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burningvelvet · 1 year ago

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My analysis on Heathcliff and his relationships, and some interesting excerpts from Juliet McMaster's "The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery" via JSTOR (TW: abuse, sa/sexual violence, generally graphic and potentially triggering content)

*note: I've had half of this in my drafts for a while. My last reblog, which discusses Heathcliff's lack of attraction to Cathy II, inspired me to finally expand on & post it. That reblog is here: https://www.tumblr.com/burningvelvet/738896230943522816

Cathy II is one of my favorite characters and I think her dynamic with Heathcliff is fascinating. I would say that while he may not be attracted to her (indeed, he sometimes seems repulsed by her) his behavior toward her IS explicitly predatory as it includes lying to her, manipulating her, physically abusing her, kidnapping her, and forcing her into a marriage in which he helped to seduce her with love letters under his son's name.

Combine this with his behavior toward his wife Isabella, in which sexual violence may be easily inferred as he says Isabella hated him a day into their marriage (and sure, some people conceive on the first try, but what are the odds? and the concept of marital rape didn't legally exist back then) — not to mention Heathcliff calling her a slut (sexually violent epithet* *editing this post to say that "slut" was a mainly gendered term, but in Brontë's time it didn't have today's more sexualized meaning; for most of history it primarily meant "slovenly" aka messy/careless), and both of them vaguely referring to heinous abuses she undergoes in private (and what could be worse than what we already know about his treatment of his subordinates). With how determined he was to get a male heir, and that being the whole reason why he married her, it is not much of a stretch to assume that he bedded her multiple times until she showed signs of pregnancy. It is a very easy thing to infer actually.

He was probably as insulting and as violent (or at the very least, cold) with her in bed as he always was in every other aspect from the very start of their relationship. As they both confirm that she receives his abuse openly (until her escape), and as she wishes to be a "good wife," she likely did not struggle to avoid her "marital duties," but again, she clearly hates him for most of her marriage, and we learn that she despises him immediately after their marriage when the veil finally fully drops. And with how upfront with her he initially was about his intentions, and how his own verbal admissions + outright verbal abuse failed to quell her desire for him initially, what more than physical and especially sexual violence could have led Isabella to despise him so soon after their consummation? Their sexual experiences couldn't have gone splendidly for her, and for him it was likely a mechanical chore he likely resented and was therefore probably not delicate with (he hates delicacy anyway).

Yet, while Heathcliff is violent and predatory (in the colloquial as well as the primal, animalistic sense, as he is always related to nature even in his very name), he also contains hints of a long-buried goodness, as we all know, and this is what makes him a fascinating protagonist. He has a capacity for strong feeling, a deliberate if not faulty moral code, and he sometimes shows kindness accidentally.

This is why Heathcliff catching baby Hareton is such a pivotal moment in the story, because it is only after he saves his life that he actually realizes what he's done and then muses that he should've let the child die. This scene shows that his natural subconscious instinct is actually good, and that his external situations are what have shaped his darker impulses on the conscious level. In other words, he causes us to examine the nature vs nurture debate.

Despite later abusing him, Heathcliff sees Hareton as a son-like figure in his own twisted way, and in the end as he loses his life forces, he gives Hareton and Cathy II his blessings like a father would — he essentially is Hareton's father, and he is legally Cathy II's father-in-law, first through his son Linton and then we could say through his unofficial adoption of Hareton, who he says he would have preferred as a son. So Cathy II has Heathcliff as a sort of double father figure, though of course she would never accept this.

At one point, Heathcliff notes that he takes good care not to do anything that could be proven to be criminal or illegal. In his usual exactness, he was pretty much right. He is always tip-toeing the line of immorality: in the gothic literary tradition, his relationship with Cathy I has incestuous undertones, but they are not legally or biologically related, and so he skates by.

He declares that he has no regrets and that he's done nothing wrong by technical standards. Manipulating, lying, mental and physical abuse of one's financial dependents, and marital rape (hypothetical or not) were all within legal bounds for the most part, and even the forced marriage of Linton H./Cathy II was done through the process of emotional blackmail (and physical evidence in the form of her love letters) so that in his mind, he wasn't actually responsible.

However, Heathcliff may have reasoned that sexually abusing one's daughter-in-law in revenge may be in violation of the law; that he would gain severe detraction from his "slaves" Nelly, Hareton, even Joseph; and that if such a huge scandal broke out, he would have a harder time finding tenants, etc. — also, I don't think Heathcliff would have felt like he "needed" to sexually abuse Cathy II to get revenge against her/her family, because as he says, at that point he already has his revenge and his victory; he already has her lands, and degrades her every day by forcing her to be a servant and a slave, and by abusing her in every other way. Sexually abusing her would be an extra effort on his part.

And I don't think he would gain anything out of it aside from revenge. I don't really think Heathcliff has much sexual interest in anyone at all, probably not due to inborn asexuality but due to his depression, trauma, emotional repression, and general issues. Although he and Cathy I have an extremely passionate spiritual relationship, I can't say that I believe he ever experienced fully actualized/conscious sexual feelings even for her. Considering their youth and rocky position when he leaves her for his hiatus, and the very brief period of their reunion, their relationship was likely never "consummated" — or at least I see no hard textual evidence to suggest that it was, although I'm sure many people could probably argue against this. And regardless of whether or not he and Cathy I ever had a physically sexual relationship, I don't think he could ever really be seriously attracted to anyone but her.

But in order to get his revenge, he did bed Isabella likely multiple times until her pregnancy. And as McMaster demonstrates below, by encouraging Cathy II to marry his son — and quite literally seducing her himself by writing love letters to her under his son's name — Heathcliff essentially beds her by proxy, if not in actuality. He wants her property, and he wants her, and because his son is the same age as her and dying, he decides to use him as the perfect pawn to access her by

If Linton H. died before he could be married to Cathy II, would Heathcliff have attempted to marry Cathy II on his own? I think this is a fascinating topic to theorize about, and I can only assume the answer would be yes, because Hareton wouldn't have worked as a pawn, though perhaps Heathcliff would have simply manipulated Hareton to sign over Cathy II's inheritance to him instead (as the laws of marital coverture meant husbands were entitled to 100% of their wives money/property/inheritance). But at that point Heathcliff was still looking for revenge (and therefore may not have been adverse to getting it like he did in his first marriage with Isabella), and he may not have wanted to be financially responsible for the newly weds and their potential offspring, or to suffer legal repercussions if Cathy II or someone else convinced Hareton to hire a lawyer lol. But I digress.

And as the last quote in the following list demonstrates, I think it was not only a touch of the gothic incest theme that Emily was going for by having Lockwood assume Cathy II is Heathcliff's wife, but that it was intentionally symbolic of how weird and difficult-to-define their relationship is: they don't act like father and daughter in-laws, but he is legally her provider and in-house patriarch, and she is the lady of the house, and she is the closest thing to her mother he has. I could write whole essays about that last point & the similarities of both Catherines, such as their fearlessness, particularly toward Heathcliff (and I believe this makes him uncomfortable and even scares him at times).

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Excerpts from Juliet McMaster's "The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery" via JSTOR:

"Linton is called at one point 'only a feeble tool to his father' (205). In the sexual context he becomes a sort of human dildo, which his father uses to rape and degrade the second Catherine, the child bride whose birth caused the death of the Catherine whom Heathcliff loved."

"'Making love in play, eh?' says Heathcliff of the young couple, with grim jocularity (188). And that is the way in which Bronte develops this courtship of juveniles."

"Heathcliff even writes half of Linton's love letters for him, so that they turn out 'singularly odd compounds of ardour and flatness,' 'copious love letters, foolish as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet with touches, here and there, which I thought were borrowed from a more experienced source' (182), records Nelly. Catherine is being wooed by son and father together. And when the time comes, the marriage is consummated by the same team."

"[Linton] takes his pleasure, when Catherine pushes him off, in summoning his father and in witnessing the physical domination of his bride [..]"

"After Heathcliff abducts and incarcerates young Catherine and her attendant, he keeps our narrator, Nelly, imprisoned for 'five nights and four days' (220). Meanwhile the marriage ceremony is performed, but we have no one to describe it for us."

"'She's not to go; we won't let her' [..] Now more than ever Linton's life and opinions are ruled by his father: he can do little more than parrot what 'he says.' If Linton's satisfied mein suggests the happy bridegroom, his role as husband, lord and master is shared with his father."

"Heathcliff testifies, 'I heard him draw a pleasant picture to Zillah of what he would do [to Catherine], if he were as strong as I. The inclination is there' (228). Linton evidently has a conception of himself and his father as complementary in this sexual context, part of a team."

"Heathcliff's appropriation of the property and physical abuse of the bride leaves her in effect deflowered. His brutal blow that makes the blood flow recalls his symbolic defloration of Isabella, Linton's mother, when he hurls the knife."

"[Heathcliff] won't listen to Nelly's pleas that since he hates the young couple he may as well let them stay at the Grange. 'I want my children about me, to be sure,' he answers with chilling irony; '—besides, that lass owes me her services for her bread' (227). One wonders what sort of 'services' he has in mind. He apparently intends to prolong the honeymoon at which he has assisted. And as he takes her away, there is some doubt, as in Lockwood's mind at the beginning of the novel, whether Catherine is Heathcliff's daughter-in-law or his bride [..]"

Source: McMaster, Juliet. “The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery.” Victorian Review, vol. 18, no. 1, 1992, pp. 1–12. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/27794707.

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melancholypilled · 1 year ago

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I’ve been replaying bloodborne and the dlc is so beautiful, and i’ve been having thoughts

TW for sexual violence

Kos is obviously a symbol of womanhood and motherhood, her name is “mother kos” and she is designed to almost resemble a human woman laying on her stomach, as present in the official art. This contrasts ebrietes, blood starved beast and moon presence, who are all female but appear scary for the horror effect. She also resides in the only ocean like area in the game, the fishing hamlet. Water of course being a literary symbol for birth and fertility, and the boss is literally her child wielding his placenta.

This concept is not only in her appearance but is made present within the lore, and reflects a much larger issue. Kos was once revered, but was later grossly violated by the hunters, as they used the parasites inside her body as well as her blood, and it can be inferred that more was done to her as her corpse is drastically more deformed compared to her normal appearance. The violations of mother kos can possibly be an allegory for rape and other sexual violence, as the term “violated” is frequently associated with rape, and her possibly unwanted pregnancy may have been a result of this, metaphorically speaking.

It is confirmed that Lady Maria committed suicide over the tragedies at the research hall, and the fishing hamlet. She obviously did this because of the trauma that she endured for witnessing Kos being mutilated and watching over human experimentation. However, Maria is the only hunter shown to have been psychologically impacted by Yharnam’s violence. This is a stretch, but perhaps Maria felt extra sympathy from Kos, as they are both female. The universal suffering of women affected her more than Gehrman or Ludwig, because she could relate to Kos

it’s a graphic allegory for the sexual violence that women face, bloodborne is full of this idea, but Kos’s tragic story highlights the universal suffering of women

#bloodborne #womanhood #fromsoft #bloodborne theory #mother kos #orphan of kos #lady maria #feminist analysis #tw rap3

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gotham25052 · 12 days ago

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Dark Waters

Part 6

Contents: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

As the social fabric of Gotham begins to fray and the Joker's intrusion into her life escalates, Anna struggles to maintain control. But is she threatened by the Joker or by something within herself?

Author's note: Annie has some visitors at the hospital...

TW: 18+, violence, mild sexual content, heavy themes including contemplation of death, mention of morgue, body bag, funeral homes, suspected/inferred necrophilia (nothing graphic)

Dark Waters, Part 6

At first, everything that was happening blurred together for Annie at the hospital. She didn't remember very much from day to day. The parade of doctors and nurses never ended - so many faces passing by her bed. They were constantly checking her heart rate, drawing her blood, sending her for scans. An exhaustion like nothing she had felt before pursued her, and she just wanted them all to go away so that she could sleep.

She felt in the beginning like they were killing her with all the testing, but when she started to have longer breaks between coughing fits, she realized the antibiotics they were using were working. The first time she slept through the night without waking up in a struggle to breath, she felt like she was in heaven.

The sameness of the days was filled with repeated moments - breathing treatments, short walks in the hospital's hallways - until she wasn't sure how many times she had followed the same routine. But she could see from the calendar the nurses refreshed each week that about a month had passed since she entered the hospital.

She had some difficulty acting as if she was her new pseudonym, Sarah Lilton, but her usual reticence to talk and her stoicism served her well and helped her avoid mistakes when talking. Silence was her ally.

One of the doctors, the one who seemed to be in charge, she thought it was Dr. Breall - he always studied her vitals with wide eyes, as if she posed some serious danger to him. It was hard for her to understand. She didn't think she came across as very threatening, here ill in the hospital. She had no idea that the Joker had threatened this particular doctor with impromptu surgery if she didn't recover. Though, perhaps it was somewhat naive of her not to guess that some type of intimidation had happened.

The one thing that gave her an anchor in this new world was the image of the Joker in her mind. His voice, his dirty hair, it was so far removed from this sanitized existence. She dwelled on all the details of him, clinging to them like a lifeline to the outside world.

She watched the news each day on the TV in her room, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, some reminder that he was actually out there. But hardly any information about him surfaced. Instead, stories about Dent's passport system and the checkpoints took up most of the broadcasts. Little incidents had begun to happen - a small demonstration of peaceful protesters had tried to walk through a checkpoint, refusing to show their passports, and had been disbursed with tear gas and arrested. Bizarrely, a few of them were wearing clown masks - Annie could hardly believe a peaceful demonstrator was wearing the same mask as the Joker's armed thugs. But in such a divided city, the citizens of Lower Gotham seemed to be embracing anything that was against Dent's checkpoints.

The news was full of other related events. A new mother with her baby was held up for hours because she didn't have paperwork for the newborn; stores were short on inventory because of truckers' difficulty passing the border between the two halves of the city. But these events were trivial compared to the last one the news had covered - the details stayed with her and made her feel uneasy. A man had pulled out a gun when passing through the main checkpoint on the largest bridge between Lower and Upper Gotham. He had mortally wounded two of the officers staffing the booths there and was also killed himself. The story explained that he was a father with three children, an average man who had never shown any signs of violence before. Something about the situation in Gotham now had pushed this man to extremes he never would have come to otherwise. Annie wondered what would happen as the weather warmed into spring and the city's residents returned to the streets.

"Well, Sarah, you have someone famous coming to visit you today," the nurse said one morning. "Lucky lady, the best room in the hospital and important visitors." Annie's brow furrowed, her first thought of someone famous that she knew being the Joker, but knowing that the nurse wouldn't be excited about a visit from him. The nurse seemed to expect a response, so Annie responded with a hollow, "Yes, I'm very lucky." She attempted an awkward smile, but knew it must have not been convincing. The nurse just shook her head and laughed, finishing up recording her vitals for the morning.

The nurses and staff straightened up her room and encouraged her to brush her hair. There was some kind of strange excitement in the air for this visit. Annie could barely control her nerves - anything out of the ordinary was concerning to her. She had no idea how or when she would get out of this hospital, and she was constantly afraid of giving away her identity. Someone even put a bouquet of flowers on the table by her bed, but they had no meaning to her - she knew they were there just as decoration, to be inviting to whatever guest was coming. She suddenly felt quite alone, quite a lot more alone than she had felt at any time during her stay in the hospital so far.

Later that morning, her fear only increased when she saw two police officers enter the room, throwing her into a panic. She maintained the same stoic composure she had adopted for her entire stay in the hospital, but under the surface she knew she may have been discovered.

However, when the next person strode in, she knew the officers were just a security detail. It was Mayor Dent, looking much larger in life than he did on TV screens. He walked in with practiced ease, looking cheerful despite the bleak hospital walls. He sat down in the chair by her bed, and her gaze was suddenly far away, thinking of a very different person who had been there in the same chair when she first arrived.

Her faraway stare and look of concern didn't seem to phase Dent, as he regarded her and said "Good morning, Sarah, I'm sorry to be intruding on you like this," with the easiest affability in the world. She looked at him with his signature blond hair and tailored suit, everything painting the picture of a dedicated and charismatic public servant. Anyone would be disarmed by his politeness, his attractive appearance. But Annie was not just anyone, she had experience with lawyers and the legal system, and she was not so easily charmed. Her vigilance was only increased by his smooth demeanor and polite words.

"How are you feeling," he asked, seeming to really want to know the answer. She was hoping he wouldn't ask questions and was already at a loss as to how to answer. "Um, I feel good, much better," she said, looking at him anxiously. "Ok, that's good," he replied, seeming to smile away her awkwardness.

"Well, it's a beautiful day outside, hopefully you'll get to go home soon and enjoy being free from this hospital. I know you must be tired of the long stay you've had here."

She nodded silently and he shifted in his seat, clearly ready to pursue a different line of inquiry.

"Sarah, I came today to ask for your help. Do you remember… how you got to the hospital?"

Her eyes rolled to the side, already feeling suffocated. This must be why he was here. "I remember some of it, not all," she said carefully.

"Well, you must remember the man who brought you here, he would be hard to forget, with the makeup and all," another easy smile spread across Dent's face, as if he was dismissing the Joker's appearance, making light of the clown that was terrorizing Gotham.

"Yes, yes, I think it was the Joker, right? Or maybe someone pretending to be him? I've seen him on the news before. Yes, it was all very strange for me." She had at least thought about what she might say if asked about how she arrived, during her long weeks of recovery in the hospital, so she had some idea of how to respond to these types of questions. The words felt strange in her mouth, though - she had always preferred silence to lying.

"We are just wondering why he went to the trouble to bring you here. He took a huge risk when he came to this hospital. It would be odd to do that for a stranger - are you sure you've never met him before?" his face had become more serious, the interrogation skills of the lawyer becoming more apparent.

"Yes, I had just gone out to try to find a clinic, because I was so sick, and I couldn't handle the snow and fainted. I have no idea why he was there, why he brought me here. He does seem… unpredictable? Maybe it was some kind of a… joke?"

"Well, I suppose that's possible," said Dent, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. It was clear to her that he had something else up his sleeve, something he was going to throw at her. He clearly didn't believe her story.

"So Sarah… Sarah Lilton, right?" She nodded her head slowly. "Let's hear a little more about you - where did you grow up? Where do you work?" His words had become icy, and his demeanor was no longer the affable politician. He was instead the clever lawyer.

She paused, knowing she couldn't answer those questions convincingly. She took a deep breath, following her only option at this point. "I'm feeling tired, please, I don't want to answer any more questions today."

"You can't even tell me where you work?" he said with mock surprise.

Her demeanor changed too, and despite her small frame and the clear marks illness had left on her, her eyes held him in a clear, unflinching gaze. "I don't think I have to answer your questions. If you are accusing me of something, then I'll need a lawyer, please."

She could hear him exhale, his anger finally rising to the surface.

This interview had not gone in the way he had hoped, at all, he realized. How could this clown draw these types of people to him, with their insane loyalty? Dent himself didn't have those kinds of followers - his people had turned on him as soon as his popularity in the polls began to fall. How did the Joker inspire this kind of devotion? They must all be lunatics. Dent cursed the fate that had pitted him against such a foe. He wished that he could have brought his gun to the hospital, but of course that wasn't allowed. Looking at her, somehow he doubted even that would make her give him away.

He was already sitting quite close to the bed, and now his arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. He wasn't able to yell or threaten her there in the hospital, but all his anger was channeled down into his grip on her. His face contorted with stress and the effort he was putting in to squeezing her wrist. She drew in a sharp breath with the pain, feeling like her bones would break, but her gaze remained unwavering and never left his face.

He finally let go with a sigh of frustration and got up. He didn't look at her again. He spoke to the officers at the door. "As soon as she's well enough, book her, get her down to the station. She goes directly from the hospital to the station." He walked out of the room, resuming his usual easy manner, so that the doctors and nurses didn't even know what had happened. They had been remarking on how their patient and Dent could have almost been brother and sister, or even an attractive couple, with their similarly light colored hair (though hers was slightly darker than his) and delicate features. They both looked almost angelic.

She had felt somewhat trapped before, not knowing how she would leave, but now the hospital became a prison for her. She knew they would come for her, and from there, she knew that the police could bypass some of her legal rights if they submitted her for a psychiatric evaluation and deemed her to be Arkham material. All her fears of the mental institution flooded back now, and she began to wish the Joker had left her there in the snow. She only knew the rumors about Arkham, but they were enough for her to recognize that she wouldn't survive there.

She didn't completely lose hope that there would be a way out, but any expectation of freedom seemed very doubtful with the increased security that seemed to have begun after Dent's visit. The false kindness of his words also stayed with her. It was frightening to see the monster behind a man with such a good public image and wholesome appearance.

The flowers at her bedside were starting to wilt. She wondered if they would come and discard it, or if she should try to take care of it. She hadn't paid any attention to it, assuming it was some kind of decor that was meant to make her room more attractive for Dent's visit. But now, regarding it, she noticed it was quite an unusual collection of flowers - dark purple irises next to yellow lilies and pale pink roses - the colors clashed more than they complimented one another. She studied it more closely, noticing that there was a note in the small plastic holder. She reached out and took it, her curiosity now taking over. She opened it and read the simple message, "Wait for me."

Somehow it made sense that he would have left a message for her hidden in plain sight. She held it close to her for a moment, feeling warmed from within knowing that he was working on a way to get her out. She came back to herself and realized she needed to hide it. She placed the message in her waistband - she realized the best thing to do would be to flush it. At this point it was possible they would be going through the wastebaskets in the room.

It was late afternoon, the time that the janitors usually came around to the rooms to clean the floors and bathrooms. She often observed them working, just as a distraction from the boredom of being stuck in bed. Today she quickly realized that something was different - only one person entered the room.

He had his back to her, but she recognized him immediately from the smooth lines of his tall form. She might also have noticed it was him from the strange, abrupt way he mopped. Somehow it looked like the mop was guiding him instead of him guiding the mop. Otherwise he looked very much like anyone else in the hospital - he had his curly hair pulled back, erasing its unique texture, and there wasn't a hint of green in it.

She gasped as a nurse walked into the room, and she quickly looked away from his figure in the corner, not wanting to draw attention to him. The nurse took care of the equipment around her, noting the various readings from the monitors. "Your heart rate is high, Sarah, are you feeling all right?" she asked.

"Um, yes, just - I think I had a nightmare, like a flashback to when I was out there in the snow," Annie stumbled out.

"Yes, you have been through a lot. I'll check on it again later."

Annie closed her eyes and turned toward the wall to avoid talking further. She wasn't sure when the nurse left, but she realized there must be no one else in the room when she felt his face in her hair, his nose pressed to her scalp as he gathered the rest of it in handfuls and brought it around his face.

She would have been surprised if she could have read his thoughts. In fact, when he found her, seeing her hair strewn out on the snow had affected him in a way he didn't fully understand. He was the Joker, he personally sliced open bodies without a second thought, nothing phased him. Maybe it was some suppressed memory, or something about the contrast of the warm color of her hair on the unforgiving whiteness of the snow, but the image had stayed with him and allowed him little rest. Now he just wanted to feel it around him, to feel her warmth in the strands.

She stayed motionless, unsure of what to do and how to respond. He finally pulled back, though his face was still quite close as he knelt there by the bed. She turned her head to look at him. He had none of his usual makeup, his face naked in a way that had surprised her before on the rocky seawall. The surgical mask he had likely been wearing while cleaning was pulled down under his chin, revealing the familiar outline of his scars.

Her eyes ran over the jagged, protruding marks branching back from his lips. Here in the hospital they just looked like mundane injuries, injuries that needed to be fixed. They were old wounds that had hurt him, weakened him. She suddenly understood some small part of why he painted his face. The paint made the scars a prominent mark of his identity, something that distinguished him and struck fear into the viewer. They were no longer just a damaged echo from his past.

But the origin of his scars seemed too intimate, too personal, for her to dwell on. Despite her new understanding of her own feelings, he was still a remote being for her, hard to grasp. Her eyes explored the rest of his face. He looked tired, worn, dark circles under his eyes, his face washed-out and colorless.

She didn't know what to say, but she felt somehow responsible for the challenges he was facing in the effort to get her out of the hospital. "I'm sorry I did this…. I'm sorry I put you in this situation," she said guiltily.

"Shhh, no kitten, this is fun for me, I like a challenge," he said quietly, a toothy smile overtaking the normality of his face and making it clear he was no less than the Joker, even with the makeup off.

"What's this," he said, suddenly picking up her arm. His eyes had caught the discolored ring around her wrist, the bruise spreading black and red on her pale skin away from where Dent had held her several days before. "Have they changed medical practices recently? Is this some new treatment?"

"It's nothing, it will be gone in a week. Please, don't worry about it." She pleaded with him, knowing that she didn't want to stoke the fires between him and Dent any further. She feared that the explosion that would happen when the two met would blow them both away.

"Mmm hmmm," he said noncommittally. "Dent did this, didn't he? My people here on the inside, they told me he visited you. I guess it didn't end too well." His eyelids half closed and his expression became completely blank, in a way she had not seen before. But she knew instinctively that this must be his look when he was in his most dangerous of moods.

"Forget it, please," she repeated, and he shook off the trance he had been in for a moment. "Ok, kitten, we don't have much time. We have to go over the plan to get you out of here."

He stayed on his knees by the bed, looking at her and combing her hair back with his fingers, reordering it after he had messed it up so badly wrapping it around his face.

"It's going to be difficult, getting you out. Dent has gotten smarter, meaner."

He took a strand of hair and smoothed it back carefully behind her ear.

He quietly shared the details of what would happen, and she grew more and more alarmed. "No clothes?" she said. He nodded and continued to explain, and she was liking the plan less and less as he went. He pulled a small vial from the pocket of the scrubs he was wearing and placed it in her hand. "This will help, it will make your skin paler and will slow your breathing."

"Will I be asleep?"

"No, not exactly. You'll just feel very… sluggish. And this too" he pulled out another small container. She opened it, revealing a bluish cream. "Just put a little around your eyes and on your lips. It won't fool someone experienced, but for anyone not really paying attention, it will work." The idea of being put in this situation terrified her, and she showed it on her face.

"Listen, Annie, you know as well as me that the first thing they'll do is send you to Arkham. I don't know exactly what you've heard, but it's ten times worse than any of the rumors about it. This is our best chance to get you out of here."

She sighed. "I'll do it. I don't know if it will work."

"It will work," he said. "I'm stacking the odds in your favor."

He was finishing with the final few strands of her hair, taking them back away from her face.

"You follow my plan this time, but I'm telling you something you should remember - you should never trust someone else's plan. Next time, you make your own plan, and then you have a second plan ready if that one fails too. That's the only way to survive in this world."

She looked at him, confused. She could barely handle the plan he had given her.

It was clear that he would have to leave now that he had finished sharing the details with her. Every second he was here added to the risk that he would be discovered.

She wondered how he would say goodbye - they both knew there was something between them, but there was certainly no precedent for what to do in such a strange relationship, in as unromantic a setting as a hospital. She looked at him with wide eyes, dwelling on his face and worried that she may never make it out of the hospital at all. He began to rise to leave, but while still on his knees, he brought his face to the side of her head and came close to her ear, the ear he had so carefully uncovered while smoothing back her hair. She felt his lips brush against it, and then his teeth gently closed on her earlobe, sending a chill down her neck. He quickly withdrew and walked backwards, grabbing the mop, his smile disappearing as he placed the surgical mask back over the lower half of his face. He became anonymous again with the addition of the mask and turned around, disappearing quickly into the hallway.

She thought she had felt alone before. Now she truly did.

She was glad that only a week had passed between the time she learned about the plan and the time she woke from a nap in the evening to the nurse's aide whispering, "It's time." She had dreaded the day and simply wanted to get it over with, whatever the outcome.

She had seen this aide before, but never knew that she was working for the Joker. "Ok," said Annie, with little else that she could say or do. She had gone over the tasks she needed to complete several times before in her mind. Drink the contents of the vial, put on a little of the blue makeup… After her first experience with one of the Joker's concoctions, that time involuntarily, she was very reluctant to take it. But she recalled the reason for all this, and the threat of Arkham, and she drank it in one swallow. The mild sweet taste caught her by surprise. But she soon felt dizzy and knew she didn't have a lot of time. She dabbed on the makeup and took off the flimsy hospital gown, hesitating for a moment before she placed herself into the cold plastic of the body bag on the gurney that the aide had brought. The dizziness was becoming overwhelming now, and the nurse's aide looked down on her with a concerned expression. Annie managed to say, "Please help, zip it for me?" And the aide complied, zipping up the bag almost but not completely, as she'd been instructed, but not before she tied on the toe tag.

Annie lay in the dark inside the bag, all of her senses numbed somewhat and her powers of movement slowed. But she could feel the gurney being pushed down the hallway and into an elevator. She knew they would be heading to the hospital morgue, the transit point that the Joker's escape plan centered around. According to him, they would just check the tag and place her into a compartment, almost like a drawer. She felt completely powerless and the dizziness was now joined by nausea, making everything worse.

The gurney finally halted, and Annie heard the aide talking to someone, a man. It sounded like this was where she was being handed off at the morgue. All was silent for a while, and then she heard the man's voice somewhere at a distance, saying, "Ok, good sir, there you go. All tucked in for the night." Was there someone else in the room? Her thinking was dulled a bit just like her movements, but she finally put together that he must be talking to the bodies. Was he inspecting them before he closed the morgue for the night? He seemed to have nicknames for each one, which was quickly becoming disturbing.

She suddenly heard the sound of the zipper above her face and used all the self-control she had to stay as still as she could. He unzipped it all the way down to her feet, and she felt the cold air of the morgue hit her naked skin. "Oh, a young one, this is out of the ordinary…" the man began, immediately putting her on alert. She could feel him near her shoulder - he must have been taking a strand of her hair in his hand. "And such pretty hair." She could only guess that he must be staring at her, and she knew the gig was up. If he touched her skin, there was no way she could remain still. Her movements might be slow and awkward, but she would most definitely give herself away. The Joker's plan would be up in smoke, and she was sure the security around her would be heightened a thousandfold with this escape attempt.

She was surprised to feel a cold line under on her upper lip, like someone holding a piece of metal there. She still managed to stay motionless, but knew it couldn't bode well. The feeling disappeared and she knew the man must be gone. She didn't dare open her eyes.

The man had left her there, poking his head out into the hallway. "Hey Dr. Breall, is this one of your patients? She's here in the morgue, but she seems to be breathing." He pulled the doctor in from the hallway. "Oh my God," he said, when he saw the fog on the mirror the man held below her nose.

Dr. Breall wasn't stupid, he guessed this was some plan the Joker had to get her out. And the sooner she was out of his care, the sooner he would be off the hook with the Joker's threat. He turned his attention from Annie to the man, a decisive look taking over his panicked face. He would take a risk in an effort to keep himself out of trouble.

"Look, Ethan, I've had my suspicions about you down here in this morgue. Your job is to check the toe tags and put them in the drawer, that's it. So why is the bag completely unzipped on this body? I may be able to turn a blind eye to whatever you do down here if you listen and do what I say: you take this body, and you put it in a drawer like you would usually do, but don't you dare lay a finger on it. Just leave it be, don't pay any attention to it. My life is on the line here, so you better be sure if you do anything differently, I'll have your name plastered in the papers with whatever you do down here. Do you understand?"

"I don't do anything wrong…"

"Maybe you don't. But if the overseeing doctor of Gotham General accuses you of something, how do you think that will end up for you?"

"Yeah, I understand." She could hear the zipper being closed and she felt some relief at simply being covered again, though it was small comfort with such a thin protection.

She soon felt the hard platform she was lying on raised and placed on another surface, and then all the light she could see through the slots in the zipper were gone and she was in complete darkness, cold and silent. It was clear with the receding sounds and doors closing that the morgue attendant had finally left for the night. She was afraid of falling asleep in the cold, with the effects of the drug she had taken. She was frightened that she may never wake up. She hardly knew she was doing it, but suddenly she realized she had gone far back, deep into her mind, and she was reciting verses she remembered from her youth. They didn't hold particular meaning or comfort for her in this situation, but the simple act of remembering and keeping her lips moving refreshed her and kept her from sleep.

It would have been quite terrifying if a bystander had walked into the morgue that night. If they listened very carefully, they would have heard whispered verses, enunciated clearly and quietly, from the more unsettling parts of the Bible, from Revelation, from Job. She went through all the verses she knew that night. She was one of those who had memorized several books of the Bible, so it kept her occupied for much of the night. Luckily, no one entered to hear the muffled whispers in the otherwise still metal room.

Morning finally came. New staff had arrived at the hospital morgue for the day shift, and hearing voices lifted Annie's spirits. The drug also seemed to be wearing off, making her feel more aware and able to move freely. She would have to hope that they did not unzip the bag to look at her. The voices came closer to the compartment she was in and began to open the drawer. She made an effort to breath as shallowly as possible to avoid giving herself away. Luckily, they seemed to not be paying much attention to her.

"Huh, Langendecker funeral home? I've never seen this one," a man's voice said. Another man answered, "Well, they seem pretty anxious to get this body, they said the family wants the funeral as soon as possible."

"Ok, well, whatever." One of them opened the bag from the bottom to check the toe tag, making it clear that it was a two-way zipper. The fact that the morgue's night attendant had opened the zipper from the top became even more disturbing in her mind.

"Yeah, that matches. Ok, lets get it out there and be done with this one at least." She felt them lift the bag onto some other surface, and then she was being wheeled through some large room in the morgue. When they reached the loading dock doors and headed outside, the sunlight filtered through the gaps in the zipper and the stripe of light gave her hope that she was done with her ordeal.

She felt herself being transferred yet again. One of the morgue staff asked, "Langendecker, you guys new in the area or something?"

"Oh, we're based more on the outskirts of town, you probably haven't heard of us before," a new voice answered.

They seemed to have loaded her into a vehicle. In another few minutes, she could feel movement and knew they were leaving. She felt more relieved the more the distance grew between her and the hospital, though the deep cold that she had felt throughout the night and the strange aftereffects of the drug made also made her ill. Someone unzipped the bag over her face and the sun blinded her. Her hands involuntarily went up to her face to protect them from the onslaught of light. "Kitten, it's me," his familiar voice said. She leaned back, now allowing the shivering that had been building all night to break out with vigor. He took a blanket he seemed to have brought for the occasion and draped it over her as he unzipped the bag. She quickly picked up on what was happening and wrapped the blanket around herself, both for warmth and to cover her body. She was sitting next to him in a large van, shelves arranged on one side - it must be a funeral home's van, meant for transporting bodies from the hospital. She was thankful it was empty except for the Joker and his men.

"Here, sit up. Drink this." he said, handing her a thermos. "It's a great antidote."

"I don't know if I want to drink any of the things you mix up," she said, her teeth chattering. "Just drink," he said, smiling.

She took a cautious sip. "Is this… hot chocolate?"

"Yeah, it is. It helps, trust me. I tried that stuff you had a few weeks ago. It's awful."

The familiar warm taste did seem to chase away the remaining numbness that the drug had induced, and warmed her from the relentless cold that had plagued her at night.

He seemed to be in a delighted mood; she wasn't sure if it was because he had gotten her out or because he had fooled Dent again. She suspected it was probably a combination of the two. He must have decided the occasion was worth his full attire - he was wearing his suit, purple jacket, everything - and his face seemed freshly painted.

"The woman who helped me - will she be all right?" Annie asked.

"Well, she wouldn't be, if she was still here, but she is flying to back to her home country right now, to her family, a very wealthy woman now. It's what she wanted, for her help," he answered, giving Annie some consolation. She didn't want to be personally responsible for someone else's imprisonment.

"I brought you some clothes, kitten. You really don't have much to choose from, you know."

The trivial topic of her wardrobe struck her as incredibly out of place considering the ordeal she had just been through. She took the shirt and pants he handed her.

"Go ahead," he said casually. Her eyes roamed over to him and then to the other two men in the back of the van, and then up to the driver. He rolled his eyes. "Ok, kitten, we'll find a way."

He went up to the front and talked to the driver, who pulled over into a small, empty parking lot.

"We have to stay here in the van. We don't want you on any security cameras in the city."

"Uh, everyone look away, the kitten is going to change." The men looked confused but when they saw the Joker's face, they moved to the front and started smoking together. "Give me the blanket. Come on, I'm not looking." He turned his head and closed his eyes, holding his arms out for the blanket, looking incredibly comical in his intimidating attire in such an unusual posture. She unwrapped the blanket from around her body and placed one corner in each of his hands. She put on the shirt and pants, thankful to be covered in normal clothing again.

"Are you done?" he drawled impatiently. "Yes," she said, pulling the blanket from his hands and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Let's go, to the exchange," he yelled to the front, and the driver took off again.

They drove for a while longer, until they found themselves on one of the subterranean streets of Gotham. These places always frightened Annie - she avoided them when alone, but often saw them through the bus windows as she commuted from home to work. They came to an area that was mostly free of onlookers, except for one seemingly homeless man wandering near an abandoned car. The funeral van pulled up right next to the car, the Joker announcing, "Time to move."

The men quickly exited the funeral van, getting into the car. The Joker took Annie by the arm, guiding her into the car, and they were soon speeding away again. Looking back, Annie saw the van suddenly burst into flame. The man under the bridge must have been instructed to burn it once they were far enough away. It occurred to her that it must have taken a huge amount of planning to get her out safely and she looked at the Joker, in awe of his ability to work miracles like this. She realized she didn't have to be Sarah anymore and breathed a sigh of relief, leaning her head back in the seat and closing her eyes. He glanced over at her, a knowing smile on his face, and then resumed watching the city go by out his window.

"You're home," she heard him say, and woke up - she must have dozed off in the car.

"Home?" she said, confused.

"Yeah, your apartment…" She came back to herself, realizing they were indeed pulled up in front of her apartment building. It felt very strange to be back. He took her arm and helped brace her as she walked up the steps - she was still unsteady on her feet. "You're not worried about being seen?" she asked, looking around them. "No, kitten, we took out the security cameras around your apartment months ago. And we're in Lower Gotham now." He pointed into the distance, where a small group of young men was gathered on a corner. A couple of them wore clown masks, and it was hard to tell, but it looked like one wore the distinctive white, black, and red clown makeup. "Copycats," he said, "No one knows who the real one is now."

She let the information sink in, feeling like she had landed back in some alien world, not her own small corner of Gotham. But if there were gangs of disorderly clowns roaming the streets, it was hardly more dangerous to her than the police would be now. And the way he was supporting her gave her comfort, making her feel protected in this new world. As they finally came to her door and opened it, she realized that he and his men must have cleaned up the mess she had left here when she was ill.

He took her by the hand, the unusual gesture sending warmth up through her arm. His hands were so warm without the gloves. He must have taken them off. He sat her on the bed, and took a place beside her. He put his hand on the side of her neck, guiding her chin upward and turning her face toward him gently. His fingers touched her ear and his thumb glided over her unmarked cheek, feeling the smooth unbroken skin. His steadfast gaze and absolute concentration on her hit her deeply. Everything around them seemed to stop - she wouldn't have been surprised if the clock on her bedstand had ceased its endless ticking. "I want you to rest. I want you to get stronger," he told her, his voice wrapping around her like velvet. "I'm going to go now, you tell my guys outside if you need anything."

He began to rise from the bed, but she didn't let go of his hand.

He turned back, sitting down beside her again. She saw his eyes scanning over her face, and knew he must be realizing what a mess she had made with the makeup he had given her. It suddenly occurred to her that she must look hideous, with the blanched skin that probably still remained as an effect of the drug and her already hollowed-out countenance from her illness. She looked away, embarrassed. Her eyes darted back to him quickly though, when she felt his breath on her skin and his lips pressed against hers. They looked at one another, each wanting to see the other so close like this. The green and brown sparks danced in his dark eyes - they reminded her of the first time he held her in the ballroom. His eyes were so much more familiar now, but she still didn't understand the fire behind them.

The makeup on his lips gave them a strange slippery feel, but with the softness and warmth of them, she quickly grew accustomed to the feeling and the waxy taste that entered her mouth. She was surprised when he pulled back and reached up with his free hand, pulling down her lower lip. She half smiled, wondering what he was doing. "They're crooked," he said, running his thumb over her bottom row of teeth.

"They didn't believe in going to the dentist, where I grew up," she explained.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well… they believe that God should heal you if you have a problem. No doctors, no dentists," she said slowly, looking down, clearly remembering some unfortunate consequences of that belief. It was something more serious than crooked teeth, though it was hard to tell if her memory related to her own past or some other unfortunate soul's experience in that community.

"I like it," he said, bringing his face close to hers again. "I'm glad God didn't heal you." Their lips met and she could feel his tongue run along her teeth. They both closed their eyes this time, lost in their concentration. The hands they had been holding slowly fell to the bed as all their focus centered around the kiss. His hand surrounded hers and he pushed it down into the mattress distractedly.

The warmth of his lips, the light touch of his fingers on her neck, she didn't want it to end. It was a wonderful antidote to the numbing medicine she had taken in the hospital and the bleakness of the cold drawer she had spent the night in.

She felt so different about the way he kissed her - in her past experience, she had been kissed greedily, guiltily, as if her husband had wanted to take something away from her. This kiss was the opposite - it was warm, generous. It was as if he wasn't taking anything from her but instead giving her everything. She was completely lost in it. In some corner of her mind she recognized the absurdity of the worst criminal mastermind in the history of the city, having a kiss that was so delicate and accommodating to her. Or, the strange thought flitted across her brain, still overwhelmed by the day's events and the aftereffects of the drug she had taken, perhaps the devil's kiss is always sweet…

She curled her legs up onto the bed, drawing her knees beside him, hardly noticing she was doing it. She wanted to be closer to him, she wanted to wrap herself around him.

He drew back, his eyelids drooping, a warm breath passing out through his open lips. His expression was unsettlingly reminiscent of the look of extreme anger he had when he saw the mark Dent had left on her arm in the hospital. The intense feelings of hatred and lust both seemed to shape his features the same way - giving him a serious countenance and half-closed eyes.

He brought his hand up to smooth back his unruly hair, shifting his expression.

"Are you seducing me, kitten?" he asked lightly, turning his head and looking at her from the corners of his eyes.

He slid down to sit on the floor beside the bed and gave her a gentle push with his free hand, urging her to lie down. "Go to sleep now, I'll stay here for a while. Just sleep."

She obediently lay down on her side, allowing her gaze to roam over his hand around hers and explore the intricate colors of his hair. She felt like she was feasting, seeing him so close there. She was incredibly tired, and yet she was enjoying the free reign she was giving herself to look at him. His eyes finally rolled up to meet hers, as if he was telling her that playtime was over. She finally let her eyes close, and sleep quickly overtook her exhausted body.

When she woke up the next day, he wasn't there, but she found a white and red blur where his face had been, on the sheet hanging down over the mattress. She remembered the time she had sat in the same position all night long, when he had slept in her bed, so long ago. It seemed like lifetimes ago now. She knelt beside the bed, running her hand over the smear of makeup, wondering when she would see him again.

Additional notes: The hot chocolate is my nod to holiday cheer. :)

[spoiler alert] Sorry about the morbid aspects, but I thought there are two ways out of the hospital, and the morgue seemed more interesting than the front door.

This is fanfic, so of course I don't own any characters from The Dark Knight (Joker, Batman, etc.). The main female character is original.

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j--ackdaw · 1 year ago

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dog-eat-dog: part 1

can’t breathe.

tlou fanfic ao3 summary: You swore you would avenge her. Karma. What goes around, comes around. Before the story starts, you already cut through the hunters that had actually killed your sister and almost killed you. But now, you were on the hunt for a pair of brothers who needed to pay. word count: 1.7k warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader is nearly an OFC, but I’ll try to keep it as vague as possible (reader is in her late 20s/early 30s), dog imagery/inferences (shocking I know), based in a slightly altered game timeline, (TW) lots of blood imagery, violence, death, good ol’ revenge, allusions to abuse/torture, manipulation, trauma, physical scars, panic attacks, NO USE OF Y/N

a/n: Might write more for this?? Dunno yet. This isn’t necessarily going to be a Joel x fem!reader fanfic since well, your endgame is killing him (or close to it). Let me know if any of you would actually like me to continue this. This is kind-of a proof of concept, I guess. I thought the og plan for Abby was super gut-wrenching. So basically this is playing off that concept except earlier in the story, maybe a couple months after Ellie and Joel arrive in Jackson.

Apologies if this isn’t super well written. I’m not really a writer, but I’m trying to get better at it lol.

———

Outside Boston, Massachusetts | 2019

The woman in front of you begged for a scrap of mercy. Spit flew out of her mouth as her screams scrawled into your eardrums. A bandana hung from her neck, soggy and wet seemingly from once being used as a gag.

“Please, I’ll do anything! I won’t tell anyone, we won’t tell anyone! Just let us go! Please, I will–”

A devastating crack rang in the still, stuffy air for a few moments.

You choked on your breath, caught off guard by the sudden noise. Her cries ceased, only to leave a dead silence hanging on every breath of air you took. It was suffocating. Heavy and thick, almost as if you forced yourself to swallow each gasp of air to keep it from escaping out of your throat.

Her hair was matted. Brown, once shimmering, coils of hair knotted and tangled into an undistinguishable disarray concealing her face.

A moment prior, she had mirrored yourself. Kneeled and hunched on the spotted tile floor. Bound by a makeshift rope, her hands were covered in splatters of blood and sweat. Her attention frantically searched the bleak room before locking onto your eyes. Even in the darkened lighting, her eyes were distinct. Filled to the brim with complete, unadulterated terror.

The glint in a person's eye just before their internal clock is shattered flickered into view as she stared.

Her motionless body now laid on its side on the floor. A constant shake that enveloped her entire body was absent.

Eyes devoid of any notion of life.

Just as you peered down, a mixture of blood and brain matter inched its way beneath where you knelt and soaked the knees of your jeans. Every thread held onto what was once the woman’s lifeline, her experiences, her emotions, her triumphs, her resounding failures. All to be left to the heap on the floor and the pooling blood soaking the knees of your jeans.

It was uncomfortable. Everything in the room felt hollow. You couldn’t help but focus on the unbearable, warm wetness of your pants. Your skin crawled. You needed the sensation to stop.

It didn’t matter anymore what was being said. It didn’t matter that you could barely see through the blockade of tears obscuring your vision. It didn’t matter that all parts of you were being tugged at. It didn't matter how it was demanded for you to look into the eyes of your captures. Everything glazed over. All of the things you looked at carried a translucent, dark wash overtop. Your intense focus barred you from making out the fuzzy details in the gloomily lit room. Knives that had once made you sear with pain felt like a nail being dragged against your skin. None of it mattered.

You could only pay attention to your jeans.

The woman, your sister, was gone, and you were up for slaughter.

———

Wyoming | May 2034

Surviving by the skin of your teeth had taken a toll on you.

Day in – day out, each passing minute felt like white, hot, sweltering pain. An ever-present rumble persisted in your mind. Across your back, each movement, tight and stiff, felt like a fucked-up mnemonic omen to your past. Reminders were strung across the pavement, painted along cracked walls, hidden in the bleak corners of your sight. Closing your eyes never helped. The black void moved. It writhed into crude shapes resembling her. Shadows resembled the lifeless bodies that seemed to cling to you, no matter where you went.

Living left you battered and bruised. At the turn of your adolescence, being used as bait was what kept you fed. Supplied a cot to sleep on. Hunters dangled rations above your head on the condition you performed your 'trick' accordingly. You’d set off, hooked onto a leash of watchful eyes, feigning injury to lure unsuspecting do-gooders into a trap. A trap that left their corpses sizzling in a horrific bonfire and their belongings stacked on tables for auction. Cry for help as a ploy for the attack, get rewarded. If you escaped, you'd be stripped of essentials. You were a kid. Surviving on your own never posed as a viable option. It was hard to admit to yourself, but you’d be dead the moment you were let out of your cage. Other members drilled that fact into you. You knew even without their teeth snapping in your ears. The “Huntsman” provided an alternative far from feeling comfortable, but you could grin your teeth and bear it. Scars that sizzled along your back would be returned in due time. You laid in wait.

Into your adulthood and new-found 'freedom', surviving on your own was far more manageable. You were capable. Knowing how to defend yourself and manipulate those around you made being alone an easier plate to consume.

Long gone were the days of innocence and naivety. The cracks of bone and the tear of flesh had become your normal. You reeked of it.

The stench lingered off of you. A bloodthirsty curtain hung heavy over your eyes, dowsing all of the light they once harbored. Your experiences shaped you entirely, and not in a good way.

You were angry. Enraged. Frenzied.

A thick, heavy sheen of viscera seeped into every single waking moment and each minuscule second of your unconscious mind. You couldn’t escape it, even if you tried.

You took it in stride; no other choice was thrown to you.

Every ounce of fury ached in your bones. You used it in all facets of your existence.

You were living in a premonition. A desire. A need.

And you —

You would stop at nothing until that obligation became your reality.

Infected were commonplace. Nothing but a measly obstacle in your cyclic routines.

At first, you had been so hesitant to kill them. What if they could feel? What if they were still human? Sometimes, you thought you heard runners retching, fighting out the word 'stop', while devouring their kills. Avoiding them at all costs was a priority. You couldn’t bear the weight of the guilt if those thoughts were the truth.

Now, you had no choice.

Killing was made practical. Methodical. You had a way of going about it.

Thinking about the act too strenuously made you feel sick. Torture and the drawn-out ‘satisfaction’ of draining something of life wasn’t a pastime you enjoyed. Blood building around the eyes, it dripping from the mouth, made it too real. Death was delivered as swiftly as you could within the circumstances you were in. You’d only go the mile if it was something you deemed necessary. Or deserved, rather.

It boiled down to a quick draw of your revolver or a sweeping heave of a machete, and foes were left as nothing but flesh that oozed. They were puppets pulled on fungal strings for an organism that barely kept them alive. An infection pawning creatures as a means for motion and viability. Or, they were empty husks of people, lost too deep in the compensation for being ruthless and lusting for blood.

If anything, you were putting them out of their misery, right?

You convinced yourself to believe that.

Walking along barren, cracked roads had become a dull environment quickly. Dilapidated storefronts, battered farmhouses, and run-down neighborhoods muddled into a blur of lush greenery and rotted wood. It was calming, in a twisted way. Civilization plummeting into a remnant of what it once was felt fitting, warranted, from what little you remembered. Bricks that had been chipped away by the elements littered the ground. Structures were left as ruined time-capsules of an easier way of life. A life you didn't know long enough to stow away attachments to. A bygone era. Much of their worn, cement bones were picked clean, unlucky for you.

A few stragglers inside an abandoned home you were rummaging through became a welcome change of pace. Heart racing in your ears, the adrenaline gave you a high. You’d press yourself against a wall, letting your hearing acclimate to the subtlety of a pin drop. You’d ambush. Quick on your feet, you’d rush behind a clicker, driving your pocket knife deep into its throat. It would choke out. Gurgling and hissing for a few moments, it would give a sad attempt at clawing its way out of your grip. Promptly, it would fall limp, and you’d allow it to crumple to the floor.

Rinse and repeat.

In a jam, you’d slide over tables and counters to create distance, trusty revolver in hand. A shotgun holstered on the side of your backpack was useful if you were cornered. You’d had countless close calls, but you’d always managed to slip past. Injuries such as a broken arm or snapped ankle wouldn’t stop you regardless.

Beams providing support to a nearly collapsed roof sometimes fell from their deteriorating posts; the crash stealing your breath away. You felt rickety floorboards beneath you, then suddenly they were gone. It's dark.

She’s screaming.

She’s crying out your name. She can’t stop saying it. You can’t breathe. You’re taking in breaths; why can’t you breathe? What happened? She won’t stop shouting your name. You can’t feel your hands anymore. What’s happening? Your arms are numb. You keep blinking, but you can’t stop seeing her. You weren't here a second ago, right? Why won’t you answer her? She’s gagging on her tears. On the floor now. She’s relentlessly calling for you. Say something. Ears are buzzing. She’s coughing up blood. Can’t breathe. She’s crumbled on the floor. Legs are cold.

She isn’t yelling for you anymore.

You’re screaming.

You couldn't take it anymore. You were so close.

Nothing could stop you now. There is only so much an ability to fight could do you good for. You’d have to be smart and play your cards right.

Because you knew damn well that waltzing in with a loaded gun and a seemingly empty threat would get you nowhere.

It didn’t matter how long it’d take. You were more than ready to play the long game.

Fuck, you'd been playing the long game. This resolution had been brewing in your mind for nearly fifteen years.

This was personal. You would make it personal.

After all was said and done, you couldn’t give a shit. But until then, you needed to act the part and end this perpetual nightmare.

And kill Tommy and Joel Miller.

Or, die trying.

#dog-eat-dog #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller reader fanfic #joel miller #tommy miller

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skruffie · 1 year ago

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generic abuse tw

weird 1 am thoughts, and this is probably going to be a sad sounding post but I'm more trying to rotate something around in my head. I think part of why I've historically had a hard time talking about the abuse that happened in college is because, when it comes to trauma, one of my (kinda bad) coping skills is being analytical with it rather than getting into the feelings. But with what she did, there was nothing about it that made sense to me at all with the knowledge I have about why/how people abuse others. Alice suggested the reason why I can't fathom why is because I don't treat people like that, but like

looking at the 2011 trauma I can easily infer that a little boy growing up in an unstable household treats those traumas with alcoholism when there is little else available to him, thrives on a successful career to hide what happens behind closed doors, and does not know any other way to raise children except with violence. it's a classic pattern of behavior that we can see over and over again. we can draw the lines around the power dynamics that led to this structure and power dynamics + imbalances are big factors in abusive situations

My abuser largely... didn't. Socially, we were on the same level. If we really have to split hairs on power dynamics I can see there's an axis of maybe with her being straight versus my queerness or how I would not have worked at [redacted] without her putting in a word for me but she wasn't a supervisor. At work we were in exactly the same role. The way she grew up involved divorced parents but she had otherwise a rather normal, non-traumatic upbringing. I know a hell of a lot about trauma psychology, abuse dynamics, all of that, and there is nothing at all from our "friendship" that fits any pattern I've ever seen for why she did the things she did. I'm not even writing this out of any particular emotion like sadness or using it to vent, I'm just BAFFLED

I had a therapist pre-covid that labelled what happened as like the beginnings of a domestic violence situation but like. arguably with the fact that there were moments of actual physical and sexual abuse the only reason I think it can't be called For Real DV is because we weren't in an intimate partnership. I had a weird sense of denial for years about it because... again, nothing about what she did to me fits any pattern. We talk a lot about imperfect victims but I don't think I've ever heard anything about abusers that are very atypical from what we expect an abuser to "look" like.

#abuse tw #must reiterate that I Am Okay but i'm just thinking some thoughts

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yxjieuns · 3 years ago

Text

hi hello issa me, ur resident hag who can’t get over 2nd gen girl groups rina!! i’m not so great at getting my pages up in a timely manner but i am pretty good at blabbering on and on about muse hcs for days without anyone asking lol. you can find me doing so under the cute and my wanted connections blog HERE. otherwise, smash that heart button and i’ll come running to your ims (or discord??) to plot !!!

( yoo jieun / twenty-four / cisfemale / she/her )

welcome to the seoul institute for mutant education and outreach, jieun ! or should i call you stepford cuckoos ? just double checking, you’re a beta-level mutant, right ? i heard you can communicate telepathically — that’s so cool ! but … that means you lack in physical combat, huh ? has anyone told you you’re a dead ringer for yura/kim ahyoung ? honestly, you seem pretty responsible to me, but i’ve heard you can also be quite inhibited, is that true ? anyway, here’s your student handbook and a map of the school. says here you’ll be staying in room dorm –, and you’ll be taking leadership 101, close-quarters combat, psychic self-defense, danger room and home economics this sem. see you in class !

( tw: blood, inferred violence )

so she’s the eldest of the stepford cuckoos and feels the need to be the mother figure that they never really had growing up

still v scarred from project x due to an incident in which they provoked the diamond form out of her. ( tw: blood , inferred violence ; start ) she is unaware of the details, but still remembers how horrifying it was to wake up covered in blood that was not her own. her mind and her fists ached. and unfortunately, she’d happened to overhear the lab workers in charge of monitoring her discussing (2) injured parties who were barely hanging on ( tw: blood , inferred violence ; end )

very much giving elsa ala frozen 1: conceal don’t feel, don’t let them know. she’s so afraid of hurting others that she holds back and refrains from using her powers to their full extent. thus, she maintains a beta rank, lower than her sisters

she’s pretty ashamed of herself bc of it lowkey, bc she feels like she’s supposed to be stronger and set an example for them but she isn’t, so she overcompensates through learning other skills (i.e. close combat, psychic self-defense....home ec lol) and strengthening her leadership abilities

i think she has an inferiority complex when it comes to her sisters because they seem so much more in control of themselves and their abilities and she’s jealous. also lowkey wishes she were just human and didn’t even have to worry about any of this

��no matter how much of a mess she is inside, she will always maintain a strong front for her sisters

doesn’t really speak to others unless spoken to. personally, i’d like to believe that she has a regal/refined reputation. when she does decide to speak, i promise that she’s super sweet!!! a v hard worker. so if you’re ever in a group project/mission with her, i guarantee she will not slack off

her abilities make her pass out a lot kinda.....tbh......so if you see her napping in the hallway.......idk no u didnt??

i dont have as much to say as i initially thought but she just wants to vibe and take care of her sisters and not hurt anyone tbh

pls be her friend thx <3

#i'll probably pop in and out of the dc server but i am shy......so mostly just lurking ~#xhqintro #tw: blood #tw: inferred violence

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saltymongoose · 3 years ago

Note

Could you write yandere hcs for Jeb?

Sure thing, it’s about time we got some of these for Jeb. Here ya go! <3

General Yan!Jebus Headcanons

(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Mentions of Violence, Manipulation.)

Jebus honestly never expected to fall in love, especially not with a coworker. You were a lower-level scientist who managed a smaller team, verifying data and reporting any errors you came across. And that’s how he came to know you, from you coming up to him and pulling his attention away from his work time and time again. Ordinarily he’d hate such distractions, but with you he found himself liking it. (Perhaps a little too much, according to some.)

Instead of sending you away like he does for everyone else or going silent to end a conversation of small talk, he’ll invite you to stay instead and have another long conversation with him, sometimes even getting coffee for you both. It’s uncharacteristically friendly, but you didn’t know him well enough to tell that it wasn’t normal.

(Something he was rather grateful for, to be honest. He wouldn’t want you to find it weird that he’s only outwardly sociable around you, of course. It might make you suspicious.)

He finds you to be sweet, pure, someone with not a bad word to say about anyone else in the shady organization (despite all their flaws and unethical actions). While Jeb isn’t a fan of how close the other scientists and agents are with you, your kindness and generosity made you stand out from them. Out of everyone he’d come across, only you managed to capture his attention through your little gestures, like when you brought him coffee or when he witnessed you offer to take a haggard-looking coworker’s shift.

Your intelligence is also a breath of fresh air and he thinks you’re unbelievably interesting. He wants to hear your thoughts on everything, from your work to the Nexus Core’s business, to even simple things like your daily life. He wants to know about your history too, about what led you to Nexus City and how you became the unique person you are. He wants to know what makes you tick.

(Though not at all because it would make it all the more easy for him to exploit those details, of course not. Christoff is above that. Or at least that’s what he tries to convince himself.)

Jebus isn’t the type of yandere to "openly" fawn over you, it could cause you to get in trouble, and he'd hate for that to happen. Instead, he’ll get you little gifts and leave them on your desk, all things that you’ve mentioned or that he inferred you’d like from your conversations. Well, most of the time at least.

(You didn’t need to know how often he’s eavesdropped on your “private” talks with others and tasked people with following you to know more. That information couldn’t benefit you, so there was no point in notifying you anyway.)

(You appreciate the little presents you find, even if you can’t tell who they’re from or how they know you wanted whatever was given to you. Although some of the gifts were really specific, to the point you found them suspicious. You can’t recall ever mentioning your birthday to anyone at any point in time (Nexus personnel didn’t celebrate that sort of thing in the office anyway due to regulations) so how did they know what flowers and jewelry corresponded with it?)

Sometimes he even writes you long love letters too, carefully sliding them into your assigned locker where you keep your spare lab coats. They’re all multiple pages in length, filled with poetic musings and longwinded words of affection. It’s incredibly well written, to you it seems like whoever wrote it must’ve spent hours getting everything right.

(And in all truthfulness, it was true. They were all things he’d spent hours thinking of before, and trying to translate just how much he adores you into mere words was honestly quite difficult for him. But he’d spend weeks coming up with the perfect combination of sentences for you to read, his dearest deserved nothing less.)

While you won’t ever be able to tell who exactly is giving them to you, your coworkers have their suspicions. Only someone of a high level would be able to spoil you with so much stuff, but you happened to be on good terms with most of the upper personnel, bar the Director whom you’ve never openly spoken to. They had kind of a bet going on trying to find who it actually was, but in reality, they’d never know. Christoff kept his tracks too well hidden for that, and besides, what he did you win your love wasn’t any of their business to begin with.

(Although he may’ve had to take some more drastic actions to ensure that his plans were hidden. It’s kind of a shame that he had to volunteer that one Agent up for Crackpot’s Zed program, they were a good worker but this is what they got for snooping through his desk and finding the letters. They were for your eyes only. But at least this way he wouldn’t have to clean the unexplained blood off of one of his lab coats again. At least Crackpot's foolish endeavors were good for something in the end.)

But there was one grunt who managed to figure it out; Dr. Hofnarr. As Jeb’s best friend, he’d be really stupid if he missed the way his friend’s gaze lingered on you far too long to be a coincidence (or appropriate) and the way he seemed weirdly nice to you.

(“Hey, Dr. Christoff, I got a report here on Project Z. I’d give it to Dr. Crackpot but it covers the Sleepwalker program in the first few pages so I figure I’d run it by you first,” you said as you gently placed the stack of papers in front of him. He immediately looked up from his work, red irises meeting yours as he adjusted his glasses. Hofnarr winced to himself, expecting some form of scolding to come from him for interrupting his experiment, but no.

Instead, he was shocked to see the small smile on his friend's face and the oddly-soft look he had as he regarded you. He watched in bewilderment as Jebus welcomed you to sit down with him, even moving a chair so you could be closer. What?)

Although any questioning leads to a stern look from Christoff and the order to drop it and talk about something else, which he concedes to. If he didn’t want to talk about it, it was fine. Besides, Jeb had always been rational, it’s not like it was anything bad to have a little crush on an employee. If anything he was happy for him!

(He’d have a different opinion if he knew of the true extent of his friend's love obsession for you, but that’s just another reason why Jeb would cut off any curiosity he had. He thought it was just a "crush", which Jeb thought was funny, but it was a useful thing for him to believe. He’d hate for Hofnarr to get involved in something so far out of his depth.)

Given how secretive he is about his affections, physical touch is something he keeps at the minimum for now. Not because he wants to, but because you might be removed from his side if anyone finds out that you're a lot closer than you let on (at least to him). The most you'll get is the intentional brush of his hand against yours as you hand him something, or him resting a hand on your shoulder or waist as he passes by you.

(And he thinks about these moments obsessively afterwards, replaying the memories of your warmth and the feeling of your body. Perhaps, once his business was concluded with the Nexus and you accepted his confession, you'd let him touch more of you. You were so receptive to his little gestures so far, it only made sense.)

When it comes to violence, Jebus isn’t above inflicting some harm to keep your budding relationship out of harms way. You getting together was inevitable in his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to interfere with it regardless. It would be doing a disservice to you, to let anyone get between you and make it possible for someone else less competent to compete for your attention.

While Jeb didn't have a big ego, he was sure that you would appreciate someone who would actually protect you, and more importantly someone with strict morals (unlike the rest of the Nexus' workforce) as your partner.

(He ignores the morality of his own actions with his long observations stalking sessions regarding you, or how ethical it might be for him to go through your things and take little things he's seen you use often like a favorite pen or a "misplaced" tube of chapstick. Morality was relative too, after all.)

Besides, you seemed to love the little gifts and letters he got you; he's positive that you're starting to feel something for the mysterious admirer, judging by how he's seen you blush when looking at the items and reading his writing. He feels like he's bursting with excitement for the first time in ages - it was only a short matter of time before you were truly together!

Although, with the way things are looking with Phobos and the Nexus Core, it seems he might have to up the ante on his hostility towards the other personnel. He’s sure you’d appreciate it, since it was to keep you safe. The others would have to be a lot more careful, but he couldn't care less of what they go through at his hand. As long as you were okay.

As tensions brewed outside your knowledge, he was coming up with a plan. Given the fact that he was your superior, he could technically terminate your employment at any time, and while some others would have questions, it’s nothing a little bribery (or threatening) couldn’t fix. You might cry and beg him for an explanation, but as much as it pains him, it is what's best for you.

He's sure you'd be grateful in the end, when he arrives at your doorstep after slaughtering that Dictator you both worked for and tells you what he's really been up to. With how kind he's been in secret, you'll know that he's never thought ill of you, and perhaps he'll even decide to confess to you right then and there.

(A little manipulative considering the distress you'd be going through with the fall of the city? Maybe, but Christoff isn't exactly one to squander opportunities. Even if you like anyone else, he's sure they'd perish with the rest of the workers anyway. It was convenient, especially with the effects of Crackpot's projects - it's not like you could marry a brain-dead Zed.)

Your relationship with him was a certainty and he's sure that you'd be the happiest with him, end of. After all, who other than Nevada's Savior could someone as kind as you possibly turn to for protection in a decrepit, violent, and impure wasteland of a city?

(Though if anyone dares to try, he'll destroy them like all the rest. It's best not to try leaving him, it'll be easier for you this way. If he has to really hammer in the reality that he'll never let you go, he will. But from the way you get flustered at his few affectionate gestures, he doesn't think he needs to worry all that much.)

#tw: yandere #hofnarr being completely oblivious: haha jebus has a crush on our subordinate how cute 😄#yandere jebus #jebus x reader #jebus #yandere madness combat #yandere madcom #madness combat x reader #my writing

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cyncerity · 2 years ago

Note

Dream is a shifter (at least from what I'm inferring based off your most recent chart update and some previous posts). Dream and Tommy are cousins, so Dream is one of two children on the bottom left of the new labeled family tree. In an earlier post you mentioned that Dream moved with his mom and brother, which confirms he has a sibling. Later in that post you mention Dream telling George about his little! brother having his first day of kindergarten. Which makes Dream the first born and therefore the shifter! (I think lol)

tw: gun violence, non-sexual nudity, description of graphic violence

Glass shattering. That’s how it had started. A completely average day turned on it’s head by the sound of the front door being broken and a man screaming orders. A gun in his hand. Others started screaming, customers ran for their lives as the rest of the employees tried to help them escape. They tried to remain composed, tried to remember their training on how to deal with this safely, but the man was still there. Still shouting orders, still pointing his gun at anyone in his range of vision, now stalking the store looking for anyone he could get something from.

If you’d have asked Dream that morning if he thought he would die that day, well, he’d probably have been very, very concerned about what the question implied, but obviously he would have said no. But here he was, an armed robber in his store, some customers running and hoping to avoid the gunman, some ducking to the ground for cover, his friends all trying to help any innocent patrons while also keeping themselves alive. He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t just stand by.

All of his training went out the window as he ran past anyone still in the store and directed them to the nearest exits, just praying he wouldn’t run straight into the robber, dumb luck being his only survival strategy. His employees refuted as silently as possible as to not attract the gunman’s attention, tried to convince him to let them stay to help. His little brother especially. Foolish had always been too kind for his own good. Nonetheless, he begged him to leave, along with the rest of his employees. He refused to let them die. They were his closest friends, practically his family, the people who had come to help when he took over this little store and the people who had stuck by him through thick and thin. If he had to be a martyr for them, so be it.

He had tried to get them all out. He thought he did. All his employees were accounted for, right…?

…shit, Nick. He was still in the store. Dream hadn’t seen him leave.

As quickly as he could run quietly, he tried to find Nick, only to no avail. Now, they weren’t exactly close friends, per say, but Dream would be damned if Nick had to die today. Just because he was a newer, more shy and soft spoken employee didn’t mean he deserved to be left behind with an armed robber. He turned to a different aisle, running through into an open area, just searching for any sign of his friend.

Cold metal touched his neck.

He didn’t have to move his head to know that the gun was on him. The barrel was pressing uncomfortably hard into his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He heard a gruff voice behind him tell him to lift his hands. He slowly obliged. After all, what more could he do? The man roughly patted him down, taking his wallet and phone out of his back pockets. Dream tried to think through anything he had on him. A pen in his front pocket, a pocket knife, a little notepad with his to-do list in his apron…wait a second.

He was stupid, wasn’t he?

The green switchblade was in his front right pocket. And, ok, maybe those were illegal to own, but they were damn good in a quick life-or-death situation like this one. If he timed it right, could he hit the gunman and run? Did he have time, or would he pull the trigger before then? Did he have time to think it through any further?

The hand reaching for his front pocket said no. So, he acted.

In a blur as his life flashed before his eyes, Dream’s hand came down quickly, grabbing the knife and quickly flipping the sturdy black tinted metal blade out. He thrusted his hand back as hard as he could and felt it hit something, his hand and knife quickly becoming covered in a warm, sticky liquid; but not before he heard a click from right behind his head.

***

Sapnap ran through the store. He had heard the shattering of the glass, had seen the man come in. He hadn’t understood immediately, but he knew crowd panic when he saw it. People running, screaming, crying, it all sent him back into some…unfortunate memories.

He eventually, thankfully, found someone he knew helping a small family out the employee only door in the back of the store. “Punz!” he called as loudly as he dared, trying to keep his voice low since that’s what everyone else seemed to be doing. Punz looked around for a bit before spotting him. His eyes raised and he quickly helped the family the rest of the way out before running to Sapnap. “Nick!” Punz said, voice wavering and hands shaking as they brought Sapnap into a hug. “Thank god you’re ok, you’re one of the few people i wasn’t with when this all went down.” Sapnap held onto his friend for a moment before gently pulling away and noticing that Punz looked terrified, more terrified than he’d ever seen a human look. He didn’t like seeing them like that. “Yeah, and speaking of ‘this,’ what’s going on?” “You didn’t see? Or hear?” “I saw the door break, and there was a guy. He was holding something and screaming and everyone started running, what’s going on?” Punz quickly shushed Sapnap before grabbing his wrist and guiding him to hide in a corner hidden by some shipment bins. “That guy was a robber and that thing was a gun. He’s here to fuckin mug us and kill anyone who gets in the way.”

Now, Sapnap didn’t know what the fuck a “gun” was, but he knew what kill meant. It meant he and everyone in this store were in terrible danger, he had to help people get out, what if someone was stuck in the aisles alone with a killer, what if…

his fiancés. Oh god, his fiancés. They were planning to borrow from the craft section, since Quackity had gotten some of his clothes torn and dirtied and wanted to make some new ones anyway. Were they out there? Alone? Oh god, if the thought of a relatively normal human finding and taking them was bad, the idea of a murderer finding them was so, so much worse. It made him feel sick.

He barely heard Punz’s scared whisper of his human name as he sprinted out of the corner. Punz could hide if he wanted. It was probably better for them anyway so they didn’t get hurt. But Sapnap couldn’t wait around for some killer to find his fiancés first.

***

Dream didn’t know what had happened. One second, he heard a gunshot, painfully close to his ears. He felt the heat behind his head and heard the trigger be pulled on him. He shouldn’t be alive right now. Was he even alive? Where…was he?

He felt like a little kid in a giant tent, like those parachutes that he played with in gym class. But this was bigger. Much, much bigger. It was a thicker stitching and fabric, and it was bright green, like his store uniform. Actually speaking of that, Dream realized he wasn’t actually wearing anything. He felt his face start to heat up. Well, that was…definitely pretty fuckin embarrassing, wasn’t it? Thank god he was alone wherever he was. Maybe he was dead. After all, you probably can’t take what you were wearing when you died to the afterlife. But the still warm blood on his hand from stabbing the gunman told him otherwise.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as he heard something above him, something loud and seemingly confused. Was he crazy or did that sound like the gunman? All of a sudden, the world around him was tossed around, leaving him to helplessly flail around before he found some semblance of a way out.

There seemed to be a hole in the fabric, so without much of an idea of what else to do, he climbed for it. He made his way out into the open and saw what looked like miles of giant craft supplies. Glues, markers, scissors, fabrics, and little charms and knickknacks that seemed to go on forever. This…this was the craft aisle. He’d restocked it himself only a few days ago, but…why was it giant? He felt himself start to sweat and his hands started shaking as he fully took in the scene around him. In a panic Dream turned around, if only to not have to look at the giant supplies anymore only to see what he had crawled out of. And oh god, did he wish he had just kept looking at the craft supplies.

His work uniform. His shirt, now hundreds of times bigger than him, was unceremoniously crumpled beneath the aisle border after…whatever this was had happened to him, and he’d been stuck in it as it had been shoved around. What had happened to him? What if the gunman had done this to him? How could he have though?? Dream looked a bit farther down the floor and saw everything else he had had on him. His pants, his belt, his apron, and the necklace he had gotten from George. He carefully took the thick handmade blue and green braid that his boyfriend had made and tied it around his waist in a quick form of some cover. George had always insisted that he wear the mushroom pendant he got for Dream on the braid, it was tradition to his culture or something, and so they could match, given that George had made one for himself to hold the sword pendant Dream had sent to him. He didn’t have much from George, he’d never even met him in person, their necklaces had always been something they wore to remind themselves of the other until they could finally be together in person. Both of them rarely took it off. If there was anything he wanted to make sure he didn’t lose, it was the necklace.

The blue shiny mushroom pendant hit against his leg as he carefully walked from under the craft aisle border to the aisle he had just been in with the gunman only for his heart to practically stop. Hundreds of feet (well, feet to him) above him was the gunman, gun and bloodied knife left forgotten on the floor, as he ripped part of his shirt off and pressed it against his stab wound. A giant. Dream paled as hundreds of thoughts of what this man could do to him if he was found flashed through his mind, panic almost overtaking his mind almost enough to block out the sudden all too loud shouting…

wait, what?

***

Sapnap sprinted back to the craft aisle where he’d been trying to get for far too long. God dammit, why did he have to be such a nice person sometimes? He’d been helping people get out safely for a while, after he thought all the other employees had cleared out. But every time he thought there was no one left, someone else showed up and he couldn’t find it in him to leave someone else behind. But he still didn’t know if Karl and Quackity were ok. They had to be. He couldn’t live with himself if something had happened to them.

He was only a few aisles away when a loud bang rang out. It was somewhat familiar, he used to hear it occasionally when he lived in the forest colony he was born in. His dad had said the sounds were from hunters, humans with strange death machines that could kill an animal from far away. He explained them like over powered one handed bow and arrows. And now Sapnap had heard one in the store where his fiancés and possibly other humans were hiding.

Sapnap sprinted over full speed and froze where he stood. The robber stood right in front of him, back turned to him gun held out at open air. Sapnap could see the wall he was facing had been shot, if the minor crumbling was anything to go by. The gun in his hand was still smoking. But, why had he shot it at nothing?

Sapnap watched the man look around, mumbling incoherently and seemingly just really, really confused and then look around at the floor. Sapnap followed his eyes and it felt like his breathing stopped. Clothes. Not just any clothes, a work uniform, identical to the one he currently had on. What was that doing there? He watched the robber kick it around a bit before he saw it.

The white smiley pin on the apron and the little extra name tag that read manager. That was Dream’s. That was Dream’s uniform. Dream, who he realized he hadn’t seen leave, who he hadn’t heard anything about since the robber entered the store. He watched the man kick the uniform partially under an aisle and just shrug. He dropped the gun and physically pulled something from his side with a grunt and a wince, dropping that, too. He proceeded to take his jacket off and rip a part of the sleeve away and press it against his side, the dark fabric quickly becoming soaked and dripping with blood, Sapnap could smell it from where he stood several feet behind the man. He took that time to venture his eyes to the floor again.

A knife. That’s what the man had pulled from his side. A bright, almost neon green knife with a smiley face carved into the handle. That had to be Dream’s. Dream had stabbed the man, stabbed him good enough to cause a substantial amount of bleeding. Sapnap could guess who the man shot at.

So, where was Dream? If his knife was there, and his clothes where there for some reason, where was he? What had the robber done with him?

Sapnap ignored his anger and confusion for now. He could find Dream and make sense of all this later once the stranger with the gun was dealt with. But what could he use? There wasn’t much useful artillery in a craft aisle and the aisle next to it was where they blew up balloons for birthday parties and stuff…

wait a minute.

***

“HEY FUCKER!!”

Dream knew that voice, as loud as it was and as much as it hurt his ears at the moment, he knew that voice. Nick had always been so quiet, never really wanting to talk to people, and Dream couldn’t have even imagined him being loud moments prior, but damn if he wasn’t really loud right now. He also couldn’t have imagined how angry Nick could be.

Dream snapped his head in the direction of the scream at about the same time the gunman did, but only really Dream got to see what went down, since the second the robber turned his head, he was forcefully knocked backward with the full brute force of a helium tank to the face. He looked up farther to see Nick, face contorted in rage, face red and chest heaving, probably from having thrown a helium tank full force a moment earlier. Jesus, how strong was Nick? Dream backed up further at the thought. After all, if he had the strength to chuck a 30+ pound helium tank, what could he do to him right now?

He wanted to smack himself for thinking about that right now. Nick wouldn’t hurt him, he knew that. Sure, they didn’t know each other great, but he knew Nick was a nice guy. More than a nice guy, he was one of the sweetest people he’d ever met. Nick stayed with him after hours constantly, always helped anyone with what they needed, never complained and always did his best to work well with others. Why would he hurt Dream now? Why would he want to? But yet, the thought of drawing Nick’s attention to himself make his knees weak. He was just…so big right now. He was an absolute giant, sue him for being scared of someone who could kill him so effortlessly.

He watched Nick walk over to the robber and make sure he was unconscious, as if anyone could stay awake after getting decked that hard. He watched Nick lift the man’s head a bit and if Dream wasn’t scared enough earlier, he certainly was now. Dream could hardly breathe as he watched literal teeth fall out of the man’s mouth as Nick sat him in an upright position against the wall he had apparently shot when he hadn’t hit Dream. Along with that, he nose was broken to an absolute pulp, and his entire face was an ugly blend of purples, reds, and blacks. He watched Nick take in the damages himself and he at least looked somewhat concerned, as if he hadn’t meant to do that much damage. Dream kind of wished that was true. Nick had never seemed all that violent.

After a moment of kneeling and surveying what he’d done to the robber, he stood and walked back the way he’d come down the aisle, freezing to stare down at Dream’s knife. After a few moments of hesitation and an expression that Dream couldn’t quite read, he knelt down to take it and, after a few seconds of looking it over, flipped the switch to slide the blade back in.

“…Dream? Are you here? Are you ok?” Nick asked, sounding concerned. He kept looking around as if Dream would just appear out of nowhere at his call, never thinking to look down. Of course not, why should he? No rational person would assume the person they were looking for was all of a sudden mere inches tall for no reason. And as Dream heard Nick call out his name over and over, sounding more frantic every time, he hesitated. He knew he should want to go out there, he knew his friend would help him through whatever had happened. But something kept him where he was, hiding under the aisle.

Fear. He knew it was fear, plain and simple. Thousands of worst case scenarios came to the forefront of his mind as he watched Nick pace up and down the aisle, and he couldn’t bring himself to step out where he could be seen.

How could he know what Nick would do? How could he guess how Nick would react to…this? How could he be sure he wouldn’t regret it? He liked Nick a lot, he really did, but he’d be putting his life and his well-being in the hands of another person, and there wasn’t a single person he thought he could trust enough to do that with, not right now, now while he felt so…vulnerable. So, he stayed put, and watched Nick sigh and give up, pulling out his phone. It took him a few seconds of muttering to himself before he seemingly remembered something and tapped at his phone a few times. He put it up to his ear and Dream could only watch helplessly as Nick reported everything that had happened to who he could only assume was the 911 operator. He seemed to move past the initial break in pretty quickly, so someone else had already probably called about that, but he listened in on how Nick reportedly “captured” the gunman and how his friend was missing.

It took a lot not to break down then and there as Dream listened to Nick recite everything he knew into the phone. Gunshot in the wall, clothes on the floor, his knife in the side of the assailant, and no sign of him beyond that. He heard tears start to threaten Nick’s voice as he continued and repeated the confusing details, probably at the request of the operator. Dream was sure he’d be on the news by the next morning at the very latest, once the relatively small town learned that the owner of one of the most popular stores in the area was missing. God, when his mom found out he was alive and ok, she’d kill him. He didn’t want to make her worry this much.

…Well, that is, if she ever found out he was alive and ok. He didn’t know if this was temporary, or if it could ever even be reversed, or if he’d just keep shrinking until he disappeared or something horrifying like that. Maybe someone he knew would accidentally step on him or squish him if they didn’t notice him at his new size. Then maybe it would be a good idea for his friends and family to think he mysteriously disappeared, so they couldn’t blame themselves. He tried not to let his thoughts on that particular matter go any farther. Instead he put his focus back on Nick, and saw him make his way into the craft aisle as the operator seemed to take over talking, Nick only responding every once in a while with a nod or a hum. He seemed to be searching the aisles for something, which seemed…odd, given the circumstances.

It was only when Dream heard quiet, almost inaudible voices that Nick turned slightly away from him and towards the noise, apparently having heard it himself. Or maybe he was hearing the operator’s voice and Nick was looking random places and he was losing his mind. He wouldn’t be too surprised after what had just happened. He was already tiny, why not add a little bit of hysteria and insanity on top? Dream watched as Nick started to move some boxes on a higher shelf, and he seemed to find what he was looking for. His eyes went wide as he quickly stuck his phone between his shoulder and head and turned fully to the shelf, lifting both hands high and seemingly taking something.

Dream saw the tears from before start to pour from his eyes as he pulled whatever it was down from the shelf and held it up to his face, and Dream thought he could hear Nick whispering quiet reassurances to it before moving it to one hand and pressing it against his chest and picking the phone back up. He quickly turned his back to Dream as he continued down the aisle, and Dream could only catch a glimpse of…a tail? Did he really see a tail sticking out from Nick’s fingers? Whatever, if Nick had a pet mouse of something in the store, that was none of his business. Not right now, anyway.

As soon as he was sure Nick was far enough away, he walked into the craft aisle, looking around the various strings and fabrics. He sighed and made his way over to their scrap pile, finding himself a long green sheet. Foolish had always made fun of him for wearing predominately bright green, but what could he say, he had a brand. Besides, for the time being, he was stuck like this, and he’d rather not be completely indecent. And after all, this was his store, he knew where the necessities were, all he had to do was survive until this wore off. It was gonna wear off. It had to wear off eventually, he couldn’t spend the rest of his life like this. He didn’t know what he’d do if he could never return to his old life. But that was a thought for a far later, more desperate Dream, because this was only the beginning. He’d start to be concerned at the permanent nature of this if he wasn’t normal again in a few days. He’ll have an existential crisis about how all this happened later. For the time being, he had to stay positive, he couldn’t afford to panic when everything and everyone could so easily kill him. He needed gear, things to hold supplies, someplace to call a base for the time being, he had so much to do. But…not before clothes, those should probably come first.

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader (Gender neutral) Rating: T for language and mentions/references to an (emotionally) abusive relationship. Mild, brief violence. Warnings: TW for referenced emotional abuse, mild TW for possible physical abuse (sorry, angry Dani is not 100% gentle with people she doesn't love-love) Notes: Music for this chapter here. If you're following this story and really want to continue reading, but worry about the TWs for this chapter, just send me an anonymous message and I'll write up an alternative version of this post. It's not something I would do without it being requested, but it's also not a big deal so don't feel like you're bothering me if you want that. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Tocatta

Chapter 5: Poco a Poco (Italian: Little by little)

Finding a schedule for lessons to follow proved to be an insurmountable task. Consistency was something that Daniela struggled with greatly, even when it came to things that she genuinely cared about. Things like ensuring you lived long enough to entertain her. Instead of working with you to find a balance that worked for both of you, the youngest Dimitrescu daughter seemed intent on doing things in her own time. Little by little. Which would have been fine, if the two of you weren’t restricted by time.

Fate wasn’t entirely unkind, however. There were still a few things that Daniella recalled from her “youth”, bits and pieces of musical theory, the bare basics of reading sheet music. Not having to teach her proper posture or the structure of a piano would save you a little bit of time. On top of that, you had been informed that, somewhere in the castle, there were a few books of sheet music you could borrow. Assuming you were eventually able to find them, that is. So far they had eluded you, but you hadn’t even had much time to search, as you were still expected to perform your usual Maiden-related tasks.

In the end, it was Daniela herself that proved to be the biggest obstacle in your way.

“Look,” Daniela said one day, barely ten minutes into a lesson, “I think we should take a break… maybe have some fun?” One of her hands is resting on top of yours, the other tucking your hair behind your ear. There’s a smirk on her lips, unsurprisingly, and she’s mere inches away from kissing you. If not for the heavy threat hanging over your head, you would have already thrown yourself into her arms. Instead, all you can do is sigh, turning away from her as you do. “Don’t be like that, sweet thing. C’mon, no one can hear us right now. Might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“Babe. Darling. Buttercup, honey, cute little button on a bear, you are not the brightest bulb in the lighting department,” you replied, holding the bridge of your nose between two fingers. Instantly Daniela is upset, giving you a (thankfully) playful smack on the arm. Before she can protest more you continue speaking. “Your family would not hear us making out, true, but they would definitely hear us not playing the piano. I’m pretty sure your mother already thinks I’m doomed to fail as a teacher, and the last thing I need is to give her a reason to drop the curtains this early into our performance.”

“First of all, I am not an idiot,” Daniela said, a bit of a growl to her voice. “Secondly, what harm can a few minutes really do? Don’t you think I’ve been working hard enough to earn a little reward?” Now she’s holding a finger under your chin, lifting it up, making sure you’re looking right at her. There’s no dissuading her, it seems, as she leans in for a soft kiss. This was one of the more frustrating aspects of dealing with (courting?) her; communication felt like a one-man play, except the audience was as likely to throw knives as rotten tomatoes. Whenever Daniela acted like this, pushing away your concerns in favor of her pleasure, it felt helpless to try and resist her.

So you kissed back, wrapped your arms around her, and hoped that she’d be more open to compromise afterwards. At least kissing her was nice. Even though it had only been a week since you first kissed her, she was already getting better, evidently learning through experience. The passion behind her movements had grown as well, leaving you a tad breathless. Regardless of her odd perception of romance, and her insistence that she knew best, you found yourself charmed by her. It was scary. Terrifying, really, how you felt yourself falling under her spell. Wait. Hadn’t you been in this sort of situation before?... Staying with someone who wasn’t good for you? Why were you kissing her? Why were you starting to tremble, tears in your eyes, mind falling down a slippery slope of memories?

By the time you snap out of it, you’re sitting on the floor, Daniela awkwardly kneeling by your side. What the fuck? You think, sniffling a little. Head spinning, mind reeling, you struggle to form coherent thoughts. Next to you Daniela is unsure of how to help. But she’s trying, sort of, one hand holding your own, the other gently rubbing your back. She’s saying something, the words going right over your head. Understanding her takes times, focus, like tuning an instrument until the pitch is just right.

“I don’t understand, we were only kissing, what happened? Can you even hear me? Is this your way of tricking me into not making out with you? Because that’s a total dick move and-” she rambles, only stopping when you give her hand a soft squeeze. Then she’s meeting your gaze, looking uncomfortable, shoulders tense. “You’ve been weird for a while. Distant. Like you don’t want to touch me anymore. Don’t you still love me?”

There’s real, honest pain in her eyes when she speaks. If the timing had been different… you’d have thrown your arms around her and covered her face in kisses, promising to hold her onto she felt better, promising that yes you cared. You cared so fucking much. But she’s making you exhausted; every second has to be focused on her, not you. Every moment of concern is flipped around until she’s the victim, or at least the one that needs comforting. You didn’t think that she even realized what she was doing. Well, you hoped that she didn’t, wanted to believe that if she understood she’d change.

“Remember the first day we kissed?... how you pulled me close, and I kissed you harder, and we started…. Remember how I made a move and you pushed me away? I’ll never forget the look on your face. I felt like shit afterwards. I should have asked before I tried anything,” you explain, letting go of Daniela’s hand so you could pull your knees to your chest. Somehow you can’t bring yourself to maintain eye contact with her- not right now, not when you could still remember what it felt like to be on her side of this story. “I don’t want to push your boundaries, or make you feel pressured to do something you don’t want to do. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you like that.”

“Oh bullshit,” Daniela snarled, shocking you, before getting to her feet. Confusion doesn’t begin to describe how you feel in the moment as you watch her pace back and forth. Both her hands are clenched into fists, and she’s refusing to look at you. There’s a buzzing sound in the room, faint but growing louder, like she’s a split second away from entering swarm mode. “We’re a couple, aren’t we? Shouldn’t you be able to tell what I want? Shouldn’t it be obvious what I desire, when I’m pinning you to the wall and shoving my tongue down your throat? What more do you require?”

“Holy shit, Dani, I know communication isn’t your forte, but have you really not even considered talking to me? That’s simple, easy, literally the first thing that should come to mind!” You snapped, too in disbelief to keep your voice down. For a moment Daniela stops her pacing, turning to stare at you with narrowed eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you’d be convinced she was ready to kill you. But she doesn’t move to grab her sickle, or otherwise advance on you, instead groaning and tugging on her own hair in frustration.

“Because that’s not romantic, genius!” She replied. Some dots start to connect in your mind, but you lack the full context, as if looking at sheet music with no clefs or time signature. It’s not until Daniela continues that you really understand; and, by extension, realize just how ridiculous this whole mess is. “None of the books I’ve read involve conversations like this. People just… they just love each other! And figure it out as they go along, reading each other’s body language and facial expressions, inferring what they need to know through touches and reactions. Why can’t we do that?”

“This isn’t a fucking book, dumbass! I don’t have powers like you, I can’t just read your mind and figure out what you want. That’s not how relationships work! Communication is key. And you can’t just talk, you have to listen, hard, and understand,” you continued, still on the floor, heart pounding so furiously you thought it might leap from your chest at any moment. As angry as you are, you wonder if you’re being too loud, too angry, wonder if there was a better way to get through to Daniela. Before you can think of a solution the air is ripped from your lungs. Your “partner”/student is grabbing you by the front of your shirt, yanking you to your feet. Instinct makes you struggle against her, as useless as it is.

“I. Told. You. I’m not an idiot!” Her free hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek for a moment, then pulling away just as fast. When it moves back up she’s gripping onto her sickle. The sharp edge ends up resting against your neck, the slightest movement threatening to cut you open. This is the most Daniela has ever openly threatened you, and in that moment all your anger melts back into fear, tears spilling down your cheeks. A flicker of something shows in her eyes, making you think that even she doesn’t like where this is going. “Give me one reason not to end this right now.”

“... I don’t… I can’t think. I… Why would you?” The words leave you in a rush, even with the pauses, and each syllable makes the sickle press into your skin a little more. There’s sure to be a cut there, though you can’t even begin to estimate how bad it is. The blade is sharp, clearly, and it hardly even hurts as it slices you. Thankfully the sensation doesn’t last long. Once you’re done speaking, Daniela’s grip loosens considerably, hand slowly letting your shirt go. Her other hand takes a few seconds to move, but eventually pulls away without any fuss. For a few seconds she just watches you, eyes filled to the brim with a rich sorrow, mouth open but unmoving.

“No lesson tomorrow. I need a break,” Daniela whispers, barely audible. Then she’s dusting herself off, no longer looking at you, and heading towards the exit. Just like the first time you met, she pauses in the doorway. “How’s that for communication, hmm?” When she laughs, it’s empty, forced. Part of you wants to stop her and ask if she’s okay.

Instead, you watch her leave, unspoken words tangling with your tongue until you almost can’t swallow.

Then your feet move, automatically, leading you to the piano. You sit down without thinking. You touch the keys without thinking. When you play, you play without thinking. It’s just a song, the world tells you, and you have no choice but to play. It’s not just a song, you know this, but you can’t think. Can’t argue against the personification of your isolation, or the embodiment of your trauma. All you can do is let yourself get lost in the music, softly, recalling lyrics from a forgotten time.

I’ve been running all my life, trying to find a place to hide ‘Thought that I had settled down, but I guess things are changing now Don’t make me go, don’t make me go Just don’t make me go, this feels like home

As soon as the last note fades out you stand, wordlessly, and leave. Your feet carry you down corridor after corridor, past maidens working, some of whom gasp when they see you. But you don’t stop, not even when you cross paths with Lady Bela, who eyes you with surprising concern. She doesn’t try to stop you, though, and you doubt you would have cared if she had tried. It’s not until you are within your shared room that you finally stop moving. It is there that you sit, shaking, finally pressing a cloth to your neck. Blood stains the fabric, first in just a few dots, then spreading out. There’s not enough to make you fear for your life, but there is enough to make you cry harder. Washing the wound will sting… so you don’t do that. Soon you will have to return to your work, and the thought puts pressure on your skull, summoning an all-too-familiar migraine.

When you close your eyes, you don’t mean to fall asleep, but that is exactly what you do. And when you dream, you do not wish for nightmares. You never do- and fate never denies you their company.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #big oof in the chat for this one boys #introducing the secondary conflict #don't worry the next one will be happier :)#tw emotional abuse #we learn little hints of the reader's backstory here

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dreaming-of-assclass · 4 years ago

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Omg Reaper 2.0's misogyny? I'm intrigued LOL especially since I don't remember a lot of details about him. So if you'd be willing to spill the tea... 👀

Ok everyone buckle up, it’s tea spilling time 😌🍵

Meta: 2.0’s Misogyny and Views on Gender Roles/Sociology

⚠️ TW: child abuse, domestic abuse ⚠️

So the specific instance I think of is during the Reaper arc, when the kids are breaking in to save Irina. And they first come face to face with him, and have to engage in combat. He takes them down effortlessly, we all know.

But...there’s a moment in which he purposely hits Kayano especially hard with his knee, and believes he has broken her ribs. He callously remarks, “Females are so fragile.”

Let’s break this down:

A. Kayano is literally the smallest girl/student. She is very petite, and everyone knows this. It's obvious even when she's wearing their uniform.

B. He knocked down everyone so easily, but seemed to take a particular joy in brutalizing her. A petite girl.

C. Given that he's been watching the class, he must've known that she was actually stronger than she seemed. But again, I question this particular violence and the comment afterwards.

For a while, I thought maybe he had just said that to be cruel for no reason. To rile them up and be an asshole. I mean, it would be fitting, right?

No. I came to the eventual conclusion that this man is a misogynist, for sure. And there are indicators that Koro, his only role model, might bear some resentment towards women himself.

There's also proof in the way that he treated Irina, even when they were "allies." He seemed to really disrespect her and look at her like a joke, despite her accomplishments as an assassin. And whatever worth he did believe her to have, he only thought it came from her sexuality.

Like...why else was Irina dressed down to only lingerie in the arc? Because it was part of his plan, and he looked down on her and her profession.

Expanding the context a bit, it really also does prove how he looked down on women. He had Irina appear half-dressed, upset, and completely weak before she tricked everyone. The embodiment of female fragility, and how sexuality is tied into that. I hope this is making sense omg

Now, moving onto his past~

I really recommend you read this awesome meta by @akamayumura (sorry for the tag!!) They delved into his childhood and psychological state very well, in my opinion.

We can infer that 2.0 grew up in a terrible household, and that is an equal contribute to his behavior, as well as the possibility of him having an anti-social disorder. I mean, he was so happy to see his father get killed in front of him...

Not only that, but he literally romanticized the killer. In that moment, he didn't experience grief, but gained a rose-tinted view of death. He literally begged Koro to go with him and grow into someone like that.

Clearly, there was some psychological reason for this. But that isn't unordinary for abused children to feel, having such a disconnect. He didn't view it as his father being murdered, but rather: a person he hated finally leaving his life.

And then he gained loyalty for the person who was responsible -> The Reaper.

I cannot find it for the life of me, but there is apparently a moment in canon where 2.0 describes his father as "tyrannical."

And you know what?

Usually in a household with an abusive tyrannical father, there is a weak, complacent mother.

This is so interesting that we're on this topic now, because I just read a book detailed all about this. It's called "Men Who Hate Women, and the Women Who Love Them" by Susan Forward. Please read it omg, it's so good and informative on how misogyny is engrained in childhood, relationships, etc.

But yeah!

This exact dynamic is a formula for men who grow up to be misogynistic because their first example of a woman in their lives is their mother, who is the victim in an abusive dynamic.

Here are some pictures from the book to help explain.

^ 2.0’s hatred towards his father

^THIS.

Either 2.0 grew up having to provide emotional labor for his mother, or there was none at all between them. Overall though, there is a sense of resentment and abandonment given that the father was so dominating, and his mother was a victim too.

Men who lived in households like this, often grow up into believing that women are to be controlled, because this is the example they had to go by for so long.

On top of that, there's a layer of resentment and distrust towards women because his own mother didn't stand up for herself and protect him. Why would another woman do so?

But to sum it up:

2.0 believes women are weak, fragile, easily controlled, and cannot be trusted at all.

There's evidence in his attack on Kayano, and the way he treated Irina.

Ahem, also notice how he seemed to act more professional around Karasuma, and took him much more seriously. Like yeah, Karasuma is more serious, but why on Earth would one of the best assassins in the world regard a government agent over another top-notch assassin?

If Irina were a male assassin, I definitely think the treatment and attitude would be different honestly.

ALSO.

2.0 loves flowers, we know! But there's another reason why he possibly used a flower shop guy as his cover.

To easily manipulate women, the target customers of flowers.

Hmmmmmm.

Anyways, yeah, we can deduce that his misogyny was born from his childhood of having an abusive father and seeing his mother as a victim.

Not to mention, that he spent most of his life with Koro, who definitely didn't treat him to respect women lmao.

I actually feel like Koro has his own personal resentment towards women/femininity...but before I make a post about that, I'll have to do more research.

Anyways, we all knew 2.0 had dad issues, but there are a lot of mommy issues on top of that.

This isn't me trying to cancel him or anything btw! He's still one of my favorite characters, I love him. I just find this characteristic of his to be pretty interesting and worth diving into. (Although I will admit, that Kayano rib scene upsets me a bit.)

So yeah! Hope you enjoyed this meta! And I hope this tea is hot enough 🍵🍵🍵

#assclass #ansatsu kyoushitsu #assassination classsroom #meta #post #nidaime #nidaime shinigami #2.0 #reaper 2.0 #korosensei

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moosoobi · 4 years ago

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Confessions

In the night: Chapter 2

T.Jeff- Hamilton: the musical

Y/N can’t hold all her secrets. She’s tired of hiding. The people deserve the truth. Here’s her confession: the one she should’ve told us long ago

I started to write this chapter the day after I finished chapter 1, yet before the first chapter was even published (time management queen). As I’m typing this message, I’m currently distracting myself from finals LMAO. Anyway, I wanted to finish this chapter as soon as possible to give some explanation of the events in the previous chapter, so I hope I do exactly that. I’m still manifesting that I articulate through this story smoothly, please give me feedback <3

MC (aka Y/N’s) POV

Modern au

Word Count: 5.4k

A few unrealistic realities, but I’m working with what I got

This chapter will most likely answer many questions about chapter 1

THIS CHAPTER OCCURS AT THE SAME TIME AS CHAPTER 1! all events in this chapter line up with the events of chapter 1

Disclaimers:

TW: violence, abuse, mentions of blood, themes of injury, itty bitty angst?

photo not mine <3

If you have any questions/concerns about this story, DONT BE SHY TO ASK ME! This is my first time writing a whole series, so I apologize if the plot gets confusing.

-Now Playing: Broken Clocks by SZA-

Where to start…

My attention was taken from Professor Washington’s lecture the moment I felt a pair of eyes attempting to pierce a hole in the back of my head. As I look back, I realize that it’s no one other than Thomas Jefferson, the spoiled francophile, or so people like the whisper, but gossip’s not my thing.

Upon being called out by Professor Washington, I couldn’t hold in my giggle as Thomas’s head ducks down in embarrassment. I suppose he sure knows how to lighten the demeanor in the lecture hall; It was a nice excuse to take my eyes off of Washington’s low-quality power-point presentation, but I appreciate that the man is trying.

This class feels like it’ll last forever, and I contemplate if I could just perish in my seat at this very instant, yet Thomas’s presence seems to make it worthwhile. I don’t know him that much, or maybe at all for that matter, but since he’s been seen with a Schuyler, the locals around here can’t seem to keep their mouths shut about him.

From what I’ve heard, he’s another silver-spoon raised boy representing Virginia up here in New York. A few scholarships here and there, as well as a trip to France for a semester. I don’t see what all the fuss is about; He seems like a pretty cool person, probably has an exciting life, and isn’t throwing away his shot. It’s odd, even with parents to piggyback off of, Thomas is very similar to a certain orphan I know.

“Class is dismissed” Is all I heard from Professor Washington’s mouth before that obnoxious but relieving bell sounds off.

Desperate to get out of this class, I hurry to put my stationery items into my burgundy-magenta backpack. You’d think after those turbulent years of high school that college would motivate me for fancier bags, but I can’t say no to my favorite color. It’s simple, won’t bring attention to my presence, unlike every other decision I’ve made in my life.

After I finally finished packing up, I can’t wait to take a breath of the fresh, polluted air of New York City. I quickly spotted my roommate's car within the crowd of vehicles next to the sidewalk. He’s on time, as always, to pick me up from class, and I’m grateful that he sacrifices his time for me, but it’s not like he had a choice. I toss my bag into the trunk, surely crinkling a few important papers. Upon reaching the door of his expensive car, my roommate greets me with joy to see me.

“How was class, Cherie?”

Lafayette, my roommate, shoots a smile at me, his white teeth are almost blinding, but he always says I’m exaggerating.

“Boring as always, but I’m still here, sadly” I say as I hop into the front seat of Lafayette’s car. He pouts in my direction

“Ahh, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Once he acknowledges the buckling of my seatbelt, he begins to power up the car. “C’est la vie, Y/N” I roll my eyes, my hatred for him grows just a little more every time he says that.

“Can we get McDonald’s?” I attempt to change the subject, earning a small chuckle from him. He prepares to drive off “You know I can't say no to you and your American junk food”

And so we begin to drive off

Lafayette and I indeed have a bit of history together. After I got mistakenly involved with Alexander and his clique, Lafayette was the next best (or worse) person to walk into my life. He’s sweet, charming, probably all the things Americans are not; the gentleman hails from France. Yet he’s so much more than that.

Ever since I caught his eye at that obnoxious high school party, he and I hit the ground running. Disclosing the events which took place in his-

our bedroom won’t solve the problem, but the stubble on his jaw and the way he holds the steering wheel with one hand nearing my thigh reminds me of the unresolved sexual tension between the both of us.

I’ve only been living in his apartment for a few months, an idea he proposed when I mentioned my dreadful rent. A nice view, nice coffee maker, and nice bedsheets were more than enough to convince me, but I know there’s more to that “nice” list that I shouldn’t disclose.

Though I know his intentions were good, I’m sure he invited me into his abode to protect me from Alex.

Since I began to band with Alex and his gang, Alexander’s been strict about getting me home on time. It wasn’t only because I was a helpless high school student, but also to prevent me from ratting him and his group out to the authorities.

Upon joining Alex's posse, a strict curfew has been placed on me, only to ensure I stay safe at night, or perhaps to make sure I don’t betray them.

Moving in with Lafayette made following this time limitation easier for me, especially since he volunteers to drive me home or takes a stand for me. If the unfortunate event of my arrival past my ‘bedtime’ timer occurs, Alexander ensures I pay the price.

Speaking of arrivals, Lafayette passes me a box of hot, salty fries and a smile spreads across my face. His eyes visibly soften as my entire demeanor changes.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best person ever?” I spilled my thoughts while stuffing my mouth with fries. He lightly chuckles, watching me.

“Maybe a couple of times..” He prepares to drive off again “...too many times, actually.” he shot a wink at me.

Blood didn’t have any time to rush to my cheeks before I could slap the side of his shoulder, causing him to whine in discomfort. I sigh before returning my focus to the steaming fries in front of me. The tension grows, and so does the silence between us. Eager to break the tension, I propose an idea.

“Let’s go home?” we turn to each other at the same time

“Oui.”

---

I enter Professor Washington’s lecture hall and my attention is driven to the two curly-headed Virginians. I watch in secondhand embarrassment as Thomas Jefferson and his friend playfully argue in front of the entire class, seemingly a heated debate of the greatness of Mac and Cheese. One argues on behalf of the gooey pasta, while the other simultaneously retorts with a mix of “you’re so stupid” and “God help me”.

Feeling a rush of confidence and suaveness, my brain urges my body to intervene in their conversation. Maybe it was to make new friends, or perhaps to stop the class from staring at their dumb dispute, but I swiftly walk over to them. The next few words to come out of my mouth fell into place oh-so-perfectly.

“Hey, can I sit here?”

Upon sitting in between the two Virginians, they introduce themselves. The calmer, self-collected man among the two introduced himself as James Madison, while the bolder, upbeat man introduced himself as no other than Thomas Jefferson. Both of them seemed happy that I interrupted and decided to reach out to them, maybe one was a tad more excited than the other.

And ever since then, Professor Washington can’t seem to split up our trio. From childish jokes and a few inappropriate inferences, Thomas and James make great company. The idiotic smile that spreads across Thomas’s face whenever he’s capable of making James and I break our silence during class would become more annoying than Lafayette saying “C’est la vie” whenever I make a poor life decision.

Nevertheless, Thomas and James dangerously remind me of Alexander and his goons. The abundant amount of self-praise and cocky remarks said by both Thomas and Alexander is almost astronomical. In the case of Thomas and Alexander’s meeting, I’m sure they’d be the best of friends. But likewise, I could also envision the two attempting to tear each other's heads off, the chaotic clashing of two powerful minds.

They always know what to say and when to say it. I’ve never met anyone as clever as Thomas and James, and they’re even worse when they’re together.

“‘ ‘s Adams here today? Washington told me to turn in my papers t’ him.” Thomas whispers as he eases into his chair, Washington’s booming voice seems to become background noise to us

“Is he ever?” I reply, attempting not to giggle at my own response “I haven’t seen him since Washington initially introduced him to the class.”

“Maybe he’s jus’ sick or somethin’. Kinda reminds me of you, James'' His head of curls turns to stare down James, in which James replies by rolling his eyes

“He can stay home, he does the same amount of work there anyways.” James cleverly retorted.

And that seemed to be our last straw before bursting out in laughter. Thomas’s body flung forward as he laughed his head off, James ducking his head to hide his glee behind his laptop, and I quickly slap a hand over my mouth to prevent anyone around us from drawing suspicion. But apparently, Washington wasn’t having our disguises.

“Can the three of you even tell me what I just said?” Washington turns around from the board to scan the crowd, his eagle eyes find us quickly

The silence was all we could emit, and soon enough, He turned back to his lesson. I sigh with relief; the last thing I need is to get kicked out of a class I don’t even pay for.

…

...

“Washington sure got a shiny ass head. D’you think he uses shampoo and conditioner?” Whispered Thomas as he leans over to me

And just like that, we’re faced with the same struggle all over again.

—-

Lafayette adjusted the hot pan, erupting a few sizzles. The wall clock ticked, the hour arm froze pointing to the “11” written in roman numerals. Lafayette and I decided to agree on a home-cooked meal, and although it’s too late for an average dinner, yet too early to be defined as a midnight snack, I’m sure Lafayette’s cooking will satisfy me for the night.

“Y/NN, would you prefer salt on your omelet? Or did you decide to be healthy tonight?” He said holding a salt shaker in the air to steal my focus from the swirling red liquid in my glass.

My head lifts to meet his eyes. I tilt my head, the wine causing me to ponder for a little longer than I should’ve. He continues to stare at me, holding in a laugh, before I force myself to nod.

“Yeah.. a little won’t hurt” I hear him chuckle at my drunken dialect, but I know the French man isn’t about to lecture me about English “Your wish is my command.”

I watch as he conducts the kitchen perfectly. He knows where everything is, exactly what to add into the sizzling pan, maybe even the exact second to take the meal off the flame.

“I thought you weren’t a fan of monarchy?” the sarcasm was evident in my tone “but I appreciate the submission” I shot him a playful wink, to which he responds with a pompous smirk

A few sips of wine later, I recognize notification that has been staring back at me for hours.

1 Message from Thomas

A text from Thomas? And I’m barely seeing this now? I silently scold myself for giving into the wine before opening the message.

“Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?”

My eyes become glued to my phone. It was certainly necessary for me to reread Thomas’s text, I was unsure if the alcohol was beginning to make me see odd things, but I assured myself I was correct.

I could feel the blush spread across my face. Maybe it’s just the wine taking control, or maybe it’s the butterflies in my stomach forming every time I reread his message. A harmless invite, perhaps evoked from Thomas due to James stroking his ego, but I know James’ wouldn’t promote such a bold, straight-forward message. Though Thomas is known for his meticulous confidence and certainty, a message this simple could be notably deceiving.

But a little socializing won’t damage my self-respect. “Be bold, Y/N” is what I used to tell myself at the beginning of the semester, and what do I have to lose? I begin to type my reply.

“Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way”

Sent.

My introspection was soon interrupted by the screeching plate being slid in my direction by Lafayette, the steam circulating the meal

“Y/N, Mangeons.” My head comes up from my phone, my eyes meet his eyes momentarily.

“Thanks, Laf.” I reply before taking a fork from him and digging into the steaming meal ahead of me. Lafayette’s cooking never disappoints. Ever.

My body couldn’t help but pick up my phone every few minutes to respond to Thomas’s messages, Though they were just the details of the hangout-offer he previously proposed, I felt enclosed in my little bubble while texting him. Those few moments of interaction with him somehow made my day better. I’m sure even Lafayette could see my radiating energy, but I’m not sure how he took it.

We’re technically not a couple; a few hookups and moving in together don't make us an official couple, right?

“Merci, Laffy.” I watched as he visibly cringed at my poor attempt at french. “Let’s just stick to our mother tongues, angel.” He retorted. I laughed it off, yet inside his reply left a scratch on my pride.

---

Another class of absolute foolery and childish inferences, and I can’t help but laugh as Thomas, James, and I exit the lecture hall. The New-York cold hits us harshly, but being about a month into this semester, students already know what to expect.

It was indeed embarrassing, running to Lafayette’s car to remind him of your library study session.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up before your curfew, okay?” He asked with one hand on the wheel. His faux-leather jacket contorting around his toned arms made it difficult not to remember the moments they shared around midnight. The imagery of their candle-lit room appearing in her head as he sat at the wheel stopped her from replying for a moment.

“Y-Yeah sounds great. You’re the best, you know that?” She thanked him for sacrificing his time to make sure she arrives home on time.

“You remind me all the time.” He sneaks in a small wink between his sentences “I’ll see you tonight, Cherie”

Y/N smiled before turning around to prance over to her friends. Y/N heard the faint sounds of Lafayette driving off, sighing in relief

After briefly explaining my situation to the boys, we quickly head over to the library.

A woman in a coral-pink blazer and pants set is waiting impatiently at a table she rented out just for us. “What in the world took you guys so long?” She pressured for an answer

“C’mon Angie, that wasn’t even ten minutes.” Thomas rolled his eyes before removing his backpack and opening a chair for Y/N. Real smooth, Thomas, I can’t lie. He looked over to me, seeing stars in my eyes as I realize I’m standing next to the oldest Schuyler.

“You’re-” She interrupted me with a smile, sticking out her hand to shake mine

“Angelica Schuyler. And you?” I swear her name sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard it around but I just can't place it. I do see her on my social media feed from time to time, and I must admit, she looks even more heavenly in person.

“Y/N L/N.” My hand meets hers in a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you.”

—-

At first, I thought nothing of it.

Though Lafayette’s text at 7:30 (on the dot) did push me out of my zone, I did appreciate his promise to me.

Thomas on the other hand seemed disturbed by my sudden leave, but it’s not like he’d understand. Alexander would literally kill me if I were home late.

But Thomas and I would continue to hang out. His evening texts would slowly become a weekly routine. Whether it was a scary movie or an ice cream date for just the two of us, he always found a way to spend time with me.

“Don’t tell me that mint chocolate chip is actually your favorite flavor, darlin’.” He adjusted his position on the park bench and raised an eyebrow, his gaze focused on the green ice cream atop my ice cream cone “You might make me regret takin’ you out tonight” he chuckled and I couldn’t help but smile

“You know you love me” I jokingly retorted, scooping part of my ice cream with my tongue, and relaxing against the bench.

It’s very rare to get to relax like this. Not only am I a fully-fledged college student, but also one of Alexander’s goons. The weekends are merely just ‘weekdays: the sequel’, but add forbidden literature and alcohol to that equation.

I look back up to Thomas, seeing his disgusted face. “Wait.. are you actually against mint chocolate chip ice cream?” I cocked an eyebrow towards him

He shrugged before chuckling “I recall telling you of my unfortunate arguments while visiting England..”

“..so what does mint chocolate chip ice cream have to do with your political upheavals in a foreign country?”

He smirked in an ‘all knowing’ manner. “Well, Darlin, if you did your research—“

“—You’ve got to be kidding me—“I start to wonder why I even asked

“—you’d learn that the monstrosity in your ice cream cone, mint chocolate chip, originated in England.” He completed his statement with triumph “Ever since my disagreements in England, I swore to despise such a concoction until the day I die.”

I looked at him like he was crazy. “I can’t believe you did your research on English creations. You’re so dramatic sometimes” I respond

“Hey, I wouldn’t be a Jefferson if I wasn’t.” He stared back to his cone, the mesmerizing ice cream almost reflecting himself back at him.

We shared silence for a moment. Words were unnecessary when we were together.

“I suppose..” Jefferson started “...I might be able to tolerate mint chocolate chip ice cream, but only for you, though.” He turned towards my direction

My eyes soon met his. “Well, I’m honored to be your exemption, Jefferson.” I smile with triumph, recognizing my effect on him.

He swiftly takes my hand, his skin feels burning compared to mine. Our eyes remain connected as he dips his head down to kiss the back of my hand. I attempt to hide the fact that my heart stopped beating for a moment, but the breath hitching in my throat wouldn’t help me at all.

“Let’s drop the formalities, Darlin, you can call me Thomas now.” My hand remained between his. I try my best to keep my hand still, wanting to marinate in this moment forever.

A new feeling courses through my body. Something unfamiliar. Perhaps it’s the charm of a Southern Gentleman. Maybe the feeling of being treated right for the first time, something I’ve never experienced from anyone.

What have I ever done to deserve this chivalrous kindness?

‘What a gentleman’ I repeat to myself in my mind. What makes him so different from the others?

From a simple kiss, I suddenly crave more.

More than the unresolved sexual tension between Lafayette and I.

More than I was ever granted the opportunity to.

Maybe ‘more’ is what I deserve.

My mind bleeds with the thought of Lafayette, but Thomas seems like he has so much more to offer. What if I do deserve to be happy? I may not have earned it, but who gets to declare my right to happiness? I was once happy with Lafayette, but the times have changed

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas.

---

But no matter how much I enjoyed spending time with Jefferson himself, I was always the first one to leave. I had to.

I remember the way his smile would fall at the sound of Lafayette’s car horn.

The way his jaw tenses whenever my phone vibrates across the table

Whenever Lafayette came to pick me up, I also can’t help but feel a part of my soul crack within me.

“I’ll see you this weekend?” He kisses the back of my hand once more in an attempt to savor this moment, continuing to maintain eye contact.

“I’ll try, Thomas. Not sure if I’m busy.” I sigh with fatigue. “But I’ll let you know.”

“Alright. Get home safe, darlin’” I hear him stand from the park bench as I wander to Lafayette’s car, his eyes following my figure.

I hop into Lafayette’s car before taking one last glance in Thomas’s direction, watching as his figure begins to walk in the opposite direction that our car was heading.

“Ahh, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re cheating on me” his sarcastic tone wouldn’t pierce deep enough.

I speak without thinking. “I do recall you claiming that you and I were never a couple, remember Laf?” My change in demeanor was certain to shut him up. And he did.

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas.

I remained turned away from Lafayette as we drove through the city. The memories built between Lafayette and I constantly falls like a house of cards, but I prefer to avoid the subject.

Lafayette felt otherwise, yet respected my choice.

He was the first to speak.

“Alexander needs me for a transport this weekend.” He stated, “I’m not sure when I’ll get back, so it’s very important that you get back from whatever plans you have before your curfew.” He takes a glance over to me and briefly meets my eyes

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N.”

Ah yes, the monthly literature transportation of Alexander’s gang.

The Notorious Sons of Liberty.

A popular group roaming the streets of New York. But instead ironically of selling drugs or performing homicide, they produce and sell illegal, banned literature and disperse them to the highest bidders.

How else do you think I pay for college?

Although gang violence isn’t really their thing, that doesn’t mean they’re not in possession of such weaponry and devices. I’ve never seen anyone take literature as seriously as they do.

They’re also known for their bold publicity stunts, which are indeed fun to watch from a nearby coffee shop. Watching Alexander, Lafayette, and some other friends, John and Herc, run from the authorities on a Sunday afternoon, accidentally laughing at the sight of John tripping over his own feet, Lafayette mouthing ‘help us out’ in my direction. Very entertaining.

On the contrary, their security on me has become tighter and tighter. I know they worry for the gang’s reputation over my safety, but it feels nice to imagine having a battalion of book-worm gang members watching over you.

“I know, I know. You guys can stop treating me like a kid” I attempt to contain a giggle to portray my seriousness.

He takes a glance at me before returning his attention to the road. “You cannot say that until you have another way home other than me.” He sighed rather loudly

“Be careful, or I might do just that, Lafayette.”

---

I sipped on wine and ate cheese at Thomas’s place without a care in the world on a Saturday night. Of course, I had to accept Thomas’s offer, I never knew how to say no to him.

Jefferson has sure been taking his sweet time to put a title on us. Now, I’m no philosopher when it comes to dating, but Ice cream at the park, fancy dinners, and wine and cheese sure sound romantic.

My night was going well. All until the 7:30 alarm on my phone rang, and before I knew it, everything began to go downhill

[events of chapter 1]

And next thing I knew, the cold New York air slapped my face, following the harsh slam of the apartment door.

As my adrenaline began to settle down, panic rushed through my body.

Fuck. At this rate, I won’t be home until after my curfew. Although my immediate instinct was to sprint my way home, those thoughts were quickly followed by the idea of passing out within five minutes. My apartment isn’t too far, but being fueled by wine and cheese doesn’t sound like the best idea.

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N” echoed throughout my head.

I begin to walk down the street before whipping out my phone to contact an Uber.

The small talk produced between my driver and I worked a bit to calm myself down, but that would all change the moment I walked through my apartment door.

Once I turn back around from locking the door, I’m met with exactly what I didn’t want to see at this very moment.

Lafayette stood staring at me, his lips pursed with anxiousness, recognizing my significantly late arrival.

Hercules, another good friend I’ve met through the sons of liberty, stood beside Lafayette. His mouth hung open in shock as he also recognized my mistake.

John, the group’s smallest yet mightiest, leaned against the wall, perhaps planning my fate right in front of me

And none other than Alexander Hamilton himself, sipping scotch on my couch, similarly to how I was not too long ago at Thomas’s place. The glare on his face quickly reminded me that I was in big trouble.

“Y/N, I thought I told you—“ Lafayette began but was quickly interrupted

“You’re late.” He swirled his drink before standing up. The clock ticked, and the hour hand notably passed the 8:30 symbol. I was not getting out of this one.

Although I feared for the following moments, I attempted to contain my emotions within myself. I kept my straight face for the time being. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.

“I’m well aware.” That came out of my mouth a little too harsh for my liking

“May I remind you that being out past your curfew could severely damage our image.”

I saw John look over to Alex from the corner of my eye. The air became thinner if that were even possible, and I refused to meet his eyes.

“And I do recall reminding you of your consequences.” He walked towards me and I felt my heart froze. “Having you out so late could raise some suspicions among our competitors, L/N.”

I couldn’t find the right words and resort to nodding instead

“I always fucking told you—“ he harshly slammed his drink onto the table beside him “—not to test the waters—”

“—I-I know—“

“So why the fuck are you stumbling in here past your curfew?”

At this very moment, I wondered if I had pulled the last straw.

I couldn’t speak. God forbid I spat out the wrong words. Contained within my thoughts, I didn’t acknowledge Alexander closing the distance between us.

“Ow!--” I watched as Alex shoved me to the wall, the moment playing in slow motion in my head.

Lafayette’s throat grew dry “Hey, Alex, Calm dow-”

He was interrupted by the sound of Alexander harshly slapping me across the face. My hands quickly went to soothe what felt like fire burning my cheek.

“We do so much for you, Y/N.” Alex growled

The sharp pain in my side grew, almost echoing throughout my body. I could feel my body giving up on itself. I mean, this wouldn’t be the first time Alex has acted like this.

Occasionally, Alex would stop by Lafayette and I’s apartment just to ensure I was home before my curfew, and he wasn’t the most forgiving.

--He owns an apartment key and has every single one of his gang member’s location tracked on his phone. Sometimes I wondered what was so special about us to have to keep all of us in check 24/7--

One time Hercules and I went shopping a little too late after sunset, part of me felt like a reckless teenager, probably because I was. I still remember Alexander’s face when I entered my own apartment, he looks identical every time.

In an attempt to shelter me, my body curled into itself against the wall. I shrunk to the floor, feeling his shadow intensely stand above me.

“Arghh!—“ the sound spilled out of me when I felt Alexander’s shin connect with my rib cage.

My lungs felt punctured under the pressure.

My arms felt like they could give out any second.

Part of me had wished I’d stay at Thomas’s place tonight, even if it meant telling him the truth.

What a predicament I’ve gotten myself into.

I looked up, wondering if my torment was over until I was met with a —Crack— Alexander’s knee encountered my face.

It was only a moment before I could hear the shuffling of the others’ shoes. I prayed they were coming to help me out.

Alexander lifted his glass of alcohol, previously forgotten, and hauled it towards me

Crash!

The piercing shards of glass combining with the stinging alcohol were the last thing I needed on a Saturday night. I didn’t notice the tears falling from my eyes until now, and the way my heart felt like it was just on a rollercoaster.

I kept my head low, watching blood drip down my face and onto the floor below me. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Alex! What the fuck?!” I heard Laurens yell

“Are you trying to kill her?!?” I recognized Lafayette’s scream

Before Alex was able to make another blow, Lauren and Lafayette were quick to hold him back, attempting to calm him down.

Hercules swiftly knelt beside me, the guilt was obvious in his gaze. I hated the pity in each of their glances towards me. He attempted to wipe away the blood from my forehead with a paper towel.

Alexander fought back against the two, trying his best to prove his point. There’s the Hamilton we all know, unwilling to stand down no matter the cost.

Hercules turned back to me, his words were ready to leave his mouth from the moment we reconnected eyes.

“Y/N..” He pulled me up and shoved me out of my apartment door. “..Run.” I almost stumbled into a nearby pole, but I began running, if running in my condition was possible, back to Thomas’s place.

—-

[events of chapter 1]

The next thing I knew, I woke up in Thomas’s bed beside him. I took a moment to soak in the feeling of his satin sheets. Part of me can’t recall the events before I passed out in front of Thomas’s apartment, or maybe my mind refuses to remember them.

The sun hasn’t risen yet.

I turn to my side and reach for my phone, wincing from the pressure applied to my rib cage.

The bright light of my phone hitting my eyes felt like I was transported to another dimension.

54 notifications:

12 calls from Lafayette 🥐

24 texts from Lafayette 🥐

1 text from Alexander 💡

3 calls from Mariah 💋

14 texts from Mariah 💋

“oh fuck..” I sigh, wondering how things will play out.

Out of curiosity, I open the message from Alexander. Perhaps it’s an apology? Maybe a reminder?

Alexander 💡: I know where you are, Y/N. Don’t drag your friend into this. Because I can.

Where I am? I ask myself

My heart dropped, remembering that Alexander tracks my location 24/7. He knows where I am at this very second.

By escaping to Thomas’s apartment, I’ve just dragged him into this mess I’ve made. If my worlds collide, it would all be because I ran to this exact apartment.

Panic once again rushed through my body.

I need to get out of here. I need to leave.

I slip out from under the sheets and grab my belongings. Unprepared for what’s to come, I steal one of Thomas’s jackets from his cluttered desk chair. I’ll give it back eventually, I thought to myself.

After I put on my shoes I take one last glance toward Thomas.

He seems so peaceful when he’s asleep, tangled in his blanket, not to mention his name-brand Mac and cheese pajama pants.

I’m sorry if I drag you into this, Thomas, you just wouldn’t understand.

Taglist <3: @kenmacrumbs @strayblades @laic2299 @ohsoverykeri

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sincerly-kate · 4 years ago

Text

Deadly kind of Luck (Joel Miller x reader)

Summary: You, Dina and Ellie go out on a supply run and have a close call with some runners. But what happens when a close call is too close? What does Joel think when he sees you at the brink of death?

A/N: Yes this does take place in part ii, but since I’m not done the game but still trying to recover from certain scenes that I’ve witnessed, this will have minor spoilers for the second game but nothing past the first chapter Jackson (Which has been slightly modified), and there will be spoilers for the first one. This will pick up where part ii would technically start. Also I’ve tried my absolute hardest to make this as gender neutral as possible so all of you can read this, enjoy!

Requested?: No

Word count: almost 3k

Warnings: Swearing,violence, and if you know these games, you know what you’re getting into, same rules and warnings apply here for the most part.

You promised Maria that you would go with the two girls on their morning run today, not because she didn’t trust them, but because the area she wanted you three to was known for swarms of infected. You’ve known Maria for years now, you were neighbours before the whole world went to shit. When the infected started to take over the city, she ran to your house, got some supplies, told you to get in her car and you guys left. But it wasn’t until a few years ago that you two were reunited after being ripped apart by a giant hoard of infected. You ran into the forest, as far as you could, and she ran in the other direction.

Fortunately for yourself, you were found in that forest by a smuggler named Tess, who took you in; and the rest was history.

You were behind Dina and Ellie, keeping an eye on the woods as you passed on your horses. Your gaze kept going from the tops of the snow dusted trees that were bare of any form of leaves, to the bushes that looked like little clouds that were placed so intricately on the snow dusted ground. The slight movement of the water from the river was what was keeping you calm and grounded, without something as small as the stream of water, you knew you’d go insane from the silence alone. Thankfully, Dina broke the silence and brought you out of your focus and into their quiet discussion you didn’t even realize they were having. ‘Guess I was just really deep in thought then.’ You thought to yourself.

“So, y/n, you and Joel huh?”

You immediately blushed at what she was inferring and looked down at your horse, Eos. Ellie and Dina knew full well about your crush on the man, but you always felt that it was one sided. You saw how he reacted when Tess sacrificed herself for the three of you. He’d hadn’t been the same since. You always felt guilty for what happened to Tess, but Ellie constantly reassured you that there was no way you could’ve prevented that. You knew how stupid it sounded to be scared of rejection, but that was something you had constantly dealt with, even before these apocalyptic times; it just became something you’d become accustomed to now.

Thankfully, Ellie noticed your silence, and took this as enough of an answer.

“Dina, leave them alone.” Ellie said with a sigh, not because she was annoyed, but because she knew exactly what was going on in your head.

You always talked with Ellie about that kind of thing since you both have similar fears. It’s what brought you guys even closer together, knowing that you’d rather die than abandon the other. The amount of times the two of you would stay up late and just let out all of the things you could never tell Maria, Dina and Joel, you’d cry on her shoulder and her on yours if necessary. Then carry on surviving, it was all you two could do in times like these.

“What? I was simply curious is all. The two of them would be the ultimate power couple! like-”

“Dina-” Ellie said stopping her girlfriend from saying anymore, not taking her eyes of the path in front of her to look at Dina behind her. She knew the line, but Dina didn’t see the harm in slightly crossing it.

Dina sighs and stops for your sake and the brunette’s.

You silently thanked her for stopping.

Once you guys made it to the abandoned town, you tied the reins of the two horses onto the posts outside of the building and scoped out the area for any infected or hostiles.

It was all clear.

The three of you then regrouped and headed through the front doors together, Ellie surveying your right, her shotgun in hand, Dina on your left with her knife, and you checked straight ahead with your bow. You split off into three directions, and as you looked through the various rooms of the pharmacy, you found a pit that was a far down enough to lead straight to the basement from the middle floor.

Unfortunately, you found it by falling through the hole in the floor and onto the solid concrete floor.

You grunted from the pain of falling on your back and rolled onto your side, and as you tried to get up, you heard loud footsteps come from above you.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” You heard Ellie yell out, hearing what you assumed to be Dina’s footsteps not too far behind her.

“Yeah,” You said with some strain, you definitely bruised your side on your way down. “I think I’m okay.” You slowly began to get up, but your heart began to fill with dread.

Infected were coming your way, to check out the noise you made; it was a lot of them by the sounds of it.

“Ellie! Dina! RUN!” you yelled up to them, but Ellie heard them coming and wasn’t having it.

“Hell no y/n, there’s no way I’m leaving you down there to die!” Ellie then begins to kneel near the hole to put her hand out for you to take, “Give me your hand y/n!” she yells down to you.

You then notice some boxes that you could use as stairs and began to make your way up to meet her hand when you see them turn the corner.

“Oh shit.” You whispered, the tension and fear bloomed into your nerves.

There was at least twenty clickers, runners and god knows what else within the swarm of infected.

“Oh shit!” You yelled again as they gained speed to your location, climbing even faster to meet Ellie. A runner then grabs your ankle and drags you back down to the swarm, where you suddenly feel a pain in your side, but right now that was the least of your worries; you needed to get out of this pit.

“NO!” you hear the girls scream in agony as they see one of their closest friends get dragged into a pit of infected and swarm you; assuming the worst.

Ellie then brought out her pistol without a second to lose, to give you a chance to run, which worked.

You took your chance to get away and ran up the crates up to where Ellie and Dina were covering you so you could have a fighting chance.

“C’mon let’s go!” you heard them yell, as Ellie grabbed your hand and pulled you towards her to make sure you weren’t left behind.

Ellie practically dragged you from room to room, your arm now wrapped behind her neck so you could use her as a makeshift crutch. Dina was in front to take on any infected that came towards you and to lead you two to safety.

Once you managed to make it back to the horses, the idea of finishing the mission Maria sent you to complete on the back burner in the two young girls minds; you were far more important than supplies at this moment. You began your rushed journey home holding onto Ellie on Eos, now fighting against the clock.

Ellie’s P.O.V

As we were running through the forest on Eos and Dina taking Shimmer, since y/n was in no shape to ride Eos alone and Dina was one of the few people Shimmer allowed to ride her without me; I began to think about what I was going to tell Joel.

‘Yeah sorry Joel but I fucked up and y/n almost became clicker bait! Don’t worry though, it won’t ever happen again!’

Any scenario I tell him what happened ends in screaming matches or him leaving camp with them with him in tow, with them alive or dead. I shake my head as I try to go faster.

The thought of them dying for a minor mistake like this began to eat at me. It was scaring the hell out of me, that one of the few people I care for might die; I can’t bare losing another parental figure over some dumb ass mistake like this.

We finally made it back home in record time, and the second those gates opened, Eos ran through those gates all on her own, most likely sensing the fear going through my veins. It was almost as if Eos knew her owner was in danger, she ran towards the doctor’s house and stopped immediately.

I looked towards Dina, who was directly behind me and I didn’t even need to say anything, all she did was look at me and nodded.

“I’ll go get him; you just make sure they get better.” Then off she went, running to Joel’s house.

“Don’t worry y/n, you’re gonna make it, like hell are you going to die on me.” I said to them, but I didn’t know who I was trying to convince here; myself or them. As we walked up, with them using me again as a crutch, I noticed that their skin had paled in comparison to when we were at the store. I started walking faster towards the door.

Y/n’s P.O.V

All you could see was pitch black. Nothing more and nothing less, but your hearing began to slowly come back to focus, just like a swimmer breaking the surface after being under for a few minutes; it became overbearing almost. You managed to focus on one single voice, a voice that caused you immense comfort during your darkest times, just like this one: Joel’s.

“What the hell happened out there you two?”

You didn’t need to see him to know he was holding back on the two girls, but you didn’t blame either of them for this, hell you’re the one that went with them on the run, you knew the risks that’s why you went.

“Joel I’m so- “Ellie; you could hear the tears she was holding back. You saw her as your own daughter, that’s why you didn’t stop Joel from punching Seth, hell if it was you, he would’ve gotten a hell of a lot more than just a punch. The mere thought of him made your hand twitch in rage. That managed to get their attention, or at least Dina’s from the sounds of it.

“Guys- “

“Not now Dina- “ The two said in unison, they were more alike then they cared to say.

“Their hand moved!”

The room filled with silence, until you felt Joel place your hand in his rough yet soft ones.

“Darlin’, are you still there? Please… I can’t lose anyone else, especially not you.”

You tried to move again, but it was as if your body was made of pure lead; it wasn’t going to happen. You felt a head lay on your shoulder and a kiss on your cheek, as two drops of what you assumed to be tears, dropped onto your forehead.

“I’m not givin’ up on you y/n, not now, not ever. You’d do the same for me.”

If you were able to move, you were certainly curled up in a ball next to him and cry at how broken your boyfriend sounded due to your mistake.

-TWO WEEKS LATER-

Saying that you were beginning to get pissed off at this whole situation was the world’s biggest understatement. You could hear everyone around you, but you couldn’t talk back or move. Maria had come in to see you, hell even Tommy joined her a few times, but you felt like that was because he wanted to inform Joel on any new updates on your condition. All you wanted was to hold Joel as the two of you watched cheesy 80’s movies, which made you smile at the thought of.

You weren’t listening to what was going on around you today, for the most part it’s been a doctor coming in and making sure you didn’t kick the bucket just yet.

But now you really wished you were listening to what ever lead up to this moment.

You felt a cold piece of metal press into your forehead, and you had pissed off one too many people to know exactly what that metal was, and your stomach dropped; a gun, the doctor was going to put a bullet in your head.

It was as if your body was shocked with a defibrillator; you jumped out of the bed and hid in the closest thing you could see, which was the closet.

“Holy shit!” You heard the doctor screech and bolt out the door.

‘guess he wasn’t expecting what he got.’ you thought to yourself. ‘Never seen someone scared that shitless.’

You heard footsteps run out the door and then a different pair- no pairs- of footsteps make its way into your room.

“Y/n?” Joel. He’s just outside the closet door. You could make out his face through the gaps in the door, he had his gun out; did he think you would hurt him?

That voice made you whimper, and you scolded yourself for giving away where you were. You slowly got out of your hiding spot, your hands up in surrender, and looked at your lover, finally after who the hell knows how long you’ve been comatose.

“I’m here baby, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” You rushed into the others arms and decided that this is where you wanted to spend the rest of your days; this was home.

“Oh, thank god, oh thank god.” He kept repeating it, but you didn’t care, he was here, and you were both okay- wait the infected! You were bit! The last thing you wanted was to take him down with you.

You pushed him away in fear, you saw his face change from happy to concern, he tried to walk towards you, but you moved back to keep the space.

“How the fuck am I still alive?” You looked to Ellie, who was just as concerned as Joel was for the sudden change. “How long have I been in here?”

“I was bit! I felt it dig its teeth into my side! How the fuck am I still not turned into one of those things?!” You were just about to go into a hysterical episode as you continued, but Ellie went in front of Joel to get to you and held your arms.

She tried to get you to look her eyes, but you were too frantic to meet her eyes. So, she decided that she might as well come out with it.

“You’re just like me y/n, you’re immune.”

That managed to shut you down immediately.

You looked at the teenager in front of you in complete shock,

‘There must’ve been mistake. You would’ve known already right?’

“I-I’m what?”

Joel moved Ellie to the side gently, and guided you to the bed you’d been comatose in so you could take all this information in, with him on your right and Ellie sitting on the floor in front of you, holding your knee to comfort you.

“You can’t turn into one of them baby.” He confirmed Ellie’s previous statement, and all you could say was something only you could’ve thought of:

“Damn, well at least this will be one hell of a scar and one badass story.” You said nonchalantly as the room filled with your family’s laughter.

“Well that’s one way to think about it. At least that means I can spend the rest of my life with you with one less worry. That is if you let me?”

You looked at him like a deer in the headlights.

Ellie hit your knee, snapping you out of your trance; realizing you didn’t say what you were thinking, you shook your head and placed your hands on the sides of his face. You leaned in and finally kissed him. The taste of that first kiss would stay with you forever; the way his lips molded with yours like a perfect puzzle piece. He placed his hands on your face, pulling you in closer, as if to shield you from the rest of the world.

You pulled away but you both kept your hands on the others face.

“That enough of an answer for you?” You both giggled and leaned your foreheads together.

You heard Ellie hit her knees and curse and walk towards the door, but before she left you saw her turn around.

“Thanks Joel, now I owe Dina a song because you didn’t have enough balls to kiss them first.” Then she walked out the door.

You both moved away from each other as you went into fit of laughter over Ellie’s comment, as Joel looked at you in adoration.

If the apocalypse has taught you anything it’s this; you would go through all of the pain its brought you if you could still have them next to you, no matter the cost , if it brought you to this very moment. You couldn’t imagine a life without either Joel or Ellie in it, right by your side; you three against the world.

#joel miller x reader #tlou joel #joel miller #gender neutral reader #The last of us part II #joel the last of us #kate writes #the last of us fic #the last of us part ii spoilers #fanfic #tlou2 #tlou

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