#my brain is molding and it's his fault
Text
die stimmen werden lauter....
#my art#video game fanart#jagerr6#r6s jager#jager r6#rainbow six extraction#rainbow six fanart#rainbow 6 siege#rainbow six siege#r6s#r6siege#artists on tumblr#fanart#digital art#digital drawing#r6community#digital illustration#digitalart#drawing#my brain is molding and it's his fault#im obsessed#illustration#i want to gnaw on him#destroy him#tear him apar#i love him so much#I am still learning german so i hope the desc is right#i'll probably draw him again because i cant live without content of him HE NEED MORE CONTENT#marius streicher
197 notes
·
View notes
Note
hiya!!
saw reqs are open... may I request the housewardens with a reader who's comatose, then waking up, and the first thing they say is their name? jdlk I hope that's clear lol.
ty for considering!!
tw: yandere, implied imprisonment, hinted poisoning in Kalim's and Vil's part, use of UM in Malleus.
This was fun to experiment different types of [Name] personality and all.
Riddle
At first he was in denial, the book he was reading discarded on the floor. His fists clench the sheets beside you, capturing the moment your body stirred awake. With his hand placed to cup your cheek, your lips perfectly cared for parted to let out a mumble. He can feel his ears burning up in embarrassment, was he the first thing you thought of? Riddle calls out for you as you did for him, ushering you to open your eyes.
"Riddle?" Your voice is meek, he could barely hear you but it was enough.
"I'm right here, love." His sweet voice rings through your ear, your little gasps nurturing his worried soul.
Tears embedded the edge of your eyes, tugging and blabbering once you see him. All smiles and love, hands grabbing the side of your face to cease your struggles. With a weak body, your wrists felt numb with each pull, a sob wracking your chest as he laid your head on his.
Leona
Sleeping beside you. He was idly snoozing beside your still body, an arm around your shoulder as his head laid on your shoulder. The stillness of it all was interrupted, his body went tense in alert to the sudden movement that disrupted his sleep. His brain had to process your facial features creasing, every inch to your brows furrowing and eyelids fluttering.
"Leona...get off.." He almost busted out laughing, his lips reaching to his eyes as he contains a tearful relief.
Without thinking, Leona brought your body closer to his, you might think he was trying to mold himself within you. "You slept longer than I would."
With a sore throat you managed to scoff, glaring at the man who selfishly handled you with a sense of fear that you'd go back to sleep once again.
"I wish.."
Azul
Maybe he should have gotten you a lighter dose. You've been yapping nonstop lately it was driving him nuts. Azul thought he can handle a day with you not talking, you refused to sleep at some point so he took care of that. But it's starting to worry him the longer you slept, for days turned into weeks.
"Azul!" His fingers stopped moving, tense as he turns his chair around to face the bed. Hollowed, yet you sounded desperate. You called for him?
"Don't fret, I'm here." His tone is soft, getting up to soothe your frazzled mind. You can still taste the bitter potion on your tongue.
Azul can't stop the smile that stretches as he buries his face to your head, you seem to be more dependent on him. How hasn't he used this tactic sooner? He enjoys the way your trembling fingers grip at him, he won't be leaving any soon.
Kalim
Kalim lounges in the room you were settled in. Silk covers half of your body, rows of pillows supporting your weight so that way it was comfortable. The night was young, Kalim is idly sipping on sparkled wine, ever since your absence of life it got lonely. The sweet liquid would run down his throat, he's finding himself to drink more often than he should when hosting events.
"Kalim." It startled him, dropping the glass as it shatters. His eyes nearly widen at your serious expression.
"[Name]!" Yelling your name loudly, you slightly squint at his lightened face. His smile so wide as he runs to you with open arms, your half-awake body not responding as he smothers you.
"It was my fault! I should have had a taster try all the drinks, luckily you're alright.... Just.." He trails off, his breath wavering on the skin of your neck. Causing a near sneer and shiver erupt from you.
"Don't do it again, alright?"
Vil
He let the stories get the best of him. Vil finds himself leaning over your lifeless figure, brushing your bottom lip as he places a kiss in hope you'll awake. A silly yet comforting gesture, he'd rather die than be caught in the act. But something about it felt right. Shouldn't a true loves kiss awaken you? Such fairy tales he grew to love, fantasize that one day you'll wake up.
He came back late at night once again, closing the door behind him as he stood dead in his tracks. You're sprawled on the floor, clutching to the tiles and the blindfold neatly wrapped around your head.
"Vil? Where are you?" It irked him, the same tone when he shoved your medicine down your throat in a fit of rage, scared. The clicks of his heels made you jump now that you're gaining more consciousness.
Vil admitted it was wrong of him to act on his feelings, but he'll have to start all over again to gain your trust. He'll take the advantage of your fragile state so that way you'll learn to not set him off.
Idia
It's gotten worse, the bags under his eyes says it all. Even when Idia is reassured that you are well it was the longing to have you emotionally there tearing him apart. It messes with him every night as he stares at your sleeping figure. You're breathing well, but you won't respond to his rambles and chattering. He'd rather have you to tell him to shut up. Yell at him or anything, is you sleeping better than being with him!?
A pained groan made him scream and drop his console. Idia snaps his head to your moving limbs, hands rubbing at your face tiredly.
"Idia...my head fucking hurts." He trips over himself to be near you, calling Ortho while he's at it. Idia's sobbing as he holds you close, causing more of a headache for you as you numbly look at your robotic arms.
The procedure went well after all.
Malleus
He would've waited weeks, months and years for your return to reality. Every day and night he would come to visit you, care for your well being and make sure you slept nicely. Malleus, with you not responding, has his love for you grow day by day, not once did he felt the burden of loving someone till it wilts. It helps him express better, that once you've awaken you'll see he was the one standing by your side.
"Malleus." Was the first name you muttered, eyelashes blinding you from seeing the fae prince whose orbs shine brightly in the night.
He shushes you, a hand on your cheek as you blink the blurriness away. Fat tears roll down the warmth of your cheeks, teeth clenching as you embrace him. Malleus can only smile as you apologize to never disobey him again, promising better. You can't stand another slumber of nightmares, reliving until he felt was enough.
#yandere twst#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#riddle rosehearts x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#malleus draconia x reader#kalim al asim x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#idia shroud x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
suffer (18+)
tags / cw: f!reader, fluff, angst, smut, hatefucking, injury mention, dirty talk, insults, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, pathetic!simon, love confession, happy ending
To this day, you still couldn’t fathom what Ghost’s issue with you was. Granted, he was a weird and mysterious man to begin with, so making sense of his thoughts and feelings seemed daunting when there were bigger concerns.
At least, that’s what you told yourself. It didn’t stop the fact that despite the glares and insults, he often graced your bed.
Or you in his.
You were at least glad he was a gracious lover. Maybe it was an ego or superiority thing; after all, if you’re going to fuck the brains of someone you dislike, you may as well make them see stars and ruin them for anyone else.
Unfortunately, he also loved the sound of his own voice.
“Aww, look at you, sergeant. So desperate and needy for me…”
His dick slipped into your cunt with ease, much to your embarrassment. This, of course, would not go unnoticed, or unspoken.
“That’s right… take me in, doll…” He chuckled. “Must suck, feeling how well that pretty pussy molds around me. Like it was made specifically for me…”
“Jesus, shut up and fuck me already.”
“What’s wrong, love?” He slowly moved inside you, his pace gradually building to make you crave more with each second. “I hit a nerve? You gonna throw a tantrum, slap me around?” He smirked.
“Ugh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Freak.” You moaned and felt yourself clenching around him at the thought, despite your insult.
Ghost’s grip on your thighs tightened. “Maybe. Or maybe I just feel like giving you a free pass. God knows your… aw, fuck… hand-to-hand is abysmal. Couldn’t kick my ass to save your life…”
You grit your teeth. “I don’t need to beat your ass. All I need is a few good hits to make you hurt for a while.”
"Hah, you really think you can hurt me… when I've literally taken a bullet for the both of us?" He said bitterly.
You tensed. “Huh? What… mmm… the hell are you on about?”
“Don’t play dumb, you’re too pretty for that.”
You just stared at him.
Slowly, he stopped and stared down at you. “…Are you… serious?”
You blinked up at him.
His face gradually softened, before he let out a sigh. “You don’t know, do you?”
It was your turn to sigh. “Know what?”
He leaned back, despite still being inside you. “That mission we had together, where we were supposed to bring the target in alive… I took a bullet for you after you got knocked out.” His hand traced a scar on his shoulder. “It was either let you die… or let the target escape.”
You stared at him, speechless. “No, you… I… no… no one told me….”
“You were pissed about the target getting away, I… thought you knew. I don’t know.” He rubbed his jaw.
“What? No! I… you’re lying. You’re trying to make this my fault when it was your incompetence that resulted in him getting away…” You said, but with each word that came out, you could feel your resolve crumbling, as pieces clicked into place.
He glared. “You think I care if you believe me? You couldn’t possibly understand why I did what I did.”
“Try me.”
He pulled out of you with a grunt, and you had to resist the urge to whimper at the loss.
“You don’t want to know.”
You were getting pissed. “Quit fucking around, Simon, tell me.”
He growled. Honest to god, growled. “Fuckin’ hell, because I love you.”
Your eyes widened. He stared.
Seconds ticked by. The two of you were stuck in a staring contest.
You relented and glanced away, frowning. But then a gentle touch of his fingers on your chin brought your face back to gaze at his. More staring.
“Christ, say something, you daft girl.”
“Shut up.” You snapped. “I don’t believe you. You’re messing with me.”
“I have better things to do than lie about this shit. Stuffing your cunt, for example.”
“Why do you act like you hate me then?”
He sighed and rubbed his face. “I… because it’s easier to push you away than face the fact that I… Look, it’s to protect the both of us.”
“And yet you’re somehow in my bed.”
“…Yeah.” His fingers remained on your chin. “Tell me you don’t feel the same way and I’ll go. Hell, I’ll leave you alone, even.”
You swallowed, your heart pounding viciously in your chest. “I… I can’t.” You croaked.
Ghost’s face falls. “No… fuck, no…”
“I… I love—“
“Don’t. Don’t fuckin’ say it. Fuck. You’re not supposed to… we can’t. Don’t you get it? We can’t.”
Your eyes started to blur with tears. “Simon… I love you.”
He glanced away, his chest heaving. “Fuck…”
Now you found yourself turning his face to yours, your hand soft on his cheek. Your heart tore at the sight of his own glossy eyes.
“I love you.” You repeated.
He crumbled.
His face sunk into your neck, and he wept.
You froze up, unsure of what to do. But then you found your arms wrapping around him tightly as his tears dotted your sweaty skin.
“I love you…” You say again, softly.
He mumbled something incoherent into your skin.
“Huh?”
Ghost pulled back slightly. “I said, we’re both fuckin’ idiots.”
“Simon… kiss me…”
He stared at you with pathetic puppy eyes, before leaning in and kissing you. It was different, this time. It wasn’t like the previous kisses. The heat was still there, but there was intimacy, longing, love.
You pulled back to moan as he buried himself back inside your aching hole.
His arms wrapped around your body, pulling you close to his chest as if you were at risk of being pulled away from him. Then, he buried his nose back into your neck.
“Fuck… Love you… so much… fuck…”
Ghost pumped into you slowly but deliberately, each stroke a token of his affection.
You could feel a tear of your own running down your cheek. “My Simon… my love…”
He groaned at that, twitching inside you. “Be mine. Only mine. Please. Please…”
“I’m y-yours. Always have been…”
“Fffuck… prove it… come for me, baby…”
You whimpered as his hips slowly met yours over and over again, his pelvis grinding against your clit. “Yes, baby, yes…”
He breathed heavily against your throat. “Say that again. Call me ‘baby’ again…”
“Baby…”
And then you came, fluttering around his cock as his arms tightened around you.
“Fuck… fuck…” He mumbled.
It took four more strokes for him to follow suit, his body shaking slightly on top of you. You had never seen him in such a state before.
Then the room was silent, except for your ragged breaths.
As the both of you laid there, you reached a hand out to tentatively trace the scar on his shoulder. Ghost snuggled into you further.
“I’m yours… never forget that…” He murmured.
“Or… what… you’ll get… shot again?” You smirk.
He sighed. “I was thinking… more along the lines of… making love to you again… to remind you, but… sure… Why not…?”
#simon riley#cod#call of duty#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#my writing#okay. now that this is out of the way. it’s time for the cousin fic#which is. a lot dirtier. so much dirtier.
202 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chris Redfield does not view you as a catch.
You are not meant to be taken in such an unassuming light. To be caged. Molded into a lifeless husk. Cold marble replacing the warm light of the deity he knew you to be.
You are meant to be worshiped.
To be looked upon with a sense of grace and respect. To have men waiting at your every beck and call as the world worked itself aimlessly around your existence.
This was his reasoning, of course. He couldn't think of any other rational thought when he was around you. He attributed his mindlessness to an all power he could not contend with. Merely succumbing to the divine ways about you until he was nothing more than a prophet groveling at your feet.
Pleading for your foresight. Begging for a taste of your bread. And once you gave him a drop of your sacred wine, he was forever bestowed to you. Etched within the flying cathedral of your heart as he made his repentance to you every night within the sanctity of your bed.
I have absolutely no idea what this is, but this man is taking over my brain, and I don't know what to do about it.
@homicidal-slvt , this is all your fault (thank you)
#resident evil#chris redfield#this mans claws are sinking into me#and i dont know what to do about it#why is there so much religious imagery?#dont know#just how it felt
130 notes
·
View notes
Text
now that my brain has somewhat unscrambled itself i have gotten most of my thoughts in order about season 3.
and the first thing i will say is: i loved it.
while it was gutwrenching and polarizing in some ways and i feel that i am entitled to financial compensation for what its done to my mental health, i loved this season for pretty much almost everything it did.
i cannot fault people for having issues with much of the characterization and plot choices made—that’s been the trend during the entire run of the show after all, and imo it’s a testament to the phenomenal way it generates nuance—but i wanted to share my feelings on the recurring opinions i’ve seen about some of these things.
first, i do not blame simon at all for the things he said in the final scene. he’s a child who has been receiving endless verbal and physical harassment on top of all the trauma he is still trying to heal from. he just watched his boyfriend lash out in anger and hurt—while not at him, but it must’ve been a close resemblance of how he might’ve seen micke act. at least, that's what i thought, though i've seen others say otherwise.
and yes, wille is not micke, but just because wille’s source of outbursts is different from micke’s doesn’t mean simon is wrong in drawing similarities. at least he's finally getting a true glimpse into what wille has had to deal with. i've honestly grown to like that they didn't have simon immediately comfort him though; wille's mental illness is not his fault, but it is his responsibility, and instead of pushing a message of unhealthy co-dependence, the show has simon be honest: "but i see that everything hurts you and that hurts me too." and to me, that's so important.
plus, it doesn't make their love any less genuine. wille is a victim of the circumstances; he is not evil, and he is not undeserving of simon. he just has a lot of growing and healing to do, a lot of unlearning and exposure therapy because he's still blinded by privilege even when he tries not to be.
speaking of, i have so many thoughts about wille that i feel like i need to save for its own separate post, but to sum them up: i'll still defend him with my life, and he needs to get the fuck away from that institution.
also, the fact that the responsibility of controlling simon's media decisions was placed solely on wille confused me at first like—why wouldn't they get a professional to give him proper media training?
then i realized, this could be the royal court's way of sabotaging their relationship. they knew that making wille the one to tell simon what he can and cannot say or post would create distance and animosity between them. despite the ramifications of simon's behavior on social media, it seems they still thought it best to have his boyfriend be the one to try to mold him into the system. because they knew that's how they could get rid of him. in conclusion, fuck the royal court (we been knew but still).
one of the standouts this season was their transparency regarding the show's politics. it not only works well with the show's arc (wilmon is public, everything's out in the open now and there's nothing to hide), but also it felt necessary at a time where censorship has been rapidly gaining momentum. it felt so refreshing for these characters to talk so openly about racial discrimination and queerphobia and class disparities, forcing both character and viewer to acknowledge that they exist and you should feel uncomfortable about it.
i don't think i can add much more to what was already said about it—most of the fandom is more eloquent and observant than i am anyway—i just wanted to reinforce how important this season is to myself and the story even with how controversial it is to fans right now. a lot of people may disagree with me and that's fine.
#young royals#wilmon#simon eriksson#prince wilhelm#yr spoilers#yr s3 spoilers#ad speaks#i don't know how they're going to tie everything together in under an hour but so far this season is strong enough for me to like it despit#what ending we receive#and i know i'm in the minority in that sense but i've been spending most of the hiatus trying to keep myself from setting expecations#so i haven't really been let down too much#i really don't want to let this show go though :'(#forever my heart#yr season 3#young royals season 3
162 notes
·
View notes
Text
He's at your window ( t.k. )
Sensing a presence in my bed, I plead that this is all in my head. My gut wrenches. Heart sinks, once my eyes fix upon you I dare not blink.
Her hands hung around her own neck, molding the knots out of her skin. Her room was dark, moonlight shining through the open windows, slight wind blowing the curtains away from the glass. Her eyes were droopy, everything blurring as she reached to turn on the light. Her sleep deprived brain reminded her that it felt like her flesh was on fire, her body temperature rising with every passing second.
Standing in the middle of her space she lifted the hem of her shirt, her breasts slowly falling out the tight fabric, her sweat coated skin slightly glistening. Her palms traveled to her chest, squeezing the balls of fat as if massaging the stressful day away. She quickly discarded her pants too, now only standing in her panties. Satisfaction flooded her whole being as she felt the cool air filling the room.
He on the other side felt stalkerish, but was it his fault? Was it his fault that he so innocently noticed his neighbor's light turning on, a beautiful woman's silhouette standing in front of him. He didn't know she would be undressing, didn't expect it. But he liked it.
His eyes ran all over her body as he watched her reach for her hairbrush, her fingers and the comb running through her hair. With her hands lifted his whole focus was on her breasts, the soft, smooth skin begging him to take a taste.
He could feel himself getting hot, the air suddenly becoming more and more suffocating. His loose pants seemed to get tighter, the growing bulge pressing against the guitar in his lap. Suddenly he was wishing that it was her on his thighs, rocking back and forth, head thrown to the side, her hair all over the place. Moans and groans leaving her lips.
The moment he realized that he was staring it was far too late. She noticed, her pupils blown wide in shock, her arms fastly flailing around to close the blinds.
Fuck.
#thenighthekate#tokio hotel#tom kaulitz#tom kaulitz angst#tom kaulitz fluff#tom kaulitz smut#tom kaulitz x reader#tom kaulitz x y/n#tom kaulitz x you
346 notes
·
View notes
Text
dirty thoughts, riding, self-relief, needy
y/n, partner half asleep.
&. KING HAL (HENRY V) x yn.
you were his fabric doll, as he started to call you after the official marriage.
softness, kindness, a giving nature and wisdom; that's how he described you.
hal spends hours worshipping and absorbing every tiny detail about you, and if you only ask, he could go on and on.
he usually gets lost in your fair wavy hair, doe eyes, blushed porcelain cheeks and delicate little hands.
"all your grace is in your vagueness, my queen. your soft voice, your manner languid, your features blurred and dreamy." his shooting words waking you up the morning after the marriage.
and then he gets lost again in your features, measuring the distance from one freckle to the other, the softness of your lower lip, more evident than the upper one, before primitively undressing you and making the bed creak until small hours.
his place was between your legs, no doubt.
and anyone who dared to lay eyes on you would meet the guillotine the following morning, at the bell's heavy ringing, and you knew it.
but the sticky words of his, sweet like honey, they only dripped down the walls of the royal halls, during boring and long meals, where you represented a public image and inspiration source.
yes, because with you, you and you only, in private, hal was the most alive animal you had ever seen.
and you missed all this.
you missed the taste of his tongue, the heat of his thighs, his overly expert hands and his hungry gaze.
he made you feel so loved, beyond every limit.
now, however, the peace pacts and bloody wars were consuming him to the core, badly scratching his armor, crumbling his tolerance.
you could rarely see hal during the day, and even when you hoped to enjoy his company in the late evening, he was usually too tired or busy checking the artillery.
you felt neglected, even though you knew very well that it wasn't his fault at all.
but now the gazes of the other nobles became more focused on your skin, and the caresses he used to give you left an empty space under the covers.
[...]
one evening, when the flame crackled particularly on the medieval torch on the wall, your steps drew their way towards your room.
the latter creaked slightly, and hal's sleeping figure gave you such a view.
he was shirtless, as always, lying belly up, lost in a deep and calm breath.
you approached the mattress, making sure to not make any noise. you quickly got changed in your pajamas and sat next to him.
something about his position and his presence was awakening something brutal and hot inside your knotted stomach.
you could feel your stomach juices flaring up.
fuck, you needed him.
the sin was now rising to the neurons of your brain, consuming you alive.
you didn't know if he would forgive you, no, but you knew that that was all you had to do.
such dirty thoughts for a queen.
[...]
you found yourself straddling him with only your underwear, you had taken off almost everything. you molded yourself to his pelvis and the hardness you felt between his thighs took your breath away.
you stopped breathing. your eyes widened and you felt your cheeks burning.
you felt his erection quiver under the thin layer of your panties and with an inhibition that was unknown to you and an incessant need to attenuate the devastating heat that you felt between your thighs, you rubbed yourself against him, moving your pelvis dangerously.
faster, faster.
faster.
faster until you could feel yourself soaked.
you could feel his hips bones the more you moved, and your mouth was wide open.
you looked at him hypnotized in his most regal sleep. his perfect face teasing you slowly, in such a perverse way that made you even wetter.
you panted.
the breathing heavy and wet.
no longer able to bear the powerful pulsations between your legs you moved even faster but slowing down every now and then, when small grunts came out of his soft lips.
without even realizing it you were already entertaining yourself, rubbing your fingers against the fabric of your own underwear.
dirty moans fill your ears.
you didn't know what you were doing, but you knew you had never felt better.
"are you going to cum on me so soon?" asked a husky voice in your ear, panting.
fuck.
you couldn't look up, you couldn't allow yourself to sink into your wet perversity like this.
you could barely nod.
an ashamed queen ashamed of her own actions.
how disgusting.
hal grabbed your hips and with one move made you turn your back, letting out a small cry of surprise that you knew would excite him even more. your smells mix with the spicy ones of the room, the bodies merge. this position made everything more intimate and awkward.
"how naive to think i was really asleep..."
you worshipped him, as if you had a god in your hands, while he slammed you onto the mattress with incredible force.
now you found yourself with your cheek against the pillow and your pelvis raised to the height of his cock. with one hand he grasps your buttock, he places the other on the back of your neck to keep you still. you felt dizzy and hot.
he moaned like a caged animal.
you knew he was just holding back and that if you could turn around you would see a murderous look.
the one look you needed to know when he wanted to push himself into you.
he needed.
instantly.
he squeezed your buttocks vehemently and your eyes widened when he gave you a resounding slap on your buttock which made you let out a very powerful scream and which, to your enormous surprise, made you terribly more excited. you felt him lean over you, his massive chest pressed against your thin back. he loomed over your body, brought his mouth close to your ear and, in a husky, sensual voice, murmured, "fuck, i didn't know my queen could have such a twisted mind within these walls."
"i-...i can explain...your majesty...forgive m-"
he pulled your hair to make your back arch and the loudest moan left your wet lips.
your legs trembled in the middle due to your own sound.
how pathetic.
that's just how you were when you needed hal.
"there's no need, just let me fill you up with my cum until my queen is completely satisfied beyond any physical limit. and call me hal, only hal." a soft wet kiss delivered on your shoulder.
"forget your queen duties tomorrow."
the last famous words you fucking craved for so long.
#timothee chalamet#timothee x y/n#timothee imagine#timothee chalamet x reader#timothée chalamet#timothee chalamet x you#&. HAL#&. HENRY V#the king#haltheking#timotheehal#timothéehal#&. HAL x yn#&. HENRY V x yn
83 notes
·
View notes
Note
Possessive!stepbrother Eren who tells you about the dangers of the world and men. You need to stay away from them and always stay with Eren. You know better than to disobey him.
this is my shit actually 😎
⚠️ warnings: dark content and smut, manipulation/gaslighting, stepcest, possessive and toxic behavior, fem!reader is very innocent and inexperienced, but they’re both in their early 20’s (college), praise and degradation, misogyny
—
“What did I tell you?” Eren speaks slowly, as if he’s talking to a child. You turn your gaze away from him, cheeks burning and tears rolling down your face — you knew it would come to this, because Eren is always, always right. “I told you he would break your heart, that’s why you don’t listen to what college guys say.”
You nod, fighting back a sob, but still can’t meet his eyes. After being stood up for three hours, you really don’t need to hear him rub salt in your wound. “I know, Eren, I’m stupid, is that what you wanna hear?” You say. You pull your knees closer to you, against your chest, and you think that if you make yourself any smaller you might vanish. “Can you go now?”
He scoffs. “And leave you like this? Of course not.” Eren leans closer to you, and your bed creaks under his weight. His warm hand meets the wet skin of your cheek, and he makes you turn your head towards him. “Want your big brother to make you feel better? Hm? That way you always like?”
You nod — once again, you knew it would come to this.
Eren has nurtured a bad habit for a long time now — the habit of making sure you know who you belong to. What kind of big brother would he be if he didn’t make sure his sister is safe? And who would he be if he didn’t tell you, again and again, that every guy out there just wants you for your body? Of course you got stood up, it’s because—
“—You’re easy to fuck,” Eren speaks against your mouth, ignoring your whimpers as his cock drills inside your pussy. It should always be like this, he thinks, and there’s a tinge of nausea inside his stomach thinking that his precious little sister got fucked by another cock. “You’re an easy slut, that’s why you always end up like this. That’s why— fuck — that’s why you don’t get taken seriously.”
“It’s not true,” you whine, but your mind isn’t all there by this point. Even if Eren says it just to keep you in line, he’s pretty sure you’re a little cock-crazy from the way you always melt away the second he’s inside you. That stupid little brain of yours can’t really deal with a lot at once. “You’re so mean, it’s not my fault.”
“It’s your fault, yeah,” he says. His hand is firm when he holds your cheeks together, making you pout. There are tears staining your lash line, but he doesn’t care. “When are you going to understand that your pussy is mine? Uh? No one can fuck you like this.” Eren rolls his hips and hits your cervix, the mixture of pain and pleasure makes your eyes roll back. “No one cares as much as I do.”
Your pretty eyes are all hazy when you look at him, cunt clenching desperately around his girth. Eren is fucking huge, and he has worked long and hard to make sure that you can take his cock fully, like the good slut that you are. “I’m… I’m sorry,” you give in. His cock is throbbing inside you, soaking wet and leaking precum, and you can’t think when the lewd sounds echo all around you. “Can you fill me up? Please?”
He scoffs. “Only good girls get filled up, not needy sluts like you,” Eren speaks, and you whine in desperation against his warm mouth. He smiles — you’re so, so easy to mold. He’s sure you’d do anything he asks at this point. “Are you my good girl? My good little baby?” You nod, again and again, not breaking eye contact. “Want me to cum inside your pussy, yeah? Gotta keep it all inside, baby, you know it. Gotta push it deep and not waste one drop.”
“I- I won’t waste, please,” you moan. “Please, Eren, please…”
And he does — because he also loves to spoil you, and loves even more to know that he’s claiming you every time he cums inside your pussy. It’s so much, so thick, that you always cum right after him, clenching around his cock and milking him dry as he continues to plunge inside your messy hole. “Good fucking girl, that’s my good cock slut,” he praises, watching as the white liquid squelches out. “That’s my fucking pussy, fuck.”
“It’s yours, Eren,” you mumble. “I’m all yours.”
#eren smut#aot smut#eren x reader#attack on titan smut#eren x you#snk smut#eren yeager smut#eren jaeger x you#stepcest eren
690 notes
·
View notes
Text
Leviathan and Ra-on 1
Summary: You’ve tasked yourself with teaching Ra-on how to do the type of play Leviathan likes, since that devil’s teaching methods are horrendous. That and Ra-on was clearly interested in it.
(This is probably not canon but eh, I don't really know. Had this scene in my mind and I figured this would be fun. Lot of things happened back to back on my end. Things are… eh, they’re not getting worse so there’s that. Anyways, enjoy.)
“Alright, so in general choking practice, you actually don’t want to constrict the windpipe,” one of your knees was digging into the shoulder of a bound and gagged Leviathan, pinning him flat on his back on the ground, “typically, you just wrap your hands around them neck, but you press against the arteries and put very light pressure with your palm around the trachea.”
You shoved your hand around his neck and press him further into the pillow you placed. Leviathan’s bit further into his gag, his face slowly turning red, but had just enough breathe to growl at you. Clearly you are not the one he wanted to touch him, and yet he still didn’t press the clicker you gave him. His hands are free. There’s nothing stopping him from signaling he wanted this to stop.
Perhaps it’s his pride talking, but negotiations have been made. You cannot be faulted for whatever limits you push if he doesn’t signal that you’re at that point.
“Here, take a closer look,” you waved Ra-on closer, pointing to your hand.
At the start of all this, Ra-on had shoved himself to the nearest wall, trying to disappear into it like he was afraid he’ll irritate you, or he was intruding on something private. Though, that did the opposite because you’re only doing this to teach Ra-on something things you’ve learned over the years.
He’s closer now, but in that wavering sort of way like he was ready to dash out of this room as soon as something changed in your mood.
You sighed. “Ra-on, get over here. You need to see the way I position my hand.”
“O-oh!” Ra-on tugged at his shirt, trying to pull it over his crotch, “Right! Sorry!”
He awkwardly knelt right next to you and you made sure to push all irritation as far down as you could. You can’t fault him for popping a boner in a situation like this. After all, you’re pretty sure Leviathan is also in the same state, and you’d be pretty biased to be angry at Ra-on and not at Leviathan.
Just ignore it and continue teaching… and also take enjoyment in the fact you can reduce Leviathan like this. He looks extremely irritated to be under you and you can’t help but find this entertaining, especially when you found out a while back that he was trying to mold Ra-on into his preferred partner.
This arrogant, emotionally constipated piece of shit really thinks that the best way to teach BDSM is by making Ra-on angry and waiting for the results, by goading him and taking in all the rage that he releases. And he has the gall to be disappointed when Ra-on doesn’t somehow read his mind and do the things he wants.
Idiot. Waste of space. Does being praised as beautiful really rot the brain to this state? To make one think he’s entitled to changing every aspect of a person to fit his needs and assume that’s what his partner wants most? That he knows what’s best?
None of these devils know how humans work.
“You don’t have to do this–” Ra-on noticed the stormy look on your face.
He’s right, you don’t have to do this. You can just let go and guide Ra-on’s hand while you stay away. But, you know Ra-on, and he’s not a hands-on learner. And in this situation, where Leviathan’s was bare to the world save for the ropes and gag, covered in sweat and clearly wanting more, you knew Ra-on would be unable to hear you.
All the devils here seek to entice and pull Ra-on into their world. And, one day, you fear he’ll be out of your reach if you let them take advantage of his poor self-control.
“You think I trust the devils to teach you safe sex?” They’re all dumb as shit and too indulgent in their own desires. They’re not teachers, and they’re certainly not interested in learning the limits of human beings, because Ra-on is the descendant of Solomon, so clearly he’ll like what that old ancestor liked. If his body reacts, then surely it must mean he likes it!
You heard an irritated huff and you wished Ra-on kept that to himself. You accidentally tightened your grip.
“They’re not that bad–”
There was a broken, choked out moan. The body under your knee began to thrash and jut, Leviathan’s face turning to hide into his shoulder as tears marred his face, teeth nearly ripping through the gag.
And, because you were dressed lightly, you felt your whole calf become soaked.
…you let go as soon as he was done, when your mind caught up with the sight.
Ra-on, right next to you, had his hand over his mouth, eyes racking over your leg as his own breath shivered out of him.
Leviathan breathed heavily, unable to look at anyone. He simply stared at the wall.
“…sorry.” You got up and off him.
Right, right, you forgot that these devils have a very high libido, and this Leviathan, out of his disappointment that Ra-on “kept holding back,” refused to sleep with him for… a good three weeks. Of course he’d be half a hair away from his release.
Though, you have to admit, it's kind of impressive that tying him up and choking him was enough to get his rocks off. Huh.
…alright, let's see.
You collected yourself with a nice, deep breath. Again, this is a natural reaction. You were expecting this, just not this soon.
“You both good to continue or…?”
Ra-on was snapped out of his trance with two little clicks. Leviathan was back to glaring at you, but there was a glimmer of determination in them.
Ra-on looked in your direction but didn’t quite meet your eyes. Your soaked leg had all his attention.
You snapped your fingers, “Ra-on, can you get me the towel over there?”
“Huh?” Only then did he finally meet your gaze, “Oh, right!”
“Alright, next up on the agenda is… pain play, right?”
#whb#what in hell is bad#what in “hell” is bad#hell-drabbles#hell-drabbles exclusive#drabble#hades#leviathan#ra-on#embittered companion au#reader insert
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
there is such a thing, steve supposes, as having seen too many monsters. after a while it gets old. you just—you get used to it.
stuff like billy hargrove, grave-muddy and swiss-cheesed and by all means not meant to be alive, fridge-illuminated in his kitchen and slurping mortadella slices like he didn’t die, like, three weeks ago, is ranking pretty low on steve’s shock scale.
‘oh,’ he says, ‘you’re alive.’
hargrove doesn’t exactly face him, but he does sort of growl in acknowledgment of steve’s existence. he also doesn’t stop the fridge raid, so. ‘jesus,’ he slurs, around a mouthful of italian sausage and what steve fears is molding lasagna leftovers, ‘curb your enthusiasm next time.’
‘next time you—come back from the dead?’
‘not my fault you hicks are grave-happy and buried me without checking for a pulse.’
‘oh, we checked,’ steve says, inching closer. three-am lasagna does sound pretty tempting. ‘you were definitely croaked.’
a visible shudder racks hargrove’s form. he looks—taken aback, and way too red-cheeked for a dead boy. that’s one more thing about the horrors they’ve seen. steve forgets, sometimes, how young they’re meant to be.
the fork hargrove has only been half-using clatters to the ground, makes them both jump like banshees are after them. for all they know, right? this is hawkins.
steve feels momentarily triumphant, but it immediately bleeds into guilt. how unfair is that? the asshole he traded high-school punches with saved his life, and now he can’t even gloat guilt-free. with a heavy sigh, he flips the switch. the neon cracks and fizzes and settles, falls mercilessly on hargrove’s blinded ex-corpse. he looks—well, steve’s peripherally watched enough zombie flicks by now to draw the parallels. as long as hargrove’s satiated by mr. harrington’s imported delicacies and leaves steve’s brain alone, they’re good.
he pulls two questionably clean forks out of the dishwasher, hands one to hargrove. that lasagne stopped being edible a week ago, he decides, forking a bite anyway. hargrove flinches when steve leans over his shoulder to assess the rest of the fridge’s contents, but doesn’t pull back. steve doesn’t, either.
‘how’d you get in, anyway?’
hargrove turns around, smirking. he elbow-leans on the counter, crosses a leg over another. the very picture of nonchalance, if you don’t have a clue. steve—knows better. he fights the urge to lick a thumb and wipe the mud off hargrove’s cheek, see if he’s real.
‘window was open, harrington,’ he drawls, chuckling at the way steve allows himself to get caught staring. ‘you should be more careful. never know what’s lurking in the dark.’
steve gives him a look. ‘don’t i?’ he regrets it, instantly. the shadow of shame on hargrove’s face isn’t half as satisfying as it should be, not anymore. ‘locks won’t keep the monsters out, man.’
‘would’ve kept me out, anyway,’ hargrove mumbles. he’s swapped the lasagna for his hangnails, maniacally having a go at them.
‘liar,’ steve tells him, and waits until hargrove’s insulted enough to look at him, ‘nothing would’ve kept you out.’ he gets a laugh, a real one, for his trouble. he bites his cheek and hopes this isn’t a dream.
hargrove tries, ‘your place is close to the cemetery,’ already wincing from the lie.
‘it’s really not. a for effort, though.’ steve takes the tupperwave from him, empties its contents in the trash. ‘look, are you, like, existentially opposed to a bath now? it’s just, the carpet in my room, it’s—it stains, alright? you’ll drag mud all over it, and cleaning it is a nightm—’
‘you gonna carry me to the bathtub, rich boy?’
steve—barely has time to feign offense, before a blood-crusted shirt lands on him. hargrove is standing half-naked in his kitchen. pointedly staring at his earth-stained feet. ‘don’t—don’t move,’ steve groans, ‘i’ll get you some old slippers.’
hargrove’s laugh follows him out of the room. ‘bet you were the type of brat who used to drag strays in all the time. fed them, bathed them, the works,’ he’s saying, which is unfair, and not completely untrue.
the strays usually ended up curled up in bed with him anyway, so.
369 notes
·
View notes
Text
self-indulgent 3zun ABO AU because I like putting JGY into ~situations~
Alpha NMJ, beta LXC, and omega JGY who has been masquerading as a beta in typical ABO trope fashion, except the dramatic omega reveal happens way back when he murders the Nie captain and gets kicked out of Qinghe.
(I really do wonder what an ABO universe would do to them, psychosocially-speaking, considering that their major flaws can be pretty neatly sorted into “stereotypical” ABO roles that can be used to malign them: Nie Mingjue’s saber-induced anger issues and prior jumping to conclusions, Lan Xichen’s tendency to peacekeep with his loved ones and mold himself into a mediator to a fault, and Jin Guangyao’s....... entire existence as, basically, a tiny venomous snake.)
Present day is post-war Jinlintai before anyone I like (read: JYL, JZX) dies, where 3zun are forced to figure (just enough of) their shit out earlier—WAY earlier—and have been in not just a sworn brotherhood but a mate bond for a while now because in a world with synaesthesic scent markers and mating bites, you don’t get to take things like that back...
... At the very beginning of which bond, NMJ, still incensed and affected by Baxia's resentment, basically accepts the relationship on the bad-faith condition that JGY doesn't "pull any of that manipulative omega shit.” Would he say something like that about Nie Huaisang? No, but he’s just reaching for what hurts. When asked to elaborate on what that actually means, he doesn’t actually have anything in mind and thus rifles around in his mental sack of negative omega stereotypes for all of three seconds before clarifying that he’s talking about all that nonsense with baiting people with heats and baby trapping and whatnot.
JGY, the bitter little gremlin that he is, takes this the worst way possible and has since been taking heat suppressant ✨️indefinitely✨️. We all know how that goes. Maybe he runs out, maybe his body gives out, but most likely Jin Guangshan decides that getting JGY knocked up and too busy to politically machinate against him in addition to all the political machinating he’s doing for him is to his benefit, and arranges the botching of the preparation of whatever tea JGY takes to make this happen. Ideally right in time for NMJ and LXC to be at Jinlintai.
Except this isn’t a sexy, “Oh no, I’m a secret omega and I went into heat! My love must now ravish me!” story. Despite his best efforts, everyone already knows JGY is an omega. Despite his best accidental counterefforts, he technically has two mates already. And still, three hours into NMJ and LXC’s visit, when he realizes what is happening, he fucking panics.
Heat brain isn’t fun brain. Heat brain on top of the writhing bag of neurotic rats that runs JGY’s brain is worse. He’s fucking dead, he thinks. NMJ definitely hates omegas other than his brother (has he met any others? JGY can’t remember, which is terrifying, because JGY remembers everything), and only tolerates JGY’s omega-ness because he’s on suppressants. Da-ge is going to be so mad. And er-ge is going to have to mediate again. Unacceptable! Mortifying! Possibly not an issue because he thinks he might be having a heart attack and dying!
He spends two hours wedged into an emergency bolt-hole he built into his quarters while LXC sits outside going “pspspsps” and NMJ guiltily retrieves increasingly unfeasible amounts of food from the kitchens. It does not end up a sexy heat. It ends up a “hold the hyperventilating omega while he repeatedly forgets how to breathe” heat, because the body is not going to do sexy times while experiencing the most dramatic fight or flight instinct JGY has ever felt. Thanks, chemically-induced hormone imbalance.
(Da-ge turns out to be a good weighted blanket. Compression is good for the anxiety. And guilt turns out good for forcing people to talk things over.)
(And nobody gets pregnant.)
#mdzs#3zun#abo#jin guangyao#nie mingjue#lan xichen#long post#text posts#my writing#don't ask me what the timeline is or what canon it's from#I haven't even watched CQL but due to fandom osmosis#I literally no longer know what's CQL vs book canon QQ#brought to you by the going-to-sleep plays i put on for myself in my brain#omegaverse#meng yao#storytelling post
100 notes
·
View notes
Note
Lab UA and Supernatural elements AU
“I don’t want to accuse you of anything,” Taako starts, as the prelude to absolutely making a fucking accusation. “But I’ve been wondering about you.”
“What about me?” Kravitz is short with him. He’s been snappity short with him every fucking day since the incident. Taako has been so on edge and working in the lab with him has been…difficult. There’s no good way to come out and ask if someone is a just a fucking vampire now.
Especially not because Taako fucking knows he’s a vampire now, because he can smell it on him. Because Taako isn’t a human either.
But you can’t just be like. Straight up are you a vampire? Don’t lie, cause my werewolf nose knows.
Maybe he should have come into this armed a little better.
“Uh,” Taako says. “About how you’re doing.”
“Fine,” Kravitz says. “Can we do unethical science now?”
“Seriously? You’re fine??”
“Fine enough to do work,” Kravitz says cooly. “Besides, how does it involve you?”
“I mean you’re my fucking lab partner, asshole, and I care about whether or not you’ve been exsanguinated!”
Kravitz squints at him. Taako grits his teeth.
“Look,” Taako says, beginning to count on his fingers. “I haven’t seen you bring one of those fucking Lean Cuisines since last Tuesday.”
Kravitz winces.
“And you turned the heat up so high in the lab you ruined my psychic mold, and you’ve worn a turtleneck every day for the last week, and-”
“Taako-”
“And you’ve been a real bitch to me! Like it’s my fucking fault!”
Kravitz’s face falls.
“Taako, I- I don’t think it was. I- I guess I got wrapped up in my own head trying to…fix it…before anyone noticed, and…I’m sorry, I never wanted to make you feel responsible.”
Taako’s on a roll now, though, oops!
“Well, maybe you should! Cause I should have fucking stopped it! There shouldn’t have been a fucking vampire in my territory, and you got fucking bit, and now you’re mad at me, and my psychic mold is ruined, and-”
Kravitz blinks.
“Your territory, Taako?”
“Uh.”
Kravitz squints at him. Taako takes two full steps backward, like maybe Krav’s baby vampire senses might still be garbled enough to not smell a werewolf right in front of him.
The eye contact is so physically painful that Taako’s afraid his balls are going to fall right off and roll under the centrifuge.
“Taako,” Kravitz says, like this is occurring to him for the first time. “Why do you care so much?”
“Um,” Taako’s between a rock and a hard place, and both of them are radioactive. “I’m mad about the mold?”
“No.”
“No? You can’t tell me I’m not mad! It’s- who the fuck do you think you are-” Taako steps back again as Kravitz steps closer, and closer, and suddenly Taako’s back is to the locked door to the specimen chambers. Kravitz is so fucking close. And he smells weird, fresh vampire and all, but it’s hardly…bad. Taako’s just…not happy about it, is all.
“Why were you gone on Tuesday?” Kravitz keeps forgetting to blink. Has he admitted it yet? Taako’s brain is eating this whole awful conversation.
“Uh,” Taako says. “Fishing.”
“You’re out of personal time. You took your adoptive nephew to see the wrestling.”
“Fuck me,” Taako sighs. “Why the fuck do you care about my personal time?”
Kravitz finally blinks, and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“No reason.”
“Hey,” Taako smells an out. It’s a dangerous one. But, you know, you take what you can get. “Do you fucking like me?”
“What??” Kravitz can’t go greyer in the face now, but he looks like he ought to be. “I- You’re- we’re coworkers! I can’t be-”
“You fucking like me!”
“Well-! It takes one to know one, doesn’t it??”
“What the fuck are you accusing me of?”
“You KNOW,” Kravitz hollers, looking totally unbalanced. “I’ve really lost track!”
Taako looks at him. Kravitz looks right back, looking downright pitiful, and Taako just has to laugh. Kravitz chuckles softly.
“You know, in our line of work,” he says, shaking his head. “I should have gotten the vampire insurance.”
“Yeah,” Taako says solemnly. “Dunno if it would’ve done you any good, though. I still can’t prove to Farm Bureau that I’m a werewolf.”
Kravitz’s eyes go wide. Taako may as well go in with the baseball bat, while everything’s all fucked anyway.
“Do you think we can still kiss?”
Kravitz opens his mouth, and shuts his mouth, and opens it again.
“You know,” he repeats, thoughtful, dazed. “I’d still like to try?”
#taz#taakitz#tazb#the adventure zone#the adventure zone balance#fan5fics#taz balance#taakitz fic#thank you!!#is it possible for a vampire and a werewolf to on purposed kiss
88 notes
·
View notes
Text
Harley D. Dixon 5
An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99)
Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board!
Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!
📖Chapter List.
Author's Note. This is our CDC chapter, so TW for mention of suicide in this one. It's a little graphic.
And it might be better to go in blind, but if you'd like the second TW, please check the first tag on this post.
Other than that, please enjoy reading!
Glenn exhales, "Would you look at that?"
The sun is rising.
Last night I was a dying dog and today I am Harley Dixon.
Me, Dad and Glenn are on the roof of the parked RV, watching the sky give birth to the sun, knowing that I got hundreds more sunrises waiting for me; that the worst is over, like Rick said. The morning is as fresh as peeled summer fruit, and it's all ours. I'm reminded of special breakfasts on our old porch, where my Uncle Merle and my Dad would be scooping burnt scrambled eggs into their mouths, and I'd be in Dad's lap, sipping on a box of orange juice. We had them whenever I won an award at school. I feel like I've won every award in the world.
Glenn is the one sitting next to us, now, in this new version of day-break. He fills the outline of where a ghost of a brother and an Uncle used to be. We're sharing a secret bag of old freeze-dried cherries, while everyone else sleeps. They're a small luxury, like the sun. We can make happiness out of anything.
It all feels right.
"One hundred percent mold free, this time. I swear," Glenn says, ripping the bag open and pouring me the first cherries.
"They better be," Dad jokes. "First time was free."
"Next time, you'll beat my ass?" Glenn guesses.
He looks like he's realizing his legacy is always gonna be the guy who can't make jerky.
"Damn straight."
We knock our plastic bowls together, smiling.
"To Harley."
"To Harley."
"To me!"
"What a mess this whole thing was." Glenn shakes his head, chewing. "I know I already said it, but... I'm really sorry."
"Ain't your fault you can't cook." I giggle.
"Gee, thanks." He laughs. "I guess I deserve that."
"Just learn to salt the damn meat, China." Dad says. "Then we can talk."
"Okay, okay, okay." Glenn puts his hands up, but he's still grinning. "I suck at cooking. I get it. Are Dixons always this mean?"
Me and my Daddy answer, yes, at the same time.
"Good to know." Mumbles Glenn.
"The night I got scratched," I muse, my fingers painted with crayon-red cherry juice. "You was the first person after my Dad to reach the tent."
I remember people saying that Glenn could outrun a cheetah if there were enough supplies behind the finish line. The thought makes me laugh again. When you ain't big, you gotta find other ways to elbow your way through danger. Sometimes a good brain and better legs are all you need. Sometimes people like me and Glenn get to win, too.
"I guess so." Glenn's smiling shyly. "But only because Rick was too busy reloading. And Shane was up the back. And, well, I guess— When we first got back to camp, people were saying that you were gone. That you were missing, or dead, or— We didn't know. Your Dad, he just took off into the woods. Just, vroom, y'know? Like, gone. I thought if I was gonna be like anyone, it should be him. So, I went running, too."
Dad leans over and grips Glenn's shoulder; shakes it. A gesture that says, Man to man, I respect you. Maybe even, Brother to brother.
It takes a lot to earn my Dad's respect, if you ain't his blood.
"You all looked like you was boutta faint." I snicker, 'cause it's funny now.
"W-we all thought it was too late." Glenn tries to laugh. It's been hard, I guess, bottling up that night until now. "When we first saw the tent."
I see flashes of wet eyes, and teeth, and spiders.
"I did too," I confess.
My Dad turns me around in his lap, then, and bounces his knee a little. "But I woulda never let that happen, chicken, y'hear? And I ain't never gonna let that happen. I'd have to be dead, 'fore a walker laid his hands on you." He frowns, looking me dead in the eye.
"I hear." I nod. "It was just really scary."
"C'mere, babe."
He pulls me down to his chest — his heart — and I curl up there, where I know nothin' will ever get me.
"For the record, I was about to faint." Glenn mutters.
I throw a cherry at him and he dodges it, grinning.
"I knew it!"
We all sit like this for a long while, with the sun and the rustling wheat as our friends, snacking on our sour fruit. Then they start talking again, a notch deeper, a notch outta my league. Adult to adult. I realize they must think I'm asleep — It is the ass-crack of dawn, after all — so I don't interrupt.
"I didn't mean it like that, you know." Glenn tells my Dad. "You can protect your own. I get that."
"Don't tell me what I already know, kid."
"I just..." Glenn starts, but then there's nothing.
In this long moment, I think Glenn is going to leave down the ladder, 'cause it's what anyone else would do.
People like me and my Dad — People who hoard supermarket coupons, and talk real nasty, and get called hillbillies — don't mix well with people like Glenn. People pretend there isn't, but there's an invisible cut-off on who deserves what in life, and it ends right after people who only gotta work one job. Glenn's smart, and he prolly ain't never had to go hungry to pay his water bills, not once in his life. He prolly ain't never been to jail, or snapped a squirrel's neck, or re-used the same bottle of hand soap forty times over. He's like the rest of 'em. Rick and Lori. Shane. The kids in my old classes. Their parents on parent-night. We can work well together but anything else is askin' too much.
But we're family now, right? I think Glenn might leave, but—
"Well, for what it's worth, I couldn't do it." Is all Glenn says.
He doesn't leave. In fact, I hear him settling further into his chair. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.
My Dad pauses. "Do what?"
"Look over my shoulder all the time. Worry about someone else every time I hear a gunshot. Walk around knowing I have that much to lose." Glenn sounds lost in thought, but then he surfaces. He ends his list with a simple, "Be a parent."
My Dad sighs, debating whether or not to go along with this.
"That ain't all there is to it." He eventually says.
"No?"
"Nah. It ain't some curse." Dad says. "I hear a gunshot? Sure, first thing I'm thinkin' 'bout is Harley. But that's the way it's meant to be."
"I just don't think I'd be able to handle it." I imagine Glenn gazing out at the sky. "These past few days have been stressful enough."
"Yeah, well that's why I got a kid 'n you don't." Dad's being a bit of a smart-ass. Then, he answers seriously. "You got a kid? You gotta be ready to die for 'em. But it ain't just sittin' around, waitin' to do it. It's the opposite. Every day I wake up, and I do it for her. I do everythin' I do for her. After that baby's born, who you were, what you liked doin', any plans you had — That's over. Suddenly, yer life ain't the most important thing you got, no more."
I've never heard my Dad talk like this. I wish our lives were worth the same, but I guess it don't work that way.
"And who were you?" Glenn asks, knocking back a cherry. "Before Harley?"
"A nobody. Drunk bastard with drunk-bastard friends." Dad scoffs.
"Well... That's good, then?" Glenn's guessing. "Sounds like she changed you for the better, man."
I can't imagine my Dad being anybody other than my Dad. The day I came into the world, so did he. There's nothin' before that.
"It's hard." Dad admits, prolly for the first time ever, to Glenn. "I love 'er, but it's hard as shit. Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out."
"You must have been going crazy during... everything."
"Oh, you think?" Dad jokes. "You ain't seen me fuck up that walkie?"
Glenn bursts out laughing. "It hit the RV when you threw it out the window. Scared the shit out of Dale."
I have to try really hard not to laugh. I'm meant to be pretend-asleep!
"You got any nieces, or anythin'?" Dad asks.
"No." Glenn answers. "My sisters were either too interested in their careers to have kids, or... Too young."
Glenn's sisters aren't here. Blood does everything it can to stay together. Dad taught me that. That means his sisters are both young and dead.
"That's gotta be tough, man." Dad sighs.
"No, it's alright. Sometimes I can pretend they're out there, together. Happy." He pauses. "What about you? Nieces? Nephews?"
Dad actually laughs a little. "Fuck no. Not from my side, at least. Guy like my brother ain't meant to spread his seed around. Ain't right."
Glenn starts laughing, too. "I guess not."
"Nah, Harley's my only girl." My Dad says. I feel him start playing with the end of my ponytail.
"You know, when you first showed up in camp, I thought she was Merle's." Glenn says, then quickly, "No offence."
"No shit?" Dad scoffs.
"No shit. I thought you looked too young to have a kid."
An unspoken joke makes them both laugh all over again.
"Yeah, well, I was real busy in my teen years."
I got no idea what that means, but it must be funny. Their conversation tapers from chuckling into a warm silence, and then it's just us and the sun again. It clips over a candy-colored cloud, and I can hear car doors opening and shutting, and loud yawns from down below. We're gonna be on the road again soon. I might not need a cure anymore, but we still need water, food, and walls, and the CDC's got it all. I hear someone shouting, alright, people, time to start heading out, and then a whole bunch of shuffling. The day isn't just ours, anymore.
My Dad stretches, groaning, and I pretend to be woken up by it.
He pinches my cheek. "Look who's here."
"Hey, Harley." Glenn smiles, packing up. "You enjoy the cherries?"
"Uh-huh," I smile back. "Thank you."
"No problem." He says. "There's actually some left over, if you want it."
He holds out the bag while I dig my hand into it.
I think it's funny how me, the man who made me, and the man who almost killed me are all friends, now. I learnt in science class that the more pressure you put on a rock, the more compact the molecules get. I think we're the molecules. It's bittersweet.
"Not too many." Dad warns. "You're still sick, remember? Don't want you messin' up my truck again."
"I remember," I promise, shoving a handful of cherries into my mouth. I also remember him sayin' he don't give a damn 'bout the truck.
Someone shouts out the radio channel again.
"Time to see this thing through, then." Rallies Glenn, but he looks nervous.
We say goodbye to the sunrise.
"Dad, is that—?"
"That's the CDC, alright."
We reach it by early morning. It's a monster of a building. It's like a big, white buoy in the middle of the ocean, saying, Come here, I'll keep you afloat. We ease to a stop and then we just look at it, 'cause it's all we can do. The CDC, right before our eyes. It's really there.
"It's bigger than I thought." I think aloud.
Dad just grunts, wary. "Stay close to me."
Our new walkie chimes, and Rick speaks to everyone when he says, "This is it, people. Leave your things. We're gonna walk up."
Why does the air feel so cold?
My Dad pulls both me and his crossbow out the truck, and then the whole group — one tired, beaten, hopeful force — are slowly making our way to the building. We walk through a silent field. I wish it could speak to us; tell us what it's been through.
We pass torn bags of sand and littered bullet shells. I think there's something here that we're not seeing, not yet, like a sleeping beast at the back of a cave, and when we find it, we're gonna be sorry we ever looked. We weave through big, black piles of clothes. The clothes are full, I realize. Full of hands, and legs; all white, all dead. They're bodies. They still have their human faces; they're still them, just dead, and they're studded with the bullets that the shells came from. The story tells itself, on behalf of the ghosts. They give their blood back to mother nature, dripping into the grass. I gasp. From head to toe, I go cold. My Dad shields my face, but I've already seen 'em. They're already nightmares.
Rick leads us. He leads us past trucks and barriers and blockades. Every sign the universe gives him to turn back, he ploughs through, chin up.
Maybe he's brave. Maybe he's stupid. Maybe he was designed to be both. Maybe we're walking to our deaths.
Nobody speaks. If they do, the bodies might wake up, and the graveyard we're intruding on will realize it doesn't want us here.
A crow squawks from its post on a dead soldier's helmet. If I spoke bird, I'd hear, Turn back.
We have to do this. It's what everyone's thinking, as they manage one foot in front of the other. Just one more step, and after that, just one more step. I take in the group, 'cause they ain't dead, and it's a little less awful to look at.
Morales, rifle up. Eliza, Louis and Sophia, three baby ducklings under their Mommas' shaking wings. Dale and Shane, polar opposites but in this moment, exactly the same; with their steely gaze and steady hands. Jacqui and Andrea, holding hands; two girls in women's bodies, walking through a world that wants to eat them. I catch Carl's eye. He catches mine, over the violence spread out before us. I watch him send me a thumbs up, which does nothing but turn me colder — colder than ice, colder than I've ever been — before my view is blocked for a second time, by Glenn. I'm sandwiched in; hidden, protected. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope I'll get to open them again. My Dad leads me by the shirt over the grass. I trust him.
My shoes hit something tougher, louder — Cement. Rock? Our footsteps echo, now. Are we really in a cave?
It goes double-dark, through my eyelids. Please don't leave us, I beg the sun nicely, We need you.
I squeeze my Dad's hand. He squeezes back.
Then I hear a rumble, like thunder, and I peek out from behind my Dad. It's Rick, banging on roller shutters. We all clench closer together, a fist ready to fight. Nobody does it on purpose, but me and all the other kids are pushed toward the middle. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Rick goes from one door to another to another, until he's shook down the entire row.
Guns are raised. We step back, together.
It's like knockin' on doors on Halloween. We don't know what creature's gonna answer. Maybe nobody.
"Anybody home?" Glenn mutters.
We stretch our silence for as long as we can stand it. There is no answer.
Newly determined, or maybe offended, or scared, or maybe all three, Rick beats down all the doors again like he hates 'em.
"Hey!" He calls out. "Whoever's in there, open up!"
"Nobody's here, man!" T-Dog shakes his head, but he ain't got no proof.
"Then tell me why you think all the damn shutters are down?" Rick snarls, and it's like we're in the parking lot again, and I'm scared.
And I should be.
"Walkers incoming!" Shane shouts.
Suddenly, my Dad and Glenn are whirling the other way, facing our new enemy. I grab onto the back of Dad's belt, and when I peer out between their elbows, I see one, two, six, twelve dead bodies lumbering to their feet, all dressed in military green, and dented helmets, and layers and layers of crusty black blood and loose skin. The other kids start to cry, but not me. I can't cry, 'cause I can't breathe. I hear a slicing fwip, and then one of the dead soldiers drop to the ground like the only thing holding him up were strings. An arrow marks his second deathbed.
"We can't fuckin' stay here, Rick!" My Dad's yelling. "You led us into a death-trap!"
I'm grabbing onto the back of Glenn's shirt, now, 'cause my Dad's stomping off to confront Rick and Shane. I hide my nose in my knuckles. Death-trap, I'm panicking, Death-trap. A week ago, I'd be standing here alone, but I got Glenn now. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I got Glenn.
"Glenn, I'm scared." I whine to him, and there it is, I'm crying. I think of happier things, like cherries and the sun.
"I— I know." Glenn puffs, 'cause he's scared, too. "I know."
He lets me grab his hand. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.
"Death trap or not, we're here for a reason!" Dale's arguing. "Rick made a call! We all did!"
"You want us to phase through the fuckin' doors, old man?" Dad spits. "We're stuck out here! My daughter's stuck out here!"
"Running out of time here, guys!" Jacqui's worrying.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Are those gunshots, now? Bullets are last resorts. Last resorts are only for when you're gonna die. Are we gonna—?
"Are we gonna die, Glenn?"
"No." He hurries to answer, gripping me tighter. "N—No."
"We need to leave!" A woman — Carol? — cries.
"She's right." Lori. That's Lori. "This close to the city? It's too dangerous!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Fort Benning." Shane looks like he's 'bout ready to bolt, bouncin' from foot to foot. A trapped animal. "We can do it. It's still an option, Rick."
"Is it?" Glenn's shouting. "It's a hundred twenty-five miles away!"
"No fuel? Two sick kids?" Morales is shakin' his head, no, no, no. "It's impossible!"
What do we do? No, no, no. We can't leave, but no, no, no, we can't stay, neither.
"What do you wanna do, then?" Shane argues back. "What you wanna do?"
"That's it! We're done here!"
My Dad shuts the whole thing down with one angry shout, locking his hand around my wrist. He tugs me away, and for a moment, the group is tugging itself along behind us, back to the street and the cars. We're a unit again — in the wind, goin' anywhere; scared, flimsy. We take one step, and then two, and we make it all the way back to the grass, before—
"Wait!"
It's Rick.
He ain't budged. Brave or stupid? Is he nuts?
"The camera." He tells us, breathless. "It moved."
All three.
"You imagined it." Dale decides, 'cause he'll say anything to get Rick to move. "How could it have moved?"
It's a lost cause — a last-ditch attempt.
The arguing re-ignites. I hide myself again, 'cause I'd rather be anywhere else.
Rick's shouting that he saw it, he saw the camera move, and his voice hits the concrete and closes in on us, just like the field. Fwip. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each burst of noise is a ticking hand on a dyin' clock. The bodies are picking themselves up faster than we're dropping 'em. Glenn's got a knife out, now, and Shane's pleading with Rick, who's gone nuts, Man, listen, the place is gone, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Fwip. Bang. Crying; shrieking, from me, from the other kids, from Lori, and Jacqui, and the air as it's cut in half by bullet after bullet after bullet. Please, we have two sick kids out here, someone's begging.
"You're killing us!" Rick tells the camera. "You're killing us!"
My Dad fists the back of my shirt and he's pullin' me away, stronger than before. I think he's saying, Fuck it, we can make it on our own; leave the bastard. This must really be rock bottom. We were on our own for weeks. He must be thinking that we can do it again. I can see Glenn struggling to decide whether he should stay with the group or follow his feet, which are already trying to run after me and my Dad. I see Jacqui doin' it, too, and then Andrea, and then Carol.
A body topples over in our path, arrow up its nose. This is chaos.
Cherries and sunlight. Cherries and sunlight.
Then—
Behind us.
A gentle rumble, rumble.
We all whip around.
The doors — They're opening. They really are.
Even Rick looks like he can't believe it. We watch them open, mouths agape, like a bunch of idiots — A portal, to another world.
At first, we think there's a catch. Nothing comes without a catch. Do we go in?
But then there's another bang, and we're reminded that we're as good as dead if we stay out here any longer. We're on the move again, but this time, we're walking into the big, white mouth of the big, white monster, praying, Please don't be worse than it is out here, please don't make us regret this. We stay close together as the doors roll back down, sealing us in. We can breathe again, but only slightly. Would I rather take my chances with the dead soldiers, or with the unknown? I'm not sure. Now it's really happening, I don't think any of us are.
"Electricity." Jacqui whispers in cautious wonder. Electricity is like a myth.
Rick nods toward an archway. "Let's keep moving."
We trickle into the belly of the beast — Down a hallway, and into a lobby with the tallest damn ceiling I ever saw. Papers are thrown all over the floor and the computers at the reception desk are all upturned, but it's pin-drop silent. It's like being in a museum for an old extinction event.
"Hello?" Rick calls out, and if there's a scary creature in here, I sure hope it eats him first. "Who's in here? Who opened the doors?"
The silence answers.
"I did."
I jump outta my skin. Dad gets himself in front of me, but I peek around his waist. There's a man at the top of the stairs. He looks like he's been here for a long, long time. Like those lonely boys in Lord of the Flies, where they'd been on an island for so long that they started going a little crazy. He's wearing a regular t-shirt. I wonder where his lab coat is, if he's a scientist. This is a building for scientists.
"What did you mean by 'sick'?" The lonely-crazy-man calls down to us. "You said you had two sick kids. Is anybody infected?"
The whole group hardens at this question. They all glance back at me. I can see our journey in their eyes.
Rick's smiling, and this time, it looks right.
"You don't know the half of it." He turns back around, chin up, like always. "No. Nobody's infected. Thank God."
Dad puts a hand my shoulder.
The scientist doesn't share the same enthusiasm.
"I'm not sure He's around, anymore." He muses, vaguely sad. Then, "Why are you here? What do you want?"
I've never been good at words, but Rick is, 'cause he comes up with the perfect answer. One he knows we'd all agree on.
"A chance."
And maybe some water. After all we been through, that can't be too much to ask. We must look like a pathetic, begging mess, 'cause that's what we are. I know I am. My hair's made outta knots and grease, just like Lori and Andrea's. We're covered in beatings from the road, like bruises from Jim's fists and eyebags from sleepless nights. We left our quarry for this. We left our fish, and our tyre swing, and we left Jim. This can't be for nothing.
The man, who stands high above us, a judging eye, takes us in. "That's asking an awful lot, these days."
All Rick can say is, "I know," and pray it works.
I think of wet eyes, teeth, and spiders while we wait for his decision.
"You'll submit to a blood test." The scientist tells us. "That's the price of admission."
A breath leaves us all.
"We can—" Rick's nodding. "We can manage that."
That's it? A blood test?
I find myself grinning, and I tug on my Dad's hand. We look at each other. He's smiling, too, just a little. We all are. The scientist doesn't know it, but he's just saved our lives. We're tired and we're dirty and we've been through Hell these past couple days, but a blood test — We can manage that. We can manage anything.
"I left one door open. If you have stuff to bring in, do it now." He says, from his perch. "Once these doors shut, they don't open."
We tell him we understand.
This place is like a magical castle.
After we give up our blood, the scientist takes us on a tour.
Jacqui was right. We got electricity. But apparently, we also got hot water.
If electricity's a myth, then hot water is a damn hoax. I can't wait to have a shower tonight. I used to hate showers, but that's just one of them things now that I can't believe I ever hated, like spinach. I been so hungry before that I'd dream about spinach. Glenn and Lori groan like they've bitten into a big, juicy steak when they hear 'bout the showers, and we all laugh. When I ask him, the scientist says that he isn't wearing his lab coat because he only wears it to make himself look cool. He says that now that we're here, he'll have to put it back on. It makes me giggle.
I run ahead with the other kids, and we all reach a long line of doors, where the scientist says we'll be staying.
The tour is complete!
We all pick rooms to stay in and then we unpack, like we're in a hotel, and it's exciting. None of us have been to a hotel in years.
"Hey, Harley!" Sophia pops her head out the next room over, holding a bar of soap. "Look! Soap!"
I hold out mine. "I got one, too!"
Behind Sophia, Carl pops his head out. "Me too!"
And behind him, like two little owls, Eliza and Louis appear. "Us, too!"
We dash back into our rooms. Me and my Dad's room got two double beds, and I ain't never had a double bed before, so I climb on it, and I jump up and down to test it out. It don't even squeak or nothin'. Dad watches me from where he's emptying one of our back packs.
As I try touch the ceiling, I tell him, "This place is awesome!"
"Harley, come down from there 'fore you crack yer head open." He orders, like a party-pooper.
I do what he says, 'cause I don't wanna ruin the day by getting spanked. "I'm gonna have a real-life shower."
"That's right." He shakes out the yellow shirt with the dinosaurs on it. He chucks it at my head, smirking. "Get ready, then."
I grab the brush that Sophia's letting me use first and a pair of purple pyjama pants from my Dad. I take myself into the bathroom. At first, the water's like straight lava on my skin, and I yelp. Dad asks if I'm alright, and then he comes in to fix the water for me. The lava settles back down, and I scrub and wash and sud myself up until I'm almost as red as a lobster. It's the best shower I've ever had. I was getting so sick of using baby wipes and river water to wash myself. When I step out of the real-life shower, the whole room is steamed up. I draw a smiley face into the mirror just 'cause I can, and then I brush out all my hair. I smell like strawberries. I dress in my cozy pyjamas and socks.
When I come out, my Dad re-does my buttons, 'cause apparently I did 'em all wrong. I stand between his knees while he re-orders 'em.
"He said there's a games room here." I smile.
"Maybe you can scope it out after dinner." Dad says. "You gotta be hungry by now, right?"
"Oh, I forgot 'bout dinner!" There's just too many wonders to keep track of in this place! "We gotta hurry!"
My Dad loops the last button.
"Come on, come on, come on!" I nag, pulling him off the bed and out the door.
"Damn." He chuckles. "People are gonna start thinkin' I ain't feedin' you."
"I bet there's gonna be steak!"
This is the best day ever.
We reach the CDC's little cafeteria, which is in total darkness to save energy, except for a spotlight above the biggest table. Makes it feel even more special. I hear clinking forks and plates, and I think these are the two happiest days I've ever had. Me and Dad take seats next to Carol and Sophia. As potato salad — Yes, potato salad. That's almost as good as soap — and greens and meat get passed around, I'm reminded of our fish fry. My Dad is here with me to enjoy it this time, and there are walls to protect us, instead of trees. We're clean. We're safe. We're alive.
"Just tell me when." Carol tells T-Dog as she pours him some wine, while everyone is getting settled in at the table.
Carol pours for a long time and T-Dog does not say when.
People start laughing.
T-Dog gives in and goes, "Okay, when, when, when."
"Thought I was gonna be there all night." Carol scoff-chuckles, sitting back down.
When I look around, I see one big family having dinner together, and I see people I'd almost forgotten about under all that dirt.
"Hey, after the past few days we've had, I think we deserve it." Rick's smiling, holding up his hands.
"I'll say." Lori snickers.
Dale suddenly stands, glass in hand. "How about we dedicate this meal to Harley?"
Rick puts down his napkin. "I think that's a perfect idea."
I giggle under all the attention as everyone rushes to agree, finding their glasses. I hide my face behind my Dad's arm. He peels himself away, smirking, and everyone's got something to say about my red face when I'm no longer hidden. I smack Carl when he tells me I look like a tomato, and everyone's doubled over with laughter, again. It's my favorite sound ever, I decide.
Before we can toast, my Dad butts in.
"Hang on. Old man, how's about that watch you carry around?" He asks. "It got a date on it?"
"I wish," Dale smiles, "But the battery died yesterday. Why? Is there something I'm missing?"
"I reckon it's almost July, right?" Dad looks around.
Is he gonna say what I think he's gonna say?
I start grinning.
Rick nods, "I reckon so. It's probably been about a month since everything went down."
"Harley was born in July. Twenty-second. Eight years ago. Ain't that right?" Dad ruffles my hair, and I giggle, 'cause I'm just so full of happiness that I feel like I'll never be anything else again. He raises his glass; wraps a hand around my shoulders. "Close enough, am I right?"
"Absolutely, that's close enough!" Lori shouts, clapping her hands; rushing for her glass. "My God, this is perfect!"
"We got ourselves a birthday dinner, here, people!" T-Dog whoops, raising his, too.
Rick lifts his glass above his head, and it's official. "To the birthday girl!"
"To the birthday girl!"
Clink, clink, clink.
More cheering. Two toasts in one day. I must be the luckiest girl in the whole, wide world. I bump my glass of water into Dad's glass on my right, and Sophia's on my left. After the scare with the scratches, this celebration means ten times more than a regular birthday would. There's no cake here, or number-candles, but I don't need any of that to make this moment special. I got Glenn singing an off-key Happy Birthday, and I got Jacqui giggling, God, shut that boy up, and I got Sophia hugging me, and I got another year and a whole lotta more days I get to live, with everyone at this table; with my Dad. And when Rick leans over the table, I even let him give me a high-five!
"Eight." Rick raises his eyebrows at me while he sits back down, pointing at me. "Almost double digits."
"You're almost my age!" Grins Carl.
"Good luck." Lori dramatically whispers to my Dad.
He gives me a look. "Listen to me, you ain't allowed to grow any more after this, okay?"
I can't help if I grow!
"Okay, Dad." I laugh. "I promise to be eight forever."
"Good girl." He says, gulping down more wine.
"Hold up." T-Dog sticks his palm out. "This is a birthday party. You know what that means, right? We need to hear at least one embarrassing story."
"Good idea." Jacqui gasps.
Dad makes a big show of scoffing. "Damn, which one you want? I got thousands."
What a traitor!
"I mean, we have all night, here." Shane shrugs, grinning like a little smart-ass. "I'm up for a story-time. How 'bout y'all?"
"Let's hear it," Morales gestures at my Dad.
"Alright." Dad sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. I try leaning over to cover his mouth, but he bats me away, and everyone is already laughing and the story ain't even started yet. "How 'bout— Okay. Okay. Damn, this is a good one. 'Bout when she was five, we bought Harley this skateboard—" Everybody's going, Oh God, 'cause they see where this is going. "Uh-huh. We took 'er down to the skatepark near our house, and there was a bunch of other lil' kids there — 'bout her age — and I'on know how she did it, but these kids were all convinced she was this master skater who was gonna show 'em how it's done. She was coachin' 'em, I think. Showin' off her new board. End of the day, she finally goes to show 'em a trick — 'Member, first day at this damn park — and everyone's watching and—" He claps his hands, smack. "Falls flat on 'er fuckin' face, in front of all of 'em."
Ugh, why'd he have to go and tell that story?
Rick covers his mouth 'cause he's trying not to laugh, 'cause I guess he values whatever dignity I got left but Shane, he's clappin' and trying not to spit his food out, 'cause he's actually a big smart-ass. I'm laughing behind my hands, like Sophia. Glenn's resting his forehead on the table, and he's shakin', so I guess he's laughing, too. When he sits upright, he's crying, and Jacqui's gotta beat his back 'cause he's choking a little bit.
"I'm alri—" He coughs. Then he keeps laughin', which makes it worse. "I'm alright."
"Hey, I ain't even fall that bad!" I defend myself.
He chugs Jacqui's water to save himself.
"Wait—" Lori's chuckling. "Five years old?"
"Yep," Dad goes back to eating. He's satisfied with the damage he's done.
"Pretty brave for that age." Lori tells me, putting on an I'm impressed face.
"Damn, that's pretty bad." T-Dog's shaking his head. "Sorry, girl, but I'm glad I asked, 'cause shit!"
"Leave the poor girl alone." Carol giggles, quietly.
Shane looks off into the darkness, pretending there's a crowd. "Anybody got a skateboard?"
"Oh, shut up." Andrea smiles. "Settle down, or Lori's gonna have to pull that photo out."
"May I ask a question?"
We're all so isolated in this pocket of happiness, celebrating the end of our troubles, that when the scientist speaks, I think we're all a little spooked. Smiles freeze and fade. Glasses lower. Heads turn. We're not the only people in the world, we're all realizing. We'd forgotten all about the reason we came here. That's what potato salad does to people, I guess.
The conversation dies off like a guillotine sliced it in half.
"What were you going to toast to?" The scientist asks, and his voice is like a soft, chilly breeze in a forest. I'm not even sure he was sitting there the whole time. Maybe he's supernatural, and he teleported. That makes me scared. "Before you figured out it was her birthday?"
And just like that, the dinner turns awkward.
Rick clears his throat. "Well, if I'm being completely honest, here, Harley is the reason we came out to the city in the first place. I know I told you that nobody here was infected, but there were a couple days where... we weren't sure. Harley got scratched. We left looking for a cure."
The scientist's eyes roam over to my face, but then they don't leave.
"Now we're on the subject," Shane decides to break the silence, frowning, "How about you tell us what exactly happened here, doc?"
Rick mutters, "We don't have to do this right now, Shane."
"Wait a second." Shane sighs. "You said it yourself, just now. This is why we came all the way out here, right? Figure out what happened? Put all our eggs in one basket, and uh—" He laughs a laugh that tells me nothing is funny here. "Instead we found him. We found one man, talking in riddles. Why is that, you think?"
The scientist tanks the insult. "When things got bad, people just... left, to be with their families. The rest bolted."
I remember just how shocked I was at the size of this building when I first saw it creeping up the windows. It's way too much space for one man. There must have been hundreds of scientists working in here, and now it's just a shell. A cave for a lonely monster.
"Every last one?" Shane whispers, squinting; disbelieving.
The scientist falters, for just a moment, and I can see old pains on his face. "No. Some couldn't face leaving. They... opted out."
The tables goes from quiet to silent. Opted out. I know what that means. It's another one of them things adults say to butter up the truth, and it means killing yourself. I squeak, then, like I've been kicked in the ribs. I hide behind my Dad, who cradles the back of my damp hair, but you can't hide from words once they're in your head. Suicide. Dead, but not an accident — On purpose, with pills, or a gun, or a— a— a bridge. Something snotty gets caught in my throat like a fish-hook, and I'm crying now, at my own birthday dinner. Somebody drops their fork in defeat.
"There was a rash of suicides." Mutters the scientist, immune to his own story; numb. "In a matter of days, I was alone."
"Why didn't you leave?" Asks Andrea.
Carl is crying too, now. I wish I could make him feel better, just for a moment, but I can't.
"I just kept working." Smiles the scientist, but it's not right— It's just muscles, pulling his droopy face upward. "I just wanted to do some good."
Good.
The word reaches up into the ceiling, and leaves us at the bottom, sitting in its echo.
"There is no cure here." The scientist says.
The dinner is over.
Everything comes crashing down as fast as it went flying up.
We were on top of the world just a few hours ago. We were invincible. We had the news that I wasn't going to die in our veins, and then we had hot water and soap and potato salad, and each other. We had hotel rooms and a birthday dinner. But now we just have a dead end and a long list of regrets. There is nothing here for us besides showers, lights, and ghosts. I feel like a trapped animal. I'm a hamster in a maze, going around and around and around, and I can't get out. A rash of suicides. That thing I thought was hiding somewhere, it's this, and it's out, and I'm sorry we ever looked. Please don't let it be worse than it is out here, I remember, Please don't make us regret this.
After what feels like hours, the hallways I'm running down end. I see the game room.
I run inside and corner myself under the table. A cloth hides me from the world outside, and if I pretend hard enough, I can take myself right out of here and into a nice, safe pillow fort, instead. Like the ones I used to make back home. I can be someone else. If I'm in my head, I'm not here.
But then I hear the door open, and it's just a wooden table again, and I'm in the CDC.
"Harley?" It's my Dad, 'cause of course it is. I moan into my hands, crying so hard I'm not getting enough air. "You in here?"
I don't want to be found. I want to be lost.
The cloth lifts.
"Baby, what's wrong?" My Dad asks, but I know he already knows. How could he not know?
There are lots of words that remind me of my Momma, like sunshine, and cigarettes, and the worst — Suicide.
"Get out." I tell him, using my feet to push him away. "Get out."
I should've learnt my lesson back at the quarry, on that night I hit my Dad, but I don't care. I just wanna hurt something. I'm hurting. A rash of suicides. I can't stop hearing it, and I can't stop seeing it — Over and over again, the night on the bridge. Opted out. Suicide. Killing yourself.
Pills, guns, ropes.
Bridges.
"Baby, I know." Dad's saying, grabbing my kicking feet. "I know. Come out. I don't want you thinkin' 'bout this, so come on out."
"I can't help it!" I sob, 'cause I really can't. Something that is too big for my body is happening to me, and I can't stop it.
"H— I know. Just come out." He's begging, and now he's not just holding my feet, he's pulling 'em; pulling me, out from underneath my hidey hole and into the world, even though I want to stay in here forever. He's trying so hard to bury something that's still alive; something that has teeth and jaws, and is eating me from the inside out. He don't wanna see it, and he don't wanna hear it, and he don't wanna deal with it. I wish he'd curl up in my make-believe pillow fort, and hide from the world with me. I wish he'd understand. "You don't gotta be under there. Come out, right now."
Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out.
He's getting angry again. He's holding himself back from something very nasty that lives inside him.
"No," I'm begging him back; begging him to just listen. "No, I don't wanna come out. I don't wanna—!"
I anchor myself to the table leg. We're an unstoppable force and an immovable object, colliding head on for the first time, ever, and it's a disaster. That night at the quarry was nothing.
Furious, my Dad rips the cloth off the table and boxes of puzzles go toppling over onto the floor, breaking into a million little pieces that used to be happily fused. Newly exposed, he easily ducks under and locks his hand around my wrist. I scream, and I close my eyes so I don't have to see my Daddy like this, 'cause it ain't him anymore. He pries my little fingers off the table, one by one by one, and ow, ow, ow, it really hurts. I'm yanked away, and then he's dragging me out by the ankles, shouting—
"Stop actin' like this. You ain't a baby." I hook myself onto a second leg, and he's wrestling with me all over again. "Stop! Mind yer damn father, girl!"
I'm not a baby, but I wish I was, 'cause we were happy back then.
"Stop!" I sob, kicking at him. "J— Leav— Just leave me alone!"
"I ain't leavin' you alone — You know why?" He's seething down to me. "'Cause you need a damn spanking. That's why."
I think back to an hour ago, when I thought I'd only ever be happy for the rest of my life. What a stupid thing to think.
Don't make it any worse, his voice is warning me, from all the times he's done this before.
But it can't get any worse.
In one big pull of strength, I'm forced out from underneath the table once and for all, where I felt safe and small and alone, into the light of the game room where I feel naked, again, for all to see. My face is raw and wet and hurt, and I think one of my buttons got torn off by my Daddy when he was grabbing for me, even though he was the one to fix them before dinner, and on that night in the RV, to show me he loves me. He yanks me to my feet by the armpits, 'cause I can't stand on my own no more, and he crouches to get in my face.
"This is your last fuckin' chance, and then I'm gonna have to take my belt off." He warns me.
"I miss Momma." I whimper.
His face softens, but it's gone so quick I'm sure I imagined it. "Harley," He grinds out, "Stop this."
"You killed her!" I cry, scared, but braver than I ever been at the same time. "You made Momma kill 'erself! You made 'er jump off that bridge!"
I tried so hard to be like my Daddy, but I can't. I can't hide things like he can.
I don't care if he belts me after. I just want him to know. I want him to know that I know, and that I ain't never gonna forgive him. I'd take a thousand beatings just so I could scream the same thing up at him, until my throat bleeds, until I'm nothin' but a voice, until my Momma comes back. People who kill themselves don't wanna come back, but maybe this time, if I was a good enough girl, she might want to. I'd get on my knees, and I'd beg her, and I'd say, Please Momma, I need you. Please Momma, please. Me and Daddy can't do it on our own. She didn't love my Daddy, and my Daddy hated my Momma. He never said it, but I always knew he did. I saw it when he dropped me off at her house; how he didn't wanna leave me with her. I heard people say my Momma was sick in the brain, and that she was a bad Mom, but I loved her.
My parents might be forever separated, but on my face, they are still together. I got my Daddy's flat mouth and my Momma's green eyes. I am proof that hate can create love. I don't feel so loved right now, though. I feel like I'm nothing. I feel like when my Daddy said he loved me, he was lying.
And there it is, my Daddy's hand going for his belt, 'cause I chose to say the worst thing I could think of.
I don't wanna get beat, but sometimes it don't matter what little girls want.
"I want you to think about the way you're speakin' to me." My Dad, the same one that was crying in my baby photo, shouts in my face. "I don't know why you gotta be like this, Harley. I don't know why you gotta make me do this. You were havin' such a good day."
"I'm sorry—" I'm sayin' now. "I'm sorry, Dad."
"You shoulda thought about that before you started bringing this shit back up again. After this, never again, okay?"
He pulls me down into his chest, yanking the back of my shirt up to the base of my neck. I wait for the whip, and the burning sting afterwards.
I can take it. I'll just close my eyes and wait for it to be over.
But before it can come—
"Woah! Hey!" A man's shout. "Hey, hey! Stop!"
The whip doesn't come. I can catch my breath.
Under my Dad's arm, the one that's in the air, poised to beat me, I see a man in the doorway. I almost can't make him out, but there he is — It's officer Shane. The room seems to slap him in the face, like he can't believe what he's just walked into. He's scared to step inside, in case the moment breaks and my Dad chooses to beat me, anyway. Shane's a bastard cop, and it's his job to save people. I never thought I'd be needing saved from my Dad. I still don't think I need saving. I brought this on myself. I wish he'd go away, so it could be over with.
My Dad stands up, his whole body clenched with muscle ready to punch.
"I'm gonna ask you put that down, man." This is the first time I'm hearing Shane's police-man voice. "And to step away from her, okay?"
I feel embarrassed.
I'm kneeling on the floor, grabbing onto the side of the sofa, tryna hide myself again. I don't belong here. I don't want Shane to see me like this. I wanna be the little girl he caught frogs with, not a ball of hurt and tears. Suddenly, this isn't a games room anymore. It's a wolf's den, and I got two of 'em right in front of me, circling each other, ready to bite. I scuttle further into the corner, like if I shrink myself enough, I can just disappear into the floor.
"You ain't askin' me shit, officer." Dad whispers, real nasty. "Ain't no rules, no more. Not so tough, now."
"I'm not gonna ask you again, man." Officer Shane warns, stepping very slowly into room.
He moves toward us, inch by inch, like a man inside a lion enclosure.
"You don't gotta." Dad spits. "Door's right there."
"You're hittin' on little girls, now, Daryl." Shane huffs that mean laugh again. "Sorry, buddy, but that's my business. Come on. Step away."
If Shane had his gun in his holster, his hand would be on it. But we left all our weapons in the bedrooms before dinner. He stretches his fingers; tilts his head. I realize he don't need a gun. He's gonna fist-fight my Dad if he don't do what he says. My Dad, sensing this, chucks his belt on top of the broken puzzles, and stretches out his fingers, too. They're one wrong word away from beating each other to a pulp.
I wanna beg 'em to stop, but my voice is burrowed somewhere deep inside my body, and I can't reach it.
"We don't have to do this, Daryl." Shane's half-way into the room, now. When did he get that close?
"Sure we don't." Dad snarls. "You gonna hit me? Go ahead."
Shane shakes his head. "That's not somethin' I wanna do, man. But you know I will. Step away."
A hiccup I didn't give permission to leave my mouth cuts through the room. Shane glances at me. I don't know who I'm supposed to root for.
"'Step away', huh? Step away from my own daughter?" My Dad scoffs.
Shane glances from me to my Dad, and I can see him start to realize that this angle won't work on my Dad. He holds out his hand. Something about the way he's looking at me is saying, You don't have to be afraid, but I am, and I don't wanna move. I feel like this is my fault. I watch as he flicks his fingers a little, brows raised. "How 'boutchu come over here, Harley, huh?"
Dad blocks me with his body before I can even think about it. "Hey, don't you fuckin' speak to her."
His eyes are back on my Dad. "Just tryna do what's best for everybody, here, Daryl."
My Dad cracks one of his knuckles. "Nah. Nah, I don't think you are. You got it all twisted."
"Don't think I do."
"Yeah?" Dad goads, and every second, I wait for one of them to swing. I can't stand it. "What is it you think you walked in on, then, huh?"
I think my Dad's waiting for the swing, too, 'cause he's so confident that he'll win that he wants officer Shane to try him. He wants to punish him. He wants to show him what happens when you insult a Dixon, 'cause protecting the name is more important than protecting his own body. I think about the way my Dad busted Rick's cheek; How Ronnie's Momma ain't recognise him when my Daddy was done with him.
Shane must be thinkin' the exact same thing, 'cause he starts goading my Dad right back.
"I think I walked in on you beatin' the shit outta your own kid, first of all." Shane shrugs, like it ain't his fault it's fact, and he keeps going when he notices my Dad's breathing get heavy. He's enjoying this. A smile splits his face. "I think we been worrying 'bout Jim this whole time, we been worrying 'bout the wrong man. How 'bout that? You wanted us to be so focused on him, we forget about the real monster."
"That right?" Dad side-steps Shane when he reaches the edge of the coffee-table.
"Sounds right to me, man." Shane says. "Lemme ask you this, Daryl. What is it you think I walked in on?"
I wonder where everyone else is. I wonder if at any second, one of them is gonna walk in.
"It don't matter what I think." Dad shouts, suddenly, and I shriek like I've been struck by the belt. "It's my damn business. It's my damn daughter."
"Yeah, I betchu wish it was." Shane huffs out a chuckle. "Don't want your secret gettin' out, right?"
Shane's like a wriggly little worm, needling my Dad where he don't wanna be needled.
My Dad's patience finally runs out.
He rears back to swing at Shane's head, and his fist is caught and twisted, and I hear Shane grunt in pain, and this is it, so I close my eyes—
Wait.
My eyes are open. That don't make no sense. Why is it so dark? Why can't I see?
I realize that the fight has stopped, and I feel like we've all forgotten about it and are waiting for something to happen.
There's a single murmur throughout the room.
"Was that the power?"
Author's Note.
Cliff-hanger! Mwahahha.
So, obviously, the last scene in this chapter is pretty brutal. I'd like to share why I made the decision to have Daryl act this way, because it could be a shock for some.
For starters, I think it's plausible for a number of reasons. Merle being a bad influence on Daryl, his unhealed childhood trauma and how that affects how he parents his child, and his unhealthy habit of bottling up his emotions, etc.
It's not pretty, I know, and I kind of hated writing that scene, but that brings up my second point. For the sake of the themes and arcs I want to give this story, it was necessary. This story just couldn't exist if it didn't have this scene. I've got, like, three different key subplots linked to it. Maybe you can even guess what they are, because two of them have been hinted at/set up already. They're only going to get more prominent from here on out.
So that's the explanation for anybody who wanted or needed it. You'll see all this play out in the coming chapters, anyway, but I just wanted to provide this in the mean time. :)
Rant over! Phew. Everybody take a sigh of relief.
On a more positive note, everything else in this chapter was a total joy to write! These poor guys deserve some happiness 😌
Hope you enjoyed reading, and as always, please consider sharing your thoughts! Sending love :)
#child abuse#the walking dead#twd fanfiction#twd#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixon daughter#daryl dixon fanfiction#daddy issues#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#parent daryl dixon#rick grimes#fanfic#ao3 fanfic
46 notes
·
View notes
Text
STUFF I DIDN'T KNOW WHEN I WAS STILL ABLED...
It's not always obvious what's wrong.
.
Hi, Doctor. I'm tired. Like, all the time.
No. All the time. I wake up exhausted. I fall asleep at work. I fall asleep in the shower. I'm scared to drive.
No, Doctor. You don't understand. I'm not 'sleepy.' Not 'drowsy.' I'm tired in my bones. My blood feels heavy. The weight of my head hurts my neck. I can't think sometimes--I forget how to read--i get lost in familiar places! I say 'tired,' but I mean that 80% of my life, I feel like a sloppy heap of mud splattering and crumbling from too much moving, too much thinking, too much feeling, too much light, too much noise, too much everything. I'm confused and disoriented and like I'm in a terrible dream.
Oh.
That's a symptom of a lot of things?
Anemia. Migraine. Sleep apnea. Vitamin deficiency. Thyroid dysfunctions. Brain diseases. Heart diseases. Neurological disorders. Blood disorders. Autoimmune issues. Depression and other psychiatric conditions. Lifestyle choices: sleep, food, activity level. Environmental factors: mold, pollution, allergies.
There's a lot of testing to rule things out, huh? Could take years? Yes, I know it will be expensive. Yes, I accept that some of the tests will hurt. Yes, I commit to rearranging my eating/sleeping/exercising habits and seeing every recommended specialist.
Doctor, you don't understand. Either we find an answer, no matter how long it takes, or I am trapped outside of the world forever for no reason. Not testing won't make these horrible feelings stop.
Can you imagine feeling this way? Always? During your friends' birthdays? When your boss demands work? When you're home alone in the middle of the night trying to remember how the sink works? During the commute. During the shower. Taking out the trash. Feeding the cats. Staring at your bills. Talking with your family. For years... weddings, funerals, holidays, weekends, 4am, 4pm, when your loved ones need you, during every emergency, while you fail at your job, at your hobbies, at your relationships, at being your basic self?
Fuck, Yes! Doctor! Run! The! Tests! We are burning daylight!! Let's get this ball rolling! Journey of a thousand miles, begins with single step, etc!
I do want to feel better. This is not my imagination. It's not my fault. I am a reliable witness to my own life and I don't care how many tests 'come back normal.' Those must be the wrong tests to find what's haywire. I know something is wrong and even if we can't fix it, I must understand it.
.
I'm now in year 7 of trying to improve my situation. I know so much more about my conditions than I did. I am getting help. I still don't have a full picture. I'm still disabled.
But it's not like it was.
Please. Don't give up. Diagnosis can take years. Some people never get a firm answer. Regardless, you will learn ways to cope. You will meet people who help you cope. Don't give up on yourself. You are worth the effort.
.
Seems like something we should all know.
.
.
.
Disability happens to people without our control or consent. Every single disabled person has strong feelings about their own situation and I would not presume to talk about anyone’s thoughts but my own. But none of us chose to do life on hardmode, so if the world could listen this month, there’s a lot to say.
#disability pride month#invisible disability#chronic illness#disabled#chronic fatigue#chronic migraine#postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome#pots#mast cell activation syndrome#mcas#myalgic encephalomyelitis#me/cfs#diagnosis#ambiguous symptoms#undiagnosed#us medical system#medical system#doctor#medical tests#dontgiveup#don't give up#the goal is understanding#the goal is coping#only way out of hell#is through it#you are worth it
445 notes
·
View notes
Note
Thoughts about Porky?
my thoughts on porky are such a vast tangled web of forever spaghetti that i'm not even sure where to begin or what to pin down. the premise of a tormented child ascending to near-godhood out of sheer misanthropic spite towards the whole wide world makes my brain do backflips like a sea world dolphin. i'll ramble a bit about him.
he's ness' foil. just two chubby kids who probably grew up with their (un)fair share of bullying. the only thing distinguishing them was the familial abuse porky suffered, which he inevitably regurgitated. then destiny comes along, choosing ness over porky, and the jealousy just eats porky alive. watching his bestie accumulate friends and accolades, unable to accept it's his own rotten behavior that's driven a wedge between them. gotta imagine the burden of cutting porky off was almost unbearable for ness. somethin' that keeps him up at night, wondering if he'd just been a little kinder, or sterner, or more understanding - maybe he could've saved his old friend? not quite yet realizing it was Not At All his responsibility to "fix" someone who'd dug his grave and laid in it. porky's the kinda bad guy you love to hate, but considering his upbringing, you hesitate to blame the poor schmuck. all he knows is authority and manipulation. if you gave any ornery ostracized thirteen year old unlimited power - instead of empathy and guidance - they'd probably go down the path of vengeance, too.
he's lucas' foil. both of 'em were given plenty of reasons to hate the world. when faced with an unhappy childhood, do you choose love anyways, and move forward? or do you let it become your villain origin story? porky refuses to grow up, to such an extreme degree, that he's gotta drag everybody down into neverland with him. thinks he's got human nature all figured out, when really - kid dropped out in eighth grade - his expertise starts at the middle school lunch table and ends at Lord of the Flies. where lucas seeks to bring about a brighter future, porky's terminally obsessed with the past. barfs up the same old hierarchical capitalist bullshit he grew up with. hoards memorabilia. makes monuments to his warped nostalgia, as if anyone on the nowhere islands knows or cares. even tries to mold lucas into a makeshift ness - one last final battle, one last chance for destiny to stop me, here, take this baseball bat, come get me, let's play. but it doesn't worrrrk, because the gilded past he aches for is long buried, and these people aren't actors in his self-aggrandizing biopic. where lucas wakes up and says, "i don't have to be the same coward i was yesterday," porky says, "me? change? not a chance in hell." even if it costs him everything. porky's real worst nightmare is a world that moves on without him. once he's trapped in his time capsule, that's exactly what he's got in store.
i think he's the sunk cost fallacy incarnate. the sheer momentum of a thousand horrible decisions he can never turn back on. earthbound porky might get a little bit of slack, sure. but given a bazillion years worth of opportunities to change, mother 3 porky actively chose to get worse. what fucks me up most is how real he is. can't call a villain like this "insane", or even terribly exaggerated, when i'm lookin' out the window these days at billionaires, covid deniers, fuckin' terfs and maga hats. some people really would sooner die, or become all-consuming monsters, than admit they were wrong. it's all or nothing. in his eyes, either he's a visionary hero, or everything he's ever done was irredeemably reprehensible - and all the torment and criticism and loneliness he endured was therefore deserved. he can't bear the weight of it, so he simply doesn't. that's what underpins his character, to me. like. the moment he'd admit fault, or apologize, or express an ounce of regret? he'd cease to be porky. denying himself the human capacity to grow, forever, just to spare his fragile ego. could almost pity him. almost.
a perfect villain for both of the stories he terrorizes, and my favorite villain in anything ever. when itoi said "porky is truly a poem in himself" he wasn't kidding.
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟒
𝑀𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝐸𝑧𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟎
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟏
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟐
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟑
"Why are you so dismissive?"
"Of what?"
"...Of me."
"I've been busy working on new stuff. Well, cause it's a new genre I'm trying out and I-."
"You know, you're a big talker when you lie."
I'd never heard his voice so low. In fact, I'd never thought of him as capable of such an intimidating voice in the first place. I'd always assumed Ezreal's vocal cords would only produce beautiful voices, but…apparently not.
I sucked in a breath, not wanting to sound pathetic. I let it out slowly, not wanting it to look like a sigh, and Ezreal's eyebrows twitched. It's always like this. He caught the part I didn't want to be caught, too fast, and then he comforted me. Comfort that I didn't ask for. If it were simply hypocrisy, it wouldn't bother me so much. The reason I'm bothered, yes, is because Ezreal is such an innocent, nice guy ever. I've never seen him this mad before. Not recently, not even before. The anger he was feeling today was purely my fault, and I couldn't be grumpy or irritable with him. Guilt pierced through my heart like a sledgehammer. Even the act of putting my hands in my pockets felt unnatural because I knew better than anyone else that, it was my fault. If it were dramatic, this is where I should have dropped to my knees, but an unknown emotion squeezed the words out of my mouth. It molded the words, forcing them out of my throat.
"...What if I tell you now that I don't remember?"
"What?"
A series of brief memories haunt me. When they started, I don't know. A tone of frustration, denser than embarrassment and irritation, pierces my ears. I hid under the shadows created by cap like a frightened kitten. I was the one who spoke the unforgivable words, and I was the one who ran away in fear. Yeah, I'm that kind of human being, that's what I'm made of. I was unreasonably frightened, but I'm sure Ezreal didn't mean to scare me. If he wanted me to be scared and beg for forgiveness, he wouldn't have made that stupid face. I did something wrong, I deserved to be reprimanded, but it was Ezreal who was acting like a sinner. Simply because I, scared him.
"I don't remember. I don't even know what I said to you."
"..."
"If you want me to be a little more brazen, I don't understand why you've been obsessing over what I said for days, when I was probably drunk and out of it anyway."
"...Enough."
Hell is a fitting place for me to end up. It's better to throw yourself down the stairs to the other side without thinking twice about the ambiguity of heaven or hell, and it's the same with relationships. Even in this one-sided love relationship, I can't be honest anymore. That I crave more than attention from you, that those are the real, deep feelings we've been screaming about since we were kids, and that those simple four-letter words keep hurting me. So, prove it to me. Cause when I realize you don't care about me in the slightest, I'm going to want to die. Prove to me how you feel about me, how far you'll take my immature rants, and if you even care about me. If you don't, then we're done.
My brain felt like it was in two pieces. Egos fighting. I am pushing myself and pushing Ezreal at the same time, to the point where there is no consensus. If someone asks me where and how our relationship went wrong, I don't know what to say. I can't even remember when I started falling for him.
"What the hell did I say to you that made you so mad that Kayn is talking shit to me? Nah, I don't understand why you're mad in the first place!"
No, he's not even angry, he's just hurt. This is not even in my mind.
"What did you come all the way to the studio for? What did you say to them?"
He used to come by often, just like I used to. She probably didn't say anything, because I'd embarrass her.
"'You're-'"
"I said enough!"
The sharp voice cut between us, but nothing else existed but silence. I wish he'd slap me, but when I glance down, all I see is a tightly clenched fist. I know he's not the kind of man to swing a fist. And it's not that I'm a masochist who's desperate to hit him, it's just that his knuckles are so pitifully red and white from clenching so hard.
"..."
He's crying. His eyes, which should be sparkling and shining under the spotlight on the stage, are wet with tears, not starry lights. In the end, it was me who was stupid from start to finish. I prided myself on being able to read other people's moods with ease, but this time, I missed it. I couldn't tell if the heavens were punishing me for my arrogance, or if I was just as dumb as a moth to a flame when it came to Ezreal. In the first place, Ezreal's emotion wasn't anger. It was frustration, fear, and finally impatience. He's not the kind of person to cry tears of anger.
I wonder why I didn't realize that.
“Ez…”
" Do I really make you miserable?"
"...What?"
"You said I'm the reason you're tired to death every day."
"...What are you talking about..."
A cold sweat trickled down my spine. I'd assumed the worst, but there was worse waiting for me than I'd ever imagined. Ezreal couldn't have been thinking this on his own. He's not that pessimistic.
"If you really think I'm to blame for your misfortune."
No. It's not like that. I tried to say something, but the words were stuck in my throat and felt like they were being strangled. I felt like I was slowly suffocating. Like sand being sucked out of the middle of a desert, I was slowly being eaten away.
"Then it would be more helpful if I left you."
His loosely tied hair whipped in the wind. I stare at the distant, distant back of his head, and it feels like the end of the world. It was only after my already weary hand gripped his arm that I realized that tears from the bitter wind were wetting my cheeks. I was a sinner, and I shed many tears for nought. I became impatient. And soon I felt tempted to scream, frustrating. It seemed to me that despair had taken hold of me to the end and would not let go. Many days and nights passed, many of which were ordinary days where I didn't care what happened. And, yes, honestly, I wanted to tell myself that Ezreal was making my life miserable, even though I knew it wasn't him that was making me miserable, it was my feelings for him.
"I'm not miserable because of you."
A sense of unreality envelops my toes. It wasn't the coziness of a lazy daydream. Each delicate feature of his face in my vision crumbled into shards. The shards ran down my cheeks, dangling precariously from the tip of my chin, before falling to the floor and becoming jewelry for ants.
"I mistook you for misfortune, because I... have a crush on you."
Yes, this is penance. And, confession.
.
.
.
#ezreal#heartsteel ezreal#heartsteel x reader#heartsteel#lol#lol heartsteel#league of legends#league of legends x reader#lol x reader#ezreal x reader#lol fanfic#x reader#heart steel
15 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
cosmo-loja
Cosmo
bidoliabasant
BASANT BIDOLIA
pharmauniversal247
Pharma universal
luckylana
Могила зверя обоснуя
lynxablack-blog
princesinha👑