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burningvelvet · 9 months

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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).

---

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

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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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j--ackdaw · 8 months

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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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cyncerity · 2 years

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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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giordirossi · 2 years

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TW: gore, violence, blood

Seduce and destroy remained her least favorable and yet somehow most successful method of luring in Russian filth. Pose as a lonely woman, stand at an upscale bar and pretend to look lost, wear something just tight enough to draw attention without being too obvious about it. Coupled with the occasional wig and anonymous nature of her work, it made for the perfect situation to slide a questionable cocktail across the counter and bat her lashes like a cosmopolitan Jack The Ripper.

They always slumped during the “walk to the car” segment. Nobody ever made it to the mouth of the alley before knees hit pavement and her backup swooped in to carry the not-quite-dead weight, stuffing them into a trunk and eventually escorting the unlucky contestant into her little gameshow of horrors. This shit was practically clockwork by now and while she much preferred the challenge of a good brawl in darkened corners, a knife to the ribcage typically made people less inclined to talk. Here, though? Here she could take her time and get a little... creative with the methodology of extraction until they were no longer of any interest.

Take the latest sad sack currently dangling by his wrists, twirling gracefully like a crimson coated music box figurine. Susceptible to the frigid temperature from last night and her continued games this afternoon, inching ever closer to desperate pleas for a mercy she couldn’t fathom. Experience attuned Giordana to the telltale signs, every shuddered breath and mewling whimper provided insight into what further agony a man’s body could take. Where his personal line existed, how close she traipsed along the edge of knocking him into useless oblivion. At least her hands were clean–– for now.

This one required further marinating and with an admonishing click of her tongue, she released the singular salvation between his mottled torso and the next fragment of suffering. Metal twisted against sinew in jagged spiral motions, further mangling what was once a shoulder.

His ensuing screams echoed along the warehouse’s walls like a most unholy choir, reverberating to the heavens and finding no response. Perhaps God really did choose favorites. The sound was a sickening alarm that might have turned over anyone else’s stomach, but Giordana sat unfazed and perched on a stool, reaching across a table of workman’s tools to pry her burner from the depths of a purse Vinnie bought for her this past Christmas.

Speed dial number one, it went straight to his own spare and he answered on the first ring. Typical. Some might infer that as a hallmark of their unwaveringly devoted friendship, she preferred to call it not having a life. All with an affectionate smirk, of course. “I’m thinking our usual spot at seven.” No greetings were necessary and her voice held the candor that accompanied casual dinner plans, despite any obvious shrieking in the background on her end.

“Oh dio, not there. The wait’s always an hour and it’s fucking French. The last thing I want tonight is––” Unmitigated howling followed by a slew of curses drew her attention away for a split second. “Do you mind? I’m on the phone.” As if her target had gone and inconvenienced a perfectly reasonable discussion. Not that she was the paragon of manners, but surely he could still use his one good eye to gauge the situation.

The glint of a needle and its accompanying thread sat untouched at the corner of her workbench, lithe fingertips reaching forward to trace the fabric and rolling it over with idle curiosity. “Anyway, just pick me up and we’ll play it by ear. Yeah? Good.” Relentless in all aspects of her life, consistency was key if nothing else. With that, the call ended and it became a party of two yet again as she pivoted the seat around to face her company.

Ironic, wasn’t it? How they deemed her the Russian of the Sovrani? She certainly didn’t recall being unwise enough to end up in these same straits, and while it had been years since teeth grit at the moniker, now her lips only pulled back into a voracious smile. Time to give her guest a taste of familiarity.

#( x. self para )#blood tw #gore tw #violence tw #just a lil kickstart

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skruffie · 1 year

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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 · 2 years

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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 · 2 years

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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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moonsugar-and-spice · 2 years

Text

Chapter Three: Not a Father, He Says

(Read on AO3)

Chapter Two | Chapter One

TW: brief depiction of violence (near the end)

🎵 All my friends are heathens...🎵

+++

To think, he might have lived and died and never sailed the sea.

The sky was moonless overhead, the ocean and heavens mirroring the starry darkness to every side. Only the ripple of water behind the ship and the sleepy, faraway wink of another passing marked the difference between up and down. This infinite reflection always made Lu Da feel like he was perched at the center of the universe.

He had come to love quiet nights like these. A moment of contemplative solitude in between the constant flux of his days. Acar was asleep, slung across the bridge of his shoulders like the drape of a hood. He leaned against the wall, keeping an eye on navigation as he reoriented Soraya, working a thin layer of wax into the bowstring with his fingers.

The air stirred behind him and the gecko cat perked up drowsily. Half-turning his head, Lu Da caught the familiar form out of the corner of his eye and went back to his crossbow.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Hiteo shifted. “I can’t sleep. It– it’s weird, being in there all alone.”

Lu Da’s fingers paused. He twisted to meet him fully from where he stood, still hovering in the threshold. His caramel gaze skated aside once as he picked at a fingernail, no visible trace of a joke or impishness.

He had genuinely come looking for him…

Lu Da straightened. Acar yawned, stretched, then dropped silently to the floor, slinking over to bump against his scrawny legs.

“Uh, sorry, kid,” he said, caught off guard both by the inference—the absurd notion that he might feel an ounce of comfort in his presence—and his own sincerity. “It’s my go at the helm tonight. You can nod off in here if you want.”

After the first incident, Hiteo had apparently elected to wait for an invitation, because only then did he step through into the control room.

“What are you doing?” he asked, shuffling up to him. Trying, and failing, to suppress that glint as his eyes held his crossbow.

It was easy to forget, sometimes. He was still just a kid.

In spite of everything, Lu Da felt the lopsided tug of a smirk, and he maneuvered it so that he could show him.

“Well, just like a ship, a weapon needs proper care if you hope to keep her in tip top shape. Gotta wax the string now and then to minimize fraying, helps it last longer.”

“What happens if the string breaks?” Hiteo asked

“You… say a lot of words, and then pray it never happens when you most depend on it. Which is why you always carry a spare, and an extra weapon.”

“Hmm,” he nodded. Tilting his head closer, he traced the intricate inlay along the limbs, then tested the pad of a finger against one of the stirrup’s sharp prongs. “What are these metal spikes in the front for?”

Lu Da turned it so that the iron stirrup was pointing at the floor.

“Its main purpose is so you can steady the crossbow with your foot while you cock it, or engage the bowstring in the trigger.”

Hiteo’s brows quirked upward as Lu Da simulated the mechanics.

“That looks kinda hard.”

Lu Da gave a shrug in the affirmative.

“It’ll put some muscle on you, for sure. But…” He flipped Soraya again so that the double-spired stirrup was in the air. “Let’s say your string does break at the worst time, and you forgot to bring that extra weapon. You can grab it,” he demonstrated, slow-motion hurtling it toward the boy’s head, “bring the spikes down like this, and… Klsshhhurnk.”

“Ouch,” winced Hiteo, beaming.

“Yeah.”

“Think I could try shooting it sometime?”

Before Lu Da could say, “Don’t push your luck,” Hiteo interrupted.

“What if I convince Rizo to paint a picture of that grumpy admiral on a stack of crates for practice.”

Lu Da laughed. “We’ll see.”

They fell to silence for a short while as Lu Da adjusted the helm and Hiteo wandered around, gazing out the windows, giving a pat to Acar’s scaly head, inspecting the chart table and its maps dotted with pins, then the gauges and controls.

“What do these levers do?” he asked, inching closer.

“You mean you didn’t figure that out when you accidentally switched a few and then landed on your ass to eat metal?”

He made a face, but leaned forward. “I think this one is for controlling how much fire power you use, how fast you go. And this one…” His lips pulled to the side. “…is for changing forward and reverse.”

“Been spying lately, have you?” smirked Lu Da. “Okay, if you’re so smart, tell me what this lever does.”

“It, umm, opens a hatch somewhere?”

“Close. It lowers the bow to form a ramp when you make port.”

A nod, and then Hiteo’s attention narrowed to the wheel Lu Da had adjusted. His fingers twitched, like he could scarcely keep from reaching out to touch it.

“Can I help you steer?”

“Not doing so much steering at the moment, but… Eh, why not, go on and take the helm.”

Lu Da motioned to the compass, then the charting table to their left.

“We’re sailing a course east-northeast to that first pin on the map. Gotta keep one eye on the compass and your better one on the horizon for oncoming ships.”

Hiteo was practically vibrating with excitement, small hands clasped with rookie confidence around the wheel.

“Wait’ll I tell my aunt and uncle I got to steer the ship on my way.”

Lu Da chuckled softly. “If you want, next time we make port, I’ll let you lower the bow.”

A gasp as he lit up. “Really?”

“Sure,” shrugged Lu Da, aiming for indifference, but the delight radiating off the kid was infectious.

An hour later, the bridge was quiet again.

Only the hypnotic drone of the engine and Hiteo’s soft snores where he lay curled up with Acar on a floor mat, draped beneath a blanket Lu Da had found stashed in a chest.

The boy was still sleeping when Honzen came to take over. The fledgling dawn was just beginning to rim the sky in pale light.

Lu Da left Hiteo undisturbed and went to catch a few hours’ rest himself.

+++ +++ +++

He woke to the glare of late morning sun, an ominous juddering, and the makings for some bad news.

They were just over one day’s sailing from Sao Tong. But the ship had developed a problem in the engine room.

The wind was growing restless and the waves were no longer calm, a storm promising to head their way. And every so often, the ship shook and shuddered alarmingly. The crew had pinpointed the source of the trouble, but the problem area was proving thorny. The engine revs had to be reduced in order to try to ease the convulsions, to prevent the ship from potentially damaging itself, but this also meant that if the storm were to hit, it could prove difficult to steer accurately against the waves.

They would have to pull in to the next port, see to repairs, and there was no telling how long that might take. How much more time this would tack onto their itinerary.

Lu Da cursed, equal parts frustration and gratitude, as his wiry first mate crossed the deck toward him bearing two plates of food.

“Thanks,” Lu Da muttered as he handed him one, saluting him with it.

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Rizo. “It was Fang’s turn to cook.”

Lu Da huffed wryly, chewing a large mouthful of lunar bat stew and grimacing.

“How are things holding up in the land of fatherhood?” Rizo asked as they walked.

Wolfing down a portion in a vain attempt to bypass his taste buds, Lu Da shook his head.

“The kid’s deceptively smart and a quick study, I’ll give him that. Even if he is a ballsy little turd goblin.”

“Hm. I’m put in mind of lychee nuts and the distance they fall from their trees.”

“Except I’m not this lychee’s tree.”

“Right, you’ve said that.” Rizo smirked, crooking up one side of his thin goatee. “Didn’t the mother say his father was Earth Kingdom?”

“Very funny,” mocked Lu Da, electing not to finish his stew, as he scanned the deck. “Where is the urchin now, anyway?”

“Last I saw him, he was laughing half his skull off learning how to play Hazard with Marik and Shu. That was an hour ago, at least.”

“Great.”

The ship shook again, faintly, then its shudder smoothed out with a groan as Shu trotted up on deck, flagging them down.

“Oy, Captain! Come here. You’re gonna want to see this.”

Rizo and Lu Da exchanged a look and followed him below deck, where whoops and hollers were echoing from the hull of the stern.

“What’s going on?” asked Lu Da.

“It’s the kid.”

Shu pointed up to a platform, where a pair of small legs jutted from a crawl space beneath one of the engine’s large pipes, too narrow for any of them to access without specialized machinery. Ribbons of steam were hissing out around a compromised seam.

“Bugger squeezed under to the place where a tier of bolts popped free and shook the metalwork loose of the vacuum line. Some of the men heaved the pipe back into the fitting while he managed to finagle the scattered bolts back in their sockets.”

Lu Da watched as Tonqa and Mongkbat held the cylinder steady while Marik extended a wrench, a small hand reaching out and stealing back inside the crawlspace. Honzen crouched on the other side, summoning a palmful of fire for light.

“They got him working to screw the pipe all back together. He’s gotta be putting some mean muscle into it, too, you know how those screws can be.”

Over the roar and clank of the engine room, it was hard to make out the instructions being barked back and forth on the platform. But several minutes later, Hiteo finally shimmied out from underneath with the wrench, soot-stained and soggy with sweat.

The men tested the results of his labor, gingerly at first. Letting off their weight, then when it held, doing their damndest to budge it.

When the cylinder stood firm, Marik faced the captive audience and gave a thumbs up, raising the boy’s hand in his.

The roar of approval drowned the rumbling of the engine. Hiteo grinned from ear to ear.

“Slap my ass and call me granny,” Rizo said, turning to Lu Da. “The juvenile terrorist just fixed our Mistress.”

Hiteo was jostled with enthusiastic noogies and elbow nudges as he made his way back down. Lu Da waited, arms crossed. The kid wiped his brow when he stopped in front of him, looking up with that shit-eating grin, and the pirate couldn’t help but smile back.

“Nice job, kid.” He knocked him lightly with a tattooed fist. “You really saved our asses, you know that?”

“Does that mean you’ll let me try out your crossbow now?” Hiteo asked expectantly.

Lu Da breathed a laugh through his nose, steering him up toward the deck.

“Alright,” he relented. “But first, I’ll need you to tell Rizo about that idea you had.”

+++ +++ +++

The storm raged by in the night, turbulent and unforgiving.

A cautious nudge and the whisper of a breath, and Lu Da startled awake, lurching back to register a young face in a spark of lightning.

“What’re you doing?” he slurred, the words gushing out on a breath.

“I– I had a bad dream,” Hiteo croaked.

Lu Da groaned, scrubbed a hand across his face. “Well, it was just a dream, go back to sleep.”

“I can’t. The storm’s so loud, and it feels like the ship’s going to tip over.” He caught his footing as the ship swayed. “I’m scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, it’s just a—”

A thunderclap swallowed his voice, jolting the boy’s lanky frame.

“Can I sleep with you?”

No.

Wind and rain reproached the red glass windows, anger in the form of elements, and Lu Da exhaled a hard breath.

They would be sailing into Sao Tong tomorrow, which meant Drudge, which further meant he would need to be on his game. Running on a few hours of shut-eye from the night before, all he wanted—and needed—was sleep, however he could get it.

“Uhh, fine. Okay.”

Lu Da rolled over as Hiteo clambered awkwardly in behind him, rustling around and around to get comfortable.

Blessed sleep was just stealing over him once more when the kid tossed again. Then turned. Then did a series of acrobatic pinwheels, or at least that’s what it felt like to Lu Da, who clenched his teeth and eyes shut simultaneously.

“Are you practicing your audition for the circus?” he growled.

Hiteo froze. “Sorry,” came the hiss at his back, small and clipped.

One final stir and at last the boy settled in.

+++ +++ +++

Morning greeted him with a leg slapped over his head and a foot smashing his face.

Hiteo had pivoted in his sleep to be one with the headboard, his body bisecting the bed, as well as Lu Da. The pirate, for his part, was huddled at the edge, relegated to the last quarter and robbed of blankets.

With a groan, he rolled over, shoving the lanky legs off to the mattress and rousing Hiteo, who mumbled some dissent about going to school.

By early evening, the port city of Sao Tong came into view, its skyline rising off the sea like a mirage of empty promises.

A skeleton crew stayed on board while Lu Da went ashore, backup in the form of his two closest comrades. They flanked Hiteo on either side as they walked, his quartermaster and his first mate.

It had been a subject of some dispute, whether or not to bring the kid. Common sense argued that he hang back on the ship, where there was a better chance of safety—and a lesser one that he get into trouble. But naturally, Hiteo had begged and promised and pleaded, and there was a decent chance it would just be them and Drudge, anyway. Which, if he played his cards right, would make for a smooth enough transaction, there and done.

If a gathering was underway, well, that could complicate things. There were plenty in this domain who would lose no sleep over collateral damage in the name of revenge. But even then, most in attendance were likely to be halfway in the bag upon their arrival.

So, Lu Da had caved.

He hefted the sack of valuables higher up his shoulder, the hanok’s tiled roofs and stone courtyard taking shape through the trees. And, as misfortune would have it, a swarm of goons could be seen circling its guarded entrance.

Marik sighed. “So much for a quick and quiet in and out.”

“Another of Drudge’s benders,” said Rizo, who slid a glance at Lu Da. “Too bad the shindig’s probably buzzing with people who’d love to maim you. Wonder if they’ll have the custard fountain again.”

Lu Da laughed, husky and brief. “Don’t tempt me.”

They arrived before the set of doors. A heavy wall of a man stood guard, half as wide as he was tall, wearing an earth-toned tunic. It was cut in a fashion that might have suited a man half his size, his figure rolling over the sides like a sack of grain. Though from the way he carried himself, one could assume there were muscles under there somewhere.

“Invitation,” he gruffed as they strode up.

“Not here for the party,” answered Lu Da. “Have some business to settle with Drudge.”

“Not tonight, you don’t. Not unless you manage to shit out an invitation.”

The three pirates traded a glance.

“Shiro and I have history,” he expanded. “You mighta heard of me, name’s Lu Da—”

“I don’t care if your name’s King fucking Kuei,” he scoffed. “No invitation, no entry. Come back another time.”

Lu Da stared. Held himself back from asking whether he was new. There were few on this side of the law who didn’t have at least a vague inkling of who he was, but saying as much would help nothing, and he needed to get in there.

“Look,” he started again, “I’ve come a long way to make good on a debt I owe, I can’t easily come back another time. If someone could just tell him I’m here, I think he’d make an exception.”

The guy flagrantly ignored him, accepting the invitations of two more groups who shouldered past, checking them over.

“Or, have Shiro come out to me,” Lu Da offered, tightening the reins on his patience, “and I’ll settle the debt and be on my way.”

The guard took his sweet time nodding the other guests inside, and Lu Da waited until the distractions filed through and he was forced to face him again.

“Don’t believe me, that’s fair, but go ask him yourself. Drudge sent for me, I got a letter—”

“Lemme see it,” he grunted, a curt gesture of his hand.

“Uh.” Shit. “Well, thing is, I don’t exactly—”

His face hardened. “Enough, I said beat it. Drudge is busy tonight. And if I have to say it again, I’ll kick your graffitied ass outta town.”

I'd like to see you catch me first.

Right on cue, as if he’d spoken it aloud, Hiteo chimed in, “Dad, is there a baby in the man’s tummy?”

Lu Da’s eyes widened in horror and barely leashed fury as the boy tilted his head to look up at him, the image of child-like ignorance.

“I thought you said only girls could have babies.”

You absolute nightmare, I will invert your ribcage.

Anger contorted the guard’s face. “Think that’s funny, you little—?”

“Oh, my deepest apologies, the kid didn’t mean it,” Lu Da intruded quickly. He made a rueful gesture, grimacing. “He has some… issues. Didn’t get enough oxygen at birth, and, well, you can see he’s not the brightest.”

He caught the boy’s scowl in the corner of his eye, and it took everything he had to keep from smiling.

“But I’ve been trying to work with him. It’s been tough, you know, single father and all…”

The guy shifted his weight, raised his chin to glare down his nose at them, robust girth blocking the door.

“Right,” he relented. “I’m gonna go. Just, fair warning, Drudge might not be too happy when he finds out who you turned away at the door.”

At last, something uneasy flashed behind the hard walls of his eyes, and Lu Da knew he was close.

“I’m just following orders,” he maintained, his tone fracturing, “no one gets in without—”

“’Course, you’re just doing your job, I get it. Well, tell the old lug I stopped by, anyway, would ya?”

They turned around, started back the way they came. Rizo slid him a glance and Lu Da returned a subtle expression, counting their steps in his head until…

“W– wait.”

There it was.

As if on beat, they wheeled back around to face him.

Grain Sack shot a glance back over his shoulder, and sighed. “Lu Da, was it? Hmm, pretty sure I’ve heard of you…”

His gaze cut from him to Hiteo, then to Marik and Rizo. “Who’re they?”

“My emotional support idiots.”

His mouth pinched. “Fine, go on, but make it quick. I got eyes on you.”

Inside the air was thick with musk and liquor, flavored with the pungent odor of taima. Everyone was either shitfaced or getting there.

“Think any of them’ll remember you?” Marik asked.

“Hell, I hope not.”

“Slim chance there, Captain,” said Rizo. “Guy decorated in so much ink isn’t easy to forget, and that’s before leaving such a memorable impression, as you did.”

“What did you do?” asked Hiteo.

He could hear the whispers rippling outward in his wake, feel eyes starting to turn. Some openly glared, others seemed content to glance at and away in quick slashes. And then the crowd parted up ahead to reveal several pairs of eyes in particular, scorching the path between them.

“Judging from the looks I’m getting,” Lu Da muttered, “you’re about to find out.”

Their razor sharp grins rusted to rancor as the one in the center—Bin, a loud, turgid bully of a man, probably compensating for the peanut in his pants—took a strutting step forward.

“Well, look what the dung beetle coughed up,” he crowed, chest puffed out. “You got some balls showin’ that ugly face of yours here again. Or should I say tits? Planning to fashion another pair so you can dupe a bro into feeling you up?”

“If I recall,” Lu Da replied, “it didn’t take much duping on my part.”

Indignation burst in Bin’s face, hot and bright, and he spluttered, “It was dark! We’d been drinking. Which reminds me—”

“Yeah,” the guy beside him, Joon, spouted off, “I remember you! Took some of us a solid week to get it up again after that night.”

The eyes of a passing servant widened, his gait quickening.

Lu Da only lifted a brow, a corner of his mouth tugging. “Sounds like you may have suffered an acute drop in blood pressure, which I’ve heard can cause some unfortunate side effects. Weird that it happened to you all at once though.”

“We know you helped one of those sluts slip something in our drinks.”

“Hey now,” he said, hands raised, “I get the blow it musta been to your egos, but to go blaming—”

“Someone found the shit being boiled in the back.” Joon looked like he might combust from sheer loathing.

“Still. Can't prove it was me.”

“Oh, really?” Bin barked. “Custard Tits? Even if we didn’t know, that little stunt you pulled in that room dropped the coin. Maybe you were just a bit jealous of the ladies, huh? Come back for seconds?”

“Don’t flatter yourselves, you should know I’m only here for the custard fountain, where is it?”

Another servant, obviously new, pointed him in the direction. Lu Da thanked her, and Bin flashed a look to kill by as he tossed them a parting nod.

“Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”

Nudging elbows and dodging drinks, they moved through the congested halls. Hiteo’s face scrunched up as he looked at him.

“Custard Tits?”

Lu Da scratched at the stubble on his jaw, exhaling a chuckle, while Rizo plucked a spicy mung bean fritter off a platter.

“Well, what happened was,” he began, popping it in his mouth, “we were mingling with their circle at just such a party a while back, and they started talking about corralling a few of the serving girls into a room and gang—”

“Rizo,” Marik stopped him. “Kid’s eight, spare the details.”

“Right. Anyway, the guys claimed the girls wanted them, but you’d have to be blind and deaf and then some not to know that what they wanted was nothing to do with them.” He shook his head. “Bog-grubbing bastards didn’t care.”

“So,” Marik pitched in, “Lu Da excuses himself, pulls one girl aside and tips her off, suggesting she cut some bark from the Cat’s Claw out back and make them a special round of drinks.”

“Few hours pass, and Bin’s on his way up to meet the same girl, Unmei, in a private room, or so he thought,” continued Rizo. “Lu Da made sure it was dark. He’d filled a couple koala sheep-skin bags with custard, secured them inside his tunic, and had the guy copping a hot and heavy feel before his hand found some wayward muscle and he realized.”

Marik huffed. “Rotter was wasted.”

“Or maybe I’m just that irresistible,” offered Lu Da.

Rizo’s wolfish grin overtook his face. “Captain came running outta there in stitches of laughter, with a good shiner bloomin’ around his eye.”

“Later,” added Marik, “he also got so trashed himself that he stripped naked and jumped into the fountain so he could have all the custard to himself.”

“And that’s how we got kicked out.”

They were all laughing when there was a tug on Lu Da’s sleeve. Hiteo drew to a stop, his voice dropping to the scarce, distinct hush of horror.

“What happened to that man’s face?”

Lu Da tracked the kid’s line of sight, but it was an easy guess to the one in question before his eyes even made purchase.

Drudge.

The man looked cut in half. A scar ran from the crown of his head all the way down the center of his face, hooking under his chin and stopping—some would say unfortunately—just shy of his jugular. It was no thin pleating either, but rather a puckered, seething keloid that choked what remained of his nose and rived his lips apart to reveal cracked teeth.

Lu Da winced. He doubted he’d ever get used to it.

“Can’t tell you for certain.”

And it was true. No one really knew how he’d gotten it. Shiro liked to claim it was an occupational scar, but whispers contradicted him, though so many and so varied, it was near impossible to know which, if any, might be true. Even Lu Da, with his way of finding things out, had no idea.

Drudge was weaving through the mob, a set of bodyguards in tow, greeting friends and guests, when he looked over. Did a double take. And then his face lit up as he paraded toward them with open arms.

“Lu Da! Well met,” he said, smiling, if it could be called a smile, the way his mouth slewed wide, stretching his mutilated lips white. “This is a pleasant surprise. Wasn’t expecting you to make an appearance. Half thought I’d be made to hunt you down, can’t decide whether I’m impressed or disappointed.”

“Better luck next time.”

“Indeed.”

One of the heavies behind him cleared his throat absently, a wet, rattling sound, and Drudge’s gaze sliced sideward.

“Spirits’ sake, Hongbo, get a fucking drink,” he spat. Literally. Another unfortunate effect of his disfigurement. Drudge had a habit of dribbling when he spoke, or full-on spewing in a fit of passion.

Hongbo’s face flushed. “It’s… a condition, boss…”

“It's something, isn’t it?” Shiro laughed, raising his drink to them.

Eyes shifted. The party droned around them.

“Is there some place a little quieter we can go to settle this thing?” Lu Da asked, anxious to be done with it.

“What’s the rush?” sang Shiro, sweeping an arm out. “Stay a while, have a drink, enjoy yourselves. You’re no stranger to it.”

“Rather get business outta the way first.”

Shiro gave a shrug of his head. “Fair enough, if you insist. This way, then.”

They had just started following him when he twisted to say something to Lu Da, and stopped short.

“Ah ah, just Lu Da, I’m afraid,” Drudge tutted. “Sure to only take a moment.”

Lu Da shared a look with Marik and Rizo, brushed eyes with Hiteo, then back. “These three stay with me.”

“Hm,” he considered. “Well, I suppose that’s fair. I have my guards, you ought to be allowed yours.”

With a nod, Lu Da and company followed Drudge and his to a room in the very back, off the hanok’s right wing. The door had no visible knob or handle. Instead, it grated open at the swipe of his fist, retracting into a channel in the wall.

They filed in, the knobless door sealing shut behind them. One guard snapped his fingers and flames kindled to life in their scones as the pair of them took their places along the back wall.

Drudge hummed a cheery tune, circling behind his desk. It was a rainbow in brown, tidy and uncluttered, bearing only a quill and inkwell, a row of jars containing various substances, and a rectangular box filled with slim dagger-like bricks.

“You never told me you had a son,” he said, leaning over the desk to snort a line of white dust. A wet, contented smacking of his lips as he righted himself, dabbing his nose. “And you even brought him along, showing Dirty Hands junior the ropes. How quaint. And here I thought the tenderest thing about you was that crossbow you fondle.”

“Kid’s not my son,” Lu Da said.

“No? In that case, I could take the stray off your hands, if you like.”

Hiteo bristled, glanced up at Lu Da. He felt a crushing pang in his gut at the look he found there, the fear that he’d been tricked, but too quickly Hiteo's gaze tumbled back down as Drudge rounded toward him.

“Come here, lad, let me have a look at you.”

The air shivered. Hiteo recoiled from Drudge’s reach just as Lu Da stepped in front of him, muscles flexing beneath his tattoos.

“Ooh,” Shiro sneered, drawing back in a pantomime of fear, locking eyes with Lu Da. “Not a father, he says.”

“The boy’s under my protection. And I’d appreciate it if you would keep him out of this.”

His disfigured head tilted aside as he stared, blinked, his mouth twitching. “Fancy yourself some sort of bleeding heart now, is that it? Or with dreams of being one?”

Lu Da only held his gaze, features set.

Drudge’s lips twisted, trembled. A single laugh spluttered out. And then the dam broke, a torrent of rising cackles gushing out, spittle flying, until he was gasping for breath, dabbing at his eyes.

Hiteo’s skinny frame pressed closer behind him.

“A wolf might as well dream of becoming a dove. Oh, Lu, you always were good for a laugh. You know it as sure as your mother screamed when she shat you out…” His skewed smile thinned to a ghost as he clasped a hand on his broad shoulder, leaning closer. “There are no good men in this game.”

Lu Da dropped his eyes to the floor.

When they rose again, they were carefully vacant. “Got something else to do after this,” he said, “so if you don’t mind us cutting to the chase.”

“No plans to stay for the revelries? All business and no pleasure for once?”

Those ruined lips blanched taut as the hand on his shoulder squeezed affectionately. It took all of Lu Da’s strength not to forcefully remove it.

“It’s a good thing I’m of sound mind, or I might have a leaning to be insulted,” he chirped, stepping back, and it was honestly hard to tell whether he was joking. “Though after the last time’s… excitement, perhaps we can agree.”

“Yeah…” Lu Da rubbed the back of his neck. “About that…”

Shiro waved a hand, as if banishing smoke. “Bygones, bygones, think nothing of it.”

The first bodyguard, Hongbo, cleared his throat again into a closed fist.

Drudge’s expression cracked, like an eggshell, revealing something else inside, almost indistinguishable—almost—but, just as soon, it was gone, and he was exactly as he had been.

Lu Da wasn't the only one who noticed. He could feel a quiet tension, a rope pulling the air tighter.

Shiro, in turn, must have sensed the young boy’s discomfort, because his eyes fell to where he half hid behind Lu Da. Several moments, and then the split of a smile, flaunting broken teeth. Hiteo shrunk closer.

“Charming boy,” he said, lifting his gaze to the captain again. “Did I ever tell you about the time I saved a baby from a burning building and an armadillo bear?”

The trio of men cocked their heads, quirking a wide array of expressions. Lu Da taxed his mind, trying to piece together how he got there, where they were going.

“A burning building and a…?” Lu Da trailed off, his tongue stayed by caution. “No, I don’t think you have.”

“It was a three-story building, a bath house,” he began, face lit with gusto. “I heard a baby crying, so I ran in through the flames, no regard for my own safety, of course. Found the baby, ran to the window, and jumped out.”

He mimed an enthusiastic leaping motion.

Lu Da was still processing what this had to do with anything when Marik spoke up.

“You… jumped out a third-story window, holding a baby?”

“Why, yes.”

Rizo chewed his cheek, brow creased. “Where does the armadillo bear come in?”

“Well, let me tell you.”

He drew a breath to continue when another wet, rattling hack beat him to it. A look flashed in his face, oozing from that earlier eggshell moment, and this time, he split.

Turning sharply, three earthen stilettos flew up from the box at his will, two burying into Hongbo’s throat, a third into his eye socket with a series of soft, squelching thuds.

The whole room flinched. Rivers of red spurted. The man was thrown back, pawing at his throat and his ruined eye, choking wetly, and Hiteo gasped, cleaving himself to Lu Da’s side. He shielded him close with an arm as Hongbo gurgled, then slumped to the floor like a puppet cut of its strings.

Lu Da had only an instant to arrange his features, to force panic into composure, before Drudge swiveled back around to face them brightly.

“Apologies for that rude distraction. Where was I? Ah, yes, the armadillo bear.”

The boy’s breaths came in short stutters at his side, fists balled tight in his tunic.

“I jumped and landed in something soft and sticky. It was a barrel full of honey!” he chortled. “Probably what attracted the beast in the first place. It got angry, I punched it in the face, and gave me just enough time to escape and run the baby to safety.”

No one dared to move. Red was pooling in a slick, growing pond around Hongbo’s body. Drudge only stood there, beaming expectantly, and it became clear he was waiting for something, a reaction to the tale one had to assume he’d meant to be amusing.

Lu Da dared to brush eyes askance with his friends. He swallowed back bile and forced a lightness he didn’t feel, the others following suit.

“That’s a good story, Drudge,” he ventured, managing a chuckle past the clot of dread in his throat. “Pretty funny.”

The smile melted off the man’s face like a wax mask.

“Funny?” he echoed.

The room fell still. Lu Da could hear the flames quiver in their fixtures. He felt his own affected smile wither, his mouth working, trying to make sense of his reaction.

“Well, I mean…” he glanced around, trying to keep his voice light. “Yeah. Isn’t that kinda…”

“How, precisely, do you find me funny, Dirty Hands?” he inquired, terse. “Funny looking?”

Lu Da blinked nervously. “What? No, that’s—”

“Funny sounding, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Boss,” hazarded the other guy, “I don’t think he—”

“I will hear it from Lu Da,” he snapped, twisting around, “and you’ll shut your mouth, else you end up like dear Hongbo there.”

The pool of blood was still spreading, dark and sticky. Drudge’s grin bordered on a snarl as he faced forward again, a string of sputum flying.

“Maybe I’m funny walking? Bandy-legged, like I’ve got a load in my pants, is that it?”

“Drudge,” pleaded Lu Da, “come on, I only meant—”

His hand slapped down hard on the desk and split the air, rage flashing in his eyes, brief as lightning.

“Don’t ever say I’m funny!” he roared, a vein bulging at his temple.

No one so much as breathed. Hiteo clung to him, face buried and whimpering silently.

Lu Da cursed himself a thousand times over for bringing him as Drudge came forward slowly, felt Marik peel Hiteo away before the man came to stop a nose’s breadth in front of his face. Lu Da’s fingers twitched over the dagger at his side, saw Rizo’s hands flicker in readiness. He held his ground with barely contained composure, fought the urge to draw back, the instinct that whispered run. There was nowhere for them to go.

Drudge’s gaze skewered him for what was probably only seconds, but might have been minutes, hours. And then, without warning, his edges all softened with a cloud of acrid breath, and a smile, warm, as if it had never left.

“Ah, you didn’t mean it,” he crooned, patting Lu Da’s cheek like an uncle indulging his most precocious nephew. “I know you. You didn’t mean it.”

“No,” Lu Da exhaled, shook his head faintly. The remnant of a smile he managed again felt like a grimace. “No, of course not.”

Nodding, he turned to round his desk again, voice buoyant as ever. “Shall we cut to the chase then, as you wish? You’ve brought my coin, I presume.”

Coin?

He felt turned about in a fog, disoriented, taking pains to ignore the body in the corner of his eye as his heart, still beating a wild drum, tripped in his chest. The question thrummed in time. Their terms had never stipulated the exact form of repayment, but it was too late to be second guessing now.

Wrapping the shreds of his aplomb around him like armor, his voice steady, he unshouldered the bag.

“No…”

The drink Shiro was raising stopped short of his lips. A muscle twitched under his eye.

“No?” he repeated, as if he hadn’t quite heard him, a strained air of curiosity that deepened the lines of his face.

“I brought you something better,” Lu Da hastened on, the shaky idea of a plan taking flight. “I had thought to pay in coin. I mean, that’s what most people would do. Coin is safe. Typical. Ordinary.” He uncinched the sack and stepped forward. “But I’m not an ordinary guy, and I happen to think that safe is boring.”

He spilled the contents carefully onto the desk, a gleam of polished jade winking among the scatter. Watched Drudge’s incisive gaze fall to inspect them. The upper line of the man’s mouth soured, his eyes lifting balefully.

“You think to pawn off a bunch of trinkets on me and walk out of here?”

“No, you got it all wrong,” answered Lu Da. “I think to make you the man of the hour. Everyone has coin, nothing special about that, really, once you climb a certain rung. But not everyone can boast a collection of unique treasures like these. Valuables from the world over.”

His sundered bottom lip plumped out, brow folding, as he considered this in tandem with the riches presented.

Lu Da knew he was treading a narrow tightrope. One slip, one wrong move, and the balance would tip.

“Maybe I took a gamble in bucking the trend. Maybe I’ve only succeeded in disappointing you,” he submitted. Then he shook his head. “But I don’t think so. It’s the ordinary guys who strut and boast about their mundane gold. But you’re no ordinary guy either, Shiro, and you’re sure as hell not mundane.”

“I’m most certainly not.”

“No. You’re a man full of surprises, who enjoys a good surprise in return, and I knew that only someone of your distinction would appreciate the originality of such a payment.”

“Hm.” Tilting his head, the man started a slow, pondering nod. The loot jangled, his sausage fingers sifting through them carefully. Jade glinting as he fished out the pendant. Inspected it. Letting it slide through his fingers back to the strew of treasures. “Naturally…” Then, with more enthusiasm as he looked at him squarely, grinning now. “Naturally! You do have me pegged, don’t you. Ha! I’d like to meet the man who could get one over on you.”

The breath of relief that rushed out of him might have been taken for a laugh.

“What can I say,” said Lu Da. “I’m a people person.”

Shiro chuffed, slapping him on the back. “I knew you were good for it all along. I might tease, but I never really doubted it.”

“Well, I’m also not a fool. And only a fool would make you hunt him down.”

“Indeed. Well, now that we’ve settled our affairs, why don’t we step back out to the party. I should hate to be a rude host and keep my guests unattended any longer.”

The door grinded open again. Hiteo sucked in a desperate breath. All Lu Da wanted was to grab hold of him and barrel out to safety. But instead, he settled a reassuring hand on his small shoulder and extended an arm.

“Lead the way.”

Drudge obliged, his remaining bodyguard in tow, and Lu Da’s eyes met Marik’s and Rizo’s in a tense exhale as they filed after him.

The boisterous sea of bodies enfolded them again, and Lu Da had never been so glad at the piercing gazes that found him through the crowd.

“You’re certain you can’t stay?” Shiro asked. “Not even for the custard fountain?”

“Wish I could,” he lied. “You know how it is.”

“Well, hopefully next time.” And then his face brightened as he swept himself away. “Ah, Angir! How delightful you came!”

The four boys all looked at each.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

+++

Chapter Four

#lu da #atla oc #original character #adoptive father #tropes #hiteo #marik #rizo #lu da's crew of miscreants #shiro (drudge)#atla fic #lu da(ddy)#pirates #privateer #moonsugar writes #writers on tumblr

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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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 · 3 years

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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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ceo-of-sloppy-men · 3 years

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Why Mara Sov Killing Spider is Fucked Up

TW: mentions of abuse

Okay hear me out but what if the seasons displaying more patterns of abuse than we're seeing. Spider, Variks, and Misraaks have been stated to be a former members of the House of Wolves; a House formerly connected to Mara Sov.

Spider left with the reason stated in his destinypedia being that he saw it as a "bad investment". We don't ever get actual context as to why, but we do get the context that the House of Wolves wasn't a good house by far. Mentioned numerous times by its members being bound by fear and loyalty, "Could not understand House Wolves tactics... bad tactics." (Variks), and the fact many were held in the prison of elders later on. Misraaks' backstory also states that he didn't have the greatest upbringing, and during his meeting/capture with Sjur it's repetitively stated that he's terrified of what his mother will do to him when he gets back, going as far as to attempt suicide.

Now, why is this important? This surely wouldn't lead to any patterns of abuse. Aren't both Eliksni who left fine? No! Putting both Misraaks and Spider side by side, comparing them by how it's stated in lore on their treatment of other Eliksni and their houses, there are actually similarities. As stated in the Destinypedia for the House of Spiders "He (Spider) rejects any notion of being a Kell and is an astonishingly generous employer by Fallen standards.". He's the kingpin of the Tangled Shore, and could probably get away with not even feeding his house if he tried, but he doesn't. In fact, he goes as far as to make sure they are taken care of and well-fed. Ring any bells? Misraaks goes as far as asking *the Vanguard* for help to save members of his house from a downed ketch at the beginning of Season of the Splicer. Even though they don't have the best supplies, he does his extraordinary best. Both Houses work with guardians to further their goals, making deals that benefit not just the leaders, but the rest as well. Ie: Misraaks having a home for the House of Light; Spider getting the Scorn off the shore which are the biggest threat to his house.

Signs of abuse are hard to pinpoint and determine, and I’m no psychologist, however, the need to possess and control in ways such as the Spider does don’t typically form naturally. They’re learnt behaviours employed to keep himself safe. Especially with the way that he’s driven to know everything that happens on his shore. Mirsaaks himself personally escorts refugees for the House of Light, as seen in the Season of the Splicer opener, putting himself in direct danger. He even goes as far as to trust Crow when he brings supplies that he stole from the Spider, rather than questioning him, he accepts the supplies and views Spider as an unlikely, but not an entirely unwelcome ally. People who’ve often gone through traumatic experiences, such as the same abusive experience, tend to trust one another far more than expected. This rings true with the way that Misraaks sees Spider as a potential ally, though we can’t see how Spider reacts to this as he doesn’t have any recorded dialogue referring to the House.

How does this relate to Mara Sov and the House of Wolves? Well, we’ve clearly seen through Misraaks’ backstory that the House of Wolves wasn’t a nice House, to begin with. From that, we can infer that Spider probably left on more than just “a bad investment” and potentially could’ve seen an opportunity to get out of an abusive situation. Though there’s something to be said about keeping so close to the Dreaming City, as well as Mara. If this was anyone else, you could write it off as naivete, or perhaps even hopeful stupidity, but Spider knew what he was doing. For a start, the Prison of Elders was nearby, at easy access for him to dispose of anyone who didn’t agree with him. Keeping himself safe in a way he could’ve easily learnt from the House of Wolves. Keeping Mara Sov close could’ve accomplished the same thing; keeping himself safe in learnt behaviour. If he had an alliance with the Queen, there’d be less of a chance of her retaliating or seeing him as a potential threat when the House of Wolves betrayed her. Especially since probably around the time he left, she would’ve been or would eventually become, the Kell of House of Wolves. Having a powerful ally in charge of past abusers - or even more likely; a past abuser - could grant him more protection than his guards. So when Uldren Sov takes over the reef and his palace, Spider runs and hides and does everything in his power to help as very little as possible so that it can scarcely be traced back to him in case the guardian fails. When he finds Crow and Glint wandering the shore, he sees more than a business opportunity, it’s a chance for revenge on the people who’ve wronged him. He captures them and seems to know exactly what to do to control both of them. Using them as his pawns, rather than the other way around like how House of Wolves/Mara Sov most likely did.

I could go on and on about the signs and signals, and all the ways that their treatment of their Houses and connections to others signify abuse, but I’m going to get to the point instead. I started this by saying how this season was showing us more patterns of abuse than we might realize. Is all the evidence I presented concrete? Sort of. It can be explained in many ways, but as someone who’s been in a few shitty situations I’d rather not detail, it struck a chord with me I couldn’t ignore. Neither Spider nor Mara’s actions are justified in the story. We don’t know if Mara Sov is truly Mara, if she’s acted like this in the past, or what she was like with the House of Wolves for sure. What we do know is that she and Petra continue to treat Crow lesser by repeatedly seeing him as nothing more than Uldren, and only looking for reasons to justify violence rather than directly asking if Crow himself thinks violence is justified (see Mara asking Glint about what happened to Crow. That was something for Crow to admit when he was ready, but for Mara to go behind his back for). What Spider did to Crow was wrong from an outsider’s perspective, but to him, it was justified and earned. Mara planning to kill Spider is - and I hate to admit it - justified from her perspective, yet still wrong. It’s not her place to decide what happens to Spider just because Crow went through it. It’s Crow’s place. Killing Spider will do nothing more than perpetuate the cycle of abuse, deeming violence to being the only solution, rather than looking for other options and seeking out other’s opinions.

This has been my ted-talk.

#destiny 2 #the spider destiny #the spider #daddy long legs #destiny the game #reasons why I hate Mara Sov #this was longer than intended

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moosoobi · 4 years

Text

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

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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