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when-pigsfly · 2 months
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WITCHING HOUR, CH. 1/3 — [18+]
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(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!
fem!reader x arthur morgan
summary: most people in the area had issues with coyotes. yours wore a cowboy hat, but you let him in anyways. tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but also not kinda), referred to as lady/ma’am/etc, arthur doesn’t know how chickens work, i really don’t know my farm lore
word count: 5.5k
a/n: setting this pre-chapter 2 ish and post chapter 1, except it’s winter for realsies, Because I Can. and please no questions about chicken logistics or I Will Cry.
you can find a link to the playlist here!
The fictitious “stranger,” by all accounts, was possessed. 
Possessed by an air so overwhelming, so sure, that it incited perversity in even the most upright.
He was an outlaw, by the cut of the whispers. The story went that he’d rolled in like a heavy fog, altogether quiet and unassuming, though still carrying the foreboding quality that preceded the raising of hackles. Mothers kept watchful eyes over their daughters, and more notably, the fathers brandished their guns. 
And yet—that maddening yet—the mothers seemed to care little for their own warnings, and even the fathers were envious of a man dripping with exploits they didn’t have the luxury of entertaining.
Luxuries and lack thereof aside, the fickleness of those who spoke of him had not gone entirely unnoticed; it lent no plausibility, no substance to the dream-like tales they’d crafted in their drunken stupors. The most substance you’d seen had been spewed into the shadowy corners of Valentine, pissed into not-quite pristine patches of snow, foul stench leaking out onto already foul streets before it followed you back to the farm.
It stunk. 
It stunk, and it loitered, and it’d been stealing from you.
Which is exactly why—when he shows up on your rickety porch just as winter has begun to bleed out into spring—you take up the mantle of digging your loaded barrel right into his sternum. 
The front door tremors behind you.
The stranger shifts on his feet. 
You shift with him, and gloved hands inch toward the stars in surrender not long after. 
Amorphous mass comes to your mind first, rather than man. You can only discern the more essential points of his appearance: the gloves, the satchel, the rifle slung over his back. Knives are stashed somewhere you can’t see—if he’s worth his salt—but everything else blends into the dark line of trees behind him. You swallow a rather painful yawn.
His hat, evidently beaten to hell and back several times over, sits low enough on his forehead to cast shadows over his features—though not low enough to completely obscure the faint outline of a face from your view. The rest of him only falls into place once you crane your head to find his eyes. 
As is customary in situations concerning your immediate safety, your throat constricts, and the second yawn you feel crawling up your throat nearly succeeds in asphyxiating you. 
Petty crimes would have granted him a slighter frame, but no petty crime you can think of could have afforded him the sturdy chest, the buckling of the air around him, the crooked line of his nose, clearly less cared for than his battered clothing. He’s still a little blurred—largely from a lack of sleep on your end, and the protection of his hat on his. Even so, the hard set of his gaze offers nothing other than the tale of cruelty lived and the promise of cruelty to come. 
There was no doubt. This had to be him.
(You might think him handsome, if not for the fact that it’s a quarter past three in the morning.)
The first breach in his stony composure that you catch is paper thin. Fleeting. And he’s quick to recover; any indication of surprise is sequestered with a blink. The second is an awkward shifting of his stubble-shrouded jaw, and you note with a squint that his bandana still hangs feebly off the jut of his chin. 
He admits defeat after a few clumsy seconds. Cracks a wicked smile, bright as the moon peeking out from behind the crown of his hat. But it falls away quickly. Somewhere in the distance a tree branch creaks, tiny shards of ice scattering to the ground and tinkling like bells.
He was calm. Entirely too calm, considering where he stood. His hands haven’t budged, and nothing in his stance hints at an intent to attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks more annoyed by your presence than you are by his. 
You try not to think about his eyes. There’s something else in there, too. Apart from the agitation that radiates from them, that is. It lurks deep beneath the blue and wades through the slight dilation of his pupils; it urges him closer—or, is it you?—like the distance between the two of you isn’t sustained by the twitchy arms of a jittery woman holding a rifle.
But there’s an abrupt wind that fiddles with the cotton threads of your chemise, and you’re suddenly struck with the realization that no, your hunting rifle isn’t loaded, and in your haste to confront him you’d forgotten your boots and shawl. 
The nighttime chill, ever the tyrant, lodges itself where the wooden boards scratch eagerly at your bare feet. You were cold, so cold that it ached, and you were tired. But it’d do you no good to show your hand this early. So like the hiss of a rattlesnake, you keep your voice low, and you keep it lethal. 
The stranger is named by the venom falling from your tongue.
“You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to unload this lead into your chest, Morgan.” You track the added prod of the gun to ground yourself, eyelids still heavy with sleep.
It doesn’t do much, as far as threats go. Morgan’s ever steady breathing still accents the now stagnant winter wind, a stark contrast to the throb of your heart striking your ribs. But a small scar, carved into the flesh of his right cheek, has made an almost imperceptible shift. The rest of his features take far more liberties with their movement—
—and he’s scowling.
Your heart strikes louder.
God, the shit you would shovel to be able to read minds. Animals have always been more your speed; people were a hassle—far too unpredictable, and they tended to reap fewer rewards. 
In your mind's eye, Arthur lies silently amongst the fallen snow, red unfurling behind him like wings. You’d hate to have to kill him, you really would. But there was nothing more dangerous than indecisiveness: it killed, and often relentlessly.
Only, you’ve been staring too long. It’s long enough to rouse Morgan from whatever state he’d been in before you’d spoken. He’s smart enough to keep his palms facing you, and he dips his head with the same mildness that one might use to soothe a startled mare. The scowl is tamped down, smile returning to him like water running through a scraggly creek. 
“Evenin’, Miss.” He drawls.
And it works. You hate that it works. There’s a dull heat that seizes your lungs at the low timbre of his voice, something akin to fire. 
No. No, nothing like it. It was more like the cheap whiskey you’d downed that first night working as a farmhand, all those months ago. It’d numbed your tongue, tumbled down your throat like sun-warmed stone, and simmered in your stomach. You hadn’t dared take another swig after that. Too dangerous. But it’s easy enough, passing your shudder off as a trick of the cold and cocking your head incredulously. 
“Showing up uninvited, and you can’t do me the courtesy of knowing my name?” One push of the rifle sends him back with surprising ease—away from the cabin, and away from that damned moonlight. “Ma’am will do you just fine,” you spit.
His smile fractures. Not enough to truly frighten, but enough to make your fingers clench. “You talk to all your guests like that, Ma’am?” 
You steel yourself. “Only the sneaks.”
At this, Morgan stills. Shuts his eyes. 
Did he really think you wouldn’t notice?
The farm had more issues with coyotes than crooks; that’s what you’d been hired to take care of, more or less. Your employers—the Campbells—were getting on in their years, and were in desperate need of someone to help keep watch during the nights. So imagine the surprise when you’d found not a coyote, but a wanted man sliding through the shadows. 
It’d angered you, that first time he’d gotten away. You’d only recognized him long after he’d left. But after that night, you’d made a show of firing off rounds into the nearby woods and roaming the perimeter of the grounds under the guise of a late-night hunt. 
From what you knew, he hadn’t come back to steal, but you knew you’d seen him lingering. Felt him watching. Waiting for something—but you’d made sure that every pop of your rifle drove him further and further from whatever it was that he’d been aiming for. And now Arthur Morgan is here.
He furrows his eyebrows, purses his lips, and they disappear for a moment when he goes to wet them before he speaks again, a little less amused. “Now you know I mean no offense—”
“No offense? Well, I’d kill to see what you and your ilk consider offensive.” 
The wind slams the front door shut. 
“My ilk?”
You wonder if it’d been your goal all along, trying to rile him up like this. Accusations slide out of your mouth and into the night air far too easily for it not to be. But the thought of anything other than catching him red-handed occupying your head unnerves you, sending you another two steps forward and into the powdery snow.
“Jesus, woman! Alright, alright.” Morgan’s eyes finally leave you, darting between where your feet dig into the cold ground and the muzzle of the gun pressed to his chest. He slumps his shoulders and looks up to the sky, still an ugly grey-black from the thin dusting of snow the night before. 
“Look,” he starts, hands fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I don’t mean no harm. I swear it. I’m—just give me a minute to explain, will you? One minute, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
There’s a please somewhere in there, left unsaid yet still ever so loud. You think it might have left him in the puff of breath that still hangs above your heads; hot and heavy in his mouth, but turned to nothing but vapors once it misses its chance to solidify.
You eye him warily. This could be over and done with in a matter of seconds, and you might be able to knock that godawful mustache clean off of Sheriff Malloy’s face. You kill him—or turn him in so long as he didn’t bleed out, whichever came first—and get whatever bounty was nailed to his head. Use the money to get out. Get your freedom. Stop biding your time, and get revenge. 
And yet.
And yet.
“…You lying to me, Morgan?”
His shoulders straighten out, suddenly very tense. “‘Course not. You think me the lyin’ sort?”
Your voice flattens. “I figured that much was obvious.”
“Ouch, lady. Not willing to pull your punches for little old me?”
“You’d rather the lady use the gun?”
“Neither, thank you. And, speaking of which–” His chest deflates a bit, putting space between the two of you without having to step back. “—quit swingin’ that thing around. You’ll take someone’s eye out.”
Exhaustion mounting, you lower your rifle slowly. You keep your eyes trained on a pebble that’s escaped the snowfall relatively unscathed, not trusting yourself to look anywhere else. Conceding with a sniff, you toss your head toward the front door. It’s quiet, now. 
“Get in, before I change my mind—and no funny business, neither. Guns, knives, whatever else you’re hiding, drop ‘em. Right here.”
Too groggy to note the stalling of movement, you wait for the clinking of metal to stop. His boots retreat from your peripheral far more reluctantly than you expect. There’s a telltale groaning of wood, and you turn to find Morgan gazing down at you with an outstretched hand from where he’s hopped onto the porch. He murmurs with a reverence that you’re sure is misplaced, so quiet that you have to watch his lips to catch even a smidgen of what he says. 
“Yes, ma’am.”
This was a game to him. You knew games. And so when you go to place your hand in his it’s to eye him down, back him into whatever corner would hold him and keep him there till you knew why he’d spent the last month haunting your lodgings like a ghost.
Calloused fingers wrap around your hand like a vice, and when he’s guiding you and your icy feet up the stairs it strikes you that maybe—just maybe—your assessment of your situation had been far too impetuous. Arthur’s touch is surprisingly clinical, but even through the leather of his gloves, it was warm. Too warm. 
Ghosts weren’t warm. Or, at least you didn’t think they were. And Morgan, looking like the very paragon of the West, all bright eyes and honeyed words, had given you a glimpse of something far too beguiling not to investigate. It’s when he presses the back of his free hand to your wind-bitten cheeks that you wonder what your father might think.
“Chilled, right to the bone.” It isn’t so much a mutter as it is a rumble, reverberating somewhere deep in his throat and traveling up to where the two of you have made contact. You’re avoiding his eyes again, but you’re close enough now to be able to see his muscles working his neck. 
His smell overtakes you much like the cold has. The freshness of the pine needles still stuck to his coat makes up most of what you’re able to distinguish. A little bit of horse, too—he’d ridden here. Where exactly he’d hitched his horse was a mystery. But with the proximity of his sleeve to your nose, you can make out the faintest hints of a potent musk. It’s everywhere: in your nose, your mouth, under your skin. Every inhale turns your muscles into piteous liquid. There’s no hiding your shudder, this time.
Morgan suddenly yanks his hand back as if scorched, and schools whatever expression he’d been wearing prior into one of indifference. He hums. Frowns. 
“Let’s…uh, get you inside.”
You offer a tight nod and turn away, but Morgan is quick to the draw; he whispers a quick “pardon me,” and goes to retrieve the weapons he’d dropped in your stead. 
Oh. You’d forgotten. It seems he’d forgotten too, brushing the mixture of dirt and snow away and mumbling something about keeping his guns warm. You’re left standing dazed on the porch, skin still blistering from where his fingers had met your skin.
Morgan has the decency to look at least a little troubled when he returns. He places what he’s collected into your arms before opening the front door, and gestures for you to enter. You offer one last look to the moon before following him inside.
__
Your judgment on Morgan—Arthur, now—was still up for debate. But your punishment for rushing to catch him had been doled out almost immediately. 
For your feet, a numbness that the fireplace had been bullied into chipping away at. Your hands are still tight from the cold, and they sit tucked underneath your thighs with the added protection of a few blankets that’d been placed over your shoulders. Your eyes flick over from the fire to Arthur, and your chest tightens. 
He’s found his seat across from you: coat and satchel on the back of a chair he’s pulled from the dining table, big hands tapping away absentmindedly at his knees. With the coat set aside, there’s nothing to hide the first few buttons of his shirt that hang open, pitch black and rolled up to his forearms to account for the warmth of the fireplace. His hat remains, hair still tucked away and settled at the nape of his neck.
You’d both been sitting in silence for the last half hour, despite Arthur’s insistence on “one minute,” letting the cold of the outdoors thaw out before saying anything that might get the rifle pulled again. You did gain a bit of satisfaction at the slight tinge of red in Arthur’s ears; it seemed the cold had gotten to him, too.
You watch as his eyes wander over the furnishings of your cabin. Thankfully, the door to your bedroom is only slightly ajar, and the knot in your chest lessens. It wasn’t often (or ever) that you had visitors over, which meant that most of your things were tucked haphazardly into corners or set on kitchen counters.
The Campbells—generous as they already were—had insisted you take up residence in a cabin on their property that once belonged to a daughter of theirs. She’d long since moved out, but the light in their eyes at the thought of it being occupied again was undeniable. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. And Arthur was seeing all of it.  
“Don’t get too comfy.” You frown. “…Arthur.” He beams, and suddenly there’s something incredibly interesting lingering right by your foot. 
His name still feels foreign when it leaves you. At first, you’d taken it as a show of good faith; he’d sworn to keep his mud-caked boots off of your rug in exchange for keeping his feet from becoming bullet-ridden by the time the sun came up. Arthur, feeling like he’d gotten the shitty end of the stick, had joked that you may as well call him by his first name. The last person with the guts to threaten him with a shotgun had, so what was one more?
It was a weak threat, if one at all. You knew, and he knew, that you were just about the only person this side of the Grizzlies who was vaguely aware of who he was. You’d seen it in his face when you’d called him by name. It’d be an insult to call it fear; an expectation of an inconvenience would be more accurate.
Luckily for him, you didn’t care. Not right now, at least. Imposing as he was, you refused to be cowed into going along with whatever it was that he'd planned. 
Your heel messes with the leg of your chair. “Don’t you go forgetting why I brought you here in the first place.”
“Not quite sure if I’d use that wording—“
“Can it, Morgan.”
His jaw clicks shut this time, but he’s still got that goofy grin smeared onto his face when you chance a peek at him. You’ll let it slide, for now. You’ve stalled long enough.
“So. My eggs. You gonna tell me, or do I need to start pulling teeth?”
“No need,” Arthur assures, “shouldn’t be stickin’ your pretty little fingers in just anybody’s mouth, Ma’am.”
An outlaw and a flirt, to boot. Wonderful. You’re wondering how long it might take to chuck the nearest inanimate object at him when he pipes up again.
“You piss in somebody’s cigarette box, lady?”
“Did I piss—Morgan, quit it!”
This seems to reign him in a bit, and his smile dips.
“I’ll be frank, since you asked so kindly.” Arthur leans back in his chair, flexes his palms. “You had people tailin’ you.” 
You quirk a brow. Ah, that’s right. He didn’t know, couldn’t have. But just as you attempt to explain, Arthur holds out a hand to stop you and shakes his head.
“Killers.”
The hand fussing with the material of your blanket falters.
“...I beg your pardon?”
“Hired guns, Ma’am. Out for you. You’re real…fortunate, I’d been passing by when I was.” A rueful look clouds his face. “Not much to hire once I was through with ‘em, though.”
The quiet that follows isn’t entirely unfamiliar. He’s an outlaw, you muse. Things like this are to be expected. But it doesn’t occur to you to ask who they were, what they looked like, what they wanted. Because Arthur didn’t know, didn’t need to know, and you aren’t sure if you want him here when you wrap your mind around the sobering fact that your long-held suspicions now bear fruit. So, you settle for the obvious.
“You kill ‘em?”
His jaw twitches. “Nothin’ gets past you, Ma’am.”
“...‘Suppose I should be thanking you, then.”
“Got my thanks when I checked their pockets.”
“But—”
Arthur gives a grunt of protest. 
Jackass.
Though your concerns about theft were long gone, it doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about this any more than you do, so you do your best to set the conversation back on track.
“Well, uh…the eggs, then?”
The tension in his jaw lessens. Arthur unfurls a long leg, digs the heel of his boot out in front of him, and rocks his foot back and forth.
“You know these winters. I can tell you do—despite all the…” he trails off, nods the brim of his hat toward your newly cultivated relationship with the fireplace, and you flush. “So, I uh, started out sneaking a few off, along with some other things for my people back at camp. Snagged some extra rations. Kept an eye on you. Two birds, one stone.” 
“So it wasn’t just the eggs you’d been stealing, then?”
“It’d behoove me to tell the truth and shame the devil, Ma’am. Not that he and I are unacquainted.”
So that was a yes. 
The part about “keeping an eye” on you is tacked on rather reluctantly, but at the mention of camp, your brows raise. It was true, then. The tales you’d heard during your trips to Valentine, the new faces you’d noticed in corners and back alleys, they were all real.
There was a time when you thought you might be able to find your place sleeping under the stars, free to do as you wished and go where you pleased, so long as the law kept their greasy mitts to themselves. But circumstances had seen to it that your dream went unfulfilled. 
You muster up what you hope is a sympathetic smile, and Arthur takes it stiffly.
Even so, something else with his phrasing catches your attention.
“Hold on now, you said ‘started.’ There something else you’re not telling me?”
A hand, previously settled on his knee, finds its way to the back of his neck and rubs. 
“Uh, y’see,” he starts, looking damn near ready to wring his own neck, and you have to laugh, because what on God’s green earth could have Arthur Morgan this bothered? But instead of finishing his sentence, he turns his gaze toward the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the curtains and poses a question:
“You know anything about chickens?”
You blink.
“Arthur Morgan,” your eyes shut, and your mouth hangs open. “I work on a farm.“
“That you do.”
“And you’re asking me if I know about chickens?”
“That I am.”
He’s looking mighty sheepish; his hands return to their places on his knees and begin to tap again, with the added scrunch of a nose. You stifle a snort and oblige him.
“Yes, I’m well versed in chickens. Now tell me what the hell is up.”
And tell he did. Turns out, one of the eggs he’d snatched had somehow been fertilized, and hatched. Arthur, of all people, had been far too mortified to go and ask one of his own for help, so he’d spent the last two months slinking around to find out if his luck might earn him another to keep the one he already had some company. 
He’d named it and everything, so eating it (Marlene, he corrects gruffly) was completely off the table. By the time he’s finished his story, you’ve spent an exorbitant amount of energy fighting off several fits of laughter, and you’re fighting off your ninth when Arthur interrupts.
He leans forward, as if to confirm something, then settles himself back into his chair once he finds what he’s looking for. “You ain’t from around here, are you.” It’s a statement when it leaves Arthur’s mouth, not a question.
Observant. Observant, and deflective.
Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you pocket the uneasy feeling in your chest for later.
“Long story,” you offer. And a difficult one, at that. It wasn’t one you liked to revisit.
Arthur replies almost instantly. “Shoot.” For a moment his face pinches, like he’s dropped his last cent down a splinter-ridden nook he can’t reach. He deliberates, for a bit. But the money is long gone now. “Got a full audience right here,” he continues, a tad slower. “I’ve got…time. Why the hell not?”
There’s no smile, but there’s a genuine curiosity that creeps into his voice. It wafts over the crackling of the fire, blows fresh wind underneath wings long forgotten. 
This wasn’t good. Not one bit.
You cast a skeptical glance toward the bottle of whiskey on the table. It’d been set out on instinct when you’d let him in, a habit formed from a time long gone. Would Arthur want some, maybe? He seemed like the type. And you weren’t too pissed about the eggs now, anyways. So you wrap a blanket around yourself, stand, and turn to the cupboards to find a glass. But something stops you from making it over, and you instead choose to wrap a hand around the bottle and offer it to him.
If Arthur is as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. He mutters a word of thanks as he takes the proffered bottle. But you don’t miss the way his eyes rake over your bare legs like hot coals. Or the slight twitch of his fingers—now free of their gloves—at the light brushing of your hand over his as you pass the bottle to him. 
You follow the bobbing of his throat for what feels like a lifetime as he takes down gulp after gulp. Amber liquid slips from the corner of his mouth; it catches the firelight on its trek down, and steals your air along with it when Arthur moves to wipe it away with the back of his hand.
It startles you, how quickly you’ve become accustomed to cataloging his movements. You’ve met him before, you’re almost certain of it now. If not in the fields here, then maybe somewhere in Valentine, or the woods. But somewhere. He felt too familiar to be new, too invigorating. A part of you wants to pinch yourself for giving in so easily. Maybe…maybe the folks in town had been right? Maybe Arthur Morgan was possessed? It was either that, or you were an idiot. You sincerely hoped it was the former.
The sound of the glass bottle hitting the table is what snaps you out of your trance. Blinking rapidly, you chance a peek at his eyes again, only to find them peeking right back. You do your best not to turn away. That thing you’d seen lurking out on the front porch is still there, submerged in the depths of his pupils. Still waiting.
You pull the top off of the bottle, take a quick swig, and return to your chair with an inhale and newfound resolve in tow.
Blabbering seems to come unfortunately easy with Arthur. He sits, silent and attentive throughout the entire retelling—save for the occasional grunt of approval, disapproval, whichever was appropriate. You tell him of your mother, young and hungry, and how she’d made herself available to the highest bidder—your father. Some wealthy businessman from God knows where. Twenty years your mother’s senior, it’d been no secret what exactly he’d gotten out of their short-lived union: a wild young thing to look after his progeny and keep his bed warm.
He was nice enough, for a time. Or at least nice enough for your mother to be able to tolerate. But something had sent her fleeing from that big, big house. She’d kept you in her arms and her heart till you’d found somewhat of a safe haven in the Grizzly Mountains.
“Safe” had been a bit of a stretch, though. Anyone with half a brain knew exactly what the Grizzlies were like. Arthur agreed. But your mother had been raised there, just as you would be, if only for a little while. You’re only able to remember a short split of time—just before your mother passed, and before your father had come to take you away from her. 
By then your mother had already taught you most of what you’d needed to survive: reading, writing, hunting, flattery, the works. The only thing she’d left out was how to survive without her. 
Your father had come to find you only a few days after, bearing news of his intentions to turn you into a “proper lady.” He made no mention of your mother or where she’d been buried. 
Polite society hadn’t taken too kindly to a daughter hailing from unsavory origins, and it was safe to say that you hadn’t taken too kindly to polite society either. So, you’d spent the last decade or so making your father’s life a living hell and warding off any potential suitors.
But it became clear stunt after outrageous stunt that he had no intention of cutting ties. Rather than cutting you off, he’d settled for the next best thing: manual labor. Your father was old friends (though “friends” was a bit dubious) with the Campbells, and deemed it an appropriate enough punishment for your wrongdoings. He’d relied on your aptitude for hunting to pawn you off on them, and with the help of some expertly feigned resistance, you’d gotten him to plant you exactly where you’d wanted to be. 
Away, and alone.
“Threw a wrench in my plans, but…life here has been peaceful, I reckon.” You pick at the beds of your fingernails, head bowed. 
Peaceful. 
Peaceful and quiet, save for the occasional moo. 
Though, now that you thought about it, you’d have to tally it up to several wrenches if you counted the hitmen. But you could open that barrel of horse shit later.
The creaking of wood alerts you to a shift in Arthur’s positioning, and his voice barrels down at you from the ceiling; he must be looking up. 
“You don’t seem all too ‘at peace,’ if you ask me.”
“I ain’t ask you.”
“Tuh.”
The two of you fall into yet another bubble of silence. It’s comfortable enough, though still laced with the slightest bit of awkwardness. 
You couldn’t get a read on Arthur. Just about every decision he’d made tonight—or told you he’d made—had been a contradiction. It didn’t make a lick of sense. But now that you’ve had more time to ruminate, it didn’t seem like it made much sense to him, either. His body language divulges as much. 
The quiet agitates you, now. Itches. You need to know more. Understand more. But you can’t do that without retracting your fangs and reigning in your apprehension. Finger beds picked raw, you test the waters.
“Not at peace, hm?” You mutter. “…How you figure?”
You hear him shrug. “Dunno.”
Silence.
You wait for him to continue, but it’s not until you look up at him that you realize he’s been waiting for you to look back. Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence once you can meet his eyes without squirming.
“Met enough people to know who’s livin’, and who ain’t.” He crosses an ankle over his knee, and gives an exhale when he puts his hands behind his head. “I’m in no place to be dealing out life advice, but you seem awfully dead, Miss.” 
“Ma’am,” you correct. 
Arthur makes a face, and you bark out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Some stranger he was, telling you off like this.
Your eyes crinkle, smile working its way from the inside out. “Takes one to know one, I assume?”
He blinks at you. “Yeah. Yeah, somethin’ like that, I suppose.”
More silence. 
“Do you think—”
“I ought to be heading out, now.” The dream is cut short. Arthur is standing suddenly, intercepting before you have the chance to say something incredibly, incredibly stupid. He tugs on his coat, fingers closing the buttons with frightening efficiency before he gathers up his gun and whatever else he’s brought with him and heads for the door.  
You're scrambling up out of your chair before your brain has a chance to process.“Arthur,” you say, half to him and half to the floor, “Arthur, wait a damn minute!” 
The spurs on his boots cease in their clinking. He’s got one hand wrapped around the doorknob, squeaky and now half-turned.
“…Got business to take care of.”
“At three in the morning?”
He glances at the small pocket watch you’d left open on the table. “Half past four, actually.”
“Didn’t realize you could tell time.”
He hums.
And Arthur stares at you for a moment, unabashedly. It’s unreadable at first. But then scars are shifting, and he’s leveling you with a look so bitter that it nearly has you reaching for your rifle again.
“Goodbye, Ma’am.” Arthur waves a noncommittal hand at your feet as he turns the knob. “And…go and see about those feet of yours, will you?”
He sweeps out the door.
He’s left it open.
It’s only after the faint sound of hoofbeats is nothing more than a whisper that you realize he isn’t in the cabin anymore. But somewhere between the shutting of the door and the hanging of your rifle, the faint impression of his parting words is pressed into your palm.
You look down, a bright sting and the sight of red specks on the floorboards making themselves known rather insistently. 
“Oh.”
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annoyinglandmagazine · 11 months
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Lesbian Halenthir prt 11
The flames flickered into the night sky sending the darkness scattering, if only for a moment. It was hard for Caranthir to view fire as beautiful now, having seen it used for so much destruction, though what sort of a Feanorian would she be if she could not see some form of beauty even in that? There was certainly beauty in this regardless she thought, as she gazed upon the woman engaged in the enthusiastic regaling of battle tales with what seemed like her whole army. These men, physically about twice her size, were falling over themselves to try and impress their fearless leader while she put them all at ease with a bright laugh as she sharpened her sword which she’d used to kill more of the enemy’s servants than virtually any other that day.
The sparks flickered over her face, making her skin seem to glow with warmth and her curls look like bronze. The sound of her laugh carried over the bonfire and Caranthir thought it was the most incredible thing she’d ever heard. Haleth was wearing a fur over her shoulder and a simple brown tunic tucked into a leather belt.
She pulled her eyes away to check on her people. She’d always been wary of any possible confrontations as, though she chose these ones as her personal guard for a reason, there was always a risk of things escalating where Feanorians were concerned. They seemed to be doing alright though and we’re actually striking up conversations with the Edain. She noticed they’d brought their musical instruments with them to the skirmish because clearly Maglor and Finrod’s lack of priorities had infected all their ranks. The Edain seemed hopeful to hear some Elvish music and her soldiers were all too happy to oblige.
They conferred for a moment and Caranthir almost laughed when the flutes started to hum. They’d picked a lively dancing tune that was, while very popular, mostly heard with the accompaniment of far too many tankards of mead in a pub that she and her brothers would forever deny they’d snuck out to. A thought occurred to her as people started to stamp their feet and the atmosphere became more jovial.
She rose slowly and slipped off her cloak, exposing her white chemise and bodice. Her people looked to her nervously, questioning whether they’d crossed some line, as she strode to the other side of the bonfire to where the chieftain was sitting. The conversation fell silent when they saw her approach and they looked to Haleth for leadership. Haleth inclined her head slightly, ‘My lady,’ she said while giving her a questioning look.
‘Chieftain,’ Caranthir responded in kind with a little bow of the head. ‘I was wondering if you would care to dance.’ Haleth’s eyes widened in surprise as did the eyes of everyone else who had heard the exchange. ‘With you?’ she schooled her voice into sounding nonchalant and simply confused. ‘Who else?’ and Caranthir gave her a smile and offered her hand. ‘Come on it’ll be fun. I’ll show you the steps.’ Haleth blinked a moment before clasping the hand firmly and smiling back, ‘It would be an honour my lady,’ she said before bringing the hand softly to her lips.
Caranthir pulled her up and pulled her back to where the music was playing, while everyone of both races was now watching in disbelief. They held their clasped hands up and began to turn slowly at first and then quicker and quicker with hands moving from shoulders to waists as they moved closer together and twirled each other around. The onlookers began to cheer at their two leaders joined together in what must surely be an impressive premeditated show of unity and eventually some of the younger ones joined in around them.
Those more observant onlookers noticed other things. Erestor, having been in Caranthir’s service longer than most, remarked to his drinking companion ‘I haven’t seen Caranthir smile like that in public before. She was always one for guarding herself where others can see and she’s not the kind of person to be so loose with boundaries,’ this last part was said as he watched the daughter of Feanor allow herself to be dipped to the ground by a mortal with only a laugh.
Haleth was as happy as she’d ever been as she spun Caranthir in the air by her hips, the only thing existing in the world at that moment was their shared laughter and exhilaration. The music began to slow down and she ended up in Moryo’s arms as they rocked slowly back and forth, panting slightly in exhaustion, with her head resting on Caranthir’s chest. Just as they were pulling apart while the music stilled Haleth shifted and moved her mouth to Moryo’s smooth neck, the action hidden in the waves of their mingled hair though not Caranthir’s hum of appreciation. Haleth kissed it softly and cupped her breast in her palm before withdrawing, leaving Caranthir a flustered blushing mess as she walked back to her people.
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belltrigger · 1 year
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Submastober Day 04 - Degraded Operation
Day 4 and still going super strong. Super Bravo!! I hope everyone is having a good time so far (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧ Just a short little thing for today, but hopefully you all enjoy!
Title: Degraded Operation Word count: 583
It was hard to ignore the looks that Kudari turned his way when his younger twin caught him struggling to recall things that should have been second nature to him. Beyond the loss of his memories regarding the connections he had with people who were close to him, his sweet twin included, things that must have been a daily necessity were also starting to reveal how faded they were.
Every day, it was like looking at a sun-bleached map with torn and tattered edges, ink faded almost completely with hints of writing only in the pressure marks of the pen.
Raimon City was a famous spot for more than one reaosn and although their Service Offices had various pamphlets of the more popular attractions, oftentimes they would personally be asked what their recommendations were to do on a limited time budget. He had apparently prided himself in always having the best answer for whoever came to them - he'd memorized the brochures, of course. But to be exemplary, it was important that he knew the city almost as well as he knew his twin brother.
Unfortunately, ever since he returned from Hisui, what he knew about both was well below what he considered acceptable. Kudari had been trying to help, offering him hopeful smiles accompanied by what *seemed* to be easy information about himself. Things that Nobori should absolutely know just to be a passable brother, but he knew in his heart that being 'passable' was actually 'subpar.' They were more than 'just' brothers.
They were, without a doubt, the perfect two-car train, and beyond. Kudari was the most important person to him in the world, his everything.
And now, even though Kudari had been so diligently waiting for him, he couldn't even manage to remember the simplest things about his most precious person.
Kudari was clearly disappointed. Even someone who knew nothing about him could see. And knowing that he was disappointing Kudari made him feel worse, as though he himself were subpar.
"Nobori?" His twin's current look of concern filled up his whole view, and he blinked in surprise "Is Nobori okay?"
It took absolutely no effort to smile at Kudari, even if he didn't think he was what one could call 'okay.' Of course, that was further proof of their bond. At least, even without his memories, his feelings had not degraded.
Closing the distance between their faces, he pressed his forehead to Kudari's before he answered. "Maybe not right now, but I will be, now that we are back together. I hope you'll continue to have patience with your tattered older brother."
Rubbing their noses together with a laugh, Kudari's voice was clear and without worry, confidence in his next words. "I, Kudari will never leave Nobori's side, ever again." Without pulling apart, Kudari took his hands, and gave them both a warm squeeze. "Even the oldest engines just need a little TLC to get back to tip-top shape!"
He's not sure how he felt about being compared to an old engine, but Kudari's cheer was contagious, and he felt his smile widen. "I won't stray from your side either. I love you, Kudari."
With a giggle that felt as it should have always been, instead of the strained chuckle that had come from his twin since his return, Kudari closed the final inch between them, catching his lips in a kiss. He paused in pressing kiss after kiss against his lips only to say "I love you too, Nobori!"
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sinren · 8 months
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@vortship liked for a starter
It wasn’t unusual by now, to see thousands of people all gathered around a large stage outside city hall, to bare witness to the new insights and discoveries that Membrane Labs had to offer. Especially in this town.
Membrane Labs was one of the few exceptional marvels that the city had, and was extremely proud of. And for good reason too.
Today’s exciting news, had been part of an ongoing study that a team of scientists had been hard at work over for months. And now everyone seemed to be waiting eagerly for the grand reveal.
Luckily, the waiting is short-lived, as suddenly from the stage’s floor, a trap door opens. And slowly the man, the legend himself, Professor Membrane, is lifted up by a platform and into full view of the audience.
The crowds scream and cheer in almost crazed excitement as the man now walked up to the microphone and gave a light chuckle.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen! It always stirs a spark in my chest to see such a large turnout for these types of events. And I can assure you, I for one, am also just as excited as all of you to show you just what we’ve been working on for the past few months here at Membrane Labs!”
More ecstatic shrieks and cries erupt from the crowd for a few moments, until a raised hand from Membrane begins to stir silence back into the mix.
“Now, I know for most who keep in touch with the daily headlines, this comes as no surprise to you. But, just three months ago today, a lone angler here in this very city, caught something in his nets that SHOOK the WORLD! That surprise?? Was THIS, absolute FREAK OF NATURE!”
Dramatically the man turns and gestures behind him. And again, a second platform began to arise from floor of the stage, something much much larger this time. And by the time it had rose, a huge tank full of water was displayed. And inside this tank, an actual, living, breathing siren.
The creature was about ten feet long altogether, and not only was it muzzled, but it seemed to have bandages wrapped around its chest as well. (No doubt to add a little modesty to the wild specimen.)
Half fish, half.. Woman. And all sorts of terrifying to those who’d never seen one before.
An eruption of gasps and cheering filled the air now as the siren placed their hands on the glass and seemed to look around almost frantic. No doubt the thing was terrified being put on display like this.
It wasn’t until photographers and paparazzi swarmed to the front and began to blind the poor creature with lights, that it quickly lashed away from the glass and seemed to flare its fins and hiss behind it’s restraints.
Everyone in the crowd began to ooh and ahh and clap and shriek all over again. As if the creature’s clearly fear-induced reaction was all apart of the show.
Membrane took the microphone once again after things settled some, and his eyes seemed to light up from behind his goggles.
“This my friends is what was known in folklore and myths as a Siren! This creature is half fish, and half human. And yes, it is just as DANGEROUS as the legends warned.”
A mixture of shock and concern filled the crowd for a moment, before Membrane chuckled.
“Not to worry though! The beast is harmless currently. We have it under strict restraints, and we have the best security covering the grounds to ensure your safety! Now, this creature on its own is a marvel for sure. But our team at Membrane Labs has intensively been studying this specimen day and night for ages. And we wanted to share with you, just a few of the amazing discoveries we’ve made.”
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Welcome to Rapture: Chapter 10
Silent Stage Count: 11684 TW/CW: Violence, blood, gore, death, related disturbing imagery
The shutters at every entrance to Fort Frolic, the ones that had kept Syrus trapped in the entertainment center for the last three days, were open. No Plasters guarded them and no Splicers were seen the entire time he and Atlas walked from Fleet Hall. Compared to the lively show out in the main square mere hours ago, the entire district was a ghost town.
Syrus was concerned about where so many insane people could hide, hoping Cohen was a man of his word and that there wasn’t an ambush waiting around a corner. It didn’t help that he was practically being led around by Atlas, who had offered to lead him out due to years of experience in Rapture that allowed the human to practically memorize the whole place supposedly. He had several questions for the human, but decided that they could wait until both of them had reached a safe place.
He had to make the conscious decision of keeping Atlas on his wounded side, still barely able to see or hear from the right side of his head. Hell, his left ear felt slightly muffled, a tinny constant whine faintly sounding. All healing had gone to a near stand-still now that his blood stomach was once more empty and he had to ignore the craving for something iron-enriched.
Something about Atlas still threw him off. He just wasn’t sure what. Maybe the human was an actual threat or maybe his instincts had gone haywire after so much time down in the halls. Still, he was less of a threat than other Splicers or Plasters for the time being, deciding that he’d rather allow Atlas on his injured side than risk either of them being jumped because of his inability to properly register anything from his right.
Eventually, Atlas ducked between an alleyway between two buildings and led Syrus out the other side where he recognized the large hall entrance to the Rapture Metro he’d come in with. Walking down for another minute, the sight of the flickering bathysphere station came into view as they walked in.
“Alright,” Atlas breathed a sigh of relief once both men had walked across the threshold into the Bathysphere Metro. After several minutes of silence between Fleet Hall and here, the human’s quiet remark felt loud to Syrus’ working ear. He turned towards Syrus and added, “I’m sure ya have a lot of questions, boyo, and they’ll all be answered in time. With Cohen’s deal still in effect and no Splicer wantin’ to tangle with him, this is probably the safest place to rest that we’ll find for a while. So, go ahead and ask a couple. Quick ones.”
Syrus watched the human walk over to one of the nearby benches against a broken pillar, resting his back against the degraded surface as he looked back with an expectant look for inevitable questions.
“Where do you plan to go,” Syrus asked, not beating around the bush. His depth perception was off, but he could see clearly that it was a question Atlas had been expecting given the lack of reaction. “Now that you’re not being held captive?”
“I’m gonna do the same thing I’ve been doing since the fall of Rapture, boyo. Try to survive until tomorrow,” Atlas replied tiredly, shifting so that he was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands relaxed and gaze still on Syrus. “That’s all ya can do down here.”
“Surely, there has to be some kind of way out of here,” Syrus frowned. After all the fighting he just went through, he could feel frustration begin to surface. Rabbit was here for a long time, and Atlas even longer. Hell, the guy had been the leader of some revolution. That had to require being able to know the layout of everything enough to get the fuck out of this metallic hell.
“Aye,” the response from Atlas surprised Syrus, summoning a glimmer of hope before immediately snuffing it out as he continued. “The way ya came down in the lighthouse. That, or you can test your luck with the water pressure by trying to swim out of one of the bathysphere stations or fisheries and brave the several miles to the surface.”
Atlas’ response was a fairly sensible one given all that was learned, but that didn’t stop the disappointment and frustration that hit Syrus and made him growl. The human was unfazed, merely giving him a glance as he glared at him, insistent on an escape. “There has to be another way in and out. There’s too many Splicers down here to not be coming from somewhere if all anyone does down here is kill each other.”
“Syrus, we had a whole Little Sister program,” Atlas replied, sitting up from his somewhat folded position to look Syrus more squarely in the face. “You know, those little girls you see running around? Granted, I don’t know how there’s still more. We age far slower than other people with the ADAM in our systems, but we still age. Children, it’s faster because of their metabolism. When the Sisters grew, Ryan sent them topside to kidnap more girls to manipulate and keep ADAM in production. I don’t think there’s been any Big Sisters in commission for decades, but who knows how many children he forced down here to crawl in the walls.
“Probably of age now, adding to the population. I’ve never seen a Little Brother, but I wouldn’t put it past Ryan to be indiscriminate with kidnapping,” the human scrubbed a tired hand over his face, taking care to place his hand on the less bruised side of his face, and leaned back to rest his head against the column while turning his gaze to the ceiling.
Syrus thought that didn’t quite make sense. Little Sisters that were still very much little wandered around the halls, something that wouldn’t be happening if, to his understanding, the Splicers were continuing to somehow follow the cycle. But, given that they all craved ADAM, maybe they understood the necessity of the Little Sister program to get their fix? Whatever the case, he decided to file the information for now, too tired from fighting to delve into Rapture mechanisms that he knew next to nothing about other than what he’d been told.
“And, what about Rabbit,” he asked tiredly, glancing towards the exit of Rapture Metro back towards Fort Frolic, trying to gauge Atlas’ reaction from his healthy peripheral.
“What about her, boyo,” Atlas frowned in confusion, glancing at Syrus from his leaned back position. “We lost her when we locked her from the Arcadia bathysphere station.”
“I’m certain Canary had been Rabbit,” Syrus stated, seeing Atlas’ frown deepen and paused to allow the human to respond if he wanted. Atlas did.
“Syrus, I’m pretty sure Canary wasn’t Rabbit,” the human shifted once more so that he was no longer leaning on the column. “We locked her in the Arcadia halls and the only other way to Fort Frolic is through the marketplace. Which, by the way, still has one of the densest Splicer populations in Rapture. Look, Rabbit doesn’t leave Arcadia much anyways, save for looking at new saps that get trapped by the buggy lighthouse bathyspheres. We caught her in a tantrum because she doesn’t like me, but I’m sure she’s crawled back into the vents or wherever she goes. ‘Sides, what even makes you think that it was Rabbit?”
Syrus opted to not say that he could taste the difference in blood, instead replying, “When the mask fell off, I got a look of their face. It looked like Rabbit, just in a different outfit.”
Atlas just stared at him for a second before letting out a long, drawn out sigh. The human pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was about to explain something to a child, opening them to look up at Syrus as the Chupacabra turned to face him with crossed arms.
“Alright, boyo, I’ll play Devil’s Advocate for you,” the human moved forward, once more leaning his elbows on his knees, hand moving while he spoke. “IF that was Rabbit, why the costume change? Why didn’t she use her electric abilities that she’s prone to use? Why work with one of the two nutcases down here that she hates, for good reason, in a near-suicidal play? Where did she get the telekinesis? With all these questions, why would you think it’s her? Was it because she didn’t sing for any ADAM when you fought? Cause Cohen’s other Houdini’s didn’t either. They sing when he tells 'em to sing.
“Syrus. You had three good, long, and intense fights. Hell, half of your face and an ear are still practically gone from an explosion,” Atlas exclaimed, gesturing to Syrus’ face. He hadn’t seen the way his face looked yet, but he imagined it looked somewhat similar to when people get third degree burns, particularly feeling the tightness of his skin around the jaw. The human glanced him over in concern. “I don’t know why you want it to have been Rabbit, boyo, but are you sure it’s not the blood loss talking, or the concussive blast messing with your head? Perhaps I’m not the only one in need of rest…”
Syrus was a bit taken aback by the human’s supposed concern, having not really thought about his state. It didn’t affect his taste much, save for the right side that got damaged, but now that it was brought to his attention the adrenaline from before was gone, leaving him with creeping exhaustion while his blood stomach craved being filled to heal the wounds he had. Without blood, it would take days to regain full use of his right eye and ear, and even longer for the muscle and skin to heal, though it’d leave scarring. Even with a full stomach of blood, the wounding was enough that he’d almost definitely still have scars, they’d just be lessened with accelerated healing.
If he had suffered concussive damage, it must have healed quickly. His body would have prioritized that first since the brain is a rather important organ. He was tired and probably did have some blood loss, but his mind was fairly clear and he knew on a visceral level that the blood he’d tasted had been from Rabbit. But, maybe he was just too used to the chemicals in most Splicers blood. Part of him wondered what Atlas’ blood tasted like.
“Atlas, I’m certain of what I saw,” Syrus frowned, mulling over Atlas’ questions and finding he didn’t have an answer to any of them. “I don’t know why Rabbit wouldn’t use electricity, but they looked mortified in Cohen’s arms.”
Granted, maybe they were more mortified at him since he’d nearly killed them. Again. But the sheer hatred in their eyes when they looked at Atlas felt out of place if this was a random Splicer under Cohen’s employ. After a couple seconds, he suggested, “Maybe Cohen is blackmailing them? Or threatening them somehow?”
“Threatening them with something worse than the play?”
Syrus didn’t have an answer. Both men stood in silence for a few heartbeats, Atlas looking less than amused while Syrus could feel his lack of knowledge agitating his frustration further.
Atlas let out a long exhale through his nose, grabbing Syrus’ attention as the human seemed to age at his insistent questioning.
“Even if that was Rabbit, even if they were-were somehow coerced or blackmailed into throwing herself into the wolves den of a play, how do you propose we help her,” Atlas asked, blue eyes glinting under the flickering lights briefly as he looked up at Syrus. “I don’t know if you quite remember, Syrus, but she kind of hates me. I’m fairly certain that she’ll try to kill me the first chance she gets. Unless you have a plan to stop her before that happens, I’m all ears for that.”
“If Rabbit tries to attack you, I’ll just paralyze them,” Syrus replied.
“I- You can paralyze people,” Atlas asked, face shifting to both concern and intrigue.
“I can. It minimizes risk from large prey,” Syrus stated matter-of-factly. There was no point beating around the bush, the human had already seen his more animal-like form. He saw the gears turning in the other man’s head, though he didn’t know if they were good or bad.
“Okay,” Atlas shook his head as though to clear it from whatever train of thought he’d been about to go on. “If it was Rabbit, if she was forced into it, and you paralyze her, how are we going to get her out in the first place? Why do you even care so much? We can’t just waltz back in, Cohen basically threatened us to stay outta his turf. And if we do sneak in, how are we getting out with a drugged person without being caught?”
Now Atlas was asking the right questions about moving forward. The biggest catch was that Syrus still didn’t have answers. If he wasn’t stuck underwater, he’d be tempted to cut his losses and simply work with Atlas. Then again, if he wasn’t underwater, he would have just slammed into one of the glass walls until it broke and escaped a long time ago. Out of the four not completely fucked up humans he’d interacted with, only two were viable allies. If he could get the two humans to work together, then not only would they all have an advantage in number compared to if they were on their own against the Splicers, maybe they’d have a better chance of figuring a way out of here.
Not to mention, he still had an odd feeling about Atlas. Another mostly sane human for insurance on getting out would help.
“I don’t know yet,” Syrus admitted, even if he loathed to do so. He hated the uncertainty that being in Rapture brought and the fact that he was becoming used to it. “But, if you don’t know an immediate way out of here, I don’t see any reason to not at least try to make sure it wasn’t Rabbit. Death seems to lurk around every corner in here, so we wouldn’t be expediting it much.”
“I- wha- are you suicidal, boyo,” Atlas exclaimed in alarm, rising to his feet. He gestured sharply to the direction of Fort Frolic. “We can’t just go charging back into there, with you on your high horse, so that you can just confirm or deny what sounds like a hunch! If we go back in there, Cohen will close the flood doors again and we might as well kiss our arses goodbye right now, ‘cause there’s no chance of making it out alive again, boyo!”
Syrus had to resist the urge to narrow his eyes at the panicked human. The human that was, arguably, making very valid points. After all, who in their right mind would go right back into the same place they’d just escaped death from? Maybe Rapture was already affecting his thinking. Either way, he decided to stand his ground.
“You’re free from Cohen, and you’re welcome to stay here or do what you want, but I’m going back,” he said, watching Atlas. “I’m certainly not going to make you go, as long as you don’t get in my way.”
Atlas gaped at him in surprise, frowning and closing his mouth as he seemed to mull over Syrus’ words. He let him. Part of him wanted the human to stay behind, not wanting to trust too easily and let his guard down much around either.
The human seemed to struggle with something internally, eventually grumbling and replying, “I... can’t, in good conscience, just let you go back alone.
“Understand,” Atlas shakily ran a hand through his raven locks, mussing his hair up further than it already was from his captivity. “I don’t want to go back. At all. But, you saved me, so I can’t not help you. Think of it as a favor for a favor, quid pro quo and all that.”
“Alright,” Syrus tried to ignore his disappointment at hearing the man wanted to go with him, thinking that maybe more time would give him insight to why Atlas gave him a bad feeling.
“Before you go jumping back into Fort Frolic, though,” Atlas quickly said before Syrus could say anything else, gazing turning stern. “We need rest. I wasn’t given much food or water under Cohen’s watch and earned some bruises, while you… well, boyo, not to be harsh, but if I saw you before all this time in Rapture, I’d think you were the Devil coming for our hubris. I don’t know the extent of your healing, but stretching yourself thin isn’t going to get Rabbit, if it is her, away any sooner.”
Syrus didn’t want to rest, but his body thought otherwise, able to feel exhaustion begin to weigh down his limbs. Reluctantly, he nodded and added, “We should find ourselves something to eat before we rest, but I can accept that.”
Atlas seemed satisfied with his answer and both men soon found themselves searching the large Rapture Metro for some form of nourishment. Like the entirety of his stay down here, it was found in the form of stale chips and old granola bars that they both shared between themselves. There wasn’t much conversation as they ate, Syrus ignoring the way his blood stomach felt like it twisted in his chest and the way his teeth felt like they’d extended ever so slightly in anticipation of fresh blood. But, he’d have to wait to slake his thirst.
After eating, both Atlas and Syrus picked a bench to sleep on. Again, there wasn’t much conversation, both beginning to feel the weight of the day. At least, Syrus was. He could only speak for himself after all, but he noticed that Atlas’ movements were becoming rather slow and sparse as time went on.
The human was the first one to fall asleep, leaving Syrus laying on his bench alone with his thoughts and looking at the ceiling. The bench was uncomfortable, but he was getting used to sleeping on rough surfaces at this point. What was keeping him up was the fact that he almost died today and still felt no closer to getting the hell out of here.
That and the fact that he was constantly risking his own life for humans in the hope it would lead him closer to that goal. He wasn’t sure if it’d work, but he supposed it was better to die trying to get out of this place than lay down and resign himself to the cold halls.
He inhaled tiredly and let out a long exhale, waving his hand in front of face to test his right eye. It wasn’t much clearer than before, if at all, needing to rely on movement and change of light when he closed his left eye, and his hand was simply a large indiscernible blob darker than the light from above. His right ear was unnervingly silent despite being able to easily hear the water lapping at metal from the bathysphere docks with his left despite the tinny whine. If he turned his head just right, he could barely hear Atlas’ breathing from the other bench.
Eventually, he was able to turn onto his right side, careful of the injuries, and managed to push aside the uncertainty and thoughts enough to fall asleep. It was dreamless, the kind of dark sleep that happens when the body’s too tired to dream or to remember them. Maybe there was a vague inkling of one or two dreams, but they vanished as quickly as they came.
Syrus woke when he registered a slight sound, feeling goosebumps at a presence far too close for his comfort, bolting upright and grabbing the wrist of the other person before they could touch him with their outstretched hand.
Atlas was caught off guard, his bruising distorting as his face contorted in surprise. He seemed to temper his concern, though he tried to twist his arm out of the other man’s grip, saying, “Relax, boyo, I was just moving to wake you. I heard something down the hall towards Fort Frolic and didn’t want either of us to be caught off guard – could you release my wrist, Syrus, you’re about to snap it!”
“Right. Sorry,” Syrus released his unintentional, almost bone-crushing hold on Atlas. To the human’s credit, he hadn’t panicked despite his obvious alarm at the Chupacabra’s reaction to the surprise awakening.
Syrus’ groggy mind quickly woke, though he still felt exhausted. Without any way to gauge time down here it could have been minutes or hours. Either way his body craved more sleep, but now that he was awake and told of some noise, his body already worked on trying to pinpoint whatever it was as he tilted the left side of his head towards the hall that Atlas had mentioned.
He didn’t know if it was the same noise, but he heard very faint crying in the direction of Fort Frolic when he did so. Too faint for Atlas to have heard, so whatever the human heard may have precluded the crying he heard now, informing Atlas, “I hear crying. What did you hear?”
“Not sure what I heard. Can ya tell if it’s a child or adult, boyo,” Atlas asked, brow furrowing in thought. His fingers twitched as though wanting to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there. “I’m game to help a Little Sister, but I’d rather not run into any other Splicers unless we have to.”
“No,” Syrus replied, standing up. Several vertebrae and joints popped from sleeping on the bench, and some soreness had set into his muscles. He walked over to a nearby pile of debris and easily moved the broken chunks of metal and concrete until he came across a bent metal rod. It wasn’t much, but it was sturdy and it’d have to do, so he stood up and walked to Atlas to offer it. “Crying is crying. But we should probably still investigate to make sure the danger doesn’t reach here.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Atlas frowned as he took the offered metal rod in his hands and tested the weight a bit. “You lead the way though, boyo, I can’t hear what you hear.”
Syrus nodded, tilting his head so that his left ear was pointed more toward the crying as he began to walk down the hall it came from. Fort Frolic’s hall. In his peripherals, he saw Atlas falter with an unreadable expression, but the human continued before he could question it. The hall to Fort Frolic was pretty straightforward with barely any branching points but both of them still kept an eye out. Atlas fell in step on Syrus’s left side, something he had to resist the urge to growl at since his right side still wasn’t healed, and it made him feel vulnerable to have that side ‘exposed’ in a way. Still, Atlas should be able to see if something happened on his right given the lack of hiding spots.
The closer they got to the crying, taking one of the few smaller halls to follow the noise, the louder it became. Not only that, but he heard a few other faint noises in the distance that he felt like weren’t there before when they had left. The crying led both of them to one of the brass vents embedded in the wall.
“A Little Sister,” Atlas frowned for an unknown reason until he elaborated a moment after, “They usually don’t cry ‘cause of the cotton-candy way they perceive things unless their Big Daddy is dead. But, if that’s the case… they also usually mourn beside the body until an unattached Big Daddy lumbers around or…”
“Well, either way, I don’t see or hear it anywhere in the hall nearby,” Syrus commented. He definitely would have heard if there was a Big Daddy around, the lumbering steps enough to rattle the metal of entire hallways if they were short enough. He’d also only seen the normal carnage and debris that littered Rapture, nothing that seemed fresh or large enough to have been caused by a Big Daddy.
“Yes… it’s not normal,” the human looked perturbed before raising a hand. He rapped a knuckle on the brass edge loudly, startling Syrus.
“What are you doing,” the Chupacabra practically hissed, thinking that the human was very lucky that there didn’t seem to be Splicers nearby, otherwise they would have seen it as a dinner bell.
“If the Little Sister pokes her head out, maybe she’ll answer what happened to her Big Daddy and any other questions.”
Syrus scowled, but it was too late to stop the human from causing the noise. Besides, there were sounds in the vent of something moving to focus on now, the noise amplified and echoed by the metal walls of the vent. They escalated until a little girl with the familiarly glowing yellow eyes popped out and looked out hopefully, only to almost immediately look upset and duck back down.
“You’re not Sunflower,” the child wailed, distorted voice echoing on the brass and solidifying how lucky it was that Splicers weren’t nearby to hear it.
“No, but we’re still here to help,” Atlas replied softly, giving the girl a small smile to try and be reassuring. “We can try to find Sunflower, if you’d like.”
There was a second or two of silence before the girl poked her head back up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, “You’ll help? Usually only Bunny helps…”
“Yes, we can try. But, you need to tell us what happened, okay,” Atlas coaxed gently.
Syrus watched the Little Sister regard them both. Not with suspicion, he had a feeling that something had been done to make them complacent with the underwater hell they resided in, but rather with thought as she seemed to try and think of where to start.
“Okay,” the girl sniffed again, looking satisfied at whatever she was thinking of. “S-Sunflower and I wanted to see if there were any-any Angels in the fun district, but it’s been closed for a few days. But! I-It opened up earlier, and we went to go look for Angels. I didn’t see any in the streets or stores, and the shoppers don’t usually bother us. There weren’t any shoppers, but I've seen them go in and out of the theatre and wanted to see if there were any plays happening… Wh-When we walked in though, some statues fell on Sunflower and hurt him. I wanted to stay and help Sunflower, but I ran away because more statues started falling and I was blocked off from Sunflower. One of the statues almost fell on me.”
Syrus frowned in confusion, but Atlas just listened intently, nodding along to what the girl was saying. He couldn’t help but still be unnerved by the glowing eyes of the girl, realizing after a second that she actually did have pupils, they were just a shade or two lighter than the all-encompassing iris and looked blurred.
“We’ll go check on Sunflower for you, okay lass,” Atlas said questioningly, giving the Little Sister a reassuring smile that seemed to help relax her.
“Thank you, poster man,” the girl perked up and smiled back. “A-And tell Sunflower to come to our favorite place so he can find me.”
The interaction ended with an assuring “Will do” and farewell wave from Atlas that was reciprocated before he walked off. Towards Fort Frolic.
Syrus didn’t hesitate to follow after, though now he had several questions swirling in his head. But, before he could even think about figuring out which one to say aloud first, he heard Atlas murmur to himself.
“Cohen doesn’t usually touch the Little Sisters or the Big Daddies…”
“What about the Big Daddies in the performance,” Syrus asked, grimacing at the memory. He could see why someone wouldn’t want to mess with them, given their strength and capability, but he wouldn’t be surprised if someone did given the general mental state down here. And, thinking on it, there had been a freshly killed Big Daddy near Rabbit when he’d found them injured among the floor of corpses that might have caused at least a couple of them.
“Key word is ‘usually’, boyo,” Atlas stopped, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he turned to Syrus. “He had mentioned that he just wanted them for the latest performance in his mutterings and monologues. He knows Little Sisters are what collect the ADAM from decaying bodies that eventually trickles to him somehow.”
“How does it even get to him?” Syrus stopped beside the human.
“I tend to think of it as a weird beehive, though without a Queen,” Atlas sighed thoughtfully. “The Little Sisters are the workers that collect ADAM from dead bodies and whatever else they’re supposed to, but they also make it with the slugs in their stomachs. I don’t quite know what happens with the collected ADAM, Ryan kept the inner machinations of his system under lock and key to the grave, but I know that the girls had to have the ADAM collected otherwise the ADAM would become too much even for them. All I know is that Cohen gets enough to have the entirety of Fort Frolic wrapped around his finger. He doesn’t attack Little Sisters on the reg, Syrus.” Atlas huffed, confused, and turned to continue walking in the same direction as before.
Syrus trailed just behind, keeping the human on his right side so that he could keep his good eye looking for danger and commented, “I thought you didn’t want to go back to Fort Frolic.”
Atlas was quiet for a few seconds, pace slowing as he seemed to think before he eventually glanced at him and replied, “Trust me, boyo, I’m loath to do it. But… something feels off. And that concerns me.”
“More off than the other homicidal humans,” Syrus asked rhetorically, though the human’s words stuck with him. If Cohen seemed to have a pattern of behavior and disposition, he wasn’t sure what the cause would be to change that. “Maybe it was my presence? Or someone else new came down?”
“Cohen doesn’t care about newcomers unless they manage to stumble all the way into his district. Sees them as a waste of time otherwise, and an excellent performance opportunity if they make it to his doors. You’re one of the few to make it this far, and one of the first to survive one of his ‘auditions’,” Atlas said.
“Has Rabbit ever been caught by Cohen?”
“Unless your Canary ends up somehow being Rabbit, she’d never been subjected to Cohen’s stage plays. And, until the other day, I’d never been caught either.”
“What about the bathyspheres,” Syrus tilted his head in confusion, trying to read the other man’s expression from his left eye. Difficult when he was keeping the human on his right. “Why does the lighthouse apparently just get a bathysphere occasionally? Is it just the same one each time, because then you could just… wait long enough, right?”
He watched Atlas falter at his line of questioning, turning his head to look at the man when he looked towards Syrus.
“I’ve… never really thought about it that much, boyo,” Atlas replied, shrugging with a perturbed expression before continuing to walk down the hall. “I just know that however the lighthouse system works, it’s not the same bathysphere. It’s dangerous to linger around the lighthouse area with Spiders and Splicers ready to tear into any newcomers, and they’ve torn into the metal casings with the help of ADAM and EVE to get to whoever thinks hiding in a bathysphere is a good idea. I used to occasionally risk going to the lighthouse bathysphere dock whenever the Splicers got riled up about a newcomer… sometimes it looked like the bathysphere was torn apart like a tin can.”
An uncomfortable silence fell, and Syrus did nothing to break it. He didn’t think he’d been here more than a few weeks and already felt stir-crazy, his mind starting to go in circles of frustration from both Rabbit and Atlas being near dead-end avenues for escape. He didn’t know how Atlas seemed to be so unphased while also maintaining his sanity.
Several minutes passed as the duo walked back the worn halls towards Fort Frolic again. It was relatively like when they’d left, but Syrus could hear things faintly echo from the district, indiscernible to him and likely nonexistent to his human companion. The shutters were still open as they approached with no sign of Plasters, but there was something just within the threshold that wasn’t there before, something that didn’t move and caused nothing more than caution until they were close enough for him to see what it was.
A mangled Splicer corpse was sprawled in a pool of blood, bloodied footprints on the floor and debris around the body.
“What the hell,” Atlas’s voice came out in a shocked whisper, sounding gruff after the minutes of silence.
Both men stopped to take in the gory sight, Atlas surprisingly more affected by the sight than Syrus, something that surprised the Chupacabra. After a few seconds, he moved a few feet closer cautiously to get a better look, almost snarling at Atlas when the human grabbed his right elbow with his blurry vision. His head whipped to face the other man, eyes narrowing.
“Be careful, boyo,” Atlas hissed, seeming to bite back a comment as he glanced at the body before continuing, “This is abnormal to Hell and back. Cohen forbids his Splicers to attack or fight off show unless they want to be one of his Butterflies, and everyone else in Rapture knows they’ll be captured for an unforgiving spotlight if they wander in. No one’s just killed in the streets without Cohen knowing, and not without him punishing them. Something is wrong.”
The urgency in Atlas’ voice surprised Syrus, but he nodded as he pulled his arm from the other man’s grasp, quietly replying, “We need to know as much of what happened if we can.”
Technically, they could both go the rest of their lives without knowing what happened to this Splicer, turn tail and continue hiding for the rest of their lives like Atlas probably has to survive. But, any knowledge on the change of behavior in the Splicers nearby could be a deciding factor on how long the rest of their lives were. This could either be affecting a portion of the Splicers, or every single one in the vicinity.
Atlas nodded though, reluctantly trailing behind Syrus as he got closer to investigate the murder scene.
The body of the Splicer was difficult to discern past the coating of blood soaking it and the floor, sticking to the soles of his shoes. With fancy attire torn and stained, accessories disheveled similarly, it looked like one of Cohen’s performance Splicers. Or one similar given that Syrus had killed the ones pitted against him. Several wounds littered the body that could have been the cause of its demise, but its chest in particular was riddled with multiple thin stab wounds from something cylindrical.
Broken and discarded beside the corpse was one of the specialized syringes that Little Sisters would walk around with, the glass vial broken and needle bent sharply in several places.
“Jesus Christ,” Atlas murmured, catching Syrus’s attention. The human’s blue eyes shifted as he looked the body over, brow furrowed. “I’ve seen things down here, but this is grislier than some…”
“What do you think caused the attack then,” Syrus asked, trying to discern any scents in the area. He only smelled more blood. He kept his good eye on the lookout for any movement nearby and strained to hear shuffling close by. There were ambient noises that had him tilting his head, but nothing more.
“Probably same thing as always down here,” Atlas glanced around to check for danger as well before crouching beside the body for a closer look. “Looks like a Splicer, or a group of them, got ahold of a Little Sister’s syringe and decided to try and collect the ADAM themselves. My question is why? Cohen supplies his Splicers with ADAM, that’s how he keeps them in line…”
��Do you think he cut them off for some reason,” Syrus asked, seeing the answer in the man’s face after interrupting his aloud thinking.
“No.”
Another tense silence fell between them, worse than before with the uncertainty that came from the presence of the Splicer corpse. Surprisingly, when Syrus moved to continue deeper into the streets of Fort Frolic, Atlas didn’t voice disapproval or try to ask him why he’d still risk going further in. He didn’t know why he was continuing himself, but what else was he going to do?
Both Syrus and Atlas walked cautiously, staying near store walls. Syrus sensed a change within the district, and as they slowly got closer to the center, the ambient noise that he was hearing earlier became clearer and he was able to realize what it was.
Splicers talked and murmured to themselves, none close enough to distinguish what they were saying, and any too close were carefully moved away from by the duo. The sounds were familiar and something he was used to in the normal sprawling halls of Rapture, but Fort Frolic had lacked it entirely during his entire ‘stay’ there. He didn’t know if it was discipline or bribery that had brought the silence beforehand, but it was broken either way and it only became louder, more frequent, as Syrus and Atlas got closer to Fleet Hall.
Syrus was barely able to register the sound of running footsteps from his right in front of them a moment before a Splicer ran out of an alley just ahead of them. He saw Atlas jolt and brace for a fight, doing the same, but it quickly became obvious that it hadn’t seen either of them. In fact, it looked more like it was running from something.
“C’mere with yer pretty ADAM,” a fancily dressed Splicer, one of the Houdini’s, simply popped into existence in front of the other Splicer in a flourish of glowing petals that manifested from and faded to nothing as it grinned sadistically at the running Splicer.
Atlas grabbed Syrus’ arm and pulled him into the nearest side alley, causing him to bare his teeth and jolt in surprise, but he made no noise at the sudden action. Instead, he joined Atlas in cautiously looking out from the alley shadows as the running Splicer barely managed to avoid crashing into the Houdini.
The Splicer reeled back, spitting out, “F-Fuck off, it’s mine!”
Before it could take a step in any direction to continue running or either Atlas or Syrus could blink, a burst of blood erupted from the Splicer’s chest and misted the air. It was speared through by a large shard of ice that had sprouted from the floor.
The Houdini approached the gurgling Splicer, the blue glow in its hand fading as it reached up and tapped the point of the bloodied ice shard, stating in a sing-song voice, “Got you and yer ADAM.”
Syrus tore his gaze from the Houdini as it hummed and began to rummage through the other Splicer’s pockets in its dying moments, nudging Atlas and interrupting his thoughts. The human didn’t make any noise, thankfully, looking at him from his staring at the Houdini with an unreadable expression. He jerked his head a bit to the side to indicate that they should get away from the scene before the Houdini moved its attention from the Splicer’s corpse.
Atlas nodded and turned away from the alley exit, starting to lead Syrus through the even more labyrinthian side alleys. It was obvious neither wanted to remain in the open.
“Let me guess,” Syrus whispered a bit bitterly, “That’s abnormal too?”
“Very,” Atlas hissed back worriedly. “If Cohen’s Houdini’s and Splicers are running amok this much in his Fort Frolic, then he either withheld their payday of ADAM, or something happened to him.”
“If something happened to him, at least we don’t have to worry about being locked in, hopefully,” Syrus mused quietly, thinking that maybe, maybe, Rabbit took the playwright out.
“I… don’t know. He’s been in control of so many Splicers,” Atlas peered around the corner to see if there was anything there. Satisfied by nothing, he continued to walk carefully and Syrus continued to follow. “If something’s happened to him, his Splicers are just going to run loose around Rapture now. Like a spider keeping the fly population down, he’s dangerous, but necessary. Probably the only reason we didn’t see more is because they would have dispersed to the Marketplace to the rest of Rapture.”
So, a free-for-all, Syrus supposed. But he frowned at Atlas’ words, asking, “Is there nothing beyond Fort Frolic?”
“Not directly, no… Not after Hephaestus was blown to bits by Jack. That way’s blocked off by one of the flood doors. There’s an entire other section of Rapture filled with the residential district for workers, a library, laboratories, and some other stuff I’m forgettin’. Maybe the vents.”
“Is there any way out on that side,” Syrus asked. His blood stomach twisted a bit to remind him of its presence painfully, causing him to grimace. Part of him wanted a Splicer to attack, if only because it would get his body to leave him alone.
“Not that I’m aware of, boyo,” Atlas sighed, “Again, it was mostly for the workers, and those on this side of Rapture didn’t care if any of us lived or died. It’s the whole reason I was starting the revolution.”
Syrus made a noise of acknowledgement, realizing he didn’t really know where Atlas was leading him. “Are you heading towards the Fleet Hall?”
The human stopped, glancing towards him before taking a breath and reluctantly answering, “Yes, Syrus, I am… We need to find out what happened to Cohen. I doubt he had a change of heart or profession, but I can’t imagine him being killed by one of his Splicers, there’s a reason he’s lasted this long.”
He looked like he had an idea in mind, but he wasn’t saying it.
“Could have been Rabbit,” Syrus suggested, seeing how Atlas looked exasperated and conflicted at the comment.
“I-,” Atlas’ voice held a tinge of frustration, “Yes, yes, I suppose it could have been, but that doesn’t really make it better for us.”
“Why not? The whole reason I even wanted to risk coming back was to see if they were Canary.”
“Because, Syrus, if Rabbit was Canary and all the Splicer’s start acting like this, then she’s either managed to wound him in escaping or backstabbed him in whatever deal was made,” Atlas whisper-yelled, looking back and pausing to answer Syrus. “Either way, she’ll be on edge and want to hunker back down in Arcadia. Hell, it’s been hours, she’s probably there now.”
“If you think she’s so dangerous and that she might not even be there, why are you going back to Fleet Hall with me? Why are you helping me,” Syrus asked, frowning a bit. Both Rabbit and Atlas were confusing in their own ways and he found himself increasingly frustrated. Watching the human prepare to respond, he heard something faintly with his left ear, a cackle.
He quickly grabbed Atlas’ upper arm, the arm holding the bent metal rod, placed a hand against the man’s mouth as he opened his mouth to respond and pressed both of them against the alley wall to be in the darkest sections of shadow. Ignoring the surprised grunt of surprise that was muffled by his hand or the human’s squirming, he turned his gaze upwards where he could hear faint humming and the tink-tink of tapping metal above getting closer with his good ear. Thankfully, Atlas seemed to realize that he was listening for something and stopped his muffled protests.
A Splicer, face half-covered by a damaged cat mask, peered into the alley from the opening above and looked back and forth. Its humming was actually singing, but it was so faint that Syrus wasn’t sure it knew it was singing aloud.
“Fishies in the allies, fishies in the streets. Make them squeal, collect the meats,” it sang as its gaze searched.
Syrus waited with bated breath as it repeated its morbid and musical mantra to itself, muscles tensed to either run or fight if it saw them below. A few times it paused and made him think that it had seen them or somehow heard them, but it always continued after a second or two.
Eventually, it turned its half-hidden gaze back up and carefully stretched its arms and torso across the gap above, sharpened and twisted metal embedded in its hands glinting as it did so. A Spider Splicer. The gap was, of course, too wide for its reach, but that didn’t deter it in the slightest. It let itself fall forward, lazily kicking the lip of the building behind it as it dropped. Dropping a few feet, its self-made claws raked against the other side until they dug into the surface and stopped the Spider from falling into the alley.
He grimaced at the scraping sound before it caught itself, the Spider pulling itself up from its new wall with a giggle and crawling away as it began to sing again. Slowly, it faded with the sound of its metallic claws, overshadowed by the newfound background din of Fort Frolic.
It was several seconds before Syrus or Atlas moved, half-expecting the Spider to crawl back or for there to be more. But, when there were no other nearby sounds, Syrus relaxed slightly and dropped his hand from Atlas’ face. To the human’s credit, he didn’t seem as bothered about being pulled aside as he seemed to be with not finishing his earlier explanation.
“Look, boyo,” Atlas’ voice was quieter than before as he scrubbed a hand across his face tiredly despite the bruising. Looking Syrus in the eyes, he asked, “You said earlier that death was around every corner, so what’s the harm in risks, right?”
Syrus frowned. The conversation after leaving Fort Frolic the first time felt like a lifetime ago, the adrenaline-filled fight even more distant. Curious, he slowly replied, “Something along those lines…”
Atlas gave him an almost studying look as though trying to gauge Syrus’ reaction as he continued, “In any case, I’ve been down here a long time. Since well before Jack and Rabbit got down here when I was headin’ a revolution. I’ve stayed alive because of caution and stealth, something I tried to pass on to those who looked up to me, who I was in charge of. But, I’ve no doubt that more than just Jack and Rabbit saw it as cowardice. Probably why they turned on me…
“Maybe it’s time for me to steel my nerves and do a bit more than just hide in the shadows and wait for the next day,” the human gave a lengthy sigh. “At least see if what’s between Rabbit and I is… mendable. And, I suppose, that starts with seeing if Rabbit was Canary and if Cohen bit it.”
Syrus wasn’t sure how to feel. Hungry still, mostly, his chest aching. So, he wasn’t sure if his feelings of misgivings were entirely founded or fueled by naturally feeling defensive with his wounds and need for blood. He told himself that if Atlas did try anything, he’d easily be able to overpower the human even while injured. And it’d make his life a lot easier, hopefully, to have both Rabbit and Atlas helping. Maybe all three of them could figure a way out to get out of this place.
“Lead on, then,” he gestured for Atlas to continue walking.
Atlas blinked at his response but gave a determined smile and nod. It took a couple seconds for him to remember which direction was towards Fleet Hall, but they were off in no time.
It took about an hour to reach Fleet Hall through the alleyways. Despite Atlas’ words about steeling his nerves and doing more than hiding in the shadows, both had an unspoken agreement that it was best to not draw attention to themselves and that caution was a must to continue forward. It was slow, and the closer they got to the theatre, the more fresh devastation they saw from the more active Splicers. Glimpses of corpses and the occasional body in the alleyways with blood lining the streets here and there as they crept from one alley to the next. Hysteric cackles and one-sided conversations let both men know how close most of the threats were.
At least Syrus was able to drink from the bodies they came across in the alleys. He felt Atlas’ eyes watch him after several seconds of drinking greedily from the first body, forcing himself to stop before getting his fill and only drank a few seconds from the rest since it made him uncomfortable to be under the humans’ stare. He also, very reluctantly, kept himself from finding the livers of the bodies and eating those as well. Still, his body appreciated the blood he did manage to drink, feeling his aches and pains from the fight dissipate a little.
His hearing improved enough that he wasn’t as deaf on his right side anymore, though he likely wouldn’t hear much unless it was a pistol going off or something banged on something else. His eyesight… was still very movement based. Maybe it was more saturated and the smallest degree clearer, but he wasn’t sure. A blob was still a blob.
It put him on edge how little these important senses were healing, but he’d also never gotten injured as severely as he had during the fight, never lost an eye or an ear before. At this rate, even if he had a steady supply of blood and iron-rich organs, it’d still take a couple days for his hearing to improve enough to be useful and his eye even longer. But at least the whine in his left ear was gone now.
After what felt like another eternity, Atlas managed to lead Syrus to the West side of Fleet Hall to a side entrance using another side alley. Given the huge entrance staircase in the front, they were about to enter the ‘basement’ of the building.
It was probably the quietest it’d been in their trek, the background noises of Splicers and such nowhere near. And, after both of them had been silent almost the entire time, the sound of the door opening as Atlas tried the handle felt unnervingly loud. Apparently locks meant nothing to Cohen. For this door, at least.
“Well, boyo,” Atlas said quietly, peering inside for a second to make sure it was safe before opening the door all the way and gesturing inside. “Let’s go in and see if Cohen grew a heart, or if his twisted substitute’s stopped beatin’.”
Syrus reluctantly walked inside, foot nudging a discarded coil of rope on the floor as he stepped into the somewhat small hall. Debris and scattered equipment lined the floor almost haphazardly, the lights above shining warmly on the dusty interior. The hall led down and branched in several places, obviously some labyrinthian storage for the theatre.
“We’re gonna have to be real quiet” Atlas whispered, carefully closing the door behind him. With it closed, Syrus could smell the dust and even faint lingering cologne and perfume. “Regardless if Cohen’s alive, there’s gonna be a few Splicers down here. Right now, we’re in the lowest level and have to find the stairs up.”
“Why didn’t we go in the front then,” Syrus asked quietly. There was the creak of a floorboard somewhere in the distance, but it was brief.
“Cause, Syrus, the Little Sister might see things differently, but it sounded to me like the lass and her Big Daddy got ambushed by Plasters. I’d rather not get clobbered over the head again if I can help it,” the human began to cautiously move inward down the hall.
Syrus made an acknowledging noise, thinking that was a fair thought. He’d have questioned how Atlas knew his way around, but the smallest glance around showed an abundance of signs in the hallway. Each room was marked with a plaque beside the door labeling its intended purpose with varying degrees of wear, signs to inform where the nearest exit was, and ones at each branching hall labeling what the sections had.
He followed Atlas as he crept forward with the bent rod in a white-knuckled grip, down one of the halls where the section sign included ‘Backstage Stairs’ in worn letters.
Both tried to stay alert for any Splicers hiding in the claustrophobic maze of halls and doors. If the door to a room was closed, neither worried much about it, walking past rooms labeled things like ‘Cable Storage 12’ and ‘Prop Room 3’, even if there was noise inside. Best to slip by as quick as they could to avoid alerting any lingering Splicers or increase the chances of the door being opened by whoever was inside.
Open rooms and branching hallways were cautiously peered into by Atlas since he was the one in the lead, stopped beside whatever entryway was in question briefly to ensure it was safe before both men continued carefully past.
Once more, minutes stretched painfully with their silent stop and go pace.
Syrus didn’t even bother trying to remember each turn or where they led, grateful for the extensive organization and labeling system in the halls that Cohen created down here. He just followed Atlas until he picked up a sound he couldn’t quite recognize from the next open room, grabbing the human’s arm just before he could look inside. Atlas gave him a confused look.
“Careful,” Syrus’ whisper was barely audible to himself, but Atlas got the message and went from confused to curious. “I can hear something inside.”
Atlas glanced back at the doorway before looking back at Syrus. So far, they’d been lucky enough to not come across any Splicers within the halls, and any Splicers in open rooms were preoccupied with their own insanity or searching the room for some unknown item. After a few seconds of contemplation, the human shifted so that he was pressed against the wall and nodded towards the open doorway to gesture that Syrus could look inside.
The Chupacabra glanced at the entryway and nodded, letting go of Atlas’ arm as he carefully moved around him to look inside. The odd faint sound he heard that he stopped them for continued as he peeked around the doorframe, his good eye finding the source easily.
A Splicer held a knife lightly in its hand and crouched over the body of another, dark red staining it and the floor around the corpse. It was fresh.
Unaware of its audience, the Splicer moved, leaning forward and used its free hand to steady the body as it finished cutting into it. The sound of flesh being cut was what Syrus had heard, as well as it being bitten into as the Splicer plucked its cut of flesh from the corpse and ate it. It shifted to cut another piece from the body and Syrus turned back to Atlas.
As long as the Splicer was content busying itself eating, he didn’t really care.
He gestured to Atlas that it was safe enough, letting the human take the lead again. He kept the Splicer inside in his peripherals as Atlas moved around him, seeing the other man look into the room as he passed with an indifferent look. With how long he’d been here, it likely wasn’t the first instance of cannibalism Atlas had witnessed.
A few more minutes and a detour around a blocked hallway, they finally reached the stairway up to backstage as the hall widened significantly.
The staircase was twice the width of the storage halls, another hall of similar size branching next to it with the sign ‘Large Props’ and the words ‘and Art Gallery’ added to the wall beside it in cursive with blood or paint. The lights from upstairs were noticeably brighter and not a sound was heard.
“It feels too quiet,” Syrus stated quietly, frowning a bit at the silence.
“I doubt there’s gonna be anyone backstage anymore, boyo,” Atlas replied, starting to walk up the steps. “Most everyone’s likely wreaking havoc outside. If you spent potentially decades working for drugs by a maniacal psychopath while being one yourself, I doubt you’d stick around longer than needed to ransack the place for any ADAM and desecrate the corpse.”
“I suppose,” Syrus trailed behind the human cautiously, still straining to hear anything. But he only heard him and Atlas’ footsteps. Though he noticed some blood as they reached the top and saw the aftermath of a bloodbath in the backstage section.
With the stairs at the back of the backstage room, the same size as the impressive stage itself, there were a few meters of relatively clean flooring until the nearest corpse, one that looked like it had been clawing to get to the stairs before it died.
Past that, it looked like dozens of bodies littered the room amongst knocked over and broken props, the floor stained and smeared with blood only hours old. There were even Plasters, broken bodies of flesh and plaster coating scattered around. A few pillars from the third act of the earlier fight were tipped over and broken on several bodies.
“Christ,” Atlas murmured, glancing over the scene and shifting his grip on his metal rod. He began to pick his way over the nearest corpses, steps muffled by semi-dried blood. “This explains why there weren’t as many Splicers downstairs and outside as I would have expected if Cohen’s control of Fort Frolic was gone.”
“Not as many,” Syrus asked incredulously, looking around as he also began to make his way across the room. He figured they’d seen plenty outside, more than he would have thought lived here given that the entire district was a dead zone for the three days he’d spent wandering around. He stopped beside Atlas as the human paused, searching for something among the corpses.
“He’s probably gotten thousands of Splicers over the years – oh, don’t look so surprised, boyo, this place was built to be an entirely functional city under the waves, remember,” Atlas chuckled in amused exasperation when Syrus jolted at the sound of thousands of Splicers, continuing whatever search. “I’m sure he’s never had more than a couple hundred at a time. They’re rather expendable to him. Any Splicer that wanders in has the unfortunate chance of being roped into his service or his art.
“Most wised up to it, of course. Eventually. You’d think that in all this carnage, there’d be one bloody – Oh! Perfect,” Atlas exclaimed, pleased. He tossed his twisted metal rod aside and pried a shotgun from a pile of bodies.
Syrus watched him check it over, seemingly satisfied with the firearm and even finding some intact shells in the pile. He was surprised when the human rummaged around some more, picking something up before tossing him what ended up being a rather bloody revolver. He caught it, being mindful of the trigger, and looked back with a raised eyebrow.
“Do ya know how to shoot, boyo,” Atlas asked, exasperated by his questioning look.
“Can’t say I have any experience, no,” Syrus replied, carefully turning it in his hands. “I only know how to pull the trigger.”
“Right, right… You mostly rely on your physical attributes,” Atlas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. After a couple seconds, he reached his hand out for the gun back and, when Syrus gave it, emptied the bullets from the chamber. He pocketed them and handed the revolver back, saying, “Just point it as a threat, and use it to bludgeon someone if they get too close. You’ve got enough injuries without accidentally hurtin’ yourself with this.”
Syrus frowned, thinking that it was unnecessary, but it was probably to try and make Splicers second guess attacking the duo if they were both armed with guns. He doubted it would work, but there also wasn’t any harm in keeping it on him for now.
Though, speaking of injuries, it brought them back to the forefront of his mind and he glanced at the abundance of corpses around. After the brief feedings earlier, he could refrain himself from the urge to drink. But it would be ideal to try and keep his healing up as much as he could, and if both his stomachs were filled then it should last him a few hours until they could get to a safer space.
“Ah, you’re welcome to do what you gotta do, boyo, I’ll see what else I can scavenge from this mess,” Atlas said, drawing Syrus’ attention. He gestured to a different section of the backstage. “Just, uh, let me know when you’re finished.”
Atlas walked off and began to rummage around the other corpses a small distance away.
Syrus could only guess that the human had noticed or surmised his discomfort at being stared at while feeding and wasn’t going to complain about the other man trying to not make it awkward. He still gave Atlas a glance as he knelt beside one of the corpses and began to feed, drinking deeply of the cold, chemical-infused blood that was still in the body. Surprisingly, it didn’t taste as bad as usual, and he even felt a slight warmth after drinking his fill from two bodies. Perhaps it was because of his injuries, or maybe he was just getting way too used to it.
With another glance towards the human, who was still picking his way through corpses, and a brief internal debate, he shifted to his more feral form and nosed amongst the corpses. It was easier to just bite into abdomens and snap up most of the organs in a bite than it was to use claws to tear into the bodies in his human form to find the livers.
After tearing into a few corpses, he licked his lips of any remnant blood and gore before changing back. The feeling of his bones and muscles shifting and tearing a bit caused him discomfort like usual, but it was overshadowed by his body’s contentment with both stomachs being full.
“Ready whenever you are,” Syrus announced, walking up to Atlas.
The human stood up and turned around from whatever corpse he was looking at, pocketing a few more bullets as he turned to look at Syrus. He glanced him over, replying, “I’m ready to get the fuck back outta this district. You’ve got a little something on your face though, Syrus.”
Syrus reached up and wiped a thumb over the corner of his mouth to where Atlas pointed, pulling it away and seeing a smear of blood he seemed to have not taken care of. Atlas, seemingly satisfied with the action, nodded in approval and began to pick his way over to the double doors to the side of the backstage. As they both got closer, Syrus noticed that the curtain had slashes and a few bullet holes through it, and a small set of stairs back down into the floor with the sign ‘Orchestra Pit’ above it.
Atlas walked up to the double doors, cocking the shotgun in his hands and pressed his hip against the push bar of the right-side door, cautiously peering out into the hall. After several seconds of him glancing out with no sound, he pushed the door open all the way and said, “Right, hall’s clear, boyo.”
Syrus followed Atlas into the new hall and a cursory glance revealed only a couple bodies on the carpet floor of the hallway. Like the storage section, there was a plaque beside the double doors labeled ‘Backstage’ and a sign on the wall that pointed to the nearest restroom, exit, and said the number of dressing rooms and prop rooms on this floor. Stairs were situated across the hall from the double doors to allow ease of access for anyone coming down from the floors above with another sign with ‘DR 200-250, MR 200-205: DR 300-310, MR 300’.
“Where to now,” he asked, wishing there was a sign that just had ‘Cohen Here’ with an arrow that pointed in the direction of the maniac. He hoped they wouldn’t have to hunt around in here through each room to try and find the man.
“Cohen wouldn’t just use a normal dressing room,” Atlas walked over to the stairs and glanced over the directory with a hum for a couple of seconds. “I don’t see it on here, but he likes flourish. Probably on whatever top floor this place has.”
“More stairs then,” Syrus exhaled a bit through his nose, starting to walk up the steps. Atlas, who’d mostly been leading this entire time, didn’t protest and just trailed behind him up the stairwell that folded to circle back to the second floor.
Like the sign at the bottom of the stairs had implied, there were two other floors. The second looked about the same as the first floor from the brief glance they gave it, but the top floor looked more well kept and fancy-looking, probably for big name actors and actresses that worked at the theatre. The only thing ruining the more expensive interior design were the stains of blood and a few more bodies in the halls, the majority in one particular direction.
Atlas kicked the nearest corpse absentmindedly and glanced at Syrus, saying, “Well, I think we know what direction Cohen’s office is in if it’s up here. I doubt the Splicers have been kind to his corpse if he’s actually kicked the bucket… Are you ready to move ahead? There’s no guarantee that Rabbit did this, or if she’s even still here.”
“Not much use stalling if we want answers,” Syrus replied. He didn’t even know what he wanted out of this whole excursion. Was he expecting some kind of closure? A sense of accomplishment? Regardless of the outcome, he was still going to be trapped down here for the time being. He supposed the question was whether it would be with one human ally or two.
Atlas gave him a small nod of acknowledgement at his response, turning to walk down the hall and stepping over corpses in the way. “You want answers, Syrus. I’m here for… moral support, more or less.”
Both of them fell silent as they walked down the hall of scattered bodies. They reached the turn in the hall and there, at the end of the hallway, was a very open room with a broken in door. They each glanced at the other but continued towards it cautiously. It was presumed to be Cohen’s office and when they got close enough, there was a defaced and bent plaque on the wall beside it that wasn’t even properly legible, scratches and bullet holes only broken by ‘Co—ffi—‘.
Before even entering, it felt more posh than the rest of the floor. Or, at least, better taken care of before whatever caused the mess inside.
Scorched spots pockmarked the walls and claw marks tore through clean wallpaper that peeled at their edges, a torn canvas and broken easel on the blood and paint-soaked carpet. Debris and glass shined in the lights of the office from the floor along with several office items that looked like they’d been tossed around the room. And, as they entered the room, they saw that a fancy cabinet from behind the desk inside was tossed on its side with its doors broken and torn off its hinges.
And, they found Cohen. Or who they assumed was Cohen.
The man’s face was blown off, leaving him unrecognizable by facial features, but his suit jacket that he’d been wearing was torn and scattered beside his desk. Like a morbid display, his body was sat on a fainting couch against the wall, held up by a haphazard mess of strings and rope held in place by several items just stabbed into the wall's surface, from a few scissors to a section of metal rod. A pistol was tied to his left hand by a stained bandana, the wrist suspended so that it looked like he was pointing it at his own head.
His shirt was torn open at the chest, flesh marred to read ‘Bastard’ and his intestines were exposed across his lap. Several chunks of flesh seemed to be missing from the corpse, and the exposed intestines made Syrus think that some of the man had been eaten.
Words were painted in blood and paint and some gauged into the wall above the body, each varying in size, handwriting, and severity. Each was an insult or comment, ranging from ‘Fruit’ and ‘Hack’ to ‘man-fucker’, ‘pervert’, and a rather lewd miniature memoir someone scrawled in the wallpaper.
Syrus wasn’t sure whether or not this was the worst display of depravity he’d seen down here. It was certainly the most… creative, he supposed he could say. Probably the only reason he’d classify it as the most grotesque thing he’d seen was the intricate way the body was placed, posed to try and capture a fabricated moment of Cohen shooting himself while the body itself was torn into. The only other thing that came close was probably the displays of Steinman’s perfection attempts that were seen in the medical wing.
He glanced at Atlas, seeing that the man’s face was unreadable and whether this was considered a victory or not was hard to tell. He thought he saw Atlas’ hands shaking. ___________________________________________ << | < |  | >
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radiantepoch · 2 years
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Radiant Epoch: Chapter 33 - Tyce
 “Next!”
 Tyce and Lyra had finally arrived at the performance tent's entrance. A man in a sparkling blue outfit greeted them boastfully and then, in a more pragmatic tone, asked the two of them to display their tickets. After handing the tickets to the man in sparkling blue, his boastful nature returned. The man in sparkling blue smiled and extended his right hand invitingly towards the tent.
 “Go on in. Enjoy the show!”
 “Thank you,” replied Lyra excitedly. “Come on, Tyce! Let's go find a good seat!”
 Lyra swiftly grabbed Tyce's arm and dragged him into the massive multicolored tent. As crowded as the outside area may have been, the interior of the tent appeared to be housing an even larger mass of people. Perhaps some of that was merely perception, as the density of the group seemed to have difficulty fitting within the tent, which created an impression of the crowd being larger than it actually was. However, even with that in mind, it still felt as if there were more people inside of the tent than outside of it, and it made Lyra wonder how they would manage to fit the rest of the patrons in without the tent bursting at the seams.
 As far as seating was concerned, the setup was unlike anything Tyce or Lyra had ever seen in their little village, but the practicality behind the arrangement made sense instantly. In the center of the tent was a open circular space, and surrounding the circle were raised tiered rows of steel benches where the anticipating crowd stood, sat, and walked up to find their individual spot to stake claim for the duration of the upcoming evening show. Lyra had seen pictures of arenas in her various books, and while she didn't know exactly what she expected when coming inside of the Troupe Astral tent, she certainly hadn't expected this. Admittedly, when she reflected upon her idea (or lack thereof) of the tent's interior, the seating arrangements were quite obvious and she felt like a silly country bumpkin for being surprised by something as simple as raised metal seating, but the fact that the troupe was able to set something like this up in a place as remote as Paach was impressive, if just for the fact that she knew that somehow they had to carry all of the equipment required to set up the audience area. To be able to make this arrangement as portable as it would need to be was something she found genuinely impressive, and Tyce, who normally was not at all reflective about such matters, was too having thoughts about how difficult such a setup must be, and couldn't fathom how they could pull off such a feat. The two of them had already become thoroughly impressed by Troupe Astral simply by viewing the seating arrangements.
 While Tyce shared in the spectacle of the seats, one thing he did not notice (that Lyra immediately did) was the lighting situation. The inside of the tent was perfectly illuminated but there was nary a torch in sight. No, the inside of Troupe Astral's tent was completely illuminated by talises with a neutral glow that offered no artificial coloring to the interior but rather made the inside of the tent seem as bright as the daytime sun. The positioning of the lighting was subtle and spread throughout the tent in such a way that one would not notice the talises lest one put thought into wondering how such a venue could be so illuminated as the sky began to darken. Lyra was impressed by all the small little details she was noticing and wondered what else she might be missing that also remained in plain sight. Troupe Astral clearly had the intention of the audience not needing to notice the lighting by the way they positioned the talises, which made Lyra wonder what other steps they had taken to ensure the audience's immersion.
 “Where do you want to sit?” asked Tyce as he scoured the stands. The options were beginning to look more and limited. Everything near the front seemed to be taken up by that point, and while there were plenty of gaps in seating towards the top of makeshift arena, Lyra was hoping to find something a bit closer to the action. She scoured the middle sections of the stands, but none of them seemed to capture her fancy. After a minute or so of scanning the crowd, she saw a spot near the very front that had been obscured by a large man standing a row above it. After he had taken a seat, the pair of spots had been revealed to Lyra's eye, and she immediately bolted towards the prime seating with Tyce closely in tow.
 “How about right up front?” said Lyra with a tremendously triumphant grin.
 “Wow. Right in the center of the action, huh?”
 “You know it! Tyce, this is the legendary Troupe Astral! I don't want to miss even a single second. There's a part of me that worries if I blink I'll miss something spectacular! No, this is perfect. Perfect!”
 “Your lass had the right idea,” said a middle-aged man standing beside them. “I saw Troupe Astral once years ago and it was the most phenomenal thing I've ever witnessed. I never thought I'd see them again, and in Paach of all places. You two are in for a real treat.”
 The middle-aged man was abound with restrained excitement. It was clear to see he was doing his best to contain the anticipation he had for the show, and while he did show himself to be more poised and proper than some of the other guests there to see the troupe, one wondered how long his veneer of calm could last. He eagerly looked at the stage with the same wonder as a small child, which in turn made Lyra and Tyce all the more excited for the upcoming event.
 “Jarvis,” said the man after a moment's silence. He seemed to think it was rude to end the conversation with but a single comment, so introductions were in order.
 “Tyce,” replied Tyce, taking the initiative to respond. “This is my girlfriend, Lyra.”
 Admittedly, it was still taking some getting used to referring to Lyra as his girlfriend. The title felt so official. She was still the same Lyra he had known his whole life, except now they did a few more things together than they did previously. His affection for her had grown, yes, but in some ways calling her his girlfriend felt like it was too big of a descriptor, yet in other ways it wasn't. Lyra was more than just his girlfriend. Lyra was his Lyra, and he was her Tyce.
 “Nice to meet you,” said Jarvis as he nodded his head.
 “A pleasure to meet you as well,” replied Lyra with a light curtsy.
 The three of them turned back to face the center area again. Tyce wondered how much longer it was going to be until the show started. The stage area looked largely barren, aside from two large poles on opposite ends of the circle and a wire above that connected said poles. Other than that, Tyce could not notice any props or setup and wondered if the troupe had yet to complete their preparations for the evening show. As he wondered how long it would take the group to prepare his mind began to wander from the boredom of waiting. Lyra, however, was more than happy to continue engaging with Jarvis for the time being. She could be quite sociable given the right circumstances, and the exciting energy of a Troupe Astral crowd was the perfect place to bring out the more extroverted side of her personality.
 “So you must be a traveler. Paach is a rather small village and I can't say I recognize you. Did you venture far to come here?”
 “Only about fifty miles. I live over in the Earis Hills with my family.”
 “The Earis Hills? I didn't know anybody lived out there!”
 Lyra's voice indicated more excitement than she actually felt, mostly for the sake of being polite and showing respect to Jarvis. The Earis Hills were a fairly uninteresting area known for beautiful sights and not much else. The soil was fairly unresponsive to any kind of large scale farming, and the wildlife there was generally scarce, so there was little reason for any to venture out that far aside from the pretty scenery. As uninteresting as the hills themselves may have been, however, she was indeed curious as to why somebody would bother living in the area.
 “We're the only ones that we know of out in that region. It's quiet and peaceful, just the way we like it. Nobody bothers us. Not even the empire.”
 That made sense. The Earis Hills offered essentially no resource wealth, was difficult to traverse, and had an almost non-existent population. If one wanted peace and quiet away from the reach of the empire's grasping hand, and one could find a way to live off the difficult land, then the Earis Hills would certainly be a fine place to make settlement. The appeal made sense in retrospect, though Lyra herself would never want to live in a place so greatly isolated.
 “Did you travel here with anybody else?” asked Lyra.
 “Nope. All on my own for this venture. My wife didn't want to make the trip and thought it was too much of a hassle to bring the children along,” explained Jarvis. “I tried to tell her that the show was going to be spectacular, and I even offered to take them myself if she wanted to remain home and rest, but she insisted that they were simply too young for the journey.”
 “How old are your children, if you don't mind me asking?”
 “My youngest is only a year old. My oldest a year his elder.”
 “That does seem a bit young for travel,” conceded Lyra. “And they're likely too young to retain any memories of the show anyway, even if you were to take them.”
 “Hahaha! You sound like my wife. That's exactly what she said. You two would get along famously,” proclaimed Jarvis. “Still, I really would have loved to have taken them with me. Becoming a parent changes you. When I was a lad I thought I never thought I'd be so attached to my kin. I never knew my father, so I had no idea what it meant to be one. But when I became one, I loved it more than anything else I had ever experienced in this life. And leaving them behind for the show, why, it felt almost impossible to do. When I was a single man I thought if I wanted to venture without my future children it would be simple and easy, but alas, it was much harder to leave them behind, even for a brief respite, than I thought. I almost didn't have the heart to do it. I told my wife that I didn't need to go to the show at all, that I would stay with her and the children, but she told me if I ended up not going I'd regret it, and she didn't want me to bare that lingering weight on my mind, so she told me to go and have fun. She's truly a loving woman, my wife is. I'm truly a lucky man to have such a kind spouse, and I'm truly  a lucky man to be seeing Troupe Astral again in my lifetime. I'll admit, just being here makes me feel like I'm ten years younger. It's like being awake during a dream.”
 Tyce noticed that the last sentence seemed to trigger something within Lyra. All of a sudden a flash of emotion overtook her face, though the exact emotion was something Tyce couldn't quite pinpoint. Whatever emotion it was, it was certainly different than the jovial and attentive demeanor she had been displaying just a few seconds earlier. She had placed her hand on the side of her satchel and began caressing it softly. However, just as quickly as Lyra's face flashed with the unknown emotion, it was replaced by the same attentive and friendly face she had donned just a few seconds prior.
 “You know, I was talking with some of the people outside, and it looks like lots of folks traveled to Paach for this show,” continued Jarvis. “I was surprised because I always remembered this village as being so small and quaint, but it looks like Paach is becoming quite the mecca for those traveling the Gadeu merchant routes. It's no Joyachieu, of course, but it's becoming an impressive little trade town.”
 Tyce couldn't remember the last time someone had dared refer to New Bismark by its pre-Hafen name, but one look around the tent and it was clear to see that Jarvis was in safe company. Everyone there seemed to be full of so much joy and excitement for the show that lips were loose and people were speaking freely without fear of repercussion from overly zealous imperial soldiers. The celebratory atmosphere of the room seemed to gift each individual with a sense of freedom and peace. Curiously though, Lyra looked like there was still some sort of lingering train of thought that continued to bother her, in spite of the jovial nature of all around her. It's not that it looked like she was having a bad time, but rather that she didn't look to be fully present. Something Jarvis had said had distracted her for a brief moment, and the distraction seemed to be lingering.
 However, that changed in an instant. The talis lights suddenly went dim and a deep, low hum began to emanate throughout the tent. As if driven by some primal instinct the crowd began cheering wildly as soon as the dark chord began to play. The conversation with Jarvis had ended abruptly, but neither Lyra nor Jarvis seemed to pay it any mind. Tyce, as excited as he was for the show, could not help but look to his side to see if Lyra still had any nagging thoughts eating away at her enjoyment, but to his pleasant surprise it looked like his girlfriend was fully captured by the moment and had let go of whatever worries she might have been carrying with her. Lyra looked like she was fully engrossed with the moment, and that, Tyce felt, gave him permission to do the same.
 Suddenly, a light shone on the center of the circle, revealing a lone man dressed like a rainbow. The top-hat wearing man looked up at the crowd and held out his arms, beckoning the crowd to shower him with applause, and the audience obliged his request with extreme enthusiasm. The man began to flutter his hands, asking the crowd for more cheers, and again they did as they requested. After feeling satisfied with the result, the man decided that it was finally time to begin.
 “Ladies and gentleman! Welcome to the greatest show in the world!”
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gretavanfleetposts · 2 years
Text
She Sings Horribly. I Love It.
Author's Note ⭐: Based on this message from someone who may or may not have been asking for this 🤷‍♀️This has a lot of lines taken from that message! Just sort of scattered throughout. Anyway, enjoy!
Content Warnings: swearing
Category: fluff
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- Your Point of View -
When you’re engaged to the lead singer of a Grammy-winning rock band, people assume he’s the one serenading you non-stop. But actually, you loved singing to Josh just as much as he loved singing to you. And you wanted to give back to him a little piece of what he gave to millions of people all over the world.
And also you just loved singing.
So you sang, any chance you got, giving Josh a soundtrack to live his life against, the way he did for you.
It all started the day Josh came back from his first tour after the two of you had started dating. It was the day he first heard you sing.
You had been making dinner in your cozy studio apartment, belting out the words to Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones into your wooden spoon which doubled as a microphone in between stirs. You were totally unaware that he had arrived home a day early, unable to hear the front door opening and closing over the volume of your music playing through the tv.
That was how he had found you: dancing and singing loudly in front of a pan of alfredo sauce bubbling on your stovetop.
You only realized he was home when, mid-spin, you caught him standing in the doorway of your kitchen, leaned up against the doorframe and watching you with a wide smile on his face. He had never seen you like this before. So free.
When you caught sight of him, you gasped in surprise, accidentally dropping the wooden spoon in your hand, splattering you in alfredo sauce as it landed on the linoleum with a wet smack.
"You're home!" you practically shrieked, jumping into his arms to give him a tight hug before pulling back with a look of bewilderment on your face. "You're not supposed to be home yet!"
"Well, I couldn't miss the show, now could I?" he had replied, setting you down but leaving his arms wrapped around you. The smugness was palpable in his voice over having caught you in this position but his smile was nothing but sweet.
"Yeah, you weren't supposed to hear that." You laughed lightly and gave him a playful push on the shoulder but the rosy tint growing in your cheeks gave you away more than you meant for it to.
"Oh, come on, mama. Don't be embarrassed," Josh spoke in-between an assault of kisses over your nose and cheeks and jaw. "Just pretend like I'm not even here."
You wiggled out of his grasp and took his hand, pulling him across the kitchen as you shook your hips and danced backwards to the upbeat tempo of the song. Josh bent over to pick the spoon up off the floor and offered it to you. Taking your microphone back, you continued belting out lyrics, burying your shame deep within you for Josh's entertainment.
And once the floodgates opened and you had grown more comfortable, you never stopped singing around him.
Like the day Josh came home from the studio in a rage. Sure, he'd come home from the studio frustrated plenty of times before but you had never seen him quite this angered.
You heard the front door slam from where you were seated on the couch in your shared home. You turned toward the entryway to see a fuming Josh trudge through the foyer.
"What's wrong, baby?" you had asked him, concern clearly written all over your face.
You could hear him letting his belongings drop to the ground as he walked, not caring that he was leaving a trail of keys, shoes, and wallet behind him. He was just eager to shirk off the day and drown himself in you.
"Jake is so fucking stubborn sometimes, I swear." That was all he said as he struggled to pull off his jacket.
You should have known Jake was the cause of his anger. They often got into it but lucky for you, it never seemed to last too long.
You stood to meet him, helping him take his coat off and taking his face in your hands. He was so beautiful, even when he was angry. His brown eyes always seemed to have so much fire behind them. He was just a passionate person by nature and you loved that about him. And you watched as his face seemed to soften in your hands, beneath your touch.
You reached up with one hand to brush a curl from his eyes and a light laugh fell from your lips at his choice of descriptors for his twin, as if he didn't share in that same trait.
"Yeah and I can't think of anybody else who is equally as stubborn," you teased before pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.
You felt him relax further beneath your fingertips and watched as a smile crossed his face. Playful with a hint of mischief. That was the Josh special.
Taking you by the hips, he pulled you further into him, letting your chest rest against his and his lips hover an inch away from yours as your eyes fell closed in eager anticipation of his mouth moving fervidly against yours. But it never came. Instead, he whispered to you, keeping his face tantalizingly close.
"No, it's just Jake who's stubborn actually. Stubborn and wrong, as it were." When you opened your eyes, you saw that his smile was wide enough then that his teeth flashed and you couldn't help but let out a laugh, trying to hide the affect he still had on you, even after the two years you had been together.
"Come on, mama, let's put on a record," he said, taking your hand in his and leading you back to the living room. "I want to hear you sing. Get Jake's voice out of my head."
You laughed again as he set a Black Keys record down on the vintage turntable that sat in your living room, a large mahogany piece that you and Josh had happened upon miraculously while thrifting in Nashville one day. It had such a presence to it; you both instantly knew it had to have a place in your home. And it got it's use.
Howlin' for You by The Black Keys was the song that crackled to life as he let the needle drop. And that was the song you sang to him as he twirled you around the living room, his stress and anger melting right off of him.
And then there was the night that you first sang him to sleep.
He was tired. In fact, you'd never seen him quite so tired before. He had had a show earlier in the night, the first since the two of you had gotten engaged a week prior, and as you crawled into bed, you glanced at the time on your phone. 3:21 A.M.
You had stayed out way too late at the after-show party and it was beginning to show on Josh's face as he threw back the covers on his side of the bed and joined you. You plugged your phone in on your bedside table and moved to pull the covers up over your shoulder but Josh's hand stopped you.
"Sing to me, mama?" he had asked.
You smiled and nodded, extending your arm signaling to him to lay his head on your chest. He rested his head just above your heart, your arm supporting his neck as your fingers found their way into his soft curls. You could feel his chest heaving up and down with each breath he took. You let your other hand reach up and stroke his arm that was draped across your torso. You felt so close to him. So needed. So loved.
You decided on one of his own songs, Tears of Rain, which you sang softly, careful not to be too loud. And after a while, he drifted off into a deep sleep in your arms.
- Josh's Point of View -
Y/n can’t sing for shit. I love it.
When you’re the lead singer of a rock band, people tend to either try and impress you with their singing, or avoid singing around you altogether. But she doesn’t do either. She just sings because it makes her happy.
And seeing her happy makes wretched days, well, really all days, a little brighter.
Like the day I first heard y/n sing.
I had found her in her kitchen, belting the words to Gimme Shelter into a wooden spoon. She seemed blissfully unaware that I had come home, likely because of the volume of her caterwauling in the kitchen matched by the volume of her background music playing through the tv. It was absolutely shrill and yet it instantly became my favorite sound.
Or the day Jake had been an especially annoying little shit in the studio, not listening to anybody but himself. I always felt bad bringing my frustrations home to her but she always knew how to make me smile. It was her gift.
I had gotten home from the studio that day and knew I just needed to hear her sing.
And she did, to The Black Keys record I threw on. She didn't hit a single note but as we danced in the living room and I listened to her off-key serenading, I knew everything would be okay.
And then there was the time she sang me to sleep. We had come home after an after-show party that went on for about two hours too long. I had asked her to sing to me.
She sang Tears of Rain. Her hand in my hair had sent goosebumps across my skin, as it always did even after years of being together and getting used to the touch. Her fingers had danced lazily across the skin on my arm draped across her chest. I felt surrounded by her. Enveloped by her. Utterly safe and deeply in love with the woman that was holding me and singing me to sleep.
Not a single note was on key. And yet, she sang it better than I ever could.
It took a little while, but eventually I fell asleep, still in her arms, my heart overflowing with love and appreciation for her as she struggled with the highest notes of 'who will bring the rain' just a little too loudly.
Our relationship became marked by so many songs, all of them given more meaning because of her. Even my own. Especially my own. But there wasn’t any one song she was singing when I fell in love with her. In fact, every time she sings, I fall deeper. And I absolutely dread the day that my world falls silent. Or even worse - into key.
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wazzupmrstark · 2 years
Text
instead of you [part eighteen]
pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader
summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.
warnings: swearing, mentions of +sex
word count: 2k
series masterlist
“Sam and I will take the bunk beds.”
The room was a decent size. It was definitely bigger than Sam’s dad had made it sound. A large window on the back wall flooded the space with natural light and offered a view of the city below. By the door was a small fridge and a countertop with a sink and a couple of burners built in so that guests could cook their own meals. There was a queen sized bed jutting out from the western-facing wall and built into the adjacent wall were two twin-sized bunks, one on top of the other, making the room feel... cozy.
Harry and Tom traded looks with each other.
“Kidding.”
The boys visibly relaxed and chuckled awkwardly.
“If I ever have to share a bed with Tom again it’ll be too soon,” Harry sighed.
“Is that any way to treat your big brother?” Tom scoffed.
“I’m taller than you.”
“For now.”
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean? You’re twenty-five, you’re done growing.”
Tom shrugged. “Yeah, but I could always make you shorter.”
“Oh, what are you going to do, cut my legs off?” Harry challenged.
“I never said that.”
“Jesus Christ guys,” Sam said, finally cutting in. “Can we not threaten each other until we’ve had at least a few hours of sleep?”
“Whatever,” his twin grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door.
Tom slung his backpack onto the top bunk and pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, exposing a strip of his stomach in the process. You looked away instinctively, hoping that you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourself while doing so.
“You always get the top bunk,” Harry whined.
“Yeah, because I’m older.”
“That’s not fair!”
“My brothers are actually ten years old,” Sam explained to you, raising his voice so that you could hear him over the bickering.
“No, I think ten-year-olds know how to take turns,” you said dismissively, not missing the glares from the other two Hollands.
“You’re right,” Sam agreed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Reminds me of the family vacations we used to take. The six of us used to share one hotel room when we traveled.”
“Four boys... I don’t know how your mom did it.”
“None of us do.”
“I thought we were going to sleep,” Harry muttered from where he was already laying down on the bottom bunk, clearly irritated.
“Give us a minute to settle in, dude,” Sam shot back before dropping into a whisper. “It’s going to be a long week.”
You shook your head, putting your hands on his shoulders. “Everyone’s just cranky because they’re tired,” you reasoned. “We’ll get some sleep and then grab some food and then maybe they’ll be in a better mood.”
“You don’t know them like I do,” Sam warned.
“That’s true, but won’t they tone it down since I’m here?”
Sam snorted. “Wishful thinking.”
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel gross after being on a plane for so long.”
“I’ll go after you,” Sam replied with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”
You thanked him with a kiss under the watchful eyes of his brothers who both groaned in protest.
“Oh, fuck off,” Sam growled against your lips.
“By the way, sharing a bed doesn’t mean you get to mess around because I don’t want to hear that shit.”
“Harry!” Sam and Tom shouted, Tom going as far as throwing a pillow at his younger brother from the top bunk.
“Just being honest! We heard you going at it like rabbits when you had your own room, and I didn’t say anything about it then-”
“Harry.” To your surprise, it was Tom who cut him off, raising another pillow in warning. Thankfully, Harry took the hint that time and shut up, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.
You smiled to yourself with the knowledge that your little Easy A stunt had worked, and looked over to see that Sam was wearing a matching smirk. He winked at you before turning to glare at his brothers.
“On that note, I’m going to shower,” you said, mostly to Sam, and made your way over to where you had dropped your suitcase by the door.
You gathered a set of pajamas to change into and then wandered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. It was one of those rolling doors so you had to be extra careful not to knock it off its hinges or the track and cause even more noise than necessary. You set your change of clothes on the counter next to the sink and began to undress, leaving your worn clothes on the floor.
The shower was kept in a room separate from the room with the sink and vanity, something you had read was common for Japanese washrooms. Inside the second room was a bathtub with a complicated looking panel next to it. With a closer inspection you determined it was used to fill the bath with water and customize the temperature. The showerhead was secured to the wall just to the side of the tub which meant you would have to hold it while you showered, but you didn’t mind. You were used to holding the showerhead for... other reasons.
Your shower was quick. You didn’t want to take too long when you knew other people were waiting for it. You were drained too. Even as you dried yourself off with a towel you could feel your arms start to get heavier.
You wrapped your hair in your towel and put on your pajamas shortly after, trying not to cringe at the way the fabric clung to your still-damp body. Usually you wouldn’t get dressed in the bathroom right after taking a shower because it was always so humid and sticky, you’d go out in the bedroom to do it, but as Sam’s girlfriend the latter wasn’t an option. So you dealt with the discomfort and ventured back into the main room.
It was dark now. Someone, you assumed Sam, had pulled the blackout curtains shut so that the daylight could no longer stream through the window. Harry was already fast asleep, but Tom and Sam were still awake, scrolling through their phones on their respective sides of the room.
Sam was perched on top of your bed, resting comfortably. He wasn’t underneath the covers, probably because he knew you didn’t like to share a bed with someone who hadn’t showered.
He smiled when he saw you and pushed himself up onto his elbows.
“Shower’s all yours,” you said.
“Thanks.”
You watched him rifle through his suitcase for pajamas and then eventually disappear into the bathroom before finally flinging yourself onto the bed. You still needed to take your hair out of the towel and brush your teeth, but you took a moment to just. Lay there.
Tom didn’t acknowledge you, hadn’t so much as looked at you since you came out of the bathroom, but you still found yourself looking over to him.
At the airport he had seemed at least a little concerned that he would have to share a room with you. Even in the cab to the hotel he kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But now he looked completely relaxed and you were second guessing yourself. Maybe you’d been projecting. Maybe he hadn’t been anxious at all.
You, on the other hand, felt like you hadn’t been able to exhale since Dom had announced that you’d be sharing a room with Sam’s brothers.
It had dawned on you as soon as you stepped into the hotel room that you’d never be able to let your guard down. Before this point you had at least been able to take breaks, retreat to your hotel room with Sam and be yourselves without worrying that one of his family members was around. You hadn’t needed to keep up the act 24/7, but now you had no other choice. It was only for a week, but you knew it was going to be exhausting. You weren’t even sure that your current performance was believable, and that was without all of the more intimate interactions couples had in private. The good night kisses, the cuddling in bed together, falling asleep in each other's arms, the good morning kisses, all things you’d have to take into consideration. Most couples you knew moved in harmony, like they were one person, half of a whole. You and Sam were more like the hands on a clock. You were always moving in the same direction, and once in a while you’d overlap, but more often than not you were facing each other on completely opposite sides of the clock. It was what made you such good friends. Best friends. But what would make you terrible lovers.
To be fair, a lot of people misunderstood your dynamic, which you had been using to your advantage. They assumed that since you were always together you were basically the same person- and they weren’t necessarily wrong. You and Sam spent a majority of your time together. You knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences, to voice aloud what the other was thinking before they even said it.
The vibration of your phone next to you disrupted your train of thought. It was a text from Sam.
Can you come here rq? I need help lol.
Confused, you pushed back the covers and stood up. You dropped your phone back on the bed and walked over to the bathroom, keenly aware of the way Tom stiffened in his bed.
You rolled back the door and found Sam standing in his boxers next to the tub.
“What is it?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.
“How did you figure out the shower? I can’t get the water to be hot.”
“This is what you called me in here for?” you said, exasperation dripping from your voice.
“Yes! I don’t want to take a cold shower.” He said it like it should’ve been obvious.
“Did you try messing with the knobs? That’s how I figured it out.”
Sam’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he pursed his lips, thinking about how to answer.
“Not all of them,” he admitted.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Sorry?”
“It’s the one on the left, dumbass,” you said and twisted the knob for him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to fuck up the shower or anything.”
Men, you thought to yourself shaking your head.
“I’m going to bed,” you told him. “Before your brothers think I’m in here giving you head or something.”
“Let them think what they want,” he said, shrugging it off.
“I want to preserve what little amount of respect they have for me, thanks.”
Sam just chuckled and thanked you again as you let yourself out into the room with the sink. While you were there you hung up your wet towel and brushed your teeth with your finger and the toothpaste the hotel provided. You were too lazy to go get your toothbrush out of your bag.
“That was fast.”
You jumped, hand racing to your heart when you realized it was just Tom. He was still in his bed, but had rolled onto one side so that he could talk to you.
“You scared the shit out of me!” you hissed.
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “What did my brother want?”
God damn it, Sam.
“Why do you ask?”
Tom shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“He needed help figuring out the shower,” you explained.
“Glad he has you for that.”
You narrowed your eyes at the boy in the top bunk. He was trying to get under your skin. Why?
The ball was in your court. You could be the bigger person and let it go, or-
“He has me for a lot of things.” You pushed your tongue against your cheek so that there was a visible outline and brought your fist up to your mouth, moving it back and forth subtly so that he’d get the idea without being too obscene. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?"
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wordsnstuff · 3 years
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Genuine question. It's my understanding the way that JK Rowling 'told her fans that Dumbledore was gay years after the series had ended' was actually because someone on Twitter asked her a question about D. and she replied he was gay. I'm sure as an author yourself, you know authors know a lot about their characters that never actually makes it into the published work. So why do people assume she was pandering, and not just revealing something she'd known all along when someone finally asked?
I just want to preface this by saying that I don't know a lot about this subject, but from what I've gathered, this is what I think:
J.K. Rowling has an obviously bad track history of being an "ally" to the LGBTQ+ community. I have been aware of the Harry Potter series for most of my life, and I was fairly young when she announced that Dumbledore was gay. Of course there was controversy. 2007 was not as safe a time for us in the queer community, so that isn't surprising. I will acknowledge that it is frustrating that she would reveal this very significant information (significant in terms of possible representation within one of the most culturally relevant stories of all time) after the final installment was already completed and released with absolutely no representation in the actual text.
I can imagine that what you suggested, that she may have known that all along, may be true. Only she can tell you, and only you can choose to believe her.
But truthfully, I don't think that that part is relevant to the conversation anymore. Time has passed, and since then, the original film series has concluded. Now, in 2021, I have come to the conclusion that even if I were to give her the benefit of the doubt in terms of Dumbledore having been gay all along, I would still have to reconcile with what's happened since. After 2 feature films in the Fantastic Beasts series, which offers ample opportunity to provide gay representation through Dumbledore's character, why hasn't there been any?
Again, you could argue that the audience should give her the benefit of the doubt. "Well, the production team on the films don't want to jeopardize the market by including gay representation" or "Maybe she wants to incorporate the relationship between Albus and Gellert but the powers that be are preventing it" or even "Maybe they're building up to that plot line in a future film". However, I feel no inclination to give her the benefit of the doubt. Not only has there been no effort to include this fact, which would mean a lot to the large portion of her audience who are queer, but a deliberate avoidance of it.
The second film in the Fantastic Beasts series centered completely on the relationship between Dumbledore and Gridelwald, and the closest it got to representation was queerbaiting the audience who believed Rowling would finally deliver. The truth is, Rowling has had ample time and opportunity to provide representation for the LGBTQ+ community in the works she has put her name on. It's insulting that the best she could come up with was:
1. a queerbaiting sequel in a film franchise she invented to capitalize on her singular stroke of creative success
and
2. a 1000 page gender-revenge mental breakdown which clearly and deliberately used stereotypes that have been used to justify violence, suspicion, and hostility toward trans people for decades.
AND
3. a nearly 4,000 word (prize winning??) tirade making the entire fight for trans visibility and civil rights about her relationship with her father.
All while insisting to all those who criticize her actions that she is an "ally" to our community and that she is simply "concerned" about the youth.
[rant over]
Simply put, she has run out of chances. She has run out of excuses and she has exposed that even if she means well (which, your interpretation of her concrete action may lead to you believe she doesn't), her intentions don't really matter anymore. Any reparation she may attempt in the future will be contaminated by the damage she has caused, which cannot be overlooked anymore. She's thrown it in our faces, time and time again.
So yes, if you isolate the statement she made in 2007 you could probably justify her actions to yourself, but context matters and we have 14 years of context now that we didn't have back then, and it's only made her point of view clearer, and less encouraging.
* I just want to note that I have individually chosen to adopt the word 'queer' into my vocabulary when speaking about the LGBTQ+ community (which I am apart of). If this makes you uncomfortable or upset, please understand that it is a personal decision and while I respect your position, I expect you to respect mine in turn.
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beccascribbles · 3 years
Note
It angst time bby!🤪 Could you maybe pls do a Iwa,Tendou and Tsuki x reader/manager scenario where their s/o gets bullied because they are the manager of the team. Also it goes that far that the girls threaten them to leave the vb club/ end their relationship bevor it will be much worse for them. ( a fluffy end would be nice because I saw lots of angsty fics today kndjsjsna)
a/n - you asked and i shall deliver. sometimes we just have a craving for angst. i’m a little bit obsessed with it myself (think a large part of my blog is angst tbh). and don’t worry, they are fluffy endings i think... hope you enjoy!
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"i can't do this anymore," you sobbed, finally letting the tears fall. iwaizumi reached out for you desperately, hand curling around your waist and pulling you into his chest. his arm, corded with muscle, wrapped around your waist protectively, holding you close to him. his other hand held the back of your head. “i can’t, haji. they won’t stop. it won’t stop.”
“shh,” he murmured, stroking the back of your head as your tears dampened his shirt. part of him was confused, the other part focused entirely on offering you support. he had no idea who this mysterious they was. it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t know, the girls choosing moments when iwaizumi (and anyone who might inform him of what was happening) was gone to be their cruellest. “who’s they?”
you stiffened slightly against him then, mind pulling their most recent assault to the forefront of your mind. taloned fingernails had dug into your shoulders before pushing you harshly, your back hitting the brick wall behind you harshly. rough brick had dug into your back, the pain not enough to distract you from the words they spat at you. you had flinched away, looked for an escape, but there was nowhere to go. one girl, clearly the ringleader, had yanked at your hair, pulling your face towards her.
“you stupid little whore,” she had hissed, letting out a cold laugh at the wince that escaped your lips. “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop managing the team and leave iwaizumi while you’re at it. you don’t deserve him and he sure as hell doesn’t need you.”
her words had been echoed by the other girls with her, and when the tears had finally began to prick at your eyes, they had decided their needs had been satisfied for today. she had turned back to look at you one last time before leaving you with her parting words. “remember what i said. if you want it to stop, you know what to do.”
“y/n?” iwaizumi questioned, his voice cutting through the memory. worry laced his tone, and he had pulled you away from his chest to be able to see your face. you blinked up at him, a dreadful realisation coming over you. you knew how to make it stop. it was simple. you just had to force out the words.
the texture of his skin was rough against yours, his hands calloused from a childhood spent playing volleyball. you wanted to surrender to his warmth, to downplay everything you were feeling, to blame it on some simple reason such as school, anything to be with him for just a little longer. but you couldn’t. it needed to be done.
“i want to break up,” you said, forcing the words out, fresh tears beginning to fall from your eyes. the weight you had expected to be lifted was not. instead, remorse crushed you. for a moment, you struggled to breath, the air trapped in your throat. it was only iwaizumi’s gentle nudging, the way he guided you through your breathing, that helped you regain a semblance of calm.
“no you don’t,” he said calmly, seeing right through you. there was never any point in lying to him. he could see right through any lies that slipped from your lips. “i also won’t let you.”
your eyes widened in fear, her face flashing to life in your brain. your scalped tingled in remembrance of the way she had yanked your hair. suddenly, you began to shake, wrapping your arms around yourself. you let out a wretched sob. “hajime... please.”
“no,” he said, rubbing your arm soothingly in an attempt to calm you. “you need to tell me what the fuck is going on. no hiding from me. we’re sorting this out and i’m going to find out who put such stupid ideas into your head and they’re going to pay.”
you shook your head weakly, but his hands were quick to stop your movements, thumb reaching out to brush away the tears collecting in the corner of your eye. he leant forward, resting his forehead against yours. “we’re sorting this out, okay?”
“okay.”
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really, you should’ve known he would understand. you should have known that of anyone who would understand how helpless you were feeling, how truly you believed leaving the team was your only escape from their torment, was tendou. he had opened up to you, told you about his childhood, his experience with bullies. yet, you couldn’t open up to him, couldn’t tell him what was happening to you.
“why weren’t you at practice today?” questioned tendou, the first words out of his mouth when you opened your dorm room to him. the second thing he did was press a kiss to your lips, his hands going up to hold your face tenderly. “you’re not sick, are you? i hope not, otherwise i shouldn’t have kissed you. i guess we can be ill together though.”
“i quit,” you said, moving away from him and collapsing onto your bed, picking up the magazine you had discarded moments before. you opened it, using it as a shield to protect you from tendou’s gaze. his eyes narrowed as he looked at you. 
“why would you do that?” he asked, moving over to the bed and sitting opposite you, reaching over to remove the magazine from in front of your face. you let out a grumble, though did little to actually resist.
“i didn’t feel like doing it anymore,” you lied, studying the wall behind him. it was painfully obvious you were avoiding his gaze, just further proof that you were lying to him. “it wasn’t fun anymore. besides, i need to focus on school.”
“tut tut,” he admonished, waggling his finger at you. him reprimanding you caused a small smile to tug at your lips, one that quickly vanished when he persisted. “why would you really quit?”
you crossed your arms over your chest, physically turning your body away from him. the quiet rejection did little to discourage him. instead, he reached for your hand.
“i saw you with some girls yesterday,” he admitted, taking careful note of the way your whole body suddenly stiffened. he chose his next words carefully, not wanting you to pull away, to refuse to confirm the suspicions he already had. “you looked upset. are you okay now?”
it was at those words that you finally turned to look at him, fresh tears making your eyes seem to shimmer. it was an oddly beautiful sight, mused tendou, reaching out with care to brush a finger along your jaw. sudden anger twisted your features, shattering the illusion and causing him to jerk his hand away.
“of course i’m not fucking okay,” you spat, yanking your hand from his landing a solid hit the mattress you were both sitting on. “it’s fucking pathetic that i let them have their way just because i was scared.”
you pushed up from the bed, turning around wildly, looking for something, anything, that would ease the emotions currently rushing through you. they were hard to distinguish, coming together to leave you craving for a release. tendou stood up to join you, holding his hands out in front of him.
“punch me,” he stated, stance adjusting so he was properly balanced. you didn’t even question it, balling your hands into fists and launching a fist into his palm. the crack of skin on skin echoed around the room, and you felt the release. he praised you, “solid hit. need to go again?”
you shook your head, stepping forward and leaning your head against his chest, fingers curling into the flimsy material of his shirt. his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.
“what am i going to do?” you sighed. tendou shuffled backwards, pulling you along with him until he was sat on the bed, your legs either side of his own as you sat on his lap. he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up to look at him.
“you’re going to re-join the team,” he explained, before a smirk twisted his features, “and i’m going to enlist some help to go and confront some bullies.”
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he doesn’t say anything to you, doesn’t really do much to acknowledge the tears rolling down your cheeks other than to wrap his arm around your shoulder. you are tugged into his lean body, and are quick to turn your head into his chest to hide your tears from view. admittedly, it was a bit late at this point, the majority of the team having already passed you on their way into the gym. you had simply waved away their concerns, not thinking you could find the words to explain, to tell them you were leaving.
“so,” mused tsukishima, letting your bury your face into his chest, your hands clutching onto the material of his top. ordinarily, he would have told you to stop stretching the fabric. however, you had been off for a couple of days, more withdrawn, and he figured he was close to finding out the reason why. “what happened?”
you let out a stifle, finally looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “i left the team.”
“that doesn’t really answer my question though, does it?” he prodded. something told you he had an inclination at the cause behind it. there was no solid evidence to prove his suspicions, however. all he could go off was the look of trepidation in your eyes, the way you body would tense when certain people approached.
you shook your head, fists clenching tighter. he let out a soft sigh, his other arm coming around your body to hold you more securely against his chest. he reprimanded you softly, “you could have told me, or at least someone else on the team if you didn’t want me to know. i wouldn’t think any less of you because you’re being bullied.”
“they said it would get worse if i told anyone, if i didn’t do what they said,” you hiccupped, relaxing in his firm hold, soothed by the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“y/n,” he sighed, tilting his head down to look at you, “they’re just pathetic nobodies who are jealous of you. do you honestly think they could actually hurt you more if you told someone? i’d like to see them try.”
his hold brought you comfort, and you found yourself calming down. he released you, reaching down to take your hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, dropping a kiss to the top of your head in the process. as he walked back with you towards the gym, he murmured darkly, “i might just give them a small taste of their own medicine.”
“kei,” you warned, hand tightening on his, “don’t.”
“i’m still going to talk to them.”
“you don’t even know who they are.”
“i can guess, or you can tell me.”
you just shook your head, his words bringing a distraction from the emotions still just beneath the surface just as he knew they would.
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arlert-angel · 3 years
Text
love fast, die young ☪
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♡ jean x fem!reader
❥ you know that at any moment your life could be cut short as a scout, and the last thing you want is to die a virgin, so why not ask your best friend that you’re in love with for some help?
❥ wc: 5.8k
❥ cw: near death experience (reader), virgin!reader and virigin!jean, cannonverse but no plot, loss of virginity, slight size kink, cream pie, aftercare, fluff
❥ note: i was invested in the story of this one lol, it's a lot more romantic than i initially intended. they’re aged up, but the cannonverse details don’t make sense for the plot, so let’s pretend it does yay.
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Arriving back from expeditions was always an exhausting feat within itself, sometimes more so than the actual expedition. 
Commanding officers had to count their losses, healers had to tend to the wounded, and everyone who was good enough to stand had to report their kills and assists. Of course that was the immediate tasks that needed to take place, but then came the grief. Friends looked for one another, many people cried, and names could be heard shouted all around as everyone arrived at headquarters. 
You weren't that different, but you were silent as you scanned the crowd looking for your tall best friend. You knew he was with the best of the best in Levi's squad, so you weren't too worried. However, you also knew the previous best had been wiped out before the new group came. 
Anything could happen which made you all the more anxious. 
You and Jean were not on the same squad. You first were offered a position on the Levi squad with the rest of your friends, but then Hange handed picked you to help them with their experiments, claiming they needed your mind to work with them. Hange is very likeable and now one of your closest friends, and at the time it seemed impossible to say no to them.
Hange's and Levi's squad tended to work together a lot and definitely trained together, so you didn't miss your friends too much. It was only when expeditions approached and new formations were made, when you had to be separated from the rest of your 104th pals. 
You never complained about the separation. It wouldn't last forever, maybe a couple days at most, and then you return to laughing and working with the rest of your friends. You had no complaints until this particular expedition.
You had a close call.
In fact, so close, you might as well have kissed Death on the lips while you were so close to the afterlife. 
The mission was going according to plan. It was a simple scouting mission in the mountains that were, for the most part, titan free. Your squad was on the left flank of the formation, near the edge of the mountains. The cliff sides surrounding you guys held a beautiful, yet slightly scary view. The drop had to be at least 300 feet.
You should've known something bad was going to happen as soon as Hange called out, "Hey, Y/N, check it out!" But you weren't thinking that hard, for the day had been so peaceful. 
The path you all had taken was so close to the cliffs that the squad was riding single file for safety. There was enough room to pass one another, but you had to do so very carefully. 
You rode ahead, passing Moblit. You sent him a questioning look as went by, but he only shrugged, not knowing what Hange was raving over. When you slid off your horse and next to Hange you saw what they did.
A very large cave.
"Should we go inside?" Hange looked at you, clearly excited, but it was an awful idea.
"No!" You tried to sound stern, knowing how they needed a firm rejection or they'd always get what they wanted, "Do you see the size of the thing? This looks like a comfy home for a 10 meter titan, maybe even 15 meter class if they hunched over."
"Do you think they'd crawl around in there?!" Their eyes widened and the familiar look that you've seen so many times on their face appeared. It was their usual expression they had when you conducted experiments with them. You swore to yourself how you fed their curiosity on accident.
"What's going on?" Moblit now arrived, wondering what the hold up was about.
"They want to go inside that death trap," You pointed at the ominous cavern in front of you all. 
"You cannot be serious!" Moblit exclaimed in surprise, the volume echoing down the stone and dirt walls. Moblit continued his rant, stating the obvious, but you tuned their debate out. You just stared into what looked like an abyss. 
There was no movement, no noise, not even the breeze seemed to reach here.
But for some reason you had a gut feeling. A gut feeling that saved all of your lives.
"Move!" You shoved Hange into Moblit which effectively knocked them both to the side of the cave and used your ODM gear to swing yourself to the opposite side. 
The large hand reached out as you tried to get out of the way, but because you helped the others you weren't quick enough.
Luckily, the titan's grasp only managed to get tangled in your ODM wire and couldn’t quite reach your actual body. 
Unluckily, the titan was managing to drag you like a ragdoll and if you didn't do anything quickly you would be engulfed in the darkness where it was hidden, and then probably engulfed in it’s stomach. 
You had to think quick on your feet and so you drew your blades and slashed the wire on your gear all together. You could've attempted to slash at it's hands, but that was no guarantee. The wire was sliced with a clean snip.
Now you were free, you stumbled back at the loss of momentum. You took one two many steps back, and that last step didn't hit the gravely earth that the others had. 
Your foot didn't hit anything at all. 
You were about to fall off a cliff. 
Ironic to escape death one way only to quite literally fall into its clutches another way. 
But, you didn't fall. 
Your eyes were squeezed shut in absolute terror, and when you opened them at the lack of free fall, you saw Hange.
They had managed to save you by the front of your shirt, yanking you back on solid ground. Moblit had been keeping the titan at bay, and continued to do so as you and everyone else turned their horses carefully around. 
Thanks were shared by yourself, Hange, and Moblit at the different lucky saves. They praised your quick thinking and response. None of you actually saw the titan coming. You just knew. You seemed to recognize the familiar feeling of dread from the presence of a titan that wanted to eat you. Even if you couldn’t see it. 
Hange continuously apologized on the way back, but it wasn’t really their fault. It’s not like you actually entered the cave like they wanted. And it was probably a good thing you guys stopped when you did. If the group rode past the cave something worse might have happened.  
After that close call you wanted nothing more to find your best friend and have his familiar comfort.
"Y/N? Whatcha still doing out here?" You spun around quickly and saw Connie. 
“Oh, hey! I’m just looking for Jean, have you seen him?” You didn’t want to panic, but it was weird to see Connie without Jean. 
“Yeah! Mikasa killed this titan that had snuck up right above us and it’s blood got all over Jean it was so funny he screamed like a girl. But yeah, he went to the showers immediately,” Connie explained laughing at the memory. You laughed along and wished you could see it yourself.
“That’s funny, I should probably shower too, this mission felt particularly long,” You grumbled more to yourself than Connie, but he picked up on your off tone.
“Did something happen?” He asked genuinely concerned. You might’ve been closest to Jean, but Connie and Sasha were also very close to you. The four you always had the most fun together, and got in the most trouble. 
“Kind of, a titan snuck up on us too, but we were near the cliffs so there wasn’t all lot of room to work with. I almost fell, but on the bright side I overcame my fear of heights,” You laughed, but it was more anxious than joyful.
“Oh shit, that’s awful!” Connie’s eyes widened in horror, “I'll tell Jean to come find you when I see him.”
“What why?”
“You were looking for him right? He’d definitely want to know that you’re okay after that. He worries a lot, you know? It’s always: I hope Y/N okay, where’s Hange’s squad again, I wish Y/N was here, Y/N would love this view. Someone has to tell him to shut up at least once every expedition.” Connie actually did an okay Jean impression as he ranted to you, but you didn’t comment on it. 
You were too surprised. You didn’t know Jean worried about you. He never once came to you with any fears about expeditions. He always asked you what happened, but that’s just a normal conversation. It wasn’t too strange for someone’s best friend to think about them when apart. What was strange was the happy feeling you got knowing that Jean couldn’t shut up about you. A weird fluttery feeling danced in your stomach and you felt almost giddy.  
Connie noticed your lack of response and noticeably paled. 
“Fuck, wait, I didn’t tell you that! Jean’s gonna kill me, Y/N please don’t tell him I told you!” He grabbed onto you, begging. He shook you enough that it got you out of your confusing thoughts.
“Um, okay? I don't see what the big deal is. I think about Jean on expeditions too, that’s not weird right?” You smiled reassuringly and Connie’s whole body sagged in relief.
“Not at all! Have a nice shower!” Connie ran away, actually ran, trying to separate himself from that conversation. He thanked the Walls that you couldn’t read between the lines. 
After that odd conversation you got a change of clothes and towel, and then headed towards the showers. You passed Sasha and Mikasa on the way in and they both gave you pleasant greetings, all parties glad to see each other alive and well.
You tried not to overthink, but the hot shower gave you all the time to do so.
Your thoughts jumped from almost dying, to Jean, to these overwhelming feelings you seemed to harbor.
You knew you loved Jean. You both even told each other sometimes. Your mind never wandered further than viewing Jean as your best friend only because you didn’t think that’s what he’d want. 
When you first met Jean you had a small crush on him, admiring him from afar until Marco introduced the two of you. Once you grew closer and noticed his infatuation with Mikasa your feelings sizzled out in a bitter simmer. Your bitterness didn’t last long though, you were happy you had someone to rely on no matter what. After Marco passed, Jean was your crutch and vise versa. Romance would only make things confusing and besides you didn’t have any experience in the matter. 
But now as you think more and more about him you wondered if those feelings ever went away. You thought about his laugh and stupid tone he gets when he tries to act cocky. You thought about his eyes and how pretty they look in the sunlight. You thought about his ability to read your mind without you having to tell him something’s wrong. He was your person. 
You came to the conclusion that there definitely was something more than platonic there, but there was no certainty he felt the same. He would’ve said something by now. When he liked Mikasa he was so obvious, openly talking about her to everyone. You would’ve known something by now if it were the case, right? You knew he didn’t like Mikasa now, he told you explicitly for some reason, stating you needed to know. He also didn’t talk about liking anybody new. 
Sighing in frustration, you turned off the shower, now squeaky clean. What was supposed to be a relaxing shower just stressed you out because of your stupid brain’s overthinking. 
And it didn’t stop. As you dropped your messy uniform in the laundry, it reminded you of the day.   
Today proved that any moment could be your last. Being in the scouts has always been dangerous, and you knew you were a disposable soldier. You didn’t mind it much, but now you realized how little you had experienced. You had never been drunk, your only kiss was with Marco in a game of truth or dare, and you were a virgin. 
You didn’t want to die a virgin.
You thought of Jean. You wanted to be with him at least once before you died. You didn’t want to die without knowing how it felt to have everything with Jean. Your love for him definitely wasn’t platonic. You didn’t want to die without him knowing.
Your mind made up, you walked the halls with a little more determination than usual. You wandered around for only a couple minutes before running into Eren.
“Horseface is looking for you,” He pointed around the corner. You gave a quick thanks before quickly going in that direction only to collide with the person you were searching for.
“Y/N!” Jean surprised you by pulling you in a tight hug. As he pulled away he took note of the blush that was now on your cheeks, but didn’t comment. He also didn’t let you go completely, leaving his hands on your shoulders. Unable to help himself.
“Hey, I was looking for you,” You smiled genuinely, only slightly nervous now. Even with the giddiness he gave you, he still managed to calm you down.
“Me too, Connie said something happened with your squad, so I asked Hange about it and they told me everything,” His eyebrows were pulled into a worried furrow, “I wish you were in our squad.”
“Me too, but I like being with Hange too,” You stated honestly, “But it’s alright, everything worked out in the end.” 
“Yeah, but you almost fell off a cliff! Y/N if I lost you I’d…” He cleared his throat before shaking himself out of his thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re okay. You said you were looking for me, what for?”
“Oh! Um…” You looked around and saw Eren eavesdropping blatantly with a knowing look, causing you to quickly turn back around, “Can I talk to you in my room about something?” You shift your weight from side to side, visibly jittery. 
“Sure?” Jean was confused and noted you looked more flustered than before, but he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong like he usually could. 
You walked side by side, passing Eren along the way who gave you both a smug wave. When Jean wasn’t looking you turned around and gave him the finger. The walk was silent and your hands brushed each other softly.
Once you were behind closed doors you felt yourself relax a little more. It was just Jean, you hyped yourself up. Even if he did reject you the worst thing that could happen is him make a stupid joke out of everything, but you doubt he would. You knew he at least respected you.
“So, what’s so serious that you needed to be away from nosy Yeager?” So he did see that ass listening, you thought. 
“Well… You know about my close call today… It got me thinking,” You started safely.
“You can think? Like, there’s a brain in there?” Jean acted surprised and grabbed your head teasingly.
“Shut up,” You laughed and slapped his hands away before adding, “It’s serious.”
“Okay,” He took a seat on your bed comfortably, an action that was not unusual, you hung out in each other’s room all the time. He gave you his full attention, no longer joking around.
“I thought about how at any moment we can die, that sounds morbid, but it’s true. And then I thought about all the stuff I haven’t done and all the things I haven’t said,” You explained further, still not getting to the point. 
“So, you want to make a bucket list?” Jean tilted his head, trying to follow, “That’d be fun.”
“No,” You rolled your eyes lovingly, “I, more specifically, thought about all the stuff we haven’t done together.” 
“Oh, you want to make a bucket list together!” Jean perked up.
“Jean stop trying to guess and let me explain,” You laughed and he complied, pretending to zip his lips shut.
“Jean,” You approached the man, invading his personal space, “I don’t want to die a virgin, do you?”
“No…” Jean blushed at the sudden topic change, wondering why on earth you were bringing that up right now.
“And…  I love you, and I know you'd treat me right,” You cupped his cheeks in your hands. You were standing in between his legs now, him leaning back on his hands looking up at you. He was tall, so he didn’t have to tilt his neck that much. 
“I love you too, what are you going on about?” His face was drawn in clear confusion, a cute expression, if he wasn’t being so frustrating. 
“No, Jean,” You leaned impossibly close, your face right in front of his, “I’m in love with you.” 
Then you boldly straddled him before you planted your lips on him.
You were shy, unsure if he would reciprocate the kiss, and it seemed like he wasn’t.  You panicked instantly. Your heart was pounding and you pulled away. You were terrified you screwed everything up. You looked at him and he seemed to be frozen.
“Jean?” You worriedly looked at your catatonic friend whose eyes were wide in shock, “I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry! Please don’t hate me!” You began to try to climb off him, but his hands shot to your hips, holding you in place.
“Y/N, you’re in love with me?” He still seemed to be stunned, or maybe he didn’t believe you, but he held your gaze with serious eyes. 
“Yes,” You made sure to keep eye contact despite the heat that rose to your cheeks, to make sure he knew you were dead serious. 
“Good,” One of his hands left your hips to your cheek. He guided your mouth back to his.
He was kissing you. He was actually kissing you. It was slow and sweet at first. He stroked your cheek lovingly and your lips slowly moved in sync. It was when you repositioned yourself on his lap, accidently grinding into him, when the kisses started to become more feverish. He groaned into your mouth and the hand left your face and found it’s new home on your ass. He squeezed it harshly, making you gasp. He took the opportunity to introduce his tongue to yours. He surprised you when he sucked on your tongue, making a small whimper escape you. 
Jean pulled away, taking in your flustered state with blown pupils of his own. Both of your lips were swollen and you both needed to catch your breath. 
“I love you too, you know?” Jean pushed some of your hair out of your face with a soft smile, “I figured you didn’t feel the same and wanted to just be friends, so I didn’t say anything.”
“I thought the same, or that you might still like Mikasa,” You admitted shyly, looking down where your bodies met.
“Hey,” He tilted your chin so you held eye contact again, “That was a stupid crush when I was kid, and I told you that ended a long time ago, didn't I? I’m in love with you.”
“We were so stupid keeping it to ourselves,” You laughed and Jean openly admired you in what looked like awe. His gaze made you feel bashful, almost wanting to hide your face with your hands.
“We were, I could have been kissing you so much sooner,” Jean mumbled, already leaning back to you. This time when your lips met your tongues danced together immediately. You knew Jean also didn't have much experience, but with the way he kissed it seemed like he did. 
"Did you mean what you said?" Jean pulled away only for a moment to ask before returning right back to your lips. 
You pulled away, trying to decipher what he was referring to. "Wha–" Your breath hitched when you felt Jean kiss your pulse on your neck. He began sucking on a particular spot that made you moan, surprising both of you. 
"You're so beautiful," He commented then explained, "Did you mean what you said about that virgin stuff?" He seemed shy all of sudden, his hands were sliding from your hips to your thighs, almost like he was trying to soothe himself.
"I meant every word," You said honestly, "I want to experience all of you."
"God," Jean seemed to like that statement, "I don't know what I'm doing, so just know I'm learning as I go. Just tell me what you like and don't like."
"Of course," You gave him a reassuring smile, "I'm not worried, I trust you."
"Good," He said again before spinning you around and lightly throwing you on your bed. He hovered over you, not putting much, if any weight on you. He resumed the make out session, but this time letting his hands wander.
He first tugged at your shirt, which you helped him quickly pull over your head. You hadn't worn a bra, assuming your plans for this evening were eating then just passing out. 
Jean seemed to drink your body in, just staring in lust and awe. 
"You can touch me," You tried to sound reassuring, but it sounded more like a beg. 
Jean took your breasts in his large hands and just felt you. You almost laughed at how mesmerized he looked, but that was when he latched his mouth on your nipple. That action seemed to send a current of electricity straight to the heat in between your legs. You arched your back and let out a surprised moan which made Jean quickly pull away. 
"Did I hurt you?" He looked scared.
"No, it feels good," You murmured as you unconsciously rolled your hips wanting friction.
"Oh, that's good," He shot you a grin before throwing his own shirt to the side. He went back to kissing your chest, this time his hand tweaked the nipple he wasn't sucking on, causing even more pleasure. You bit your lip only letting out whimpers, a little embarrassed of moaning so loudly again. 
"J-Jean," You stuttered out, gripping his broad shoulders.
"Hmm?" He hummed, he had been having fun leaving purple marks across your tits.
"I-I need…" You didn't finish.
"What do you need, princess?" He asked genuinely, but his deep tone sent shivers down your spine.
"More, I don't know," You admitted.
"Okay, don't worry," He gave you a peck, "I'll take care of you."
He began taking off your pants, helping you get them off your ankles. He stood to take off his own pants as you admired him. His body was so toned from the life of being a soldier. As you took him all in your eyes landed on the bulge that was very prominent in his briefs and for the first time you felt nerves about having sex with him. 
"Jean, how the hell is that supposed to fit in me?" You didn't even see it out of it's cage, you couldn't imagine that monster in action. 
"It has to fit right? People have sex all the time," Jean looked down at his own dick before looking at your panties with a frown, "I'll make sure to stretch you out with my fingers to help."
"What do you mean?" You blushed as Jean returned his body on top of you, giving you warmth again. This time putting a little more weight than last time. You could feel his restrained cock against you this time. 
"You know, fingering, you've done it to yourself before right?" Jean asked curiously. 
"I've tried, but I couldn't reach any particular spots that made me feel good, so I mostly just got off with my clit," You explained, a little embarrassed. 
"Well, I have long fingers," Jean began to slip off your last item of clothing. You gulped nervously, you now were exposed completely to him.
"So pretty, and you're wet," He groaned and looked back up to you, "Open your mouth."
You almost asked why, but you didn't want to kill the mood, so you complied. Jean slid two fingers into your mouth and you got the message. You wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks, sucking on them. 
"Fuck," He sighed out and you felt him twitch against you. 
He pulled his fingers out and moved them back between your legs. He first slowly thrusted one finger inside you, to get you used to the unfamiliar feeling. The stretch wasn't too painful, and he was definitely right. His fingers were longer. 
He moved the one finger in and out of you slowly at first, picking up the pace as he continued. When he felt you relax completely he added a second finger. This time the stretch was a little more, making you tense.
"You're so tight," Jean was watching your pussy in wonder and slid his body down, so his face was near it. 
"What are you– Oh my God," Jean's lips sucked on your clit softly, then continuously kitten licked it, all while maintaining his finger thrusts.
"You taste good," Jean said it so casually, you'd think he was talking about the weather. He removed his fingers for a moment to get a better taste. He kissed you directly on your cunt before penetrating you with his tongue. He moaned against you, sending vibrations into you. You tried to unconsciously escape the pleasure, your thighs attempting to close, but Jean's large hands held you down. 
He returned his fingers inside you and this time adding a third. It stung more than before, but Jean's mouth on your clit made you forget all about the uncomfortableness. He began curling his fingers inside you reaching a spot that instantly had a knot forming in your stomach. Your hands shot around you, one gripping the sheets and the other in Jean's hair. 
He latched onto clit again and you gave up on trying to quiet your moans, embarrassment be damned, it felt too good.
"Jean," You moaned his name, which only made him moan back in return, "I-I'm going to…" You whined a little, not quite there yet, but right on the edge.
"You're going to cum?" Jean asked, not even completely pulled away from your clit to do so, "Go ahead and cum on my fingers, baby." He quickened his strokes and returned to your clit. It was just enough to send you over.
You grinded into his hand and cried out. Jean moaned too as if he was being pleasured just at the sight of you or maybe it was because of the sensation of your tight pussy clamping around his fingers. He couldn't help himself and licked up some of your release, making you jump. 
He moved back up to you with a content smile, "Did that feel good?" 
"Yeah," You smiled back through half lidded eyes, still buzzing from the pleasure.
He gave you a deep kiss and you could taste yourself on him. Tasting your own saccharine flavor was strangely erotic. 
Jean pulled away, "Is it alright if I take my cock out?" He asked beforehand just in case you changed your mind. 
"Yeah, of course, I want to see the monster that's going to destroy me," You joked and earned yourself a cocky smirk.
Jean took off the only clothing that was separating the two of you. You glanced down and saw his size more visibly now. You were right to be intimidated before, he was huge. Jean seemed to take note of your apprehensive expression so he returned to giving you some kisses in order to soothe you. 
“We’ll take it slow and if it’s too much just tell me,” Jean assured you which helped calm you down. 
“Okay, I’m ready,” Your eyes met as he began to rub the head up and down between your folds, collecting its wetness. He rubbed it over your clit and back down, making you feel particularly tingly. When he started pushing the head inside you had to remind yourself to not tense up, but it was hard. He was stretching a lot more than his fingers did. His cock added an unfamiliar pressure inside you that his fingers didn’t.
“God, that’s just the head and you're already squeezing me,” Jean threw his head back trying to regain composure. It was also his first time and he did not want to embarrass himself by finishing quickly. Also the gentlemen inside him wanted to feel you cum around him first.
He slowly continued to push further in as you grabbed his arms to brace yourself. When he finally bottomed out you swore you could see the bulge on your tummy. He kept still and waited for you to give him the go ahead even though he had the incredible urge to just thrust forward.
“You alright?” Jean's voice was more strained than usual.
“Yeah, why the fuck you gotta be so big, Jean,” Which only made Jean smile and give an apology kiss. You took a few more moments getting used to the stretch when the pleasure overtook the pain. You felt the veins on his cock inside you. You felt so full, but so good. You grinded into him trying to feel more and Jean noticed.
“I’m going to start moving now,” Jean warned and began pulling back before snapping his hips forward. You both cried out how he filled you up, your walls fluttering around him.
The pace was unrushed and steady to begin with. He withdrew his cock only to plunge it back into you, hitting you deep, in a repetitive matter. You felt the pleasure everywhere, all the way in your toes. 
You started meeting his thrusts, moving your hips in order to do so. Jean hitched your leg higher which only made you feel him deeper, hitting a sweet spot that caused you to gasp.
“You can go faster,” You said breathlessly, “Please, Jean, it feels so good.”
“Fuck,” Jean moaned back, his slow deep thrusts turned into a quick pounding. He continuously hit that new spot every time. Your whimpers turned into uncontrollable moans. Not wanting to make too much noise you buried yourself into the crook of his neck, sucking and biting his skin. 
You briefly looked down where your bodies met and saw him pumping out of you, your slick covering his cock and your thighs. The sight made your eyes roll back into your head.
“Please,” You moaned into Jean who brought his hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“Please, what? What do you want, princess?” He grunted a bit after, not once did he lose his pace.
“I want… Ah… Please, I don’t know,” You felt like you could cry, you were right on the edge. You didn’t know what you needed, but you felt too good to try to figure it out. You figured he was close too by the way he was twitching inside your pussy and his thrusts became a little more desperate. 
“Open,” Jean brought his fingers back to your mouth, groaning at the sensation. He kept them there for a few more moments than necessary, just enjoying the way you looked with your pretty lips wrapped around him. 
Then he brought them between your legs and began rubbing your clit at the same pace he was thrusting into you.
“J-Jean, I’m gonna cum,” You grabbed his wrist, almost overwhelmed by the feeling. 
You cried out his name as your pussy milked him, triggering his own release. He groaned your name as he came. You felt the warmth of him spill deep inside you and it made your pussy tremble all the more. He gave a few final thrusts before slumping on top of you.
“Look at me while you cum, princess, come on, cum on my cock,” He encouraged you. You held eye contact for as long as you could, but when that coil in your tummy snapped you had to squeeze your eyes shut in absolute bliss.
“We definitely should’ve done that sooner,” He mumbled into your hair, making you giggle.
“Definitely,” You echoed back.
He slid out of you after that, making both of your bodies shudder at the loss of connection. You pussy still trying to pulse around something.
“I just showered,” You commented with a frown, looking at the mess between your legs. 
“I’ll go get a towel?” Jean offered, and you gave him a nod. He redressed quickly, kissed you deeply, then stated he would be back soon.
You threw your shirt back on while you waited. You felt so sleepy after that. Even though you wanted to feel clean, you wished you cuddled with Jean some more, already missing him.
After a couple more minutes the silence was broken.
 “I knew it!” You heard Eren’s familiar voice shout from outside your door and you sat up confused.
“Shut the fuck up before I hit you!” You heard Jean’s voice shout back and then a few more quieter exchanges that you couldn’t make out from the two men. Then your door opened fast, Jean slipping quickly inside, locking it behind him. In one hand he had a warm towel and in the other he had a new set of sheets. 
“What happened?” You pointed at the door and Jean scowled.
“Apparently those assholes bet on when we’d finally hook up,” Jean explained before cleaning you up. You blushed as he took care of you. Despite what just took place you still felt embarrassed. Jean noticed and just pecked your cheeks.
“That’s kind of funny, we should’ve placed our own bets,” You hummed and stood shakily, grabbing a new pair of underwear as Jean changed your sheets for you. 
“I can’t believe Eren won,” Jean frowned, but when your arms wrapped around him from behind he couldn’t help but smile.
“Will you stay with me? I kind of want to nap,” You mumbled into his back.
“Of course,” You both returned to your bed this time with more innocent intentions.
Jean laid on his back and you threw your arm around his chest and your leg over his, snuggling up into his side.
“I don’t want to die,” You murmured sleepily.
“You won’t,” Jean stated firmly.
“How do you know?” You looked up at him.
“Because we both have something to live for,” He met your gaze softly, before kissing your head again.
You told each other you loved another once again before you both fell asleep. It was a sleep where neither of you had the common nightmare about your untimely deaths. 
Instead it was a sleep where you both dreamt of the future you now could have with one another.
360 notes · View notes
sturchling · 3 years
Note
A maribat no pairing needed but if you want one you can write it in. But basically Marinette goes to Gotham and stays with the bat family. Bruce is leaving hits he is Batman so he can help Marinette with being ladybug
Sorry for the wait! Hope you like it! I decided to make this one a little more funny with a completely oblivious Marinette. Sorry if you don't like her being this oblivious, just wanted to have some fun with this one. I really liked that idea and thought it was funny. I hope you like it too, I had a lot of fun writing it!
Marinette was so excited she was shaking. She had just gotten word that she had been accepted into an exchange student program with Gotham Academy. Not only would she be able to get away from Lila and the drama with the class, but she may also be able to find Batman and get some help with tracking down Hawkmoth. Marinette would be hosted by the Wayne family, who was sponsoring this whole program. Marinette was impressed by Mr. Wayne's generousity. It is really generous of Mr. Wayne to set up and fund this whole program. He must be a really nice man. Marinette wasn't going waste this opportunity. She would enjoy her time in America, and she would definitely find Batman before the program was over!
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Bruce really hoped this crazy plan worked. He had learned several weeks ago about a blog based out of Paris called the Ladyblog. It mainly posted a bunch of nonsense about a girl named Lila who was clearly a liar. But that wasn't what caught his attention. What caught his attention was a few stories posted between the interviews with the liar. These posts were about something called 'akuma attacks' and a supervillain named Hawkmoth who had been terrorizing Paris for years now. At first, Bruce just thought it was more nonsense, like the posts about the liar. But to be safe, he looked into it more, and was astonished to find out it was the truth. He learned everything Hawkmoth had done, all the different akumas, and about the local heroes: Ladybug and Chat Noir.
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He was shocked to see that the heroes defending Paris were just kids. And while they have done great on their own, Bruce could tell they haven't had any kind of combat training. If they go up against an akuma with real training, they would be at a significant disadvantage. Plus, they would likely not have any good strategy to discover Hawkmoth's identity. Even if they keep winning against the akumas, they have to find and beat Hawkmoth or this madness will never end. He resolved in that moment to find these kids and help them. He focused on Ladybug and started to figure out her civilian ID. It took a few weeks, but he eventually found out she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She always disappeared once Ladybug appeared, and there were a few times that a security camera would see her duck into an alley, and then a few moments later, Ladybug would emerge. Once he knew her identity, he began to plan.
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He decided the easiest way to get her to Gotham would likely be something regarding school. At first he thought of a class trip for her whole class, but decided against it. That idea wouldn't work with the rest of his plan. Instead, he set up a student exchange program with Gotham Academy. He would host the student that was selected at his manor for the duration of the program and fund the entire thing. The academy didn't think anything of it, used to Mr. Wayne's charitable acts for the school. His one condition was that he got to choose the student. The academy agreed, it only made sense since Mr. Wayne was funding the program and would host the student as well.
--------------------
Mr. Wayne made sure that the news of the program made it to Paris and was heavily advertised. He even sent the information to Ms. Dupain-Cheng's school. He was sure that she would learn about it and apply quickly. Ms. Dupain-Cheng had seemed like an ambitious student from what he had found so far, so the offer of studying in America would be tempting. Plus if she was as clever as she seemed, based off her actions as Ladybug, then he was sure she would want to come and try to meet with Batman. It didn't take long for Marinette's application to cross his desk. As he approved her application and typed up her acceptance email, he smiled and began the next phase of his plan.
---------------
Bruce knew that Marinette would be very concerned if he approached her about being Ladybug outright. It would be best if she approached him. And here was the problem. She wouldn't approach him, she would only approach Batman. So he needed to have her figure out that he was Batman. He didn't want her to transform into Ladybug and look around Gotham for him. That could cause people back in Paris to figure out her identity, if Ladybug appeared in Gotham at the same time as Marinette. And if Hawkmoth figured it out, that would be horrible. And if Marinette went looking for Batman in her civilian form, it could be really dangerous. Instead, Bruce and his sons were going to make it painfully obvious who they were. They would leave all their equipment out in plain view, all their case files out, he was even going to park the Batmobile outside in the driveway (out of sight of the gates of course, he doesn't want anyone but Marinette to find out his identity). Short of walking around in their costumes, they would do everything they could.
-------------------
Bruce's sons were excited. They didn't have to be careful about their identities around her which was a plus, and after learning that Marinette fighting Hawkmoth with only Chat Noir for consistent help, they were more than ready to help them with the Hawkmoth problem. They had also made bets on how long it would take her to figure it out, and which member of the family would be the one to give it away. They were ready for Marinette to arrive.
---------------------
Marinette had arrived about a week ago, and Bruce's plan was in full effect. But, surprisingly, Marinette hadn't figured it out. She spent most of her time out, walking around Gotham. She had told the Waynes that she was familiarizing her self with the city and also gathering inspiration for her designs. In reality, she was focused on finding Batman. So focused in fact, that she missed all the clues that the Waynes were leaving her. She had walked right past the Batmobile, hardly giving it a second glance. She had picked up some casefiles sitting at the dining table, and instead of reading, or even just looking at them, she just handed them to Bruce and finished setting the table. She had walked in on Jason cleaning his guns in the living room, and instead of commenting on that, just sat down and turned on the TV. At one point, she even came into the gym and found Dick doing an acrobatic routine that only Nightwing would be able to do, all while Tim and Jason were sparing, and Damian was sharpening his sword. They were sure this would get her attention. But Marinette didn't even notice. She just got on a treadmill, put in her headphones and started running. They boys just stared at her. They were shocked that she could be so oblivious.
------------------------
While Marinette was out walking around Gotham, looking for Batman again, the Batfam was having a meeting at the manor. They couldn't believe that Marinette hadn't figured it out yet. At least Bruce could definitely prove that his secret ID was better than Clark's. Marinette's been living with him for months now, with them actively trying to reveal their secret to her, and she still couldn't figure it out. They were running out of ideas and time. The program ended in a few weeks and they had done everything they could think of. Except for one thing. They hadn't thought they would have to be so obvious, but it was clear that Marinette would figure it out any other way.
----------------------
So, that is how they found themselves coming up from the Batcave, in full costume, making a lot of noise to draw Marinette's attention as she sat watching TV in the living room. Marinette came around the corner and looked at them. Marinette's eyes grew wide, and she just stared. The Waynes were sure she finally figured it out. Finally, she broke the silence, saying "Nice costumes guys! You look just like the real Batfam. Nice attention to detail!" Then she just went back into the living room, leaving the Batfam frozen in disbelief.
--------------------
Bruce decided enough was enough, and the family went into the living room, still in costume, and told Marinette their secret directly. She was pretty surprised. She had been so consumed with looking for Batman around Gotham, she never even thought she might be living with him. The night continued for a long time after that. Marinette revealed her secret and the Waynes revealed they had known all along. They told her that they had seen her using the horse miraculous to go back to Paris for an akuma battle, which that may not have been how they figured her out, but they had seen that too. After all the reveals were done, the group spent the rest of the night focused on Hawkmoth and how to track him. Tim got to work immediately and was sure he would have an answer soon, though it may be after she went back to Paris. The rest of Marinette's time in Gotham was spent training how to fight properly, and how to find better places to transform. Marinette soon went back to Paris, armed with better fighting skills, and the knowledge that she now had Batman as an ally in the fight against Hawkmoth.
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jann-the-bean · 3 years
Text
Fluffynightkiller
Day 1: There’s a first time for everything
“Hi welcome to-“ The barista gaped as a violet eyed skeleton entered his coffee shop. He was entranced by how elegant the skeleton maneuvered himself inside the shop. There was something familiar about this violet skeleton, but the barista couldn’t quite place his finger on it.
The other’s posture was tall, straight, and proud. Not a single limb out of place, no wasted energy in unnecessary actions. His eyes slightly narrowed, refusing to make eye contact with others. At first glance many may view him as arrogant, but not to Ccino. He noticed the slight clenching of his fist and his once graceful strides became rigid with every step he took. As if expecting someone to lash out and attack.
The proud skeleton sat at a table distanced from the rest. From his mannerisms it was obvious he disliked socializing with others. Even when sitting he didn’t slouch, his back remained upright, and his hands delicately placed on the table. How peculiar.. Ccino only ever recalled seeing just one other being who sat in a similar position. It was-
*Ding*
Ccino was pulled from his thoughts upon hearing the door open once more. This time a skeleton with no eyelights appeared. He wore a blue fluffed hoodie, with a strange black stain, and white shorts with a black strips on the sides. One of his sockets was half closed while the other fully open. He had a smile on his face which grew to a smirk upon laying eyes on the violet eyed skeleton. But his most notable feature was a bright red soul that was displayed for the world to see. Ccino hadn’t realized he was staring, he only noticed when the other raised a brow in amusement. He placed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie before making his way to Ccino’s direction. The barista gulped, unsure if he’d somehow offended the eyeless skeleton.
“Heya sweetheart, mind preparing us a couple of drinks?” The eyeless skeleton smiled as he placed his elbow on the table while resting his head in his hand.
“O-of course! What w-would you like?” The other responded trying his hardest to stay calm. His soul pounding violently against his chest as his nerves threatened to overtake him.
“I’d like an mochaccino with an extra shot of espresso” he turned to face the violet skeleton. “What do you want, boss?”
“Just get me a black coffee.” Ccino tensed for a brief second. That voice... it sounded way to familiar. As quick as the thought entered his head, Ccino was just as quick to dismiss it. He was working, he didn’t have time to think about non-work related things right now. However, the violet skeleton made eye contact with Ccino. In that brief moment, his stern features wavered for a fragment of a second, that the barista questioned if he imagined it.
The skeleton on the countertop chuckled and turned to face Ccino once more. “Alright, there you have it. One mochaccino with an extra shot of expresso and one black coffee.” The barista nodded and rang up his total. Ccino had told the skeleton he was more than welcome to sit and wait, but the other refused stating that “The view is better from here.” A wave of heat rose to his cheeks. He couldn’t tell if this skeleton was flirting with him, but it sure felt like it. The problem is... he was quite attractive... and charming too. Curse his amorous heart and falling for those who would never return his feelings. Especially for a certain black goopy skeleton.
At some point when Ccino was preparing the drinks the eyeless skeleton had to step out for a minute. The barista had forgotten to ask for a name to call out once the order was ready. He opted to just take the drinks to the violet skeleton’s table. It would probably be better than yelling across the shop trying to get his attention.
“Uhm... I’m sorry. I forgot to ask for a name, but here are your drinks.” Ccino gently set the drinks on the table and carefully ensured not to spill the hot beverages. “C-careful.. it’s really hot.”
Being in such close proximity Ccino noticed a few things he hadn’t before. It appeared that this violet eyed skeleton only had a single functioning eyelight. The other socket was a pitch black, with various cracks surrounding it. Actually, his hands and several visible bones appeared to be fractured. What could’ve happened to such a beautiful skeleton to have so many injuries throughout his body? It wasn’t a question he dared ask. It had to be something personal, and frankly none of Ccino’s business or concern. The violet skeleton nodded to Ccino’s warning but didn’t say a word.
The day passed like any other. Uneventful, and yet again the goopy skeleton had failed to visit. How long had it been since their last reunion? Months? Perhaps even years by now? He knew that Nightmare had used him. He was evil, a manipulator, ruthless, and unforgiving. But, he wasn’t a liar. From their very first encounter he was honest about the basis of their relationship. Ccino was good source to replenish his negativity, and in turn he wouldn’t harm him or his au. At least not in any physical way. The barista new he was being used, knew that the other didn’t see him as anything else but as a charging port. And yet, his silly little heart grew fond of the other’s presence. Perhaps it was because Nightmare was the first person he spent continuous time with. He became illusioned that for as long as he was alive he would have a companion of sorts.
Yet, one day he stopped showing. Sure Nightmare had the tendency to go weeks or months without visiting. However, this time it had been longer than usual. Ccino waited and waited until he slowly began losing hope. Perhaps, the other found a more suitable companion? Maybe realized the Ccino wasn’t worth being around? Decided it was no longer worth his effort to visit his pathetic AU just to see him? Tears burned the lining of his sockets. He shook his head and wiped his eyes. No, now isn’t the time for this. He still had to close up his shop- Ccino paused. Wait, those two why are they still here? He was referring to the eyeless and violet skeleton of course.
Strange, well they were newcomers and most likely didn’t know the shop hours. The barista removed his apron and gently placed it on the countertop, before making his way towards the two strange skeletons. “E-Excuse me.. I’m so glad you decided to support my shop today. But, uhm, it’s time for me to close for the day. You’re more than welcome to come back again tomorrow. I-If you’d like to of course.”
The two didn’t answer. It appeared as if they were contemplating what their response should be. A sinking feeling began to form in Ccino’s non-existent stomach. Were they going to rob him? He didn’t have much to offer just the money in the register! He could defend himself if needed but- he was outnumbered. Maybe he could manage to escape and call for help-
“Actually, we were hoping to talk to you in private.” The eyeless skeleton stated, his soul wavering for a brief second before shifting to an upside down heart. It was so beautiful and captivating. That Ccino had to resist the urge to be lost in its marvelous glow.
“P-pardon? You w-want to talk to me? About what exactly?” The barista was rather confused. He’d never seen these two in his entire life! How did they know about him? Were they maybe some of those ‘special’ people that Nightmare talked about? How they could travel to different universes? But what would they want with him?
“Well, being honest he,” the eyeless skeleton pointed to his companion. “Was hoping to have a conversation with you.”
The skeleton in mention tensed and averted his gaze from Ccino’s. It was clearer now that he was up close. The violet skeleton exhibited signs of slight anguish and remorse in his delicate facial features. But they were quickly concealed once again. No sign of pain, guilt, anxiety, or any other emotion were visible in the single eyelight.
The violet skeleton sighed before returning Ccino’s gaze. “Ccino.. it’s been a while hasn’t it? How have you been these past months.. perhaps even a year or years now? Hard to keep track of time in the void” The barista froze upon hearing his name slip past the violet skeletons mouth. How did he know his name? Did he introduce himself earlier? No, he didn’t think so... maybe his apron? No. He took that off. Then.... how? “You appear to be surprised. Well.. that is to be expected I suppose. How would you ever recognize me without my black attire.”
Ccino drew in a quick breathe. His body already having processed who exactly this skeleton was. Hot tears filled the lining of his sockets and spilled down his cheeks. His body trembled as his mind finally realized his identity. “N-Nightmare...?”
Nightmare tilted his head in acknowledgement. Smiling as if he were praising Ccino. “I’m impressed.. but you were always smarter than you looked.” A pause. Nightmare once again averted his eyes, a flicker of doubt flashed in that violet orb of his. “I didn’t come here to waste your time. So I’ll cut to the chase. As you can see, many things have changed since we last met. Clearly I’ve changed... and more than physically.... But.... I’ve done terrible- unforgivable things and I’m not some naive fool expecting mercy or to be saved. Yet, I do believe that you.. at the very least deserve an apology.”
Nightmare rose from his chair his eye never breaking contact with Ccino’s. “I sincerely apologize for my actions, and for using you to my own benefit. As I said, I’m not looking for forgiveness. I’m far beyond that. Don’t worry, you’ll never see my face again and you may live your life as you please. You are no longer shackled to me... you are free.... and this is my final goodbye.” The violet skeleton turned to face his partner. “Let’s go, Killer. We have overstayed our visit.”
Ccino couldn’t believe what he just heard. Was nightmare apologizing to him? Did that actually just happen? The once feared and powerful being in the multiverse had just apologized to him. I guess there really was a first time for everything. He blinked a few times resulting in fresh tears to stream down his face. Wait.. goodbye? Did that mean.. as in forever? No... No! No! No! No, he couldnt! He just got back! He just came back and now he’s leaving again? Now that was just cruel... how cruel and yet Ccino still couldn’t bring himself to hate Nightmare. His presence only succeeded in confirming what Ccino already knew. That he was in love with Nightmare.
Killer jumped to his feet and placed his hands in his hoodie. “Awe, you sure you want to leave so soon, boss? I don’t know, I’m sure there’s plenty to do here. Besides, how could you leave that cutie behind-“
“NIGHTMARE!” Ccino called out his voice cracking from the his sobs he continuously failed to hold back. Nightmare turned around to face the skeleton when- SLAP! The noise of Ccino’s hand making contact with Nightmare’s cheek echoed in the near empty shop. Nightmare and Killer were frozen on the spot. Killer wasn’t sure how to react. He was caught off guard and didn’t see it coming. He was half expecting Nightmare to crumble on the spot from his various fractures.
“T-that’s for everything that you’ve done to me! For using me! For leaving! For having the nerve t-to come back, apologize, and only to leave again! Y-you just want me to pretend like none of this ever happened don’t you!? To forget about you!!! Well guess what!? Screw you!” Ccino furiously rubbed his eyes trying wipe the tears away but to no avail. All his bottled emotions had erupted to the surface and there was no way to seal them away again. “How dare you?! Who d-do you think you are?! To just waltz in and out like you please!”
Nightmare turned to face the crying skeleton. He was more than confused. He was certain that Ccino would have been delighted to know he had been liberated from the chains of negativity. Free from him. He hurt him so many times, used him for his own personal gain, and never cared for his well being. So, why was he so upset now that he offered him freedom? He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted when the small barista wrapped his arms around the violet skeleton.
“P-please... please stay! Please don’t leave me!” Ccino wailed as he clung to the skeleton before him. He dug his phalanges into Nightmare’s top refusing to let go, because if he didn’t hold on tight.... surely he’d disappear again. “I-I don’t want you to go! I don’t want to forget! Please! Please! Please! I’m begging.... Don’t a-abandon me.... n-not again.....” The white eyed skeleton trembled as he pleaded for Nightmare to stay. He knew it was hopeless he was begging for the impossible. All his cries and efforts for him to stay would be in vain. But, what else could he do? He had to try because maybe, just maybe the outcome may be different.
Nightmare was frozen, hands stuck in midair as he heard Ccino’s heartbroken cries. Ccino didn’t want him to leave...? Why? Why would he want him to stay? The very being that tormented him for his own amusement? Nightmare was at a loss. What should he do? Ignore the crying skeleton and leave once more? Or should he stay? Either way he wouldn’t be able to permanently stay in this AU. He’s made many enemies who would stop at nothing, until they saw him and those around him perish. He knew this, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave right now. How could he just leave this fragile skeleton? Ccino always made things more difficult then they should be. It would’ve so much easier if he resented him and despised him. He should’ve screamed for him to leave- to never come back. But no, he was begging him to stay.
Something warm and wet trickled down Nightmare’s cheek. Panic settled in for a brief moment. Was he bleeding? How? He didn’t have any injuries! He quickly touched the liquid with his phalanges and was confused to see a clear substance with a tint of violet. It wasn’t marrow/ blood. Then he realized the liquid came from his sockets... was he crying? His eyes widen slightly. He was. Post his corruption he hardly ever shed any tears. Just once with his twin brother when that forsaken curse had finally been broken. The emotions he thought he’d locked deep in his mind had resurfaced with immense intensity.
Nightmare’s body moved on its own accord enveloping the weeping skeleton into his arms. He gripped his sweater tightly trying to ground himself, fearing he’d lose himself in his own overwhelming emotions. The two skeletons wept in silence as the eyeless one watched with a solemn expression. His soul flickered and wavered as he attempted to suppress his feelings. It was painful. Watching the one he cared for hurt, knowing he wasn’t the cause but another, and seeing for the first time another skeleton suffer because of their feelings for the violet skeleton. It was.. heart wrenching.
The two skeletons cried for hours until they could no longer produce tears. The smallest skeleton ridden with exhaustion lost that battle against his heavy eyelids. He rested his head against Nightmare’s shoulders, feeling a sense a protection and safety in his firm arms. “Don’t.... go.....” the barista pleaded one last time before succumbing to fatigue and drifting to sleep.
Nightmare held the small skeleton firmly in his arms. He glanced at Killer, who had faint black tear streaks on his cheeks. Then back to Ccino who, still in his sleep, clung to him desperately. For the first time, he was at a loss on what his next course of action should be.
Wooooo! What a way to start fluffynight killer week don’t you think? I know it ends on an angsty note but I thought it was fitting! This has actually been one of my few favorite stories to write! Hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!
This story was inspired by some incredible headcanons and by Zu’s comic lodestar! Wouldn’t have been inspired to write this story if it weren’t for them <3
Killer belongs to @rahafwabas/ @rahofy-sketch
Nightmare belongs to @jokublog
Ccino belongs to @black-nyanko
Fluffynightkiller week by @help-im-a-gay-fish
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spacedikut · 3 years
Text
the blessing of a blizzard ; spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader
summary: a blizzard leaves the team holed up in the bau office. spencer can’t stop thinking about your elusive boyfriend, mike, who might not be your boyfriend after all. 4.3k
a/n: festive fic! kind of! im too scared to do a final check so if there’s errors or i misuse pronouns just lemme know ily happy holidays ! thank you to the incredible @homoose for helping with dialogue :D
Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.
Full name Michael, Spencer presumes, which comes from Hebrew meaning “who is like God?” A rhetorical question, implying there is no person like God, Michael was one of the archangels in Hebrew tradition and the only one identified as an archangel in the Bible.
What Michael should mean, however, is the guy that stole your heart and left Spencer thinking things very unlike him – that Mike, a man Spencer has never met and that clearly makes you very happy, has a really stupid name, for example.
There are three things Spencer knows about him:
1. Ever since you started deciding on his wardrobe, ladies love him. It makes you a little jealous, apparently.
2. You love baking him homemade treats whenever you can. Like a movie playing in his head, Spencer can perfectly remember you excitedly chatting with Garcia and Emily, animatedly explaining how excited Mike gets when he sees you’ve made something just for him.
3. Mike can be a bit of a dick, actually. There have been several mornings you’ve come in with a long face, leaning back in your desk chair far enough to view the world upside down and whining about how grumpy Mike was that morning, how you had to tip-toe around your apartment lest he get mad.
You’d called him your soulmate, added that he’s a light in your life you didn’t know you needed until you had him. You’re a person who chooses their words carefully, so when you’re walking around putting Mike and soulmate in the same sentence, you mean business.
That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently. Because you’re busy showing JJ pictures of him on your phone right now, blissfully unaware of the subconscious glare Spencer is lasering into your phone as he leans against the jet counter.
Spencer’s never had the honour of seeing Mike (a genuine word you used – honour) and you know what? Spencer doesn’t want to know what Mike looks like. Spencer doesn’t care. Mike’s probably ugly, anyway, and Spencer’s confidence within himself grows day by day and if there’s one thing he’s learnt recently it’s that comparison is the thief of joy and-
“Oh!” JJ exclaims, “He’s gorgeous!”
Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.
+++
The floor is slippery beneath everyone’s feet, the surrounding area slowly losing its mixture of colours to blend into one coat of white.
It’s snowing.
Garcia greets the team, a steaming cup of tea in her bejewelled hands, and everyone gets to work right away. There’s whispers of the snow getting heavier and sticking and covering more and more ground with more and more depth; people are rushing against the proverbial clock to get done and get home before they’re all stuck.
But that won’t happen, right? If people were genuinely concerned about getting snowed in, surely everyone would’ve been sent home early as a precaution. Right? Right?
Wrong.
Rossi’s the one to notice it, calling out, “Check it out. Snow’s pretty bad.”
He says it like it’s nothing, like they’ll race to the windows then deflate with disappointment because you couldn’t even create a single snowball with that light coat, but holy hell people are walking around with snow up to their ankles and it’s still coming down thick. And then the lights are flickering and JJ is making frantic calls home to Will and Hotch is exiting his office, phone pressed to his ear, calling everyone to attention:
“There’s a blizzard incoming. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be on the roads, so we’re being told to sit tight. You should all try to call home, just in case; we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”
Some people still brave it, still try to head on home, and whether they make it or not is up to the Gods. The team glance around, varying expressions – Emily and Derek look pissed, JJ is worried, and you and Rossi are straight-faced. Penelope is bouncing in excitement.
“It’s like a sleepover!”
All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.
+++
Spencer’s straining his neck, butt barely on his desk chair, in attempt to see around all the bustling people that stand between you and him. Through the glass BAU doors, on the phone, your shoulders are slumped and you kick your boot against the floor a few times to channel your multitude of emotions into something. He hopes Mike isn’t giving you a hard time for something that isn’t within your control.
Emily looks up from her monitor, where she’s doing Christmas shopping even though it’s Christmas Eve, and looks thoroughly amused by Spencer’s internal battle of wanting to watch you but not wanting it to be obvious.
“You good, Reid?”
Spencer flinches like Emily pinched him. “Yeah, good. Fine. Are you good?”
Emily makes a show of slowly turning to look at you, still on the phone, then slowly turning back to Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze. She smirks. “You think they’re talking to Mike?”
Yes, Spencer does think that, but he’d made a point to not fully acknowledge it. And there’s something about Emily’s smugness that tells Spencer she’s teasing him – she knows something he doesn’t and it makes his eyes narrow. “Probably. Why?”
Whatever the response is, Emily’s barely opened her mouth before she’s interrupted by Penelope Garcia gracefully clapping her hands, getting the attention of every BAU member. The team quiets and all eyes are on Penelope. Except Spencer, who watches with concern as you sneak back to your desk, a furrow to your brow and downward dips either side of your mouth.
“I know these are less-than-great circumstances, and we’re stuck in work of all places, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t have a little fun! So…”
She wildly gestures for Hotch to step forward, a cheesy grin on her face and a gleam in Hotch’s eye that tells everyone he’s also smiling but internally, and she takes the three large boxes he was carrying like the good sidekick he is.
“We’re building gingerbread houses!”
There’s exclamations of surprise and joy; Emily lights up at the idea of doing anything other than work or sitting at her desk, and JJ takes a box to look it over before asking, “Where did you get these?”
Hotch answers. “They were supposed to be for the kids,” He shrugs, holding back a smile, “However, I guess we can use them now.”
“Yes,” Penelope nods, “Yes, we can use them now. Get your game faces on, because this is a competition. Hotch and Rossi are the judges, because they’re grumpy old men, and the rest of us will be in teams of two fighting to build the best gingerbread house the BAU has ever seen.”
Derek speaks up for the first time, just to insult Spencer. “I refuse to be on a team with Reid. He has no creative skills.”
Members of the team laugh and Spencer reacts indignantly. He wants to reply, but you’re already speaking.
“Hey! I’ll take him! Spencer’s great.”
Many heads snap to you when you speak, Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.
Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.
+++
So, building a gingerbread house? A little more difficult than originally thought.
Maybe it’s the sticky icing, or the temptation to simply eat all the sweet decorative candy rather than use it for its intended purpose, or…
Maybe it’s the pretty teammate Spencer has that keeps brushing against him, keeps brushing against his hands, and like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts other than: Y/N.
Spencer caught you watching him while he was rolling up his shirt sleeves, caught you staring at his hands and trailing your eyes up his forearms, following the sleeves as they moved inch by inch up to his elbows.
Then, when Spencer was holding two pieces of gingerbread together, you were too lost in thought to put the icing between the cracks and cement them together. Your eyes were trained on the fingers pressing the pieces together. Spencer had to call your name three times to wake you up.
Then, something weird happened (if the previous instances weren’t weird enough). You two had been in your own bubble of hushed tones and accidental touching, surrounded by bickering and collapsing houses and at one point Emily offered Rossi twenty bucks if he just votes for her and JJ without them making a house, and suddenly it’s silent. All he can hear is his heartbeat, his blood pumping in his ears, and all he can feel is the warmth of your breath on his ear because you’re right there, over his shoulder, joining him in hunching over your creation to decorate it with all kinds of shapes and colours.
The close proximity is too much. It’s too much.
You lean even closer, shoulder and arm pressed directly against Spencer’s, and lift another hand to place a miniature candy cane next to the gingerbread door. The action causes your hand to brush Spencer’s, and for the first time ever he’s not jolting away like he’s been electrocuted, no, his hand stays there, hovering, waiting and hoping for more.
Hoping for more of you.
And you seem to realise, too, that Spencer’s reaction is abnormal. He can’t decide if you’re testing the waters, or if it was a mere accident. But what are you testing the waters for? Why are you trying to touch him? Why do you want to touch him?
He takes a sharp intake of breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees you turn to look at him, and he almost doesn’t reciprocate. Almost.
You’re so close, face so close to his own. You take the softest breaths, in and out, sending the gentlest puffs of air onto Spencer’s lips.
He has no idea what the fuck is happening. He doesn’t want it to stop.
Your eyes, always shining and full of an emotion Spencer can’t decipher, dance around his face – his eyes, to his nose, stopping on each cheek, back and forth and up and down. Spencer’s captured by them, unable to tear himself away, which has become quite the habit since he’s known you.
Then you’re looking at his lips.
Spencer blinks, hoping to clear away the obvious hallucination he’s having, but no. Nothing changes. Your gaze remains, unwavered, making Spencer subconsciously open his mouth. The softest gasp leaves it when your pupils dilate.
This is the perfect moment to kiss, right? Right here, in front of the gingerbread house you made together, decorated together, and now begin the start of something else together. It makes sense, it’s almost poetic, and Spencer’s thought about you and him in a relationship enough times to consider this opportunity good and sweet enough to regale everyone with in the future.
Can you imagine it? “We had our first kiss in front of the gingerbread house we slaved over together. We won the competition, too.”
There’s a loud clang – Penelope found an actual gong from somewhere – and Rossi announces that the timer has gone off and it’s time for the judges to vote for the winner.
When you gently pick up yours and Spencer’s creation and take it to a cloth-covered table, where Rossi and Hotch ominously stand with their arms crossed, Spencer is frozen in place.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
There’s no way you wanted to kiss him. It isn’t possible. You’ve never looked at him like that before. It must’ve been a mistake.
But you were so close…
No. If Spencer made that move, it would’ve ruined everything – your friendship, the festive fun, the atmosphere of the entire evening. Everyone’s expected to be stuck here for at least another six hours, and making it tense and awkward was not something Spencer is willing to do.
But your eyes…
Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.
Your boyfriend, for example.
You have a boyfriend. Mike.
Of course, you were probably thinking of Mike. Your boyfriend.
Spencer almost kissed someone in a relationship, and he’s pretty sure you almost kissed him too.
+++
Much to Derek’s chagrin, you and Spencer win the gingerbread house contest.
Penelope was baffled, frantically gesturing to the Jacuzzi she made with icing and- Derek made miniature weights? Somehow? It looked chaotic.
“Practicality, my dear,” Rossi told her. “Who, living in a gingerbread house, is worried about working out?”
Even though you and Spencer were the winners, Derek and Penelope and their pouting (and calls for a rematch) took the attention away from the obvious awkward tension between the winners. Spencer stayed at the desk you worked at while you took your house to the judges, stayed at the desk when you were crowned and stayed at the desk when you cheered.
You looked at him, wide grin and happy eyes, and all he could do was tightly smile back. Give a thumbs up.
He gave you a thumbs up. You nearly kissed less than ten minutes prior. And all he could do was give you a thumbs up.
The light in your eyes dimmed, but you seemed to understand.
Understand what, exactly? Spencer’s not so sure either. But something clicked in your head – you nodded to yourself as if confirming whatever you’ve concluded, and turned your back to him.
That was an hour ago. Now, the team has spread across everyone’s desks. Turns out, Hotch is a big fan of gingerbread - he’s consumed most of Derek and Penelope’s creation, icing and all, while Rossi has decided now is a good time to open one of the many bottles of whiskey he has in his office.
Spencer believes having that much alcohol in your work environment is breaking some kind of rule, but the snow isn’t letting up and it looks like a sleepover in the BAU office is likely. He deserves a little whiskey.
And where are you in all of this?
Spencer won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t had you in his line of sight the entire time, so he’ll recap what you’ve been doing: laughing at Derek’s jokes, plaiting Penelope’s hair, eating the candy Emily and JJ didn’t use on their house.
You’d left the room to call home and check up on things (check up on Mike, Spencer thinks bitterly) and now you stand in front of the large window by the BAU elevators, watching the snow fall.
Spencer has the perfect view of you through the glass doors. When the call ends and you stay there, he grabs a paper plate, grabs one of the walls from yours and his masterpiece and makes his way towards you.
He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll even act, but he wants to talk to you. Things feel weird after the almost-kiss, and Spencer never wants things to be weird with you. He can’t have things weird with you. You hadn’t talked to him once since the competition, and he has a feeling you’re waiting for him to make the first move.
So he does. If that’s what you need, he’ll do it.
(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)
“Hey.”
Spencer’s voice perfectly matches the snowy atmosphere. It makes you feel warm inside, like you’ve just taken a sip of hot cocoa, and so often he’s left goosebumps on your skin just from speaking.
Seeing the outstretched paper plate in his hand, you take it gratefully. “Hi there. Thanks.” You nod to the gingerbread that you begin breaking up.
You hand him the first piece even though he brought it for you, and it’s silent while you both chew thoughtfully and watch the pure white outside. It doesn’t feel weird, necessarily, standing here, shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but you’re certainly more in your head than usual. You’re thinking a lot and, as much as it hurts him, Spencer knows you’re likely preoccupied by your boyfriend and not what transpired between you earlier.
It’s that thought, that disappointment settling into his chest, that opens his mouth unconsciously: “How’s Mike? Does he know you’re not making it home tonight?”
He regrets it immediately, worsened by the way you stop mid-chew, eyes dimming like Spencer’s taken a baseball bat and shattered the lights inside.
This is unchartered territory – talking about Mike with you – and you know it. Who, in their right mind, willingly asks the person they have feelings for how their relationship with someone that isn’t you is going? Does Spencer enjoy pain?
Although this is the first time Spencer’s mentioned Mike to your face (he’s mentioned Mike plenty to a laughing Derek), he’s been so close to presenting the topic many times. He wants to know so badly – wants to know how well Mike treats you, really treats you (he will profile you), if you see a long-term future with him and if not, on average how long does it take you to get over your exes? Just an estimate?
You swallow the gingerbread you’re eating. “He’s okay. My roommate has to take care of him, but at least he’s got someone.”
Huh?
Since when do you have a roommate?
And why is your roommate taking care of your boyfriend?
Oh. Guilt blooms in Spencer when it registers that he’s been thinking ill of a person that might be sick. No wonder you dote on him so much and seemed devastated to make that phone call home earlier - Mike needs you, you can’t be there for him, and you feel horrible for it.
Spencer feels horrible for having the subject of his anger be someone you so clearly cherish, so deeply love. He’s embarrassed that if he was asked to explain why he hates Mike so much, he’d have to tell them it’s because Mike has you, and you’re what Spencer wants. What about what you want?
“Take care of him?” Spencer asks. The concern is genuine, which is an emotion he never thought he’d have in regards to Mike. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh,” You shrug. “He needs someone watching over him at all times, that’s all.”
That’s all?
You continue. “Make sure he eats – and only eats what he’s supposed to. Give him his meds. Make sure he poops. Those kinda things.”
What?
“Your… roommate makes sure your boyfriend poops?”
Now, Spencer knows what you look like when you’re confused. Honestly, he has every facial expression you’ve graced him with tucked away in a proverbial box he spends too much time thinking about. He knows that when you’re trying not to laugh, you bite the inside of your left cheek. When you’re frustrated but need to present a professional front, you bite the inside of your right cheek. Happiness fills your entire face, like every inch is consumed by it, and you’ve trained yourself to transport anger to your hands, where they twist into tight fists and leave fingernail marks in your palms.
Confusion is one of his favourites (second only to joy – for obvious reasons. Have you seen your smile?) because it takes many forms. You’ve pursed your lips, narrowed your eyes, tapped your foot on the floor. When you do them all, Spencer considers it a jackpot. There’s something about the way you look when you’re presented with something you can’t quite figure out yet, when you’re perplexed, that just-
You make it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t be a genius when you’re around because you’re so pretty. You’re a vision and he can never rattle off information to you specifically because he will trip up and divert to talking about the beauty that is you and that would be embarrassing for many reasons.
But this type of confusion? The way you’re looking at him right now? He’s never seen this before. Your jaw has dropped, your brows are furrowed so deeply they might fall off, and you look… horrified.
“My… my boyfriend?”
Spencer mirrors your expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Mike?” He looks around, waiting for cameramen to jump out and tell him he’s being pranked, because why don’t you know who your own boyfriend is?
You move slowly, placing the half-eaten plate on the windowsill before turning to face Spencer fully. You take a second to compose yourself.
“Mike is my cat.”
Mike is…
“And he’s having digestive issues, so he needs to be watched pretty much full-time.”
Silence. Tense, weird silence.
“…You thought Mike was my boyfriend?”
Spencer sputters, then, because of course he did! “Yes! The way you talk about him was… it was… it seemed…”
He flustered, oh so flustered, hands flailing and face enflamed and burning from the inside out. How had he not known?! How had… how had your wires gotten so convoluted, so mixed?
Does everyone know that Mike is a cat? Is Spencer the only one out of the loop? The look Emily gave him earlier, that knowing too-smug look, was that…
She was making fun of him. She knew he thought Mike was a person, not a pet, and was teasing him because of it.
All at once, the world seems lighter and dimmer – a contradiction that leaves Spencer’s chest heaving – because the past year feels like a lie. He’s spent so long seeing the way you come to life when talking about Mike, sitting opposite you on the jet as you awaken like a dying flower watered when home got closer and closer, and it was all for… a cat?
There’s a mist over Spencer’s eyes as he recalls every overheard declaration of love and coos of how handsome Mike is, and you’re laughing. Spencer’s having a crisis in front of your very eyes and you’re laughing. Hunched over, a single tear falling from your eye, clutching your stomach because it hurts from the ferocity of your giggles.
By the time you quieten, your hand is over your mouth to cover the big grin that grounds him, gives him something other than this revelation to focus on. Spencer’s still baffled, frazzled, but there’s the tiniest of smiles on his face because of how overjoyed you look. And he did that. Albeit his stupidity did it, but Spencer’s stupidity nonetheless.
You’re out of breath. “God I… I don’t even know what to say. You really thought my cat was my boyfriend?”
Spencer’s fighting a smile, lips wiggling. The way you’re looking at him now, all blinding smile and crinkled eyes, alleviates him of any anxiety he earlier had. Like you’ve wiped away his plate-full of worries, all the times it felt like he took an arrow to the heart, all the times he caught you smiling at your phone because you were looking at pictures of Mike, it’s all worth it. Because you’ve never looked like this while talking about Mike, and Mike is a cat. He isn’t a person, isn’t your boyfriend. Mike is a cat and Spencer has a chance.
Spencer has a chance.
“Does this… this means you’re single, right?”
A somewhat terrified look overtakes his face.
“Oh, shoot, you are single, right?”
You bite your lower lip and nod. “Yes, Spencer. I’m single.”
He lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He repeats your nod, realises what he said could imply, and starts shaking his head. “Not-not good good. You’re incredible and need to be appreciated, but… good, because that means we could, you know…” He gestures vaguely. God, why can’t he get coherent words out? “If you wanted to, we could-“
“Are you trying to ask me out, Spencer?”
“Yes.”
Just to cause immense emotional distress, you raise an eyebrow, mischief clear on your face, and wait for him to continue.
“You want me to actually ask?” He winces.
“I’ve spent the last year convinced you didn’t like me, so, yes, I want you to actually ask.”
The new information sends ice down Spencer’s back because what? Since when? “You- what?“
“I’ve liked you for a while, Spencer,” You cross your arms over your body, slightly embarrassed. “But you always kept your distance so I did too, I guess.”
“I thought you were taken!” Spencer exclaims. “If I’d known I would’ve-we could’ve- I would-“
“You’d what, Reid?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, but there’s no denying you’re incandescently happy.
He takes a deep breath and asks what he’s wanted to for far too long. “When this is all over, would you like to go on a date with me, Y/N?”
Relief flashes in your eyes, like you didn’t fully believe what was happening until he finally asked, and words have never sounded as pretty as when you say: “Yes. Yes I would.”
Like lovesick idiots, you stand in front of the window with the snowfall as a backdrop, grinning at each other. You can’t help it – you lean up, press a kiss to his cheek that immediately sets his skin ablaze, and fall back onto your feet with a smile sweeter than all the sugar you’d consumed today.
“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”
Somehow, despite the nerves and the way his heart is trying to leap into your hands, he manages to tell you, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”
+++
(Three weeks later, Spencer meets the Mike. Turns out he’s a nice guy. Spencer takes the first opportunity he can to apologise for all the bad things he said about him behind his back. The purring tells Spencer he’s forgiven)
+++
tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @prettyboy-reid @shadyladyperfection
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capt-spooki3 · 3 years
Text
By The Witch's Grace
Chapter Two
A Sbi "choose your own story" fanfiction
Click here for story description
Warning: cursing, mention of knives
4.5k words
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The morning came faster than Y/n anticipated. Waking up to the early morning sun in their eyes and the soft chirping or singing of birds was normal. But what they didn’t expect, after years upon years of being alone and fearing any other human contact, was to hear soft voices coming from the direction of their kitchen. They got up slowly from bed, the anxiety building up in their chest even more as Poppy wasn’t lying on the bed as she was very morning. A knife laid on a dresser on the far end of their room that they snatchd quickly before creeping out their already open door and moving as quiet as they could down the hall. They took a good look at the spare rooms with the doors wide open when they usually are always closed.
They stopped at the end of the hall that led to the kitchen and dining room area to listen to whatever voices were speaking. Their brows furrowed, foggy recognition swirling in their half asleep and anxiety wired brain.
“Phiiillll I’m cold! Can’t you just, you know, make Wil go mess with the fireplace?”
“Tommy- shush! You’re gonna wake Y/n up. And no, we can wait until they are up. I don’t want to get into their things.”
“Hi Poppy, oh you are so cute, is your owner up too? Oh you’re cute.”
“...meow.”
Finally, it clicked in their brain and connected it to the people they let stay last night. Relief flooded through them in a wave causing them to let out an audible sigh, the voices in the kitchen immediately going quiet. Barley audible muttering followed before soft footsteps approached the hall and they felt their body tense up at this.
Suddenly a tusked face filled their vision and had them pinned to the wall before they could even think, his expression had them too terrified to move anyway. The grimace on his face was intense, pink eyes filled with concentration and they could swear there was a growl from deep in his chest. From this close though, they were able to see a bit of scruff growing along his face, it really was pink too like the hair on his head. He was off of them in an instant though as he recognized them as anything other than a threat. His features softened fast into something almost friendly. Almost.
“Ah- sorry, didn’t know that was you why do you have a dagger?” His sentences merged as his eyes settled to the knife they held at their chest. The hardened look beginning to return to his features, shifting ever closer to intimidate them.
“I- h-hold on, no no, it’s not. I’M not-” They panicked and pressed themself farther against the wall, breath growing faster and eyes darting around to find and escape. They knew they were no match for a man as large as him and would have no chance trying to fight.
Maybe choosing to trust the bunch so fast really was a bad idea.
Out of the corner of their eye, they could see Phil slide into view. His hair tied back and a spatula in hand with the the top of his robes off his top and showing the casual short sleeved shirt underneath.
“Techno, let them go, it's fine! I’m sure we just startled them, we're new here.” He said in a scolding voice to his son who looked at him in concern. Phil sighed and walked up to Y/n, guiding them past Techno and into the kitchen with a kind look and smile.
“Besides, remember they said that they haven’t had people home in a long time. I don't blame you one bit Y/n, I’m sorry for him. A bit protective, that one.”
They gave a soft laugh to accompany Phil’s laughter and walked to the kitchen counter to put the knife down. Looking over, Tommy was turned around in his chair to watch Phil in the kitchen and Wilbur who was across from him, wearing round thin rimmed glasses, waved at Y/n with a smile to which he easily received a wave back.
“Good morning, hope you slept well.”
“Gooood morning!” Tommy said with a raised hand to be a gesture of hello.
They nodded and looked over the food Phil had put together to cook, the thought of it being poisoned hung in their mind for a bit before they turned back to the boys.
“I did sleep well, thank you. I hope the four of you did as well, the snow storm must have left you all cold last nig- OH! It’s cold in here! I'm so sorry, let me go throw some wood in the fireplace.” They rushed out and started to hurry toward the main living area before Wilbur shot up, making them stop to look at him.
“Hey no no, just tell me where the wood is. I can do it.” He offered, briskly walking over to them and putting his hand on their shoulder. The tension in their body must have caught his eye because he retracted his hand.
“Oh um, it’s downstairs. The room you all came in through last night. It’s stacked against the wall.”
“Great, I’ll be quick.” Wilbur smiled and raced off, he must have been cold with how eagerly he ran off to get the fireplace up and running.
“Thank you uh- Wilbur!” They called out after him, not even knowing if he heard them. Shaking away the worry, they turned back to Phil who was busy cooking.
“And Phil, you didn’t have to cook. I can take over for you-”
“Absolutely not!” He raised up the spatula to emphasize his point, wings puffing up a little where they were smaller feathers next to where it connected to his body. That’s when they noticed how the shirt he wore was made specifically to accommodate his wings. The back was almost entirely cut out of it but connected around to appear like a normal shirt from the front.
They sighed and walked over to the counter, holding onto it as they leaned forward a tad.
“Can I help then?” They pressed but Phil wasn't able to retort before Tommy was breaking his little bit of silence.
“Or you could come talk to me, I’m bored as fuck over here. Come! Come, sit. I have questions.” He said in an intrigued tone, making both Y/n and Phil laugh a bit. They gave in and left Phil to cooking reluctantly and sat across from Tommy. He spun around to face them and his hands in front of him  with elbows on the table. 
Direcrecting their attention past Tommy, they watched Techno walk to Phil and lean on the counter to talk with him. Tommy was quick to get their attention again though.
"So what do you think of women?”
“Excuse me?” Y/n said with a laugh, not expecting the question. He just leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he let out a big breath.
“Hah… you’re pretty cool. So far. But! You see, a lot of people find me rather annoying when they first meet me. You don’t think so, do you?” He pressed and looked them square in the eyes.
“I mean- no. No you seem alright, pretty nice I’d say.” They were genuine. They wanted to be friendly with these people if possible, maybe make a friend, but their guard was way up still. There was still the small possibility the bunch was out to hurt them.
“Really!? Hell yes- oh I knew you were one fantastic individual.” Tommy exclaimed, getting up out of his seat, movements being very lively and animated. Wilbur walked up behind him to push him back down into his seat by his shoulder.
“Don’t worry you’ll find him annoying soon enough.” Wilbur shoved his younger brother a bit and looked at Y/n. They laughed and met his gaze, finding it odd just how much of his undivided attention he was giving them. He cleared his throat and looked away quickly and turned to speak in Phil’s direction.
“Um, so I checked outside to see how the snow was fairing. It’s still a blizzard out there and the snow is thick.” Wilbur looked back to Y/n with a sympathetic look. “Y/n I think we may have to overstay our welcome until the snow dies down and melts off a bit.”
“It’s no issue, you all are welcome to stay until you’re fit to leave, besides,” They stood up, looking at the family, “Maybe this will give me some good karma or something for the future.” Tommy scoffed and made a quiet retort they couldn't make out but didn’t waste time asking him about it. Y/n passed by Wilbur, giving him a friendly tap on the shoulder in return for his action earlier, and grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter.
“Phil, thank you for cooking, but that is all for you four okay? I have to go feed my livestock.”
“Y/n it’s freezing-” Phil tried to stop them but Y/n stubbornly butted in.
“I know, I’ll be fine though. Wouldn’t be the first time.” They took a chunk out of the bread and bit into it before setting off to get feed for the animals.
It took no time for them to get a large bucket filled with feed, they recently stocked up so there wasn’t any worry of running out. Quickly, they ran down to the basement where Poppy had run off to much earlier to give her food. Once they came back upstairs, they grabbed and carried the rather heavy bucket to the door so they could put on their cloak, hoping it would be enough to keep them warm.
With a deep breath to prepare themself, they lifted the bucket and went to open the door.
“Wait. Don’t go running off just yet.” Looking back, Technoblade was walking down the stairs and pulling on a thick shirt that seemed like it was one worn under his armor. He shook out his hair from the shirt and grabbed the bucket from Y/n who in turn looked at him. Surprised and rather confused.
“You didn’t really think Phil was going to let you walk out of here that easy did you?” Techno said with a soft laugh to himself, looking down at the feed thoughtfully as he answered himself, “No, he’s a stubborn man.”
Y/n couldn’t fight a smile, seeing the formerly guarded individual become soft at the thought of his father.
“Mhm clearly.” They added before opening the door up to thickly falling snow. The occasional strong gusts of  wind weren’t helping their situation either. “Sure you wanna join though? It’s not gonna be easy.”
Techno pushed past them into the freezing land that was their property, not seeming to care about even helping them and wanted to get this done.
Y/n closed the door, flipping up their hood and trudging out after the large man. The snow was easily covering their ankles already and still growing with no sign of stopping. They bumped into Techno's back when he stopped suddenly and looked up at him, backing up a little as they hadn't been looking out where they were walking.
"I don't know where I'm going." Techno said loudly over the wind in a tone that indicated they should have been in the lead in the first place.
"Oh- right um," They looked around to see where they were before walking closer to the tree line so they could walk along it. "It'll be this way!"
No words were passed between them from that point. Y/n tried to ask him questions on who he and his family were or where they came from when he was close to them, but the man only would grimace before walking on to empty the bucket for the few sheep they owned. The chores were done much faster than usual, not having time to sit and enjoy time with their animals in such weather.
Thankfully, Techno was quick to leave Y/n's presence once they passed through the doorway. No awkward standing around. Though they didn't blame him, he wanted to be back with his family other than a stranger. The feeling was mutual to an extent.
After ridding themself of the wet or dirty clothes and replacing them, they snuck down the hall to see what the group was doing. Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy were sitting at the table. Phil and Wilbur had empty plates in front of them while Tommy was still working on his food. The three of them were chatting quietly and occasionally one of them would wrangle Techno into the conversation who stood against the wall near the table, eating his own breakfast. They all looked so at peace here, like it was the first time they could just sit and chat and enjoy each other's company. 
Not wanting to intrude, even though it was their own home, Y/n left back down the hallway that connected the three rooms. Formerly the rooms were used for storage, but it wasn't too much of a mess to clean once it was needed. They didn't have the time to get out two old futons they had last night so, silently they worked on moving the makeshift beds in hopes to make the family's stay a bit more comfortable. With that idea in mind, Y/n spent the rest of the day until the evening with their mind on autopilot as they cleaned and tidied up the two rooms. The only thing making them stop was the deep rumbling of their stomach.
Smoothing out a blanket on the futon, they reluctantly left the room and trudged down the hall. The feeling of hunger and overworking themself was finally kicking in now. Entering the kitchen, they were surprised to only see Phil, sitting at the dining room table and peacefully reading an old book that they had long forgotten on the nearby shelf.
"Hey Phil, where are..the boys?" Y/n hesitated, hoping he wouldn't mind them referring to his sons as such. His smile as he looked at the book spoke all the words of reassurance Y/n needed.
"They are outside playing in the snow since it's not a blizzard anymore. Been a while since they have gotten the chance. What about you mate?" He looked up from the pages to look them over, "You seem tired."
"Ah, a tad. But I was going to make supper. How are you all with goulash?"
"Excuse me?"
"It's a type of soup, one my Oma taught to me. I'll make it for you all tonight, it makes a lot so it's perfect." Y/n said, their tone light. There was a bit of excitement in being able to cook for them. Something new. 
Phil closed his book and made his way into the kitchen, watching as Y/n scrambled around to make sure they had all the ingredients and mumbling to themself.
"I can help if you'd like." He offered and they stopped, contemplating it for just a moment before giving a quick reply.
"No, I've got this. You could keep me company though if you'd like. You seemed a little lonely."
He leaned back against the counter as he watched them work with ease. They must have made this recipe enough to have it memorized.
"Well I was thinking actually."
When he stopped, they looked at him to see him looking intently at them. 
"How can we repay you?"
"What?"
"I owe you my life, we would have frozen to death. You know that, Y/n. Please, how can we repay you for your kindness." Phil insisted with an intense look in his eyes. It was clear to see he put a lot of thought into the justification of repaying them.
"Well...I think you all will be spending a bit here so how about I get back to you on that, okay?"
He looked unsatisfied with such an answer, almost pouty with feathers fluffing a bit as he huffed.
"I just have to think about it, I promise!" They laughed as they tried to console him. "You clearly don't have anywhere else to go anyway. Not like I'll just kick you out once the snow clears." 
Phil didn’t seem like he was expecting to hear such a kind reason as instead of making some retort, he went quiet. A conflicted look on his face, he crossed his arms close to his chest. Staying quiet, but not leaving the kitchen while Y/n cooked. They didn’t try and press him to talk either with the new information of him desperately wanting to repay their kindness. It was a heavy thing to ponder. Do they abuse this? Or would it be smart to give some sort of half hearted and kind offer? Maybe they could ask for them to stay.
An unclear amount of time passed while they cooked, mostly in their mind and so was Phil it seemed, but the loud opening and closing of the door followed by Tommy's voice, as he almost raced to the kitchen, told them the boys were done outside.
“Holy fuck, I’m starving and that smells so good!” He ran over to see what Y/n was cooking, the childlike excitement and happiness was simply sparkling in his eyes. When not receiving a reply, Tommy looked up at Y/n quizzically which snapped them out of their trace.
“It’s goulash.” They told him and offered him the wooden spoon they were using to see if he wanted to taste. He looked at the spoon then them and seemed unsure on if he really was allowed. “It’s good.” is all they said before moving the spoon toward him again.
He took the spoon and tried the amount that was on it for him. His response came rather quick after taking a second to process the new taste.
“That’s really good, is it done?” He asked eagerly and looked at them. Y/n couldn't help but giggle a bit, almost giving in and ruffling his hair, but instead walked around him to grab five bowls and spoons so they could eat.
“Yeah, it is. Where is Wilbur and Technoblade? Did you leave them out there?”
Tommy just rolled his eyes with a little scoff, reaching over to gently take a bowl from Y/n’s hands.
“They got all pissed off at each other and are trying to kill each other in a snowball fight. I TRIED to get them to come inside, but noooo. Finding out who would win was more important.” he mumbled more, something about Wilbur and they heard their own name mentioned. Even though they couldn’t hear what was said, Phil sure did as he piped up quickly and reached over to lightly smack Tommy on the arm.
“Tommy!” He hissed with a displeased expression.
“Ow! What the hell!" Tommy glared back at Phil but after a second of silent communication between the two, he just sighed in defeat, “That was too much I’m sorry. Don't want Wil to beat my ass.” He snickered and Phil couldn’t help but join in a little. He kept a hand on Tommy’s shoulder when he reached over to take a bowl for himself.
“Thank you Y/n, I don’t mean to put the pressure on you to do this, but maybe you could yell at those two that it’s time to eat? I feel like they might listen to you.”
“Oh, of course. I hope you both enjoy it, I’ll be right back.” They set down the bowls, giving the spoons an extra tap on the counter with a glance back at them to tell them that is where the spoons were once they got their food. With that, they made their way to the front door, not really knowing what to expect. Y/n took in a deep breath and swung the door open just to be greeted by a hard snowball in the chest. They staggered back a step out of surprise, their hand on their chest then looked up to see Wilbur with his hands over his mouth and Techno dropping his arm full of snowballs as he doubled over laughing.
“OH MY GOD! Oh god- I am SO sorry!!” Y/n could see his face flushed red with embarrassment from here. They laughed a little at the situation and decided to take a bit of pity on the snow covered boys and not give into the urge to hurl a snowball at him
“Yep that’s- that’s alright. I just wanted to tell you that supper is ready, get your asses inside.” Their tone was light hearted as they brushed off the left over on their shirt.
“Right- right I’m sorry again, we will be right in!”
With that, Y/n closed the door and immediately heard bantering back and forth from the two though it was too muffled tpo make out the words. They made their way back into the kitchen to finally relieve their hunger to immediately be questioned.
“The fuck happened?” Tommy turned himself halfway around the chair, the same one he sat in this morning, to fully soak a possible scene.
“Well I opened up the door and got caught in the crossfire of their little battle out there.” They spoke while fixing their bowl, hearing Tommy wheeze out with laughter, “Needless to say, they are coming in soon.” 
As if summoning them, the front door opened up. Y/n hopped up on the counter to eat their food and see the boys walk in. Techno was first, raking a hand through his messy and wet hair with Wilbur right behind him. With the snow rapidly melting on them it was soaking their clothes even more.
Snickering a bit, Y/n turned their attention to their bowl, “I put all the spare clothes I had in both of the rooms. Please go change.” They sounded more like a mother than anything and Tommy sure found that hilarious as he busted out laughing again, leaving them to go change.
Nearly no time passed and they were back to get their food, Y/n being right there to direct them where the utensils and bowl were. The two went and sat at the table and the family began slowly chatting about little unimportant things. To Y/n, the peaceful chatter was pure music to their ears. As much as they hate to admit it, they deeply missed the little joys of a domestic life with others. Just the little daily things and being in the company of other people.
Happily, they ate in silence while the family was enveloped in their happy little bubble of conversation. Even once finished, they stayed on the counter and listened to the conversation until Poppy trotted into the kitchen with a big meow to tell Y/n she was hungry for her dinner. The meow was loud enough to make Wilbur stop talking to "aww" at the cat. Y/n hopped off the counter and washed their bowl before turning back to the cat.
“Alright baby, are you hungry?” Poppy meowed again and impatiently walked around so Y/n would follow her into the basement to eat. “Okay, you all can wash the bowls when you’re done. I’ll be in the basement if you need me. There is a set of stairs in the ground floor that leads to it.” With that, they waved the family off and followed their excited and meowing feline down to eat.
About 30 minutes had passed and they were sitting in the basement where  they had their magic things stored and three book cases which were filled. They sat in one of the two plush chairs that sat between the three walls of books, humming a soft song while flipping absentmindedly through a book and trying to find a certain page. Poppy was full and laying on their lap fast asleep
“Um, hey. Y/n?” Came the soft calling of Wilbur as he took a few steps down the stairs and meeting eyes with them. He looked around the room as he was curious to what it looked like but returned his attention to them. 
“Hi, do you need something?”
“Well, no, but the others are going to bed and I wanted to know if..” He trailed off, walking down the stairs to nearly the bottom while staring at all their books. "If I could come read with you, actually.”
Y/n was taken aback a little, but frankly the idea sounded nice. 
“Of course, I’m sure You will be able to find something here you like.” They  watched him walk to the farthest shelf from them and skim over it, trying to find a book.
“You know, I was never given the chance to sit down and read like this. But I’ve always wanted to learn,” He plucked a book off the shelf and turned it around to show them the cover, “About music.”
“Really?”
“Really. It has always been a topic that has enticed me. I used to write little songs in the small bits of free time I was so graciously granted.” He exaggerated as he plopped down in the chair beside them, not so slyly looking them over and smiling before getting comfy and opening the cover.
“I guess you’re in luck then, I have five or six other books on music and I think two that are filled with sheet music.” They said in an offer to him before flipping back through the book to find their desired page.
A few minutes of comfortable silence went on between them, Y/n occasionally seeing him look at them out of the corner of their eye. He took in a deep breath and adjusted his glasses then rested his head on his hand which was propped up on the arm of the chair.
“Do you play?”
“Excuse me?”
“Like, an instrument.”
“Oh, well, I used to. I played guitar though it’s been at least a year or two since I’ve even tried to play anything.” They laughed a little, glancing at Wilbur who was scanning his book.
“Have you been interested in learning anything else?”
“Oh absolutely, though I don't think I have the expenses to buy a new instrument from anywhere. At least not here.”
Wilbur hummed softly in reply, obviously thinking over their reply though the conversation died out after that as he seemed to become engrossed in the pages whilis Y/n found the page they had been searching for.
It would cross their mind a bit how nice this was. despite no talking, they were able to spend time with someone in their most comfortable environment.
Who would have known a snow storm would gift them people who weren’t here to hurt them.
People that wanted to get to know them even.
They could get used to this.
[Chapter Three]
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-tag list-
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(srry for the late mention I'm LITERALLY a boomer when it comes to tumblr-)
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