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#tastes like a corpse that died crying
jinkiezzsstuff · 18 days
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Met the Devil 2
lucifer x human!reader
sorry this took forever it’s been hectic i guess im in my fanfic writer era of madness happening and mentioning it in the a/n (im joking… unless) anyways lads hopefully this is okay womp womp
Part [1]
Based on devilish folklore and wives tales so lucifer may be ooc!
Warnings: BODYHORROR; DESCRIPTIONS OF TEETH FALLING OUT. Mentions of blood, reader dies a goofy ahh death, lucifer being an unsure wreck, and he’s got no game, reader is perpetually confused, inaccurate descriptions of religion, swearing, not proof read and i don’t entirely know where i’m going with this teehee lmk whatcha think xxx
word count: 3.1K
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Three months, it had been three exhausting months since the incident with Lucifer. As if there was some devine intervention, everything seemed to fall at your feet working out for you, while also simultaneously sucking. Career wise, you were doing much better, after working for Marie and watching her house keeping it exactly how she wished, excluding the devil you had intercourse with, she put in a word for you at her and her husbands church, which you ended up getting.
Although not a very important role, it paid well. You were mostly in charge of cleanliness, cleaning the areas in the front where children played, keeping the holy fountain fresh, sweeping the pews and repairing any unbinded bibles. However the staff weren’t particularly fond of you, the nuns avoided you like the plague, and the priest gave you glares. Thankfully you rarely interacted with them if at all.
However, while your career was better than before, your physical health wasn’t. Things tanked once you slept with the devil. It started slow, noticing hues appear in your skin that you hadn’t before. Despite the various skin, and blood tests, and the general run down of different illnesses that cause changing pigmentation, there was no evidence to prove anything was truly wrong, just random hues of pinks, purples and blues showing up like you were some corpse.
The second minuet thing to change was your nails, at first you foolishly wondered if your calcium intake increased causing the thickness in your nails to double, but you quickly scrapped that al when your nails grew more rapidly. You really hadn’t changed much diet wise for that to be true, odd as it was it wasn’t something you hated.
The worst of it was teeth. One night you woke to a horrific splitting headache, it wasn’t just one part of your head either. The pain seared through your jaw, down your neck, up your face through your cheeks and in the back of your eyes all the way to the tip top of your head. You walked half asleep half dazed from pain to the bathroom, once the light blinded you and you got woken up a bit was when your brain registered the feeling.
Your mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood as you tuned into the sound of tapping in your mouth as the loose teeth collided. When you threw yourself over your sink spitting continuously, you immediately began to cry feeling your empty gums with your tongue, and the worst part was it seemed you had swallowed some too as the amount in the sink didn’t amount to how much was missing.
That night you must’ve passed out because you were woken up by your angry family member shouting at you to hurry. The strangest thing was, however you awoke with teeth, sharp as razors, and the porcelain sink that was never cleared of blood or teeth was now cleaned.
Since your teeth, you managed to not lose nor gain any other strange things, and the only people who didn’t seem to look past these oddities were the people who attended the church or worked at it. It was like they could tell you slept with Lucifer, something in their eyes always felt so intense and aware even if they’d never spoken to you before. The strangeness didn’t end with your appearance or career.
You had weird dreams you couldn’t explain, it felt so real but once awake you could only remember how you felt about the dream. You had close interactions with certain animals, like ducks, goats, crows, and insects as well. It was like they sought you out no matter where you were, people would give you looks when you started greeting the goat like an old friend.
So,now three months after Lucifer, you changed a lot. You know it’s because of him, you just can’t figure out why, but soon you’ll know. Walking into your work place on your day off, everybody’s least favourite thing to do, but it had to be done. You saw the father reading a bible off to the side of the room, and so you approached. He gave you a stern look, and you could tell by his stiff and shifty body language he wasn’t too happy with your presence, antsy to see what it is you wanted.
“Good afternoon father, how’re you?” You start, standing in a way you perfected prior to attempt to seem unthreatening. The priest hummed closing his bible to pay attention to you. “Good child, good. How’re you, is there something i could aid you in?” Straight to the point, mentally you cheered happy you didn’t have to waltz around small talk for fifteen minutes.
“Well i’m alright father, thank you. I was actually wondering about, um, the devil?” The priest's head lulls back slightly eyebrows raised as his mouth opens with a silent o. “Is there temptation in your life?” You shifted on your feet at the question. You hadn’t really thought of it before but you suppose you felt more inclined to act without thinking,and indulge especially after Lucifer claimed you.
“Well yes, but i was more so wondering on what the devil is capable of? Like making deals, and stuff…” You trail eyes casted away to the large sculpture of jesus on the wall. “Nothing, the devil isn’t as strong as gods love. And never in the bible does it state the devil makes deals, that is but a wives tale.” The priest spoke sternly, punctuating his words to get his point across.
This was news to you however, you always thought the devil was more of a a character in the bible. “Father one more question?” You say head snapping back to look at him. “If the devil were to have intercourse with a person, what’s said to be the outcome? Will god punish?” The poor priest looked like he’d seen a ghost, yet you couldn’t comprehend why. Although slightly morbid you didn’t think the question was that out there, perhaps it was the monotonous way you’d said it.
“I’m afraid i don’t have the answer to that,” And with that the priest stood, excusing himself from your conversation walking off down the isle. “I heard the devil picks somebody to carry the antichrist.” Turning to the voice, there sat a woman, old looking wearing a light blue dress. “The anti christ?” You repeat mostly to yourself, but the elderly woman hummed. “Yep. Woo’s the target, sleeps with them, and they give birth to the antichrist. Bad things happen once the child’s born.” The woman explained turning to look back at you.
“And, what if there’s no anti christ, what if the devil just like…” The old lady cackled looking at your puzzled face. She tsked and ushered you near. When in front of her she met your eyes, again with that weirdly all knowing look on them everyone in the church seemed to give you. Holding out her hand to you, you opened yours holding it out to her.
She placed something in your hand but you weren’t able to know what it was before you dropped it shrieking. It was like gripping a hot coal, you gripped your wrist keeled over trying to breath out the pain. Your eyes briefly glanced over to the floor where the object dropped and sitting there was a gold rosary covered in what was more than likely your blood. Peaking up from your bent over position the old woman had took several steps back from you, hand up to her mouth.
Not knowing what to do, you perked up, thanked her for her input, and sped out to the street. Just like the night you met him, the sky darkened and clashed with lightning, then came the rain. The devil himself must’ve worked through water with the way it was a constant anytime something happened.
Walking down the street at leisure, you inspected the wound the rosary left as rain pelted you like no tomorrow. You sighed brushing your thumb over the large cross shaped gash. Suddenly a crack of lightning came down brightly, it was harsh and so very bright. Then another crack, this time however you felt the harshest pain describable. It was like being lit on fire inside your body, or like your blood was suddenly filled with glass shards and you could feel them coursing through.
You couldn’t scream too in pain, you simply slumped to the floor, the searing pain engulfing your body. As your eyes closed, it felt like the floor was sucking you down, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even will your eyes to open as you felt the concrete below you begin to engulf you fully. Your lungs burnt as you couldn’t breathe, but like any other regular circumstance where you’d gasp for breath, you were physically unable to. Like you’re body didn’t know how to breath, so you sat there chest feeling tight, burning and your stomach feeling like it was forcing itself inward but nothing changed.
As torturous as it was, it was short lived and finally you felt freed. The concrete beneath you morphed into something softer cozier, the breathlessness left finally you were able to fill your lungs with air almost as refreshing as a glass of water would’ve been, and when you opened your eyes you were greeted by the sight of a bedroom. It was decorated with whites, reds and golds, around you could see engraved apples and ducks in not only the door frames and baseboards but some of the furniture as well.
You couldn’t will yourself to sit up, you still felt the fire on the inside of your body albeit gentler than before. “Hey cookie.” Cooed a smooth voice, you didn’t have to look to know who it was, but thankfully he stepped in front of you, kneeling down to your laying figure. “How you feeling?” You stared at his face, scanning it over and over, his eyes were hauntingly beautiful. The red irises danced around nervously, you watched intently as his forked tongue brushed against the dryness of his lips.
“You’re beautiful.” You mutter half muffled by the fact you sunk comfortably into the mattress that you lay on. Chuckling quietly the king of hell turned and sat on the side of the bed, petting your head very gently like you were made of glass. “Where am i?” His hand stuttered on your head, and finally you rolled over onto you back to gain the view of him. His hat discarded, his suit jacket gone, he sat only in a vest, dress shirt, and his white suit pants.
“Hell, sweetheart.” It was interesting how warmly he had said that to you, looking down at you with almost a pitying expression. “I’m dead?” You jerked up, immediately regretting it as the pain shot through your body from the top of your head down. Sucking in air through your teeth, clenching your eyes shut Lucifer cooed at you reprimanding you for being too quick. “God must’ve struck you down.” His voice lifted as he let out his attempt at a joke, but you weren’t really in the mood to laugh.
“What happened, with me when i was alive.” You ask looking over to him, the expression he had looked slightly guilty, his eyes casted downward, a frown that tried to be a poker face- but failed. “I, well y’see, heh,” Lucifer fumbled picking at his nails and looking around the room. He bounced himself against the mattress almost like he was amping himself up. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay! So y’know you got some human repellant, claws, sharp teeth, that dead look. Sent some little guardians after you! Too bad you couldn’t meet the snake.” Lucifer tisked mournfully shaking his head.
You smiled at him, oddly enough, it was quite endearing that he set out to do these things to keep you safe. “Oh!” He sprung up meeting your eyes properly. “I also made Marie get you that job, and I forced a good pay, always here to help y’know.” The king briefly pinched your cheek before retracting and standing. He looked frazzled, uncertain, he pulled at his clothes like he was trying to fix them. “Sorry it’s been awhile. Y’know i gave up going to earth in like 1850.” The devil laughed out, scratching the back of his neck.
You scooted yourself to the edge of the bed, Lucifer watching intently. “So, what, well I mean, why…?” You were confused head bobbing as you tried to make sense of everything. Things didn’t entirely add up this you were certain of, and you could tell the king was keeping something hidden from you. “As you know hell is well, it’s hell, and you were so…” He trailed off hands circling eachother as he gazed off into space, attempting to find the right words.
Deflating his body slumped over, in one foul swoop it looked as though he’d lost all the will to keep up his charade. “Look I didn’t think you were gonna shake my hand, but in the moment I was hooked on you. The night you took the apple reminded me of days of my life i can’t go back to. So i may have indulged, but i didn’t expect you to be soooo,”
Your eyebrows pinched together as you watched him with judgement, giving him a look that egged him on, yet warned him. “Captivating?” You ‘hmphed’ at his term, as weak and guilty grin overtaking his face. “Okay okay. I enjoyed our night, you gave me advice and helpful conversation I haven’t gotten in, pfft,” He was now pacing, eyes wide as his arms wrapped around himself as a way to secure him.
“Ever, you were a breath of fresh air! I didn’t expect the deal to go through! I didn’t expect you to grab my hand, so when you sold your soul you started to gain those devilish features. I wanted to make sure you were still safe so I manipulated Marie, got you the job, but nothing else was planned!” He exclaimed hands coming up in defence, although it wasn’t like you were angry, you sat there patiently watching him and waiting for him to finish his explanation at his own pace. Understanding this was probably just as stressful for him, if what he says is true.
Blowing out air the king pulled gently at his hair. “I don’t know what to do from here, I sent animals to protect you, I knew something would happen, damnit!” The short man raged eyes blowing up red, that snapped you up, gently you grabbed his shoulders. “I believe you, I have no idea what’s going on either so it’s okay! I’m terrified, but you don’t look any better. Maybe we can figure it out together?” You suggest attempting to be a voice of reason, watching his eyes hue from bright red to the yellow and red irises you’re more familiar with.
He sighed and nodded looking slightly embarrassed. “Do you think we could set some ground rules?” You quirked a brow at that, watching as he once again began to pace. “My daughter, Charlie, we spoke about her, she can’t know I made a deal with you! And for now, she can’t know i did anything sexual. Oh no no no. NO!” Lucifer panicked, switching between gripping his hair and swinging his arms around. It felt like a stab in the gut, it wasn’t your first time being a secret, but you wish you could’ve kept the promise you made to yourself about getting into another situation where you were just a secret fling.
“I’m not gonna pretend that doesn’t get under my skin slightly, I’d prefer not to be the devil's dirty secret, but I understand what Charlie means to you so I’ll do whatcha need.” Lucifer looked at you sheepishly, it seemed like he slightly regretted the choice of delivery as you crossed your arms across your chest, looking at him with a tinge of disgust in your eye. “Okay next, uh let's see, okay you’ll pose as my assistant and you’ll spend the days with me so I can keep an eye on ya….”
You quirk your head, pondering if you should say what you want to say. Which was questioning him and the motive here, it’s normal to say things you don’t always mean in such an intense moment of sex fueled emotion, but now there’s a big consequence and you’re not sure if he really knows what he wants to do. “Hey,” You say quietly grabbing him from his frantic mumbling that he was doing to himself. He hummed at you, his attention refocused on you as he did. “Do you at all regret the deal.”
Lucifers eyes blew wide, his lips puckering as his fingers fiddled with each other. “Regret is a very loaded work y’know- uh, I think- eh, maybe if- okay so,” He fumbled his wings popping out feathers flying around as they did, they puffed out with stress making you gawk. “Uhm, I wouldn't do it again if I had the choice! But still I would've wanted the sex!” Finally he pumped his chest proudly, meanwhile you rolled your eyes. “That’s what most men would do, yeah.” Your tone was bitter, catching him off guard a bit, to be fair he didn’t know what you wanted from him. Normally deals were two sided, but this one you benefited nothing from, except trauma and an early grave.
“I didn’t mean that,” Damn he really lost his way after Lilith huh, every flirtation came out so naturally but now it seemed it was so unsure, no king of a whole mini word of demons should be unsure, he mentally scolded himself for being so unfit.
“Listen can we figure this out later, I still feel the pain from when I died, so I would love to sleep that off.” You say plopping yourself back on the comfy mattress. “Yes, yes of course go ahead! We’ll figure this out together hm, shedevil? Won’t leave you in the dark!” This time his exclamation sounded certain as he jumped into the bed with you, snapping his fingers so the lights blinked out. You hummed too lazy to respond and crawled underneath the covers, it was nice, warm and smelt like him, underneath the covers you felt him slip in with you, his body heat emitting off of him in waves.
You hoped your mind was less clouded tomorrow, hopefully you could have a better conversation with the king about this deal, get things sorted out.
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blushweddinggowns · 9 months
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Idea expanded, overtly adorable and protective Kas Eddie with established relationship Steddie.
Steve is obviously devastated when they find Dustin and Eddie. But he refuses to leave his body there, despite how horrifying and time-consuming it is to take his boyfriends dead body back up to the surface. And Steve just spirals, reduced to a crying mess that can barely do anything but sleep most days. And Eddie's body is sent to the morgue.
Where he wakes up at. He wakes up in a cold cabinet, horrified and confused. And what woke him up was the noise. The wet, squelching noises of his body knitting itself back together. But it's not just fixing itself. It's changing. And adding things that Eddie doesn't understand. But it fucking hurts.
And Eddie starts to freak the fuck out. He manages to kick open the cold locker he's in and he's still freaking out. Because now he realizes he's in a morgue. But he's not dead damn it. But he's different. And confused and scared and all he wants is Steve.
So he goes to him. And that's how Steve almost dies of a heart attack when a naked freezing should be dead Eddie taps on his window at three am. But he let's him in, of course he lets him in. He's so happy to see him he doesn't even question how huh maybe letting in your dead boyfriend who now has black veins, wings, a tail, and upside down looking scars is not a good idea.
But common sense doesn't matter because all Eddie does is hug him and cry. And it takes a while for both of them to calm down. But when they do Steve starts asking questions, none of which Eddie can answer. But it doesn't matter because he's here. And he's different and weird, but he's still him.
But he is different. Stronger, scarier, with teeth that can sharpen and nails that can morph into claws. And he's also more...touchy. And protective. And is glued to Steve's side, doing weird shit like smelling and licking him in random places, and nibbling on the back of his neck. And it takes Steve a minute to realize that he can freaking purr now. Not that Steve's complaining. He'd live in Eddie's lap forever if it meant he got to be with him.
Steve doesn't tell anyone at first because he's afraid someone might rightfully make the point that being in love with a maybe demon was not a good call. But the Party finds out anyway when they realize he's no longer sobbing every ten seconds. Everyone takes it well enough, even if they have to get used to Eddie involuntarily growling at them whenever they got close to Steve. But they figure it out. And now they have someone who isn't Eleven who can kill upside down monsters with ease which is a plus.
Even if he does this weird thing where he drops nearly every demon corpse he gets his hands on at Steve's feet for praise, always purring like the hybrid monster cutie he is when Steve tells him how good he is at protecting all of them and thanks him with a kiss, the bitter taste of black demon blood in Eddie's mouth be dammed.
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chiara-hotel · 6 months
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𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝐭𝐡: 𝐒𝐡𝐲 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 (𝐏𝐨𝐞, 𝐊𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐚, 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢 & 𝐂𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚)
Characters: Poe, Kunikida, Atsushi & Chuuya
BSD Characters with an s/o who gets very energetic & bubbly when talking about halloween (etc.). And enjoys baking, dressing up, making treats, eating treats, looking at halloween decor & watch halloween movies.
Poe:
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- Poe LOVES seeing you so excited about the holiday
- Despite not being a huge fan of it like you are, Poe will gladly do anything halloween related with you!
- He spends a lot of money on decor for you because he knows you’ll love it
- Hes also a bit not used to seeing you so energetic
- Baking marathon!! Poe will but everything you need for all of your spooky treats (also Karl is the taste tester)
- Matching costumes!! I’ll let that go to your imagination
- Let Karl i’m on the matching costumes though
- Poe wouldn’t bea fan of the huge gruesome movies but he will watch some movies like Coraline, Corpse Bride or even The Nightmare Before Christmas (Poe is very confused why you guys were watching a Christmas movie at first)
- Ends up a little scared of your halloween obsession, but he also still loves you to death so
Kunikida:
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- Now Kunikida with his journal, obviously he’s planning a bunch of events/dates every day until halloween to fuel your obsession
- Sone ideas: Halloween movie binge night, Baking halloween treats, going to a haunted house and many more
- Hes scared for the haunted house but tries to act calm (it fails)
- Dresses up as something simple with you, (he only dressed up because you forced him)
- Dazai chuckling beside you to add he sees kunikida all dressed up
- (He is not letting Dazai ruin his and your schedule)
Atsushi:
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-When he was younger he probably didn’t get to celebrate halloween that much so he’s happier that you are so excited about it
- He gets really happy hearing you so energetic about something you like
- He LOVES baking with you! Atsushi will even recommend new treats to try out
- Atsushi also bakes a few for his colleagues at the agency (specifically Ranpo, but every one else gets some too)
- Hes going as a tiger, like his ability but he also willing to try on costumes at the store with you
- When you guys look at some of the decor hes a bit scared of the “more scary stuff” so he avoids those aisles and hides behind you as you walk down them :)
- Also buys some with you (a bit scary, but not too scary)
- Some decor he’d like to buy is probably pumpkins, kid-friendly blow ups for your lawn, and some things like that
- Similar thing with halloween movies, he likes the non-scary movies (yeah don’t watch really scary halloween movies with him, he will cry)
Chuuya:
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- Shocked
- How you went from normally quiet, Shy & introverted s/o an extrovert very knowledgeable about halloween
- Chuuya also LOVES seeing you like this
- While you guys go shopping, he accidentally sets off a prop and gets scared (now he’s in denial that he got scared)
- Buys EVERYTHING related to halloween in that store, if you mention about how much it most cost Chuuya will just say “anything for you, doll”
- Its like an early christmas present except it’s all about halloween
- No space in the house? He can hire someone to expand the property, theres also the mafia headquarters for more storage (ya’ll probably have a huge house though so it’ll fit in a store room somewhere)
- Also buys A LOT of baking materials so you guys can make pumpkin pie, pumpkin cupcakes, pumpkin loaf, pumpkin pretzels and many more
- Cuddles while movie binging (he might get scared at some of the movies but deny it (it’s really obvious when he dies because he grabs onto you tighter))
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samwinchestersister · 11 months
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Drugs and Money - Billy Loomis x Prescott!Reader
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PART ONE
SUMMARY: You were Sydney's twin sister, and you and Billy have an unusual, psychotic relationship. You discover the other side of him and decide to help out in your mother's murder. OR a bit of heteroerotic fun while covered in blood. WARNINGS: Gore + Blood, Organs and Violence, Minor character death A/N: Yall please ignore any mistakes this is my first real story on tumblr! I also don't know much about gutting humans but I did like 5 minutes of research on this 😭😭
WORD COUNT: 2067 ______________________________________________________________
Someone taught Billy to play chess a long time ago.
That someone had been his mother, twice as cunning as his father. Speed chess had been his favourite — a timer running down, a taste of adrenaline to get his brain thinking, scrambling to find his plan. That’s nothing compared to the rush of Stu’s hunting knife in his fingers. It’s light and thin, just like he likes it. This is enough to get the job done.
Blood is rushing in his ears, mouth is sour. He can feel his heartbeat in his head, fingers tightening and bracing for impact around the handle.
The fabric is pulled taut over his skin, a black drape which will keep his body concealed without interfering too much with his movement. You're wearing a costume just like this one, waiting for the moment he gives the signal.
There’s enough tension in the air to cut through with his knife.
Nancy Loomis was a bitch. But she'd also taught him the importance of strategy, of thinking ahead. Thankfully, Maureen Prescott wouldn’t be sober enough to keep up with her opponents.
He thumbs at the dial of his voice changer, crouched beneath a set of bushes at the far end of the Prescott household. You would know your mother’s house the best, meaning that you would run in first, Billy following her lead. You'd already done her part earlier that day, slipping in a cheap dose of crushed Doxylamine into the bottles of wine.
He would be waiting for Maurine in the back. Tomorrow, what’s left of her rotting corpse would be flashed on news channels across the state. “I'm Ready, You?”
He can hear you take a deep breath over the phone. Finally, you sigh. “Born ready.”
“Good.” He seals the shitty mask over his face, fastening the strap under his hair. He intends to enjoy this.
-
Motive is bullshit.
Every horror movie follows a script: some big-tit chick running away from a murderer turns into the world's fastest whodunnit. But the legendary ones -- the ones immortalized in the movies -- don't need a motive. Just ask Michael Myers, Freddy Kruger, or Jason Voorhees. Billy’s seen every horror flick there is to see, even the technically-illegal snuff films that are hard to find and even harder to stomach.
Maureen Prescott cries, begs, and pleads for her life as she dies. It’s a lot more than he expected from a bitch like her, and it’s a fun surprise that she’s aware enough to understand what’s going to happen to her. She was a fighter, which makes it all the more hilarious when he drags her outside by the arms.
He hears the thud as her head slams down with each step, small traces of blood leaking from where you had hit her with the wine bottle. There are no lights out here, no neighbours to hear her for a mile in each direction. A piece of glass glints up from her forehead, lodged in the skin deep enough to hurt. She’s conscious — just barely.
Her eyes drop before flickering back up, pupils darting around wildly, like prey. He's surprisingly still on his feet. It had taken the two of you to pin her down, and she managed to get in a good hit near his jaw during a scuffle in the kitchen. Fucking whore. He’ll make her regret it.
“Asshole!” Maureen yells through her drugged haze. There are tears in her eyes. She’s been keeping up her little screams for nearly ten minutes, crying for her daughters.
Like you would save her. He grins a little, amused. A foot in her ribs oughta shut her up. She makes a wheezing noise, gasping, “Where’s my daughter, you fucking bastard?”
He leans down. He found it a little funny at first, but she’s becoming a bit annoying. And he can’t leave her like that, can he? He swipes a small strand of hair from her forehead, dark brown decorated with reddish blood. The gloves are necessary, but he wishes he could feel her underneath his hands.
“Your daughter isn’t here to save you, Ms Prescott,” he whispers. She looks up at him, brown eyes blown wide. She looks almost exactly like you. “Now, Maureen, be good, and I’ll let her live.”
She doesn’t make a single noise after that.
You take care of the ropes, nimbly following the steps that Stu had taught you a week prior. Up, over, down, knot. You sling two of the hand-made restraints over the lowest branch of an oak tree, just a couple feet off the ground. It’s a makeshift cross, a perfect place to put up your mom on display.
Billy does most of the grunt work, shoving Maureen’s body up till her wrists are in the restraints, a heavy boulder carrying her weight. God, what a fucking sight. He can’t wait to carve her the fuck open. Poetic justice for what Maureen did to his family. She'd die screaming for her sins.
He takes off the mask, relishing the look on dear old Prescott’s face when you do the same. She doesn’t quite grasp it yet, maybe trying to reel from the shock, as she takes in the sight of her you. Nothing could’ve prepared her for this. This is fucking hilarious.
He remembers the day he realized his mother was leaving, the day she had the argument with Hank Loomis about the other woman. He wonders if his face looked similar to hers right now.
You get to finish her off.
You shove the tip of the knife against the column of your mother’s throat, watching as it moves up and down. Maureen doesn’t dare to breathe. Billy has to crack a grin at that — it’s pathetic watching her squirm. Your grip is determined. You steady it in your fingers, before sweeping it over the jugular in a wide arc.
One thing they don’t show you in the movies is the gore. No matter how much they show you on screen, you’ll never quite understand how much blood a human body can have until you see it right in front of you. It doesn’t just drip, it fucking fountains. There’s less than a minute to react before it soaks them completely, landing on the grass, their costumes, and their faces.
Drops of it decorate his tongue, and he swallows the bitter taste of iron down. There’s some of it on his eyelids, his face, his arms. You're gonna get away with this, scott-fucking-free. He nearly fucking kisses you there, right and then, with Maureen Prescott’s blood in their mouths.
Your mother’s corpse hangs like Jesus on a fucking cross, body distended from her head. Her spine and muscle keep her body attached, the oesophagus and thyroid peeking through. You cut clean through the first three main arteries, leaving the right side of her body mostly intact.
Well, not for long.
As soon as he’s wiped out the fluid from his eyes, he grabs the knife and shoves it straight into her groin. In the movies, the knife passes through muscle like it’s butter. In real life, it takes almost all of his strength to get it in there. It catches on layers of skin and muscle, and it might’ve been a little rougher than nescessary, but it’s not deep enough to damage organs. Next comes the hard part. Billy’s a natural with a knife, but it takes a certain type of willpower to gut something — or someone. He aims the knife upwards and moves up to the sternum, tearing away at clothes and careful not to touch the abdominal lining.
Everything is so red inside of her.
How many men has she fucked? How many people have she let in, and how many families had Maureen torn apart? He jerks back in disgust.
He finds the windpipe, clutching it between two fingers and sawing it open with a little bit of difficulty. It’s so heavy, heavier than he’d expected. You catches your mom's intestines in her fingers, slippery and long, between her arms, looking as disgusted as Billy felt. Serves that cocksucking whore right. It needed to be done.
Just one less piece of shit in Woodsboro.
-
“Strip, babe,” Billy groans, sweeping off his own tee shirt in one quick go. His socks and shoes were the first to go, nestled in the kitchen skink, where the blood was being washed off. You climbed out of your tank top, leaving only a bra and tiny shorts. Your skin was perfect, streaks of red peppering your entire body.
God, he wonders what you taste like underneath all of that. He’ll have to wait to find out till another day. He climbs out of his jeans quickly, leaving himself only in blood-stained boxers.
They’d really fucking done that.
Once you finished cleaning yourselves up, you would call the police, and give them a couple minutes' head start. You would stay home, and Billy would return to the Loomis household before midnight.
Stu would take care of the alibi: You and Billy would’ve come over to the Macher household for a movie night. Thankfully, Stu’s household was mostly empty at all times, which meant no witnesses. Nick Prescott would be out of town by eight, and around ten, Billy would drive you home before getting himself back to the Loomis house. You would come home to find your mother’s dead body hanging from a tree, and you would immediately call 911 in a panic. Sydney, who was sleeping over at Tatum's would be driven to the Prescott house by Dewey.
He never expected this plan to flow so smoothly.
The two of you step into the upstairs shower together, hands pulling at what they could reach. Something fills up his chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. He grabs you as quickly as possible, spinning you around in the bathroom until your back hit the tiled wall.
"Someone's handsy," you grin, slow and relaxed. You feel too good to be in a rush. "Assault's a crime, y'know."
"You gonna arrest me?" Billy asks, low and suave. Something simmers in his stomach. He's fucked around with girls before -- Christina, Sydney, and a handful of others he doesn't remember. But it's never felt this way with anyone but you.
Your eyes rake him down. "In your dreams.
You were so close. A couple of centimetres would close the gap. Your eyes are blown wide, a splatter of drying blood trailing across your nose. Your hair cascades down your shoulders. Steam from the hot shower beads against your skin. Billy wants to drag his tongue across it, taste you on his teeth. Water covers you both, clouding his vision.
He leans down, hair flapping down to his eyes. Maybe it's reflex that causes you to swipe it away, fingers rolling over his warm skin. Your fingers clasp his cheeks, pulling him close enough for your noses to touch.
His eyes are wide open. His mouth is parted in a little gasp. You close your eyes and plunge in, lips fitting around his like you were made for each other. He doesn’t move, frozen in shock, before he starts kissing you back in earnest. It’s a weird angle, his lips are dry, and you're inexperienced at best. And yet, everything feels so fucking perfect that you can't bring yourself to care.
His hands are in your hair, on your throat, against your collarbone. He explores what he can, you do the same — cheeks, jaw, base of his neck. His fingers find your jugular, the place where you slit open Maureen. He could dig his fingers in there right now, feel the veins shift and tremble underneath the pressure. Let it break open. Feel as the blood pulses through his fingers.
You look up at him. It’s always been like this between the two of you — not needing words. He already knows what you mean.
"Billy," you whisper. "Fuck."
"Fuck," he agrees, before he tangles his hands back in your hair and forces his lips against yours.
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sheikahwarriork · 6 months
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Do u have any dimileth headcanon??
LMAO TOO MANY. here's a brief(?) list
dimitri fell in love right away when they met but realized it only during the rain scene
byleth fell in love more slowly and realized it at the goddess tower (academy)
sylvain knew about dimitri's crush all along and kept teasing him about it but dimitri was dense and clueless and always like "i dont know what you are talking about, sylvain. my only feelings toward the professor are admiration, care, and the wish to spend all my life at her side. totally normal"
during the fishing tournament, byleth asked dimitri to keep her company. dimitri was confused, the professor always fishs alone!, but gladly accepted. she also tried to teach him how to fish but he kept broking the fishing rods
byleth always spends at least 3 hours at sunday having tea with dimitri (its me im byleth)
the first time byleth tried to make tea for dimitri, she made a chamomille too strong for a normal human to enjoy. luckily dimitri isnt normal and it was the first time in years he tasted something. byleth keeps over-pouring his chamomille just to see him enjoying some taste
dimitri cant cook for shit. byleth only knows how to stew at a campfire. dedue is their savior
(dedue knows about dimitri's crush too but doesnt tease him about it)
they love each other in every universe, in every timeline. even if they dont realize it, or one of them (dimitri) dies, they still love each other and always will.
dimileth CF: edelgard is the one who kills dimitri, byleth tries to stop her but fails, and after she spends an entire day hugging dimitri's corpse, unable to understand why her heart feels so broken (since when does she have a heart?)
dimileth VW: after the timeskip, byleth meets dimitri for the first time at the gronder. she rushes to him and hug him, whispering "i thought you were dead", and dimitri replies " i thought it about you too". then an archer hits dimitri on the back. he looses strenght on his legs. byleth starts screaming. dimitri doesnt look at her, he only says "i always wanted to dance with you" and dies. byleth turns back time till the monastery and now chooses the blue lions :)
dimileth SS: (wooo "ghost scene".) dimitri always loved the professor from afar. and hes not dead, but he knows he's about to, so he goes to the monastery to see the professor one more last time. he needs to tell her what hes doing, what hes about to do, but looses all his composture once he sees byleth smiling at him in relief (she thought he died- offscreen during gronder). ohhh but he needs to go now, he feels like that smile isnt meant for him, this isnt his- their story; maybe in another life. this is dangerous. why this urge to kiss her, why right now? he needs to go, now. "im sorry, professor. im a coward, i've always been a coward. i came here to tell you-" shes crying, shes smiling. "i love you too".
woooo too much angst. back to the romcom fluff
when byleths asks dimitri to go to the sauna with her, he heats up so fast not bc of the heat, but bc the professor is in her underwear sothis help me-
mercedes knows too. (actually every blue lions knows. theyre not very subtle) she tries to help byleth realize her feelings by talking through metaphors but byleth is too dense and she keeps wondering why mercedes always talk to her about "the goddess and her king"
during academy phase, dimileth dont kiss. but according to sylvain, they spend all the time "eyes-fucking each other". true!
their first kiss? lmao actually at the S support scene. theyre clumsy and a bit awkward- its the first kiss for both- but its also the best one of their lives. bc its the beginning of their life.
sothis hates both of them (lovingly). A LOT. she considered many times to get control over byleth's body just to make those two fuck. everytime byleth smiles under her breath when she thinks about dimitri and then wonders "what is this hot wave im feeling? must go ask manuela about it" sothis starts screaming
at the ball, dimitri spent all the night looking for the courage to ask the professor to dance. once he collected it, he sees claude dancing with the professor! (how dare he!) (why am i so jealous?!) the next time he spares with claude, claude ends up in the infirmary. "oops. my crest activated :("
they have many children and lives happily ever after forever.
("brief list" my ass.)
hope you enjoyed this! many of these hc comes from a very long fic i wrote some time ago that i still havent published, but im working on its translation (its currently only in italian) and maybe, one day, it will be on ao3. i hope so. :3
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numbermislocated · 6 months
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My Fionna and Cake episode 7&8 tangent
Lets start it off with the score. 20/20 it was fantastic. my stupid theory post will happen eventually, and I will ABSOLUTELY TALK ABOUT PETRIGROF
The star - Cake thinking Fionna was upset cause her fling died was silly, Fionna was clearly upset before about the candy people. The fight with the vampires was funny but intense, I love how Cake and Fionna care a lot about eachother. Also why does Simon know what holy water taste like. Pb and "Star" was so cute, and I was so right when I talked about us getting more Bubbline on tiktok (Tiktok account is not linked anywhere btw) The vampire world is super sad though, cause they had really been eating for so long, that a potential thousands of people died. Marshall and Gary really lit up the episode from the sadness once again, Gary's tangents of his candy kingdom are so cute. AND HIS HAMBO THINGY IN HIS CAR. Marten and baby Finn are so cute, I wanna legit cry cause HES MEANT TO BE A GOOD DAD BUT HES SO STUPID IN THE OG UNIVERSE. Also imma say this now, Prismo gets in trouble for breaking the rules once and ignoring a few beeps, BUT Scarab ignores several beeps and his entire job and doesn't get in trouble, that boss better have a good reason. Second date (potentially) and Marshall already introducing his boyfriend to his mom, damn. Marshall's mom matches og Hunson perfectly somehow, duche parent club. And Marshall's little blush of embarrassment from his mom acting all weird infront of Gary. Billy's corpse is messed up, like reall messed up, and the reminder of how tall he is is also crazy. I was also wondering the entire time if Pb was human in this universe until she bit off half her arm basically. The Star's outfit is so good, but I wonder how she turned into a vampire now, maybe she was bit in front of that worlds Simon's body and thats why she screamed at something. Already long section so I'll end it here with, I LOVED THIS ENTIRE EPISODE, Huntress dying was sad though, and Gary Marshall kiss was adorable. Closing thought of this episode, Bubbline but toxic yuri. Jerry - Simon and Betty better get a happy ending or I will legit be so sad, they love each other so much, and Betty just legit became part of a god over her Fiance once celebrity crush. I love how gorgeous everything is in this show, Orbo is also a funny character. I feel like someone could narrow down where things and places they go in this Lich's wish universe it'd seem fun at first then spiral though. Simon does NOT know how to draw though get this man an art class. The tree house being naked though, all its leaves gone. Lich's wish to kill all life, really just unironically killed ALL life, down to plants. Fun little references to old episodes, and including one that revolved around Ice king, hmm. Also I wonder the age gap between Betty and Simon, I like to see it as they're like a year apart but Simon just skipped grades cause hes a smart cookie. Also Simon had slides ready for people to be loud, HE WAS READY. Nerd girls in love. I am also guessing Bmo has been alone for awhile now, at least since season 5ish times since thats when the Lich would have made this wish. All the references in Ice King's junk from the melted ice kingdom. Ninja guide books, kunai, vhs tapes and the camera, the pink diary, his bed has the wishing amulet that Gunter used to break bottles. I was RIGHT
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Fionna see's how unhealthy Ice King was, and changes her mind and wants him to not become this sad sad man again. Simon would genuinely be such a sweet and wonderful parent, he loved taking care of the babies in the baby universe, and he sees Fionna get happy when he tells his story with Betty and keeps doing it to keep her happy. Neddy is also guaranteed dead, already obvious but the candy kingdom doesn't have the juices being produced. Bmo has done a lot in his isolation, a lot of stuff is changed or moved, I feel so bad for bmo. But the lines "Help me zip up my bra" and "Ooo, butt stuff" Wow. The Simon and Betty stuff makes me so happy, they're so cute and I love them, they need to have a happy ending or I will be so sad. The lesbians ever, I love these lesbians, let the lesbians be happy. Simon struggling to say he loves her is so CUTE. Poor Bmo, I feel so bad, but he was probably so sad being alone, sad in someway. Petrigrof moment was so cute and adorable please, I want them so happy, they deserve to be happy. Now for the bombshell, Jerry. The Lich's wish monkey paw aspect is that he gets depressed and has nothing to do now that all life is gone. Billy's body decomposing as the Lich parasites it. SO, imma theory my reason for the portal finally opening to GolBetty, either it was because the Lich was used as the battle and influenced it in a way to allow it to finally work, OR Betty's wish to keep Simon safe truly included the crown being worn. Like the crown really did trigger GolBetty like "BITCH, NO" or the third that makes probably the most sense, The Scarab was literally about to kill Simon and go against what Betty wants, meaning she is going to interfere. I saw someone say that GolBetty likely wont remember Simon and this could cause something. BUT I REALLY HOPE THEY DONT DO THAT, I WANT THEM HAPPY SO BADLY
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frogizz · 9 months
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I kinda like how both Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu got a taste of what it was like to have each other "gone".
Like, despite Shen Yuan knowing that Binghe wasn't dead for realsies, he still felt some sort of grief, even if he didn't want to admit it. I agreed with our little narrator at first about how "he isn't some sad grieving man" but he's kind of unreliable. I think he was in denial about the experience of loss he was having, even if Binghe wasn't dead, he was still gone. He knew it, he knew he was going to be gone, for a while too. He wasn't grieving his death, but just grieving the lack of presence.
For Binghe, he didn't know Shen Qingqiu was going to be revived in another body. He held onto the preserved corpse of the original body for crying out loud. He grieved, while not the best kind of grieving (having a body in your bed for who knows how long probably isn't the best way to cope but who am I to judge, I'm not a therapist), he had still gone through losing the person he loves the most. He "lost" the person he cares for the most.
They both lost each other at some point. They both missed each other. And it's a little funny how both of their returns are unexpected. Who'd expect the guy who's supposed to be gone for 5 years in training to show up in 3 years time when you had to push him into an abyss and accidentally stabbed him? Who'd expect the guy who died right in front of you and fell to the ground to just appear in a different body after 5 years? Adding onto that, losing that alternate body for 3 days trying to preserve that body, then finding the soul of the guy in his own original body in a sacred demon place.
They both lose each other, grieving over the loss, over the lack of presence. Luckily, they don't ever die, but the idea probably struck Shen Yuan at some point, and all Luo Binghe knew was that "Shizun is dead".
Must've sucked.
But they have some sad experience they can share so that's uh, not great, I guess. Where was I going with this post again?
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whenwewerehappiest · 3 months
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hear me cry.
hello! WOW, i’m already thinking about the suffering this fic is gonna cost me. yikes! i don’t even know where im gonna go with this, but i do have a rough layout. (i dont) so, without further ado, hear me cry!
finney blake, robin arellano, bruce yamada, vance hopper, billy showalter, griffin stagg.
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included / warnings : suicide, violence, angst with no comfort, overthinking, mentions of abuse. <— that is mostly for the first half of this chapter. the next chapter, however …. yikes.
finney blake finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed, a wooden stool standing in front of him with an all-too familiar rope dangling above it, tied to the roof. the house is quiet, because lately gwen has been bullied at school and locks herself in her room immediately after school. their father is god knows where, drinking his ass off at a bar.
finney wonders if anybody would miss him. surely, his sister would, though he believed he’d be doing her more of a favor by ending it. after all, she’d been getting bullied because he had become known as ‘corpse boy.’
the curly-haired blonde looks up at the rope tied to the ceiling. the light in his window shines at just the right angle, hitting the rope exactly. it angers him, because it’s like the universe is egging him on to do it. like his death wouldn’t mean anything to the world, because it seemed like all the deaths that had came before him seemed like they didn’t mean anything either. news of the grabber had died down soon enough, and life had picked back up in the small town in colorado.
“damn it all.” finney mumbled under his breath, because he could just barely hear his sister crying in the other room. she wasn’t just crying. she was sobbing, quietly.
and it was all his fault.
finney bit his lip so hard that he felt the tangy taste of blood seep into his mouth and drip down his chin. he wiped it off and looked at the side of his fingers to see the red.
it reminded him of the first night he was in the decrepit old man’s basement and had seen griffin’s body, simply floating lifelessly. his dark blood dripping drip by drip on the floor, when really it wasn’t there, and that was just the start of it.
he blinked and wiped the blood on his bed.
for the last time, finney thought, he looked around his room and stood. a poster of the movie texas chainsaw massacre was on one of his walls, along with different newspapers scattered and taped along the walls. all the things on his walls were different remnants of the missing children.
finney liked to believe that by keeping little parts of them with him, he could hang on to them. maybe believe that none of this had happened.
his father didn’t know why finney wanted to hang onto the situation so much. he didn’t even know any of the children that much, except for robin.
but his father didn’t experience the things that he did. he didn’t experience hearing the static coming from the dark, black phone for the first time. he didn’t experience hearing griffin’s voice, then billy’s, then the others, just like finney did.
he swallowed the lump in his throat, and stood on the stool.
they say right before you die, your life flashes before your eyes.
it did for finney. but really, he didn’t have a life. he didn’t like to call the days that went by everyday a life.
getting beaten, made fun of, remembering things of the past that he tried so hard to let go of. watching his sister suffer just like him. watching his family, that really wasn’t a family after his mother’s death and his father going batshit, fall apart.
and so, finney blake said goodbye to the world. but did he really?
crack.
finney expected bleakness. he expected the quiet hum of death. he expected the stairs that gwen told him he would see when he died. he even expected to see the grim reaper, greeting him right then and there. he expected anything.
what he didn’t expect, however, was to wake up again. he had hoped so hard that he never would, once his neck was hugged by that rope. and yet, here he was.
he was in his bed. the first thing the boy did was sit up, and was greeted with something that was definitely not on his list of expectations.
his room, first of all, was completely different. instead of his walls being littered with different posters, images, drawings, and things of the sort— it was plain. there was only a clock on one of the walls, a few posters, then his desk. it was almost underwhelming. however, there was nothing underwhelming about this, because he remembered so vividly that this was his bedroom a year ago. before everything.
the next thing finney blake did was get up, and check the calendar that rest upon the wall next to the door.
he almost choked when he saw the date.
it was early 1977. last he checked, it was 1978, days before winter break would end and school would pick back up.
finney was sure that the universe was toying with him. there was just no way. he’d kill himself, then suddenly wake up — finney looked up, and read the clock — at 2:34 am in the morning, a year back in time.
the boy paced back and forth around his room, waiting until the universe would decide that the sick game was over, then he would be sent away and done with.
an hour had passed and it seemed like the universe was in fact, not toying with him.
he sat on the edge of his bed, the same side that he would be pondering his life choices.
now, however, he was in a different situation. he had now fully took in his surroundings and what was happening. the grabber hadn’t taken anybody, yet.
finney looked up again. his eyes widened, realizing that it was today.
“today would be the day that griffin would go missing.” he muttered.
it was a decision that he made without really reasoning with himself. he rummaged through his closet as quietly as he could, because he knew that by now his father would be passed out on the couch drunk and was a light sleeper. his sister was doing god knows what in her locked room.
at the moment, he didn’t care anymore. his only priority was griffin stagg. the only thing he cared about was preventing the death, the tragedy, the murder, the tears. everything.
and so, griffin found himself slipping a thick t-shirt and hoodie over himself that cold morning. he wore pants that were easy to run in. he packed a backpack with a sharp screwdriver he found under his bed, and anything sharp he could find to defend himself. including a glass bottle that his father had thrown at him, but he had kept just in case.
he threw the backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his baseball bat from the corner of his closet.
finney blake never liked to bat. he was more of a pitcher.
he thought that now was the time that he could get settled into both.
he slipped on his socks and shoes. then, as silently as he could, finney pulled the window next to his bed open and slipped out. he closed it quietly, and hopped over the fence of his home. he swung his bat around him.
last time he had checked, it was 4:30.
soon, he knew, griffin stagg would disappear while walking his dog.
finney barely remembered the neighborhood the boy lived in. this was because he had gotten beaten down once, right in front of griffin’s house, and he had seen griffin watching him get kicked around through the window. finney wasn’t angry about it, though. he was more glad that griffin didn’t try to defend him, because the boy was scrawny.
1771 elmhart drive, finney repeated in his head as he walked, swinging the bat around. as he got closer and closer, he began hearing hums of a little boy, close to his age. he also began to hear the panting of a dog.
by now, he was beginning to question himself and his goals. what would he do if he could actually save griffin from the grabber? what if he was taken instead?
he furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to shake his head of the thoughts. he didn’t need to, though, because his train of thoughts was interrupted when he began to hear the barking of a dog, and saw an all too familiar truck in of the corner of his eye.
it was parked on the corner that was just up ahead, where he knew that griffin and his dog were. then, he heard his taunting voice.
“oh, my!” the man sighed as he dropped a bag full of groceries, different kinds of vegetables, meats, and bottles. he looked up. griffin noticed that he wore some sort of mask. his hair was a light brown and messy, and he wore all black. he noted that the van that the man had stepped out of was all black, as well, with some kind of logo advertising a magic company. most of all, his dog wouldn’t stop barking.
griffin knew it was a sign that something was off, because rosa never barked unless she sensed something bad was going to happen. to griffin, especially, she barked louder. and this was the loudest bark he was hearing.
“oh, what a cute dog you have. what’s her name?” the man asked griffin. he attempted to pet her, but rosa bit his finger. he pulled his hand back and winced. griffin opened his mouth to speak, but the man cut him off. “mind helping me with my groceries, son?” the man looked up at him. he didn’t like to be called son.
griffin gulped, hesitating. he really should be getting back home now. “i..” he trailed off. “‘course, sir.” he said instead, and bent down to help the man pick up his groceries. griffin let go of rosa’s leash. as soon as he picked up a bag of vegetables, he felt cold hands touching and latching onto his back. he was being carried.
and he knew it was by that man. he began to scream, and was met with a kick in his abdomen, causing him to scream louder. before griffin could kick back, he was dropped to the floor, and heard different grunts and shouts at once.
he recollected himself and backed away. his dog followed. griffin looked up and saw a curly-haired boy that looked around his age with a bat. he was beating down the man as much as he could, eliciting screams and jumps from him as the boy shouted. there was some kind of fire in the boy as he hit the man. he was angry. but not a normal kind of angry— it was so angry, that it scared griffin. quickly, the man jumped into his van and closed it, leaving his groceries on the ground and scattered.
as quick as it began, the van was gone.
it was quiet.
then, griffin brought up the courage to look at the boy. he was familiar. not someone he knew, but someone griffin had seen before.
he clicked his tongue. rosa hid behind griffin’s leg.
“th..thank you.” was all he could say as he held his hands over his abdomen, which was stinging like a bitch.
griffin looked down at the bat in the boy’s hand, which he clenched. now he knew he was. finney blake, a pitcher on one of the local school’s baseball teams.
the boy didn’t speak, until he did.
“are you okay?” was the first thing he said. griffin fought the urge to spit a sarcastic remark. ‘yeah, i’m doin’ pretty good. not like i was just almost kidnapped.’
he bit his tongue. “yeah. are you?” griffin asked. then, he noticed it.
the boy’s face was covered in bruises and cuts. it seemed that the man fought back as well. “i’m fine.” he nodded. it was awkward for a second. griffin didn’t know what to do at all. how should he be reacting right now? who even was this kid? how’d he pop out here out of nowhere?
“i’m finney blake.”
“i know.”
“you do?”
“you’re a pitcher. ‘course i know.” griffin nodded, then open up his mouth to speak again. “i’m gri—“
“griffin stagg.”
he furrowed his eyebrows. “you know my name?” he asked.
“you’re in my history. ‘course i know.” finney’s lips twisted into a cheeky grin, as if he wasn’t beating down an adult moments earlier. truthfully, griffin did not know that finney was in his history.
there was also another reason why griffin knew who finney was: he had watched as the boy get jumped every other day, usually in front of his house as it was close to the school.
griffin expected it to get quiet again, until finney spoke. “you shouldn’t walk your dog down this path again. that creep could come back.” he told him. griffin nodded. “y..yeah. you know who he is?” he bent down and pet rosa, comforting her. the curly-haired boy was quiet for a second. “we’re familiar.” he said. griffin was confused as to what that meant, but decided not to think about it. “you’re pretty beat up. my ma should be awake by now— she can help patch you up. and me.” griffin lifted his shirt up slightly, seeing a bruise on his abdomen.
the least he could do for the kid who had saved him from being abducted, was fix his face up. finney smiled again. “i’d like that. thanks, griff.”
“griff?” he raised an eyebrow as the two began walking together, side by side, to his house. “yeah. griff. i like to give people nicknames, and yours is griff.” finney said. he scoffed. “well, hm.” griffin put a finger on his chin.
“griff. i like it.”
and so, finney blake found himself sitting in the cozy living room of the stagg household. his face was being patched up by griffin’s mother, who was actually a very nice woman, while griffin sat next to him going through the channels on the tv and asking him which one he’d like to watch. really, finney was still zoned out. he didn’t know that it would come to this. not that he didn’t like it, or anything— he was actually ecstatic that he had successfully prevented griffin from being kidnapped. and perhaps he had even recruited him to be his friend. he wasn’t complaining, because griffin was actually nice to be with. he was funny, sarcastic, even mean and playful at times. he didn’t know griffin could do that.
“finn?” griffin repeated. “u-uh.. channel six.” finney stuttered, trying as best as he could not to move because griffin’s mother was in the middle of placing a bandage on his cheek, the soft kind from a pharmacy.
griffin raised an eyebrow, clicked channel six, then looked at finney. “seriously? you wanna watch …” he looked at the tv. it was the news, but not the kind where there was all sorts of things happening. it was news about the most irrelevant and boring things ever, the kind nobody watched.
finney smiled cheekily at griffin. “alright, alright. channel two.” he said. the brunette clicked channel two on the remote. “that’s what i’m talkin’ about.” it showed montages of fast race-car races with bright vehicles speeding down ramps. “didn’t take you for a race-car kinda guy.” the blonde admitted to griffin as his mother stepped away.
“well, i didn’t take you for one either. thought you were more of an outer space lover. y’know, from the time you blew a rocket into the roof at the science fair and the mud inside of it that you used as leverage— which was really stupid, by the way — exploded on ms. wilkin.” griffin laughed, sitting back on the couch.
finney shot up and looked at him. “you remember that? oh, god..” he felt his cheeks warm up. it was one of the most embarrassing moments of his life, and it had costed him two weeks of detention and cleaning up the boys’ locker room.
“everyone does, dude. sorry.” griffin gave him a shit-eating grin. “here you go, kiddos. y’all are lucky it’s the weekend, ‘therwise i’d have y’all up and out.” ms. stagg chuckled as she set a plate of peeled clementines on the coffee table in front of them. finney was happy it was the weekend— he didn’t know what he’d do if he had to face the bullies from his past. maybe he would tell moose that he should get a haircut.
something that finney found surprising about griffin’s mother was that she had a deep southern accent. griffin didn’t, though. his mom’s voice sounded cartoonish, but it was comforting.
“thanks, ma.” griffin smiled sheepishly at his mother. “could you get us some water?” he asked. “oh, you boys will have to get that yourselves. me and your daddy are going out right now, and i don’t have time to pour y’all some water, though i’d really love to.” ms. stagg sighed. “it’s alright, ms. stagg.” finney nodded appreciatively.
��oh, it’s lucy to you, honey.”
“i don’t know if i can—“
“lucy.”
“i can’t— alright, thank you lucy.”
ms. stagg grinned. “‘course. well, i’ll see y’all later. better keep this friend around, alright boy?” griffin’s mother kissed him on the cheek, then patted finney’s shoulder. as the stagg parents rushed out of the house, griffin sighed.
“sorry about my ma. she can be a bit much.” he laughed. “it’s okay. she seems cool.” finney reassured him as he took a clementine and popped it into his mouth. griffin did the same, then spoke. “yeah, ‘till she comes up into your room in the middle of the day then gets all in your face when you forget to do the laundry. i love ‘er though.” griffin admitted. then, finney, realized, griffin did have a slight southern accen that only came out a few times. his lips curved into a smile. “what are you smiling about?” griffin asked, his eyebrows furrowing.
“nothing. don’t worry about it — tell me more about your mom?”
“well, if you insist. so, this one time . . .”
meanwhile, down inside of the basement of a familiar house, a man sits on an empty mattress. he stares into oblivion, daggers shooting into the wall. he bares a mask, hiding all parts of his face except his eyes. his eyes, which are dark, like they simply are not there. they bleed into his face.
there are pictures scattered around the floor of a teenage boy. his hair is curly, and almost long, but not quite. his skin is fair. the boy had brown doe eyes and thin lips.
the pictures range from when the boy was just a small child, to a young teen, all in order. and in the last photo, he holds a brown baseball bat, with bruises all over his face as he walks along with a shorter boy next to him. the shorter boy’s face is scribbled out with pencil.
the man leans down from the mattress and takes each photo. he stacks them against each other and rips.
he rips and rips, then the ripped remnants scatter against the floor he stands, lifts the mattress up, and kicks each piece of polaroid under the mattress, never to be seen again, until it will be.
END.
i would absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!! to hear feedback. let me know if you guys like it or not. and if this reaches the correct audience, and people like it, i will 100% continue this series. i have so many things planned out already. 🤍 love you guys!
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zbeez-outlet · 2 years
Text
Left Behind Pt. 5 (Finale)
<<< Part Four
Levi x FemReader
Established Relationship
(~14k words)
Concept: You're gravely injured during an expedition that goes wrong, and in the confusion you're abandoned in Titan territory.
Pt. 5 Summary: Home is not the steaming cavern of warmth you made for survival in the one docile titan in existence. Home is not chewing on snow for water or rationing jerky made from your own horse. Home is not a limping gate and flashes of your dead comrades in the edge of your vision. Home is his fingers grasping your wrist so you know he's real and the look in his eye when he realizes you aren't Hailey Mitchell.
Home is not the empty bed that frightens him more than gnashing teeth the size of people. Home is not his desk piled high with paperwork he either avoids or uses as a distraction, in perfect view of a warn-in and soft blue reading chair. Home is not bleeding knuckles and broken pinkies and grief-filled conversations with his fellow soldiers. Home is you, a little worse for wear, but alive and in reach and fuck - he really hopes this isn't some new nightmare rearing to tear the floor out from under him.
Warnings (if you made it this far, you know the drill, but just in case): Angst, cursing, graphic descriptions of injury, injury recovery, hallucinations, frightened violent outbursts, sedation, needles, aftermath of dehydration and starvation, threats, trauma, dissociation, suicidal ideations (If I missed anything, please let me know)
A/N: Did I make myself cry writing this? Yes, yes I did. I briefly debated make this into two parts because it's so long, but I promised you a 5 part series!
The POV will be switching between characters in this one, I tried to make it as obvious as possible with page breaks (-----) so hopefully no one gets confused!
I know this is a long one (~14k words) so if you think I should split it into two parts for easier reading, let me know!
As always, thank you to everyone who has supported this story and all of my work thus far. It means so much to me that you enjoy my writing and it absolutely makes my day when I see people engaging with my work and the kind words you have. More content is coming from me, but for now this is goodbye to Left Behind!
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Sometimes - the kind of sometimes that's often and exhausting - when the dead members of your squad are taunting and jeering and stalking the corner of your eye, it's their corpses trailing behind you.
Instead of Benny's kind, laugh-lined smile and strong broad shoulders, his arms hang twisted and bloody at his sides with a concaved chest arching his torso forward unnaturally. Only half a crooked grin with gore between his teeth and the chunk out of his skull festering with flies. He hobbles and winks and reaches with fingers bent all the wrong ways like he wants to caress your cheek and listen to your sorrows.
Hailey has to hold tight to Benny's neck and shoulders as what remains of her torso bounces like a backpack with his every lumbering step. No hips to sway or legs to dance with. Her innards hang loose and bloody, eyes always wide and frightened despite the cheery teasing she spits between bloodied lips. She often asks for her goggles back or makes biting little comments about the endless steps you take as if you're actually getting any closer.
She makes you think of purgatory and afterlife and traps you in the one chasm of hopelessness you're desperate not to fall down. That this is your eternity. That you died that first night you fell asleep in the cold and the damp and this is the forever you deserve. Wandering and thinking and never knowing if you're actually breathing when the air tastes stale and metallic. It's hardest to tune her out.
Daryl usually hops quietly beside them, precariously balanced on the one leg, but when he wants his turn at licking insults and screaming blame, he has to bend his torso in half so his twisted around head can face the right way. He mostly stares and weeps, the tears wetting his forehead instead of his chin, and begs to trade places with you because his sister is small and kind and needs her big brother.
You're rarely sure you wouldn't trade places given the chance.
Sometimes the injuries stay the same but the faces change.
It's Hange's manic grin leering over Moblit's wilting torso as they fire question after question like bullets into the marrow of your bones. Questions about Preston more often than not that have your head spinning and your heart longing and your feet sometimes backtracking to the forest you left him in when you're not paying attention.
It's Mike bouncing and shifting on one leg, nearly toppling in a way that has you wondering if the ground would shake when he has to bend clumsily forward to sniff in your direction, but Nanaba catches him before he can with a gnarled arm bent in too many places for elbows while she buckles under the considerable weight of Erwin's severed torso clutching to her back. They hiss at you and stare and weigh you down without saying much at all.
The roles shuffle between members of your squad and members of Levi's squad, cackling and sobbing and raging. Petra screams and Oluo's split tongue lolls out of his missing jaw and Eld laughs between bouts of choking on blood and Gunther snarls passed the tear tracks burning from popped eye sockets.
Sometimes all three of them are Levi.
Sometimes all three of them are you.
Sometimes there's no injuries at all and you want to sink into a blissful ignorance as if the glimpses of their smiles or the light sound of their comforting voices are as real as the blisters on your hands or the cramping in your stomach. But those thoughts are dangerous and cruel and almost always leave your eyes twitching painfully.
You're not sure which is the greatest hell, but you find that as long as they stay at the edge of your vision, unacknowledged, unwitnessed, untouched by your attention, focusing on taking one step after another is manageable.
So when you're fresh off two titan kills and you hear your love's voice calling out taunts to the make-believe hero playing with stolen gear, you don't blink twice and instead inspect your blunted blade. The edge is jagged and dull and likely wouldn't cut through your own soft skin let alone the tough hide of a titan's nape. You decidedly toss the useless metal to the ground and reach for the final blade in your arsenal as a replacement. Levi is adamantly stomping towards you in your periphery, a characteristic frown to his brow and hands prepped near his gear, but you know he'll only get close enough to teasingly breeze by your skin before fading away like he does every time.
Close but never close enough. There but never actually there.
Your focus narrows on the reattached blade, jaw clicking and tongue like dry dirt in your mouth. Water, the last time you had water was a muddy puddle nearly half a kilometer back. It's been harder to find since the snow melted, however long ago that was, you're not really sure.
"Mitchell? That you?"
Huh? Your head tilts, brows furrowing when Levi's voice drifts closer to you. With a quick scan, you try to spot Hailey's mirage tag-teaming with Levi - wouldn't be the first time - but her ghost doesn't seem to be haunting you like Levi's at the moment.
"Hailey? Hailey Mitchell? It's Captain Levi." He says that like his voice isn't ingrained in your mind, more familiar to you than the sound of your own at this point. Levi's gotten closer, hands raised like you might jump out at him if he steps wrong. "C'mon brat, let's go home, yeah? See your mom?"
"Mom? Mom's dead," you murmur, the words are garbled and slurring between your dry sticky lips. Your tongue feels swollen, teeth too thick with plaque and gums raw. Everything tastes coppery. "Home, 'm goin' home. That - that way." Your head bobbles, satisfied with the direction you picked. Firmly planting your blade in the grass, you hobble along despite the sharp twinge that pulses in your hip with every step. For a moment, you think Levi must have faded like he always does, but then -
"Mitchell stop! I order you - tch, Hailey!" You're not sure why your brain has conjured a Levi that thinks you're Hailey, but as you absentmindedly listen to his footsteps racing closer, you think how you've lost enough control of the fragments of your mind that the why probably doesn't matter much.
You wish he'd fade away already. A Levi who can't recognize you is more painful than the one that hates you. Ignoring him is easy though when you know he'll never reach you. He never does, an eternity of reaching but never touching.
But then there's a pressure, a tightening around your wrist that you logically know must be fingers, except that's impossible so it has to be something else. Something that isn't the steady grip of a hand you know so well, fingers long and always always so gentle despite the gruffness he tends to carry in his shoulders. Your whole body tenses, rigidly freezing like stone so acutely you think you've stopped breathing. It's impossible for that grip to be real and you're suddenly terrified that you've fractured again, that your mind has gotten crueler, that you can't even trust what you touch anymore when it's been your last tether to a reality you're no longer sure is actually real.
Eyes flickering, you spot Benny, clean and unharmed and daring you to turn around with a kindness in his eyes you've missed more than clean water. You decide to trust the version of him you knew in life and brave a look over your shoulder.
It's still Levi, though admittedly a part of you thought it wouldn't be, and your chest stutters cruelly with hope when you eye the way his hand wraps your wrist. You can feel the heat of his skin, the pressure of his fingers, the small tremble in his palm when he flexes just so. Your breath catches because he's there and he's close and he's touching you.
The goggles are in the way and - and the cloak, you need them off, you need to see. Your blade drops to the ground when you reach for the green fabric, feeling unbalanced and small and terrified. The leather straps on the goggles catch in your knotted hair and the cloak is sticky with your sweat, pulling unpleasantly at your skin in your haste to take it off, your makeshift glove unraveling in the process. But then they're gone and your eyes are clearer than they've been in months and he's still standing there, holding your wrist, holding your racing pulse between his fingers.
He's so beautiful.
You risk a step closer, and another until you're nearly chest to chest. His breathing is off, silver eyes wide and sparkling and alive in a way you're sure your mind could never replicate. Not this, not your Levi. You raise your hand, fingers shaking as you hesitate half a second at the curve of his jaw. What if this is what shatters his image? What if this takes him from you again? Is that worth gambling? Your lonely heart chooses for you.
He's solid under your fingertips, warm and soft and everything you've missed about your life together. Your hand moves to cup his cheek, thumb swiping at the stray wetness under his eye when he leans into your palm, and for a moment you wonder if you've somehow crossed the threshold into a heaven you were never meant to find.
"A-are you real?" Your eyes sting when you ask the question, only slightly shocked you have any water left to spare for tears, and your voice grates like razors in your throat, but there's no room to care when salvation is in your reach. "Are you my Levi?"
You meet his gaze again, startled by the pure heartbreak you find in his eyes and you think this is it...he's going to fade and you're going to whither in this purgatory forever, always waiting, always alone, always on the edge of oblivion. Your hand drops to your side, cold without his skin beneath your touch, and your eyelids slip closed as you stumble back.
"Trick, another trick, ano - " you choke, words lodged in your shredded throat as you suck in air, in and in and in until you're on your knees and all you can do is scream...
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Terror holds a vice on his windpipe that Levi isn't sure he can shake because you're here, in his reach, in his hands, and if he blinks you might just disappear. Good things don't just happen, not to him, but there you are, breathing and touching him and your fluttering pulse is under his fingertips.
Except you're asking if he's real. As if the miracle is his beating heart instead of your own.
Agony rips through his chest because he knows...he knows. Good things don't just happen, and nothing good has lead you to standing before him now, broken and battered and shaking in your very skin. Before he can take that next step, hold you close and assure you that he's very real, that he's taking you home, that he'll protect you this time, you're already pulling away from him so abruptly that panic joins the cluster of emotions in his throat and he stutters forward after you too late.
Levi knows that your scream will haunt him for the rest of his life.
He's on his knees in front of you with no memory of taking the steps to do so, your name a repeated mantra on his lips as he reaches out for you. His palms find your cheeks, pulling you up just enough that he can press his forehead to yours.
"I'm real, I'm real, I'm real, I promise I'm real," he chants over your scream, hoping to soothe you with his words and his touch and your name on his lips because he doesn't know what else to do when you're unraveling between his fingers. Minutes or decades pass kneeling in the grass, trying to grasp onto any thread of calm, until eventually you quiet into small hiccupping whimpers that pull at his heart. "I'm here, I'm real. It's over, you're safe, you're safe...I've got you now, I've got you."
Your hands dance across his wrists, up his arms to grasp his shoulders tightly, and Levi knows he'll bruise under the grip of your fingers, but he couldn't care less. You're breathing and you're shaking and you're so fucking alive that Levi feels euphoria pulsing in his veins. It's a kind of relief, a kind of gift, he never thought he deserved, but this...this second chance the two of you have been given, he'll cherish every breath of it.
He can't help the small curve of his lip or the tears in his eyes when your voice joins his mantra. The repetition of, "You're real, you're real, you're real, I'm safe and you're real, you've got me, I kept my promise, I kept my promise," in your parched raspy voice is like music to him.
A wet laugh bubbles in his throat, thinking of the silver ring hanging by his heart. You came back to him, you kept your promise.
But then he's reminded where they are when Petra calls to him over his shoulder. "Captain! Captain Levi, we heard a scream, we - "
Levi chances a look behind him, not even surprised when your iron grip tightens further, as afraid of him disappearing as he is of losing you, but this is still titan territory. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Walls, he has so many fucking questions, but he bites his tongue.
His first priority now is getting you home.
Petra and the others are huddled a few meters back, as shocked into stillness as he had been, with wide eyes and gaping mouths. "C-Captain, is that - ?"
"Fire off every purple signal flare we have, I need Hange and a med cart here now!" Levi wonders if they can hear the tremble in his throat or spot the wetness in his eyes. "And Petra, my waterskin!"
It takes nearly three seconds for them to move at his orders, but Levi's already turned back to you, still mumbling that mantra under your breath.
He taps your cheek, trying to get your shining gaze to meet his own again, swallowing at the haziness he finds there, the desperation he's been feeling for months sparkling in your eyes. And then he's really seeing you, heart cracking in his chest at the hurt he finds in every divot of your face, every stain on your clothes, every stuttered breath in your lungs.
You're here, and you're alive, but you're definitely not okay.
Your cheeks are sharper than he's ever seen them, gaunt and hollow with a starvation he knows all too well. Eyes sunken into their sockets, heavy purpling bruises darkening under the curves of your lids. There are red blotchy sores along your jaw and neck from the sun or itching or both, scabs bubbling on your dry lips, dirt and sweat and blood freckling across your sallow oily skin. Your hair is longer, tangled with knots and grass and who knows what else. He's suddenly terrified what they'll find under you tailored scraps of a uniform.
"A-are they real?" You ask him so quietly he has to strain to catch the words. Brow arching in confusion, his mouth drops open to ask what you mean when you speak before he can. "Which...which ones are real? Petra...she must be because you - you spoke to her dire - directly, but the others...you - I - which ones - " You ramble on air, eyes flicking between him and the purple smoke now drifting over his shoulder, panic sharpening the tense curve of your spine.
Levi holds back a frown, tapping your cheek again in the hopes of helping you focus. Your ramble stops, but your breaths are too quick and eyes too wide. He carefully places your hand over his chest and takes a deep calming breath, finding he needs it as much as you probably do. "Follow me, breath with me, I've got you," he coaches with a soft voice. "I'm real, Petra's real, Oluo is real, Eld is real, Gunther is real. Say it with me."
"You are real," you begin hesitantly, pupils flickering. "Petra is real. Oluo and Eld and Gunther are real. They're real. Petra, Oluo, Eld, Gunther. You, you're real." You lean forward, burying your face in his neck and sighing through the stutter of a sob as his arms automatically wrap around your body. You're solid in his grasp but thin, so fucking thin and he wants to snap at whatever's taking Hange so long.
"I love you, so fucking much." He whispers into your hair he pretends doesn't smell rancid, pulling you closer. Levi can't believe he's holding you again, heartbeat against heartbeat. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he mumbles between reverent sighs of your name because he can't remember when he last said it before your disappearance and he's not willing to let another second pass without making sure you know. He hates himself for ever hesitating to say the words before.
Petra is quickly kneeling by his side, waterskin heavy in her shaking hands as she stares at you in his arms like she's seeing a ghost. Which, for all intents and purposes, she is. Her eyes meet his above your head, and the horror of what it means to find you here alive is clear on her face.
Levi reluctantly pulls back from your embrace, motioning at Eld, Gunther, and Oluo to stay where they are, cautious about overwhelming you. He takes the waterskin from Petra, who's still staring awestruck at his side, and carefully encourages you to tilt your head back.
"Drink," he orders, pressing the spout to your chapped lips, minding that you go slow. Your eyes flutter closed, throat constricting with every swallow, small drips trailing down your chin. He moves the watershin away when you push at the pouch, watching your tongue lick away the extra droplets, and for a moment he's actually startled to see tears in your eyes.
"It's so clean," you whimper through the barest of smiles. It has him both wanting to scream at the unfairness of it all and worship the joy pulling at your cheeks because maybe...maybe you will be okay. Levi trails his thumb along the prominent edge of your jaw and offers as reassuring a smile as he can.
Petra turns her head away beside him to hide the wetness he can see building in her eyes, her hands tucked between her knees to cover their shaking.
Dozens upon dozens of hoofbeats thrum the ground below them, Levi looking over to see not only Erwin's squad, but Hange's thankfully close behind as well. He's relieved to spot a cart among the herd of horses.
You tense in his hold, but he swiftly calms any rising panic with soft words and little shushes. "It's okay, it's okay. They're real, they're here to help." His brow furrows at the way you seem to shrink into yourself, shoulders hunching forward and eyes trained resolutely on the grass. "I want you to say it. I'm real, they're real, they're here to help."
"You're real, they're...are they all real? There's to-too many, not all - they can't all be - " And he watches your gaze lift, stalling on a spot behind him that he knows is nothing but grass and dirt, and you look so scared. How does he protect you from something he can't even see?
"Petra, get Hange, now." Levi doesn't even acknowledge his subordinate stumbling to her feet, keeping his eyes and his hands on you. Your name slips from his lips, attention shifting back to him. "I'm real. Hange is real. We'll figure out the rest when we can."
You nod, leaning into the palm still cupping your jaw. "You're real, Hange is real. They're here to help."
In no time at all, Hange is sweeping you up in their arms, obnoxious sobs quaking their shoulders and all but spinning you around in relief and glee and grief. Babbled combinations of your name and apologies and questions race from the scientist's quivering lip. You're clutching just as tightly to their chest, though he's not sure if it's in relief or fear as you lose any control over your balance.
Levi can feel panic crackling between his teeth when you're no longer in his reach, quickly jumping to his feet to pull you from the vice Hange has on your body.
"Damnit Shitty Glasses, be careful, she's not exactly in top fucking form," he growls, steadying you with on hand at your elbow and the other resolute between your shoulder blades. You're clearly favoring your left leg, and he remembers the heavy limp you stumbled with earlier, the now discarded blade practically the only thing keeping you upright. Levi makes eye contact with an approaching Erwin, but speaks directly to Hange with a curt order searing his words. "We need to get her in the cart so you can do a basic assessment of her injuries on the way back. We're taking her home, now."
That last bit may have been directed at more than just Hange, but he's not about to negotiate anything right now. And neither is Hange if he's willing to trust the resolute look in their eye and the uncharacteristically serious jut of their jaw when they nod in agreement. The two of them stand strong at your back when Erwin finally reaches them, ready to argue and defend and fight if they need to...but they don't.
Erwin engulfs your small trembling body in his broad hold, one hand cradling your head to the beat of his chest and the other wrapped firmly about your waist. "I made the wrong call all those months ago, but I'll make the right one this time." Levi isn't sure if he imagines the tremor in Erwin's voice when he says your name, but the shock flashing in Hange's glasses makes him think he probably didn't.
Slowly, your hands come around Erwin's back, fingers grabbing at the green fabric of his cloak for purchase. "Erwin...Erwin's real," you hum, rocking further into his arms for balance. "I want to go home."
"We're bringing you home, soldier."
Levi sticks close, joining you in the back of the cart with Hange not far behind. He's careful to settle you gently in his lap, legs on either side of your waist, with your back pressed to his chest. You rest your head just below his chin, tightly lacing the blistered fingers of your right hand with his own. He's as grateful for the physical tether as you probably are.
While they wait for the convoy to regroup and prepare to set out back towards Wall Rose, Levi encourages you to drink more water with a not so subtle nudge of the waterskin against your lip. The flicker of a teasing grin he spots, small and gone between two blinks, has his heart warming in his chest and a fresh wave of relief curving over his shoulders.
He's never been so grateful for his reality before.
As much as he tries to refrain from indulging in fantasy, there's always been a small part of himself - locked away in a tiny box at the corner of his mind with the memories of his mother's singing voice and Isabel's cackling laugh and Furlan's gentle smile - that yearns for a reality without titans. One with a quiet tea shop to his name, no blood staining his fingers, and your soft hand twined with his own.
Now all he can think is he wouldn't care if their world burned to the ground, ravaged by the beasts of burden, not as long as your heart beats and your warmth permeates his chest.
Levi's knocked from his musings when Hange rocks the cart, loudly clattering around the tight space with a medic bag at their hip. They take a cautious knee by your side, an awkward lilt to the curve of their toothy smile and tears still shining in the corners of their eyes.
"Right then, what hurts sweetie?" They ask, but from the way you squirm in his hold, Levi's sure everything probably hurts. He gives Hange a look over your head, nostrils flared and stoic brow arched just so. They laugh nervously, scratching at the back of their head. "Okay, okay, um any open wounds? Anything bleeding or in dire need of stitches?"
"Nothing life threatening or that I haven't already taken care of," you whisper, words hesitant like you're ashamed to be hurt at all. Levi bites on the scoff he wants to let out. "My um, my right leg is pretty fucked up. It's why, uh, why I was - why I couldn't..."
"It's okay, it's okay," Levi mumbles close to your ear, tightening his hold. He knows what you're saying, that your leg is the reason you didn't catch up or make your way to the wall. His lips brush against your temple, reminding himself you're here, in his arms, alive.
Hange is eyeing your leg, clearly wanting to see the injuries for themself, but they shake their head instead. "Well, best not to mess with anything as long as you're stable until we know what we're working with. The medics at headquarters will be far more thorough, but in the mean time, just tell me the most pressing parts."
You nod against Levi's chest, body stiff and uncomfortable in his arms. He can feel you twiddling with Hailey's goggles in your lap. Questions about your squad float behind his teeth. Your voice sounds far away, and he can tell you're back there, back to that day. "A titan had, um, swiped at us - me and...and Bully." Levi mouths the word 'horse' at Hange's confused brow, not wanting them to interrupt you. "Just out of nowhere in the rain, this massive hand...then I was on the ground, leg stuck under Bully's body. She was - she was already..." You take a deep breath, whole body shuttering with the flutter of your ribs. "Broken." You gesture to your thigh. "Dislocated." Your knee. "Cut open." Your calf. "Broken" Your ankle. "I did what I could...I - " You turn, looking up at Levi with wide watery eyes that have fear pulling at his throat. "I had to eat Bully."
Levi closes his eyes in sorrow, touching his forehead to yours. "You did what you had to, you survived."
Hange clears their throat, looking awkward as they pull at their collar. "Any, um, anything else?"
Levi finds himself wanting to ask about the hallucinations, about what you're seeing that has you so frightened, but he swallows the words.
"I'm pretty sure everything is bruised in some way," you actually joke, pulling half a smile from Hange. "Oh, and - um..." You pause, pulling your hand from Levi's lingering grasp to unwind the scraps of fabric on your left hand. Levi's chest constricts at the sight of two severed stumps, burned on the ends. The silver ring he gifted you all those months ago with a promise in his heart shines safely on your thumb. "Frostbite, weeks ago, before the snow melted. I didn't want it to spread."
He knows the image of you having to cut off your own fingers will appear in his nightmares. He knows every injury, every tear, every scared whimper will haunt him with the rest of his failures.
Hange stops asking after that, holding their tongue and carefully hiding the horror in their eyes with a flash of their glasses. They try to make you as comfortable as possible with spare blankets as the jostling of the cart knocks you all back and forth. Erwin heads the convoy, obviously, with Levi's squad and Hange's squad flanking the cart on either side as a protective guard. Levi spots Mike's squad joining their ranks, stationing themselves at the back of the cart with hard eyes focused intently on your trembling form in his arms. He shares an understanding nod with the larger man.
When they pass through the gate into Trost, blissfully lucky to have not encountered any titans on their retreat, Levi can feel the tension bleeding from your body, a heavy breath lowering your shoulders. A hiccupping sob stutters in your chest that has him shielding your head from the crowd that gathers in the streets to greet them home with complaints and insults and misguided assumptions.
Levi grits his teeth, holding back on the same urge to knock heads and split jaws that hits him every time ignorant assholes scream about tax dollars and wasted time and worthless sacrifices. Instead, he places his palms over your ears and wraps his body around yours as a protective barrier, burying his glare in your neck.
The medics are waiting for them at headquarters, Erwin having sent a scout ahead to warn them about their arrival, so Levi is quick to pick you up in his arms, stable behind your back and under your knees, careful about the movement of your leg. He hops off the back of the cart, jerking his head to the nearest wide-eyed medic, an older woman named Martha if he remembers right, to get her to follow him. She's close on his heels, listening to Hange as they explain the basics of what they know of your condition to Martha.
He handles you like delicate fractured glass, carefully placing you on the nearest bed in the infirmary. You frantically grapple with his arm, panic surging in your eyes. Levi traces your cheek, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here the whole time." He ducks his head, holding your gaze steadily. "Say it with me. I'm real, Hange's real, Martha is real. She's here to help."
You smile so beautifully through chapped bloody lips that his breath catches in his throat. "You're real, Hange's real, Martha is real. She's here to help," you repeat, tapping his hand on your cheek.
Martha steps up to the other side of the bed, pulling a tray of supplies behind her and shuffling a clipboard in her hands. "Okay, Squad Leader Hange has filled me in on your situation. I'm so sorry, dear." She speaks calmly and clearly, a gentle authority to her tone. He can tell she's experienced with frightened and traumatized patients, she'd have to be working within the Scout Regiment. You wilt away from her, but still offer a hesitant curl of your lips in return. "This may be scary to hear, but I think we can do our best to help you if you're sedated. I know - " she continues quickly as you stiffen with trepidation. "I know that's not ideal, but I need you to trust me. All we want to do is help."
Levi frowns, not particularly fond of the idea either, but a quick questioning look at Hange makes the decision for him. The concern in their expression is evident, nodding in agreement with Martha, and Levi trusts that Hange knows what's best in this situation more than anyone. He looks down at you, meeting your quivering eyes as he says again, "I'll be right here the whole time."
You're shaking your head, hovering between pulling back from him or burrowing closer to his chest. "I - what if I don't wake up?"
"You will," he promises with a reverent whisper of your name.
"And what if I do, but I'm...but I wake up back out there, alone. I c-can't, I can't, I can't, I - " you spiral, fingers gripping at your scalp, fist pounding at your temple that Levi is quick to stop with his own soft hold.
"I need you to trust me," he kisses your hand. "You will wake up, and I'll be right here waiting for you." Your eyes are shining, wet tracks pulling through the grime on your skin, but you nod with him and turn back to Martha despite your rightful fear.
Martha carefully rolls up your sleeve, and the sight of your too-thin arm and bony wrist splotched with sores and bruises ranging from deep purple to murky green to fading yellow has despair bubbling in his throat. The needle goes in at the juncture of your elbow. Levi holds your hand through your flinch, squeezing tight when your body shudders.
"I love you," he murmurs into your ear, caressing his fingers against your cheek as your eyes slowly close, body going limp on the bed.
Martha reaches for some scissors on the tray. "We need to start by cutting away her clothes. Squad Leader Hange, if you could help me. And you, Cadet..."
"Petra Ral," the strawberry blonde answers, stepping forward from where the rest of Levi's squad is standing at attention. Erwin, Mike, and Moblit are all there as well, hovering just at the threshold of the infirmary.
"Please Commander, we need privacy," Martha implores, saluting the Commander with the scissors held tight in her fist, tone firm and bordering on orderly. "I'll take good care of her, you have my word."
Erwin clenches his jaw, looking from your prone form to Martha before settling on Hange. "See that she does."
"Of course, Erwin, you know I will."
"We'll be on standby just outside should you need anything."
As they file out, Mike lingering half a moment longer than the others, Martha turns her attention to Levi. She stares in a manner that has his hackles rising. "Captain Levi, sir, I understand - "
His lip curls into a snarl, hands clenching at his sides. "I'm not going anywhere."
She frowns, but nods in resignation. "Right then, let's get started."
They start with removing the ODM gear, a painstaking process that he's glad you're not awake for. Then they move onto cutting away all of the belts and scraps of leather you have tied securely around your wrists, ankles, waist, and collar - probably to help insulate against the cold and wind and frost of winter. The oversized clothes and boots come off next, clothes that he's suddenly realizing came from other solders - big as they are - more questions building on his tongue.
They find a dry, wilted daisy in your pocket.
The sight of your right leg has nausea stirring in his gut. Martha carefully unstraps the belt holding together the makeshift splint on your thigh, Hange focusing on the wrappings on your knee, calf, and ankle while Petra delicately holds up the limb for easier access. Your feet are blistered and raw. Deep flowering bruises, old and new, decorate your once soft and unblemished skin, dried blood browning around half a dozen different scabs and sores. The muscles of your leg have atrophied, smaller and with none of the strength he knows you to have. Your femur clearly punctured the meat of your thigh and your calf - Walls, Levi can feel a tremor in his spine. The cauterized wound stretching the entire length of your calf has memories of burning human flesh singing his nose and mixing with the nausea dangerously.
He can count your ribs and sharpen his blade on the edge of your collarbone. Joints all red and raw from sweat and overexertion and itching from the filth of months in the wilderness. Your arms are bony, the point of your elbows fragile, and your stomach has caved inward with starvation, pelvis bones jutting forward under the sallow stretch of your skin. Levi can't help the wetness in his eyes, turning away for a moment because he knows what this kind of hungry feels like, knows it better than most.
It's something he wouldn't wish on anybody, let alone you.
"She has lice, the poor thing," he hears Martha sigh over his shoulder, glancing behind him to see her reaching for the scissors again. She's going to cut your hair, she -
"No, no don't," Levi's quick to grab her wrist. He's not sure why, but the idea of shaving away your hair feels like a betrayal, like just another thing to trap you in this experience instead of moving forward. He can't undo anything, but this...this he can fix, this he can save you from. "Focus on her injuries, I can take care of the lice."
Memories of his mother's fingers combing little itchy bugs from his scalp shift behind his eyes, the smell of vinegar and the rare luxury of steaming water linger in his mind. He goes to the hallway, looking directly to his squad.
"Oluo, Gunther, go to the kitchen. I need vinegar and two large pots of hot water. Eld, my quarters. I need towels, soap from the shower, and the two small combs in the cabinet under the sink. And," he adds after a second thought, "a t-shirt and sweats from my wardrobe for her after she's been bandaged." Levi nods in thanks to their salutes.
Mike steps forward, a rare hesitancy in the deep curve of his shoulders. "How is she?"
"Alive," Levi says because it feels like the only true thing he can say. He clears his throat for a proper update. "Mostly old injuries that need cleaning and stabilizing. Sores that need disinfecting. More than anything she needs food, water, a fucking bath, and rest."
He swipes his hand down his face, suddenly so very tired.
"Hey," it's Erwin's hand on his shoulder, holding him steady when he fears he's about to fall apart. "You brought her back, Levi. You did that."
Levi frowns, brushing away his Commander's attempt at comfort. "No, she did that. I left her to die three months ago."
"Under my orders."
"You think that matters?!" Levi hisses, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth rattle. "I could feel it, I knew - my instincts were telling me to find her, that something was wrong and she needed me. I ignored every part of me screaming to look for her in favor of being the perfect fucking soldier."
Mike steps forward, shaking his head. "We thought she was dead, Levi. We thought she was..."
"Crushed," Erwin finishes, a harsh curve to his prominent brow.
Something red and hot and violent boils in Levi's chest. "Find Oswin."
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Waking up is harder than it's ever been. Your body feels heavy and sluggish, something you thought you had gotten used to in the cold and the damp and the rough, but this is different. This is the kind of fatigue that blurs your vision and pulls you down into the depths of unconsciousness with kind welcomings and warm caresses.
Waking up this time is hard because you're not sure if you want to.
But then you remember silver eyes and feathery black hair and the rarest kind smile that makes your heart skip and your breaths stutter. The promise of a silver ring. You remember finding the love you've been enduring eternities of hell for.
Lashes fluttering, your eyes sting at the harsh light of the morning sun shining through the window, and you're half tempted to burrow further under the blanket to chase away the light.
Window. Blanket. You're in a fucking bed. In the infirmary. At headquarters. It was real.
You scramble into a sitting position, heart pulsing in your throat and aches pulling at your limbs with every movement. Hunched forward, hands clawing at the blanket to draw it away, your eyes flicker over the fresh clothes - a white shirt and gray sweats you know to be Levi's - and the clean bandages on your arms.
Running your fingers through your hair, scalp feeling raw and itch free, marveling at the lack of knots and tangles and dirt. Everything is sore in the most pleasant way, in a way you know is healing and safe, lacking the twinge of infection.
Levi's ring is still on your thumb, a little cold and shining like it's been cleaned. You press it to your lips, a comforting habit you've formed over the lasting months.
Looking to your left, tears spring to your eyes and warmth floods your chest at the sight of Levi passed out and contorted uncomfortably in the wooden chair by your bedside. "You kept your promise," you whisper, fighting the urge to lean forward and brush the fringe from his eyes because you don't want to wake him.
"Morning!" A cheery voice calls from your right, startling you so much your neck pops when you turn to them. It's Petra, smiling, gentle, kind Petra. She's standing with her hands behind her back, relief shining in the lights of her eyes, pink in the apples of her cheeks. "How are you feeling?"
You offer a clumsy grin, small because it pulls uncomfortably at your chapped lips. "Tired, mostly."
"I bet." A soft chuckle shakes her shoulders. "Well, we're glad to have you back. It's been...it's been hard."
You frown, brows drawing together. Something about the curve of her smile is off; the way she's looking at you has your teeth on edge. You shuffle under the sheets. "How...um how was he?"
Her face seems to crack, twisting cruelly with darkened eyes and a hateful manic grin that could never belong to Petra. "You abandoned him, how do you think he was?"
"I - I didn't - I," you stammer, head shaking. You came back, you came back. Levi knows you didn't have a choice. He knows that, right?
"You left him, you let him suffer, believing you were dead for months. It's your fault."
"It's not, it's not, I didn't - I came back," your jaw shakes, tears slipping off the curve of your chin. The sheets bunched and crinkled between your remaining fingers. "You weren't there, you don't know - "
A frantic call of your name has your words stalling, whipping to your left to see Levi sitting up with a worried curve to his brow. "Who are you talking to?"
"Pet - " you swallow the lump in your throat, looking back over your shoulder to see no one there. "Petra, I thought - she was real, she's supposed to be real. I don't - I..."
"Here." Levi hands you a clear glass of water, resting his other hand on the top of your head, a kind of understanding in his gaze that has your lip quivering. He's real, you know he is from the warmth that bleeds from his hand into your scalp. "I can ask someone to get Petra, if you want. I'm sure she'd like to see you."
"No!" You nearly shout, an embarrassed blush warming your cheeks. "No, no that's okay." As a distraction, you take a deep drink of water. It's cold and clear and clean, smoothly gliding down your parched throat. You're not used to it. It cramps in your hollow stomach unpleasantly, and for a moment you think it might make its way back up your throat, but you swallow through the nausea. The unfamiliarity, the strangeness, of clean water has you practically pitying yourself and the urge to hide your face grows.
Levi sighs beside you, leaning his hip against the edge of the bed and crossing his arms. "I'm not going to force you to talk about it, any of it. But," he makes sure to hold your eye, "it might help."
"That's rich coming from you." You wince as the words escape without your permission, an unreasonable defensiveness building in your aching joints. They were venomous and cruel and you regret them immediately. "I - I didn't mean that, I'm sorry. It's just - "
"It's okay," Levi gives you a tight-lipped smile that you're sure you don't deserve. "Like I said, I won't force you." He pauses, rolling his next words on his tongue. You almost hold your breath, shaking for the moment he pushes you away, tells you he moved on, blames you for it all. "You once told me to be patient with myself, now I'm telling you the same. What you went through..." Levi trails off, and he's never felt further away from you. "You need time to heal, that includes up here." He pokes your forehead, fingers dropping to cup your cheek soon after.
Relief floods your chest, more grateful than you have words for that this bleeding-heart of a man cares for you. Loves you even. You're not sure how you managed to trick him into it, but you cherish it all the same.
You lean into his hold, giving half a smile in return. "I sound smart, when did I tell you that?"
But then he's reaching for his pocket, pulling out a crumpled, stained slip of parchment that has your blood stalling in your veins and any content in your smile to slip away. A letter, your letter. The letter he was never supposed to see; a jinxed precaution you cursed yourself for writing every time you did it. "At first, I thought this letter was the cruelest thing you could have done to me," he says softly, tracing the aged edges of the page like he's scared it will fall apart in his grasp. "Then it became the only thing I had left and...just, thanks - for, um, for writing it."
You reach for his wrist, drawing your thumb over his pulse point and reveling in the beats you feel there. "I'm sorry you ever had to read it."
"Me too."
"I love you," you're suddenly desperate to say, to chant, to scream with all the air left in your lungs. "I love you so much, Levi. More than anything. I'm sorry I got stuck." Your vision blurs with tears, happy or sad or just devastated in every way you could be.
He taps his forehead to yours, palm still warming your cheek. "I'm sorry I left you behind," he chokes on what you're scared may be a sob.
You're already shaking your head to deny his apology - you don't need one, you don't blame him - but he's already leaning into you, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is all that you've been craving for months. It's comfort and love and warmth. It's wet with your shared grief and sorrows and relief. It's safety and it's grounding and it's your Levi.
It's everything. It's home.
His lips are softer than yours, gently caressing the cracks in your skin like he's scared you might fall apart. You're scared of the same, but he's there and he's real and you can easily push away any lingering fear with Levi's perfect touch.
Martha finds you two a few minutes later, Levi nearly lounging on your bed beside you, hands laced in your lap, exchanging gentle loving whispers to each other. You're half-surprised he doesn't pull away when the woman comes in, but you think he's just as starved for your warmth as you are for his. A wonderful quiet has settled between the two of you that you could just bask in for a better eternity, for that heaven you've been searching for. You're almost upset to be interrupted, but you also really want a shower.
You look to Levi with a question in your eyes, and his answering nod is enough for you. She's real.
"So good to see you awake, dear," Martha greets with a cheerfulness you don't share, but you're grateful someone can manage that bright of a smile. "It's been nearly two full days of rest for you. How are you feeling this morning?"
Two days doesn't seem right when your bones sting with fatigue and your eyes are still playing tricks, but you remember the sedative and just decide your body probably needed it instead of questioning the absurd amount of time that's passed. You hesitate to offer the same answer you gave to the very not real Petra when you first woke up, but it's the truth, so you use different words that mean the same thing. "Just...exhausted I think, and achy."
Martha hums, nodding her head as she makes notes on a clipboard. "To be expected of course. Any dizziness? Nausea?"
A lie is on the tip of your tongue because the fact that water made you nauseous is embarrassing and weak, but lying wouldn't help anything except maybe your ego, but that's hardly your priority at this point. "I had some water a little bit ago, it stayed down but it didn't...feel right. No dizziness though."
Levi squeezing your hand grounds you in that moment.
"Proper hydration and sustenance is something you've been lacking, you're body is in survival mode, using every facet to keep you going. It will take some time to readjust, especially with food." Martha seems to stall as if she doesn't want to move on to the next part. You're not sure if you want to hear it. "Most of your major injuries have healed about as much as they're going to since they happened months ago. You did a remarkable job caring for your wounds despite your limitations."
She pauses again and your teeth rattle with impatience.
"But...?" Levi actually speaks up, a protective arch to his brow and back stiff like he's expecting an attack.
"But..." Martha repeats, a tired sigh lacing the words. "You need to be prepared for the likelihood of permanent damage. The break in your femur, especially, has healed enough that slight pressures won't be a danger, but that doesn't mean it healed well. Your limp has put extra strain on your hips that's concerning for your future mobility."
"What does that mean?" You think you know, but you need to hear her say it.
"You won't be able to move the same way you did before, and if you're not careful moving forward in this process, it may get worse. I'm aware - " she says before you can interject, " - that you were able to successfully operate the maneuver gear on several occasions despite your injuries. That doesn't mean you're okay; in fact, it probably exacerbated the breaks and made everything worse. You had to survive, no one begrudges you that, but you don't need to survive in here anymore. You can't take those kinds of risks if you still want to be able to walk at all."
"You're telling me to quit the military." Your breath catches, panic seizing in your chest. You can't leave...this life is all you've known since you were twelve. Leaving - leaving isn't an option, it can't be; and Levi, you can't lose this, lose him again.
"I'm cautioning you about taking care of yourself. With the state of your leg and your hand, I'm advising against any field work. You'll likely need a crutch for the rest of your life. However, you're still a valuable asset. I'm sure the Commander already has a place planned for you in his personal counsel." She may be sure, but you're definitely not.
A crutch. For the rest of your life? Useless, you feel useless. Weak. She called you valuable, but all you can think is you've lost all purpose beyond breathing.
Your hands are shaking, lips pulling down into a deep watery frown as you fold into yourself. Forehead pressing tightly to your knees as you try to catch air, hips and spine aching at the angle. "I ca-can't...I need to be out there, but I can't - "
"You need to heal," Levi's voice is stern by your ear, calm and steady and him. "Don't worry about anything else."
"B-but..." Your words are wet and so are your cheeks, sniffles shaking your shoulders. "It terrifies me - the thought of going back out there. Of seeing those things, of fighting, of getting stuck. But it's scarier to think that I can't stop this from happening to anyone else."
"That's not your responsibility."
You shake your head because he's not getting it, but you don't know how to form the words, how to make it make sense. Maybe it doesn't make sense, maybe you're just deluding yourself into thinking you'd make any kind of difference at all. Still, the idea of being benched is somehow both like acid in your mouth and warm relief in your chest.
It's not like you have a squad to lead anymore.
Martha clears her throat, drawing your attention back. "Are you feeling any significant pain or discomfort anywhere? Anything you're concerned about?"
Answering that is harder than you thought it would be. Everything hurts, everything needs time to fucking heal. You're concerned that you'll never be able to move forward from this. But you don't say that.
You clench your jaw, looking down at your hand linked with Levi's in your lap, that damn letter teasing the edge of your vision. Patience. You think of Levi's finger poking your forehead. That needs to heal too. You're starting to hate that word, 'heal'. It makes you feel weak. "I've been...been seeing things."
"Oh? Bad dreams? It's unfortunate, but certainly normal for your circumstances."
"No, I mean..." You pause, squeezing Levi's hand to keep you stable. "I got sick a few days after - " you wave around your left hand, Martha and Levi following the gesture to the bare scarred stumps. Levi swallows, but Martha only nods for you to go on. "I had this really bad fever and started seeing things...people that aren't real. I lost all track of time. And even after the fever passed, I still - they're still there."
There's pity in Martha's eyes that has shame shriveling on your tongue, as if you had any actual control in these circumstances. "Fever induced hallucinations are common for high temperatures. You know what else can cause hallucinations? Sleep deprivation, prolonged dehydration, physical trauma and blood loss, hypothermia, extreme isolation, all of which applies here. Your body has been balancing on the edge of shutting down for weeks. Whatever you're seeing, good or bad, is part of your body's way of coping."
"My body is making me see visions of my dead friends walking around to fucking cope?!" You snap, anger and frustration curling your lip. You can't look at Levi despite his steady hand on your shoulder, the upset he feels at your words clear in the frigid grip of his fingers. You can't handle this...this thing in your head that thinks it's okay to exploit your fallen comrades. Your friends. But it's not Martha's fault, so you try to curb the bite in your next words with a deep breath that threatens to turn into a yawn. Exhaustion still pulls at your eyelids and wilts your spine. "How do I make it stop?"
Martha just smiles kindly. "Time, same as all the rest. Patience with yourself. Routine would probably help. You need to reacclimate to your life here. In the mean time, I suggest you keep up whatever you've been doing to help you differentiate between the hallucinations and reality."
You focus on Levi's hand, on his pulse under your fingers. "Touch helps." You trace his knuckles, marveling at the softness you find there, looking back up at Martha. "When can I shower?"
The woman barely holds back a chuckle at your question, and you spot Levi turning away with an amused smirk. "You're well enough that staying in the infirmary won't make much difference. The rest is up to you." The words are spoken to you, but you notice the sly flicker of her eyes up to Levi. Honestly, you can't find it in yourself to be upset, you want to be taken care of so badly your nerves ache. You're sick of doing it yourself. "Before you leave, I want you to eat something. We'll start light, of course, just some bone broth, work our way up from there, and plenty of water."
After the near miss with the water earlier, you're hesitant about the idea of food, but you know you need it and you have to start somewhere. Bone broth is easy, thin like water and stale in flavor. The inner pep talk isn't quite as convincing as you want it to be. It's a hurdle you'll cross when you get to it.
"Thank you, Martha." You reach for her hand, squeezing when her aged fingers grasp your own. "Really, thank you for everything."
That kind smile is back, the one the reminds you of a long dead mother, and you feel more tears stinging in your eyes. You'd complain about being a fucking crybaby, but you decide you've earned the privilege and bask in the brush of Levi's thumb under your cheek. "Squad Leader Hange will be in with your food soon. While you wait, you have a couple other visitors waiting outside if you think you're up for it."
You offer a crooked grin with less than half the mirth you'd normally feel, but you guess that's something else to work up to as well. "I refuse to sleep until I get that shower. I'm up for a couple extra distractions."
"Of course, dear, I'll send them in." With a last lingering smile, Martha heads to the door. "Oh, and before I forget, Welcome Home soldier. You've been dearly missed." She's gone before you can say anything else, though you're not sure you could even manage half a word with the surprise blocking your throat.
Watching Erwin and Mike step into the infirmary isn't exactly surprising, but it does have you unconsciously straightening your spine. You're not sure why, but the idea of anyone other than Levi seeing your frailty is almost upsetting.
Hailey trails behind them. Hailey with legs and a smile and the goggles you know so well. Hailey who you know is dead, but she skips like she's alive.
You look to Levi, who blinks in understanding. "Erwin and Mike," he clarifies in a whisper, and when you look back, Hailey is gone.
Again, you expect Levi to pull his hand back when Erwin and Mike approach your bedside, but he doesn't. Just holds tighter and swipes his thumb across your knuckles.
Your relationship was never a secret, but it has always been private. Touches and kisses and loving words only shared behind closed doors. It feels strange, but you welcome this new side of Levi that revels in your touch despite prying eyes. Letting go, you decide, would be as devastating as losing the air in your lungs.
Mike gets to your side first, large palm engulfing the crown of your head when he leans forward to get a big whiff of the nape of your neck. He stands tall with that gentle smile you know so well. "Still you."
"Hardly," you chuff, turning to sniff at your shoulder. "I stink like sweat, dirt, and...vinegar?"
"You had lice," Levi curtly offers, looking uncharacteristically shy with the lightest of pinks on his cheeks. You kiss his hand in thanks, barely holding back a snort at the uncomfortable shuffle of his feet.
"Under that, you're still you," Mike insists, sharp eyes boring into your own.
You know what he's saying, you're thankful for it. He ruffles your hair beneath his palm like he's reluctant to pull back. You almost don't want him to, but he does, and you choose to revel in the heavy protective weight he posts at your side instead.
Looking up at Erwin feels more intimidating than it ever has before, and you're not even sure why - except the part of you that's terrified of being discharged, of being sent away, of being blamed and scolded for mistakes that weren't your own.
Okay...maybe you do know why. You wait for him to speak first because words tumble on your tongue and you're not sure how to string together a sentence yet.
And then he moves his fist to his heart, saluting you. Everything stalls, your brain has stopped working. You can only listen and try to understand. He starts with your name, you almost don't recognize it. "Under my orders, you were abandoned in titan territory. That was my call - "
"It was the right call," you interrupt, nodding at the widening shock in his eyes. "It was the right call, Erwin. We didn't plan for rain, you had to retreat with as many survivors as you could and...you didn't know I was alive, right?"
The way he hesitates has your brows pulling together, a shiver of fear pulsing in your spine when your eyes snap from Mike to Levi - who looks almost terrifyingly angry in that moment - and back to Erwin. His voice is far too professional, far too controlled, jaw locked and hard. "We were told by Cadet Theodora Oswin that you had been crushed. With no reason to doubt her account in the midst of an emergency, I ordered the information be withheld from Captain Levi until we were safe behind the walls."
"Oswin," you repeat, the name rolling off your tongue like a foreign language. A weird satisfaction settles in your mind, you knew it started with an O. You're suddenly back to that day, rain in your eyes and Bully pinning you down. "She - I...I reached out. She looked at me and...and she turned away. She was scared, I know she was, but she - she - "
"Theodora Oswin has been dishonorably discharged from the Survey Corps, held in contempt for lying in her report detailing the death of her Squad Leader."
And suddenly you can breathe again, air stuttering down your throat as Levi whispers calming words in your ear. She's gone, she's gone, she's gone. It's a harsh punishment, too harsh, but you're grateful for Erwin's protection. "Thank you, Erwin," you sigh through a fresh wave of tears.
"Tch, she got off easy, if you ask me," Levi grunts under his breath, and part of you might agree, but you're biased.
"If it's not too much," Erwin starts, tone lowering into a gentle timber that settles your rising anxiety. "Do you have any information about the rest of your squad?"
"Dead," you say before you can think, startled by the word on your lips. The three men look just as shocked, eyes wide and concerned. "They - sorry..." you shake your head, trying to get your thoughts in order. "We got separated, I um...I found them by accident when I started towards a nearby forest for shelter. I scavenged supplies and then...then I buried them."
Erwin nods like he understands, like he was there, but he wasn't and you're so fucking tired. There's a lull in the conversation that you're embarrassed to have caused, but you also don't know how to move forward from this.
Hange makes it easy, they always do, and you can't help the startled laugh that bubbles between your lips when they stumble into the infirmary, bowl of broth balanced precariously in their palm and what you think is probably a pitcher of water splashing onto the cuff of their jacket. "Food time!"
"Took you long enough, Four Eyes," Levi grumbles, reaching for the bowl when they trip closer to the bed. "If you fucking spill that, I swear - "
"Calm down, Shortstack, I got this," Hange cackles, plopping the pitcher on the table to your right and stretching the bowl out of Levi's reach. "I can handle a bowl of soup just fine, rein yourself in, Mama Bear." They wink at you, manic grin you've missed so much pulling at their cheeks despite the murderous glint you're sure is in Levi's glare to your left. "Open up sweetie, I have some deliciously bland broth for you here."
You accept the spoonful of broth Hange feeds you, half tempted to complain about being treated like a baby, but mostly your arms are tired, and you think your left hand might pose a problem with either the bowl or the spoon, so you decide not to care. The broth is thin like water as you expected, and just as bland as Hange bragged about. It's nicely warm down your throat, but settles about as well as your earlier drink of water. You fight to keep down the next few spoonfuls because you refuse to throw up in front of your friends, in front of Levi.
"So, I've been sort of itching to ask," Hange starts a few minutes later, and you just know they're going to ask about what kind of titan behavior you saw. Thinking of Preston has a complicated mix of longing and trepidation swirling in your chest.
"Hange..." There's a warning in Levi's voice, something you're grateful for but you also don't want your friends to tiptoe around you like something broken - even if you are, just a little bit.
"It's okay, Levi, really. I actually...I wanted to ask you something first," you mumble, tapping against Levi's whitened knuckles and staring at your lap. "We know titans are slower in the cold, but...do you think the temperature makes them docile?"
They're looking at you like you're crazy, you can feel it - except Hange, of course, who's practically vibrating. You try not to wince as the broth sloshes over the edge of the bowl. "Docile?! Docile how?!"
But you hesitate because Levi already knows about the hallucinations and what if he thinks you're making it up? What if you did? What if Preston was never actually there, or at least not there like you remember him to be? You don't know how to trust your own thoughts anymore.
You're not aware you're shaking or that you're clenching your hands until Levi's murmuring close to your ear. "Just breathe, it's okay. Whatever you saw, whatever you have to ask, it's okay."
A deep breath settles your fluttering heart. Hange is watching you with barely contained excitement. "There was this titan in the forest, eleven meters I think," you begin in a soft, almost timid voice. "It, uh, never stood up, but it was big. I used it to...to stay warm. Cut all of his joints over and over so he couldn't move. The only reason I didn't freeze to death was the steam, especially during the blizzards, I - " but you stop, suddenly sickened by the memory of a bloody muscular nook in the titan's stomach. The small amounts of broth you'd managed to choke down churn dangerously. "He never hurt me, never tried to eat me, even when I didn't have the strength to cut him up again. Just laid there, just watched me, for months."
Hange squeals your name, bouncing up and down on their heals. "You're a genius! Using their steam to survive the cold, absolutely brilliant, haHA!" They start rambling under their breath about the different ways a titan's steam could be useful and the benefits of holding a titan captive in a similar manner. Their index finger curls under the jut of their chin. "You said it just watched you? I wonder why...maybe it grew attached, or it was waiting for the perfect time to attack?"
"Preston had plenty of opportunity, he never - "
"Preston?" It's Erwin that interrupts you, one massive eyebrow raised. Your cheeks warm, blush brightening the tips of your ears, and you fumble through a few words as you try not to curl into yourself.
"I like that name!" Hange laughs, slapping your shoulder that hurts more than you'll admit and sending you a reassuring wink. "The beastie saved your life, deserves a strong name, I think. Good choice!"
Mike and Erwin both nod like it's obvious, but you're still fighting the fluster in your cheeks. Levi is weirdly silent at your side, and you're too scared to look at his reaction, so you just nod thankfully at the scientist and accept a few more spoonfuls of now lukewarm broth.
"I just wanted to know if the cold could have caused any of his strange behavior."
"Hmmm," Hange taps their chin, glasses flashing. "It could have, I suppose, but it's more likely that Preston is just an extra abnormal abnormal. Could be both. Redundant, maybe, but without observing him myself, I can't really say for sure." They smile kindly at you, placing their hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "We should just be glad Preston was there to help you come back to us."
"Yeah," you nod with half-lidded eyes, deciding not to mention that he's still alive, probably lounging beneath that massive tree. Thin arms and legs twitching, fat gut steaming. Sparkling white grin wide and sharp and straight. Yellow eyes stuck on the spot you disappeared into the horizon.
You wonder if he ever tried to follow you.
A jaw-cracking yawn interrupts your thoughts, wetness springing to the corners of your eyes, and you lean heavily into Levi's side when all your energy seams to drain from your limbs. His arm winds around your back, warm and holding you close to his chest, and you've never felt safer than when his heart beats by your ear.
"Tired?" You can hear the amusement in his voice, fingers threading through the loose strands of your hair that still smell of vinegar. Your nose curls.
You hum, burrowing further into his hold. "Mhmm, but shower first." You think you hear the others laugh, but you're too exhausted and comfortable to care at this point.
There's a few more muffled mumbles between Levi and the others before you hear the click of the infirmary door. It's just you and Levi, a tension you hadn't realized you'd been holding in your shoulders and the bend of your spine loosening in one fell swoop.
You can't remember the last time you talked this long. Your throat is sore from something other than thirst. It's refreshing, but still bothersome in its own way. You blink slowly, eyelids heavy and neck slouching.
"I wan' go t'bed," you slur, nuzzling the juncture of Levi's neck.
You feel one lean muscular arm bracing your shoulders, the other snaking gently beneath your knees. Your leg twinges when he lifts you and your hips dip a little too sharply, but mostly you're just glad not to be walking. "Thought you wanted to shower?"
"Tha' too, then bed. Our bed," you add, lips lingering on the silver ring on your thumb before placing your mangled hand over the beat of his heart. "Real."
"Yeah, I'm real," he says into your hair, chest rumbling with his words, grip tightening around your body. Safe, this is safe.
For the first time since you woke up, you're not so scared to let happiness in.
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It's unsettling the way your shoulders poke into his skin and your legs are thinner than his arms. You're weightless in his hold, lighter than the burden of fully stocked ODM gear at his hips, and it's fucking scary.
Levi's pretty sure if you weren't in his arms and he could hide from your beautiful gaze, he'd be on his knees heaving onto the floor.
He wants to kill Theodora Oswin. It's never been something he actually wanted to do, but this time he does. He wants to do it slowly; he wants to personally escort her outside the walls and leave her there with a broken leg.
As it stands, he'd only managed a sharp jab of his elbow into her jugular before Erwin and Mike pulled him off and practically exiled her from the Survey Corps. Too easy, too soft.
He wants her to know what she did to you, to have nightmares about the hell she forced on you. Because, even though you came back and you're breathing in his arms, she killed a part of you.
You had to bury your squad. People that trusted you with their lives, people you trained with, grew up with, people you cherished. Your friends, your family. You buried your family with your bare hands.
The severed remains of Furlan and Isabel dance behind his eyes and he's suddenly terrified of the images your mind conjures to torture you, apparently to fucking cope, according to Martha. He thinks the concept is cruel and unfair, but everything over the last three months has been the same. Levi just wishes this was something he could carry for you.
Your body will never fully recover, and even if he could erase the scars and the breaks and the hollow indent of your stomach that has marred your existence for the last three months, he can't even begin to imagine the mental toll. No, not that he can't...he's terrified to because you're seeing your dead friends and your living friends and they're saying things he's sure aren't kind.
Levi thinks of your scream when you thought he was another figment of your mind and he's scared to wonder what the mirage of him has polluted your thoughts with. He's thinks of not even an hour ago when an image of Petra had you trembling and mumbling and crying. He thinks of every time you've looked to him to confirm the breathing people in the room.
And you had to personify a damn disgusting titan just to compensate for the isolation. You named it Preston. It just...it makes him so sad to think of you huddled and shaking next to the steaming meat of a disabled titan, trying to make conversation because it's just so so quiet and if you don't fill the space with something you'll shatter within yourself.
He knows that kind of quiet, and the few days he spent whispering to his mother's body before Kenny came and whisked him away were a special kind of eternal hell he wouldn't wish on anybody.
But Preston was there for you when Levi couldn’t be, and he’s bizarrely grateful to a titan for keeping you warm and alive and maybe a little less lonely until the day you stumbled back into his arms. He's not used to such gray areas of thinking, not when it comes to the monsters that pick human bits of bone out of the crevices of their smiling teeth, but every beat of your heart and puff of air against his neck has him feeling indebted to the predator he's sworn to annihilate.
When you spoke of Preston, almost gentle, almost longing, Levi couldn't speak unless he wanted the sob he'd been holding back to rip through the feathered remains of his throat.
Preston was somehow kind to you and he's not about to curse that kind of blessing.
Levi holds you just a bit tighter, hoping enough of his warmth will sink so far into your skin that the you from weeks ago shivering in the snow will feel him and know...know that he loves you, that he never stopped, and he's so fucking sorry, but he's coming for you.
The corridors are blissfully empty of any stray cadets or higher ranking officers, likely because it's the middle of scheduled training. Not that he's in any way embarrassed to be seen cradling you to his chest. Hardly. He'd keep you there for the rest of his life if his arms could take the strain. But the staring would be annoying and the whispered gossip about the squad leader risen from the dead would set his teeth on edge and he really doesn't want to disturb your rest if he can.
You've already become a bit of a legend, and all he wants to do is shield you from tall tales that'll pull you back to that place.
The halls are cooler than the infirmary had been, so Levi is sure to walk faster towards his quarters when you start to shiver in his arms.
'Our bed,' you had mumbled before and he can't help the flutter in his ribcage or the pink rising to his ears. It's amazing how one possessive word can bring so much elation to his thumping heart. He's glad he asked Eld and Petra to scrub the room of dust and launder the sheets the morning before when he remembered the state of the untouched bed. You deserve clean and fresh and soft more than anyone.
He knows you're not asleep, though you're very close to tipping over that edge, because every few seconds you murmur under your breath or kiss his jaw or dance your fingers across the exposed skin of his throat. It gives him goosebumps. Your touch is something he never thought he'd feel again, he'll revel in anything you're willing to share with him.
His lips press to your forehead briefly before his focus shifts to the door to his office. It's takes a complicated stretch of his hand behind your back and a knock from his boot to push the door open, but you're seemingly undisturbed by his jerky movement, so he counts the clumsiness as a success.
It's still technically morning, so warm light filters into the stillness of his office. He holds back a snort when you try to hide your eyes in the lapels of his uniform as he steps to the bedroom.
Not as bright because the curtains are thankfully drawn, the air is particle free, smelling of the lemon cleansing solution he prefers for his rooms, and the bed sheets have been replaced. He notices the garishly colored throw blanket usually draped on your reading chair has been moved to quilt over the bed. Gently he lowers you into the divot of your blue chair, pressing his palm onto the new point of your cheekbone to get your attention. Your eyelids flutter, irises shining with sleepiness, but an automatic smile pulls at your lips that has his heart skipping.
You wiggle in the cushion, curious brow raising. "Mhm, feels different."
"It's more comfortable than it looks," Levi says instead of admitting he slept in the chair instead of the bed, too grief-ridden to subject himself to the too-empty mattress. The imprint of his body has replaced yours in the cushion.
You don't ask, just nod, and he thinks you might understand.
"I'm going to go prepare the bath." Levi stands, squeezing your hand when you grapple for his fingers like he's about to disappear. "You'll be able to see me the whole time. What do you want to wear to bed?"
"Sof' pants, big sweater," you mumble, clearly hesitant to pull your hand from his. One more squeeze to your palm, and then he makes his way to the wardrobe.
Soft pants means another pair of his sweats. Big sweater is this one specific pullover you purposefully bought two sizes too large because you like the way it covers your hands and reaches your knees. He thinks now you'll probably swim in the fabric, but he knows how comfortable it is because he's warn it several times over the last three months.
Maybe you'll notice his scent sunken into the fabric the same way you noticed the new dents in your cushioned chair.
He remembers to snag a pair of panties and some thick wool socks. Winter is over, but the chill lingers in the stone walls of headquarters, and the last thing he wants is for you to suffer any more cold.
Levi sets the clothes and two towels on the edge of the counter, making sure the bathroom door stays open so you can see him. He keeps the sensitive skin of his elbow under the running water to test the temperature in the tub because burning you is absolutely not an option.
Going back to that blue chair he's grown to cherish as much as you, he sit you up and helps you remove his shirt and sweats from your body. Part of him expected you to be mummified beneath the fabric, but you really only needed bandages on a few especially bad sores. They're due for cleaning and fresh wrapping anyway, so he removes them as carefully as possible so he doesn't pull at your delicate skin. He tries not to let his eyes linger on every detail of pain and neglect he finds on your person and carries you to the bath.
You sigh when you sink into the water, muscles visibly loosening as the warmth seeps into your flesh. Levi hands you your toothbrush that he could never bring himself to toss away, toothpaste already sticking to the bristles. Your eyes widen like he's just handed you gold and you immediately start scrubbing away at your teeth.
Eventually, your spit comes away lathered with blood and minty foam. You spit into the cup he holds in front of your mouth. He rinses the brush, puts more toothpaste on it, and hands it back to you because he knows the fuzzy feeling of built up plaque. You brush your teeth two more times before the red fades from your spit and you scrub away the film of time on your tongue. Levi cleans the toothbrush and the cup, placing both in their rightful place on the vanity.
He uses a different cup to wet your hair, pressing his hand over your forehead to protect your eyes.
"Do you think Erwin's going to discharge me?" Your question stalls him in the midst of squirting a dollop of soap onto his hand.
He huffs, lathering his hands until the soap is bubbling. You lean into his fingers scrubbing at your scalp, the vinegar smell disappearing under the soft floral scent. "You're the only person ever to have survived in titan territory for more than a few days, and alone at that, he'd be a damn idiot to let you go."
"But I can't fight anymore..."
Levi's jaw clenches through his frown, hiding behind your head as he rinses away the soap with gentle touches. "You shouldn't have to, you've fought enough."
"I just...you don't think I'm useless now?"
"What?" He's breathless, he's sad, he's angry. He takes a deep chestful of air and focuses on rubbing the citrus body soap into the sharp ridges of your spine. "Don't be stupid, you're hardly useless."
"Enlighten me then," you grumble, wrapping your arms around your legs and hiding your pout in the caps of your knees.
"You can strategize with Bushy Brow - "
You scoff, "Like he even needs help with that."
"More than you think. And besides, I'm sure Shitty Glasses would love to recruit you into their experiments and research, if that's something you want. Or you could guide training, our cadets could learn a thing or two from you." You just shrug noncommittally, moving your body as he guides so he can wash under your arms and down to your ankles. "You can do all my paperwork from now on."
Satisfaction blooms in his chest when you actually laugh. "Yeah, you got it."
He carefully rinses the suds from your body, pulls the plug for the water to drain, and guides you into a standing position balanced mostly against his side, wrapping you in one of the fluffy towels before you fully register the chilly air. "You'll never be useless, get that nonsense out of your head," he orders, dropping the other towel on your head to dry your hair.
"I love you."
Levi melts inside at the words, hoping to hear them and say them to you for the rest of your lives. "I love you more," he says against your hand, kissing the scarred knuckles.
"Impossible," you tease, and despite the little grin he gives you, he doesn't feel any amusement. He can't imagine anyone feeling anything more than the love he holds for you in his heart.
In a wonderfully comfortable silence, he rebandages the worst of the wounds and helps you into your pajamas. He was right, the sweater swallows you up, and you look so tiny. It's as endearing as it is tragic.
The bed has never looked as inviting as the sight of you sitting on the edge, watching him while he removes the bulk of his uniform. The belts he hangs on the door of the wardrobe, boots stacked next to it, while the rest gets piled into the hamper in the corner of the room until he's left in just his briefs. He's always run a bit on the hotter side, and he wants to feel as much of you as possible against his skin, swathed in warming fabric or not.
He joins you under the sheets and the knitted blanket. You're already huddling close to his chest before he has a chance to pull you in, and all Levi can do is marvel at your head tucked under his chin, hands cupping the beat of his heart, legs twining with his own.
It hits him all over again that you're alive.
You did that, you kept your promise, you came back to him. He wants to kneel at your feet in thanks, but settles for reveling in the brush of your breath against his skin.
"Levi?" Your voice tickles his ear.
"Hm?"
"Can you make me some tea when I wake up?" You say with a gentle timidity like he wouldn't bring the world to its knees if you asked him to.
He smiles, hiding the tears prickling his eyes in the softness of your hair. "Sure," Levi mumbles, holding you just a bit closer. "With a spoonful of honey." You hum contently in his arms, already drifting into sleep.
This is what perfection feels like, what home feels like.
He's missed it.
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glsneeg-enthusiast · 5 months
Text
sneeg who is showfalls son. sneeg who wants to die ugly and bleeding but will never die on screen. sneeg who is the wolf and the lamb. sneeg who is cain. sneeg who wants to murder charlie in the worst way possible so that showfall cant love him anymore. sneeg who wants to be charlie. sneeg who wants showfall and the audience to love him. sneeg who is smiling while charlie murders him because it means someone will give him attention later. sneeg who wants to be perfect like charlie but is still thrashing and screaming when employees grab him. sneeg who knows death more than himself and is still crying when hes bleeding out. sneeg who hates charlie but will still hug him and mutter apologies when charlies dying. sneeg who is praying to god and begging for forgiveness. sneeg who knows every bible verse and will mutter them under his breath whenever something slightly reminds him of one. sneeg who gave himself stigmata. sneeg who was happy when charlie was turned into a demon for tse and he wasnt because he thought showfall was finally mad at charlie instead of him. sneeg who has a cross necklace that he wears under his hoodie. sneeg who believes in showfall the same way he believes in god. sneeg who carves the showfall logo into his skin inbetween shows. sneeg whos love is worship is fear. sneeg who hates showfall and is doing whatever he thinks will make them like him. sneeg whos horribly injuring himself so that someone will give him attention. sneeg whos killing himself in horrible ways because he felt like it or thought he should be dead or out of spite because charlie told him to. sneeg who is too good with his teeth. sneeg who knows exactly how to bite where it hurts. sneeg who accepts death until it takes too long and he gets sick of it and starts fighting back. sneeg who knows how to dismember someone because he did it to charlie. sneeg who knows what human flesh and organs taste like. sneeg who gets hungry from the smell of blood. sneeg who ate part of franks corpse because grief is love is worship is cannibalism. sneeg who loved frank more than he ever loved himself or charlie or showfall or god. sneeg who wanted to kill frank because he thought frank ruined him more. sneeg who loved and was loved and was punished because of it. sneeg who latched onto niki after frank died because she hates showfall the same way frank did. sneeg who thought niki was frank until he realized frank was dead. sneeg who hates austin for being gay while being gay himself. sneeg who is constantly going for austins throat because he cant stand the idea of austin being gay too and not having gone through the same thing. sneeg who is telling showfall everytime austin does something that can be interpreted as gay so that they torture him. sneeg who knows nothing other than blood and viscera and violence and betrayal. sneeg who doesnt blame the other cast members for killing him or letting him die. sneeg who is uncomfortably comfortable with tearing into someone with his bare hands. sneeg who knows everybody hates him so he doesnt think twice about leaving the others to die. sneeg who slaughters the others like animals because thats all he knows. sneeg who doesnt want to be alone but cant be anything else. sneeg who is spare parts. sneeg who is a backup plan. sneeg who is only in shows because they needed a bigger cast and the audience liked charlie and sneegs dynamics. sneeg who is the only one that doesnt have a normal name. sneeg who has alexia because showfall fucked up his brain so bad. sneeg who wont fight back if hes being smothered because it reminds him of the mask on his face. sneeg who has an unnaturally high pain tolerance because all showfall does is torture him. sneeg who is isolated from charlie and the others for god knows how long everytime he acts out. sneeg who cant interact with anyone on his own because what if he says something wrong and showfall takes him away again. sneeg who still has the same needs and wants that a child does because he never got them.
sneeg who had to be dragged fighting and screaming out of the mall. sneeg who didnt want to leave his home. sneeg who cant leave because frank is still there and theyll bring him back eventually they always bring everyone back eventually. sneeg who almost killed everybody the second they got out the mall. sneeg who had to have his head bashed into the ground until he passed out so he would stop. sneeg who had to be restrained for days because he kept trying to murder whoever he saw. sneeg who was only let out because charlie felt pity. sneeg who was in survival mode and dissociating for months. sneeg who can only stomach raw meat because hes only ever ate humans. sneeg whos hallucinating frank and cameras and the audience. sneeg whos watching all of the shows on repeat so he doesnt forget what frank looks like and he misses showfall. sneeg who doesnt sleep because what if franks not there when he wakes up. sneeg who doesnt interact anyone except charlie but when he does hes trying to kill them. sneeg who will only ever be showfalls son.
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fox-moblin · 5 months
Text
Announcement
Because I changed it so that only registered users can view my works on Ao3 (due to AI scraping), I've decided to upload chapters of ATWEA to Tumblr as well for people w/o Ao3 accounts.
Chapters will be uploaded a day after their upload to Ao3 (other than the first three, which are already uploaded to Ao3 and will be uploaded today instead.) I'll have links to each chapter in my pinned post on my blog.
...So, anyways, here's Chapter 1. Rest of chapter under cut.
Comments and reblogs appreciated as always :V
***
And The World Ends Again
A Linked Universe AU set in a post-apocalyptic Mad Max-inspired world.
Chapter 1
Next Chapter, Read on Ao3
The day their mother dies, Time finds Twilight down by the old river bed, hiding beneath the fallen tree that’s been dead too long to remember what it once was. 
He’s curled up in the shadow of its corpse, all gangly limbs and stifled sobs, clutching their mother’s handkerchief to his chest; when Time peaks around the mess of dry branches and meets his eyes, his younger brother buries his face into the worn yellow fabric and cries even harder.  
The funeral procession is still going, carrying their mother’s body from their shabby little house to the top of the hill where she used to sit and sing, waiting on a husband that wouldn’t return and hoping for a day when the rain would come and stick around for more than just a few days a year. Except nobody’s singing now; Time thinks it’s a shame, because Mama always said that she’d want lots of singing at her funeral - singing and dancing and celebrating, because she’d finally be moving on from this dead world and onto the next, where there would be clean water and green grasses and nobody looking to raid their meager little village for all it was worth. 
But the people of the village don’t sing when they carry her up the hill - there isn’t even all that much crying. Instead, their footsteps fall heavy on the dusty earth, a steady beat that doesn’t seem to match the racing of Time’s heart, and the village leader’s voice is the only other sound that cuts through the dry air, droning on about how this world takes everything from the living, so it’s good practice to cling to whatever you can. 
Time crawls beneath the dead branches of the dead tree and curls around his little brother, closing his eyes against the feeling of tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt and straining to hear the fading footsteps of the funeral march. Nobody’ll come looking for them; not after they saw Twilight tear off under the midday sun, hollering like a mad dog and cursing the spoiled land beneath them. 
Time can’t blame them; people have enough problems to worry about without two motherless boys weighing on their resources. 
Still, it’ll be a hard few months; maybe not physically, because, as much as Time loathes to admit it, now there’s one less person taking up whatever meager funds he manages to collect working in the mines. Less people means more food to split between them, more blankets to share during the cold nights, more water to pass over cracked lips and dry tongues.
It’ll be hard, though, because their mother was just about the only good thing about this place and Time has a hard time imagining he can offer even half of the hope she managed to provide.
In his arms, Twilight has begun to quiet, heaving sobs turned to little hiccups and soft sniffles. Time presses a kiss to his hair, tasting the salt of his own tears, and attempts to remember the songs their mother used to sing when the dust storms blew in from the surrounding wastelands. His mind comes up empty, though, so instead he just hums nonsense tunes and rocks his little brother in the shade of the dead tree, staring out across the dried up river bed and trying to imagine the water that used to dwell in its cradle.  
The world had already ended long before he was born, but Time can’t help but think that, today, it’s been destroyed all over again. 
------------------------------
3,613 days after their mother dies (because that’s how Twilight has kept track of time since the worst day of his life), the second worst day of his life hits him like a wagon. 
Literally. 
There’s a shout behind him, the scream of a horse gone haywire, and then he’s lying on the ground, bleeding dark red all over the pale soil. He thinks he can hear someone calling for help - calling for Time, because his big brother’s still working down in the underground, where there’s barely any light and he comes home smelling like salt and shadows. 
There’s hands on his chest and his face and his head, lifting and pulling at him until he cries out from the pain, and then the world tilts as he heaved onto someone’s back, his arms dangling limply; he squeezes his eyes shut, forcing back the bile that rises in his throat as he’s jostled, and tries to keep breathing - it’s getting hard, because his chest feels like someone’s pressing their whole weight down on him and every movement of the body beneath him makes his rib bones creak and groan. 
Someone’s talking to him, telling him to stay awake. Twilight thinks they need to be quiet.
And then suddenly he’s lying on something soft. There’s still yelling all around him, a chorus of meaningless panic, but it’s muffled now, as if all the sound in the world has been smothered by a big blanket. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but he can feel the darkness trying to creep in again. He tilts towards its welcoming numbness with a weak sigh. 
“-light? Baby, open your eyes for me…” 
A woman’s voice, warm and familiar, cuts through the din. Twilight lets out a low moan as something is pressed against his side, sending spikes of pain shooting through his abdomen and down his legs. He jolts, trying to get away, but soft hands hold him down with surprising strength. 
“Baby, you gotta hold still for me, now… that’s it, that’s it. Now open your eyes, Twilight.” 
“M’ma…” He murmurs, turning his face into the palm that cups his cheek. There’s a stuttered breath somewhere above him, before the voice comes again. 
“No, baby. Open your eyes for me now, c’mon.” 
The pressure in his side increases and he opens his mouth in a silent cry, jerking away from the pain as best he can. His eyes fly open of their own accord, unfocused, and through the haze of tears and what might be the beginnings of a fever, a face swims into view above him; red hair halos soft green eyes and Twilight feels a mixed rush of relief and disappointment wash over him. 
“...M…lon…?” 
The face breaks into a worried grin. 
“Hi baby. You’re gonna be okay, okay? You just gotta keep breathin’ for me, yeah?” 
“Hurts…” 
“I know, baby,” Malon murmurs and swipes her thumb across his cheek. “Time’s gonna be here soon. They already sent someone to go get him.” 
“Nnn…” Twilight tries to shake his head. “...e’s w’rkin’...” 
“Honey, you’re more important.” 
Twilight tries to object - they need supplies, dammit, and goddess knows he ain’t gonna be able to work for a while after this - but his brother’s wife just shushes him gently and presses a kiss to his sweaty forehead. 
“It’s gonna be okay,” she tells him and Twilight closes his eyes with a groan. 
No, it’s not , he wants to say, but his chest is starting to hurt so bad his breath isn’t coming as easily and he can hear Malon starting to panic above him, calling his name and shaking him. Somewhere nearby, a door slams open and there’s more yelling, before two large hands are on either side of his face, palms worn and warm as they tilt his head up. 
“Twilight! Twilight, you open your eyes right now !” 
He can’t, he can’t, he can’t , but he knows that it’s Time holding him now, body blocking out the lantern light and bringing with him the smell of the underground. His face must be a picture, Twilight thinks, now covered in the soot of his brother’s hands, mixing with all his blood and sweat.
“Pup, you gotta open your eyes for me, y’hear - you gotta breathe- ” 
It’s getting real dark now - darker than before, even though his eyes have been closed for a while. The kind of dark that comes when you’re on the verge of falling asleep. The kind of dark that only happens in the middle of a starless night, when the clouds are so heavy they block out all the light and leave only an endless void.   
“-ake up-!” 
Twilight thinks he might be drifting towards that void as more voices join in. 
“...pressure buildin’... -is lungs…” 
“...be able to breathe…” 
“...we… to release it… gonna hurt…” 
That’s the last thing he hears before something sharp is jabbed into his side, in between his ribs and into whatever soft stuff lies beneath, and his breath comes back to him in a rush of painful air; Twilight writhes, a howl bursting from the back of his throat as his chest finally finally expands the way it’s supposed to. 
There’s more words, Time and Malon’s voices mixing together with someone else’s - the village healer, maybe - and then Twilight, for all that he can now breathe without feeling like their whole house is sitting on his chest, thinks that he’s still hurting pretty bad and his head feels like it’s stuffed with cloth and he doesn’t really want to be awake anymore. 
So, when the voices start to fade and that darkness comes back, creeping in from the boundaries of his mind like the shadows that dance at the edge of firelight, Twilight takes one last big breath in and lets the pain wash over him. Time calls his name again, frantic, but he’s too far gone to even care.
The darkness beckons and Twilight goes willingly. 
When he finally wakes, some hours later if the fading light from the window is anything to go by, he’s lying in his own bed and covered in the blanket their mother made when he was just a baby; it’s near threadbare at this point, but neither he nor Time had ever had the heart to get rid of it. 
Time, who is currently sat at his bedside and bent at the waist, his head buried in Twilight’s stomach and face turned to reveal soot stains on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He’s asleep, brow forever furrowed by the weight of the world, and he grimaces when Twilight lifts a shaky hand to brush away the messy bangs that Time refuses to let Malon clip.  
It’s a testament to the chaos of the day that Time doesn’t wake. 
Instead, Malon eventually enters the room, another blanket in her arms and her hair done up in a messy bun; she lays the blanket across Time’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head as she does. 
Twilight watches the moment with lidded eyes, feeling like an intruder in his own sickbed, until Malon looks up and meets his tired gaze with her own; surprise overtakes her features when she sees he’s awake, before she gathers herself and places a gentle hand on his chest - her other palm she presses to his cheek, pursing her lips as she does.  
“Hi baby,” she murmurs and Twilight feels his cheeks color, though he’s not sure if it’s from the endearment or the fever. He mouths ‘hi’ back, wincing when a jab of pain lances through his chest. Time’s head rocks with the movement, but his brother only mumbles something in his sleep before burrowing deeper into the blanket over Twilight’s body. Twilight lets his lip twitch upwards at the feeling. 
Malon is watching them with a fond smile, though it’s tinged with worry. After a moment, she reaches for a bowl of water sat on a nearby table and brings it slowly to Twilight’s lips, tilting his head with her free hand and helping him to take careful sips. 
The water is lukewarm from the heat of the day, metallic and bitter, but it feels like an oasis in the desert of his mouth.
“Thank you,” he whispers when she steps away and she gives him a look of such kindness that he can’t help but thank the goddess that Time finally got his shit together a few years back and actually asked for her hand. 
She’d brought back a little bit of the light the two of them had been missing for a long while and Twilight doesn’t think either of them would have survived much longer without her in their lives. 
He thinks today is probably a pretty good example of that. 
It’s as Twilight is pondering the wonders of Malon and all her ‘magic,’ that his brother finally wakes - it is, unfortunately, not at all graceful. Time jerks in his sleep, sending a jab of pain through Twilight’s chest that travels down the length of his limbs and leaves him biting out a low whine. Malon is quick to pull her husband away, supporting him as he jolts awake with a yelp. 
Were Twilight in any other situation, he might’ve laughed at the look of confusion on Time’s face. Instead, he’s too busy riding out the wave of agony that’s decided to take up residence in his body. He can vaguely feel Time’s hands on his shoulders, grounding him as he grips the blanket hard enough that his knuckles begin to turn white. By the time he’s able to regain control, he’s soaked in sweat and his chest is heaving - it aches something fierce, but at least it’s more manageable than the red hot burn that’s now slowly receding. 
When the world finally comes back into focus, Time is staring at him with a look of horror, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. 
“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Pup,” he stammers, hands hovering uselessly over Twilight’s body. “Oh goddess, okay, okay, uh…” 
He looks to Malon for help, but she’s too focused on dabbing Twilight’s forehead with an old rag to notice. 
Twilight reaches an uncoordinated hand in Time’s direction; it ends up falling limply back onto the bed, but it’s enough to grab his brother’s attention. Time takes it in his own, holding it to his chest as he sits back down beside Twilight’s bed. 
“S’fine,” Twilight mumbles. Above him, Malon rolls her eyes, but she steps back, allowing Time to lean in closer and press a shaky hand to Twilight’s forehead. 
She looks at Twilight over Time’s shoulder, arching her eyebrow in a way that Twilight has yet to master for himself, and mouths the words ‘I’ll be back soon,’ before gathering up her rag and the water bowl and leaving the room. 
In the quiet of her absence, Twilight closes his eyes and tries to center himself; Time is running his fingers through Twilight’s sweat-soaked hair, murmuring soft apologies. Outside, the wind is rustling the dry branches of whatever weeds manage to stake a claim in the dry soil. 
“M’sorry,” he finally says, looking at Time. His brother shakes his head, moving his hand to cradle Twilight’s head and hold it steady as he brings them forehead to forehead.  
“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout,” he murmurs. Twilight sighs and does his best to press back. Time huffs out a quiet laugh, pulling away just enough to meet Twilight’s gaze. “Accidents happen, Pup.” 
“Y’should be w’rkin’...” 
“An’ you should be restin’, but here you are sayin’ things like ‘sorry,’ instead.” 
Twilight does his best to roll his eyes, but it only makes the world spin, so he settles for looking up at the ceiling instead. It’s been patched over so many times it’s beginning to look like the quilt Malon brought with her when she first came to live with them. 
“Papa traded our last cow for it,” she’d explained to Twilight once, holding it up to show him each of the patches - scraps of all different fabrics, from handkerchiefs to blankets to old shirts. “Got it off a scavenger from somewhere West of here.” 
“Why’d he trade your cow for it?” Twilight had asked, still too young to catch the way Malon’s eyes had grown sad at the memory. 
“He was a bit senile, by the end,” she’d finally said, and that had been the last they’d spoken about it. 
“You still with me, Pup?” 
Time’s voice draws him away from the memory, concern poorly concealed by a veil of calm. Twilight nods and takes a deep breath, ignoring the way his chest smarts at the action. Time gives him a sympathetic look, placing a hand on his sternum; Twilight smiles weakly.
Time rewards him with a smile of his own, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before sitting back with a sigh and looking out the window to where the sun is beginning to set. Twilight watches him for a moment, before shifting in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. 
“Y’should… rest,” he says once he manages to get somewhat settled. “Gotta… be ready for work t’morrow…” 
Time doesn’t look at him. 
“I ain’t goin’ to the mines tomorrow.” 
“Time,” Twilight says and tries to lift himself on shaking arms. Time pushes him back with a gentle sound of admonishment; Twilight goes willingly, but he fixes his brother with a glare nonetheless. “Y’need to go… I’ll be fine…” 
“I said I ain’t goin’ to the mines tomorrow,” Time repeats and then looks away towards the door. “I ain’t goin’ at all… anymore.” 
It takes a moment for Twilight to understand what his brother is saying, but once it sinks in, it’s only the pain and exhaustion that keeps him from leaping out of bed and shaking Time by the shoulders. 
“...y’lost it… l’st the job…” 
“More like I shoved it right back up the Overseer’s ass,” Time says out the side of his mouth, but Twilight is too preoccupied with the consequences his brother’s actions admire his sass. 
“Nnoo, no nnoo,” he moans and throws an arm over his face; the movement pulls at the wound in his side, but he pays it little mind. “Why-” 
“He wanted me to stay.” Time cuts him off sharply. “Wanted me to stick around an’ keep diggin’ while you were here, bleedin’ out.” He crosses his arms with a huff. 
Twilight curls his lips in a snarl. 
“Y’shoulda stayed…” 
“Like Hell,” Time hisses. “You were dyin’-” 
“Wasn’t dyin’,” Twilight bites out and then startles when Time stands so abruptly that his chair tips over and falls to the ground with a thud. Twilight stares up to where his brother is looking down at him with an anger that Twilight hasn’t seen in nearly a decade. 
“You,” Time nearly spits. “Weren’t breathin’ when I finally made my way here. You were paler than a ghost and lyin’ so still I thought… I thought…” His voice breaks and he turns away suddenly, bringing a trembling hand to his mouth. Twilight watches, shocked. 
Finally, Time seems to collect himself enough to speak again. 
“I thought I was too late… you weren’t movin’ and Malon couldn’t get you to wake up and I… I thought I’d lost you…” 
He doesn’t look at Twilight as he all but collapses onto the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he curls over himself. 
“I cannot lose you,” Time whispers and finally looks at Twilight through the gaps in his fingers. 
Twilight doesn’t speak - doesn’t know what to even say . He lays there, staring at Time and unable to come up with a proper response. Time just looks at him, tired eyes boring holes into Twilight’s very being. 
The silence is broken by the bedroom door creaking open and both of them turn to see Malon peeking her head into the room. 
“Just… checkin’ in…” she says, eyeing the fallen chair. Neither Time nor Twilight offer her a response and, after a moment, she hesitantly nods and then leaves, closing the door behind her.  
This seems to break Time out of whatever stupor he’d been caught in, because he finally takes pity on Twilight and stands, knees cracking as he does. He’s looking at Twilight again, but all the anger is gone, replaced by a deep weariness that seems to pervade his entire being. He leans over to place a hand on Twilight’s head, leaving it there for a moment, before stepping away. 
“I’ll figure somethin’ out,” he says as he picks the chair up off the floor, righting it with a grunt. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout it.” 
“I worry,” Twilight responds quietly. He’s so tired. 
Time graces him with a small smile. 
“That’s my job,” he says. He makes his way to the door, before turning back one more time. “Rest, Pup. It’ll be okay.” 
Then he’s blowing out the lantern as he leaves, casting Twilight into darkness once more. 
Except this time, Twilight doesn’t fall into its embrace. Instead, he lays awake for a long while, exhausted beyond compare but unable to sleep; his mind races, trying to piece together some sort of survival plan. Without the rations from Time’s work in the mines, all they’ll be going off is whatever Malon is able to trade with passing scavengers. Despite her best efforts, the crops she manages to produce in her garden are small; the soil in this place was tainted long ago and, though Malon might have enough talent to pull some sort of goodness from the land here and her cuccos can provide some eggs (and meat, if things get truly desperate), it just isn’t enough for the three of them to get by. 
Especially now that Twilight definitely won’t be out making trade runs or hauling supplies anytime soon. 
He groans, pressing his palms into his eyes until they begin to hurt. 
Goddess be damned , he thinks sullenly. 
Sleep does not come easy.  
Time leaves early the next morning; Twilight listens to him rush out the front door and down the dusty road towards the village, not even stopping to wish his old mare, Epona, a proper goodbye from where she watches at her post. 
For a few hours, Twilight contents himself with believing that Time has come to his senses and is going to go and beg to work in the mines once more. The Overseer might be an ass at the best of the times, but Twilight has to believe that the man has some sort of kindness tucked away. 
His hopes are dashed, though, when Time returns before midday, a small bag in hand. 
“Bounty work,” he explains when he finally shows Twilight the handful of rations he’d received that morning. “This here’s the down payment. I go, finish the job, and I get triple what they’ve given me here when I return.” 
Twilight objects at first, and so does Malon, but, to Twilight’s surprise and horror, she’s quick to give in. She frowns as Time explains his plan to return after each bounty, get his promised payment, and then head out again after some time at home, but finally nods. 
“I still don’t like it,” she admits, biting her lip. “I don’t like the thought of you out there alone, huntin’ after dangerous people.”
“It ain’t all dangerous people,” Time says, taking her hands in his. “Love, one bounty alone’ll be worth more than what we could trade for in two months… you and Twilight’ll have more than enough to get by while I’m gone, and whatever is left over you can trade for… for anything you need! Anything you want!” 
“Time,” Twilight calls from the bed, but the look in his brother’s eyes when Time turns to him kills whatever argument he’s got building. 
“Pup, I promise I’ll be fine! I’ll be safe… and you two will be okay without me for a little while.” 
I can’t lose you , Twilight wants to scream. Wants to throw his brother’s words right back in his face. But Time is looking at him with so much hope, so much determination, that Twilight simply closes his eyes and sighs, relenting. 
“You better come back,” he says instead and nearly cries when Time nods with a small smile. 
“Of course.” 
“And you better come back in one piece,” Malon adds on. Time laughs, deep and rich, and Twilight tries to memorize the shape of the sound; the way his brother’s voice fills up the tiny bedroom and makes the whole house feel warm. 
He clings to that memory the way he clings to Time the next day, digging his fingers into his brother’s tunic and burying his face into Time’s neck. 
“Please,” he begs and feels Time press a kiss into his hair. “Please, come back.” 
“I promise, Pup,” Time says and then he steps back, helping Twilight to lay back down into bed. “As long as you promise me that you’ll actually rest while I’m gone.” 
“If that’s what it takes for you to come back,” Twilight responds and hates that way Time’s smile falls just a little. He’s dressed for travel, a bag slung across his shoulders and a hood fitted at his neck for when the wasteland sun becomes too much. He looks like one of the heroes from the stories their mother used to tell them; like one of the travelers from far away that appeared suddenly from the swirling sands, only to disappear like some sort of spirit or mirage. 
Twilight desperately prays that Time won’t just disappear. 
“I’ll come back,” Time reassures him again, his smile turned to something softer. And then he’s leaving - he says his goodbyes to Malon outside, their words too quiet for Twilight to make out, before he’s truly gone, his form fading slowly as he walks further and further off into the distance towards the village and whatever lies beyond. 
Twilight watches him go from his bedroom window, staring out at the horizon long after he can no longer see his brother and long after the sun has climbed high into the sky. Malon comes and sits with him eventually, though she doesn’t speak.
The two share the silence together, waiting for something that definitely won’t come within the next few hours, before finally Malon leaves to finish her work for the day and Twilight lies back down and tries to keep his promise to Time. 
That’s how the next year plays out; Time comes and goes, always returning with his promised rewards - sometimes it’s rations, sometimes it’s supplies - and a handful of new stories and scars, before heading off again on the next job. Twilight recovers, slowly but surely, and eventually he’s back to working where he can, picking up random jobs here and there and helping with trade runs when scavengers set up camp in the valley a few miles beyond the village. Malon gives him herbs and vegetables and eggs to trade for water and cloth and feed for Epona. When Time returns, they use his payments to trade for things like leather and dried meat. 
That’s how it goes, for one year, until one day it all stops. One day, Twilight and Malon wait and wait and wait, and then the day turns into two. And then three. And then five and ten and twenty. 
Twilight spends his evenings sitting on the sturdier parts of the roof of their house, eyes trained on the horizon, while Malon sets a third place at the table in their tiny kitchen. Still the days drag on.  
One day, 34 days after Time last left, Malon finally trades the last of his rations for a jug of gray water.  
182 days after Time last left, Twilight finds her sitting in her garden, tears carving tracks through the dust on her cheeks as she digs through the dry soil. She’s singing to herself. 
370 days after Time last left, Twilight finally loses hope. 
He finishes feeding the cuccos that morning and then goes out to the field, only to find Epona lying on her side, stiff and cold despite the heat of the day. The sound that tears itself from his throat reminds him distantly of the howling creatures he sometimes hears at night. 
The world ends for a third time.
Twilight falls to his knees beside her, throwing himself over her body and cursing the goddess the way he used to when he was much younger. He feels like a child, helpless and lost, except this time, there’s no older brother to wrap him up and save him. 
In the field here, he is alone with a dead horse. 
It’s how Malon finds him hours later, only by then his sobs have subsided and he’s simply sitting beside what’s left of Time’s beloved steed, running his hands over her still flank and trying to commit the exact color of her mane to memory. 
“She was all we had left of him,” he says when Malon sits beside him, a hand on his shoulder. They sit in silence for a long while.
“I still have you,” Malon finally whispers and Twilight feels his heart break just a little more.
Eventually they manage to bury Epona; they don’t drag her up to the hill where Twilight’s mother is buried, though he wants to. Instead, they lay her to rest a little ways away from the house, in the cradle of the dry riverbed, where Time used to ride her up and down its winding length. Twilight marks the spot with a large stone, doing his damndest to pound it into the ground as far as it can go, lest a dust storm come to tear it away. 
He stays there, long after Malon leaves to go back to the house, staring at the stone and the mound of freshly moved dirt it sits upon. 
There’s something building in his chest; it isn’t more tears - he thinks he’s spent all that he has of those - but some sort of terrible, wonderful feeling that reminds him of when that wagon first collided with him and crushed one of his ribs so horribly that it turned itself against him and pierced right through the thing it was meant to protect. 
It reminds him of the hope that he saw in Time’s eyes over a year ago; of the determination that sent his brother off beyond the boundary of everything they had ever known. 
It isn’t either of those things; Twilight thinks it must be some sort of desperation, strong and wild enough to burn brighter than any hope or determination that could ever exist. 
It makes him dream of something so monumentally impossible that he forgets, for a moment, that the world has ended three times now. 
He stands there, staring at the stone, until the sun sets.
When he finally returns to the house, Malon is sat alone at the table, her hands folded in front of her. She looks lost in thought and Twilight makes to simply pass her by and go to his room, but her voice stops him in his tracks. 
“You ain’t goin’ to go lookin’ for him.” 
Twilight doesn’t look at her, still staring at the door to his bedroom. Malon doesn’t seem to care. He can hear her stand from the table, slow and deliberate.  
“Didja hear me?” 
Something in her voice sends a shiver racing all the way down his spine and he finally turns, eyes trained on the ground. 
“...yes.” 
There’s footsteps and then a hand comes and tilts his chin up, so that he’s forced to meet Malon’s gaze. 
“He’s dead, Twilight,” she says and there’s so much venom in the words that Twilight flinches. “He’s dead. I’ve lost him. I ain’t about to lose you, too.” 
“Malon-” 
“No!” This time, the force of her words has him stepping back, eyes wide. Malon’s face is hard as stone and she turns on her heel to make her way over the table, planting both her hands on its wooden surface. “No, Twilight. Just. No.” 
She doesn’t turn back around and Twilight, still reeling, takes his leave, retreating to his room and collapsing into his bed, burying himself under his mother’s old blanket. It smells of dust and dirt and the many years it’s lived through; Twilight draws its tattered form around himself and tries to imagine his mother’s arms instead. 
But it’s been a long time since she left this world and the last person to hold him so tightly was Time. 
Somewhere outside, in the far off distance, something is baying and wailing into the night, its call echoing out over the barren wasteland and slipping through the window of Twilight’s room. 
He thinks it sounds eternally desperate. 
Beneath the tattered remains of his mother’s handiwork, wrapped in the ghost of a promise, Twilight makes up his mind. 
--------------------------
Hark, hear the call Of the desperate creature The wailing and the howling Of the wonderful teacher Demonstrator of killing Of baying and bounding Whose beauty and grace Is not what’s astounding But instead it’s the writhing Of its prey in its claws And the gift it provides By snapping its jaws Down upon throats Of contemptuous beasts Who scour all the lands And use them as feasts Stripping all they could offer And devouring them whole But the desperate creature Returns what they stole Eating the bodies Of the greedy and proud And ridding the land Of their terrible cloud. - 'Desperate Creature' by Lem, Wasteland Traveler
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@cullen-blue23
I’ve had this headcannon for a really long time: Wen Ning can sing really well (even now as a fierce corpse), but is really shy about it because Wen Ch*o and Co used to make fun of him for it. I really wanna see the juniors (+wangxian potentially) catch him when he’s really in the zone. He just turns to see a small crowd of awed teenagers (Once again I am here with my Wen Ning appreciation agenda)
+
🧟🎶❤️‍🩹(he can sing really well, but is self conscious cause he used to get made fun of. He sings a lullaby for the kids after a bad night hunt. It worked wonders.)
These prompts are super similar so I've decided to combine them! One is from the fluff prompts, the other is from the emoji event. I hope it was worth the wait <3
Uncle Ning, sing to me too!!
The juniors huddle together in front of the campfire, quieter than usual. Their expressions are haunted, still thinking over the happenings in their night hunt, the way they fell victim to those vicious ghosts, the feeling that they were going to die by their hand. The images the ghosts materialized for them to see, the paralyzing fear, the way their bodies shook with the adrenaline of wanting to fight for their lives but being unable to.
Wen Ning showed up at the perfect time, saving their lives and destroying those ghosts - but what if he hadn't? How could they ask to be allowed to night hunt alone if they nearly died in their first mission?
Wen Ning hands each of them a pastry he got from his quick trip to the nearby town. They thank him and bite into the treats, the sweet taste distracting their bad thoughts momentarily. While they eat, Wen Ning stokes the fire, and checks over the surroundings for any dangers.
"Uncle Ning... tell us a story?" Sizhui asks, and he looks so much like his younger, scared self in the Burial Mounds that Wen Ning almost feels life beat into his heart.
"What story would you like to hear?"
"Something nice..."
Wen Ning thinks over a few seconds before taking a seat next to the kids. "When I was little, I used to be very scared of the dark. To be honest, I was scared of everything, but the dark especially. So my mom, who was a cultivator, invented a lullaby that had a protection spell in it. She'd sing it to me every night and so I stopped being afraid of the dark... of anything really."
"What happened to her, uncle Ning?" Jingyi asks as he finishes his treat.
"She became ill and died shortly before the Sunshot Campaign started. A degenerative disease..."
"Oh, I'm sorry..."
"It's alright, it's been a long time ago... But... I think my mom's lullaby could help you guys... want to hear it?"
"Mhm!"
And so, Wen Ning closes his eyes, and he imagines his mom's kind smile and her beautiful voice, the melody, the soft words of her song. He's both her and himself, 5 years old and 35, parent and child all the same, and if he could, he'd cry.
Sleep, my baby, the stars shine for you
The sun and the moon and the fireflies too
My love will reach you like the sky meets the sea
And they'll watch over you, and I'll join you soon...
It's been so long since he's thought of this song, since he's thought of his mother, since he's sung anything. He hums the melody, and sees himself fall asleep on his mom's chest, with Wen Qing by his side, when the world was still beautiful and alive. When they all were.
Wen Ning opens his eyes, and he's met with the juniors' awed expressions. The fear is now replaced with wonder, and their faces no longer bear the aftermath of a terrible night hunt.
"Uncle Ning... your voice..."
"I know it isn't very good-"
"It's amazing!" Jingyi intervenes, "Can you sing us some more songs?"
"You...like it?"
"Of course! You're so talented! You could make a fortune!"
Wen Ning feels like crying, though he can't anymore. He used to be made fun of, be called all sorts of unkind names whenever he tried to sing - so he stopped. He hasn't sung anything at all long before he even died. Wen Chao would call him a failed circus worker, a worthless artist, whatever he felt like - and now Wen Chao is dead and these kids like him. Like his singing, his stories, his guidance, trust him with their lives.
Wen Ning sings to them all the songs he can remember.
He wishes Wen Qing could hear him too. She used to love it when he sang to her.
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surveillance-0011 · 1 year
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It’s been a while since I’ve tboi posted and I’ve def said this before but I like how the horsemen r like that . Such simple designs but they get across just the right vibe
There’s a sort of innocence in it. Isaac’s interpretation of the bringers of everyone’s doom is a couple of silly kinda gross/nasty guys that ride on toy horses that laugh and cheer when they see each other beat up babies. And sometimes cry when their horsies r taken away.
But they also have that same odd-kilter edge of grossness and morbidity. They’re not just a skinny one, a sick one an angry one and a skeleton; they’re corpses (debatable in War’s case, the redness could also read as burns and heavy scarring or exposed skin). Famine and Pestilence are decomposing. Every horse is as worse for wear as its owner. And theyre all legitimate threats, if not on a typical run then in the final confrontation for sure. There’s also their theme, how it changes to fit them all, its sophistication as Death enters the fray.
Death is a skeleton alone. It’s a universal symbol, but he’s exactly what he should be, a way to show death as an equalizer and a truth isaac must face. He doesn’t need to be flashy or a new twist. He works. And he’s funny.
But the mix just goes to show that for his odd taste and better-than-average knowledge of the Bible, Isaac is still a little kid. One who had the whole weight of the world shifted onto his shoulders as his family fell apart and he became the victim of neglect, abuse and extreme religious beliefs. He is terrified and distraught, forced to deal with much more than most other kids deal with. Instead of getting a happy, safe childhood, he spends what little years he has… like this. To the point where his mind becomes this dark place, where even the most childish and idealized aspects become warped and unsafe. And of course, the Horsemen aren’t the only aspect that show this, but I feel they do act as a more notable display of this alongside some other bosses and aspects of the game…
And Conquest… ah… Dare I say the most “mature” of Isaac’s horsemen, in terms of what the boy is going through in his head. Maybe he shares this award with death, though. Not only does Isaac acknowledge the forgotten one, but… there’s just something so. Interesting about the state Conquest is in. He, too, is a corpse, but he’s not quite like the others. He is not that skeleton picked clean and is very visibly dead, but he is relatively intact and well preserved. Even the horse head seems alright. There is… honor. Respect. Humanity. Glory. He himself is holy, one of two enemies that attack w/ beams of light. The other is Isaac.
And that’s just. It’s a lot to unpack. But I think it’s telling that Conquest is the holy one. The white rider basked in holy light, not aligned with any demon, able to keep a body not rotting, burnt or stripped of flesh…
And maybe that’s why he’s the “forgotten” one. The reason he’s not with the Beast and other demons.
Because no one wants to admit those that call themselves holy the most are the ones doing the destroying.
And In killing his own “holy” self and Dogma, Isaac already destroys the standards he was held to and overcomes the brunt of the trauma from the fundamentalist beliefs imposed upon him. Conquest is really only an extension of that. He need not fight him. Now it’s a fight against the aftermath, the rest of the pain, the worst his mother sent to him…
But the source? Dogma. And conquest dies with dogma.
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missielynne · 4 months
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Hi sweet mutual! A fun challenge if you feel like answering - in what ways do you prefer the British version of Ghosts to the US one, and in which ways do you think the US version is better than the UK one? I love both :)
Well hello hello! I love both too and I spend a lot of time thinking about this because honestly, I do need both. Each one does things that the concept of a ghost show needs to be successful that the other doesn't do, so just one show would feel incomplete to me.
Like for instance: the UK show is really good about saying "We're a ghost show. Let's have scenes that make the viewer uneasy and a little creeped out." Like whenever we see ghosts outside Button House, or even inside if their method of death necessitates it, they aren't afraid to show them graphically injured and creepy looking (like the butler in the party hat that got shot through the head, for instance, or even just Jemima for crying out loud. I mean would you want her standing over your bed singing at night?)
Same for what is probably my favorite moment in the whole show with the hitchhiker ghost in bump in the night: the build up to that is so good! And yes we get a little jump scare a la the sixth sense when you realize that she is in fact a ghost and we see her wound. But it has a creepier overall narrative purpose as well: Do not hitchhike Alison Cooper, or you will die like her. It just hits me how amazing it is every single time. (And this particular thing gets the BBC version A LOT of points in its favor.)
That's what I would like to see from the US version even a little bit. Make me uneasy. Make a chill go down my spine with scenes sometimes and actually play them as creepy. Elias and his corpse in the vault could have been an excellent example but it's always played more for laughs, which is a shame.
Now what I like most about the US version is that, of course since they have more time, they can play with the lore more. They can say "We are a ghost show, so we're gonna treat our ghosts like actual ghosts and have them possess people and explore their powers," whereas in the BBC version, they're treated more like people who have just died and are existing in the house, since the idea of them "moving on" as an endgame is not particularly important.
To me though, that leaves the BBC version to be a little more aimless than I prefer. It makes me feel more like I'm just waiting for stuff to actually happen since I don't know what the endgame for these souls actually is (whereas with the US version, it's much more clear.)
On the whole, I like the parts of BBC (like the individual episodes that can get from point a to point b e.g. Robbers invade Button house while Alison is gone, and they're caught by the end) rather than the series as a whole where I'm left to figure things out for myself because it's open ended when I would much prefer to know whether I'm right or wrong IN canon, (which is probably an American thing). Whereas with CBS Ghosts which is written to my American tastes, I can love it all because it's got better pacing and doesn't just dwell on certain things forever when there's still more story still to be told (like I don't know if it was cause of Covid restrictions or whatever but I'm a little frustrated that they spent a whole season going on and on about Alison's fake sister when they hadn't told the stories of Kitty's and Cap's deaths yet so we had to wait for them, for instance). Although there are certain parts of CBS (like Jessica and her whole car ghost lore) that I wish could have gotten more because it was so fascinating. Both are amazing in their own ways and I love them to pieces and I'm glad I don't have to choose one or the other.
So anyway, there you go! Thanks for the ask! :)
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ge · 5 months
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🎭— i've been craving for an au thats like, instead of cm going to the future like the novel originally goes, he's instead transported to the past. because listen, just imagine the fucking whiplash he gets when he sees everyone who died just a few minutes (in his time) earlier, alive and well. like oh my god would i eat that UP... the angst and hurt/comfort that i'd get is insane. because once cm realizes he's not on par with the heavenly demon and that years from now everyone he loves would die, he would train SO intensely that hwasan is both surprised and incredibly worried. because hes so obsessed with it that he barely even comes out anymore
and i'd also love the contrast between how cm was before (a littl more carefree... sillay... you know..) to how he is now, obsessed with being more powerful for a reason nobody could ever guess
like, they'd do everything to get him to cheer up or do something else because its getting worrying, but it doesn't work because like... really who COULD stop cm.... and it gets worse and worse that cheong mun has to step in and bla bla bla... YOU KNOW!!!! THAT BOY NEEDS THERAPY!!!!
i need 2 see him cry so bad too in the fic. LET HIM BREAK DOWN!!! LRT HIM CRY AND SOB !!!! HE DESERVES IT !!!!
now actually, i do in fact have a rough draft of this idea (around ~1.5k) but i ended up dropping it to write the other fic.. maybe i'll continue it if i feel like it
teensie excerpt from the fic:
Flashes of red pass by the corner of his vision— bodies being piled up into a mountain of corpses one by one, Cheong Mun dying in front of him, his blood splattering on his clothes that were covered in red—
And Tang Bo, Tang Bo, dying in his arms.
Cheong Myeong bites his lips harshly, the taste of metal spilling across his lips as he clutches his stomach, feeling the burning feeling of bile rise in his throat as more visions pass by, each vision cruller than the last.
(Cheon Ma's eyes stare at him with pity.)
(It's infuriating)
There's a few visions which did not appear from the war— of the happier days when the Heavenly demon did not yet conquer and destroy their world to the brink of death.
It was the days when he would lay side by side with Tang Bo under a clear sky, or when he would run with him hand in hand in green fields with blood not of their own. Of Cheong Mun's furrowed brow when he had to take care of Cheong Myeong's antics. Except it was muddled and overlapping with the red of his mind, his memories, his hands.
(It hurts.)
if the writing is a little iffy... dont mind it... i havent revised it in like 4 weeks ... THIS ASK IS GETTING TOO LONG!!!! 🎭 OUT!!!!
I LOVE THESE AUS GAHH chung myung coming back and probably trying to pretend as if nothings wrong but the sect members see right through his act immediately but unsure how to approach him about it because hes never behaved this way before, all of a sudden he is so unpredictable and unapproachable.. one day before, he was goofing off and sneaking out to drink and to cause trouble but the next, hes tense and haunted, bags under his steely gaze and fists clenched tightly to the point of trembling, as if he's a sparking live wire and chung mun has no idea how to defuse him.... it probably hurts him even more when chung myung refuses to speak about whats troubling him, brushing his concerns and worries off with a strained grin and shifty eyes, because chung mun only ever known chung myung to speak his mind, and loudly at that, so to see him suddenly so reclusive, closed off and hurting himself by training nonstop to the point of bloody handed exertion..it scares him
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tomboyjessie13 · 4 months
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What if Medea King becomes a Vampire? Part 2
Medea's room DIO's Mansion
Medea: *Laying in her bed on her side, depressed* .........
DIO: *Enters the room*
Medea: *Not looking at him* ...I don't want to talk to you.
DIO: I'm not here to talk, I'm here to give you something.
Medea: Unless it's a way to undo this curse, I don't want to hear it...
DIO: Unfortunately, no, but it will keep you alive a bit longer.
Medea: .........
Victim: Mmmm! Mmmm!
Medea: Hm? *Turns around* What the hell!?
DIO: *Holding up an older man by his shirt collar, gagged and tied up* Here. *Tosses the victim to the ground*
Victim: Mmm!
Medea: Who's he!?
DIO: Food.
Medea: .........*Shocked* WHAT!?
DIO: *Irritated* Are you deaf, woman? He's your meal!
Victim: *Horrified* MMM!? *Starts struggling*
Medea: I'm not killing anyone!
DIO: Well, you got to eat something, you've been a vampire for three days and you've yet to consume blood!
Medea: I'd sooner starve to death than take an innocent life! *Feels her stomach growling*
DIO: You sound hungry.
Medea: So what?
DIO: So, you need to eat or else you'll die...
Medea: *Looks away* No way!
DIO: *Irritated* Mmmm.... *He walks to her and leans next to her ear* Just so you know: not all people I take in for substance are good people.
Medea: ....... What do you mean?
DIO: This man right in front of you isn't an innocent victim like you think he is, he was an abuser who was arrested for domestic violence against his wife, but avoided prison due to bribery... *Smirks* Would it make you feel better if the person you'll feast on was human garbage instead?
Medea: ........... I don't believe you.
Victim: *Phews through gag*
DIO: Oh? You don't believe me? *He reaches under his yellow jacket* I've got evidence and everything. *Takes out spirit photos and court documents*
Victim: MMM!?
Medea: Hm? *Takes the evidence and reads over them* ..............
Victim: *Sweating profusely, not knowing how Medea would react* Mmmm....
Medea: .........*Her hands started shaking as if in rage, she slowly turns to the gagged man behind her, glaring at him with glowing red eyes like a cockroach for the crimes he committed* ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ
Victim: *Panicking* MMMMMM!!!
DIO: *Sits down on her bed* Well then, what are we going to do about this criminal?
Victim: *Starts struggling in fear as he tries crawling away from the Vampires* MMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!
Medea: ........ *Stomps on the man's back with her Stand, breaking his spine*
Victim: *In pain* MMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!! *Her Stand then smashes his face to the ground, breaking his nose* MMMMMMMM!!!!
Medea: *She smells his blood* Hah... *It somehow smells a lot more appetizing than when she was a human, which causes her stomach to growl more* Hah...hah...hah... *She straddles herself on his back and moves his head*
Victim: *Crying in fear and pain under his gag* Mmmm!!!
Medea: ....*Licks his bloodied face, tasting his blood* Ahhh~ *It was surprisingly delicious, so much so that she bares her fangs* Wryyyyyyyy......
DIO: *Smirks evilly*
Medea: *Bites his neck, sucking his blood*
Victim: MMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!! *Struggles under her weight, trying in vain to fight her off* Mmmmmm.... *Slowly dies as he's sucked dry* ....Mmmm................................................ *Dies*
Medea: *Let's go and sits up* Kuaaa....hah...hah...hah...*Comes back to her sense* !?...*Looks down on herself and sees the corpse she's sitting on and that she's covered in blood* ...... *Horrified* Oh my god... what have I done?
DIO: *Sat up and walks to her* You satisfied your hunger and gave the bastard what he deserves. *Kneels next to her*
Medea: *Fearful and sad* B-b-but I killed someone... I'm a monster... I'm going to go to jail...
DIO: *Hugs her* Shuuuuuuu... *wiping her tears with his hands* you're going to be fine... *kisses her forehead* you did what you have to do...
Medea: *Hiccup*
DIO: ......*Using his thumb to wipe the blood on her face* What a mess, lacking in table manners is unbecoming of a lady. *Licks the blood*
Medea: .... I got carried away...
- Vampire!Medea kills a convicted criminal to satisfy her hunger, takes place in a bad/alternate timeline
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