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lanadelnegan · 1 year ago

Text

Tattoo

Pre-apocalypse!Negan x Reader (Negan is y/n's art teacher & also owns a tattoo shop).

Warnings: THIS IS THE FILTHIEST THING I'VE WRITTEN SO FAR and it's just going to get filthier from here on. smut, forbidden love, age-gap (reader is 18, negan is 38), angst, oral (female receiving), lots of sexual tension, slow burnnnn.(there's an actual plot this time), vaginal sex, public sex, breeding, slight daddy kink

Summary: After graduating and leaving behind the man she fell for but couldn't have, y/n decides to get a tattoo that reminds her of him. And he gives it to her.

A/n: ugh, this had me in my feels. A "hard to get" teacher Negan. basically you're negan's former student and he gives you a tattoo and things.. well - just read it.

"Well damn. I don't mean to be sentimental, but I have seriously enjoyed teaching you little shits. I hope you can take what you've learned and apply it to something. Be creative. Oh, and.. don't think about hitting me up on Instagram after this because I don't do social media. That shit is toxic. Remember that, kids."

The bell cuts Negan off before he can finish his inspirational speech. He's always had such a way with words.. should have been an English teacher instead.

Most of the students rush out like the room is on fire, with the exception of a few annoying girls that think he'll jump their bones now that school is out.

"So, Mr. Smith, since you don't have social media, can I get your number at least?" I cringe as she twirls her hair around her finger and her friends giggle obnoxiously behind her.

"Girls. Behave for once. A tip for college? Don't flirt with your professors." He warns while motioning them out the door.

I suddenly realize that my ass has been glued to my seat this entire time and I'm the only one still here. I quickly get up and throw my backpack over one shoulder. He stares at me from the doorway but I just look down as I walk towards him.

"Bye Mr. Smith."

"Nice try. Sit down." He shuts his door and walks back into the room pointing towards my chair for me to sit.

"Mr. Smith, y/n?" He mocks. "Seriously?"

I never call him that. He's always been Negan to me.

I've known him for 4 years now. He's the only art teacher at Alexandria High, and even though I have no interest in art, I've taken his class every year because I do have an interest.. in him.

What he doesn't know is that I've been making mental notes everyday for the past four years about all his interests, personal life, hobbies, you name it.

He loves the color red - because it's the only color expo marker he writes in.

His favorite lunch is two cigarettes and coke zero. I hate that he smokes.

He stopped coaching baseball last year because he said he didn't have time anymore. But I think it's actually because he's never cared for it to begin with.

He had a wife, but she passed away. Some kind of cancer. She's still his computer wallpaper, which tells me he still hasn't moved on even though it was six years ago. My heart hurts for him.

He wasn't lying - he doesn't have social media....I would have found it.

He sits at another student's desk right next to mine with his body facing me.

"You gonna tell me why the hell you look like your best fucking friend just died?"

I stare at the floor next to his shoes and try to think about anything other than fact that I'm never going to see him again.

"Look at me."

I slowly lift my eyes to his and can't stop the tear that escapes the second I see his face.

"Ah, shit." His expression turns serious when he notices my tears. "Look, kid. I -"

"Stop calling me kid." I snap.

He chuckles. "Hate to break it to ya y/n, but you are very much a kid in my eyes, which is why this thing -" he motions his hand towards me. "this.. crush you have on me - has to end today."

My eyes widen as I stare at him speechless. He seriously did not just assume I have a crush on him.

"Did you jus - You seriously think just because a few stupid girls want to get in your pants, it means everyone does?" I scoff. "Unbelievable. You're my teacher. I don't have a crush on you."

He laughs as if we both know I'm lying - which I am.

"Alright, I'm sorry I called you a kid. Now, you wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"It's just I - I'm gonna miss you." I instantly regret saying it.

He nods and looks at the floor, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm sorry. I - I'm just gonna go." I get up to leave, leaving my heart with him. My stomach twists in a knot when I realize he isn't getting up to stop me.

Why would he?

Once I'm in the hall, I turn to take one last look at him. He's bent over with his hands through his hair as if his best friend just died.

Negan's POV: That fucking girl. In my twelve years of teaching, I've never cared about a student like I do her. I care about all of my students, but goddamn it, she's had me wrapped around her finger for longer than I'm comfortable to admit - And I never will. She fucking sucks at hiding her feelings. I knew from the first day she walked into my class that she wanted to jump on my dick. Hell, every girl does. But other girls bat their fake eyelashes at me and tell me how they feel. Y/n.. she's.. obsessed with me. She thinks I didn't notice her doodling my name in her notebook with little hearts. Or that I don't hear her whispering to her friends about the dreams she has about me. Or how she stares at me during lectures like she's on a different planet. And if that's not enough, the girl hates art. Yet she's chosen it as her elective every single year. She has straight A's in every class, but doesn't even try in mine. And yet.. my dumb ass still passed her with an A. Maybe because I'm obsessed with her too.

Back to Y/n's POV:

I cried on the way home that day.

While everyone else celebrated school ending with a party, I stayed in my room and cried while looking at his photo in the yearbook.

While everyone walked across the stage at graduation, my diploma came in the mail and I stayed home holding Negan's lucky baseball bat that he gave me last year.

My last day of junior year, I stayed after school to help Negan clean out his classroom so he could move into a bigger art room. That was the year he quit coaching. I replay the memory in my head more often than I should..

"Why do you have this bat just sitting in the corner?" "It brings me good luck. I hit a home run every game my senior year with that bat." "Your senior year? This bat is that old?!" "Watch it, kid." He rolls his eyes and throws some folders in a bin. "Hmm." I study the bat. "I could use some luck." "Keep it." I look at him confused. "But... it's your-" "I want you to have it." He cuts me off. "Are - Are you sure?" He sighs frustrated. "Do you not want it?" "Well, I mean, I do but -" "Then stop being stubborn and take it."

Ever since that day, his bat has been leaned up against the wall by my bed as a constant reminder of the man I want but can never have.

After a few weeks of feeling sorry for myself, my best friend tried convincing me to do something for myself since my birthday was coming up.

"Y/n, you should.. get your nails done, go buy some new clothes, do.. something. But you need to get out of that room. It's... depressing."

"I think I want a tattoo."

"Oh, okay, yeah. That's a good idea. What are you wanting to get?" She asks from the other end of the phone.

"I dunno." My eyes drift towards the bat. "Something meaningful."

The next day...

Lucille's

The tattoo shop sign reads. I swing the door open, excited for the first time in a month. The sound of tattoo guns and rock music fills the lobby.

"Hey, welcome to Lucille's. Do you have an idea of what you'd like or do you want to see some of our work?" The woman on the other side of the counter pulls out a binder.

"Oh, no, I think I know what I want already." I smile and pull up the picture on my phone before showing her.

"Okay, we can do that. Shouldn't take too long either. An hour tops. I can actually take you now in room 3." The so-called "rooms" aren't actually rooms, but rather closed off sections with tall walls on each side. From where I'm standing, I can't see the people in the tattoo chair, but I can see the top of the tattoo artists' heads if I stand on my tippy-toes.

She leads me to room 3 and I sit in the chair while she gets out the instruments.

"This your first tattoo?"

"Yeah, kinda nervous."

She smiles. "I'd tell you not to worry, but, sorry babe. It's gonna hurt."

I appreciate her honesty and just smile back at her.

"So, where do we want it?" she holds the printed off picture off of the tattoo I want.

I lean back in the chair, putting my legs up, so I'm laying down. I lift my shirt up right above my belly button and slightly pull my shorts down, revealing my pubic bone. "Right here." I point to the left side of where my panty line would be but lower.

After I confirm the placement, she presses the needle to my skin and I bite my bottom lip at the sudden pain that radiates throughout my hip.

"Breathe, babe. You got this."

After a couple seconds, she turns in her chair to load more ink into the gun.

"Y/n?" I hear from the entrance behind me.

I know that voice without turning to look. My eyes widen and the girl tattooing me looks at him.

"Hey boss, you two know each other?" She looks between the two of us.

I look back at him and see him nod at her. "I'll finish her up, Ruby. Thanks." He takes the tattoo gun from her and sits in her chair when she gets up to leave. The scent of leather and cigarettes fills the small room and I realize how much I missed it.

He pauses when he looks down at my skin and I can't tell if he's staring because of my tattoo of choice or because I'm almost completely exposed. If I didn't just shave, half of my pubic hair would be on display to him.

The way he's looking at my skin wakes the butterflies in my stomach and I have to mentally tell myself not to clench my legs together. He looks up at me through heavy eyelids and for the first time in four years, I'm unable to read him. I can't tell if he's disappointed, mad... or turned on...?

He looks back at the tattoo and shakes his head, sighing.

Okay, it's definitely a look of disappointment.

"You realize I have to finish this now that she's already started it, right?" He studies the lines already permanently marked in my skin. The faint purple lines of where the sticker was placed give away the complete outline of what the tattoo will be. "There's still time to change it though."

"What? What do you mean.. change it? I want this one."

"No." Is all he says and my eyes widen in shock at him.

"You can't tell me what to do Negan. I'm an adult, and I'm getting it."

"Why?" He snaps, frustration dripping from his tone.

He looks into my eyes for the first time since he's been in the room and the butterflies in my stomach have now gone wild.

"Because I... I want a piece of you with me always."

He closes his eyes and drops his head. My eyes start to water but I hold them back the best I can.

"Y/n." He shakes his head but to my surprise, he hesitantly places his left hand on my thigh, his fingers dangerously close to the spot I've imagined him touching a million times. The feel of his rough fingers on my bare skin ignites a flame in me I didn't know existed and all I do is stare at his hand.

"Relax." He rolls his eyes and starts the gun. He leans down closer and begins tattooing me.

I have to bite back the moan threatening to escape my lips. With Ruby.. it hurt. But with Negan, it.. almost feels good.

He glances up at me as if he can hear my thoughts and then goes back to gliding a straight line of ink across my skin.

The next few moments are spent in silence, with nothing but the sounds of the tattoo gun and music playing in the distance.

"Fuck, y/n. I'm gonna need these off so I can get to you better." He gestures at my shorts.

My eyes widen but I nod and slide them off, barely breathing now that I'm laying in front of Negan in just my underwear. The way his jaw ticks when he sees that I'm wearing red lace panties doesn't go unnoticed. His favorite color.

He places his hand back on my leg, this time with his fingers completely against my inner thigh. I slightly part my legs without thinking and he pauses to glance at me before continuing with the tattoo.

If he moved his finger half an inch upwards, he would be touching me.

"I never knew you worked at a tattoo shop." I break the silence, hoping to get my mind off his hand.

He chuckles. "I own it, darlin'. And there's a lot you don't know about me."

Another long pause happens before he speaks first this time.

"Why did you take art, y/n?"

"Uh.. I dunno, because I liked it."

He huffs out a laugh. "You liked it... or me?"

I shrug. "Both."

His face turns serious again and he stops the tattoo gun. "All done."

He backs away and motions for me to stand up and look in the mirror in the corner. I stand in front of it, but don't even notice my tattoo because my eyes catch Negan in the mirror staring at my ass. These panties don't leave much to the imagination and my cheeks redden at how much I'm exposed to him.

He suddenly looks up and makes eye contact with me in the mirror. His eyes are darker than usual and filled with lust.

"Come here." He demands and I obey, walking towards him.

Once I'm standing in front of him, he lifts his hands to grab my hips. My belly button is eye level to him and I look down, watching him intensely. His thumbs dig into my hips and he looks at the tattoo.

"Do you like it?" I ask him.

He ignores me and it makes my heart break a little more. "Lay back down, y/n." He gets up to pull the curtain over the entrance of the room.

I do as he says and he comes back, placing a clear tape bandage over the fresh tattoo.

He looks as if he's deep in thought before suddenly sliding his hands underneath my thighs and pulling me closer to him. He pushes my leg aside and rests my other foot in his lap until my legs are completely spread apart in front of him.

"You want me to touch you, y/n? Is that what you want?"

"Yes.."

"Tell me what you want, baby."

"Your mouth."

He chuckles darkly and kisses the inside of my thigh before sliding his fingers under my panties and ripping them apart.

He shoves them in the back of his jean pocket and wraps his arms around my thighs, holding my stomach down with his hands and leaning his head down closer.

"Look at this pretty pussy, baby. So wet for me you're glistening."

His eyes look up at me right before he licks me and my head falls back with pleasure.

He stops suddenly. "Eyes on me, darlin'. How many times have you imagined me between your legs? You're going to watch me eat this pussy, y/n."

I nod, looking at him and he continues. The sound of other people talking in the distance makes my senses even more heightened.

He licks me again, pressing his tongue into me harder this time. He moans as he stops at my clit and gently sucks it into his mouth. I moan and watch him as he looks like he's eating the best meal he's ever had.

"You taste even better than I imagined, baby."

"You.. imagined it?"

"Baby. You aren't the only one who daydreams in class." He says before dipping his tongue deep inside me.

He switches back and forth between licking me and sucking me until my moans get louder and faster.

"Negan, I'm gonna.."

"I know baby, give it to me." He rubs me with his tongue faster until I'm coming apart. His hand quickly covers my mouth and I cry out into his hand.

"Fuck, doll." He groans and adjusts himself through his jeans. "This pussy is about to make me cum in my pants like I'm a fucking teenager again."

"Negan.." I say out of breath. "I wanna touch you. Please."

He stands and picks up my shorts, but not before I see the huge bulge in his pants. He helps me put my shorts on and I look at him confused when he doesn't say anything.

"Nega-"

"No, y/n."

My eyes water with tears as I stand to finish pulling my shorts up. "I - I don't understand."

"This can't happen, baby. I shouldn't have touched you."

I nod. "So that's it, Negan? You get what you want and that's it.. you're just.. done with me?"

"Are you fucking serious? You think I got what I wanted? I'm standing here with a hard-on that's gonna give me a giant case of blue balls. Any other man would throw you on this table and take you right here."

"Then why don't you?!"

"Because I fucking.. I care about you. You happy now? I fucking CARE ABOUT YOU, y/n. And I'm not going to break your heart."

I wipe a tear that runs down my cheek. "You already did." I grab my purse and rush out of the room, stopping in front of Ruby on the way out and pulling out some cash.

"I'm sorry hun." She says empathetically as if she heard everything that just happened.

I cry harder and lay the cash down before leaving and walking to my car. Before I can open my car door, Negan is grabbing my arm and turning me around to face him.

"Goddamn it, listen to me!"

I don't fight him, I just stare at him, noting the hurt in his eyes. My heart hurts and I suddenly feel guilty for making him feel any ounce of pain.

"Y/n.. look.."

"No." I cut him off. "Negan, I'm sorry. This is my fault.. I put you in this situation because I was selfish.. and delusional. I'm so sorry. I'll leave, and you won't have to hear from me or see me again."

He scoffs. "You think that's what I want? I guess you don't know me the way I thought you did."

Before I can say anything else, he crashes his lips to mine and kisses me so hard and but so softly at the same time. His fingers slip through my hair and his hand rests on the back of my neck as he deepens our kiss.

"You're gonna be the death of me, kid."

I bite his lip hard when he calls me kid and our kiss goes from passionate to animalistic. He presses himself flat against me with my back against my car and I feel his hard cock straining against his jeans. His lips travel to my neck and he bites me hard, right before kissing and sucking the sensitive spot.

That's definitely going to leave a mark.

"You have no clue what you do to me, baby." He says in between kisses. His voice is raspier and deeper than usual. "Do you have any idea how many times I've left work and had to rub one out at the thought of you? Hell, sometimes even at work."

I look around the parking lot. It's nighttime but we're still clearly visible in the lights.

"Look at me, y/n. Forget where we are and just focus on me baby." His hand slips into my shorts and it takes him no time to find my soaked entrance since my panties are currently in his back pocket.

"Negan.." I breathe.

He smiles against my lips. "Baby.. You sure this is what you want? Because once I've had you, you're mine."

I nod and he puts his mouth next to my ear.

"Take your shorts off. Now." He pulls his hand from my shorts and sucks my juices off his fingers.

"But, Negan, we're-"

"I said, now y/n. You want me so bad, you're gonna get me wherever and however I say. Now, take your fucking shorts off before I rip them too."

I hesitantly slide my shorts off while looking around again. There aren't any other cars in the parking lot other than a couple of his employees. All the customers left. There's a main road up ahead but we're far enough away where they wouldn't see us unless they we're staring really hard.

"Good girl. Now take my cock out, baby."

He leans his hands against my car on either side of me, trapping me in. I waste no time reaching for the button on his jeans and unzipping him before pulling out his hard, huge cock. It's bigger than I imagined.. a lot bigger. I don't know how that thing is going to even fit in me. He's so hard that the veins in his cock look like they are about to erupt and his tip is already dripping with precum.

I can't help but run my thumb over the tip to collect some and bring it to my mouth to taste him. His eyes darken with lust at the sight of me sucking his precum off my finger.

"Taste good, doll?"

I nod and he chuckles. "There's a lot more where that came from."

He grips the back of my thigh with his hand and pulls my right leg around his waist.

The feeling of his dick rubbing against my wet pussy is enough to make my knees weak. Literally. I almost collapse at the sensation of him rubbing the head against my opening, teasing me. He presses his body closer to me in attempt to hold me up.

"Fuck, look at this dripping pussy." He looks down between us, admiring the view of his cock teasing my wet slit. "It's about to be dripping with my cum in a few minutes.. You ready for me, baby?"

"Yes, please. I need you."

He enters me completely in one swift motion, not giving me anytime to adjust. My walls are stretched further than they've ever been and it feels like the tip of him is buried up to my stomach.

He doesn't move for a moment, but instead looks into my eyes with his cock all the way inside of me. "There you go, baby. Finally getting what you wanted after all these years and taking my dick like a champ."

"Negan.." I moan. "Please.. just fuck me."

He pulls out of me almost completely before slowly pushing himself back in, agonizingly slow. Our bodies are flush against each other and he kisses me again.

"Fuck, baby." He growls. "You. Feel. So. Fucking GOOD." He says between thrusts as my mouth falls open.

I wrap my arms around his neck to hold myself up and lean against him with my lips pressed against his neck. I take the opportunity to mark him back, grabbing his skin between my teeth and sucking hard. He moans so loud that I glance around to make sure no one heard him, but we're still alone.

His thrusts get harder and faster and the sounds coming from his sexy mouth are enough alone to make me cum.

"Look at me, y/n. I want to see your face when you cum all over my cock."

His hand that was on the car behind me slides between us, instantly finding my clit. He begins rubbing circles on it with his middle finger while thrusting his hips into me faster.

I look into his eyes while my arms are still wrapped around his shoulders tightly, keeping me in place. My fingers run through his dark hair and my breathing goes erratic as I feel myself come undone around him.

"You want me to fill you up, baby? You want daddy's cum?"

I nod quickly as tears run down my cheeks from the most intense orgasm I've ever had.

"FUCK, baby." He groans and slams his mouth against mine. I kiss him back as he rides out his orgasm.

He pulls out of me slowly and softly kisses my lips one more time. I go to put my shorts on and he stops me.

"Not so fast, doll." He gets down on his knees in front of me, pushing my legs apart in front of him. "Push daddy's cum out baby. Let me see it drip out of you."

I do as he says and the feeling of his warm seed running down my legs is almost enough to send me over the edge again.

"Look. At. THAT." He swipes up some of his cum from my leg onto his finger and stands back up but not before gently kissing my new tattoo.

I think I love this man.

He rubs his finger along my lips until my mouth opens for him. I suck his fingers clean and moan at the taste of him.

"Y/n." He pushes my hair behind my ear and looks at me seriously. "I meant it when I said I care about you."

"You care about all your students."

"Yeah, but I don't go sticking my dick in them." He smirks and takes my hand, leading me back into the shop.

The others must have already left when - when.. oh.. shit.

"Negan, do you think they saw us?!"

"Well darlin', I was fucking your brains out right next to the door, so I think it's probably safe to assume so." He grins and my eyes widen with horror.

"Do you not care?"

"What can they do, doll? Fire me?" He laughs and leads me to the back where his office is.

"What are we doing in here?"

"Getting matching tattoos, of course."

I stare at him, trying to register what he just said. "You're.. going to give yourself a tattoo?"

He chuckles and hands me a tattoo gun before taking off his shirt and sitting on the couch in the corner.

"No, doll, you are."

Part 2 here

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midnightnautilus · 2 months ago

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Spoilers for Part 3.

A blink, and the rushing noise of the engine vanished.

It was quiet.

Kal had been banished.

The crew was safe.

His family was safe.

He smiled.

Then he stopped.

But…wait.

What happened?

He thought his eyes were open, but he could see nothing. Not blackness, just…emptiness.

Like a blank sheet of paper.

Slowly, slowly, there became a blurry visage of…something. He squinted with the numb place where he supposed that his eyes were, and soon this something came into view.

He was in a small room.

It was a pleasant departure from the last few days. The blue carpet and the dandelion-colored wallpaper reminded him of their apartment back in New York. Strewn about were books and trinkets, a lamp with an orange glow, and…

A copy of *The Sun*.

He picked it up. It was weathered, loved, and he remembered the calluses he no longer had from handling the stock. It filled him with something he couldn’t quantify at the moment.

*Bzzz*

Samuel looked up and gasped. How could he have not seen it before? In the center of the room was a strange, intricately carved box. It reminded him of Dakkar’s scanner, 10 times larger. It shone its own light the color of the Radiance.

There was something comfortable about it.

He ran a hand over its knobs and buttons. (He thought, at least. He still couldn’t feel his hands.)

He slowly turned one.

He jumped back in shock as it crackled with a noise like thunder.

Then, a voice rang out, as if it was in his head. No, not really a VOICE… more of a feeling. Yet he could understand every word.

Hello, Samuel.

“H-hello…? Who are you? Are you with the Travelers?”

Yes. And no. I am MAIA. I’ve been telling the story of you and your friends. Welcome to the end of infinity.

“Infinity?”

A version of it, yes.

“So that means…” His shoulders rose as he fidgeted with his glasses. “I won’t see them again, huh?”

There was a silence.

No. But you did save them.

He nodded, and even though everything felt cold, a sense of warmth filled his soul.

He sat down on the plush chair and put a hand to his chin. “But… why am I here?”

MAIA hummed. You are a storyteller, Samuel. I need your help.

Besides…

I think you of all people deserve to see how it ends.

Samuel peered out of the windows. The vastness of the cosmos greeted him.

“Well…

Are there journals in the end of infinity?”

#are you ever just like I need to write something #that was this #two of my blorbos #pulp musicals spoilers #pulp musicals #the searcher in the shadows #samuel stratford

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ghoularaki · 9 months ago

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baby's breath | 2

↠ summary: Merely by coincidence, Erwin, your father's former friend had crossed paths with you again after nearly a decade. He offered solace once finding out you were struggling with not just school, but your home life as well. His home he shared with another one of your father's friends, Levi, became a sanctuary. Though, the more you came over for study sessions, the more they wiggled themselves into your private life. And like baby's breath, they weeded themselves in so deep you couldn't uproot them.

↠ word count: 4,395

↠ pairing: levi ackerman x reader x erwin smith

↠ genre/warnings: angst, smut, modern au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, noncon/dubcon, daddy kink, forced infantilism, pet play, age gap, death threats, human trafficking, bdsm

An overwhelming urge to vomit awoke you. Pain shot from behind your eyes and encompassed your head. Pressure built up like someone was crushing your skull between their palms. Clenching your eyes, you attempted to blink the hurt away. Light streamed in from the blinds, tinted pink from the curtains.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to whisk away the blurriness clouding your vision. As the kaleidoscope room morphed into one, you were more perplexed. You were placed on the floor that was a soft carpet under your fingers. The appendages went to dig your nails into the wool only to be met with resistance.

You couldn’t move.

Not even an inch. You were completely paralyzed besides your eyes. Tears clouded your vision more as panic built up in your chest. With every bit of will power, you forced your mouth open to scream, but a mere squeak came out. Breathing heavily, your eyes bounced around what you could. The more your brain cleared, the more you realized, you had no clue where you were.

The room was that of a little girl’s. Wallpaper decorated with butterflies ranging the rainbow with a light pink background spanned the whole room. There was a bureau—a light colored wood—with trinkets of fairies and bunnies on top of it. You gained a little more mobility in your neck to turn deeper in the room to see a crate built for a great dane with a bed inside along with a multitude of stuffed animals. A blushing canopy hung over the crate along with twinkling fairy lights.

Peering upwards, you see an open closet filled with frilly clothes of whites, pinks, purples and baby blues. The most jarring part was the leashes and collars lining the inside of the door. As you gained a little more mobility and feeling, you realized you weren’t in the same clothes as before. Down to the underwear and lack of a bra. A sob broke out from your chest.

Attempting to still your breathing, you shakingly inhale and exhale to gain some clarity. Closing your eyes, you focused on your whole body. Envisioning your own nervous system, you willed at least your fingers to move. Nostrils flared, you were able to get your toes to wiggle with great concentration. The headache was worsening.

A door creaking open pulled you away from your stupor. Instinctively, you turned your head towards the door to see the very door Erwin kept you from. Within the frame stood Levi. From your place on the ground, the man towered over you, peering down at you from his nose.

Fear clutched and squeezed your esophagus as you attempted to wiggle away. You barely moved a centimeter as Levi gracefully walked to you. Unable to look away, you kept eye contact as he crouched down, hovering over you. A whimper crept up your throat.

He tilted his head at your pathetic form, drinking it up. Levi brought a hand to your face to clutch your cheeks, squishing them in between his calloused finger pads. He turned your face left to right, inspecting it.

“The toxin should wear off in a couple hours.”

You could only whine in response, not able to move your jaw up and down just yet. The way he was clutching your mandible was no help either.

Delirious and terrified, what happened before you passed out came rushing back tenfold. Your eyes scanned the room again for a hint of where your old clothes were in hopes to find your phone. As if reading your mind, Levi drops your face to reach into his back pocket. You flinch considering last time he reached behind him, he jabbed you in the neck with a syringe.

In his hand was your phone. Your fingers twitched, begging to snatch it from his grip. He dangled it in front of your face, taunting you. “Looking for this?”

You softly nod your head, eyebrows pinched. His hands grip both ends and snap it in half like flimsy wood. The audible crack haunted your ears. Tiny glass shards crumbled into the carpet while Levi dropped the broken phone. Your chances of escaping were depleting rapidly.

He goes to stroke your hair as you sobbed, scared of what was going to happen to you. Were they going to kill you?

“Don’t worry your daddy will be home soon.”

The words offered no solace and only confused you more. You prayed he didn’t mean Erwin. Your chest heaved more as you grew more hysterical. This can’t be happening. You wanted to go home.

“Hey brat, you need to calm down,” His words were cold and apathetic.

You only cried more as your fingers dug into the rug and your feet barely kicked. You needed to get up. You had to run, escape, scream, do something. If you didn’t, they were going to kill you and no one would find your body. No one would care anyway. You would be just another missing person case filed away in a cold, metal cabinet serving as your casket.

At this point, you were hyperventilating. Your body had gone into full blown panic mode and even Levi lightly slapping your face did little to pull you out. You didn’t want to die. There was so much more you wanted to do in life.

You choked on your own tears as warm liquid spilled from your crotch and pooled around your bum. How pathetic were you to piss yourself out of fear? Your body begged to curl into the fetal position and wallow in self pity, but whatever Levi injected you with wouldn’t leave for a while.

“What is going on?” A new voice sliced through your cries.

Erwin stepped into the room along with Levi. The short man’s knees cracked as he nimbly stood back at his full height. Both men swallowed you whole as you laid in your own filth.

“She started to lose her shit.”

He nodded and his blue eyes spied the darkened spot on your skirt and on the carpet. “This is the exact reason I said to lay down the puppy pads,” Erwin scolded Levi.

Puppy pads?

“I didn’t know she was going to piss herself like a shitty toddler.”

Levi really did know how to rub salt further into the wound. You were embarrassed enough as is, his degrading words offered no solace. The smell of ammonia permeated in the air.

“I will take her to get cleaned up, I can tell you’re already itching to bleach the carpet.”

Levi clicked his tongue at that, but didn’t refute his command. As Levi walked out the room to get his supplies, Erwin crouched down beside you. Gently, he tucked one arm under your back and the other under your knees. He pulled your weight up with ease.

With you cradled close to his chest, he walked out the door and down a familiar hallway. You attempted to struggle, but he squeezed you tighter. Your breath got caught in your throat from his rope-like arms. The drugs were heavy in your system so all you could really do was lightly kick your feet. Even that had you out of breath. At the far end, on the right, Erwin nudged the door with his toe and went through to the bathroom. He set you down on the counter.

The lights above you hissed and hummed while they stung your eyes. In the other room, it was illuminated by a soft, orangey glow while the ones in the bathroom were a harsh almost blue tinge. From the hallway, the smell of bleach wafting in made your nose crinkle. Levi wasted no time.

Seeing your pinched face, Erwin departed from you and closed the door, locking it as well. Panic built up again. The older man filled up the room, swallowing you whole. There wasn’t much you could do as you had to be leaned up against the wall like a doll. Lifeless and frail. The most strength was in your legs, you could feel how the muscle begged to move.

Like a magnet, his body gravitated towards yours once more. Lacking any politeness, Erwin started immediately stripping you. His fingers hooked around the babydoll dress you were forced into while sleeping. Latched onto the hem he tugged it up until it reached under your armpits.

“S-stop,” You gained your voice. It was meant to be a scream, but what came out was a pathetic whimper.

He ignored you as he gripped your arm to slide it out one sleeve and the same with the other. His hand went to the middle of your shoulder blades to sit you up for a moment to pull the clothing over your head. Neatly he folded the dress back up and set it on the other counter next to the sink. Oh how your arms screamed to hide your exposed breasts.

“Don’t t-touch me,” The command was futile, but you refused to let him think you were going to take this lying down.

The man let out a dismissive hum and moved to the bathtub, twisting the knobs. His hand went under the water to find the perfect temperature. Satisfied, he plugged the drain up. Erwin went into the cabinet parallel to you and grabbed a clear, honey-tinted bottle. It was baby soap. What he grabbed was soap made for infants. Your fists balled up. Despair filled you like how the water morphed into the shape of the tub.

What the fuck is going on?

Squirting some of the liquid soap into the tub, you watched as the bubbles boiled up. A soft, clean scent encompassed the room. The smell filled your head of childhood memories long forgotten of sharing baths with your cousins. If you thought hard enough the smell of washable crayons would soon follow. But you weren’t in the safety of your aunt’s home, you were locked in a house with two men with strange, perplexing intentions.

He put the bottle back and turned to you. Trembling, you knew what was about to happen. Erwin slotted himself between your parted legs. A little more bold, he placed his large palms on your knees. Your thighs quivered as his fingers danced up the skin towards your last bit of protection.

You could do it, Your tendons told you, Don’t let this fucker think you’re weak.

Just as his fingers wrapped around the band of your underwear, you reared your knee back and shot the heel of your foot straight into his nose.

“Fuck!” He grunted as blood poured out.

Some of the red splashed onto your shin and onto the white tiles. Your shoulders bounced as you laughed at his misery. The toxin heavy in your system was making you delirious.

Erwin clutched his nose as he shoved a finger in your face, "We don't do that."

His condescending tone tempted you to kick him again. He muttered under his breath as he went into the cabinet to grab a hand towel to wipe off the blood. Unfortunately, you didn’t break his nose and the blood stopped after the initial blow. Throwing the towel down onto the counter, he tugged your underwear off with fervor. Barely contained aggressiveness caused his forearms to quake.

"You're lucky I don't call Levi in. He won't be as tolerant as me."

He picked you back up and you attempted to wiggle, but the kick had left you limp. Erwin shoved you into the bathtub, the warm water embracing you. Despite the exhaustion gripping your bones, you go to hit him in the face again. More sluggish and Erwin expecting it this time, he gripped your ankle and tugged.

You yelped as your body slid down and collapsed into the bubbly solution. Water squirmed into whatever orifice it could. Choking on the soapy liquid, you panicked as it shot up into your nose and lungs. Your arms were no better than cooked noodles so there was no way to pull yourself back up. You were drowning.

Erwin gripped your upper arm and hauled you out of the water. You sputtered as you came back up. Coughing roughly, you threw back up all the liquid flooding your system. Your eyes stung and were bloodshot. As you hiccuped, you glared up at Erwin from under your furrowed brow.

He clutched your cheeks and leaned himself over the rim, “Don’t make this anymore unpleasant for the both of us.”

Knowing it was a losing battle, you nodded your head. You couldn’t fight anymore, not until the drugs wore off. You had to be smart about this.

Erwin petted your wet hair and maneuvered your body into a more comfortable position. He took a washcloth and dipped into the soapy water and started to clean you. His movements were purely clinical and didn’t linger anywhere unwanted. Your teeth almost cracked from your tensed jaw as he dragged the cloth across your inner thighs and your pussy.

The knob jiggled open. From the doorway, Levi made his way into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. In his hand was a key he shoved deep in his pockets. Your eyes drank up the information, filing it away for later.

Erwin turned to Levi and the shorter man’s permanent scowl deepened. His light feet crossed over to his friend and bent down to examine the darkening bruise on his nose.

“What happened,” It was meant to be a question, but he phrased it like a statement.

Erwin shook him off. Levi was having none of it and gripped his face. His grey eyes pierced into Erwin’s, likened to how a stormy sky meets a calm sea.

“We had an accident. Don’t be too concerned over it.”

Levi sent one last glare at him, nodded his head and extracted himself from the taller man. You drank up the whole interaction, nitpicking their whole relationship and how to abuse it for later. Back to his full height, Levi looked at your limp form. Luckily, besides your collarbones, everything was shielded by the extensive bubbles.

“How is she holding up?”

Erwin’s shoulders tensed a little before relaxing and going back to stroking the cloth over your skin. He was scrubbing the same spot on your thigh over and over again. If he kept going, the skin would be rubbed raw.

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

You despised how they talked like you weren’t in the room with them. Erwin gripped your right arm and lifted it out of the water to now clean that area. You shivered as you were exposed more to the cold air.

Levi sighed, agitated. “Well you better because if I do she might just piss herself again.”

“Fuck you,” You seethed.

Erwin shushed you, “The adults are talking.”

“Are you fucking-” Levi stomped over to the rim of the bathtub and shoved his fingers deep into your mouth. You choked on the makeshift gag, your esophagus spasming around the appendages.

“Watch your tone.”

Your feet weakly kicked as you continuously swallowed around his fingers. You were tempted to bite down, but how Levi glared down at you, you kept your teeth to yourself.

“Am I understood?” Whines tickled your throat as you stared up at him with teary eyes. He shoved his fingers deeper. “I said, am I understood?”

You rapidly nodded your head as much as you could and tumbled out, “Yeth, Thevi.”

He ripped his fingers away and rubbed your spit on your face. “Filthy brat.”

“There is no need to be so rough.”

“Apparently I do. Come, you can explain to her over dinner.” And with that, Levi walked out the bathroom, leaving you alone with Erwin once more.

How was it dinner time already? What time is it? How long had you been knocked out for? The questions swirled and swarmed your head.

Heeding Levi’s words, Erwin switched the flip to drain the bath. You watched as the tiny hole swallowed the water along with the bubbles, sucking it up with an audible, clanky slurp. The tall man came back with lilac hued towels splattered with woven butterflies. He helped you up once more and patted you down dry. Next came a pair of pajamas, a silky pink. The panties were a soft cotton with a white bow in the center. It angered you how cute they were. He slid them up and patted your hips when the band rested comfortably.

Efficiently dressed, Erwin picked you up but this time like how you would a child. He rested your weight on his hip and a firm forearm under your bum. His other hand cradled the back of your neck so your head sat on his shoulder. You put no effort into helping him carry you, having your arms hang by your sides.

Erwin carried you out of the bathroom and down the hall until you reached where the living room was. Turning right, he went into the dining room adjacent to the kitchen. You noticed there was a metal plate on the floor that wasn’t there last time. Welded into the sleek steel was a small arch. The plate sat under the kitchen table. A bad, foreboding feeling sat in your stomach.

At the kitchen table were three plates of food, but only two chairs. Levi was already situated at the head of the table, waiting for the both of you. Your laptop also sat on the table. Erwin walked to his chair to the right of Levi with you in tow.

No wonder there was no third chair as Erwin sat you on his lap. He twisted your body so your back leaned against his chest. Oh, how you wanted to struggle, but decided against it as your butt was mere centimeters from his crotch.

You stared at the delicious smelling food in front of you. Was there anything Levi wasn’t good at?

“Eat,” Levi commanded before taking a bite of his own.

“I’m not a dog,” You snided.

“Could have fooled me with all your shitty yapping. Eat.”

You looked down in shame. You had barely gained any mobility in your arms. Sure you could flex your fingers, but you had no idea if you could bring the fork to your mouth.

Sensing your troubled thoughts, Erwin turned you so you sat sideways. He took your fork, dipped into the food and brought it to your lips.

“Open.”

Already learning your lesson from Levi shoving his fingers down your throat, you clamped your mouth shut and glowered at him.

Fatigued from your constant refusal, Erwin raked his fingers through your hair and yanked backwards. Stinging pain coursed through your taunt follicles as he shoved the fork into your mouth. He placed the fork back down and slapped his palm over your mouth. His whole hand encased your lower face. Unable to spit the food out or bite him, you chewed and swallowed.

“Good girl,” He cooed.

You were going to vomit, hopefully on him.

Levi was a spectator to how Erwin repeated the process over and over until you were done with your food. His own plate was left untouched. The tall man took joy in babying you.

Erwin grabbed a napkin and wiped away the nonexistent traces of you eating from your face. He was delicate like he was handling a porcelain doll. The way his eyes never strayed had your back tingle. His stare was almost uncanny. Deep, deep blue threatened to gobble you whole.

“You’re going to drop out,” Levi cut in.

“What? No.”

“I don’t remember asking,” He grabbed the laptop forgotten in the middle of the table. His nimble fingers rubbed against the mousepad. The laptop illuminated his face with a soft white. He clicked a few buttons and then turned it back around to you. Displayed on the screen was the form to dropout.

“People will grow suspicious if I randomly drop out,” You tried to reason.

“We already know you are barely passing all your classes. No one would care or think twice.”

Your eyes caught onto the weather app at the bottom of the screen. The laptop was tracing the location, it must be.

“They will be able to find me.”

“With the laptop? We already have that sorted, don’t get your hopes up.”

A tight ache settled in your chest. You were so confused why they were doing this to you. The life Erwin helped you build back up he was tearing right from under you.

“Why?” You begged.

Erwin shifted you higher on his lap, cradling you as you started to cry again. “Because you can’t take care of yourself.”

“That’s not true.”

“Hush, Daddy will take care of everything.”

Cold washed over you. What did he just say?

“Erwin,” Levi bit, exasperation on his face.

“She was going to figure it out sooner or later.”

Anger started to swell in the air. Panic built further in your ribcage as you were left even more confused. Why did Erwin call himself such a crude name?

“That’s enough for tonight. Finish the form and we can head to bed.”

Levi got up from his seat and walked over to you. This time he was the one to lift you. He showed no signs of struggle as he left Erwin to fill out the paperwork. When he walked back to the bathroom, alarm bells rang in your head. You refused to be put in such a vulnerable position again.

“No.”

“Quiet.”

The door was left open from before and he set you down on the counter. He opened the cabinet mirror and pulled out a new tube of toothpaste. It was strawberry flavored with childish, cartoon berries decorating the aluminum. Plastic clinked against porcelain as he took a pink toothbrush from the stand with two other ones. One was green and the other blue.

Levi squirted the paste onto the bristles and ran it under the water for a couple seconds. He tapped the brush against the sink. His hand tugged your legs apart and made a home between them. Cupping your jaw, he brought the toothbrush up.

“Open.”

A very, very stupid thought crossed your mind. What if you bit him hard enough to draw blood? He would have to visit a doctor if you did otherwise he could get sick from an infection. How would he explain an adult human bite without raising suspicions? He couldn’t.

Open your mouth you did. As he brought the brush to scrub your teeth, you tilted your head and latched onto the meat of his hand. On the side of his hand where his pinky is, you bit down so hard your teeth scraped against bone.

“Shit!” He grunted out.

He was able to rip his hand from your grasp and hit your face so hard you collapsed hard into the sink.

“You fucking bitch,” Levi seethed as he shook out his hand.

You smiled up at him with bloody teeth, “You should get that checked out by a professional. I heard human bites are worse than a dog's if left unchecked."

“You’re fucking done for, Mutt.”

With his uninjured hand he ripped you from the counter and clamped down on the back of your shirt. Your legs still like jelly so you had to half crawl to keep up with his pace. He dragged you back to the bedroom by the collar like a misbehaving puppy.

By now, Erwin had heard the commotion. His heavy steps marched over. Levi threw you into the room you first awoke in. He muttered under his breath as he ripped different restraints from the closet. Blood ran down his forearm and onto the carpet.

“What is going on?” Erwin’s voice thundered.

“Your little princess bit me.”

Erwin turned his attention to you, sat in the middle of the room, red coated your chin and lips. You smiled up at him, too, no remorse in your stance. Your posture screamed you weren’t going to make this easy for them.

Metal clicking together brought your attention to Levi who came over with various black leather restraints. He also had a pink bone gag.

“Hold her mouth open. I don’t want to be bit, again,” Levi scowled.

Erwin walked to stand behind you. His hand cupped your forehead and slammed your skull into his upper thigh. His other hand pinched your cheeks so hard you had to unhinge your jaw. Levi shoved the gag into your mouth and you sputtered at the taste of oddly sweet plastic on your tongue.

The shorter man’s crotch was right in your view as he went around to secure the belt loops. If Erwin wasn’t holding you down, you would have headbutted him. Your jaw creaked at being forced open.

Levi stood back up. Erwin let go of you, but your freedom didn’t last long. A foot shoved your head down until your forehead hit the carpet. You grunted as said foot stood on your temple as you twisted your head to a more comfortable position.

“You don’t get to complain,” Levi was furious.

“Levi, I can handle it from here. You should get that checked out.”

There was a long pause. “Fine, just throw her in the crate. I will deal with her later.”

“I got her handled.”

Levi clicked his tongue and let up on the pressure on your head. You collapsed further into the ground in relief. You listened as his socked feet pattered away until it was just you and Erwin.

Erwin showed no mercy as he gripped you by the hair and forced you up. He tugged you to the crate you saw earlier. Despite the stuffed animals and pink covers, you were left unsettled by the daunting cage. You were tossed in with little care. Luckily you landed on the plushies and not the metal bars. He slammed the door closed and locked it. The same key from earlier was in his fingers. Were there multiple copies?

“I don’t want to be mean, but if you want to act like a dog then you will be treated like one.”

“You are past the point of mean, Erwin,” You glared between the bars. The words were muffled, but he got the point.

The man looked so tired, “Good night, Princess.”

With that he left the room and shut off the lights. What the fuck were you going to do now?

#yandere x reader #yandere levi #yandere levi x reader #yandere erwin #yandere male #yandere aot #levi x reader #erwin x reader #aot smut

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whimsimille · 6 months ago

Text

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 2: "Come home to me, darling."

(Jeong Jin-Man x fem! reader)

"Why are you leaving so suddenly?" You questioned, your voice bouncing off the tapestry that adorned the living room wall of your quaint shared apartment and the oak bookshelves filled with classics.

The comforting aroma of a simmering homemade tomato sauce filled the air, mingling with the sound of sizzling pans and the rhythmic chopping of crisp, fresh vegetables on the polished granite kitchen countertop.

Dressed in a worn-out apricot apron adorned with faded sunflower prints, your hands were occupied with diligently kneading the carefully prepared pasta dough for your dinner, a recipe passed down from your Italian grandmother.

All of a sudden, the living room's normal sounds—the soft purr of Gunpowder, his gray cat curled up on the plush Persian rug, the low drone of the television playing the evening news—were replaced by an eerie silence that made your skin crawl.

On turning, you noticed Honda in the midst of rushing preparations for departure. He was hunched over the suede couch, lacing up his sturdy boots, his face etched with stern concentration. Against the dimly lit backdrop of the room, his figure blended seamlessly, rendering him no more than a transient silhouette.

"Where exactly are you off to? And what's the urgency?" You signed, your hands dancing in the air while you leaned against the wooden door frame. A knot of unease formed in the pit of your stomach at the sight of his hasty departure.

His gaze met yours, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he signed back, "I have to go. Jin-Man needs me. I can't disclose more for your safety. You know how it works."

He continued to pack his bag—a small duffel made of worn leather with patches on the corners and straps slung over one shoulder. As he did so, you caught sight of an old photograph falling out of the side pocket; it was of you both from what looked like a summer festival years ago, grinning widely under colorful umbrellas while balloons swelled around you both.

"But can't it wait until tomorrow? Is it really necessary to depart on the day that we get back together after several months?

The worn-out leather of the couch groaned under his weight as he rose, his tall figure casting a long shadow against the faded brown wallpaper.

Moving towards you, he avoided the cluttered coffee table littered with dog-eared magazines and discarded newspapers. His leather jacket, draped over the back of a nearby armchair, was quickly pulled on, the rusted zipper scraping against the silence of the room.

"No, it can't wait. But I'll be back in time for dinner. I promise." Even as he used a gentle swipe of his thumb to remove a stray splotch of tomato sauce from your cheek, his smile never left his face. “When I return, we can lounge on the couch, munching on popcorn and be engrossed in those old Hollywood classics you're so fond of. You can also show me your progress with that hacking project you've been working on. Maybe try not to fry the motherboard this time?"

"First of all, you better keep that promise. Second, I’ll hold you to it. Third, for your information, that was a one-time thing!"

"First, I will. It's a promise. And second, I remember it being a three-time thing." He chuckled, his laughter warm like a summer's day.

"Shut up. But tell me, why the secrecy? Why can't you share what's happening? Jin-Man usually keeps me in the loop when a mission comes up.”

Despite your persistent questioning, Honda remained resolute, his face as unreadable as a closed book. He gently loosened your grip on his arm. "Stop nagging me like Mama would. I can't divulge any details. It's not safe. But I need to go. Jin-Man needs me. Don’t you have any government sites to hack? Or do you plan on crashing our systems again?"

"Stop it, douchebag. You're being reckless. We need to tread with caution, especially now more than ever. You know that. And that was not my fault; their security was just… upgraded."

However, he simply shook his head as he smiled at your pout, pulling you into a warm embrace. The cold, hard metal of his brass knuckles, concealed in his pocket, pressed against your side. A chilling reminder of the danger that lay ahead. Yet you refrained from voicing your fears, choosing instead to hold him tight, the rhythm of your heartbeats synchronizing.

"Alright," you conceded, swallowing your protests, "at least take some food with you." Gesturing towards a Tupperware container on the table, filled with steaming eggs and a side of kimchi jeon—both staple dishes in your shared meals.

His eyes softened at your concern, and he took the offered container, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead before making his way towards the entrance.

As he neared the door, a rush of childhood memories invaded your mind. Sometimes you stayed up late whispering secrets under the covers; sometimes you felt his pain even when he was miles away, and sometimes you both fell off your bikes and ended up in the emergency room with scraped knees. They dubbed it the twin instinct, but to you, it was a lifeline, a warning system that alerted you when Honda was in danger.

"Honda, wait!" You called out, your voice echoing off the creaking wooden floorboards.

The desperation in your plea stirred Gunpowder from her sleep, her tail twitching softly against the worn-out rug as though caught in a dream of chasing unseen mice. Honda turned, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes questioning in the pale afternoon light filtering through the gaps in the old blinds.

A knot of guilt twisted in the pit of your stomach, threatening to crawl out through your lips and fill the room with its bitter taste.

The two of you were caught in a moment where petty bickering had canceled all the plans you had carefully added to your shared agenda. Your hands, once intertwined in unity, had become unglued from one another, your fingers now tangled in the strands of hair sprouting from your head. The hateful words you once spat at each other—words that had plunged through the gaps of your milk teeth—had turned into a somber reality. It suddenly seemed oddly appealing to consider dying in order to keep him around.

"I...I love you, brother," you admitted, the words feeling foreign yet so right. It was something you should have said a long time ago, after your parents' deaths, when it was just the two of you against the world. But you had always been afraid—afraid that admitting your fears would make them real.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, an unspoken understanding passing between you two. "I love you too, sis," he signed before stepping out into the afternoon, leaving you in the silence of the empty apartment.

While life in the apartment carried on around you—the stove still burning, the TV blaring the evening news, Gunpowder curling around your ankles, licking your calves—you felt tears springing up in your eyes as your thoughts raced.

Come home, Honda. Come home and tell me everything about your day, from the way the sun glinted off the skyscrapers to the way the coffee tasted at your favorite café. Come home and argue with me again, about trivial things like who left the lights on or whose turn it was to do the dishes. Slam your bedroom door like you used to when we were teenagers and stomp around the house in Dad's old boots.

Come home and laugh with me, share those terrible inside jokes that only we understand. Handle your knife in the wrong way, the way you used to when you're not on a mission, when you're just my brother and not a covert operative.

Come home and hold me again while I cry in your lap about the girls and boys that shattered my heart. Come home to fix the TV you always mess up with those greasy fingers of yours, leaving stains on the remote.

Scream at me if you need to; let out all that pent-up frustration that I know you keep bottled up inside.

Come home and tell me how you always manage to burn the pasta, making it stick to the pots. Come home and let me nag about your messiness, about the dirty socks you always leave on the floor and about the dishes in the sink.

But most importantly:

“Come home safe. Come home to me, Honda. Please."

2 months later

Late afternoon light filtered through the window, casting elongated, capering shadows across the glossy surface of your living room's hardwood floor.

Finally, after a whole day cleaning the place and trying to make it more child friendly, you were curled up in the embrace of the vintage couch and a soft, threadbare blanket, a relic from your childhood, was wrapped snugly around you, providing a comforting barrier against the creeping chill.

You idly stroked Gunpowder, who was as much a part of the family as any human member. Her fur was coarse, yet soothing under your fingertips.

Gunpowder was the only other living being that missed Honda as much as you did; her amber eyes held a profound sadness that echoed your own. You were grateful that Jin-Man let you take her from the animal shelter.

She didn't deserve to be alone, not when she had already lost so much.

With the monochrome scenes flickering against the brick wall, the contemporary television set in the room's corner was showing Casablanca.

Nonetheless, your mind was elsewhere, lost in a world of thought, meandering through a labyrinth of candid memories as your eyes were glued to the window, drinking in the expanse of the verdant family farm outside.

In your hands was your favorite cat mug, the one with the chipped ear and faded paint, a sentimental relic from your college days.

It was unusually quiet, the usual cacophony of farm life replaced by the relentless drumming of rain.

Not only was Ji-An nowhere to be seen, but Jin-Man's rusty truck had vanished from its customary location beside the red barn.

A glance at the old, ticking clock hanging on the wall—16:00, way past the time Ji-An usually got home from school—made your anxiety spike.

Just as you were about to pull on your trusty yellow raincoat to go look for her, you saw Jin-Man's truck pulling up the gravel driveway. He got out of the truck, his jacket hanging haphazardly off his broad shoulders, and his jaw clenched in a way that set off alarm bells in your head.

You quickly signed , "Hey! Old man! Good afternoon to you too! Where's Ji-An?" as he stomped past you, heading straight to his office. But he didn't answer; he didn't even spare you a glance.

Following him, you tried to make sense of what was happening, but he closed the office door right in your face. You were left standing there, frustration bubbling up inside you, a sense of foreboding making your heart pound in your chest.

As you paced around the living room, worry gnawing at you, the front door creaked open. Your heart leapt at the sound, and you turned around, expecting to see Ji-An, safe and sound.

But what you saw made your heart drop.

Ji-An walked in, soaked to the bone and covered in mud, carrying her pink backpack—the one her mother had bought for her last Christmas. Her uniform was clinging to her small frame, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she didn't make a sound. Not a sob, not a whimper.

Seeing her, you rushed over, dropping onto your knees to be at her level. "Ji-An, sweetheart, what happened? Why didn't you come home with Uncle Jin-Man?" you asked. A flutter of panic seized you as she remained silent, her eyes downcast. "Did something happen at school? You can tell me. I'm here for you."

“I need a bath, Noona. I don't want to talk about it right now. Is that okay?”

You looked at her for a long moment, the sight of her shivering form causing a lump to form in your throat. Her hair, previously neatly braided, was now a mess; the ties you had made for her earlier that morning were nowhere to be found.

"Yeah… Of course, baby," you reassured her, offering a weak smile.

With a sigh, you slowly rose to your feet and gently took her hand, leading her to the bedroom. You could feel her fingers tremble slightly in your grasp, her small hand cold and damp from the rain.

You then went to the bathroom to prepare a warm bath for her. You quickly grabbed a fresh set of clothes for her—a soft purple cotton t-shirt and a pair of comfortable cartoon pants that had cute little teddy bears printed on them. You placed them neatly on the bathroom counter, within her reach.

Once the bathtub was filled with warm water and a generous amount of bubble bath, you helped her undress the wet clothes sticking to her skin.

While Ji-An enjoyed her warm bath, Gunpowder sat in front of the bathtub. Her amber eyes were focused on the bubbles, her tail twitching with curiosity. Every now and then, she would bat at a stray bubble, her paw slicing through the air with a fluid motion as if it were a game.

With Ji-An safely in the bath and the clothes inside the washing machine, you then went to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. Using cookie cutters, you shaped the food into fun shapes—a star-shaped sandwich, fruit cut into the shape of animals, a bowl of soup with alphabet pasta. You even managed to make a small salad; the vegetables were bright and colorful. It was a small gesture, but you hoped it would bring a smile to Ji-An's face.

Throughout the days you've been living in this place, you've tried countless times to make Jin-Man and Ji-An eat at the same place, to share a meal like a family. But Jin-Man always avoided you and Ji-An like you were viruses, always eating small things before burying himself on the couch while watching movies all alone or in his office working with Pasin. It was frustrating to see the distance between them, but then again, it wasn't your job to force conversations and lovey dovey moments.

Once the food was ready, you set the table and then sat down in front of Ji-An, waiting for her to finish her bath. She emerged a while later, her hair damp and her cheeks flushed from the warm water.

Gunpowder, having finished her bubble play, twined around Ji-An’s legs as the child sat at the table. You both sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the gentle hum of the washing machine and the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.

Then, to your surprise, Ji-An was the one to break the silence.

"Today, I waited for Uncle Jin-Man to come and pick me up from school. But he was late, and it started to rain. I decided to walk home instead."

You watched as she continued to sign, her hands moving with a quiet determination. " I was walking in the rain when I saw Uncle Jin-Man's truck. He slowed down, but I didn't want to get in. I was upset with him. So, I continued to walk, even though it was raining hard. Uncle Jin-Man stopped and waited for me to get in, but I didn't."

“I wanted him to come out and apologize, to tell me he was sorry for being late. But he just accelerated and went away. I was so angry, Noona. I wanted him to understand how I felt and how it felt to be forgotten."

"It's okay, baby. It's okay to feel upset. But remember, your uncle loves you very much. Sometimes, adults make mistakes too."

Shortly after dinner, you decided it was time for Ji-An to learn a new task: cleaning the dishes.

Filling the sink with warm, sudsy water, you showed her how to hold the scrub brush and guided her hand to clean the surface of the plates with gentle but firm strokes. You made sure she understood the importance of removing all leftover bits of food and how to rinse each dish thoroughly under the running water.

"Remember, Ji-An, cleaning is also a part of cooking. Once you're done eating, always make sure to clean up after yourself. It's not just about keeping your area clean, but also about respecting the people who will use the kitchen after you. See, we're not just cleaning up our mess; we're also preparing a clean space for the next person, " you signed, watching as she absorbed your words and continued washing the plates carefully under your watchful eye.

When you were done and completed with the task, you noticed that the sky had completely darkened, the bright hues of the day replaced by the deep blues and blacks of night. You gently dried Ji-An's small, pruney hands with a plush, soft towel and led her towards her bedroom. The room was bathed in the warm, cozy hue from the night lamp sitting on her bedside table, casting playful shadows that danced on the walls.

You tucked her into her bed. The fluffy comforter was pulled up to her chin, and you couldn't help but laugh at the way Gunpowder jumped onto her lap, purring contently.

"Noona," she signed, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light, reflecting the soft glow of the night lamp. "Can you tell me a bedtime story? "

"Of course, sweetheart. Do you have any particular story in mind?" You asked, settling yourself comfortably at the edge of her bed, your hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"No, you choose, " she shrugged, her small body snuggling deeper into the warm covers.

You mulled over her request for a moment, your mind flipping through the pages of the countless stories you knew. Finally, one came to your mind. "There's a sad yet beautiful story from my hometown about two squirrels. They were mates—lovers for life and the town's favorite pair of animals. They were seen everywhere together, always chattering away in their own language, their tails intertwined. "

With each word, you painted a vivid picture of their life together. You told her about the female squirrel's illness and the male's devotion and his refusal to leave her side even in search of food.

As you narrated, you noticed Ji-An's eyes welling up with a faraway look. She interrupted you multiple times. "Why didn't the male squirrel eat?" "Why didn't he find another mate? " "Do all squirrels do this? "

You answered each question patiently, explaining the depth of the squirrel's love and the depth of his grief. You told her about how the male squirrel mourned for his mate, returning to their empty nest alone each year.

As you reached the end of the story, you noticed Ji-An's eyes growing heavy. Her questions became fewer and farther between, her chest moving slower until she slept. Still, she was twitching ever so slightly, hands closed and then jerking open in a rhythmic pattern that spoke volumes.

In an attempt to provide some comfort, you laid down next to her, being careful not to jostle her too much. You wrapped your arm around her small form, pulling her closer to your warmth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of yellow and red. The hyena. It was lurking in the corner of the room, its eyes gleaming malevolently in the dim light, eager to haunt you too. You didn't even turn to look at it. It was there, but it wasn't real. You knew it.

"Goodnight, Ji-An," you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead, placing her bunny toy in the place where you'd been seconds before. "Sleep tight, sweetheart," you added, stroking her hair soothingly. "Noona's here. You're safe."

You switched off the night lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

As you left her room, you closed the door gently behind you, leaving the hyena and the remnants of your past locked away.

Easing back into the worn porch chair, the fabric of Jin-Man's purloined shirt fluttered against your skin in the cool night breeze. A stolen moment of solitude, with nothing but a half-burnt cigarette for company.

The embers at the tip flickered, casting an eerie glow in the darkness. Drawing the cigarette to your lips, you inhaled, letting the sharp tang of nicotine coil around your senses and momentarily dull your worries.

Eyes shut, you allowed your thoughts to drift to the intricate web of coding and changes you had to make in Murthehelp.

The only sounds were the distant hum of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves under the night sky's vast expanse. Yet, this tranquility was abruptly shattered by the encroaching sound of hushed footsteps gradually growing louder. Your eyes fluttered open to see Jin-Man standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the cigarette nestled between your fingers with a look of distaste as if you had the devil's hands between your lips.

A chuckle escaped you; the sight of Jin-Man, usually so composed, visibly irked by the cigarette, was enough to momentarily diffuse the tension. "Insomnia again?" you asked, flicking the ash off the cigarette with your thumb.

His hardened gaze didn't waver as he retorted, "I was waiting for you to come to bed."

You shrugged nonchalantly. Since your suicide attempt, Jin-Man has taken it upon himself to keep a watchful eye on you. The concept of solitary sleep had become foreign to both of you.

“What's eating at you?" he asked, his gaze softening slightly.

"Why did you abandon Ji-An at school?"

"I got tied up and lost track of time," he replied, but his excuse fell on deaf ears. You scoffed at his words, well aware of the truth. He hadn't forgotten; he probably thought leaving Ji-An to trek home on her own would toughen her up.

"That's a load of crap, and you know it," you retorted, stomping out the cigarette under your feet. "Do you think making her walk home alone in the rain is going to make her stronger? Is that your grand plan?"

His silence was a response in itself, resonating in the quiet night air louder than any words.

"You are unbelievable, Jin-Man," you muttered. The scent of fresh paint and pine filled the air. It was a far cry from the gunpowder and blood that once filled your memory. But you couldn't help but crave it sometimes, even if it meant pain. Pain meant life; it meant survival. "You keep pushing her away relentlessly, like a stubborn child refusing his vegetables. You're so preoccupied with making her tough and resilient that you forget she's just a child. She needs your love and your understanding. You forget that she can't even communicate normally and that her aphasia is only getting worse! You don't even let me talk with her teacher, and don't pretend I don't know about the bullying she's enduring at school! We're not in Babylon , Jin-Man! We're in a small town where everyone knows everyone else. For heaven's sake, grow up!”

He retorted, his voice sharp as a blade, slicing through the heavy silence. “You should be more concerned with managing your own aphasia and PTSD. Ji-An’s not your responsibility. She's not related to you by blood. Drop this saintly act of playing mom. We're not her parents. This isn't a dollhouse and we're not Ken and Barbie.”

"Act? I kept Ji-An alive after her parents died! I trained her to communicate again! And even though it's hard, I've made her eat properly and taught her how to brush her teeth and do her homework again! I've been here for her every step of the way! You just... sit in your office or hide in your room!"

His jaw clenched tightly before he spoke again. "You think that's all it takes? Just feeding her and teaching her sign language?" He spat out angrily. The tip of his tongue traced his bottom lip as he continued speaking harshly, "It's not enough! She needs discipline! She needs structure!"

You shook your head violently. "She has enough structure! She needs us, Jin-Man! She needs our support, our guidance. She doesn't need a soldier; she needs a parent!"

His face tightened, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

"Are you that afraid to care for someone, that afraid to love again? Are you hiding behind your uniform, your duties because you're too scared to face your own feelings?"

"Don't play with fire. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do! And do you think Jin-Suk would like to see his daughter being trained as a warrior rather than growing up as a normal girl?" you challenged, your voice echoing with the strength of your belief.

The mention of his brother struck a nerve. A flash of anger crossed his stony features, and before you knew it, he was charging at you like a wild animal.

Suddenly, Jin-Man's hands shot out, pushing you roughly against the wall. Your back slammed into the gnarled wooden planks, the splintered texture scratching against your skin. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through your spine, causing you to gasp as the wind was knocked out of your lungs.

"Why are you doing this, Jin-Man?"

In response, his large, calloused hands wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip, cutting off your airway. His fingers pressed against the delicate skin of your neck, the strength in his hands threatening to crush your windpipe. It felt like you were sinking into an abyss, the darkness of his rage engulfing you, making it impossible to breathe.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to pry them off. But his grip was unyielding; his hands felt like iron bands around your neck, tightening with every second that passed. As you gasped for breath, your vision started to spin, the edges blurring as black spots danced in front of your eyes. Your lungs felt like they were on fire, screaming for air.

Panic surged within you, a tidal wave that threatened to consume you. Time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity as you struggled to draw breath.

Finally, his grip loosened just slightly, allowing a sliver of oxygen to rush into your lungs. You gasped; the taste of air was like ambrosia—sweet and life-giving. Coughs racked your body as you struggled to regain control over your breathing, your throat raw and your chest heaving. The salty tang of tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision.

But you refused to back down, to give in to the fear. You locked eyes with him, defiance burning in your gaze. "Go ahead, Jin-Man, continue," you spat out, your voice raspy from the assault. "Kill me. But know this: my death won't change the truth.”

“Jesus, you're so weak, girl.”

A chuckle found its way through your bruised vocal chords. “Yeah? Wanna see who's weak then?”

Summoning every iota of your willpower, you retaliated against his suffocating hold. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin as you strained against his formidable strength.

After a fierce and desperate struggle, your adrenaline-fueled power seemed to catch him off guard. With a sudden explosive kick, you managed to wrench yourself free, pushing him violently away from you.

Caught off balance, Jin-Man stumbled backwards. His feet skidded across the wooden floorboards, and his body crashed into the pot of vibrant lilies you had carefully chosen from the local market to adorn the porch. The pot shattered on impact, fragments of terracotta scattering across the floor, intermingling with the uprooted flowers and loose soil.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the brutalized lilies and the quiet patter of dirt falling onto the floor. But inside? Inside of you, the hyenas laughter echoed through your mind, mocking you for getting what you deserved—too used to chaos and violence.

The sight of the destruction seemed to snap Jin-Man out of his rage-induced stupor, his furious gaze softening as he took in the aftermath of your altercation.

"I'm done," you said, breaking the silence. "I'm done with this, Jin-Man. I'm done with your anger, your stubbornness, and your refusal to let anyone in. I'm done with the constant battles, the endless wars. I'm grabbing my stuff and leaving."

“Y/N…” He trailed off as he grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you around to face him. Your bodies were just inches apart now, his breath hot on your cheek as he pleaded silently.

“Don’t. Just shut your mouth and let me go. I'm not your Barbie, right?” Each word was punctuated by the bitter taste of blood as you absentmindedly touched your raw throat.

“You can't sleep alone.”

“I'll manage.”

“You can't remember when you last ate.”

"I'll set a reminder.”

"You can't drive without crying."

"I'll get a taxi."

"Ji-An needs you."

I need you.

"She needs you more."

"And you, Jin-Man," you added, the sting of your words sobering the air. "You need to realize that before it's too late."

----------------

April 3:

"Are you serious? Did I actually have to buy another chip to send you messages? You know, the store owner looked at me like I was crazy."

1 missed call from Ahjusshi

April 5:

"Ji-An keeps asking for you. She asked me to tell her the story about the couple of squirrels. You know, the one about their endless love and devotion."

2 missed calls from Jeong

April 7:

"Pasin showed me the link to the site. It's pretty quick and easy to access. Even an old man like me can make requests for guns, right? Technology these days, eh?"

April 11:

"She asked me to put on Casablanca. It's one of your favorites, right? I remember Honda telling me that you're addicted to Hollywood classics.”

“Gunpowder keeps sleeping on your side of the bed. I hate it.”

3 missed calls from Jeong Jin-Man, son of a bitch

April 22:

"I have a mission for you. It's critical and requires your skills."

"Can you come home so that we can discuss the details? There's something about it I can't trust in a message."

8 missed calls from the son of a bitch

“I guess I will ask So Min-Hye to replace you then. I know you wouldn't want that."

May 7:

“Ji-An's teacher told me that you visited her today. Did you really make two boys eat dirt by grabbing her money?”

“I could've helped.”

May 9:

“Went to the market today and heard Kyung Soo say that you're a good kisser. I had to stop myself from laughing."

“I heard from the locals that he went to the hospital after being knocked out. Strange, right? Or should I say, expected?"

May 16:

"Gunpowder brought a dead bird into the house. I think she's trying to replace you as the hunter of the family."

May 21:

"I saw a girl at the market wearing a dress you would like. It had sunflowers all over it. Made me think of you."

"She was about your age, too. For a moment, I thought it was you ."

-------

As Jin-Man speeds in the direction of Ji-An's school, his heart pounds against his ribs like a war drum. His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his forehead slick with beads of sweat. He curses himself silently, berating his own negligence.

How could he have not noticed that Ji-An hadn't come home?

The typical view of the small city blurs past him, the houses and trees merging into a hasty collage of colors under the evening gloom. The town's bakery, the park where the children play, and the old library all blur into indistinguishable shadows. But he barely registers any of it. His mind is filled with vivid images of you screaming at him for this oversight.

He imagines your small fists beating at his chest, your eyes—those captivating eyes that he secretly admired—flaring with anger and worry.

“How could you forget her again , Jin-Man? She's just a child!"

The guilt, like a ravenous beast, gnaws at him, driving him to press the pedal harder. The old engine protests, its roar echoing through the tranquil evening.

Suddenly, he remembers his phone.

Snatching it from the passenger seat, he dials your number hastily. The line rings once, twice, thrice, but there's no answer. He fumbles to leave a voicemail, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks into the device. "Hey, I… messed up. Ji-An... I… Just call me back.”

The voicemail ends with a beep, leaving Jin-Man alone with his thoughts and the eerie silence of the empty road. He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat, his eyes never leaving the road.

Nearing the school, his eyes flicked to the digital clock on the dashboard—it read 19:00, the hour when the last echoes of childhood laughter usually fade away. But now, the school grounds were eerily silent and deserted, a stark contrast to the daytime symphony of playful shouts and laughter. The playground, usually a vibrant hub of activity, was painted with somber shades, the swings swaying lightly in the breeze, their squeaky chains the only sound piercing the silence.

As he swung into the school's parking lot, a small figure suddenly sprang from the shadows, frantically waving his arms.

A boy was shouting, his voice hoarse and strained, as he pointed towards the grimy basement door at the rear of the school building. "She's locked there!"

Without a second thought, Jin-Man abandons his car, leaving the engine running as he sprints towards the basement door. The door is locked, but within, he can hear Ji-An's voice, her pleas echoing through the desolate night.

"Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man!" she is calling, her voice scratchy and strained, likely from the first use of her vocal cords in months.

Frantically, he scans his surroundings. His eyes land on a fire safety box nearby. Inside, he spots a hammer.

With no time to spare, he smashes the box, glass shards raining onto the worn-out asphalt. He grabs the hammer, using it to break the rusted chains and unlock the door.

In a final heave, he throws the door open, revealing Ji-An inside. Her cheeks were flushed red from crying and her eyes were brimming with a mix of relief and fear.

She doesn't waste any time rushing at him, her small fists pounding against his chest. He doesn't move; he doesn't try to stop her. She's screaming at him, her words punctuated by her furious hits: "Why did you take so long? You promised you were coming back soon! Why did you arrive so late? Why did you let her go? Why did you let Noona go? Why? Why?"

He could only look at her, absorbing her words and feeling each syllable like a physical blow. Her pain, her anger, and her confusion were all directed at him.

Then he did the only thing he could think of—the only thing he thought you would have done in this situation.

He pulled her into a tight, protective hug.

For minutes, he doesn't say a word until he grabs her, holding her close.

Turning to the boy, he nods, "I'll give you a ride home."

The journey to the kid’s home was silent, save for the muted hum of the car's engine and the occasional rustle of cloth against leather.

Ji-An was huddled against the passenger seat, her body trembling slightly. Noticing this, he pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her small frame in the same way he did for you.

After dropping the boy off and Ji-An finally falling asleep, he drives aimlessly. The city lights flicker past in a hazy blur, their glow casting fleeting shadows on his face. He thinks of you—your laughter, your anger, and your determination. It's strange, he thinks, how the absence of someone can fill a room, a house, or a life.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone.

Glancing at the screen, he sees your name flashing. He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the decline button.

But then he remembers how things used to be and how it felt to hear your voice without the weight of regret and guilt. He misses when your name didn't make his chest ache, when it was just a name he heard now and then but held no significance to him.

He yearns for the days when he didn't know you, when his eyes didn't instinctively scan every room he entered in hopes of finding you there. He misses the sight of you standing among strangers, wearing that ridiculous skirt he used to tease you about but now finds himself missing.

He finds himself longing for the mundane details. How you'd take off your shoes at the front door, placing your keys with care in the small glass bowl on the corner of the kitchen counter. How you'd drape your coat over the back of a dining room chair, your socks left at the foot of the bed next to the sleeping cat.

He misses holding back your hair as you succumb to the side effects of your PTSD pills, your body rejecting the chemicals meant to help you cope. He yearns for the times when you would climb under the white blankets with him, forcefully opening his arms to encase you between them.

He misses how you would place your legs on top of his and let your hands wander to his waist and chest. He misses hearing you say, "I missed you," telling him about your day as you would slowly drift off to sleep. And he longs for the times he would secretly kiss your cheek softly before he inevitably had to leave you for work.

He misses when you were simply strangers—not two people who act like strangers in public but once knew each other better than they ever knew themselves. He misses the simplicity of those days and the innocence of not knowing what it felt like to lose you.

Because, in the end, when the lights are off and his eyes flutter shut, the back of his mind always whispers your name, calling out to you like you are the only place he was ever meant to call home .

When he finally decided to answer the call, he placed the phone on the dashboard, the worn leather creaking under the weight. He switched to speaker mode, the familiar chime filling the small space of the car.

"Hello?"

Tinny and distant over the phone speaker, you responded almost immediately. "You left a voicemail. What happened?" In the background, he could hear the faint, unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking open and the soft hiss of a cigarette being lit.

"Your voice sounds rough," he commented, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. "How many days have you been communicating only with sign language?"

"Shut up, motherfucker. What about Ji-An?”

"I…" he started, faltering. The words he needed to say were stuck in his throat, like a bitter pill he couldn't swallow.

“Look, Ji-Man. I have nothing to do with you anymore. I’m calling you back because you sounded like a wounded little bitch and you said her name. Drop the show and spit it out.”

“I failed again, okay?" The confession spilled out of him, the words tasting like defeat. But he couldn't stop there; he had to finish what he started. "But, look, Ji-An spoke.”

He could almost hear your sharp intake of breath and the sound of the cigarette being hastily put out in the background. There was a long, drawn-out silence, the kind of silence that spoke volumes. He could imagine your surprise—the way your eyes would widen slightly, the lit cigarette forgotten in your hand. But when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, filled with a strange mix of relief and trepidation.

"She spoke?"

"Yes. She called out to me. She used her voice, and she spoke."

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that everything is okay between us," he continued, his voice gruff, "But I'm also not going to pretend that we don't have a shared past. One that involves a little girl who misses you."

"You're such a bastard. You know how to manipulate me using her," you snapped, the sound of a chair creaking in the background signaling your agitation.

"Maybe, but it doesn't change the fact that Ji-An misses you. And you miss her too, don't you?"

A silence followed his words—not an uncomfortable one, but a silence filled with unspoken words and a shared history. And then you sighed, a deep, heavy sigh that echoed with the weight of your unspoken thoughts.

"I do miss her. But you, Jeong Jin-Man, are a pain in my ass.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at your words. "I've been told that before."

"I'm sure you have."

Another silence filled the line, comfortable yet heavy with years of shared experiences.

"By the way," he added, his voice softer now, "the key is still under the cat statue you put by the front door. You can drop by anytime."

"I'll think about it. But don't expect me to come running back, Jin-Man. We're not the same people we used to be."

"I know. But we're still us, aren't we?"

"We're something ," you admitted, a sigh slipping past your lips. "But I don't know what that is anymore."

"Neither do I. But maybe we can figure it out together, old lady."

"Old lady?" you scoffed, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Coming from a man who's 10 years older than me."

"Years are still years," he teased, a smile playing on his lips. "But whatever we are, Y/N, whatever we become, you're still… something to me. And so is Ji-An. Remember that."

"I will. I will, Ahjusshi."

#lee dong wook #imagine #a shop for killers #jeong jin man #lee dong wook x reader #lee dongwook x fem! reader #poetry #jeong jin man x reader #jeong jian #seo moonjo x reader #lee dongwook x reader

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wen-kexing-apologist · 4 months ago

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Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

For those of you who don’t know, I decided to run the gauntlet of @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus, which is comprised of 9 units. I have completed four of the units (here is my queer cinema syllabus round up post with all the films I’ve watched and written about so far). It is time for me to make my way through Unit 5- Lesbians, which includes the following films: The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love (1995), Bound (1996), Water Lilies (2007), Saving Face (2004), D.E.B.S. (2004), Set It Off (1996), The Handmaiden (2016), Carol (2015), Imagine Me and You (2005), Two of Us (2019), Rafiki (2018), and The Color Purple (1985).

Today I will be talking about

Bound (1996) dir. Wachowski Sisters

[Run Time: 1:48 , Language: English]

Summary: Tough ex-con Corky and her lover Violet concoct a scheme to steal millions of stashed mob money and pin the blame on Violet's crooked boyfriend Caesar. Cast: - Jennifer Tilly as Violet - Gina Gorshon as Corky __

OKAY! THIS MOVIE KICKS ASS! What a gift to dykes everywhere, let me tell you. I cannot believe this was the Wachowski Sister’s directorial debut. It makes so much sense to me how they would have gotten such success off of The Matrix and Sense8 if this was their first foray in to directing because it is evident how strong of an idea they have for the story they are telling and what they want their audience to see. Maybe it helps that they wrote it as well, but still they know exactly what they want to do in every scene.

It’s really fun watching Bound knowing that it was made before Lana and Lily Wachowski came out because it is so clear to me that queer women made this film. Corky and Violet are so horny for each other, we get multiple on camera lesbian sex scenes, they are both hot as fuck and the camera lets us know it in a way that somehow (for me at least) manages to convey both a carnal desire to Tap That without feeling like it is objectifying the women on screen.

I think it is really interesting that this entire heist took place across two rooms in an apartment complex, and that all of this could still go down. I loved how run down the apartment Corky was fixing up looks and how grandiose Violet’s apartment is. The class disparity is there, but we know where Violet stands because she always places herself in Corky’s spaces.

I saw a little interview from the Wachowski’s talking about what is one of my favorite shots in the film, when the camera transitions birdseye between Violet on the phone in her bedroom and Corky on the phone on the other side of the wall. They were talking about how these two women are trapped and how caged in they wanted the set to feel, so not only did they keep them in those rooms but they covered the apartment in squares to just keep them caged and caged and caged at every level. And you can see it, even though it is sometimes subtle. It’s in the wallpaper, it’s on the floor, the concrete slabs, etc. (You can see an example in the gif above)

I liked that Corky set the plot up so well by telling Violet that if they were going to steal the money that she needed to know her mark as well if not better than she knows herself, and how the rush job to take the money backfires so spectacularly at the very last part of the plan because Corky doesn’t know Ceaser well enough to realize he is going to stay and fight rather than turn tail and run when he realizes the money is gone.

I talked a few times about the color red and the symbolism associated with it in Heartbreak Alley, how every time I saw blood on screen in the back half of Unit 4 the only thing I could think about was AIDS. So it is really interesting moving in to Unit 5 to spaces where we see a lot of blood and where suddenly that symbolism is gone. Now the blood is prison and freedom all in one. I love the way Ceaser’s blood mixes with the white paint at the end. The blood dripping on the white tile of the bathroom, on the toilet. All the ways in which sins and crime can be wiped clean, and how white makes everything else stand out, until it doesn’t. I was struck by the transition between Ceaser bleeding out in that pool of white paint, and the Landlord Special room we transitioned to with all those impossibly white walls.

Favorite Moment:

Oh god, there are so many little things I loved, the shot of Corky and Violet’s lips an inch apart and then crashing together to make out. Their fingers intertwining in the car at the end of the film. The fact that Corky wears her lockpicks as earrings, #innovation. But I think my absolute favorite little moment in the film is when Ceaser has Corky bound at his feet and he’s interrogating her about the money, and he points the gun at her face and he says: “Fucking queers you make me sick” which sounds like a weird choice to have as my favorite moment, but it is entirely because of the second after that line when Violet’s eyes flick upwards to look at him. Because she, too, is a queer woman and we are not allowed to forget that just because she spends so much of the film bound to this man because of his money and his power over her.

Favorite Quote:

“I had this image of you inside of me. Like a part of me.”

It’s repeated a few times in the film though it always feels kind of randomly placed. But I like it for the simple fact that it is like calling to like. Queer woman trapped in her own life calling out to a queer woman trapped in her own life. I like that we get the counterpart to this quote at the end when Corky asks Violet “do you know what the difference is between you and me, Violet?” // “No.” // “Me neither.” It’s just such a lovely parallel that comes at the end of all of their suffering, their abuse, and the freedom they have gained.

Score

10/10

Gina Gershon hot.

What else is there to say?

#bengiyo queer cinema syllabus #queer cinema syllabus #bound #bound 1996 #bound (1996)#gina gershon #jennifer tilly #the wachowskis #the wachowski sisters

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tilly-tilly-2827 · 6 months ago

Text

Interventions & Interventions

Reimagining An Offer from a Gentleman #7

Synopsis: A year ago, Sophie would have scoffed if someone had told her that she would be married to Benedict Bridgerton. A year ago, if someone had told her that she would be welcoming a child, Sophie would have thrown herself off a cliff. But now, she doesn’t have to be afraid of anything. The love of her life is right by her side. Everything was going well, wasn’t it? Or, the little drabble of Benophies going through the early days of Sophie’s pregnancy.

AO3 post from here!

The half-read novel forgotten on her lap, Sophie couldn’t help leaping up from the window-side chaise as she finally saw the carriage coming up the road. Yes, she had been staring through the window for about an hour, Benedict had told her in his letters from London that he would be home before noon. Although it puzzled her that not one, but two carriages stopped in front of the gate, she found herself rushing to the door, despite Mrs. Crabtree’s yelps. “Mrs. Bridgerton, Mrs. Radcliff told you complete bed rest was required…”

“Terrorizing Mrs. Crabtree again, my love?”

“Benedict!”

And Sophie was in the warm arms of her adoring husband once again, the familiar smell of sandalwood and soap filling up the emptiness that had plagued her during his absence. Feeling a soft kiss on her forehead, Sophie snuggled on his chest adoringly, his turquoise cravat tickling the edge of her nose.

“I missed you,”

“But I missed you more,”

Looking up to his evergreen eyes, Benedict kissed her lips softly, his hands cupping her cheeks. Sophie diligently opened her lips, feeling him tickling the corner of her mouth, and just as her hands moved to the back of his neck to kiss him more, tasting the sweetness of his lips, the two heard a rather loud cough from the sitting room.

“Ah! Mrs. Crabtree! Delightful to see you again as well!”

Benedict's voice was rather high-pitched as he expertly positioned Sophie in front of him. Sophie blushed, noticing that Benedict was subtly concealing a slight bulge in his trousers that had begun to appear.

“Welcome home, Mr. Bridgerton.” Mrs. Crabtree bobbed a little curtsy, “Should I get the tea ready for you? Mrs. Bridgerton should be back on her rest…”

“Thank you, Mrs. Crabtree,” Benedict replied as Sophie deepened her blush, feeling Benedict’s hands softly caress her behind, “But I’m afraid there is an urgent errand for me upstairs…”

But Benedict’s words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Mr. Bridgerton? May we come in?”

Mrs.Crabtree saw Benedict’s eyes light up, almost like a little child on a Christmas morning.

“Oh, sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen! Come in, come in!”

“Sophie, you are going to love this,” Benedict whispered to her excitedly as he opened the door. Sophie’s mouth hung open as she saw five men standing; the two holding a wooden cradle frame, one holding a white mattress and a roll of beautiful botanical wallpaper. One had a handsome rocking horse in his arms, trimmed with rich, white manes. The last man was quite sweating, overwhelmed by the size and the weight of the splendid chest he barely managed to hold.

“There is more,” Benedict was grinning ear to ear as he pointed to the carriage outside, “Please, please come on up gentlemen. Upstairs, the room to the right, with the flower craving on the door. And would you carry the boxes in the sitting room?”

Sophie and Mrs. Crabtree could only stand there gaping, as the men carried mountains of furniture, toys, socks, and blankets to the nursery. Sophie was beginning to feel pain in her head as she saw colorful boxes being carried from the second coach, presumably bonnets, scarves, and dresses he had bought from Madam Delacroix.

Sophie loved her husband, she truly did from the depth of her heart. But as she began the blissful marriage with Benedict Bridgerton, the utter differences in perception of money became her constant anxiety. With most of her life in service, it was difficult to understand how Benedict splurged on extravagance and wealth, spending his money as if he had abysmal wealth. Or at least, in her eyes. In his eyes, it was never “splurge” or “extravagance”; he would call it “necessary expenses”. He wholeheartedly felt that way, and Sophie knew Benedict would never be considered a spendthrift inside the ton. But why would Benedict need a new waistcoat when he had 46 in the closet? Half a year ago, she had struggled to buy a new pair of gloves, even though she needed them desperately. Now, Benedict would buy her a diamond necklace if she had even looked at it for more than five seconds. (Sophie had to beg him not to, Daphne looking at Sophie with a puzzled look as Sophie desperately tugged his arms away from the jewelry shop. It had been their first mild argument as a married couple.)

Sophie had hesitantly shared her thoughts about his financial tendencies, and Benedict immediately went down on his knees and apologized, promising he would be more careful. But, his reason or sanity tended to fly out of the window when it came to his child. His baby.

Sophie knew how much the baby meant for him. His elder brother was already blessed with two sons. Daphne already had four children of her own, and Colin had just welcomed the adorable Agatha just a year ago. How Benedict gently cradled his niece in his arms with adoring eyes, Sophie knew that even before she could even imagine he would be her husband, he was going to be a wonderful father.

Benedict had burst into tears of joy when Sophie had timidly told him of her pregnancy, sobbing in her arms for a solid hour. Sophie had softly run her fingers through his curls as Benedict sniffed his nose and promised her he would be there for her every step.

Benedict Bridgerton faithfully kept his word. In every session with Dr. White, he was with her, his hand on hers. He rubbed her back as she reversed every bit of substance in her stomach in a chamber pot, running around the house for a napkin and a glass of water. He would fill the kitchen cupboards with pears and green apples; he even ditched on chicken and beef from the house when he learned that the burning smell was leaving her in torture. He would massage her terribly swollen toes, and Sophie would doze off on the couch in his studio, and Benedict would sketch her, gently waking her up only when Mrs. Crabtree called the two for supper. Benedict was in her every step; in her walks, study, meals, bed, and even baths. Truly, the most considerate husband she could ever wish for. Wasn’t he?

Thus, Sophie felt rather guilty when she felt relief receiving a letter from Sir Henry Granville, asking Benedict to come to London. Lord Wellington had seen his work in the summer exhibition at the Royal Academy and had asked Sir Granville if he could meet the young artist in person.

“Oh, Benedict, how splendid!” Wapping her arms around his neck, Sophie pestered him with kisses, “You once told me Lord Wellington is a patron to many artists! Oh, Benedict, he sees the potential in you,”

“I’m not going.”

“… Whatever do you mean?”

Benedict gently led her to the chaise, making her take a seat. Kneeling himself on the floor, Benedict softly placed his hands on the baby bump that had begun to show several months ago. A gentle roundness on her belly. They both smiled when they felt the baby give a small kick; it was no longer a flutter but a gentle nudge, almost as if the baby was stretching his legs to meet his father.

“My love, I’ll be fine on my own.”

“But I promised that I’ll be by your side in every step,”

Sophie took his hand, placing a small kiss on his fingertips.

“You have already done so much for me, love.”

“But”

“And the baby wouldn’t come out for months, Benedict. You heard Doctor White tell us several months ago that I’m stable now.”

“Sophie,”

“Go to London. Benedict. For me.” Sophie gently caressed his soft brown curls. “I know how much you wished for this,”

Benedict buried his face in her knees, his hands still firmly placed on the bump. Sophie continued to stroke his curls, her fingertips tickling the edge of his ears.

“Two days, Sophie. I’ll be back in two days.”

“Your letters said three weeks, Ben.”

“Three days, then.”

“Benedict, the baby isn’t going to disappear or fly away! I’m planning to keep a close watch,”

“Aren’t you going to miss me, dear wife?”

Sophie averted her gaze, blushing, as Benedict looked up at her with a slight tease. Taking a deep breath, Sophie gently tugged his shirt by the collar and lightly placed her lips on his.

“A week then,” She murmured against his lips, “Can’t let the baby forget Papa’s voice,”

“A week it is,” Benedict replied with a deeper kiss. “And did you just call me Papa?”

Sophie ignored his question, moving her focus to undoing Benedict’s buttons. But when she finished the last one, Sophie cupped his face between her hands, staring firmly into his charming eyes.

“No gifts, Ben”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” and he gently flopped off Sophie’s hand-knitted slippers, moving his lips on her toes.

And Benedict had kept his word. After giving a pair of new boots to Mr.Crabtree and a bottle of rose water to Mrs. Crabtree, Benedict took Sophie’s hand, leading her to the nursery, already rambling on about the purchase he had made with his mother in London. However, Mrs. Crabtree swiftly intervened, saying that Sophie needed immediate rest.

“Why so, Mrs. Crabtree?” With a slight tilt, he asked, “She looks perfectly healthy to me,”

With a firm, yet motherly glare from Mrs. Crabtree, Sophie knew that she had to tell Benedict of the fever she had a few days earlier, and the village midwife had instructed her to stay in bed for a few weeks. Sophie could see the color draining from his face as she hastily rushed through the story.

“I never should have left,”

“Benedict, there is nothing to worry about. The fever broke out in a few days…”

“Few days?” Benedict arched his eyebrows. “Sophie, I know enough it’s not a good sign for the baby. Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Mrs. Bridgerton wanted to greet you as soon as possible,” Mrs. Crabtree added gently from the corner, seeing Sophie’s lips quiver. “Mr. Bridgerton, why don’t take Mrs. Bridgerton up to the bed? I’ll prepare a tea for two upstairs…”

“Why didn’t you write to me, Sophie? “ Benedict carried her up the stairs and tucked her under the covers despite Sophie’s weak protests. His tone was quiet, but Sophie noticed a touch of sadness, “I would have left London in a second,”

“It wasn’t so high of a fever, Benedict,” Sophie gave a soft sigh, Benedict putting an extra blanket on the covers, “I didn’t want to interrupt your work. You told me that you were meeting Lord Wellington on Wednesday,”

Kneeling himself on her bedside, Benedict took her hand, holding it tightly.

“Nothing is more important than the health of you and the baby, Sophie. Not even Lord Wellington or the bloody paintings,”

“Did Lord Wellington ask you for a landscape painting?”

Benedict’s eyes widened.

“How did you know? I was planning to surprise you,”

“Your eyes and tone convey more than you think,” Sophie smiled, placing a hand on his cheeks, “Congratulations Benedict. I couldn’t be more proud,”

But as Sophie pulled herself up for a kiss, Benedict quickly stood up, awkwardly moving to the foot of the bed.

“You need rest, Sophie,”

“Benedict, I’ve been resting for four days, and I remember you saying that I looked perfectly fine.”

“But,”

“Tell me about London,” Sophie said, smoothing out the silk covers, “I’ll be here in bed, resting, as Mrs. Radcliff had told me. Please talk to me, love. How was Sir Granville? What did Lord Wellington say about your paintings? ”

Benedict still looked concerned, his brows knitted into a worrisome frown.

“Aren’t you going to show me what you brought for the baby?”

Benedict burst out of the room in a second, and as Sophie laughed merrily, he was soon back with his arm full, placing the little blankets, wooden trinkets, and tiny knitted socks on the white covers. Sitting cross-legged on the covers, Benedict explained every purchase with so much enthusiasm, his eyes sparkling like spring meadows. As Sophie softly traced the botanical patterns on the wallpaper, Benedict told her that it was imported from Italy, hand-painted by a craftsman. He had also told her excitedly that the cradle was made with the same cherry tree as Miles’ and Edmund’s.

“I might have gone overboard,” Benedict chuckled to himself, scratching his head as he took a small pair of black shoes from the box. “But Mother seemed ecstatic about welcoming a new grandchild as well…”

“No, Benedict this is absolutely beautiful.” Sophie tried to keep her tone bright and cheerful, “Oh, Benedict, the baby isn’t born yet, and he’s already the happiest in the world…”

“What about you?”

“What?”

“Are you angry that I spent too much?”

“No, no, no.” Sophie stuttered, “It’s necessary expenses, Benedict. And I love every item you bought, truly…”

“Then what’s on your mind?” Benedict softly traced the outline of her face, “I’ll pay a grand for your thoughts.”

Sophie laughed, “My thoughts are worth less than a penny, Love.”

“Well, I beg to differ, but tell me,”

Sophie stared at her hangnail, the edge of her left middle finger slightly swollen. With her right hand, she wrapped her finger, feeling a sharp pain as she tightened her grip.

“I should be the one doing this,” Sophie sighed, not quite looking at his eyes, “Ordering the cradle, the blankets, the napkins, the bottles, everything. When you should be focusing on your paintings, Benedict. A few weeks ago, Mrs. Crabtree asked me if I wanted to go to the village to order, but I thought it would be too early…”

“Sophie,”

“And my mind didn’t even go to the nursery, Benedict! The decorations, the wallpaper, the toys, I couldn’t even think about the decorations. I’m already a terrible mother…”

“Breath, Sophie, breath.” Benedict softly moved up to the bed, he plopped himself next to his wife, resting his back on the headboard. “You’re not a terrible mother, Sophie.”

“But,”

“When I first went to Sir Granville’s, I didn’t even know how to set up the easel. I didn’t know where to buy the right paint, and it took years to notice that I was being overcharged.”

“Really?” A small smile crept up on Sophie’s lips, and Benedict felt a bit of relief; he knew that Sophie was on the verge of tears.

“Truly,” Benedict kissed her forehead, “Nobody starts as an expert, Sophie.”

“Yet you are already a perfect father,”

“I’m far from perfection, Sophie. I had siblings, to make me experienced and bestow me with their knowledge. All the things I bought from London? All Mother and Kate.”

“Benedict, are you telling me lies to make me feel better?”

“Is it working?”

With a crooked smile, he peered into his wife’s eyes, and Sophie giggled in response, resting her head on his broad shoulders.

“And you’ve already done a splendid job of raising the little one inside you! I can’t imagine how hard the change must be.” He continued, rubbing her belly affectionately. “Focus on the health of you and the baby, Sophie. Leave me to worry about everything else.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Sophie softly pinched his cheeks, playfully tugging his skin. “Sometimes I can not believe if you are even real,”

“It would be quite a tragedy if this was all a dream.” Benedict laughed, “I would willingly drink a bottle of poison to keep me in this wonderful dream,”

“But, Benedict.”

Ah, the Benedict in b flat.

“Mmm?”

“The dresses you bought from Madam Delacroix?”

“Oh, she already kept your measurements from the wedding…”

“I’m never going to fit in them, Benedict.”

Damm, Benedict cursed under his breath. He finally understood why Genevieve was so reluctant to sell them, and why she repeatedly kept asking for the new measurements. “I know my wife,” Benedict had told Geneville rather impatiently, “She was beautiful in my shirt and breeches, I’m sure she will look splendid any dress…”

"Don't worry about those dresses, love. We can always have Madam Delacroix adjust them as needed.”

“And pay another grand for just the adjustments?”

“… Necessary expenses?” Benedict suddenly felt the need to switch the topic, “Now why don't you get some rest while I start setting up these toys for our little one?"

Sophie knew his transparently obvious tactic, but with the comfortable warmth of her husband, and his tone filled with gentle reassurance, she found herself too tired to start an argument. With a soft smile, Sophie nodded, watching as Benedict started to fiddle with the wooden toys. As she drifted off to sleep against his shoulders, she could hear the soft hum of Benedict's voice, whispering promises and dreams to their unborn child.

------------------------------------------------

Violet had been rather startled, receiving a letter from her second son, begging her to visit him and his wife at Wiltshire. Benedict had been in London just two weeks ago, dragging her to every street of London for baby supplies, and even Violet herself had been exhausted by all the shopping. The baby wasn’t due in a few months, but as she got to the end of the letter, telling her about Sophie’s declining health, she quickly packed her bags. It was a relief that Hyacinth was visiting her sister in Scotland, and Eloise had not even dropped a word of sarcasm as the two rushed into the carriage.

But Violet noticed that Benedict didn’t exactly tell her the truth when the two arrived at Wiltshire. As Benedict had written, Sophie did look rather feverish, her cheeks awfully crimson, and she was at least several stones thinner, despite the huge swell on her belly. She did not look well, but not as terrible as Benedict had explained in his letters. Sophie, although still in bed, had greeted the two with a smile, apologizing for how she wasn’t able to welcome them at the door.

“Do not worry, my dearest. I’m more worried about your weight, my dear, have you been eating enough?”

“I have been trying, but my stomach seems to be rejecting everything…,”

“I bought plums which saved Daphne from starvation, Sophie, and this oatmeal is said to be more nutritious than the regular ones…”

For a week, Violet diligently cared for Sophie, overseeing her meals with Mrs. Crabtree. Whether it was the oatmeal brought from London or the new jugs of milk from Mrs. Crabtree’s sister, they weren't sure, but Sophie seemed to be regaining her strength day by day. When Sophie's fever finally broke, Benedict, Eloise, Violet, Mrs. Crabtree, and Mr.Crabtree all breathed a sigh of relief. Dr. White also finally smiled with satisfaction, declaring that she could leave the bed.

Unlike Benedict, who had leaped from his chair and was beginning to pester Sophie with kisses despite Eloise’s eye roll, Violet noticed that the dark shade of worry and fear didn’t leave Sophie’s deep forest eyes with Dr. White’s words.

For another week, Violet had promised to stay in Wiltshire, to keep an eye on Sophie’s condition. Violet silently observed her second son flocking around his very pregnant wife every second, simultaneously preparing for the arrival of their baby, painting the nursery, assembling the crib, and even knitting tiny socks. Violet was quite amazed by the wall painting Benedict was working on in the nursery, a cherry blossom that spread across the wall, adding violets and hyacinths on its foot.

But what mildly concerned her was how Sophie never seemed to actively touch what Benedict had bought from London, or what Benedict had assembled or made for the baby. Yes, she would smile and giggle as Benedict playfully smudged the Castleon green paint on her cheeks and her rounded belly, and her constant worried gaze would soften as she looked at Benedict, reaching out his arms to tenderly stroke her roundness.

But when Violet surprised Sophie with the baby blanket she had done tulip embroideries on the hems, Sophie’s fingers were shaking, almost as if she were afraid of breaking the soft material. And at that moment, Violet finally understood why her loving son had desperately begged her to come to their newlywed home.

It was the last night of their stay in Wiltshire, their bags already packed and placed ready on the doorsteps for the carriage tomorrow morning. The two were alone in the drawing room, the fire cracking peacefully in the fireplace. The warm light was enough to see the small tremble on Sophie’s thin lips.

“This is beautiful, Violet. I don’t know how I could thank you for everything…” Despite her shaking hands, there was a smile plastered on Sophie’s face, her fingers carefully tracing the red petals.

“No need to thank me, Sophie.” Violet gently said, “I have done everyone for my grandchildren, and there is no reason to leave this little one out,”

Thank you, thank you, Violet saw Sophie mouth the words of gratitude several times.

“May I?”

“Oh yes, please,”

Gently stroking Sophie’s belly, Violet felt a warm flutter as she sensed a firm kick, remembering her first days of pregnancy, and the bright smile Edmund showed when he first felt the presence of a new life.

“So eager to meet his Mama,” Violet smiled as Sophie’s belly tumbled again. “As a former vessel to the Bridgertons, I am afraid to tell you that he might resemble his Papa more.”

For the first time Violet had seen her in weeks, Sophie laughed, a bright cracking laughter that vibrated merrily in the room.

“I believe so,” Sophie replied, gently caressing her roundness. “He is going to have Benedict’s curls and his nose,”

“But he will have your eyes, Sophie.”

Sophie smiled, imagining for the first time, the little bundle of joy cradled in her arms, the little version of her loving husband. Perhaps he would flutter his long eyelashes, dazed by the soft sunlight, or reach out his little hands to wrap his hand around her fingers. Or he might cry out a little, wailing for his mama,

“Do you think I will ever be able to meet him?”

“The baby?”

Sophie nodded, her eyes still placed on her belly.

“Oh don’t be silly, Sophie. Of course, you’ll meet your baby. In three months time my dear…”

“My mother never got to see me,”

Violet’s hands on the teacup froze.

“Or at least, that was what I was told.” Sophie’s tone was oddly flat, as if she were trying to repress any emotion, “That when I came out, there was too much blood and she had already passed away,”

“Oh, Sophie,”

“I’m not afraid of dying,” Sophie continued, smiling weakly, “I’ve already had such a blissful life,”

“Don’t say that Sophie, you are still two-and-twenty,”

“My Mother gave birth to me when she was much younger,”

Violet found herself at a loss of words. How lucky she was, to have given birth to eight children, and she knew she had been blessed by god for surviving each one. But she also knew many mothers left the world without ever feeling the warmth of their newborn child. Maria Beckett, whom Violet had never met, had been one of those mothers.

“I don’t fear leaving this world, Violet. Because I know for sure that Benedict would love and adore the baby no matter what. He would love the baby twice as much, for the amount that I wouldn’t be able to deliver,”

“Sophia,”

“And your son is the most charming man,” Sophie’s smile grew even bigger, but Violet saw the corner of her lips trembling, “Far, far, better a man than I should deserve. He would have no trouble finding a new mother for the baby, someone much more suitable than myself,”

“No, Sophia,” Shaking her head, Violet took Sophie’s trembling hands, firmly holding her hand in hers. Violet felt the roughness of her hands, the skin harder, coarser than any hand she had ever held. “I will tell you a million times how lucky my son is to have you as his wife, no matter how much you deny it.”

Sophie tried to raise the corner of her lips.

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton,”

“Violet, Sophie.”

“Thank you, Violet.”

The two silently looked at the small fire in the fireplace, the flickers of sparks crackling in the darkness. Violet heard Sophie take a deep breath, almost as if she was letting down a big piece of luggage from her shoulders.

“But, what fears me the most,” Sophie continued slowly, but her voice was shaking, her breath was short and breathless, “Is if I can’t give Benedict his baby.”

“Oh, Sophie,”

“I still have three months to go, and I know that my body isn’t catching up,”

Tears were running down Sophie’s crimson cheeks, her shoulders shaking, her lips trembling. Violet gently took her daughter in her arms, rubbing the back of her delicate shoulders.

“Sophie,”

“And when the time comes, when he has to choose between me and the baby,” Sophie broke out into a sob, “I know that he’s going to choose me before the baby. After years and years of wanting a baby, after months and months of preparing, all his time, money, and effort wasted, ”

Her words were bearly audible between sobs and tears,

“I hear him, humming lullabies in his sleep, with so much love and anticipation. He’s already a father, mother, and it breaks my heart if I can’t give him what he wished for years, that I’m going to leave him devastated,”

I promise you and the baby will both be perfectly fine, those exact words almost slipped, but she stopped herself, knowing the gravity and the reality of Sophie’s fears. Violet noticed that she couldn’t find the right words for the poor girl who was crying and crying in her arms, the eight childbirths she had experienced weren’t enough, the depth of her fear, Violet noticed, was far deeper than she had imagined.

“Benedict had a swing set up in the gardens several weeks back. Violet, he was so happy and excited, saying that it was the same as the one he had in Bridgerton House.”

“Sophie, I am so sorry,”

“And I wanted to be happy, Lady Bridgerton. Tell Benedict that it would be lovely if the baby could share moments on the swings with his siblings, just like with Ms. Eloise. But I couldn’t say anything, because I’m so afraid that I’ll disappoint him so miserably,”

“Oh, I love him so, Lady Bridgerton.” Sophie sobbed in her arms, “And I’m so ashamed of myself that I can’t appreciate the love that he’s given me so much, I’m ashamed of myself that I’m so afraid of his love,”

From Violet’s eyes, Sophie had always been an honest, honorable young lady, with an innate sense of kindness. But Violet suddenly saw a little girl with blond curls and almond eyes, crying herself to sleep, shivering with fear and loneliness.

Violet knew Benedict always slept in a warm bed along with his brothers, and he never slept without a bedtime story and would beg her to cuddle him even when Violet had to leave to nurse Colin. For Violet, it had been one of the happiest moments of her life, gently stoking Benedict’s chubby cheeks, who looked so breathtakingly like his father, snoring happily as she left a soft kiss on his forehead.

But Sophie had no one to listen to her, even if she feared the monster under her bed. With no one to tuck her in bed, no one to tell her a bedtime story, no one to leave her with a goodnight kiss.

But suddenly she had someone who would listen to her every word. Who would delight in her beauty, who would honor her being in his deeds and words. Who would curl her in blankets and leave her with a sweet kiss. When she spent a lifetime alone and abused because of her mere existence.

Of course, she should feel afraid,

“There is nothing wrong about feeling afraid, Sophie,” Violet said calmly, gently stroking her blond curls as Sophie continued to weep in her arms, almost breathless from her tears. “There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, my dearest.”

“Love can be difficult, my dear. Loving someone, you risk the hurt, the pain…the loss. Of course, you would feel afraid Sophie, because you are risking your body and soul to something that is far above your control. Fear is a quintessential part of love.”

“But perhaps,” Violet smiled, softly wiping the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “you can trust Benedict a little more. Trust the love you have for one another. My son loves you dearly, and I love you dearly, with or without the baby. The two of you have already been through so much, and you both take so much care of the love you share. Those kinds of love grow and thrive, Sophie. It doesn’t wither after a fire. It doesn’t disappear after a storm. Because the love you two have, has strength to overcome them,”

“Allow yourself to have faith in your love, my dearest,”

“And you will be surprised how powerful it can be,”

--------------------------------------------------

“Eloise Bridgerton.”

Eloise froze for a brief second, the strict stern voice sending a sharp shiver down her spine. But seeing the floral vest and a teasing smirk in the corner of her eyes, she hastily returned the cigarette between her lips, feeling the nicotine deep in her veins.

“This swing is exactly the same as the one on Bridgerton House, isn’t it?”

“I had it made just several weeks ago,”

“So your daughters and sons can smoke behind their mother’s backs?”

Benedict scoffed, a wry smile on his face.

“Because,” He seated himself on the swing, gently rocking himself forward. “I thought my children could have chats like us,”

“Benedict, Sophie still has three months to deliver her baby. Isn’t it too early to be planning for more?”

“Please don’t tell Sophie,”

“You’ve already built a pair of swings, Benedict. And Sophie is one of the quickest women I have ever known,”

“Did I make a fool of myself again?”

“I believe you did.”

Benedict groaned, drilling his head into his knees. Eloise only laughed wholeheartedly, tapping his shoulder to offer him a cigarette, but she was quite surprised when he waved it off.

“You managed to quit?”

“Sophie doesn’t like the smell.”

“So perfect, aren’t you?”

But Eloise knew he was craving for one as his finger twitched. And as Eloise took another smoke, languorously blowing the Sidestream in Benedict’s face, he snatched the packet from her hands, lightening up a cigarette in practiced hands. Eloise crackled with laughter as Benedict gazed up at the sky in relief, his whole body relaxing with just one puff.

“Remind me to change before I go back,”

“Mmm.” Eloise only hummed in response.

The two smoked in silence, watching the shimmering stars in the night, and listening to the lonely tunes of the owls in the distance. Soon, the lonesome hoots were replaced by Benedict’s low hums, the nostalgic tune engraved in her childhood memories,

Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green,

When I am king, dilly, dilly, You shall be queen.

Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.

Call up your men, dilly, dilly, set them to work

Some to the plough, dilly, dilly, some to the fork,

Some to make hay, dilly, dilly, some to cut corn,

While you and I, dilly, dilly, keep ourselves warm.

Lavender's green, dilly, dilly, Lavender's blue,

If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.

Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, And the lambs play;

We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, out of harm's way.

“So, happy, aren’t you?”

“Happier than ever, El.”

Eloise missed those quiet moments with Benedict. Truly. Eloise had told herself a million times that Benedict was happy with his new life in Wiltshire. That her brother didn’t miss his past life in London. That he’d rather protect life with his Sophie than to be in London close to his family. Throwing away the comfortable life in London. Throwing away their time together as siblings, throwing away their time on the swings, replacing her with new memories of Sophie and the baby. But Eloise knew deep in her heart that he would never have been happy if he had stayed in London. Without Sophie.

It was quite lonely to be at No.5 with only her mother and Hyacinth; who rather liked to do talking on her own. Benedict was the only sibling who truly listened and understood her, or at least she thought, and it was quite lonesome when he was miles and miles away when she wanted to talk with him desperately.

“Do you know why I don’t get married?” She said, abruptly.

“Because men are too inferior to match your superior mind?” Benedict teased her in a mocking tone, and Eloise had to crack a smile.

“Close, but I have other reasons as well,” Eloise said, “But do you promise not to tell Hyacinth? Or Anthony or Mother or anyone else?”

“I will swear an oath by my daughter’s name.”

“How could you ever know the sex of the baby?”

“I just know.” Benedict hummed happily, “Enlighten me, Eloise. The reason why you keep refusing every proposal.”

Eloise took a deep breath.

“I don’t want to get married because I want something that you have with Sophie. That kind of love and passion and drama. I want more than just, homes, estates, or hounds.”

“You have everything I desire in a relationship. The mutual love, respect, care, compassion. I’ve never seen the two of you quarrel like Kate and Anthony. Always so calm and relaxed.”

“Is that truly how we look like?”

“Mmm.”

“Were you ever a romanticist, Eloise?”

“Well you certainly made me one,” With dimmed eyes, Eloise dropped the ashes on the ground, “ I never believed in fairytales. I didn’t even believe in love, Benedict. Until it blossomed in front of my eyes,”

“It was beautiful, seeing how you fell in love with each other at No.5, despite living in two different worlds. You didn’t even hesitate to face the consequences, Benedict.”

“And you literally saved Sophie from death, brother. She could have been hanged if you weren’t there. You are Sophie’s shining knight of armor.”

Benedict gave a low laugh, blowing out smoke from his lungs, but Eloise continued,

“I pride myself on having read quite many books, but no story had been as romantic as yours. It’s almost as if it were right out of a fairytale.”

“Eloise,”

“What?”

“It’s not a fairytale.”

“Don’t you dare say that, brother. It’s quite a miracle the lady in silver happened to be the maid you saved from Cavender…”

“You can say that because you don’t know the full story, Eloise,”

And Benedict finally told the truth between Sophie and Benedict; that he had first asked her to be his mistress. And that Sophie had rejected his offer, and he had blackmailed her to come to London. But he did remove the part when he took Sophie’s virginity on the sofa. How much he loved and respected her; she was still his younger sister. But even without the most scandalous bits, Eloise’s crisp blue eyes dimmed and dimmed, her face crunching in disgust as she continued on with the story.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Eloise’s tone was laced with disgust and annoyance.

“Anthony stopped me,”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“Because,” Benedict stopped for a second, a drop of hesitation, “I want my dear sister to know that love stories are not always perfect,”

“But it is,”

“I just said that I asked Sophie to be my mistress,”

“Yes, but you came to your bloody senses and married her in the end. And Sophie forgave your stupidity and kept loving you despite your awful behavior. Now carrying your child. It’s still a perfect story, Benedict. Happily Ever After!”

Benedict blatantly stared at his little sister, almost taken aback by her pure naivety. Almost as if she were trying to worship the perfect love story between Sophie and him. That, he knew, was far too dangerous. To romanticize an ugly reality.

“Sophie and I…yes, I’ll admit that it is a miracle that we are together, but El, we are far from perfect.”

“But you two are,”

“Do you know it took weeks for Sophie to tell me that she was pregnant?”

“What? Why would I know…,”

Benedict interrupted her words, breaking the one rule he always kept when he was talking with Eloise.

“I only realized that she was pregnant when Anthony and Kate subtly asked me if Sophie wanted to see the family doctor. And do you know what she said when I lightly asked why it took so long to tell me? She said it was “too soon to be sure.” But what did she think we were doing every night?”

“What were you doing every night?” A wave of panic hit his breath when Eloise’s sharp blue eyes stared at him with a look of innocence and utter curiosity.

“T, talking.” He managed to stutter, “B, bonding, I would rather say…”

“When is anyone ever going to tell me the bloody specifics?” Eloise muttered angrily, and Benedict thought it better to swiftly avert Eloise’s interests.

“Did I ever tell you that Sophie loathes my lavish expenditures?”

Just as he thought, Eloise’s eyes widened in surprise and a little bit of delight to hear their marital conflicts,

“But you never ravish money!”

“She had different views,” Benedict smiled weakly, “And I know I’ve upset her in some kind or other when she says my name in b flat.”

“Huh,”

“And do you know that I almost made her cry because of the baby supplies I brought in London?”

“I don’t understand Benedict. Why would that upset her? Shouldn’t she be pleased?”

“She thought she was an unworthy mother because she didn’t prepare them herself,”

“Then why didn’t she tell that before?”

“There are so many things she doesn’t tell me, Eloise.”

Eloise sank into silence, processing the aspect that she had never imagined in her brother’s perfect relationship. To Eloise’s eyes, they just seem so perfect, like they were born for each other,

“Has Sophie told you that she was afraid of dying?”

“WHAT?”

The cigarette dropped from Benedict’s fingers. There was genuine hurt and shock in Benedict’s voice, as he buried his head in his head yet again. The half-burned-out cigarette lay forgotten on the dirt. Eloise stretched her legs to snub out the last remaining flame.

“In her letters, she kept repeatedly writing about how she wanted me to visit My Cottage more; to take care of you and the baby. If she can’t make it through,”

Eloise tried not to look at a tear that dropped on Benedict’s worn-out yet perfectly mended brown boots.

“She didn’t exactly say that she was afraid of dying,” Eloise’s voice came out more like an excuse, seeing his brother shrunk and defalated second by second, “But she sounded so desperate in her letters, and her fear, was, well, implied…”

“I just knew something was troubling her but I should have known…”

“Is that you asked Mother to come?”

Benedict hitched his breath, his throat making an akward noise.

“Yes.”

“Because you can’t ask Sophie?”

“…Yes.”

“You’re a coward.”

“A little harsh, Eloise.”

Benedict finally looked up from his hands, but his green-grey eyes were wavering,

“I always want Sophie to tell me everything, but she tends to keep everything inside herself. I’ll ask, but she’ll answer it’s nothing. And if I push too much, she flees away.”

His tone was filled with guilt, almost as if everything was his fault.

“Why don’t you just ask her to just spit it all out? I always thought honesty and transparency is required in any form of union…”

“El. She had a difficult childhood. A traumatic upbringing. Much harder and gruesome than we could ever imagine.”

Eloise grimly nodded, remembering the time she encountered Araminta Gunningworth at the modiste after her brother’s marriage. The verbal slander she slashed on Posy was both alarming and horrendous, sending chills in her bones. Eloise was shocked at how it could be addressed to her very own daughter. And Sophie had been the bastard. Eloise shuddered, imagining the horrifying extent of Sophie’s destructive past.

“And no matter how hard I try…” Benedict’s words trailed off in the darkness. Eloise saw Benedict clench his fist, gripping the coarse ropes, “There are parts of Sophie I could never understand. Even how desperately I yearn to understand,”

“But I love her El. So ardently that it burns me to the core. And it kills me that I can’t take any pain, any burden for her. And I want to make it work, And I know she’s trying her best to make this, make us work.” Words were bursting, a flooding river on a stormy night, “And I feel terrible that I can’t understand everything about her…”

“But isn’t that everyone?” Eloise found herself saying, words nonconsciously slipping from her lips, “I never understood why Colin suddenly fell in love with Penelope when he had known her for years. I didn’t even know that they were in love even though I have known them for a lifetime, and I don’t understand why Fran married John when they just sat in silence, when she is practically my twin,”

“And I bet,” Eloise continued hesitantly, “Sophie doesn’t understand why you have to have 60 waistcoats in your closet.”

“It’s actually 48 now.”

“You threw them away?”

“I gave them away to the servants when I left London,”

“Sophie did really make you into a changed man, didn’t she?” Eloise muttered to herself, but, no, she still wasn’t finished with her point.”

“Anyway, I just want to say that nobody understands each other. Yet, you hold on to each other. You and Sophie. Despite your flaws. Despite Sophie’s flaws. So desperately and so adoringly. Isn’t that perfect enough?”

Eloise heard a lonely howl from the distance, perhaps a hound crying for its mate. Eloise can remember Benedict’s drunken slurs a year ago, whining about the memories of his Lady in Silver,

“You two are just too perfect.”

“Perhaps we are, Eloise. Like you say. Perfect.”

“Mmm.”

“But do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because we know our imperfections.”

“What?”

“And we try our best dispite of it all.”

“I truly don’t understand what you are trying to say.”

“You will when you are older.”

“I hate you, Brother”

“And I love you too, Eloise.”

----------------------------------------------------

Just like I said, just like a bloody fairytale, Eloise thought to herself again as she watched the couple in the sitting room, snuggling together on a sofa. Her mother was knitting quietly beside the fireplace, a content smile on her lips.

Sophie perched on Benedict’s lap, excitedly showing the tulip-embroidered blanket her mother had given to her. Benedict stroking her golden locks, clinging to every word, looking at Sophie with the most adoring eyes.

No other word could explain the loving couple other than perfection. The honest, honorable wife and the absolutely besotted husband. There could be no secrets or conflicts between them, Eloise just knew.

Perhaps Benedict had lied to her about Sophie’s flaws or Sophie’s frustration with his habits. Perhaps Eloise had misread her letters, the ones she thought were dripping with fear and dread of death.

Because in Eloise’s eyes, Sophie was shining through the darkness, the glow in her whole presence, the lively, excited expression. There was no angst, no fear but just utter happiness and content between the two.

So, so, so bloody perfect,

#Writer’s Notes

“Love isn't something natural. Rather it requires discipline, concentration, patience, faith, and the overcoming of narcissism. It isn't a feeling, it is a practice.”

—Eric Fromm

“But if I know what love is, it is because of you.”

—Hermann Hesse

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benophie #sophie beckett #benedict x sophie #an offer from a gentleman #benophie fics #bridgerton fanfiction

66 notes · View notes

darkgodcomplex · 7 months ago

Text

Home Sweet Home

Wally Darling X Reader

CW: Manipulation, Obsession, Horror, Psychological Horror, Violence

Word Count: 11,754

AO3 Link

Wattpad Link

Here's the story:

You stand with hands on your hips, the sleeves of your baggy old college sweatshirt rolled up as you admire your new house. This is it... a new start.

Tying your hair back into a ponytail, you get to work. This might be your dream, but it doesn't come easy. The house you've chosen was cheap and definitely a fixer-upper. You leave the U-Haul with all your boxes parked in the driveway while you head up to the door.

You step inside, which immediately brings you to a dimly lit mudroom. The wood paneling is rotting. It's going to have to be replaced. You kick off your shoes onto the dirt-encrusted floor, leaning your hand on the doorframe. When you peel it away, it comes back filthy.

Ugh. You need a sink.

Going further into the house, you head into the kitchen. The outdated orange shag carpet alone makes you groan. Plus, who puts carpet in the kitchen?

You head over to the large metal sink set up on the bright yellow countertops to wash your hand of the dirt. You turn the handle of the faucet.

Nothing.

You turn it more. Then off again and then on again. Still, no water comes out. You sigh, wondering if the water was shut off or if the sink is just another of the busted household items this house will provide.

The living room offshoots the kitchen. What was once probably beautiful white and flowered wallpaper has now yellowed and peels off the walls in large stripes. Several windows are cracked, but it doesn't look like it's from force. You guess it's probably from improper care in the cold.

There's a bathroom. As you creak open the door, you see something dash out. You shriek, scrambling back wildly as you watch the mouse slip away into a crack in the wall. You breathe heavy. You're definitely going to have to go buy some mouse traps tonight. Still, you cautiously enter the bathroom. When you turn on the sink, you're relieved to find that it runs.

You wash the dirt away, then flick your wet hands at the sink. Even if there were towels in the bathroom, you wouldn't trust them to dry your hands.

There's an upstairs, which you expect that you'll set up your bedroom up there. The stairs themselves though are awfully steep and seem to be littered with staples that stick out from the floorboards. You opt to avoid that for now and continue to explore the ground floor. There's a small closet filled with spiderwebs and a door that leads to the basement, though when you flick the lightswitch no light turns on down there.

You sigh, leaning your head against the door to the basement. Can you really do this? This is going to be so much hard work. You've scraped together all of your savings for this?

There's one more door at the end of the hall. You discover it's an office. It's still rough around the edges like the rest of the house, but it has a large window that takes up almost the whole wall. It looks out into the neighborhood.

You stand in front of it, admiring the view. You can see many houses, each one brightly painted with jolly colors, their lawns perfect. Butterflies and hummingbirds float near the bushes of flowers that are planted under the window. The sky is a brilliant blue, clearer than you've ever seen it before. This place truly is paradise.

One thing the realtor really sold you on was the neighborhood. She said that the community bands together in a way that she's never seen before. Seeing it now, you can already tell that these people are special. How can they not be when they create such a beautiful environment?

Yes, this will be your painting room. Just standing here now you feel a rush of inspiration. You want to paint this moment. You rush to the front door, eager to grab your painting supplies before the mood runs out.

As you open the door, you jolt back, you had not been expecting any visitors. You have an entire welcome crew at your front door.

"Hello neighbor!" A man with a stunning blue pompadour steps forward, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Wally Darling."

You gingerly take his hand, face flushing. He's clearly a charmer. His grip is firm but delicate.

"It's nice to meet you too."

"These are our other neighbors here, we have Julie, Eddie, Frank, Barnaby, Poppy, Howdy, and Sally!" Each one waves as he says their name.

"We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" Poppy raises up a cake she's been holding. In fancy cursive font, it reads:

Welcome Home.

"Poppy is our resident baker." Wally grins. "She's who you want to cater all your events!"

"Oh, Poppy, will you do my birthday!" Julie chimes in.

"Of course." Poppy laughs at Julie, then turns back to you. "Here you are, dear." She hands you the cake.

You smile, this is so sweet of them! It truly makes this miserable house better. "Thank you! Um, my place is a wreck right now, but please, come in."

They all shuffle into your kitchen. Luckily the previous owners left you a kitchen table and some chairs so that your guests can sit. You set the cake on the table.

"So where are you from?" Frank asks, taking a seat.

"I actually came a long way." You give a nervous chuckle. "Wanted to start fresh... I'm from a little town in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh that's where I'm from too!" Eddie bursts out excitedly, then hesitates. "Wait, no." Frank pats Eddie on the back.

"This place seems like it needs a bit of work." Wally notices, hands in pockets as he leans on the counter.

Howdy nods along with him. "I have a bunch of supplies in my shop if you ever need anything." He says. "On the house for a new neighbor."

"Oh, I can help too!" Sally says. "I work on my sets all the time!"

"That would be awesome!" You suddenly have a bit more hope for this place. "Only if it's not an inconvenience for you guys of course."

"It's no issue." Wally promises, looking down at you with his half lidded eyes. "It's all a part of being in the neighborhood."

"When are we having cake?" Barnaby suddenly asks, eyeing it.

"Oh, um-" You glance around the kitchen. "All my kitchen utensils are still packed in the car..."

Everyone puzzles over this for a minute. Then, Barnaby reaches out and takes a handful of cake. His paws smear with frosting and he brings it up to his mouth to take a bite.

"What are you doing!" Frank demands.

"No plates and no utensils." Barnaby shrugs.

There's another pause. Then, you reach out and grab a handful too. The cake is squishy and messy between your fingers, but when you bring it to your mouth, it's delicious. Slowly, everyone is scooping up the cake, laughing as they play with it in their palms.

"This is ridiculous." Frank says, crossing his arms. "I refuse to act so childish!"

"Aw, come on, Frank." Barnaby says, leaning over. "Oh, you got something on your face."

"What? Where-"

"Right... there." Barnaby smushes some cake onto Franks face, smearing it down. Frank sits in shock for a second, then reaches a finger up to wipe the frosting at his cheek. He sticks the finger in his mouth, sucking at the frosting.

"Well... at least the cake is delicious." He admits. Everyone laughs, but soon it devolves into everyone tossing the cake. Julie and Frank team up to get Barnaby, Sally tosses the cake in the air while Eddie tries to catch it in his mouth, and Howdy and Poppy try to down as much cake as they can. Wally still leans on the counter, watching the chaos with a small smirk.

You slide next to him, cake still in hand.

"Sure you don't want a bite?" You grin, intending to smash it on his face. Before you can though, he takes his index finger and swipes it through the frosting, bringing it to your face and gently smearing the frosting onto the tip of your nose. He brings his finger back to suck on the small bit of leftovers.

"You can have it all, my dear." He says, returning to his casual, laidback position.

Eventually, all the cake the gone. Whether more is in your bellies or streaked along your floor, table, and walls, you're unsure. It's a mess, but somehow it makes the old house feel less dreary than before. Your guests head home, promising to come help with the house.

"Oh!" Julie turns back as she leaves, grasping at your hands. "We're having a barbeque tomorrow. You simply have to come!"

"I don't know." You chuckle. "I still have to unpack."

"Well, please keep us in mind." She lets go, giving a warm smile. "I had a lot of fun today." With that, she turns and scurries down the steps.

It's Wally's turn next. He gives you another one of his signature warm smiles. It makes your stomach flutter.

"I'm just in the Home over there." He says, pointing towards a peppy little red house down the street. "Come down whenever you need me."

"Thank you again." You say. He gives a polite nod before stepping away.

When everyone is out of sight, you sigh. It's already sunset and you haven't done any unpacking. One by one you bring the boxes in. Then, you puzzle over how you're going to get your larger furniture inside. In the end, you decide you don't need to bring in the couch, the desk, or the TV in tonight and that you can ask for help tomorrow, but you have to bring the mattress in now. It's a struggle, but eventually you manage.

That's it. That's all the work you're doing today. You can take all your stuff out of the boxes tomorrow.

However, there is one box that you unpack, labeled painting supplies. You set up in your new office, putting the easel in front of the window. It's pitch black out now, so you decide to paint the quiet calmness of the neighborhood at night. It seems as if everyone is already asleep, there's not a single window light on down the street. You throw a canvas on the easel, digging through your oil paints to find the right ones.

You notice Wally's house is right near your window, you have a perfect view of it. It only adds to your inspiration, using the darkness as a metaphor in your painting. It's the mystery... the curiosity... the intimacy. Despite being in two separate homes, you can't help but feel like you're glimpsing into his soul by painting his house.

It's nearly three in the morning when you finally finish your painting. It's crude and hastily done, but you enjoy it's charm. As you lay it on the floor to dry, you notice an odd detail that you don't remember adding.

There's a single light on in Wally's attic.

_____

Despite promising yourself that you'll get completely unpacked today, by midmorning you're already exhausted. You take a break, steaming yourself a cup of tea. So far in your packing, you've only uncovered one of your coffee mugs, so you're left sipping out of a chipped mug that reads: I DESTROYED THE UNIVERSE AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID MUG.

In the very least, a couple of things are coming along nicely. You hesitate to unpack everything right away, since you'll surely soon be tearing up carpet and painting over walls, but the essentials are out. Still, there is work to do.

Although...

You glance at the time. The barbeque is going to be soon... should you go? While they were all very king to you yesterday, you really don't know any of them.

Maybe this is your chance though. You'd particularly like to know that Wally fellow a little more.

You've decided it. You're going.

You glance down at your work clothes, a ragged old sweatshirt and worn out jeans with paint splattered all over. You're going to need to dress better than this.

Which box are your clothes in?

You spend another while digging through boxes. While you don't find dress clothes, you do find your stash of mugs. You set them in the kitchen. Eventually, you opt to just wear your paint splattered jeans but with a hole-free tee shirt.

You make your way outside. As you exit the house, the warm summer air hits you and you take a deep breath in, enjoying the season. It's absolutely beautiful in this town. You're surprised no one outbid on the house in a place like this.

Walking along the street, you spot a picnic spot set up in Wally's backyard. It seems you're the last one to arrive. The delectable smell of fresh meat cooking on the grill catches your nose.

"Yay, you came!" Julie practically jumps into your arms.

You laugh, "I figured I could take a lunch break."

Two picnic tables are set up next to the large grill where Poppy and Barnaby flip meat patties and turn hot dogs. At one table is Sally, Howdy, and Wally while the other is Frank and Eddie. Julie leads you over, taking a seat next to Frank.

"Hello neighbor!" Wally pats the seat next to him. "Come sit with us."

You take your seat, giving a polite smile.

"How was your first night at your new home?" Sally squeals excitedly, leaning over the table.

"It was fine." You shrug. "A little uncomfortable since my mattress was on the floor because I haven't set up my bedframe yet."

"Oh dear!" Howdy exclaims.

"What?" Eddie asks from the other table.

"It's nothing, Eddie." Sally rolls her eyes at him. "So when do we get to come help! Oh! What colors do you want to paint your walls? I was thinking bright! We can magenta or chartreuse or turquoise or-"

"Easy there." Howdy laughs, patting Sally on the shoulder. "I think we'll need to do some repairs before we can get into the decor aspect."

"What needs to be fixed?" Wally asks you in his usual chill manner. "So that we can help."

You raise your eyebrows, mind scanning through the plethora of problems in that house. "The sink doesn't run, there are staples in the stairs, the basement light doesn't work, there are mice and god knows what else, and some of my windows are broken."

Those are just the ones you've discovered so far.

Howdy runs his hand along his chin, "Some of those don't sound too bad. We can take some pliers to the stairs, then hopefully the light just needs replacing and isn't an electrical issue..." He trails off in thought.

"Food is ready!" Barnaby announces. Poppy sets down plates while Barnaby hands out the food.

"Hotdog or hamburger?" Barnaby asks when he gets to you.

"Hotdog please."

Barnaby loads up your plate, "Say, how does the enthusiastic man eat his hotdog?"

"Huh?" You ask, staring up at him.

With a large grin, Barnaby leans in and whispers, "With relish."

You blink, taking a minute to process the joke. Then, you laugh.

"Thank you, I'll be here all week." Barnaby prides himself while sliding Wally a burger.

"When can I get you on stage with me, Barnaby?" Sally bites into her hotdog.

Barnaby shrugs, "Alas, my stardom is meant for small crowds."

Sally shakes her head, "One day I'll convince you."

"I'd love to see it."

You bite down on your hotdog. It's probably the most delicious you've ever had. Does everything in this town taste amazing or are it's residents just master chefs?

"We have to go play lawn games!" Sally yells as she finishes her food. "Wally, you're on my team!"

"What are we playing-"

Sally grabs Wally by the arm, dragging him out to the field before he can protest.

"Want to team up?" Howdy wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"I think I need to digest my food first." You tell him, patting your belly. "Sorry."

"All good." Howdy leans over to the other table. "Hey Edds, you and me?"

"You know it!" Eddie says through a mouthful of burger. He shoves the rest in his mouth, hurrying to stand up. Barnaby and Poppy team up as well, heading over to the group.

That leaves Julie and Frank. Neither seem interested in joining the games. You move over to their table.

"Why don't you just ask him, Frank!" Julie whispers as you sit down.

Frank looks at you nervously, "Julie! There's someone else here!"

Julie sighs, looking over at you. "You can keep a secret, right?"

You nod.

Julie looks at Frank expectedly. He sighs, hands fiddling with a book he keeps in his lap. "Fine."

"Frank likes Eddie!" Julie giggles excitedly. "And Eddie SO likes him back!"

"You can't say that for sure." Frank fidgets. "I was reading a study where they found that people are very unreliable in determining if they are being flirted with or not!"

"But it's so obvious!" Julie groans.

You glance over at the game being played. It seems to be some weird hybrid of croquet and tennis. Your eyes can't help but wander over to Wally, who is holding his mallet like he's never played a sport before. His hooded eyes meet yours, giving you a dazed smile. You quickly look away.

"I just want to wait." Frank shifts uncomfortably. "Just to make sure that he likes me."

"How many signs do you need?" Julie shakes her head.

Frank doesn't answer, he's too busy staring. You look over at where his gaze lands. It seems as if Howdy and Eddie won, as Eddie is jumping up and down in excitement and Howdy is doing an awkward victory dance. They lock arms, swinging around happily.

Eddie trots over to the picnic table, breath heavy from all the jumping. "Did you see that winning shot?" He taps his foot happily, eyes glancing around the table.

"Oh, I missed it!" Julie complains.

"It was a good shot." Frank looks up at Eddie. "Are you good at geometry? The angle on that shot was quite amazing to see."

Eddie gives him a goofy grin. "Angels? No, I'm not really religious." He pauses. "But if you want to talk about it more I'd listen."

Frank perks up, then starts on a long winded explanation about math. You take the opportunity to slip away.

Wally waves you over, making your stomach do a somersault. It seems Frank isn't the only one with a stupid little crush. The way you're practically drooling over him has you embarrassed, it's like you're a middle schooler again. You jog over.

"Want to play?" He asks, holding up a mallet.

"I thought you were in a team with Sally?" You glance over to see Sally standing with Howdy.

"She didn't want to be on my team anymore." He says casually, looking up at the sky. "Apparently I couldn't hit a brick wall even if I ran into it."

You can't help but laugh. Upon seeing you laugh, he laughs along too.

"Well I don't know how to play either, so we'll be quite the team."

"You two ready?" Sally swings her mallet over her shoulder. Howdy has his baseball cap on backwards.

You and Wally line up. What ensues is the most pathetic beatdown you've ever seen. Not only are Sally and Howdy more acquainted with the game, they're also just quicker and more agile than you and Wally. The two of you also have absolutely no coordination skills, constantly bumping into each other and dropping the ball. Wally just plainly face plants several times. Somehow, he always manages to laugh it off though.

When Sally scores the winning point, she leaps into the air, grabbing Howdy by the arms.

"Yay!" She squeals.

"Two victories!" Howdy grins.

Wally dusts the dirt off his clothes. He had tripped again. "I'm afraid I dragged us down." He says, tilting his head as he looks down at you.

You shake your head, "Did you see me out there? I think we're a perfect match." You blush, realizing what you've said. "I mean... perfect match as a team, of course."

"Yes." He echoes. "Perfect match." There's a hidden smile in his words.

You glance over to see Howdy and Sally still celebrating.

"I want to show you something." Wally diverts your attention back to him.

"Oh, should I get the others?" You turn, but Wally grabs your wrist.

"No, I want it to be the two of us."

You and Wally slip away. You feel slightly bad that you're abandoning everyone, but Wally assures you that it won't be for long.

"Right through here." Wally ducks through a small passage in the bushes. The greenery is absolutely stunning here. Are plants usually this green?

As you step from the shrubs, you're greeted with more stunning scenery. Before you are acres and acres of beautiful apple trees. The bright red apples dangle from each tree while fallen ones scatter the ground. It feels like something out of a storybook.

"I like to come here." Wally reaches up, picking you a nice plump apple and gingerly setting it in his hands. "I thought you'd like it too."

"This is so pretty." You stroll through the trees, fingers rubbing over the apple in your palm. This is something you'd like to paint.

"So you're a painter too?"

You pause for a second, wondering if Wally can read your mind. "Huh?"

"Your pants." He points and you follow his gaze. Ah, that's right, you're wearing your shitty painting jeans.

"Yes, I paint." You tell him, turning. He follows behind you as you walk, hands tucked respectfully behind his back. You feel like a fancy Victorian woman and he your eager suitor. "You do too?"

"I do."

"What do you paint?"

He ponders on this. "Still life, mostly." He shrugs. "Apples." He picks one up from the ground, then tosses it. "They're my muse, one could say."

"Oh I see, a muse." You tease him. "Most artists' muses are pretty women or handsome men, you know."

"Does a handsome apple count?"

You laugh, "No."

"Since you clearly have a strict idea of what a muse should be," He trots to catch up so that he walks by your side. "Who is the lucky fellow that is occupying your thoughts and paintings?"

"I don't have one." You tell him very matter-of-factly.

He shakes his head, smiling. "Perhaps you just haven't met someone handsome enough to be your muse."

"Perhaps." You smile back and finally take a bite of the apple. It's ripe and juicy.

"We should paint together." Wally shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Apples?" You ask, raising a brow.

He laughs, "No, not apples... well, unless you want to."

You hold your half eaten apple in front of you, pretending to study it like it's a piece of modern art. "I don't know... maybe I'm starting to see the complexity of it."

"Look a little harder." Wally nudges you playfully. "Maybe you'll finally find your muse."

"This apple is starting to look a little handsome."

"I knew you would eventually see my side of things." He watches as you take another bite.

"Tomorrow for painting then?" You ask. "Apples as our muse?"

"Sounds like a plan."

_____

Beautiful emerald green paint rolls onto the wall as you work. Somehow, it's even more stunning than the sample paint swatch. Your living room is going to look positively royal.

Beside you, Sally leans up, jabbering away, "-And then Julie had to come rescue me from out of the dumpster! Not only that, but the lawnmower was nowhere to be found!" She finishes her story, shaking her head as she applies more paint. "I still wonder what happened to it."

Howdy is on the floor, removing staples from where the ugly shag carpet once was. When he peeled it up, you were thrilled to find out that there were beautiful hardwood floors underneath.

"Do these crazy things happen to everyone in Home, or just you?" You ask with a smile. It's still funny to you how the town is named Home, just another example of how perfect the place is.

"Oh you should see all the trouble some of them get into." Howdy rolls his eyes. "It's only if you're looking for it."

"Have a little adventure, Howdy!" Sally teases.

Howdy pulls out a particularly difficult staple with a grunt, "I've had enough adventure, particularly from that Wally fellow."

You perk up.

Sally laughs, "Do you remember that time he tried to sew his own clothes and got caught in the sewing machine?"

"How did he do that?" You laugh along with her.

"The idiot thought that he had to sew them right onto his body." The corners of Howdy's mouth twitch up.

Sally continues chatting, "There's also this weird thing about Wally, be warned he-"

Howdy cuts her off with a cough, communicating something with his eyes that you don't quite understand.

"Err, I mean, he's just so naïve sometimes." Sally says.

"That's true." Howdy adds.

A silence falls over the room, the only sound being the occasional splash as you and Sally dip your rollers into the paint. It gives you time to wonder what Sally was going to say. Wally just gets so... what?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud, making you jump. Then comes more thudding. You blink, processing the noise for a second before realizing that it's knocking.

"Oh!" You set down your paint roller. "I'll go get it!"

You rush over to the door, slipping through the kitchen. You fling open the door, out of breath from your jog over.

It's Wally, dressed just as dapper as usual. No, he seems more dapper today. His necktie a little straighter and his hair more precisely groomed. The minute his eyes lock on yours he smiles, glancing down at your clothes.

"Painting without me?"

"Well, only my living room." You say, slightly flustered to find yourself in indecent clothes around him once more. You wish you would've been able to change into something nicer. "I wasn't expecting you so soon-" You glance at the clock you had hastily hung in the mudroom. "Oh wait, it's already noon? I'm so sorry, I meant to be ready-"

"It's no worry." Wally assures you, as casual as ever.

"Are you coming back?" Sally yells from the other room.

Wally tilts his head, eyes casting towards the noise. "Oh? There's someone else here?"

"Yeah." You feel bad about losing track of time. You sincerely were looking forward to painting with Wally! "Sally and Howdy are just helping me paint."

"Let me just step in and say hi."

You invite Wally in, leading him to the living room. It's nearly finished.

"Oh, hi Wally." Howdy plucks out another staple.

"You should've invited me, I would've done quite a nice job with the paint." Wally says casually. "It looks nice though, you all did a good job."

"It was kind of a last minute thing." You explain.

Sally sets down her roller, "We had fun doing it! You would've been more help by assisting Howdy with the staples."

"Hey! I can do it by myself-"

You laugh, "I really appreciate the help, guys."

"That being said, I think I have her claimed for the afternoon." Wally slides in. "We're going painting."

Howdy and Sally both take the hint.

"Oh! We can come back later and help." Howdy stands, stretching out his back.

"Bye!" Sally gives a cheerful wave as they exit. "We gotta hang out again!"

You wave back eagerly and they leave through the front door. You turn back to see Wally leaning on the doorframe to the living room, watching you with his relaxed eyes.

"You really did you a nice job on this living room." His voice is ever so soft.

You sigh, placing your hands on your hips. "This place still needs a lot more work."

"I know you can breathe some life into this place." Wally's eyes seem to sparkle. "Homes are very special, you know."

You shake your head, "Are we painting at the orchard?"

"Best place to find apples."

It's not long after that you and Wally have your easels set up in the orchard, plenty of fresh apples on display for references. Wally stands across from you, paint at the ready.

"I'm still not so sure that I understand apples as a muse." You tease, reaching up to tree to grasp an apple. It's just out of your reach. "I bet you think they're complex or something." You mock like you're some kind philosopher, " Apples... the thing that made Newton discover gravity, the so called forbidden fruit."

"Or maybe they're not." Wally reaches up and grabs the apple for you, placing it in your palm. "Maybe they're just apples. Simple."

You take a bite of it.

"I guess I'm getting too deep about apples." You say in between bites, smiling.

He smiles along with you, "Perhaps we should just paint."

"Let's."

You pour over your canvas, examining the half eaten apple with rigor. They are surprisingly difficult to get right. The small spots and stripes make the work tedious.

"How are you doing the shading?" You ask, trying to peek at Wally's work. He shies away, turning his canvas so that you can't see.

"You'll see." Wally smiles. "I want to see your own interpretation, no outside influences."

"Is my work going to professionally assessed?" You tease, still struggling over the shading. "Should I be nervous?"

"Oh, very nervous." Wally replies. After a brief pause, he speaks up again. "What do you think of Home so far?"

"I really like it." You tell him enthusiastically. "I love the views, I love the weather, I love the people."

"I'm glad you like it." He says.

"It's quite lucky I got that house too." You say. "It's insane that there were no other bidders when it's such a lovely place. I'm sure that someone with more money than me could've easily fixed it up and loved it here."

Wally merely smiles and the two of you fall into concentrated silence once again.

You fall into the trance of painting. It's not a feeling you're unused to. There's something about concentrating on the details that just makes you lose track of time. Eventually, you tune back in, taking a step back as you finish your painting.

You're proud of it, you think. You've painted a small, half eaten apple resting in the grass, the field of orchards sprawled out behind it. It's a simple but elegant painting.

"I'm done." You say with a breath, looking up to see Wally watching you carefully. "How much do you have left?"

"Oh, I've been done for a while." Wally beams at you. "I'm very curious to see what you've produced."

Wally saunters over to look at your canvas. His eyes scan the painting, noticing the small efforts you put in. There is truly something amazing about another artist studying your work.

"It feels... happy." He says. "A simple kind of happy."

You pause, then slowly nod. "That's how I feel here in Home, I think." You chew at your lip. "I like it."

Wally takes your arm, leading you over to his painting.

It's... you. You're leaning over a canvas, paintbrush in one hand and apple in the other. Your hair spills in your face and paint covers your clothes. It's clear where he put the most effort in though, in your face. Your expression is one of focus and concentration as you're hunched over, eyebrows scrunched and mouth slightly agape.

It feels happy.

_____

Wally walks you home after you finish painting. He gifted you his painting and you gifted yours to him. He seems quite proud to own your artwork, even if it inferior to his. You're in awe at his skill honestly.

"I had fun today, Wally." You tell him as you reach your house.

Wally lights up, "I had fun too." He lingers at the door for a second, hands shoved into his pockets and painting tucked neatly under his arm. "I'll see you again tomorrow?" He asks. "I'll even help with house, if you want."

You laugh, "That sounds great."

He flashes you a charming smile, "Goodnight, then." He does a half bow, turning and trotting away. You watch him go, heart pumping in your chest.

As you close the door behind you, you can't help but jump and squeal excitedly. This neighborhood is truly everything you dreamed it would be. Your house is coming together nicely, you've got wonderful new friends, and now you've got the attention of a handsome guy!

Nothing could ruin this.

You walk further into your house, stepping into the living room. It's a perfect start, you feel a sense of pride.

Picking up a hammer, you head to a free space on the wall, pounding in a nail. You hang your new painting up, stepping back to admire it.

You turn around, patting the doorframe of the living room before heading upstairs to bed. You've had a long day today and you're sure that tomorrow is going to be just as busy. Your bedroom is less put together than the living room, but the fact that you've made progress prevents you from feeling bad.

As you slip into bed, you hear an odd noise.

You perk up, pausing and listening for the noise again.

It almost sounds like footsteps.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you peek out from your room. The sound echoes up the stairs. It sounds like it's coming from either the kitchen or the living room. You grab the nearest heavy object, which just so happens to be a leg of an easel that you had taken apart for the move. It's a strong wooden beam. You hold it up high on your shoulder.

"Hello?" You call.

The only answer you get is more footsteps.

Your hands tremble as you make your way down, placing your steps carefully. Your mind races through a million scenarios of robbery, kidnapping, and murder.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you decide to make sure you surprise this intruder. You come into the living room swinging.

There's nothing.

You stop and listen for a minute.

The noises are gone. No more footsteps.

You breathe a sigh of relief, running your hand through your hair. It wasn't even footsteps at all, must just be the old house settling. You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you prepare yourself to go back to bed. Before you do though, you notice something amiss.

Wally's painting had fallen off the wall.

The next morning you're awoken by the sound of loud, unrelenting knocking. You groan, startled and tired. After the incident last night you hadn't gotten much quality of sleep. You know you're just being paranoid, but for some reason it really stuck with you.

You roll out of bed, quickly throwing on clothes and heading downstairs. You wonder if Wally has come to help you fix the house up more.

"Oh my god, hey!" Julie throws her arms around you, giving you a big hug. "I was worried you might not be home!"

"Well, here I am."

"It's break time!" Julie tells you. "No more working on the house, you and I are going out."

You laugh, "Well, I would have to start working for it to be considered a break-"

Julie tugs on your arm, "Pleaseee go out with me?" She blinks up at you with wide eyes. "We'll have so much fun!"

You glance back at your unfinished house, still reluctant to leave. Yet, you grab your coat anyways, stepping out into the sunshine. "Where are we going?"

Julie lights up, "You'll see."

You're lead through the neighborhood. As you walk, you're given the full tour by Julie.

"There's the supermarket." She points. "Oh and that there is Barnaby's house. He's still sleeping at this time of day."

You check your watch. It's nearly noon already.

"That's my house!" She points at a lovely flowered red house. "You're invited anytime, just so you know."

"How long did it take you to fix that up?" You ask, marveling at how elegant yet simple it is.

Julie thinks on it for a second, "Fix it up?" She asks. "It's just... always been that way."

You scrunch your face up, "You bought it like that?"

"Bought it...?" Julie looks up, considering this. "I think... I've always lived here."

She seems confused, so you decide not to press it any further. Has Julie lived here her whole life? Where is her family?

That's when another odd thing strikes you. The entire town consists of single individuals that live alone in homes. You've never heard of such a thing. Sure, a few individuals here and there in homes is normal, but an entire town?

You notice Julie has gone quiet. It's an unusual change from her normally peppy self. You fear that maybe you pressed into something personal.

"This is the post office." Julie gestures, suddenly speaking up again. Her previous demeanor is forgotten now and her lively energy is returned. "That's where Eddie works."

You notice another familiar face poking about.

"Frank!" Julie bounces up and down excitedly, waving her hand.

Frank jumps from the sudden noise, head swiveling to find the source. He relaxes slightly when he sees it's only Julie.

You and Julie trot over to him.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, chin raised pompously.

"What are you doing here is the real question." Julie teases. "Have you come to see Eddie?"

"No!" Frank tenses, eyes looking around nervously. "I just have a letter to send and wanted to make sure that it got here. Mailboxes and so unreliable-"

"Uh huh." Julie can't control her grin. "Sure, Frank."

Frank opens his mouth to say something else, but Eddie comes around the corner just as he does. You thought that Frank already looked nervous, but that is nothing compared to how he looks as he and Eddie make eye contact.

"Oh hey Frank!" Eddie gives a toothy grin, cheeks scrunched up and head tilting to the side.

"Eddie!" Frank holds his envelope to his chest. "I-I've been looking for you!"

Eddie seems to perk up, "You have?"

"Yes!" Frank shoves out the letter. "I just needed to mail this."

"Oh." Eddie takes the letter. "Frank, you know I could've picked it up at your house, right?"

"Well, he wanted to hand deliver it." Julie nudges Frank playfully and receives a glare in return.

"I'll take good care it, Frank, I promise." Eddie tucks the letter into his pouch.

Julie coughs, "Well, we better get going, right?" She looks at you.

"Uh, right." You echo.

"You know, Eddie, I think Frank was talking about lunch?" Julie says. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was hungry! You two should go eat somewhere!"

"Julie!" Frank hisses.

"That sounds fun!" Eddie inputs.

"Perfect!" Julie grabs your arm. "Have fun guys! Bye-"

The two of you quickly stumble away. You can't help but laugh at Julie's blatant matchmaking attempt, Eddie's innocent obliviousness, and Frank's adorable embarrassment. Julie giggles along with you, leaning on you for support.

When you're both far enough away, Julie speaks up, "Do you think Eddie will ever take the hint?"

You shrug, "Only if Frank tells him directly."

"Like that'll ever happen." She lets go of your arm, standing up straighter. "Oh! We're almost there?"

"There?"

"The reason I brought you out!"

"Oh." You reply, following behind her as she picks up speed. "I thought the tour was why you brought me out here."

"Don't be silly!" Julie suddenly stops. "I brought you out here for this!"

You're not quite sure what you're looking at. The bright summer colors of Home are here. They are present in the brilliant green trees with fresh fruit and in the yellow dandelions and white daises and baby blue forget me nots. You've always adored the vividness of the neighborhood, but here...

It just stops.

It's like there's a line drawn in the forest. The fresh flora wilts and dies along it, the line marking there on out as dead.

"Was there... a fire?" You ask.

"No fire."

Even the sky looks bleaker on the other side.

You step back, "Some sort of parasite?"

"No parasites. No fires. No droughts, floods, locusts, or diseases."

You step forward again, gaining a bit of courage. Slowly, you reach out, sticking it beyond the line.

Nothing happens. You feel normal.

"Why?" You finally ask. "Why is this here?"

"I can't say."

When you finally return to your house, it's later than you would've liked. It's past dinnertime and you haven't even eaten yet. As you approach, you notice a familiar face sitting on your porch.

"Hey!" Wally stands quickly, brushing off his pants. "I've been waiting for you!" He adds with a playful tease.

"I like to play hard to get." You prod him back, unlocking the door and welcoming him in.

His large eyes flick over you. You feel like you're being examined. "Where have you been?"

"I'm sorry, Julie took me out on a tour of the town." You tell him. "I saw the market, the post office, Barnaby's house-"

"And you stayed in town the whole time?" He presses. "I looked for you, I didn't see you."

You chuckle, "You didn't have to come searching for me, I'm sure you have more important things to do." You avoid the original question. You're not sure why, but you feel like the forest is a secret between you and Julie.

"You are the important thing." Wally follows behind you as you clean up the kitchen.

You pause, then quickly resume your work. "Am I?"

As you reach up to tuck a mug into the cupboard, Wally takes the mug from you, reaching up with ease to place it for you, "I would've imagined that you would've taken the hint by now, but it seems that I must take the liberties myself."

Wally leans on the counter and faces you, "Do you find me attractive?"

You're not sure what to say to that, you sputter out nonsense, "Well, err-"

"I find you attractive. Every part. I find your quips and teasing attractive, your laugh and the way your cheeks scrunch up when you smile, the curve of your lips and the paint droplets on your pants." He takes a second to breathe. "And honestly, there's nothing more in the world that I would like to do right now than to help you paint your house or whatever else you would ask of me."

You wait a moment, processing his words.

"Whatever I ask of you?"

He looks earnest, "Whatever."

You tug him into a kiss, closing your eyes. He seems surprised at first and the kiss is slow and hesitant, each of you too afraid to do much. You're slightly surprised, for such a smooth talker, Wally doesn't really seem to know what to do. Has he kissed someone before?

You decide to take the lead. His lips are soft and gentle as you mouth over his bottom lip, tongue sticking out to play around.

Wally's hands find their way to your waist, gripping you tight as if he's checking that you're real. His thumb rubs small circles at the small of your back.

He seems to mimic you, tongue poking out to prod at yours, eventually making it's way into your mouth to feel around. He's gentle, but he is slowly growing more confident by the second. Wally tugs your waist in tighter and tongue going deeper into your mouth almost possessively.

The intensity of the kiss escalates quickly and you find yourself having to pull away to catch a breath. You open your eyes to find him staring down at you, his normally half lidded eyes wide open and exhilarated, a faint blush scattering his cheeks.

"I liked that." Wally says quietly. "We should do that more often."

_____

Life is great.

You've gotten quite a bit done on the house, mostly with the help of all the neighbors. The living room, kitchen, and bedroom are all finished and you've honestly never felt more at home. When you go to the supermarket, Howdy always greets you with a warm hello and a free sample of whatever the special of the day is. In the mornings, Eddie stops by for idle chat as he brings the mail. Whenever Poppy makes a new treat she comes over to give you some. Even with just a stroll through the neighborhood you're always greeted and smiled at by the other neighbors.

You sit in your backyard, cross-legged in the grass with your canvas propped up awkwardly on your legs. Your brush glides along the canvas, curving around to get the details just right. You bring the brush up to your face for a moment, biting on the wooden end as you think.

"You look cute when you're concentrating."

You blink up in surprise to see Wally leaning on the side of your house, arms crossed.

"How long have you been there?" You smile at him, setting down your canvas and standing up.

Wally merely shrugs with a grin. You run over to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He grips onto your waist, lifting you up and spinning around once before setting you back down and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. You hug him, taking a moment to enjoy his masculine cologne scent before pulling away.

Yes, life is great. Wally Darling is yours.

“I was thinking you and I could spent the day together.” He hums.

You nod, “Let me just clean up my painting supplies-“

“Let me help.” Wally follows, carefully taking your paintbrushes as you grab your wet canvas. He trails behind you as you go inside, setting up your canvas to dry in your art room as Wally washes the brushes in the kitchen sink.

When you return, you find Wally with his head tilted and eyes cast towards the ceiling, frozen at the kitchen sink. He doesn’t seem to notice your presence.

“Is… something wrong?”

Wally blinks, snapping out of it and turning his head to smile at you warmly. “No, of course not.” He replies. “I was just thinking.”

“Oh?” You ask, walking up beside him as he finishes washing the last brush.

“You haven’t been to my Home yet.” His half lidded eyes cast towards you.

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” You say. “Odd, considering you’re over here all the time.

Wally chuckles, “Well, would you like to go?”

Before you know it, you’re inside Wally Darling’s house. It’s somehow exactly how you expected it to be. Everything is neat and tidy, carefully placed and well maintained. There’s an old charm to the house, as if it stepped out of the 60’s.

“It’s weird being in here.” You say, wandering through his living room. There’s framed photos on the walls of Wally and his friends. You take the time to examine them.

“Why so?” Wally watches you with warm amusement.

“It just feels so…” You stare at a picture of Barnaby holding Wally in a tight hug. Wally looks like he’s being squished. “Personal.”

Wally laughs, “Well, it is personal.” He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder as you continue to stare at his pictures.

“No, it’s different.” You tell him. “Somehow it feels like I’m getting a glimpse into your soul.”

There’s a pause.

“Well maybe you are.”

Wally lets go, turning and heading up a set of stairs. “Let me show you my painting room.” You follow after him.

He leads you to a large, beautiful room. With the high ceiling and long window sill big enough to lounge on, the room looks elegant. Coupled with the mass amount of paintings lining the walls and easels of the room, it looks like a modern art gallery.

“Wow, Wally.” You stare at his work, secretly jealous of his technique.

He seems proud of himself. “I think-“

There’s a sudden loud crash from downstairs. You jump.

Whipping your head around, you turn back towards the door. “Did something fall?”

Wally merely frowns. “Yeah. Something fell.” He says, turning his eyes up.

“Oh.” You say. Clearly Wally seems to not be concerned with it, so you won’t be either.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs.” Wally suggests, taking your hand.

The two of you settle down on the couch. You giggle and tease Wally for his old school television. You swear that thing probably is still in black and white.

As you chat, you both slowly inch closer together. It starts with a simple finger brushing at your thigh, then an arm is popped around your neck, and then finally Wally is leaning in and kissing you.

You let yourself be taken by the kiss, planting your hand at the back of his neck and brushing your finger along the base of his soft hair. Wally places his hand on your cheek and you press into it, tilting your head more into the kiss.

Your chest flutters, eyes blinking open for half a second so that you can stare at him. To your surprise, his eyes are already open and watching you. He squints happily at you, smiling into the kiss as he deepens it, tongue pressing further into your mouth.

Wally’s other hand trails down your arm, causing goosebumps all the way. He flicks his tongue against the sensitive roof of your mouth before retreating back.

You feel words pressed against your lips but you can’t hear them. They’re hardly even a whisper, more like he is just mouthing words.

No, he’s repeating something. You try to understand him.

“I love you.”

You blink, pulling away from him.

“I love you too.” You whisper.

Yes, life is great.

Until it isn’t.

_____

Lightning cracks, illuminating the room as you finish up moving some furniture around. You stand with your hands on your hips, staring out at the freshly decorated art room. Finally, the work on your house is all done.

You could hear the wind beat about outside and the hard rain hit your windows. There was something odd about it all, though you couldn't quite put your finger on it. Storms are natural, after all.

Though, there hadn't been a single storm since you moved in.

Walking through the finished halls of your house gives you a sense of accomplishment. Patting the wall, you glance at the clock.

It's nearing time for you to meet up with Wally. The two of you had planned a date out to the pond to feed ducks, though you suppose that the rain ruined those plans.

You near the window, watching the dreary sky. It's midafternoon, but it looks like it's the middle of the night. Your eyes sweep over the neighborhood, making eye contact with Wally's house.

Wait, no, not eye contact. It's a house, it doesn't have eyes.

Still, the lights are on and now you have this odd feeling in your stomach.

As you look back up at the sky, you think the clouds don't look like regular rainclouds. They seem a sickly black color and you remember the forest that Julie had showed you. The dark clouds remind you of the baren land.

Is this a sign it's spreading? The lump in your stomach grows heavier. You feel dumb for forgetting about it.

You glance at the clock again. Perhaps there's enough time to check before Wally arrives. You rush to your mudroom, tugging on your rain coat and rubber boots.

As you trek through the rain, you wonder if you should've just stayed in your house. The wind moves you about, making you stumble over your heavy boots. The rain blows sideways, rendering your raincoat nearly useless as you're soaked anyways.

It's never rained this bad in the neighborhood. Actually, now that you think about it, it's never rained at all in the neighborhood.

Soon enough you reach the edge of the neighborhood, where the rot stretches as far as you can see. You were right, it seems to be spreading. The rot has crept forward, consuming what was once a small woodsy park path.

You stare down at where the sidewalk ends and the forest starts. Why does the sidewalk stop?

Where is the road to lea-

"What are you doing out here?"

You startle, flipping around quickly. Wally stands in his usual attire, his navy hair and knitted overcoat soaked from the rain.

"I just wanted to explore in the rain." You lie. You don't even know why you lie. You trust Wally.

Right?

Wally glances towards the forest, scrunching his brows, "Did somebody tell you something?"

You quickly shake your head, "No, I was just walking around and... I found this." You gesture toward the forest. "What is this, Wally?"

Wally frowns, looking at you, not the forest. "It's been so warm lately, there was a small fire that lit up the grass around here." He looks up. "We really needed this rain."

It's a lie. Your stomach turns in knots. Wally is lying to you. This rot has been here a while. If it had been a fire, new green growth would've sprang up ages ago.

"We should get out of this rain." Wally says, water dripping down his face and arms. "So much for feeding ducks, huh?" He extends his hand.

You take it, though hesitantly. Before, you hadn't suspected that he would be a part of this, but now nothing makes sense.

"Wally, how did you find me out here?" You ask as you walk with him. "We were supposed to meet up at my house."

"Hm?" His eyes cast upwards as he thinks for a moment. "I suppose I just... had a feeling."

This makes you even more wary and you feel bad for it. You love Wally, and yet you're now doubting his motivations. You don't even know how he would have anything to do with the forest's color.

You and Wally arrive back at your house. You grab a towel for him to dry off with and he rubs it over his plush skin.

Plush skin?

You hadn't thought about it before, but isn't that weird? You look at your own hands. You are definitely not plush.

Wally throws the towel over his head, wringing out his hair. You stare at him and the more you look, the more unsettled you get. He has no nose, is that normal? Something in the back of your mind is telling you it isn't.

Wally's intense eyes peek from behind the towel. "Everything okay?"

"Yes." You shake your head, turning away. "I was just watching you."

He gives a lazy smile, eyes relaxing. "Well, I like watching you too."

You give a laugh, "Thanks, Wally."

He stands, walking over and hugging you from behind. Before, it used to feel gentle and safe, but now it feels like entrapment. He nuzzles into your neck, pressing soft kisses.

"What shall we do now that our plans have been ruined?" He smiles, hot breath on your neck.

You pull away from him, "Actually, I'm feeling a little tired. Maybe rain check?"

Wally's face falls, then suddenly lights back up again, "We could nap together-"

"No, no, I mean, I just want to be alone right now." You tell him. "I just... had a rough night's sleep."

Wally stares at you for a long moment, wide eyes peering into your conscience. Finally, he smiles, "Oh, no worries, neighbor." He hands you back your towel. "We'll do something tomorrow when it's less rainy, right?"

"Right." You nod, watching him head to the door.

Wally grasps the doorknob, turning to you at the last second, "Oh, one more thing." He leans towards where you stand in the kitchen doorway. "I wouldn't go exploring in the forest anymore, too many nasty things out there, if you ask me. Wouldn't want anyone getting hurt." He gives a light smile, opening the door and heading out.

You watch him go, hurrying to the window. You keep your eye on him until he is home.

Something is not right in the neighborhood.

You throw your rain attire back on, determined to get to the bottom of this. You take a deep breath, patting the side of your house.

"We got this." You whisper.

As you step outside, you notice that the rain seems to have worsened. You hold onto the hood of your raincoat, pushing past the wind. When you reach the edge of the forest, you don't stop. Instead, you trudge forward into the rot.

It's squishy against your feet, with the occasional odd lump of hardness. Everything is wilted and scorched. You wonder what could possibly be the cause.

As you wonder, you start to really think about the circumstances in the neighborhood. You lift your hand again, staring at it.

Flesh. You have flesh. Not felt or feathers or fur.

How did you move into a neighborhood with such creatures?

No, wait, how did you move into the neighborhood at all?

You bought the house... but you don't remember any real estate agents or documents.

You... you haven't even been working. What have you been doing? You've just been playing around the neighborhood. In fact, nobody in the neighborhood seemed to have jobs.

Your brain feels fuzzy. None of this makes sense.

You're still hiking through the decay, finding nothing of note. That is, until you see green in the distance. You perk up, sprinting forward.

Yes, there is green grass ahead. Whatever the decay is, it isn't very big luckily.

As you get closer, you furrow your brow.

Somehow, you've ended up on the other side of the neighborhood.

How?

You step onto the grass, realizing you've ended up by the post office.

That doesn't make sense. You walked away from the neighborhood, there's no possible way you ended up on the other side of it.

Perhaps you got mixed up. You turn around, jogging through the diseased wood.

This time, you end up near Julie's.

How do you walk away from something and end up back at it?

Walk around the world.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Wally wanted you away from the forest for a reason. This is his world, and you're in it.

You sprint up to Julie's house, pounding on the door. "Julie!" You yell. "Julie!"

You get no answer, so you move over to the window, shielding your eyes against the glass to see inside.

There's no one there.

You tug your raincoat closer to your body, looking up at the ever blackening clouds.

You have to confront Wally.

Back at your house, you prepare to face him. You're not sure what to expect, but you want to be ready for anything. You dig through your belongings, procuring a baseball bat and a box cutter.

Your house whines against the wind, creaking and settling in the powerful storm. You sit for a minute, putting your head in your hands. All this work on your house, all this friendship, and is any of it real? Nothing seems to make sense. Why? Why is any of this happening?

As you leave, you sigh.

"I'll be back."

The wind catches on your house and it whines louder.

When you arrive at Wally's house, you go to knock on the door only to find it already open. You press it open, keeping your guard up as you grip the baseball bat.

"Wally?" Your voice echoes off the walls as you step inside. It seems awfully dark in Wally's house.

Lightning cracks, illuminating the front windows of Wally's house. For a moment, they are eyes, observing you. The lightning then leaves darkness and you hear the front door slam shut. You turn back towards the door, tugging on the doorknob only to find it locked.

"Caught the snitch."

You turn to see Wally illuminated in the darkness, a figure hanging over his head.

It's Julie. She hangs from strings, her limbs twisted and broken. Her jaw hangs unnaturally slack, face bloodied.

"In fact, I caught everybody." More lights irradiate from the darkness, casting large shadows on the wall as they illuminate the bodies of the other neighbors, all in similar states.

Wally walks towards Howdy, "Too much talking lately, really a shame. I wanted to have you willingly."

You stand frozen, hands still on your baseball bat.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He laughs. "Plus, they're fine." He gestures towards the bodies on strings above him. "I just took away their will. Clearly they couldn't be trusted with it on their own." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly.

The edges of your eyes crease up. You still don't understand.

"Come, let me explain." He gestures to the couch. You don't move. "Please, sit."

You don't.

Wally looks up. "Home?"

To your amazement, a chair glides over, moving behind you and slamming into your legs, making you tumble down onto it. It slides over to where Wally now sits.

You clutch the edges of the chair in fright.

"That's Home." Wally explains. "Home is... the source of it all. A manifestation of desire, if you will."

You swallow, "It's alive?"

Wally grins. It's wider and realer than any grin you've seen before. "Of course." He crosses one leg over the other. "It's alive just like you and me are alive."

"But you're plush." You tell him.

"I'm built on the desires of thousands of young children across the nation that watched my show." Wally looks nostalgic. "Oh, you were such a dedicated little viewer, you know that?"

"Huh?" Show? What is he talking about.

"You used to sit every night in front of the TV, you know that?" Wally continues. "And you would say, 'Okay, Mr. Wally, show me how to draw!' I taught you everything you know about painting."

... Yes, the show. How could you forget? The theme song starts to play in your head. You loved that show as a kid.

"You loved me so much." Wally sighs. "And I loved you, and then you went away."

"I was an adult." Of course you went away, you couldn't sit around watching TV all day. You had a job, you had a family... your family! How long have you been gone? "I had responsibilities."

"I desired you." Wally looks at you desperately. "You desired a place you belonged! I watched you, how you struggled to fit in, the long hours at work, the family arguments. I made it all go away! You've been so happy-"

"They were struggles, but they were my struggles!" You shout, standing up. "You don't get to decide for me!"

Wally sighs, head falling to the side. "See, this is why I wanted you willingly." He casts his hand up. "Oh well."

You feel tightness tug at your arms. No, it's tugging at your bones. You look, thin wire strings protrude from your arms and spring from your legs, pulling you up towards the ceiling.

"I'll just take away your free will for a while." Wally runs a hand through his dark hair. "Then you'll want to play along."

You can feel the strings scraping against your bones under your skin. You struggle against them, getting yourself tangled in the process.

"What shall we act out first?" Wally stands, pacing around the room. "We did have that pond date-"

You twist, reaching your hand towards your back pocket, where the box cutter is stashed. It's an awkward reach, but you manage to grasp it, pushing it open with your thumb and slashing at your strings. You fall to the floor, grabbing the bat and taking off running for the door.

Wally clicks his tongue, "You were so docile before you knew the truth. I'll have to stamp this disobedience out of you now."

You ram the baseball bat into the door, denting the doorknob until the lock falls apart and you can run out the door.

There's no exit. The forest loops. Surely there must be a way out, right? Where, where...

Wally laughs, "Where are you running to? There's no where to go!"

You don't know, but away from here. You sprint, running towards the only place where you feel safe, your house.

"My little viewer." Wally sounds agitated now. "Enough games. If you come back now, I'll go easy on you."

Over your dead body. You're out of breath by the time you reach your house, slamming the door shut and locking it, back pressed against the door as you pant and Wally begins to bang on the door.

Surely there must be something of use to you. Think, think... where is the exit out of this place?

You hear Wally start to kick down the door. It cracks and starts to splinter with each kick.

One of the neighbors' houses? No, they might've said something.

Wally is stronger than you thought. With a final kick, your door crumbles, swinging open. Wally looks even more deranged now, eyes large and locked on you.

"My dear," he breathes. "Let's be reasonable, come back with me."

He extends his hand. When you don't take it, he frowns, moving forward. He grasps you by your face, fingertips digging bruises into your cheeks as he pulls you closer.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

You press your hands against his chest, trying to push him away. This only angers him more. Wally lifts his hand, readying it to fall down on your face. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for the eventual hit.

It doesn't come.

You open your eyes to see Wally's hand still in the air. Except... there's a string attached to it. Wally's expression has changed from anger to fear, he stares at his arm as another string appears on his opposite arm. You back away from him.

Wally looks at you, "Please, don't-" He reaches for you, only to have his hand yanked away before he can.

It's... your house. It dawns upon you quickly and more strings appear from Wally's skin. He struggles, the strings dragging him.

"Please, please, I can't-"

You look up at your house, reaching and patting the wall. "Take him away."

"Please-"

Wally screams as the strings scratch against his bones, dragging him kicking and screaming towards your basement.

_____

"Oh, I have some drinks in the fridge, let me grab you one!"

You weave your way through the bustling party, dodging Barnaby as he throws grapes in the air and catches them in his mouth and sliding past the way-too-handsy Frank and Eddie.

You're celebrating your finished house, and the party is going spectacularly. Two guests still haven't arrived, but you're not too worried.

You snatch up glass bottles of soda that you bought at Howdy's shop earlier that day and toss one to Sally, who gracefully catches it.

"You've put a lot of work into this place." Howdy says with a smile, leaning on the counter.

You glance over, "Yeah, I couldn't have done it without you guys though, thank you all for your help."

"Oh, you did most of it!" Sally waves her hand.

"It's just what neighbors do." Howdy shrugs.

The doorbell rings and you rush to the door, throwing it open to reveal Julie, holding a small present in her hands.

"Sorry I'm so late, I had to wrap your gift!"

"You didn't have to get me a gift!" You laugh, throwing your arms around her for a big hug. She squeezes you tight before you both pull away from each other.

"No, I really had to." She holds out the gift. "After everything you've done for all of us."

You gently take the wrapped gift as she steps into your house, waving at everybody.

"Hello everybody!" Julie squeals, making her way over to nudge Frank playfully. "And hello, Frank and Eddie!"

Frank turns a deep red, shying away. "It's really nothing-"

Eddie gives a wide smile, gripping Franks hand tighter, "Almost losing all your control makes you confess things."

Julie gives a light smile, "Well, we never have to worry about that again."

You politely set the gift on the counter for later, turning back towards everybody. "Then I propose a toast!"

"We'll need bread for that." Barnaby grins, nudging you playfully. You shake your head with a laugh, gently shoving him away.

Everyone raises their sodas, letting you speak.

"To freedom, to free will, to all of us. It's what lets us choose our paths, chase our dreams, and live life to our own terms. To making our choices, learning from our own mistakes, and creating our victories."

Everyone cheers.

"Most importantly, to you." Julie adds in, pointing her raised glass to you. "You've made this neighborhood a wonderful place."

This makes everyone cheer louder. You bump glasses with everyone, letting Barnaby rub your head affectionately and Sally rope you into a side hug.

"Now open the gift!" Julie claps.

You laugh, grabbing the gift and tearing it open. Sitting inside in a beautiful framed picture of everyone in the neighborhood.

Well, everyone except-

The doorbell rings again, and you politely excuse yourself to answer it.

It's Wally. He looks rough. Dark bags underline his eyes and his usually tidy hair is in disarray. He looks up at your house nervously.

"Oh, hello Wally." You watch him carefully. If you look close enough, you can see the strings buried in his arms and neck.

He holds out flowers, which is nice, you guess. You take them, opening the door for him to come inside. He hesitates, then steps in.

You linger, your eyes following him as he greets everyone else. He got what he wanted, you're stuck here. There's no way out.

You can see his stiff movements, the fish line strings tugging at his skin and bones, uncomfortably present at all times.

"Are you coming?" Julie yells. "Poppy's going to bring out the cake!"

"I'm coming!" You shut the door, rushing over.

It's all okay, because he's trapped too.

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