise—just keep a hand on your pockets.”

You frowned. “Why?”

He gave you a crooked smile. “Hermes is the god of thieves. We learn by experience in this cabin.”

Your hands instinctively reached back to the pockets of your jeans, despite the fact that you hardly had anything to your name. “Why do they put the new, naive kids in here again?”

“God of travellers, too—all are welcome.” Luke saw your hand shoot to your pocket and laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone mess with you too much—for now, at least.”

“Oh, good,” you said lightly. “The hazing doesn’t start until later.”

Luke smiled as he continued to guide you through the cabin, nodding to and greeting campers with equal parts names and handshakes as he walked past them. You got just as many stares as Luke did hellos, and your skin crawled at the attention.

“Why are they all looking at me?” you whispered to him.

“Like I said, you’re the first new camper in a while.” Luke glanced at you. “News spreads fast, especially in this wreck of a place.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said , but your grip tightened on your backpack strap. “Just very busy.”

“That’s what happens when they shove everyone in here,” Luke said. “All are welcome means all are welcome—Hermes kids, unclaimed kids, and kids of minor gods.”

You frowned. “Minor gods don’t have cabins?”

“This place is as much for us as it is in honor of the gods,” he said. “Twelve cabins for twelve Olympians. They don’t see it as a problem, therefore we can’t see it as a problem.”

You decided to bite your tongue, but you couldn’t hide your sigh. “I guess I’m gonna be here for the time being.”

He looked you up and down, and all you could think was that you must look like an absolute disaster. “I’m guessing you fall into the unclaimed.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, a sad attempt at a smile. “Yeah, but I just got here—I bet my mom doesn’t even know it yet. Gods are busy.”

“They’re also omniscient,” Luke said wryly. “I’m sure she could have claimed you the second you crossed the border. Your parent could’ve given you a little divine intervention and kept you from nearly dying on the hill.”

“Well, I’m here for now,” you said with a bit too much force, and your nails dug into your palms. “So do you mind showing me around?”

Luke stared at you for a moment before he smiled. “‘Course not. I can also give you a quick tour of camp too, if you haven’t already gotten one.”

You shook your head. “Only the infirmary.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “you heal up well.”

“I don’t think that’s a credit to me,” you said. “I think it’s whatever magical drink that healer gave me while he was trying to bring me back. Tasted like pecan pie.”

“Nectar,” he said as he started walking, and you followed behind him. “Drink of the gods that heals demigods in small portions. It tastes like your favorite food—same as ambrosia.” He stopped in an empty corner and looked at you. “You like pecans?”

You shrugged, suddenly self conscious. “My dad makes it the best.”

“I hope you’ll be able to get the real thing soon,” he said, and then he gestured with a flourish at the same empty corner. “Welcome to your new home.”

You stared at him. “This is the floor.”

“We’re a little overbooked,” Luke said sheepishly. “If it makes you feel better, we’ve got sleeping bags. And this is a top tier corner. Quieter than the others.”

“…Great,” you said. “I feel very welcome.”

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, he sounded like he meant it. “Bunch of unclaimed kids, couple kids of minor gods, couple Hermes kids—it all kinda adds up to a mess.”

“...It’ll be better than camping,” you said, though mostly to yourself as you took your bag off your shoulder and let it thud to the ground.

“Hey,” Luke said, and his voice was softer, “it’ll be okay. With any luck, your parent’ll notice you now that you’re at camp, and you’ll be claimed before you know it.”

“I hope so,” you murmured.

“Luke, who’s the new girl?”

A boy with curls just as good as Luke’s walked up and clapped him on the back, smiling at you in a way that instantly set you at ease. He also wore the orange camp shirt, with long tan sleeves below that he’d pushed up to his forearms. He had kind eyes.

Luke said your name, his own smirk on his lips as he looked back at you. “You’ve probably heard about her dramatic entrance by now, but she’s the newest resident of the Hermes cabin.”

“Unclaimed or your sibling?” he asked.

“...Unclaimed,” you said yourself. You hadn’t even been here for more than two hours and it already felt like your own brand of shame.

He repeated your name with a nod and held out his hand. “I’m Chris,” he said. “Fellow unclaimed kid.”

A little bit less of a scarlet letter, at least. You swallowed your budding insecurity and shook his hand. “Sounds like a shitty club to be in.”

He snorted. “You’re telling me.”

“How— how long has it been?” you asked hesitantly, almost afraid to know the answer.

His lips pressed into a tight smile. “Couple years.”

“Gods,” you murmured. You didn’t know if you’d be able to wait that long. It had been hard enough already growing up without one—if your mother was just out of reach after all this time, you would surely lose your mind.

“Don’t worry,” Chris said, his expression softening a bit. “It won’t take that long for you. I can tell.”

“That’s what Luke said,” you responded wryly. “Do I give off a vibe that says ‘I’m unwanted, but not for too long’?”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “I promise, it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve been the counselor here for a couple months—kids get claimed all the time. I bet you’re next on the list.”

“Maybe,” you said. You didn’t believe it as much as they did—if they did at all.

You heard the door open and your head automatically turned to the noise, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment as Tate came through, slightly out of breath. You stared at Luke—he said thirty minutes at least. He just shrugged.

“I figured you would be here,” Tate said, his chest rising and falling just so as he walked—trotted?—inside. “You didn’t exactly wait.”

You opened your mouth to speak up, but Luke beat you, already putting on a charming smile. “Sorry. We got to talking, and then I offered to show her around the Hermes cabin. Just so she could put her things down, y’know.”

“‘Course,” Tate nodded. “That— that was probably a good idea. Would have been bad if you got lost or something.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you went to pick your bag up. “Luke said you would be talking for a lot longer— I was going to come back after I was done with this.”

Tate shook his head. That nervous energy from the worst parts of the road was back, and you wondered how badly the talk with Chiron and Mr. D went. “No, it was a good idea. Better than you getting lost around camp or caught up with some troublemakers. Thanks, Luke.”

“‘Course,” he said.

“Not sure she’s in much better hands with Luke,” Chris said wryly. “He’s head troublemaker in the cabin of troublemakers.”

Luke just chuckled and shook his head. “It’s her first day. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

You were only able to glance at Luke for a moment before your attention was drawn back to Tate as he gestured outside with his head. “Chiron’s waiting outside. He wants to talk to you some before the tour.”

And now you had to deal with it too. “...Great,” you said. You set your bag back on the ground, in your newly coveted corner.

“It’ll be fine,” Tate promised. “You already went through Hades to get here— he’s not gonna pile on you more. That’s why Mr. D is back at the Big House.”

This time, you did look at Luke. Thankfully, he understood.

“Dionysus,” he explained. “He’s our camp director.”

You blinked. “The god?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “Punishment from Zeus. Not the worst gig, but he’s… interesting.”

“Great,” you repeated, because you didn’t feel like processing that at the moment, and you looked back at Tate. “You’ll be with me, right?”

He nodded. “Not for the talk, but for the tour.”

You let out a loose breath, because it was going to be fine. He was just the authority figure of the one safe place in the world for you, and you were just an annoying kid that had no idea what the hell was going on.

“Great,” you said for the third time. You looked back at Luke. “I’ll see you around?”

He smiled and bowed his head. “Definitely. You do kinda live here indefinitely now.”

You nodded, more relieved than you wanted to show, and you started following Tate out.

You heard Chris mutter something to Luke, and you turned your head in time to see Luke jab him in the side. His head perked up when you laughed, and his whole expression changed as his smile returned and he did a little wave.

You couldn’t help but smile back as you did the same, and you left the cabin with a little pep in your step.

—

“You promise you’ll be safe.”

“Yes, Tate,” you said with a slight laugh. “The worst is already over—you got me here, and we’re both alive. I’m gonna be fine.”

“I know,” he said, and he managed his own smile. “I’m just worried about you. You don’t spend two weeks on the road fighting for your life with someone and not get a little attached.”

“You’ll be back here, right?” you asked. “I know your whole thing as a Protector, but you’ve gotta drop the demigods off too, right?”

“Of course I’ll be back,” he promised. “It… just might be a while. You’re the third demigod I’ve gotten to camp safely, now—Chiron’s trusting me with a bigger mission. It might be a couple months, but I’ll be back.”

“And you’re telling me to be safe,” you said wryly.

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” he said. “You just got here.”

“I know,” you said, and you pulled him into a hug. “Just don’t get killed out there.”

Tate laughed and patted you on the back before he pulled away. “So long as you don’t killed out here.”

“Thanks for everything,” you said with a nod.

“Thank you,” he said, and he gestured at the pavilion with his head. “Now get over there and make some friends. I’ll see you around.”

You hugged him one last time before you reluctantly went off, and you looked back to wave him goodbye before you really started on your way.

Your head still spun with all the information Chiron and Tate had imparted on you—so much about Greek mythology (and how it was all real), ADHD and dyslexia (and how they weren’t just there to make your life harder), your godly parent (who would hopefully claim you within the month) and so much more that you knew you would forget in an hour or two.

And Chiron’s talk. God, it felt more like you were in the principal’s office than anything, even though he was nothing but kind. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed from it all, and though the talk was probably meant to stave some of that anxiety off, it really didn’t.

But you’d always felt out of place all your life. And now you were finally where you were meant to belong—that had to count for something.

Tate had dropped you off at the pavilion—nearly dying had taken a lot out of you, and it just happened to be lunch—and just as you neared the tables and realized you had no idea where to sit, your eyes were drawn to a boy raising his hand and calling your name.

You looked over and saw that it was Luke, the counselor from earlier, and you couldn’t help but smile. True to his word.

You weaved your way through various campers and around tables full of kids to finally stop next to Luke’s table—Chris, the guy from earlier, sat across from him, and they both smiled at you.

“How’d the tour go?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said with a nod. “A little overwhelming, but better than I thought.” You pulled at your new camp shirt, the fabric noticeably brighter than a majority of those around you. “I match now, at least.”

“Orange suits you,” Luke remarked, and he patted the open spot next to him. “Sit down—stay for a while.”

You chuckled as you sat down. You still felt out of place, but at least they weren’t going to hang you out to dry. “Bright orange seems like an odd choice when we’re trying to stay hidden.”

“Probably so Chiron doesn’t lose us,” he joked. “This place is huge, and there’s a lot of us. When the newest camper gets turned around in the woods during capture the flag and nearly dies to a monster, it’s easier to find them.”

You frowned, and you must’ve not been very good at hiding your panic because Chris shook his head.

“Luke, you’re scaring her. She’s already been through enough.”

“Don’t worry,” Luke said, patting you on the shoulder. “Just a little halfblood humor. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you said wryly. “It feels like I nearly died four hours ago and now I have no idea who anyone is or what to do.”

“Not true,” Chris spoke up, and he smiled. “You know us.”

“I’ll look out for you,” Luke promised. “And pretty soon, you’re gonna be good enough to look out for me.”

You let out a long lasting sigh. “God, I hope so.”

—

“You’re not holding it right.”

You adjusted your hold on the hilt, resisting the urge to wipe away the bead of sweat dripping down your forehead and the even stronger urge to hit him.

“You’re still not holding it right.”

Your teeth grinded together as you turned to look at Luke. “Are you gonna actually help me, or just stand there judgmentally?”

“I dunno,” he said. “The weather’s pretty good over here.”

You groaned and moved your non-dominant hand closer to the pommel, shifting your other down as well. “Is this worthy of your approval, Your Majesty?”

Luke chuckled as he walked over to you, and you could feel the calluses on his hands as he adjusted your form with slight touches to your arms. “It is acceptable, my lady, but your posture is not.”

“I don’t know how so many people at this camp like you,” you grumbled. “This is awful, and so are you.”

He smiled. “You’ve been here for two weeks. Give yourself some grace.”

“I’ve spent one of those trying and failing at the most basic basics of sword-fighting,” you said. “I spent the past hour losing to an Ares kid who I’m pretty sure actually wanted to kill me.” You looked over at Luke. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Trial by fire,” he supplied. “You’re still alive, so obviously you’re doing something right.”

“Yeah, probably because you’re here,” you said. “You can’t just kill someone when their counselor’s standing right next to them. It’s bad publicity.”

Luke huffed a laugh and shook his head as he crossed his arms. “Stop talking down on yourself. You managed to make it here with a couple monster attacks on the way—what’d you use then?”

“I started off with a screwdriver I stole from the garage before Tate and I left,” you said. “And then I stole a hunting knife from some outdoor store. Not exactly top-tier.”

“Lotta stealing,” Luke chuckled. “Maybe you are a Hermes kid.”

“They nearly caught me,” you said. “Definitely not.”

“Regardless of thievery, you still survived,” he continued. “You’re not a bonafide swordsman, that’s fine. But you’re resourceful, creative—scrappy in a fight is just what we need sometimes.”

“Great,” you mumbled. “I’m ‘scrappy’.”

“It’s a compliment,” he promised. “If we were all sword-fighters, we wouldn’t get far. Someone like you is gonna do us a lot of good.”

“If I don’t die before I even get out to the battlefield.” You knocked the helmet off of one of the straw dummies with your sword and sighed as it clattered to the ground. “This is the only enemy I stand a chance against.”

“You’re thinking too much about it all,” Luke said. “You’re literally wired for battle—didn’t you feel it during your fights on the way to camp?”

You shrugged. You guess you did—you remember not even taking the time to analyze the situation, just knowing your lives were in danger and finally feeling the ever-present jitters in your bones settle for the first time.

“It was rough,” you finally said. “But… it did feel like I knew what I was doing. Like my body understood it all even when my mind was still a couple steps behind.”

“And that was without training, and with,” Luke huffed an incredulous laugh, “a screwdriver. Just imagine what you’ll be able to do with actual Celestial bronze and actual training.”

“…I think I remember why people like you,” you said reluctantly. “And why I liked you.”

Luke grinned as he stood up. “That’s the spirit.” He picked up the fallen helmet and placed it back on the dummy, then looked at you. “I think I’ve put you through enough suffering. Let’s get lunch.”

“So a compliment was all it took for me to get out of this?” you asked in exasperation, gesturing with your sword as you worked to undo the ties on your armor with your other hand.

“Exactly,” he mused, and he took the sword from you to store it away. “I don’t get nearly enough compliments these days, y’know. Sometimes you end up taking that out on campers that don’t know how to swordfight.”

“Luke Castellan,” you grumbled as you finally got your breastplate off, “you are a piece of work.”

He winked. “Thank you.”

—

You didn’t think you were built for this life.

It was the only thought running through your head as you sat at a crowded Hermes table, absentmindedly picking at fruit with your fork as you stared off into the distance.

You’d been at Camp Halfblood for a month now, but it had already felt like a lifetime.

You’d managed to make a few friends—a Demeter girl who grew you a bouquet of your favorite flowers as a consolation prize for fighting dirty during training; an Athena boy who told you whatever interesting fact popped into his head first every time you ran into each other; the Hebe girl who had the misfortune to have the corner opposite you in the Hermes cabin and showed you skincare tips once in a while.

Throw in a smattering of Hermes and unclaimed kids and a counselor that seemed determined to make you smile, and you weren’t as lonely as you thought you’d be.

You were learning how to fight in your own way. Luke was right—you weren’t a swordsman, but you were damn good up close and personal. He’d taken you to the camp armory, you found a Celestial bronze dagger that spoke to you, and from then on you’d actually been doing well in training.

Your corner of the Hermes cabin didn’t feel as sad anymore, either. Luke took you to the camp store for retail therapy after you nearly burned your jeans off on the climbing wall, so now you had an AC/DC poster (courtesy of the little money you had) and an I ❤️ NY keychain to attach to your backpack (courtesy of Luke’s idle hands).

You were starting to come into your own, sure. You were doing better in training and making friends in the cabin you were stuck in and starting to get used to burning part of every meal, but the most glaring issue of all still hadn’t been resolved.

You still hadn’t been claimed.

And maybe it shouldn’t have been such an issue for you, but how could you not feel shitty? How could you see all the different tables and all the different kids talking and smiling and joking with each other that had parents who cared enough to at least claim them, and not feel unworthy?

Because you did. You felt unworthy, and it didn’t matter how many times you took your sparring partner down or bested the climbing wall or actually hit the bullseye at archery practice—your mother didn’t think you were good enough, so neither did you.

“How’re you doin’, Berkeley?”

You frowned. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Luke as he sat down next to you. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

“Berkeley,” you repeated, finally glancing at him. “That’s not my name.”

Luke shrugged. “I dunno what to tell you. You’re unclaimed. UC. University of California—first one I think of for you is Berkeley.”

You were staring now. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’ve got tons of UCs. I’ve gotta keep track of them all somehow,” Luke said, and he pointed at campers both at your table and walking around as he talked. “That’s LA, Irvine, Davis—the others aren’t here, but you get the gist.” He looked back at you. “Been savin’ Berkeley for someone special.”

“Oh gods,” you said, horrified. “I’ve got to get claimed.”

One of the girls at the table—Irvine?—rolled her eyes as she stood up and flicked Luke on the head. “Be nice,” she said before walking away. All he did was smile.

“Maybe give it to someone else,” you said. “I don’t feel special.”

Luke’s brows creased. “If you don’t like it—”

“It’s fine,” you said. “The name doesn’t bother me. The reason I have it does.”

His eyes softened as he said your actual name. “It’s only been a month. You’ve still got plenty of time.”

You looked across at the Hebe girl you’d become friends with—Marisol, if you remembered right—and hoped that your eyes didn’t show the desperation you felt. “How long did it take for you?”

She offered a sympathetic smile. “Six months. But it probably won’t be that long for you.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” you mumbled. But it had been a month, and you hadn’t gotten a single sign.

“Because it’s true,” Luke urged. “Whoever your mom is will notice you—you’ve been killing it lately.”

“Really,” you said flatly, “I’ve been killing it.”

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t know it because you’ve only got your own experience—you went from nearly dead on our doorstep to taking down most of your opponents.”

“In training,” you said.

“That still counts!” Luke exclaimed. “Y’know, you’re holding yourself back. You’re incredible, but you’re the only one that seems to not notice it.”

“And my—”

“Do not say your mom,” he said, pointing a finger at you. “We’re not talking about the gods right now, we’re talking about you. And you, Bee, are killing it.”

That gave you pause. “Bee?”

“I’m trying to get you back up and you focus on the nickname?” Luke asked wryly.

“Just explain it,” you said.

“Bee shortened from Berkeley,” he said. “Not fully unclaimed, but still something special.”

God, you hated him. You’d been feeling shitty for a majority of your month here, but he always managed to make you smile.

“Sure,” you said.

“And a little annoying,” he added, earning himself a jab in the side as he laughed, “with a bit of a sting.”

“Aren’t you just so clever?” you mused, though you couldn’t help your smile widening.

“It’s in my genes,” he said proudly.

For the rest of a less than exciting lunch, Luke kept you occupied. Whether it was stories of his life before camp, or the couple of months that earned him counselor before you got here, or getting the other campers at the Hermes table to talk about themselves, he made sure you didn’t get a chance to spiral.

By the end, your face hurt from smiling

As you finished cleaning up, Marisol turned to you. “Me and a couple other girls were gonna go play volleyball—do you wanna come with us?”

“Yeah,” you said, and your smile grew. “Yeah, I’d love to. Thanks.”

“‘Course!” she exclaimed, and she linked arms with you. “I’d be a fool not to get you on my team after you took down Liam yesterday.”

She continued to talk as she pulled you along, and you looked back at Luke. He chuckled and gave you a thumbs up. “Go get ‘em, Bee!”

You gave him one back, and as you turned back to Marisol, you found that you couldn’t stop smiling.

—

It was two in the morning and you couldn’t stop crying.

You finally had a mattress against your back, and however stiff it was, it was better than the floor. A decent amount of kids got claimed over the past month, and half the cabin left after the summer was over, so you finally had the privilege of a bunk—thankfully, Marisol did too, and she was below you.

At least, until the summer-only campers that all the Hermes kids liked more than you returned. Then it was back to the floor.

Unless you got claimed before then. But that was less likely than being able to muster some good will from your cabin mates.

Because it was embarrassing, truly. You’d been at camp for four months now, and you hadn’t even gotten a single goddamn peep from whoever your mother might be. You just woke up every day on the floor, moseyed about a camp that still didn’t feel like home, burned offerings to a god that didn't want you, and went back to sleep on the floor.

And now you were crying in a bed that was barely even yours and it was two in the morning and you were wondering if it would have just been better for you to die on the road to camp the first time, because at least then your mother might have actually paid attention to you.

“Hey.”

And now you were really wishing you’d died because you’d woken someone up and they’re just gonna hate you more—

“Are you okay?”

You finally turned your head from where it had been buried in a pillow, a laissez-faire attempt to suffocate yourself or maybe just muffle the noise, and you saw Luke Castellan. Counselor of a cabin of thieves, vagabonds, and rejects, and maybe the only person that you didn’t want to see you like this. All that good will, the unearned faith you’d accumulated—this was the easiest way to lose it. His eyebrows were creased, and his whisper held what sounded like concern, but he was required to be concerned.

You nodded, still not moving, still not speaking. Tears rolled down your cheeks and stained the bed sheet.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more believable than that, Bee,” Luke murmured.

“No, I don’t,” you whispered back.

You got the tiniest huff of a laugh out of him, and he gestured towards the closed door with his head. “Wanna take a second?”

“It’s past curfew,” you mumbled.

“And you’re miserable,” Luke said. “You can’t feel any worse getting eaten by harpies than you do now.”

Still, you stared at him.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. “Right outside the cabin. Harpies won’t even know.”

You rubbed a hand across your face, coming away wet with tears, and you realized that he wasn’t just going to leave you like this. So you got up as quietly as you could, careful not to disturb your bunkmates, and followed Luke. He pushed the door open and shut so quietly you wondered how many times he’s snuck out.

The cold air was sobering, and you wiped away more tears before wrapping your arms around yourself. Camp Half-Blood was always supposed to have perfect weather, but you guess not even they were immune to November nights.

“So,” Luke started, and in your peripherals you could see him leaning against the side of the cabin. You could feel his gaze on you, and you just stared off into the distance.

“So,” you repeated.

“You wanna tell me why you’re crying in the middle of the night?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said, because it felt ridiculous that a boy your age was acting like he’s ten years your elder.

Luke chuckled and tipped his head. “Fair. You want to say anything at all?”

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

He shook his head. “I was already up. I’m a light sleeper.”

“Seems rough in a cabin like this,” you said.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” he said. “Did you have a nightmare?”

You frowned, because now it really felt like he was babying you. Luke must have caught on, because he laughed a bit and shook his head.

“Demigods have… extremely vivid dreams,” he said. “Typically horrific nightmares. Sometimes prophetic.”

Your frown deepened. “That’s awful.”

Luke shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. The gods can’t interfere in mortal affairs, so I guess it’s their way of letting us know what’s wrong.”

You shook your head with a sigh. “No nightmares, thankfully. Just… feeling overwhelmed.”

“About what?” he asked. “I told you you’ve been doing great.”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you say it,” you said wryly. “It doesn’t mean I believe it.”

“There’s no reason you shouldn’t,” he asserted.

You huffed a laugh. “It’s been four months, Luke. Four months since I got here after nearly dying in five different states, and I don’t even know who’s responsible for it.”

“Ah,” Luke said. “The unclaimed thing.”

“Yeah,” you said wryly. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Sorry,” he said, and he shook his head. “It’s a bigger deal than that, I know.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” you said. “There’s at least six other kids in there dealing with the same thing as I am, and none of them are waking up their counselor in the middle of the night with their tears.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Luke said with surprising conviction. “Like your feelings aren’t valid. Because they are.”

You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“They are,” he insisted. “A— and you’re not bothering me. We’re friends, and we help each other. I care about you, y’know.”

“I never said I was bothering you,” you said wryly.

“You thought it,” Luke said. “I know you did.”

“...Maybe.” You sighed and shook your head as you looked out at the stars. They really were beautiful here. “I just can’t help but be bitter about all this, and I feel so shitty about it.”

“Would it make you feel better to know you’re not the only one that thinks that?” he asked.

“A little, yeah.” You glanced at him. “No one else seems too bothered that their parents are never around.”

“Most of them have accepted that it’s just the way it is,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Have you?”

Luke sighed after a moment of reluctance. “I… I have a complicated relationship with my dad because he was around. It was almost… worse to know him, and then to have him leave.”

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” you quoted.

“I don’t know about that,” Luke murmured. “But it certainly helps to talk about it.”

You glanced over to see him gazing off into the distance, a look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place. This was the most he’d ever talked about his past to you, you realized—and it still wasn’t much.

“When were you claimed?” you asked after a moment of contemplation.

Luke shrugged. “I never really had to be. Hermes stayed with my mom for a year after I was born, and she told me who he was when I was a little older. I’ve known basically my whole life—he had no reason not to claim me as soon as I got to camp.”

“So you’re saying my dad could be keeping secrets from me too,” you said.

“He might not know,” Luke said. “A lot of times, they don’t talk about it. Sometimes, we don’t find out until a monster’s trying to kill us on a field trip.”

You huffed. “What a great existence we’ve been blessed with.”

Luke smiled, though it was tighter than usual. He let out a deep breath, then fully turned to you.

“Do you have your dagger with you?”

You frowned. “It’s under my pillow. Why?”

“Under your—” Luke stared for a moment before he laughed and shook his head. “A little paranoid?”

You shrugged. “You said it yourself. You’re a cabin of thieves.”

“True,” he admitted. “How’d you like to get some of this emotion out?”

“We’re sneaking out even more?”

“It’ll be fine,” Luke promised.

“You always say that,” you said. “Eventually, it’s not gonna be true.”

He laughed and gestured at the door. “Get your dagger. We’re gonna make this a very bad night for some mannequins.”

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

You huffed as you ripped your dagger out of the dummy, a few strands of straw coming out of the new hole you’d torn in its forehead, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. “Are you kidding? This was a great idea.”

“Not this part,” he said. “The ‘being alone with you during a rage’ part.”

“I’m not in a rage,” you muttered as you slashed at the breastplate, “I’m blowing off steam.”

Luke hummed. “And you thought you weren’t a good fighter.”

You stabbed at the armor again then rammed your fist into its head, and you took a step back as the mannequin thudded to the ground. “I guess I just need to think about my mom before I go into battle.”

“Y’know, Bee,” Luke said, “you scare me sometimes.”

You shook your head, wiping your blade on your night shirt to get any debris off as you turned around. “You’re really gonna stick with that?”

“I told you I’d stop if you didn’t like it.”

“It’s not that. I just…” You sighed and shook your head again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.” Luke crossed his arms. “Everything you have to say matters.”

“Not if I say it doesn’t,” you countered, and you looked at him. “Who do you think it could be?”

“Your parent?” he asked. You nodded.

“Definitely not Apollo,” Luke said. “You’re way too dreary to be a kid of the god of the sun.”

“Gee,” you said dryly, “thanks.”

Luke shrugged. “You asked.”

“Well— who else?” You picked the dummy back up and dusted the armor off. “Athena, maybe? I’m smart.”

“Not smart enough to not be out past curfew with me,” he said.

“You suggested this,” you scoffed. “And I definitely needed it. If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“And why do you think that would work?” he asked, amused.

“You’re the camp’s golden boy,” you said. “I doubt you’d get in much trouble.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding. “Or you just think I’m good enough to talk my way out of it.”

You tilted your head. “That too.”

“I never thought Ares before,” Luke chuckled, “but after all this, I think you might have it in you.”

“God, I hope not. Priya hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Luke said. “She just tried to kill you that one time.”

“And that other time during capture the flag,” you said. “She’s out for blood, Luke.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “She always is. She’s probably already moved onto her next victim.”

“I hope so.”

“Maybe Aphrodite?” he suggested. “You’re awfully pretty.”

You rolled your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Luke corrected.

You huffed a laugh but couldn’t help the slightest smile as you shook your head. “It’s not Tyche, at least. I have the worst luck.”

“Maybe you’re a Big Three kid,” he said. “How do you feel about the sky?”

“I like it,” you said.

“The ocean?”

“Not so much.”

“And the darkness?”

You huffed a dry laugh. “I’m not a Big Three kid, Luke. Even I know that.”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You can never know for sure until you’re claimed.”

“If I was, I would be the biggest disappointment,” you said, looking at your reflection in your dagger. “Breaking their pact for a kid that can barely fight.”

“Why do you always do that?”

Luke��s voice had lost the joking edge from before, and when you glanced over at him, he was frowning.

“Do what?”

“You always put yourself down,” he said. “You don’t even give yourself a chance to believe that you’ll be great, or that you’ll succeed—you’re just a coward, or a failure, or worthless at the first bump in the road.”

“Luke—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I need you to understand that you are so, so much more than whatever that shitty voice in your head says.”

You went silent. Any words you could have even said stuck in your throat.

“This is not an easy life,” Luke asserted. “We’re thrown into an ocean before we know how to swim, and we have to find the shore all on our own or die trying. We—” he laughed, but there was no heart in it— “we’ve got our parents above us that could guide us, could save us, but most of the time they refuse to even acknowledge us. And we’ve got every single goddamn obstacle in the way trying to kill us.”

He inclined his head towards you. “But in spite of all that, you’re alive. You’re still here. You’re pushing through everything in your path, and you are still fucking here. Do you get that?”

“…I’m still here,” you repeated, and your hands clenched into fists. It had never felt more right to have your dagger in your hand.

Luke nodded resolutely. “And you’ve got a couple lifeboats to help along the way.”

“You mean it?” Your voice came out softer than you thought, in stark contrast to the stiffness of your bones, but you felt like a kid all over again.

“With all my heart,” he promised. “For as long as you’re here, I’ll be here.”

Your throat tightened, and the telltale beginnings of tears pricked behind your eyes. This time, when you spoke, your voice was little more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he said. “And I mean that.”

You nodded, maybe a few too many times, and cleared your throat as you looked back at your dagger. “It’s late. We should get back before we actually get in trouble.”

Luke nodded too, and he helped you move the dummy back into place. You hated how your heart jumped into your throat when your hands brushed for the barest moment, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you for this.” You played with your hands as Luke finished putting everything else away—extra insurance to make sure no one knew you were here—and only managed to make eye contact just as he looked at you. “It… it really helped.” More than he knew, you were sure.

Luke smiled, and he offered you his arm. “Always.”

You took it, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Just… don’t tell anyone about the crying.”

He chuckled as you started walking together. “After the way you’ve been handling that dagger? I’d be a fool.“

“Luke,” you groaned, “this is awful.”

“You were the one who said you wanted to spend time with me,” he said, giving you a crooked smile. “Spending time with me after the worst cabin inspection ever means cleaning the place head to toe for our next one.”

“Is skipping dinner really worth it though?” you asked as you scooped up a pile of dirty clothes and tossed it into the basket between you two.

“It’s the only time this place is completely empty,” he said. “I told you I could handle it alone—you’re the one that insisted on helping.”

“Maybe I do want to be a Big Three kid,” you grumbled. “At least I’d only be cleaning up my own mess.”

“You’d also have the wrath of the gods and every monster in the world to deal with,” he said.

You shook your head. “A small price to pay for a clean cabin.”

“And then you wouldn’t get to see me when you wake up every day,” he mused. “A much bigger price to pay.”

You huffed as you dropped to your knees, reaching under a bed to grab a stray camp tee. “Keep talking, pretty boy. It won’t clean the floors.”

Luke grinned. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’ve got the messiest cabin in the world,” you said. “We’ve gotten the lowest rating every day for the past two weeks. I’ve been here for seven months now, and I don’t think we’ve ever gotten a full five.”

“Which is why you’re helping me!” he said. “Because you’re as sick of scrubbing the pegasi stables as I am.”

“You’re the counselor here!” you exclaimed. “You’ve gotta whip your siblings into shape.”

Luke gestured at you. “You’re basically my co-counselor. It’s just as much your responsibility.”

“And just what makes you think that?” you marveled.

“You’re the person in the cabin I like the most,” he said, “and we spend a lot of time together. That’s enough to make you my partner.”

“My stuff is always clean,” you said. “It’s you and the rest of the Hermes kids that’ve gotten us stuck in the stables and the kitchens every afternoon. Not me.”

You started remaking the unmade bed—would it kill any of the Hermes kids to make theirs right after they got up?—and shook your head. “It’s just not fair. Aphrodite’s cabin is basically Barbie’s Dreamhouse, and Demeter kids can grow plants to make it all pretty. We’ve just got a cabin of slobs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but when you glanced at him, you saw he was smiling. “It’ll all be fine.”

“You always say that.” You got the fitted sheet into all the corners then looked at him full-on. “Even when it’s not about something as stupid as laundry. How do you know?”

Luke shrugged as he nudged a ladder to a top bunk back into place. “I don’t. I just hope for the best.”

“How do you do that?” you asked. “How does anyone here do that? I feel like I’m the most pessimistic person here.”

“Every single one of us is an anomaly,” Luke said. “Freaks of nature. By all accounts of logic, we shouldn’t exist. But we do. All of mythology does. And when we have to literally fight for our lives for every single day, it doesn’t do much good to sweat the small stuff.”

“All I do is sweat the small stuff,” you grumbled, and you stretched your back out before you continued. “D’you think they’ll get annoyed that we just pooled all their laundry together again?”

“Nah,” Luke said. “If they didn’t want to have to pick all their stuff out after we so graciously do the laundry for them, they would keep their things clean in the first place.”

You chuckled and shook your head as you finished laying out the sorry excuse for a comforter—it would end up on the floor five seconds into the night, but Sisyphus and the boulder and all that—and sat down on the fruits of your labor. “I think this mess is the one thing I won’t miss when I get claimed.”

“You’re not as down about that as you used to be,” Luke noted.

“You know how they say a watched pot never boils?”

He actually laughed at that as he leaned against a bed post. “If you don’t care, you’ll get claimed faster?”

You shrugged. “Nothing else has worked. And like you said—don’t sweat the small stuff, right?”

“Like you said— all you do is sweat the small stuff.”

“Maybe I’m gonna try and turn over a new leaf,” you mused.

“I think that would be good for you,” he said. “You’ve been happier lately. It’s good to see you happy.”

“You’ve been watching?” you asked wryly.

Luke smiled. “You know I always am.”

You ignored the warmth stirring in your chest as you shrugged. “I’ve spent way too much time this year being sad over things I can’t control. Might as well start focusing on the things I can.”

“And to think,” he mused, “this is the same girl that wanted nothing to do with me when we first talked.”

“Oh, please,” you said dryly, “I’ve always wanted something to do with you.”

“And you still understand that flattery gets you everywhere,” Luke said with a grin. He pushed himself up and held out his hand. “C’mon—this place is clean enough. I think if we run, we can still make dinner.”

“Think we’ll get in trouble for partially skipping?” you asked as you stood up and took his hand, swinging your intertwined hands a bit as you walked together.

Luke chuckled as he pushed the door open and you walked out. “After the work we did here? We should be hailed as saints.”

“Luke,” you whispered.

His eyes shot wide open as he jolted up, and you had to stifle your laugh at his bewildered expression before he realized it was you.

He said your name groggily, rubbing his eyes as he kept himself propped up with his other arm. “What d’you need?”

“The stars,” you said. “They’re beautiful tonight.”

“So are you,” he mumbled. “You don’t see me waking you up in the middle of the night to tell you that.”

“Luke,” you said, but you couldn’t help your smile. “On topic.”

“The stars,” he said, barely nodding in his addled state. “Good for them. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“No, Luke—” you laughed softly and took his hand. “Come stargazing with me.”

He closed his eyes, but he didn’t take his hand away. “You’re insane.”

“Please,” you said. “I could never see the stars at home, not like this. They’re brighter than I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s so late,” he complained. “Can we do it in the morning?”

“Do you know what stargazing is?” you asked, amused.

“Hey, lovebirds.” The annoyed, tired voice of a camper rang out as they hit the wall. “Take it outside so we can sleep.”

Again, you had to bite back a laugh. Luke looked like he was holding back a groan, but he got up anyway, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes. You moved to the door as quietly as possible, and you waited until he joined you on the small porch.

“Thank you,” you said, hearing the door close, “and sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Luke covered up his yawn as he held a jacket out for you. “Put this on. I’m not gonna be responsible for you getting a cold because you want to stargaze in February.”

Your eyebrows rose as you took it. “Is this yours?”

“Don’t think too much into it,” he said, but he had the slightest smile on his lips. “You wanna see the stars, right? Let’s see ‘em.”

“Not here,” you said, shaking your head as you zipped up the maroon hoodie. You held out your hand once you finished. “Do you trust me?”

“Oh, gods,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “We’re doing a trust exercise too?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you remarked. You took his hand and started dragging him along, a clear spot in mind.

“You’re kidding me,” he said in exasperation. “I thought we were just gonna look at the sky for a couple minutes— you’re taking me to a second destination?”

“Hey,” you said, “don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to use that on the harpies when they catch us and eat us,” Luke said offhandedly. “‘I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re really trying not to sweat the small stuff.’”

You laughed as you continued on your way, and out of the corner of your eye you could see Luke smiling too, despite himself. Suddenly, though, his grip tightened on your hand and he pulled you behind one of the thicker columns of the pavilion.

“Wh—”

He shook his head then gestured with it to the other side of the pavilion. One of the harpies—Aello, if you remembered correctly from Chris’s rant the past week about cleaning dishes—was walking past, muttering things to herself.

“Speak of the devil,” you marveled. You definitely weren’t a child of Tyche.

Luke gave you a look that quite clearly said be quiet, and for some reason that only made you want to laugh more. He must have seen that glint in your eye that he’d grown used to, because he placed his hand over your mouth right before the dam was about to burst.

You squeezed his hand tight as you tried to keep yourself from blowing your cover while Luke occupied himself with actually watching to make sure your path would clear. You were pressed right up against each other, and even through the jacket, even in the cold, you could feel his body warmth. He did say he ran hot.

Eventually, Luke let out a labored sigh and let his hand drop, and you wheezed, nearly doubling over.

“There is something wrong with you,” he said. He was barely able to hold back his own amusement.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “that was awful.”

“That was your fault!” he exclaimed.

“How was it my fault?” you argued. “You’re the counselor here—you’re meant to be the responsible one!”

“I was being responsible!” Luke laughed again as he ran his hand through his hair then used it to gesture at you. “You were the one that nearly got us caught—you were the one who wanted to be out here in the first place!”

“Right,” you said, pointing your finger, “we gotta get to the beach.”

“Stargazing on the beach,” Luke marveled. “Definitely worth nearly getting eaten.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said as you continued to pull him along. “You could’ve said no.”

He squeezed your hand for a moment. “We both know I can never say no to you.”

Once you got to the beach you let go of his hand and laid down, taking care not to get sand in your sneakers. Luke sat down next to you but stayed up, watching the tide go in and out.

At night, without a hundred campers running around making all the noise they can, you actually felt like you could breathe.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” It almost felt wrong to break the sacred silence, to insert yourself in the ambiance of nature working together in all its glory.

“Yeah.” Luke’s voice was softer than usual, that rough edge you’d grown used to absent in the face of calmer seas. “Yeah. It’s…”

“Serene,” you suggested.

“Beautiful,” he said. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you.

“Very smooth,” you said wryly. “Now stop flirting and look at the stars.”

Luke chuckled lightly as he let himself fall back. His hand bumped yours as he adjusted his position, and your breath caught in your throat for the barest moment. You moved it away.

The two of you laid there together in silence gazing at the stars for what felt like forever. The gentle waves coming to shore then leaving, the scattering of sand from quiet winds, and not a single angry car horn or police siren.

You missed home, the city. You were headstrong in your belief that Detroit was better than New York. But gods—sometimes, you just couldn’t beat camp.

You didn’t know what possessed you to break the silence. But something had been tugging at you since the moment you laid down on the beach, and so you did.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Luke didn’t miss a beat. “Always.”

“I…” you trailed off for a moment, but you bolstered yourself. “I’m scared of what comes next.”

You heard Luke shift in the sand and felt his eyes on you. “What do you mean?”

“After this,” you said. “The honeymoon phase of being a demigod.”

He huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t say we have a honeymoon phase.”

“You know what I mean.” A shiver went down your spine and you put your arms on your chest. Like a coffin. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I think you need to stop getting up in the middle of the night,” he said. “It seems you have all your existential crises then.”

You exhaled out your nose, a sorry excuse for a laugh. “I’ve heard about quests—how they can happen for no reason except a god’s will, to— to prove that you’re worthy. And all I can think about is that my mother will never claim me until I prove I’m worthy or die trying.”

Luke was silent. You could feel your throat closing up, the threatened onslaught of tears. You blinked them back.

“All my life, I have never felt seen,” you murmured. “And I’m terrified that the only way I will be seen is when I die.”

“Look at me.”

You turned your head—Luke’s eyes were piercing in the moonlight.

“I don’t care what anyone says, especially that voice in your head—you’re worth everything and more,” he said. “And you are worth so much more than becoming a martyr for a god’s approval.”

“I wish you could tell my mom that,” you mumbled.

“I would march right up to Olympus and say it to her face,” he said. “And if it bothers her that much, she can smite me right now.”

That got a breathy laugh out of you from the pure absurdity. Luke’s eyes flicked to the sky as he waited, and when he didn’t instantly die a horrific death, his gaze went back to you.

“I see you,” Luke promised, his voice low. “And I’ll make everyone see you the way I do. I swear it.”

You were starstruck. You couldn’t look away from him, from the determination etched into each detail of his face, the softness in his eyes directed wholly at you—the fact that he was here at all in the first place at an unholy hour just because you asked.

Oh gods. You were in trouble.

“It’s late.” You finally managed to break the spell that held you under. “We should go.”

“Yeah.” Luke made no motion to move, still focused wholly on you.

“Luke,” you whispered.

You could have sworn his eyes moved down to your lips, but he was sitting up so quickly that you knew you must have imagined it. You cleared your throat as you followed suit, brushing the sand off your—his— jacket.

“This was nice,” he said after a moment. “...Thanks for waking me up.”

“Of course,” you said. “There’s… there’s no one else I would’ve wanted to share it with.”

Luke smiled, and you didn’t think he’d ever looked more beautiful than he did now, awash in the silver moonlight. If you were braver, you would have taken his hand again. You would’ve done what the voice in your head desperately wanted to do—had wanted to do for the past two months.

But you didn’t.

“I guess it was worth nearly getting eaten, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he shrugged. “But most things are worth it when it comes to you.”

You nearly melted right there, and it was a credit to your strength that you didn’t say anything horrifically stupid. Instead, you put on a smile, hoped he couldn’t see how much he was killing you, and started back up on the path.

“C’mon,” you said. “Before we end up having to clean the entire camp for breaking curfew.”

“Whatever you say,” he mused.

You groaned as you slumped into your usual spot at the Hermes table. You heard Luke laugh, and you felt his eyes on you as you put your head in your arms.

“What’s got you so down?”

“I’ve been fifteen for three days and I already feel like an old woman,” you said. “Everything still hurts.”

“Capture the flag was meant to be a birthday gift,” Luke said wryly. “And we did win.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you grumbled. “I swear, some people went after me on purpose just because it was my birthday. I’ve got bruises all over.”

“You know, we have an infirmary for a reason.”

“They’re battle wounds,” you said. You picked up your head just to take your goblet. “Lemonade. Actually, pink lemonade.” You took a sip, but even that didn’t make you feel better. You buried your head back in your arms with a rough sigh. “Signs of our victory.”

Luke huffed a laugh. “Sometimes I really don’t…”

He trailed off suddenly, and you heard a collective gasp go up at the table.

“What?” you asked halfheartedly.

“You— you’re—”

You didn’t know why he couldn’t finish his sentence. You picked your head up to see Luke’s face awash in golden light, his eyes wide. Everyone else at the Hermes cabin was just as awestruck, and Marisol fumbled around in her purse until she pulled out her compact. She opened her foundation, the mirror pointing at you, and you realized why.

A glowing, golden, translucent sickle with a few sheaths of wheat floated above your head. You frowned.

Before you had the chance to say anything, Luke was yelling your name and tackling you in a hug. You let out a grunt of surprise as you barely managed to brace yourself, and when he pulled away he was smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“You’re claimed!” he exclaimed, his hands gripping your shoulders. “You— you’re finally claimed!”

“Demeter,” you said, almost absentmindedly. It still hadn’t quite hit you.

“Demeter,” he repeated, nodding rapidly, that gigantic smile seeming like a permanent feature at this point. “I told you everyone would see you— I told you we would make them see you the way I do!”

The rest of the table was chattering away, and you could feel Chris patting you on the back and saying words that went in one ear and out the other. The rest of the pavilion was starting to catch word, and you could see a couple kids from a table on the opposite end standing up and craning to see. Maybe your new siblings.

(You should be happy.)

Your new siblings.

…Your new cabin.

You could still barely think, like there was static in your brain. Luke’s hands on your shoulders were the only thing grounding you.

(You should be ecstatic.)

A year of tears, silent prayers, and apathetic resolution had finally come to a close, just days after your fifteenth.

(Why are you not smiling?)

You’d been claimed. But you didn’t think you’d ever felt more lost.

#also you may notice. that these include the flashbacks mentioned at the end of bleedin me dry. bc i enjoy hurting people #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #sadie writes

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luvv4j4ybe11 · 7 months ago

Note

What kink do you think loak, neteyam and jake would have?

I’m pretty sure I included smth about this when I posted the “how he treats you” headcanons, but I’ll write it again anyway js for u nonnie💕

Warnings~ p in v, corruption kink, breeding kink, size kink, Dacryphilla, exhibitionism, blindfold kink, breath play, begging, orgasm control, overstimulation, edging, wax play, masochism, biting kink(we all know who tf this belongs to), somnophilla, tempature play, oral fixation, daddy kink, and I think that’s it. Lmk if I missed anything, and enjoy<3

Dividers by: @anitalenia & @princessantisocial & @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Lo’ak definitely has a….

Courrption kink, size kink, blindfold kink, scent kink, breeding kink, oral fixation, wax play kink, pain kink(masochism), begging kink, praise kink, daddy kink, biting kink and a breath play kink.

☆ whenever you give him head, he’ll always push you head down on him untill your basically choking on his cock, and then he’ll pull you back up and give you air. He js finds it so cute seeing you all out of breath with tears and drool streaming down your face, but even being exhausted you’re still eagerly trying to get his girthy cock back in your mouth.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you mamas? Don’t know what to do without my cock in your mouth? Hm, that’s what I thought..”

☆ Whenever he has you in mating press(or any position for that matter) he’s always rambling about “how good of a mom” you’d be and how you’d “look so gorgeous stuffed all full of my babies.” It drives you insane(in the best of ways). When he finally does cum inside of you though, the most guttural growl leaves him, effortlessly making your pussy flutter around him from the absolute feral noise that just came out of your handsome mate.

☆ loves to praise and loves being praised, it just makes him feel good knowing how good you make him feel/how good your doing for him/ so on and so forth. When you praise him tho? Expect this mf to be on his knees in a second for you and if you praise him in public too he gets so flustered; his tail will stand straight up and away like crazy, his ears will stand straight up and turn a dark purple along with his cheeks and neck. It’s adorable honestly

✩ has such a huge corruption kink, especially if this is your first relationship with someone else + you’ve never had sex/intimate experiences with anyone else. He’ll always tell you/show you knew things (that are of sexual nature) knowing you’ll get curious and want to try it with him, and then get addicted to how good it feels, not even nothing to do it by yourself because it wasn’t him touching you. He also lovess how sensitive you are, the way your breath hitches and you cling to him whenever he lightly brushes over your nipples with his hand while he kisses you slowly always makes him feral

☆ loves the size difference between you two, and will make it clear too. Saying things like,“look at how well this tiny cunt is taking me, she’s basically drooling all over my cock, mamas,” and sooo much more nasty things that make that pressure in your stomach get more intense, you can’t help but cum all over his dick:(

☆ talking more about this⬆️ tho, if you just do something sublet like placing a hand on his bicep or holding his hand, everything about his demeanor will change; his breathing will grow more shallow, his eyes will get more hooded, and his tail will perk up and start swaying around in a way that alr tells you wtf he’s thinkin about.

☆ has such an oral fixation, like he just loves the feeling of your soft, squishy flesh in his mouth. No matter if it’s your fingers, thighs, tits, or hips, he just loves it. And just to make you squirm he’ll lightly trace his fangs on your skin, wait for your reaction, and then bite tf outta you bc he’s mean like that

☆ loves your smell so much, he’ll come up behind you and hug you firmly while smooshing his face into the crook of your neck, or he’ll just pick you up and burry his head into your chest.

☆ you asked him one time if you wanted to try something new, and ofc he said yes, but he didn’t know it’d end up with him breathless,blindfolded, and completely overstimulated by your relentless strokes on his sensitive cock. But he loved it regardless, and he realized he had a thing for being blindfolded.

☆ the first time he realized he had a daddy kink was when you accidentally let it slip one time when he had you on your hands and knees,pounding into your sore pussy relentlessly as he had you in a headlock to give him more leverage, and as soon as he heard that little “daddy..please don’t stop” slip, he was GONEEEE. He ran with it 100% a cocky grin on his face as he increased his pace to a downright brutal one, egging your fucked out brain on even more by saying, “yeah? I won’t, mama, don’t worry. Daddy’s gonna make this pussy squirt real nice before I fill her up. Want that, sweet girl? Want daddy to cum inside this pretty pussy?…mhm, I figured.”

☆ once you give him the ok, he’ll 100% fuck you while you sleep. Mf doesn’t care if you’re on your period or not, he’ll just fuck your thighs or just fuck you like he always does. He does not care😭

Neteyam definitely has a….

CORRUPTION KINK, exhibitionism, overstimulation kink, orgasm control kink, Dacryphilla, degradation, praise, breeding kink, size kink/difference, overstimulation, edging, somnophilla, and a tempature play kink.

☆ has such a bad corruption kink, especially if you were his bsf before you two started dating, because the second you told him you basically have no clue when it comes to anything sexual and intimate, he was alr plotting to make you his personal slut that was once so innocent.

☆ lowkey a perv on the DL, like mf will let his hands roam all around your body while telling you how soft and pretty you are, knowing that the more he talks, the more sensitive you get.

☆ finds it so cute when you try to fit his cock into your mouth/pussy, even though it’s too big and you aren’t stretched out enough yet, you still try because you wanna be a good girl for him:( he’ll just sit and watch you with the meanest smirk on his face while he guides your actions, saying things like “who would’ve thought such an innocent girl like you could be such a greedy little whore? Even this pretty pussy is trying so hard to swallow me whole, she’s drooling on me,” while you push more of your cunt down onto him as tears of frustration and pain run down your face:((

☆ loves to overstimulate and edge you with your toys, and he’ll say the meanest things to you while he does;( (But of course he’ll always let you know he didn’t really mean it when he cleans you up.) and if you start to cry because of the overstimulation and his words, he won’t care. He’ll stop until he feels you’ve learned your lesson.

“What a pathetic little thing. You could barely hold out for two days without me? Had to go and disobey me because this pussy is just too greedy..what a shame.”

☆ will always stuff you full with his cum after every round, promising to get you full with his babies no matter what

☆ insist on fucking you in public because he catches WAY too many men staring at you in a way he doesn’t like. So he’ll pull you into a clearing that isn’t too far from where everyone else is and fuck you senseless, and he’ll make sure to pin your hands behind your back/above your head so you’re forced to be loud. And once you two are done he’ll make sure none of his cum slips out of you, so you’re forced to walk around with his cum soaking down your loincloth so much it drips down your thighs:(

☆ always throws your weight around like nothing and to him, it is. He’s so much more bigger and stronger than you and it shows;he’s always manhandling you into the positions he wants you in while he uses your small body as a flesh light on his girthy cock.

☆ if you brought up the idea of somnophilla, he’d definitely try it since you suggested it, and phew lawd did he get addicted to the way you would react to him even when you’re sleeping

☆ lovesss tempature play sm, seeing the way your nipples harden and skin gets covered in goosebumps whenever he rubs an ice cub against your skin, and the way you shudder when he slips the ice cube inside of you will never fail to make him crazy

Jake definitely has a…..

Daddy kink, breeding kink, praise kink, overstimulation, orgasm control, size kink/difference, biting kink, Dacryphilla, oral fixation, and impact play

☆ this man has SUCHHHHH a daddy kink, he just loves the way it sounds coming off of your tongue

☆ also loves how paethitc you sound when you beg for him, it almost all the time makes him give into whatever you’re begging him for.

☆ no surprise that this man has a breeding kink too, he just can’t help the image of you all swollen and full with his child plagues his mind whenever he’s deep inside of you, ultimately ending with him cumming deep inside your fertile womb:(

☆loves praising you while he has you in missionary or when you give him head, but even still he loves to praise you. He needs to let his girl how good she’s being for him.

☆ overstimulates and spanks you as punishment, and he’s so cruel about it too, not even bothering to stop after you beg him to because he knows how much you really enjoy it from how much your pussy leaks whenever his hand touches your bruised skin.

☆ will never get over the size difference between you two, it finds it so hot and makes it so obvious that he does. And when he finds out that you also think the size difference between you two is attractive? Lawdy I hope youre ready for your relationship to become alot more touching and teasy (is that a word?). mf will come up behind you and wrap his burly arms around your curves and ask you how you’re doing as if he can’t smell how wet you are from him pressing his strong, big body against your soft, curvy one.

☆ has such a biting/marking kink, it’s bad. No matter what position he has you in he’s sinking his teeth into you, the lapping up whatever blood comes out of it eagerly as he moves over to the next spot he wants to mark.

☆ he always blames it on the fact that you’re too pretty, and that the men in the clan don’t care if you say you’re mated or not. So of course he has to cover you in marks, his scent, and stuff your pussy so full with his cum it soaks your loincloth.

☆ has an oral fixation too, so whenever he eats you out he’s SLOPPYYYY asf wit it, but also slow and sensitive about all of your sweet spots

☆ the first time you cried when he was fucking you he stopped everything and asked if you were ok, but when you told him it was because he feels that good, he almost aims to make you cry every time you guys have sex (and he’s successful in doing so)

A/N~ this took WAY too long oh my fucking god! But it’s done, and I hope you enjoyed it nonnie<3 I hope you guys stay safe and stay hydrated, mwah ilysm

Duces🫶🏽,

luvv4j4ybe11

Taglist~ @tallulah477 , @hotdsworld , @itchaboi-itchyboy , @blue-slxt , @etherial-moon-blog , @criticallybella , @plooto , @professional-yapper , @rivatar , @spooky4spaghetti

(If you’d like to be added to or removed from my general taglist, lmk by commenting under this or DMing me! And if you @ isn’t working, please check your settings💕.)

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ughgoaway · 10 months ago

Text

my favourite fics and writers

hi, y'all!! so I've decided that this year, I want to be more appreciative of all the amazing content we have on this app, and thank the writers providing it. this was inspired by Lily (lastnightwaskindofablur) who shared how long it took her to write her series, and it made me realise how much time and love are poured into these fics.

so this list is basically everyone im following, and my favourite piece of writing from them! I don't think I've forgotten anyone, but if I have IM SO SORRY!! if I am following you- I'm obsessed with you.

anyway, so sorry for tagging 1000 people but I love and appreciate you all so much!!

(so much rambling below the cut)

@64yrsold; “aches” is amazing and “wintering” is heartbreaking in the best way. Also, all of their one-shots are just amazing, I could read them over and over again!!

@yourtouchismidas; “ruins” was one of the first fics that had me checking AO3 every day for updates. truly heartbreaking and all-encompassing. and all the blurbs from it are also amazing. The dad! Matty content mixed with the angst is just so well done.

@abiiors; is not only one of the nicest people on this app (and maybe the world) but also one of the most talented writers. so so many amazing fics that honestly, don't even get me started on bc I will talk for HOURS. but “haunt//bed” is one fic I can't stop coming back to. And “Three’s a Party” is… mind-numbingly good, it actually made me scream into a pillow when I read it for the first time. Vee also creates all the amazing 75 Tumblr activities so really she is to thank for SO MUCH content on here!! one of the kindest people I know, and I feel so lucky to call her my friend :)))

@shinycollarboneapologist; was the blog where I started rambling and sharing ideas, so she is to thank for all the friends I've made on here!!! The Taylor verse is PHENOMENAL and “illicit affairs” is a fav. but “clandestine” has invaded my brain so much I literally dream about it regularly... so I have to say that's my no.1

@imagine-that-100; I first discovered her series "Drunk” on ao3 and then promptly binged everything on her masterlist (multiple times...) “Chicken Shop Date” is just a masterpiece (she and her co-writer are AMAZING on this and I will ramble about her later), but my personal fav is “truth serum”. I have probably read that fic about 50 times over and I love it just as much every time!!!

@heyidkyay; I first read “Who Can Say No to Bridezilla?” and became obsessed on ao3. but then I found them on Tumblr and was completely sucked into "I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name" which is quite possibly the best George series on here. so much character building and back story, and overall just a phenomenal fic.

@justlikemebutsixfootthree; has some of the best smut on this app,” The Birthday Party” is probably my most re-read because it is just an absolute masterpiece. but “insane” and “direction” are also both amazing.

@imightgetbetter; was one of the first blogs I discovered on here, and I fell in love with the whole “Love It If We Made It” series. such an amazing development of a relationship and their writing is AMAZING. but my absolute favourites have to be “Bets are off” and “I love dilfs.”

@butyou-callmewhenyourebored; has such good Ross content all around, truly providing for the Ross girlies!!! but the Leeds au blurb 1 is my fav from them!

@drivelikeiido; has some beautiful fluff, and I just love the way they write Matty. but (not so) important decisions just make my heart warm like nothing else!!!

@toomuchracket; my beloved mads!! the fun wine aunt of 1975 Tumblr. I mean I could talk for 17 pages about my love for all of her au's... birthday party is the perfect supportive husband, d-word is the best slutty old man content on this app lol and flatmate is the friends-to-lovers content we all yearn for. asking me to choose my favourite Mads fic is like choosing a favourite child, but right now it has to be totally wrecked. I think that has altered my brain chemistry in an indescribable way… (edit; since writing this she has put out possibly my no.1 fic of all time, “and this is how it starts” so I just had to mention how much I fucking adore it)

@lottiecrabie; I mean... what else is there to even say about Lottie other than she is one of the best writers I have ever read. truly the mother of 1975 Tumblr. “rockstar girlfriend” and “pray for my soul” both have such special places in my heart, but anatomy au locked a new section in my brain fr. that little loser lives in my head rent free!!!

@tillthelandslide; is so so kind and has some amazing series I would recommend to EVERYONE. “insufferable asshole” is one of my absolute favourites, I love a grovelling man what can I say!!! but “Same for You” has me flipping sides every chapter, I still can't choose if I'm team Ross or team Matty.

@lastnightwaskindofablur; what more can I sat about the whole ATPOAIM universe other than it is quite literally phenomenal. the amount of time and effort poured into the Brittany Jackson universe is so clear by how amazing each fic and blurb is. my absolute favourite thought is "Christmas isn't cancelled (just you.)" from the 12 days of Christmas. it is easily one of my favourite fics I've read!!! She is also the whole inspiration behind this list and made me realise how important thanking your favourite writers really is.

@cowboylor; ohmyLORD the smut on this blog is just... wowowoowowowow. actually made me nervous to attempt smut because of how good theirs is. "Cabin Fever" is probably my favourite, I love a good threesome fic.

@alovesreading; the other half of the JAW DROPPING series that is “Chicken Shop Date”. the hours that have been put into that fic are so clear in how well thought out it is. every word feels purposefully placed, and every chapter fucking HITS. A also writes amazing fics for Alex Turner and is slowly making me an Alex girlie just by how good her writing is...

@bookish-strawberry; such such good fics in the "You and Me Till the End Universe". Ambrose has just created such loveable characters and you can't help but adore his writing. “alleyway” pt 1 and 2 are my favourites, I do love some fwb content.

@hypersonic04; her teacher Ross universe is just great, every blurb and fic just radiates the love between the characters that she has created!! but my absolute favourite fic of hers has to be "Tis the damn season", it somehow made me love one of my favourite songs even more.

@cryley; her “Petichor” series is just fluffy perfection, I have probably read it over 10 times and will 1000% be reading it at least 10 more...

@cows-wearing-my-sweater; has some amazing one-shots, and his work on “Eternal Summer” is absolutely beautiful. she manages to make you feel the warmth of summer through a screen, and it's fucking beautiful.

@thefrontofmymind; has so many great matty fics/imagines, “Helping Hand” jumps out easily as my favourite though. Once again, friends with benefits is ALWAYS gonna slap. especially when they confess their feelings at the end!!!! ahhh so good. “Proof Positive” is such a good Ross fic, if you like pregnancy fics I would HIGHLY recommend it.

@uramilf; did the 12 days of Christmas last year, and every day was amazing!!! But £The Record Shop” is my favourite series from her, love and music combined are too perfect for me not to adore.

@3terna15unshin3; Marcey's fic "then because she goes" had me refreshing ao3 DAILY. este is such a well-rounded and beautiful character, her and Matty's love makes me so lovesick it's CRAZY. that whole series is my favourite, and my fav blurb from that universe is Toothbrush. Este and Matty are so beloved by me <333

@because-she-goes; has an amazing universe with Matty and an OC that I adore, Nora is such a lovely character and every fic about them makes me giddy. "black lace" and "Summer Girl" are my favourites of their fics though!

@theseventyfive; has such a way with words, every fic makes me giggle and kick my feet. but if you saw my tags on my reblog of "not so secret Santa" you know how deeply I adore that fic. the writing on it is beautiful and makes you feel warm somehow??? amazing.

@wrongendofurcigarette; George girlies it's your time to shine!!!! "sun-soaked" and "wet" swirl in my mind whenever I see a pic of George looking... particularly good. but recently she has created an actress reader au that I am BUZZING for. that little snippet was... wowowowowowowow

@automaticllamacycle; OLIVE!!!!! once again, such a nice and genuine human being and I am so so lucky to chat with her because she is the best hypeman EVER. and is amazing to bounce ideas off of. just such a kind person and I am blessed to scream to her over DM. her coffee shop AU might be my most-read fic ever. it was my daily routine at one point to wake up, go to AO3 and read that fic. when part 2 came out???? I DIEDDDDDDD. but also all of olives horny thoughts are... MUWAH chefs kiss.

@red---moon; "after party" is another fic I read regularly on ao3, sleepy matty after a party with flirting and then smut??? hellooooo yes please. also, “Souvenir” as a series is just amazing, so so so good.

@maxverstappensflatbrim; “show me yours” is such a beautiful universe, and has SO MANY CHAPTERS for you to become obsessed with. I just love every character in that universe, and Mac’s writing is amazing.

@justanamesstuff; “All I Need” is such an amazing series, and I would recommend it to anyone who loves Dad! Matty content!! But all her blubs are worth reading too!!

@procrastinatinglikeapro; is so so sweet and has some absolutely mind-blowing fics. I must have read her entire masterlist 10 times over at this point. Choosing a favourite is hard, but “Does it matter” as a series has me HOOKED. (but also I love “mango lipgloss” and “wear my name around your neck”… don't make me choose okay)

@wrestletotheground; has some absolute BANGERS that everyone MUST read. Once again, the ross-tent on this blog is amazing. “Crime and Punishment” is my fav Matty fic from them, and she absolutely killed it with “Settle Down” for Ross!!

@mybrokenveins3000; college ross SUPREMACY!!! She is right when she says she is proud of “everyday rockstar” because it's easily my fav!!

@steel-elle; beautiful writing with everything she does, but my favourite has to be “But I stay when it's hard, or it's wrong, or we're making mistakes” (is this also because I love the song New Year's Day?? perhaps…)

@kscheibles; “e la vita” is so stunning I don't even know how to verbalise it. That fic has a portion of my heart FOREVER. But college bf! Matty is truly the man we all deserve, and I am obsessed with him.

@think0fmehigh; molly!!! My love!!! What else is there to say about Molly other than she might be my fav filthy smut writer on this app, and thats a tough competition. Every time I get a snippet in DM’s from her, I feel like one of the luckiest human beings alive. Molly does not have a bad fic (despite her protests im sure) but my top two (because I CANT CHOOSE JUST ONE) have to be “Birthday Girl” and “You Get Me So High.” but honestly if you have the time, bless your life by reading every word she's ever written.

@controlmyfeet; DAD MATTY FIC. thats all I even need to say, it is SO SWEET and it makes me so happy!!!!

@bfiaflbox; sooooo much good content, but my favourites are “Wintering” and “Tonight I Wish I Was Your Girl” !!

@nowshesdoingitallthetime; kirke. This is me BEGGING for more bartender matty!!! “Cocktails, Cowboys and back alleys” is MWUAH MWUAH MWUAH. Bartender Matty is a need, I adored every second of that fic.

@wiintring; I NEED more from Christina!!! Her writing is all wonderful, and “Come here dressed in black now” does live in my mind!!!

@grocerystorelist; “body of Christ” is made for the religious trauma girlies and the fleabag girls. PREIST MATTY DRIVES ME CRAZYYYYY. Leila is so talented, it's crazy.

@forcryingoutlloud; wowwowwowwow the smutty content on this blog… its sooooooo good. “Beg for it” and “greedy” did melt my brain in the absolute best way, like I was genuinely SWEATING at how hot it was. As is everything on her masterlist!!

@hrryshoney; gyno! Matty unlocked a whole new side to me that I had NO IDEA was there. Like… insane. And the newest photographer reader fic also drove me CRAZY because I do love a cocky fictional man and some semi-public sex…

@the1975attheirverybest; Halla’s blog is a great place for discussion, good writing and crazy intelligent analysis of the band. “Education” and “being funny in a foreign language” are just… art. Truly. The character of Amelia and the characterisation of Matty are some of my favourites on this app. Hot smut, good writing and a lovely human being- what else do you need hellooo?? (also the pegging blurb from ages ago… yeah I think about her A LOT.)

@sugar-coat-it; FILTY, AMAZING SMUT. literally, every piece on Belle’s masterlist is worth reading 100 times over. Her newest thigh-riding blurb has been rotting my brain, I can't stop going back to it and reading it. Also, the Kylo Ren fic… mask kink unlocked fr. and the matty helping you deepthroat fic is also incredible. (can I just name everything she's done orrr???)

@cinomn; Nina has some great content, and I would genuinely recommend anything!! My favourite has to be “Summer Nights”, but it's a TOUGH competition tbh!!

@noacfslut; THE WRITING SPEED ON THIS BLOG?? MIND BOGGILING. And not only is Elle speedy, but every fic all absolutely wonderful. “Jealousy jealousy” and “undo” are my favourites, but that might change when I get the chance to read her mechanic au, because from what I've heard, it's also extraordinary.

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 4 days ago

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The Fallout | Sebastian Sallow x OC #21

this entire chapter is angst and hurt with pretty much no comfort bc sebastian sallow is an idiot.

Summary: Sebastian, wracked with guilt after betraying Evangeline’s trust, seeks her out to apologize, navigating through Ominis’s pointed rebuke and his own self-loathing. He finds Evangeline by the Black Lake, and though their conversation is raw and painful, they begin to bridge the gap between them, with Sebastian vowing to change (again).

Words: 7,782

Tags: Angst, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Unspoken Feelings, Angst AGAIN, Emotional Fallout, Happy(?) Ending, Miscommunication, Drama, Sebastian Sallow Is An Idiot, Ominis Gaunt Being VERY Done™

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

The Great Hall was alive with the low hum of chatter, punctuated by bursts of laughter from distant tables. To most, it was the familiar chaos of breakfast before enjoying the weekend. To Ominis, it was a minefield.

His wand rested lightly against the table, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on its polished surface. His sharp ears picked up the undercurrent of conversation, threads of gossip weaving their way through the hall. He didn’t need sight to know who the subject was—Evangeline, whose name was on far too many tongues this week, and Sebastian, the ever-present chaos at the heart of Ominis’s life.

“…stood up for him like he’s some kind of hero,” someone hissed from the Ravenclaw table behind him, their voice dripping with scorn. “And then he’s caught snogging some fifth-year? Couldn’t even wait for her to wake up. Poor thing.”

Another voice chimed in, softer but no less cutting. “I heard she passed out by the fire and a moment later, he was off with the next Gryffindor. Honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

Ominis gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. He carefully kept his expression neutral, though his fingers curled into a fist under the table. These weren’t just idle comments; they were knives, sharp and intentional, aimed at two of the people he cared about most.

Evangeline had always been bold, unflinching in her loyalty to those she called friends, and Ominis hadn’t been surprised when she confronted Lysander to defend Sebastian's honor—Evangeline’s fierce devotion was as much a part of her as her Quidditch skills or her sharp tongue. What had surprised him was how quickly Sebastian had thrown it all away.

Around him, the murmurs shifted, growing louder, like a fire spreading unchecked.

“Did you see how close she was sitting to him before it all went down? Makes you wonder how long he was waiting for her to pass out so he could leave,” someone at the Hufflepuff table said, their voice tinged with curiosity.

Ominis clenched his wand tighter, the cool wood grounding him as his anger simmered. He couldn’t tell what enraged him more—the audacity of the rumors or the fact that Sebastian’s actions made them so easy to believe.

"You'll break your wand if you're not careful," Imelda’s voice was surprisingly warm and low enough not to draw attention. She plopped herself down beside him with the casual confidence only she could pull off.

Ominis loosened his grip and let out a long, steadying breath. “I should hex everyone to make these rumors stop.”

Imelda snorted. “You and I both know the only thing that would stop these rumors is a new scandal. Give it a week—someone else will do something idiotic, and Sterling and Sallow will be yesterday’s gossip.”

Ominis doubted that. The combination of Evangeline’s bold declaration of loyalty in front of the whole school and Sebastian’s reckless behavior had painted an irresistible target on both their backs. The spectacle was too good, the drama too ripe, for people to let it go easily.

Imelda leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “For what it’s worth, the rest of us are doing our best to stop the spread of this garbage. Poppy practically hexed a Hufflepuff who was being too loud about it yesterday, and Natty shut down a pack of Ravenclaws in Charms.” She shrugged. “We’ve got her back.”

It was true. Their group—Natty, Poppy, Garreth, and the others—had done their best to redirect conversations and shut down the crueler remarks when they came up. But there were limits to what even a tightly-knit group of sixth years could do. Hogwarts wasn’t exactly known for its restraint when it came to gossip.

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just—” He cut himself off, unsure how to finish the thought.

Imelda didn’t wait for him to try. “You’re worried about them,” she said simply, as if the thought wasn’t worth debating. “Look, Sterling’s tough. And Sebastian… well, he’s an idiot, but he’s not helpless.”

“An idiot is putting it lightly,” Ominis muttered. “This has hurt both of them. Evangeline’s been humiliated, and Sebastian—” He paused, shaking his head. “He knows he’s responsible, even if he hasn't admitted it.”

“It’s just…” Imelda hesitated, which caught Ominis off guard. She rarely hesitated. “I hate seeing her like this. She’s always been so… sure of herself, you know? I don’t like watching people like her get knocked down because of someone else’s stupidity.”

Imelda’s words hung in the air, heavier than Ominis expected. She rarely let her concern for others show, but when she did, it carried a weight that was impossible to ignore. He let the silence stretch between them for a moment, his mind turning over her observations.

"She’s been avoiding everyone," Ominis finally said, his voice quiet. "Burying herself in books. She’s retreating."

Imelda sighed, her usual bravado replaced by a rare softness. "And what about Sallow? Is he retreating too, or just digging himself into a deeper hole?"

Ominis let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, he’s digging, all right. Acting like none of this bothers him, flashing that irritating smirk at everyone who dares bring it up to his face. Still choosing to be seen with the same girl he snogged that night. But I know him too well to believe it. It’s a mask." His tone darkened. "The worst part is that he hasn’t even apologized to her. Not properly."

Imelda shook her head, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like bloody idiot.

"He’s lucky Sterling hasn’t hexed him," she said. "If it were me, I’d have turned him into a flobberworm by now."

Ominis couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure she's thought about it. But Evangeline isn’t like you, Imelda. She doesn’t lash out when she’s hurt—she pulls away."

"And you’re caught in the middle," Imelda observed, her tone resigned. "As always."

"As always," Ominis echoed, his voice laced with weariness.

Imelda tilted her head, studying Ominis’s face with an expression he couldn’t see but could feel. “So, what’s the plan then, Gaunt? You’ve always got one.”

Ominis frowned, his fingers still idly tapping against his wand. His plan? As if he could snap his fingers and undo the damage Sebastian had caused—not just to Evangeline’s reputation, but to the fragile balance of their trio. “I don’t know if there’s a plan for this,” he admitted. “Evangeline needs space, but if we leave her alone too long, it’ll only get worse. And Sebastian…” He trailed off, the weight of Sebastian’s stubbornness settling like a stone in his chest. “Sebastian needs a proper kick to the head.”

Imelda laughed, though it was short and dry. “If you’re volunteering, I’ll hold your wand while you do it.”

"Too bad his skull's too thick for it to work,” Ominis replied, lips twitching into a faint smirk before fading again. "He knows he’s ruined things; he just doesn’t know how to fix them.”

Imelda leaned back, crossing her arms. “So, no plan?”

“Not yet,” Ominis admitted, though his mind was turning. He wasn’t sure what the right course of action was, but he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving things as they were.

“I’ll think of something." He said at length, "Someone has to.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Imelda said, standing and grabbing her plate. “And when you do get around to kicking some sense into him, make sure Sterling’s around to watch. She deserves the entertainment.”

Ominis leaned back in his seat as Imelda departed, his mind whirring. Someone had to step in. Sebastian was clearly incapable of making the first move, and Evangeline… she was too hurt to reach out herself. And if nothing changed soon, the damage might become permanent.

He pushed his plate away, no longer hungry, and rose to his feet. Raising his wand to guide him, he made his way out of the Great Hall, the chatter behind him fading into a dull roar.

The library was quieter than the Great Hall, but it carried its own brand of tension. The soft rustling of pages and the occasional scrape of a chair created an uneasy symphony, one that suited Ominis’s mood. He navigated the familiar aisles, his wand guiding him toward the far corner where he hoped Evangeline would be hiding.

She’d been skipping meals and even classes all week, avoiding crowds and slinking away before anyone could corner her. Ominis had been patient, waiting for her to resurface on her own, but her absence was stretching into worry. The Evangeline he knew—bold enough to face down trolls and outfly Imelda in Quidditch—didn’t hide. It wasn’t like her to disappear—not like this.

Ominis stopped when he reached the corner table and tilted his head, listening for the familiar scratch of a quill or the rustle of parchment. Relief swept through him when he caught the faint, rhythmic sound of writing.

“Still avoiding everyone?” he asked as he approached, his tone carefully casual.

Evangeline paused mid-stroke but didn’t look up. “I’m studying,” she replied, her voice clipped. The quill resumed its steady movements, but there was tension in her tone, a defensive edge that Ominis didn’t miss.

“Studying, hiding,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her and settling into it. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

She let out a sigh, setting her quill down and leaning back in her chair. “What do you want, Ominis?”

He rested his wand lightly on the table, folding his hands in front of him. “To make sure you’re alive. I've been worried.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the books stacked around her. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

“Evangeline,” he interrupted gently, his tone firm but calm. “You can’t keep doing this. Hiding won’t make the rumors go away.”

Her hazel eyes snapped up to meet his, sharp and tired. “What else am I supposed to do, Ominis? Walk into the Great Hall and pretend I don’t hear them? Pretend they’re not calling me an idiot?” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she looked away, her fingers curling into fists on the table.

“They’re cruel, Evangeline,” Ominis said softly. “But they don’t define you.”

“They don’t have to,” she replied bitterly. “I’ve already defined myself—for the whole school. The foolish Gryffindor who stood by her so-called friend who turned Quidditch into boxing, only to find out he doesn’t care. At all.”

“That’s not true,” Ominis said, leaning forward. “Sebastian cares. He cares so much that he’s too afraid to face you and apologize."

She let out a hollow laugh, her expression hardening. “If that’s your attempt at defending him, don’t bother. Actions speak louder than words, Ominis, and his actions have been loud and clear.”

Ominis sighed, rubbing his temple. “I’m not defending what he did. And believe me, he knows he’s made a mess of things. But he’s too much of an idiot to figure out how to fix it.”

“Then that’s his problem,” she said sharply, standing up and gathering her books. “Not mine.”

“Evangeline—”

She paused, her shoulders tense but not turning back to him. “I appreciate you checking on me, Ominis. Really, I do. But I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

He didn’t stop her as she walked away, her footsteps quick and purposeful. Instead, he sat back in his chair, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the wood.

Ominis pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to push the building tension out of his skull. He’d thought that after last year, they could weather anything. But now he wasn’t so sure.

This wasn’t about dark magic or ancient artifacts. It wasn’t about the kind of betrayal you could blame on desperation or fear. This was about trust. And Sebastian had shattered it, not with curses or lies, but with something so mundane it almost felt worse.

Last year, Ominis found himself thinking, when Sebastian did the unthinkable, Evangeline had stood by him.

Ominis could recall the horror of that night with a clarity that made his stomach churn. The dark chamber, the oppressive weight if the the air, and the sickening, searing sounds of the Cruciatus Curse as it tore through her. She hadn’t hesitated to let Sebastian cast that unforgivable curse on her, because she’d believed in him. She’d trusted him enough to endure that kind of agony, certain that he wouldn’t lead her astray.

And later, when Sebastian’s own desperation and grief had driven him to kill Solomon in front of her, she still hadn’t left his side. She’d looked at Sebastian and seen a boy crushed under the weight of his own choices, not a monster, not a murderer. She’d forgiven him.

And now?

Now, after all of that, this—the fallout of one drunken party and Sebastian’s idiocy—felt like an impossible hurdle. And Ominis hated it. Hated the absurdity of it. Hated that something so comparatively trivial could cause this much damage between them.

But then, should he be surprised?

For the past two years, Evie had been the one who stood in Sebastian’s corner no matter what. She’d fought his battles, taken his side, even when Ominis had turned away in anger or disgust. How many more times could she be expected to put herself in the line of fire for him? How many more times could she pick up the pieces of his mess, only to have him treat her loyalty as something he was entitled to, rather than a gift?

Ominis knew Sebastian was a master at self-destruction, but this was different. This wasn’t just about Sebastian’s inability to apologize—it was about Evangeline’s breaking point. And Sebastian had betrayed her. Not in some dramatic, high-stakes moment like the ones they’d faced last year, but in a way that was somehow more personal. More intimate. He hadn’t protected her—not from the rumors, not from humiliation, and certainly not from himself.

Ominis sighed, pushing himself to his feet.

He couldn't allow this to tear their friendship apart. He couldn't let the two people he cared for most drift further away, not when he knew how much they meant to each other—even if they were too stubborn to admit it right now. Evangeline and Sebastian were tangled together in ways they probably didn’t even understand themselves, and Ominis had spent enough time caught in their orbit to know he had to intervene.

Ominis took a steadying breath, his resolve hardening. If there was one thing he was good at, it was cutting through Sebastian’s excuses. He wasn’t sure what he’d say yet, but he knew it wouldn’t be gentle. Sebastian had burned through every ounce of patience Ominis had left. If cruel honesty was what it took to finally get through to him, then so be it.

The Undercroft was quiet when Ominis arrived, the stone walls damp with the faint chill that always lingered in the hidden room. His footsteps echoed softly as he stepped inside, his wand guiding him toward the center where he knew Sebastian would be. Because when things got overwhelming—and they always did with Sebastian—he retreated to the Undercroft. It was his sanctuary.

But not today. Today, it would be his reckoning.

Sure enough, Sebastian was there, pacing in agitated circles. Ominis could hear the scuff of his boots against the floor, could feel the restless energy radiating off of him even without seeing it. He stopped mid-step when the wall closed behind Ominis, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them.

“You’re late,” Sebastian said eventually, his voice carrying a familiar edge of bravado. But it was thinner than usual, and Ominis could tell he was barely holding it together.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, haven’t you?” Ominis replied, his voice calm but laced with steel.

Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If you’re just going to yell at me, save it. I’ve heard enough of it from Imelda, from Poppy—hell, even Garreth had a go at me.”

Ominis took a step forward, “And did any of them get through to you?”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away, his silence telling. Finally, he muttered, “I already know I messed up, Ominis.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Ominis snapped, his frustration breaking through. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Any idea how much you’ve hurt her?”

Sebastian flinched, but Ominis pressed on, his tone sharp. “Evangeline has stood by you through everything—through curses, through murder, protecting you from Azkaban. She’s defended you, fought for you when you didn’t deserve it. And now, because of one drunken night and your inability to think past your own damn nose, you’ve humiliated her in front of the entire school.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sebastian said quietly, his voice strained.

Ominis barked out a bitter laugh. “Of course you didn’t. You never mean to. But that doesn’t change what happened. While she was passed out, Sebastian—passed out—you went and snogged some fifth-year by the fire. Do you even realize how that looks? How that makes her feel?”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Sebastian exploded, his voice rising. “I—Merlin, Ominis, I didn’t plan for any of this to happen! It just… it just did.”

Ominis took another step forward, his voice cutting like steel. “And instead of fixing it, you’ve spent the last week pretending it doesn’t bother you. Flashing that stupid grin, parading around with the same girl you snogged that night—”

“I’m not parading—”

“Don’t,” Ominis snapped, his tone icy. “Don’t even try to justify it. You’ve made a mess of things, Sebastian. A mess that Evangeline is paying for. And what have you done to fix it? Hm?”

Sebastian exhaled a shuddering breath, his pacing resuming as though the movement could somehow release the weight of Ominis’s words. The silence between them grew heavy again, stretching like a taut wire that threatened to snap.

“Why?” Ominis finally asked, his voice low but unyielding. “Why did you do it, Sebastian?”

Sebastian froze mid-step, his back to Ominis. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as if the answer could be wrung out of his skull. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Sebastian turned sharply, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Ominis! I was drunk! She was drunk! It just—” He stopped, his fists clenching at his sides. “It just happened.”

Ominis shook his head, unimpressed. "I’ve known you long enough to know that everything you do has a reason—even if it’s a selfish one. So tell me why. Why did you do it?"

Sebastian’s jaw worked as he looked away, his gaze fixed on some point on the floor. Ominis could hear the rapid, uneven rhythm of his breathing, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his frame.

“What were you thinking?!” Ominis pressed, his tone sharp.

Sebastian barked out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You really want to know, Ominis? Fine. I was thinking about myself,” he said, "About what I wanted, about—” He hesitated, his voice faltering. “About what I couldn’t have.”

Ominis clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening around his wand. He knew where this was going, but hearing Sebastian lay it out piece by piece was like watching a slow-motion train wreck.

Sebastian let out a bitter sigh, slumping against one of the stone pillars. “She was… Merlin, Evie was so drunk. But she was happy to see me. She smiled at me like, like maybe she—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening before he forced the words out. “Like maybe she might feel the same way. Like maybe we could actually have a chance.”

“But then she passed out. And I—I should have stayed with her. I know that." He laughed again , the sound hollow and self-loathing. "But all I could think about was what it felt like when she looked at me, when she leaned into me like she didn’t want to let go. And how much I wanted her. How much I couldn’t have her. Because she'll never love me back, Ominis. And I don't deserve her anyway.”

He pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead, his words tumbling out in a rush now. “And then I saw someone else, and for one stupid, selfish second, it was easier. Easier to let myself pretend my feelings for Evie didn’t matter, to forget how much I wanted someone I couldn't have and never will. So, yes. I kissed her. I didn’t think about what it looked like, or what it meant, or how much worse it would make everything. I just… did it.” His voice cracked and he turned away, his shoulders trembling with the weight of his confession.

“And now you've ruined everything,” Ominis muttered, his voice low but razor-sharp.

Sebastian flinched, his head dropping. “I know, Ominis. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“Oh, I do,” Ominis shot back, stepping closer, his tone gaining an edge. “Because apparently, it takes the whole damn school yelling at you before anything gets through that thick skull of yours."

Sebastian turned back to him, his expression anguished. “Do you really think you need to say all this? That I don’t already hate myself?”

“Hate yourself all you like," Ominis said coldly. "But hating yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t undo what you did, and it sure as hell doesn’t make up for the fact that you left her lying there while you went off to satisfy your ego.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, his head falling against the pillar again with a dull thud. “How could I leave her there, Ominis? I didn’t even think about what might happen to her. What if she’d gotten sick? What if someone else found her before Natty? What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Do you want me to list it all out for you, Sebastian?” Ominis’s voice was sharp and unrelenting, each word like a lash. “Do you want me to spell out exactly what’s wrong with you? Because I will. I’ll tell you that you’re selfish. That you’re reckless. That you’ve let your feelings for Evangeline warp you into someone so consumed by his own desires that you don't even think about the destruction your decisions leave in their wake.”

Sebastian flinched, but Ominis didn’t stop. He stepped closer, his voice deadly calm. “I’ll tell you that you’ve taken the strongest person I know—the one who never wavered, who stood by you when no one else would—and you’ve turned her into someone who hides. You’ve made her doubt herself. Doubt her worth. And why? Because of your selfishness. Because of your inability to think beyond your own wants.”

Sebastian’s shoulders sagged, his mouth opening as if to respond, but no words came. Ominis’s voice grew colder, his tone cutting like ice.

“You humiliated her, Sebastian. In ways no one else ever could. Not the Slytherins who taunt her about her heritage. Not the gossiping fools who envy her. You. Because she trusted you. She trusted you more than anyone else in this world, and you threw that trust away—for what? A fleeting, meaningless moment of distraction?”

Sebastian’s fists clenched, his knuckles white. “I didn’t—” he started, his voice hoarse.

“Didn’t what?” Ominis interrupted, stepping closer until he was looming over Sebastian, “Didn’t think? Didn’t mean it? Those excuses won’t fix what you’ve done. You can’t undo this with hollow words or promises you’ll never keep.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his head hanging low as Ominis continued, his tone softening slightly but still firm. “You're broken. You’ve been breaking ever since Anne left, ever since Solomon died, ever since you let yourself believe you don’t deserve better. And maybe you’re right. Maybe you don’t. You sure as hell don't deserve Evangeline. But she deserves better than the coward you’re being right now.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of Ominis’s words. For once, Sebastian had no quick retort, no deflections or bravado to hide behind. He stood there, raw and exposed, the reality of his actions settling over him like a suffocating fog.

Ominis stepped back, his expression unreadable. “If you want to fix this, then stop wallowing and do something about it. Not for you—for her. She’s not going to wait for you forever, Sebastian."

Sebastian looked up at him then, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know how,” he whispered. “I don’t know where to start, Ominis.”

Ominis stared at Sebastian for a long moment. His sharp features softened only slightly, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface.

“You start,” Ominis said, his voice low and deliberate, “By telling her the truth. And then you listen, Sebastian. You listen to what she has to say, and you take it. Whatever she throws at you, you take it, because you deserve it.”

Sebastian flinched at the finality in Ominis’s tone, the weight of his words sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach. His eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders sagging under the crushing realization of just how badly he’d screwed up. “What if she doesn't forgive me?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“I think,” Ominis said, his voice softer now but no less firm, “that Evangeline Sterling has already given you more chances than anyone else ever would. And if you don’t stop wasting them, then yes, Sebastian. She’ll stop listening. She’ll stop caring. And she'll stop forgiving. But you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, the motion heavy with resignation. “I’ll... I'll talk to her,” he said finally, his voice hollow.

Ominis didn’t respond right away. He studied Sebastian for a moment longer, as though weighing his words. Then he gave a short, curt nod. “Good. And Sebastian?”

Sebastian looked up at him, his expression hollow and weary. “Yeah?”

“If she forgives you, don’t make her regret giving you another chance.” Ominis’s voice was like iron, unyielding. “Because if you hurt her again, I won’t forgive you either.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened, the weight of Ominis’s warning settling over him like a second layer of guilt. He didn’t reply, and Ominis didn’t wait for him to. With a swish of his wand, the Undercroft’s entrance opened, and Ominis stepped through without another word, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts.

Sebastian woke to the damp chill of the Undercroft, the rough stone beneath him pressing uncomfortably into his back. His neck ached from the awkward angle at which he’d slumped against one of the pillars, and his robes were crumpled, wrinkled from what could hardly be called sleep. For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind foggy and disoriented, the weight in his chest a stubborn, familiar ache.

How had he ended up here?

It hit him all at once: Ominis. His words. The cold fury in his voice, the brutal precision of every accusation. The memory surged back like a slap, leaving no room for denial, no way to escape the truth Ominis had hammered into him.

You humiliated her, Sebastian. In ways no one else ever could. Because she trusted you.

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand over his face. The coarse fabric of his sleeve scratched against his skin, grounding him against the dull throb of his guilt. He knew he deserved it. Deserved worse, even. But that didn’t make it any easier to breathe.

Sebastian sat up slowly, his body stiff and sluggish. The cool air of the Undercroft wrapped around him, biting through his crumpled robes, but he barely felt it. All he could feel was the memory of Evangeline’s absence—her quiet absence in the hallways, the way her laughter had disappeared from their group, leaving behind a hollow silence he couldn’t fill.

You threw that trust away.

Sebastian pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if he could physically push the memories back, stop them from replaying over and over. But they wouldn’t stop, because Ominis had been right. His words weren’t just true—they were inescapable.

Because she trusted you.

The thought alone was enough to drive him to his feet, his legs trembling slightly from the hours he’d spent curled on the ground. He staggered upright, leaning briefly against the pillar for support as his knees protested. His movements were stiff, his body as uncooperative, but he couldn’t stay here.

He had to find her. He had to try to fix this.

The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning energy as Sebastian stepped inside, scanning the Gryffindor table for any sign of her. His stomach clenched when he saw that her usual spot—wedged between Natty and Cressida—was empty. His heart sank further when he caught sight of the guarded expressions on their faces as he approached.

“Where’s Evangeline?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep and the lingering tension in his chest.

Natty exchanged a glance with Cressida before answering. “We don’t know,” she said carefully.

Sebastian frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Cressida said softly, “that she hasn’t been around much. We didn't see her this morning in the common room, nor in our dorm. She’s barely there. She wakes up before us, goes to bed late, and hardly says a word.”

Her words landed like a blow to his gut. “She hasn’t said where she’s been?”

Natty shook her head, her expression turning to one of quiet reproach. “Sebastian, she’s avoiding people for a reason.”

He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to press them for more, but the look in Natty’s eyes was enough to stop him. She knew what had happened—of course she did, she's the one who found Evie laying there alone—and there was no hiding from the judgment in her eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered before turning on his heel and stalking out of the hall.

The hours that followed were a frustrating blur of dead ends as Sebastian scoured every corner of the castle he could think of.

He wandered through the library first, weaving between the shelves and peering into the tucked-away corners where she liked to study. His footsteps echoed in the quiet space, but no matter how far he searched, there was no sign of her. Madam Scribner glared at him over her spectacles when his whispered inquiries became too loud, and he left before her irritation could boil over into words.

The Quidditch pitch was his next stop, but it, too, was empty, save for a pair of second-years casually tossing a Quaffle back and forth. He lingered at the edge of the stands for a moment, staring out at the expanse of grass, before turning away with a muttered curse.

By the time night fell, his legs ached from climbing stairs and traversing hallways, but his determination remained unwavering. He retreated to the Undercroft once more, hoping that she might show up, seeking the solace the hidden room often provided. But as the minutes stretched into hours, he was met with nothing but the cold, empty silence of the space.

It was in the early hours of morning that Sebastian finally slipped through the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The dim, green-tinted room was nearly empty, save for a pair of fifth-years whispering near the hearth, but Sebastian barely spared them a glance as he made his way toward his dormitory.

He felt hollow, his chest tight with frustration and guilt. Hours of searching had turned up nothing, and the idea of going to bed without finding her filled him with a restless dread.

Pushing open the door to his dormitory, he stepped inside, his gaze immediately snapping to the companion candle on his bedside table. The soft glow of its flame greeted him, flickering steadily. His pulse quickened.

Evangeline was awake somewhere.

Sebastian stepped back into the corridor and closed the door behind him, leaning heavily against it as relief warred with frustration. She was awake. But where?

He racked his brain, thought back to every conversation, every memory they’d shared, searching for something—anything—that might give him a clue of where she might be hiding.

And then, it hit him.

The memory she’d shared with him for his birthday. It had been a beautiful day by the Black Lake in their fifth year, the two of them sitting side by side, staring out at the water as the sky reflected on its surface.

Sebastian pushed off the door, his heart pounding. Maybe she was there. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.

The castle was silent as he slipped through its shadowed corridors. Sneaking out past curfew was second nature to him by now, but tonight, his usual thrill of rebellion was absent. All he could focus on was finding her.

The cool night air hit him as he stepped onto the grounds, the vast expanse of the Black Lake stretching out before him. The moonlight danced across its surface, casting rippling reflections that seemed to shift with the breeze. The chill bit at his exposed skin, but he ignored it, his eyes scanning the shoreline.

And then he saw her.

She was perched on a low, weathered rock near the edge of the lake, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the moonlight.

For a moment, he stopped, his breath catching in his throat. The sight of her after what felt like an eternity apart stilled him, rooting him to the spot. She looked so small, so fragile, her usual fire dimmed into quiet embers.

Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing his legs to move. The crunch of his boots against the gravel shore broke the silence, and he saw her stiffen slightly at the sound. She didn’t turn to look at him, but he knew she knew he was there.

“Evie,” he said softly, his voice barely carrying over the lapping of the lake’s gentle waves.

She didn’t respond. Her gaze remained fixed on the water, her arms tightening around her knees.

Sebastian hesitated, unsure whether to move closer. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and one wrong step would send them both tumbling into an abyss they couldn’t climb out of.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he’d been carrying.

“Why?” she asked, her tone flat and distant. The single word cut through him like a blade.

He took a step closer, the cool air biting at his skin. “Because I need to talk to you."

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and devoid of warmth. "What for? To give me some excuse for why you left me there? Why you chose her over me?" Her voice cracked, and she quickly turned away, her hands gripping the fabric of her cardigan - the very same one he'd picked out for her weeks ago in Hogsmeade. And now, seeing her clutch it like armor against him, the memory felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

“I—” His voice faltered. He had spent hours in his mind rehearsing what he might say if he found her, but now, faced with the raw pain in her voice and the sight of her curling further into herself, every word felt inadequate.

“You what, Sebastian?” she snapped, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes, glinting in the moonlight, weren’t filled with the fire he was used to. They were dulled, tired, and red-rimmed from tears. “You didn’t mean for it to happen? You didn’t think it would matter? You didn’t—what? Care?”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, the desperation in his tone undeniable. “I care, Evie. I care more than I can—” He stopped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I just… I didn’t think. I was stupid, and I didn’t think.”

“Didn’t think.” She repeated the words slowly, bitterly, her voice dripping with disbelief. “That’s always your excuse, isn’t it?”

Sebastian flinched, the accusation hitting harder than he’d expected.

“You didn’t think about how I would feel,” she continued, her voice steady but trembling with barely restrained emotion. “You didn’t think about what it would be like for me to hear what you did—to watch you strut around the school with her on your arm and know that everyone was laughing at my expense. You didn’t think about how it would feel to trust you, to stand by you, and have you turn around and… and—”

She broke off, her voice cracking as her gaze dropped back to the water. Her arms tightened around her knees again, her fingers digging into the fabric of the cardigan.

Sebastian took another step closer, his hands clenched at his sides as though he was physically holding himself back from reaching for her. “Evangeline,” he murmured, her full name slipping out instinctively.

"Don't call me that." Her voice cracked, sharp and brittle, as if the words themselves were a shield she had hastily raised.

Sebastian froze.

She had never stopped him from calling her Evangeline—never. It wasn’t just her name; it was his, in a way... something he naturally wielded with purpose. He used it sparingly, reserved for moments that carried weight: when he wanted to tease her into a smile, make her pause and really hear him, or when he needed to say something only she could understand. It was his way of reaching past her walls, of breaking through barriers when she threw them up. Now, hearing her reject it felt like a door slamming shut, leaving him stranded on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the words rough and uneven.

She shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the water. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” she murmured. “You’re good at that, you know—saying what people want to hear."

Sebastian stepped closer, “I do mean it,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m sorry, Evang—Evie. For everything. For hurting you. For making you feel like I didn’t care. I... I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to. I need to.”

She let out a hollow laugh, her shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “Fix it? You can’t undo what you did. You can’t un-snog her. You can’t erase what everyone’s saying.”

“I know,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “I know I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to make it right."

Her head turned slightly at that, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before darting away. “For me, or for you?” she asked softly. “You sure you're not just here to soothe your guilt? To make yourself feel better?”

“No!” he said urgently, stepping closer again. “This isn’t about me, Evie, it’s about you—because you’re…” His voice faltered, and he blinked hard, feeling the sting of tears building behind his eyes. “You’re everything to me, Evie. You always have been.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her posture stiffening as if she were bracing herself against them. “Stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Stop saying things you don’t mean.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened, and a tear slipped down his cheek, warm and bitter against his skin. He wiped it away hastily, as if embarrassed, but his hands trembled at his sides. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he said, his voice raw. He took another step, closing the space between them, and knelt in front of her. His chest heaved with the effort to keep himself steady, to show her the truth in every fractured word.

Her hazel eyes lingered on the water for another beat, and then she exhaled, her shoulders sinking under the weight of everything she’d been holding back. It wasn’t a collapse, but a quiet unraveling, as though all her defenses were fraying at the edges.

The first tear slid down her cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away. It was followed by another, and then another, until her breath hitched, a small, broken sound escaping her lips. She pressed her trembling hands to her face, muffling the quiet sobs that started to spill free.

“Evie…” Sebastian’s voice cracked, raw and filled with desperation. His own eyes burned, his own tears slipping free, but he reached out instinctively, his hand hovering uncertainly over her arm. “Please... don’t cry. I—Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head without looking at him, her face buried in her hands. “You don’t get it,” she gasped through the tears, her voice raw and choked. “You don’t get how hard it is—how humiliated I’ve felt. I was always the one who stood by you, Sebastian. Always. And this... this is what I get for it.”

“You’re right,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking again. “You’re right about all of it. I’ve been selfish, reckless... I’ve hurt you in ways I don’t know how to fix. But Evie, please believe me—I never meant to. I never wanted to hurt you.”

His hand trembled as it settled gently on her arm, the gesture tentative, pleading. When her gaze flickered down to it, Sebastian froze, his breath catching in his throat. He braced himself for her to pull away.

For a long moment, she didn’t move, her lips pressing into a thin line. But then, with a sigh so soft it was almost inaudible, she shifted, her body leaning ever so slightly toward him.

He stayed perfectly still, his breath catching as she let her head drop, her temple brushing lightly against his shoulder. He could feel her uneven breaths, the tremble in her frame as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what to do with you, Sebastian,” she said after a long silence, her voice barely above a whisper. There was no anger in her tone now, no sharp edges. Just tired, aching honesty. “You always do this. You hurt me, and then you come back, and somehow, I always forgive you.”

He swallowed hard, guilt twisting in his chest like a knife. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

She didn’t respond right away, her silence stretching out between them. The soft lapping of the lake’s waves didn't even fill the void that had grown. And when she finally spoke again, her voice was so quiet he almost missed it.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I keep thinking… maybe this time will be different. Maybe you’ll change. And then... you don’t.”

Sebastian flinched, “Evie, please,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m trying. I know I’ve failed, but I am trying. I swear I am.”

She let out a quiet, hollow laugh, her breath warm against his shoulder. “I think you believe that,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t feel like it from where I’m standing. From where I’m... sitting.” Her lips quirked faintly, though there was no humor in the gesture.

Sebastian’s chest tightened further, his vision blurred by unshed tears, “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice heavy with desperation. “I swear it, Evie. I know I’ve let you down. Over and over. And I hate myself for it. I hate what I’ve done to you. What I’ve done to us.”

She leaned back to look at him and her gaze softened slightly, though the weariness didn’t leave her eyes. “I don’t want you to hate yourself, Sebastian,” she said quietly. “I just… I just want you to stop hurting me.”

Sebastian felt her words sink into him like lead weights, dragging him down with the raw, simple truth of them. Stop hurting me. It wasn’t a demand or an accusation. It wasn’t even spoken with anger. It was a plea—fragile and trembling, like she didn’t even expect it to be possible.

“I will, Evie,” he murmured, his voice raw and unsteady. “I swear it.”

Her lips twitched faintly, though the ghost of a smile never quite formed. “You say that,” she said softly, leaning back against him. “And maybe you mean it. It's just... I don’t think I can take it again if you’re wrong.”

He didn’t respond right away. He didn’t trust himself to. Instead, he let the silence settle between them again, his hand still resting lightly on her arm. He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, the quiet stretching out into a fragile bubble. But eventually, he spoke again, his voice low and steady.

“I’m not wrong this time,” he said, the words more a vow than a promise. “I can’t be. Because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Evangeline's breath hitched then, and for a moment, he thought she might pull away. But instead, she simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his words. A silent understanding.

Sebastian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his hand hesitating before shifting to cover hers where it rested against her knee. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t grip—just let his palm rest there, warm and steady, like an unspoken promise.

“You’re still a bloody idiot,” Evie murmured after what felt like an eternity, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Sebastian let out a faint laugh, the sound rough and cracked but real. “Yeah,” he admitted, his lips twitching into the barest of smiles. “I probably always will be.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hazel eyes searching his face. There was still hurt there, still an ache he couldn’t hope to erase in a single night. But there was something else, too—a flicker of something softer, something that gave him hope.

“Please don’t make me regret this, Sebastian,” she said quietly.

His throat tightened, and he nodded, his eyes locked on hers. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice raw but unwavering. “Not this time.”

For a moment, she held his gaze, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she leaned back into him, letting her arms snake around his waist, pulling him closer.

The tension that had been coiled so tightly in Sebastian’s shoulders began to ease as he closed his eyes, his chin lightly brushing the top of her head. The scent of her hair enveloped him. It was a comfort he hadn’t realized he was desperate for until now.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice soft, “Whatever it takes, Evangeline, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll fix what I’ve broken.”

Her grip on him tightened slightly, and though she didn’t respond, he felt the subtle shift in her breathing. She was letting him in, piece by fragile piece. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was something. A beginning.

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