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meatriarchived2 · 6 months ago

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@johnnysslaughter

it has been five months. it marks the occasion, circled on calendar in blue ink -- information that he had obtained some time ago, prior, in conversation. in other conversations that he overhears, particularly at the hewitts, where he overhears between the ladies. luda had made them chocolate chip cookies that day, he remembers -- maria was thankful & they ended up having a tangent about sweets. while he didn't butt in, it became useful information for now. it was her birthday. he had went out, as soon as he saw his mother take off to who-knows-where, & got her a couple things. it was silly. he could imagine the nagging his ma would give to him. it wasn't anything fancy. he couldn't afford it. but, it was something. he had tried to make the little table in his shack presented better -- freshly cleaned, the curtains pulled over to let the sunshine in. a chocolate cake, on the smaller side, but enough for the two of them for a couple of days, sat center. next to it, a small bouquet of flowers from the farm that were ready to be plucked. & last, a small rabbit plush that sat in her seat for her to pick up -- something about it calling her name when he saw it, he'd say. there were two plates on each side & a set of silverware. one plate reserved for the cake, the other chalked full with lunch. opted for some vegetables for sides, found some nice beef he could make something out of. he sat a 6 pack of beer onto the table, along with some water. choices. everything was ready. when it was ready, he started the descend into the basement, moving rug covering the drop-down aside. took him no time to get down & find the cell she was in. the cold, silent cell -- unknown to what little of his ma's hallucinogens have made its way. he removes the key from his pocket, his head tilting.

❛ y' comin' upstairs with me for a minute, ❜ he made his expression hard to read, on purpose. never knowing of what it was that he wanted to take her to go do. he walks closer to her, bending down to unlock the locks with the key, standing back up, offering his hand to help her up. he stays behind her, a hand that lingers on her shoulder, sticking close. tempting to mention how she should know the way by now, with her escape attempts -- opts not to. hand removes from her shoulder when they get to the ladder, he watches her ascend the latter, slower, & he follows when there's enough room for both of them. when she gets to the top, she stands, waiting, him speeding his ascend up the ladder. a soft nod is given to her, letting himself go ahead of her, to lead her into the general living area of the shack -- his eyes falling to the table all set up. the steam was still going on the freshly cooked lunch. a smile comes to his lips, his head turns to look at maria, to gauge her expression. he opts to wrap an arm around her, to take her in closer, let her see what was all before her. he gives her a moment to figure it out. waits until her head turns to look at him, confused. ❛ happy birthday, babygirl, ❜ he simply says, moving to pull out her chair, bending to lift the plush to give to her, welcoming her to have a seat, him to push her chair in when she sits before he rounds the table to his spot, taking himself a seat. ❛ i know it ain't much. ❜

it was always a guessing game, when she'd hear that jingle of keys from the other side of the cell door — of what he came down there for. what he wanted her to do, where he wanted to take her. in the weeks she's been there, with him, maria — in spite of growing used to this new routine, this new normal of him coming and going. bringing her food and drink, taking her out to the house on the property, inside when his mother was out to get cleaned up — there still nestled knots and frays that coiled in her gut every time she spotted that shadowed figure of him through the small gaps in the door.

he never hurt her — for that, she was thankful. ( she's seen what he can do to a person . . . )

today was like all the others that ticked on before it. the jolt and bristle, instinctively, upon realizing he was just outside of the cell he kept her in, silent he can so easily be, left her in shock every time he seemingly appeared from thin air. she's grown to realize — in spite of the lingering drives in her from time to time to escape — that complying without fuss brought her to a better standing with johnny, and today felt best to simply listen and do.

and so when his voice calls out that she's going up, out of the basement, into the small shack overhead? she listens. offers out restraints with a small nod of understanding, let's him unlock and drop them, and leaves the cell, climbs up the ladder up into shack without complaint. eyes follow him as he comes up after her, standing beside the opening in the floor, and trails behind him as he makes his way into the shack itself, pausing when he suddenly does, and eyes fall on the little scene ahead of them—

uncertainty in her features fade into surprise, as gaze takes in and registers what shes looking at — the flowers, the cake, the plated food — the little rabbit sitting on the chair—

flinch doesn't come over her, this time, when the weight of his arm goes around her, draws her closer to him. thoughts fizzing in and out, confusion settling in, eyes flick over to calendar on the wall, but she's no idea what day its meant to be, she's been here so long—

it's august already?

head whips up to look at him, and no doubt she looks entirely lost when she meets his eyes, and starts to open mouth to question what he brought her up there for, when his voice fills the air, and her stomach drops down into the pit of her gut — eyes widening, stunned on different fronts—

five months she's been here, with him? its august— i'm twenty-two now? he knows my birthday? when did he—

she moves without thinking, really — sitting herself down when he goes to pull chair out, holding plushed rabbit out to her. her confusion melts little by little, and moreso as she slowly accepts the soft little thing, cradling it in her hands. its little beady eyes looking up at her, soft to the touch. words seem lost to her as a baseline of television buzzing rings in her ears lowly. eyes flickering from the rabbit in her hands, to the plate set in front of her, to the cake, to the flowers blooming colors. confusion continues to melt away, tick by tick of the clock, his voice sounding out, it ain't much, he says—

— and yet, to someone who has virtually nothing anymore . . . ?

this was everything—

rabbit is held closer to herself. comforting, the little thing is. theres a sting in her eyes, along the bridge of nose, as the edges of vision haze as saltwater draws itself in. theres a tremble, beneath lower lip, that she does her best to stifle. he had no reason at all to do any of this. to even think of such a day, remember it. mark it down, even. yet he did—

her head finally gives a small shake, and she swallows down the urge in her to want to cry. maria didn't think she would have lived to see her twenty-second — let alone, have it celebrated in any way. a tear streaks itself down cheek, and quickly she goes to swipe it away, flustering as she stammers out, finding her voice finally, " i - i'm sorry— th - thank you, i didn't . . . i didn't even realize it was, i mean, you didn't need to— "

what can one even say? the words feel foreign, strange, tumbling out of her as she scrambles for some kind of response to him — rabbit still clutched close to herself — a comfort she didn't realize she needed. it was like her childhood stuffed rabbit, long forgotten, by now, back at her apartment . . .

" i - i don't— i don't really know what to say, i - i'm sorry, " another tear, two, three, make their way down her cheeks, and again, each is quickly swept away by fingertips, looks across the table at him again, " t - thank you, johnny— " and she means it, truly. its small, yes — a simple little gesture. the flowers, the rabbit, the cake — but . . . its the fact, underlying each of those, that he even took the time and effort to remember at all, when he had no real reason to—

maria's eyes drop from him down to the rabbits little face, and a smile start to play at the corners of her mouth at it. its something — even if small. " she's so cute, i love her — thank you. " hazels lift again to meet his, and briefly, smile grows, shows little dimples at either side of her lips.

#johnnysslaughter #[ ♡ ] ── * maria f. / 𝘪𝘤.#[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * cold case.#me the lil hewwo guy at this like maaaaannnnnnnnn.... all the different thoughts whizzing around and honestly?#just the simple fact that he even felt compelled to get her something - so something small for her - speaks so much to her and #shes simply just... oh!.... hes so sweet for this-#like !! he knew!! he knew & he made note of it & he did something for her!! that counts for so much for someone with literally nothing!!!#she treasures that little rabbit so much... i just know shes got it tucked up on their headboard later. still hugs it to sleep now and then #i love them your honor thankyou for this lamb <33

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rockingbytheseaside · 5 months ago

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omg, I am quite literally in love with your work.

pls I cannot tell you how frickin ecstatic I am when I read your stuff 😭 like I’m Fr Rolling on the floor and stopping every five secs bc of the butterflies-

AND! I saw that your asks are open!! (If I misread/misunderstood then I’m so sorry and just ignore this) I was wondering if you could do Harbingers x reader when they find reader quietly weeping- like reader thought they were alone and didn’t wanna burden them :3 romantic if you would !!

no pressure ofc!!!! fr I love ur stuff sm like I’ve been reading ur stuff OVER AND OVER😭😭😭

(bshdhsgdhagjds Okay, let me just hold in my tears- that’s so kind of you anon! Sorry for making you wait, I hope this is something similar to what you wanted)

✦ How they comfort you when you cry

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

Sometimes, your days might feel bitter, and sometimes the weight of your inner struggles can accumulate into a somber heap of self-doubt. Whether it was a minute inconvenience that resulted in your dampened mood, or stressful memories of the past – the reasons behind it fade into insignificance. Because next thing you know, you feel your shoulders slightly shaking, and your hand reaching to conceal your silent weeping. Thus, when talking becomes a burden and your breath runs short, your beloved is the first to listen to your sniffles.

✧ Pierro’s already icy gaze becomes unreadable. Is it fear? Is it astonishment? Or is it the readiness to unleash hell upon anything that compelled you to shed these silent tears? He sees you hugging yourself, trying to shield yourself away from him. His gloved hands cautiously reach for your form, like a blanket wrapping itself around your shoulders.

“My divine one, why hide your tears away from me? Why conceal the sadness in your eyes when you silently weep? Please, grace me with your gaze and look at me.”

His voice is careful despite its deepness, suppressing his boiling temper at the sight of your sadness. He reaches for you tenderly, and when you turn towards him, you allow yourself to cry further into his chest. He cradles you silently, never once wasting breath on simple shushes or admonishments to cease crying. No, The Jester will hold you, let his lips press softly to your forehead, and let you cry as much as you need. He'll personally worship and wipe every teardrop off your cheek.

Yet despite his gentle arms, you sense him shaking. His gloved hands hold you securely, yet subconsciously gripping. Because pray to the archons above, he will not rest until the source of your sadness is annihilated.

✧ Il Capitano never saw you cry before. He saw you as an equal in matters of battles, duels, and personal life. Through ups and downs, your best and worst. And yet the imposing, mighty Captain never witnessed his beloved’s face slowly scowl and emit those saddened sobs as you're doing now.

“No… who bestowed such sadness onto you, my cherished? What sorrows are you fighting?”

He asks, half in disbelief and worry. The Captain kneels down, the back of his armored hands gracefully meeting your face. He makes sure you’re not physically in pain, his touch asking permission for the simplest caress. You might feel embarrassed to explain why you're crying, but the Captain will coax you to talk only if you bestow him this honor. Otherwise, he never mocks or admonishes you for crying – “This is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of humanity in your strength.”

To soothe you, he'd drape an arm around your shoulder, bringing the side of his coat to shield you. If you desire, he'd immediately discard his coat entirely and wrap it over your shoulders. And if you desire neither this or that, he'd silently kneel, asking for permission to pick you up in his forearms, so you may rest on his shoulder while he carries you away.

✧ You cannot conceal your sorrows from Il Dottore. He suspects you are feeling dejected before you even realize it. Should your shoulders quiver and tears well in your eyes, he'll be the first to perceive it. His already tense countenance will harden, and in short, murderous intent, he’ll ask:

“Who did this to you?”

His first suspension is that someone foolish enough dared to hurt you, and his next task is to seek out that moron. And stars above, if someone did ruin your day, the Doctor will have a new cadaver on his lab table. You'll have to physically restrain the Harbinger in front of you by putting your hands on his shoulder and explaining hurriedly that no one did anything harmful.

Il Dottore won't quell his inner rage so easily though. As you shake your head, and rub your eyes, it will require much persuasion to convince him that it’s not as dire as he suspects. Nonetheless, Dottore will keep a tight hold on your form. If he won't murder someone in rage, then he'll prepare a soothing beverage and wrap you up in a comfortable seating so you may rest your weary head. He’ll have to personally drag you to sit by his lap so you won’t desolate yourself into a depressive fit again.

“Wasting your breath and energy on crying is a futile endeavor. You'll only tire your body out… so rest in my arms before your mind starts weaving more puny sentiments.”

✧ The ever-prideful and strict Scaramouche would find himself faltering into silence when the unfamiliar sound emanates from your being. The hiccupped sounds of choked cries are not foreign to him - he recognized them very well and was personally acquainted with the physical pain of crying. But seeing the closest being, the one he calls most cherished, to unexplainable weep was a new form of pain he had never experienced.

“... Are you-? What's wrong, are you hurt? Did something-!”

An expression of shock and fear bestows the Balladeer, his hands are reluctant and afraid to cross your boundaries when you cry in front of him. His first instinct is to believe that he has erred, that he has hurt you or spoken insensitively. Anguished, his fist tightens, dreading your stern rejection. Yet, all it takes is a gentle shake of your head and a soft reassurance - no, he hasn't actually done anything wrong.

His brow will remain furrowed, and only under your permission, he would glue himself to you in a reassuring embrace. It's only after he's assured of your safety and well-being that the Harbinger begins to ease up and scoff. Maybe, just maybe, he will go and bring your favorite sweets afterward. Regardless, his hands kept cupping your face, thumbs gently wiping your tears.

“Ha, you’re that sensitive that you’d weep at the most minor inconvenience? Fine, I’ll stay here. But don’t get too comfortable. And you better stop apologizing for crying. You should never say sorry for something like that. It’s in your right to cry… Just come to me when something’s troubling you, alright?”

✧ You cannot recall a single instance when Pantalone's captivating smile ever wavered. The man has perfected his charismatic, million-mora smile that only you can discern if he’s being genuine or not. But to witness it dropping completely in a cold stare while you cried was chilling. You felt scared, as the Harbinger grew eerily silent with each slow step, he demanded:

“... Give me names and I will make sure they will disappear permanently.”

You jolted. This was bad, and it sure didn’t quell your sobbing as you hurriedly shook your head. Pantalone took a deep sigh, his brain forced to flip a switch and change to a more tender tone so he wouldn’t scare you further with his sinister rage. He will deal with the causes later. What mattered now was your shaken state. Hence, like the dotting lover he is, he softly inquired whether you wish to talk or have some privacy.

If you willingly welcomed his physical touch, then prepare yourself for a day filled with him enfolding you tightly. He will draw you near, letting you cry your frustrations out until you get fatigued and rest against his lean chest. The Regrator always fulfills his pledges, gently rocking you back and forth. He will vow to spoil you on the next shopping spree and purchase everything you desire - luxuries, clothes, perfumes, or fancy meals, all of it is yours with a snap of his fingers (even if you reprimand his indulgence). His embraces are tenacious, endless kisses raining down on your face until you plead and whine to be released from his insistent hugs.

"My heart, how can I possibly release you when you should be adorned with kisses instead of tears? I am afraid I won’t be so easily reassured until I see your smile again."

✧ Tartaglia’s highlight of the day is mirroring your luminous smile; hence when he first heard your sorrowful sniffles, it felt like a sudden dark cloud washed past him, pouring cold water to wipe his smile off in an instant. Without hesitation, his hand found itself on your shoulder as he guided you to sit first.

“Hey, hey… What’s wrong, darling? I’m here, it’s alright.”

He observes your attempt to explain the root of your troubles, but as you try to elaborate, your tears only intensify against your own will. Kneeling in front of you, his gaze was resolute - he now had a mission. He will immediately soothe your mood with tender words of endearment, lighthearted banter, and the occasional joke here and there, anything to make you crack up with that sweet smile he so adores.

Tartaglia will remind you that first and foremost, he is your Ajax - the one who will bring laughter through his playful teasing and delightful humor during your times of melancholy. The one who will cook you the best Snezhnayan Bliny better than any pancake restaurant. And the one who will always be there so you can lean your head on his shoulder and just feel his heartbeat as he embraces you deeply. In any other circumstances, he is the 11th of the Fatui Harbinger who will work and bloody his fists for your safety. However, for now, you shouldn’t occupy your thoughts with such concerns.

“Hey, it’s alright… You don’t have to feel embarrassed for crying. We all have bad days from time to time. How about this, leave today’s dinner on me. I shall cook your favorite even better than you could imagine! Or else what sort of boyfriend would I be if I’m not spoiling my darling.”

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