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sorcerersofnyc · 3 years

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The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 2/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

Chapter 2: While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home you shared.

Slow burn, previous relationships, angst, various mentions of death & mourning. You both lost your spouse. You're a regular civilian person. Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact)

Did I set this whole story in Spain because of Daniel Brühl? Yes, I did. The most impactful dialog has been translated.

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

The plane lands mid-morning near the Bay of Biscay.

Thin clouds give form to the blue sky above them, gathering to shield the world from the worst of the heat. It’s a lovely day , Helmut thinks, even as the smell of jet fuel lingers pungently in the air.

As he drapes his coat across his forearm and Sam and James stretch their limbs. But as a middle-aged woman struts. across the airfield to greet them, they’re attentive, alert.

“¡Hola señor. Es bueno verte otra vez.” She gives Helmut’s hand a gentle squeeze, her voice heavy with relief.

“Hola vieja amiga. ¿Recibiste los artículos que pedí?”

“Sí Sí. Las flores y los gofe se enviaban antes de su llegada.” She nods and sends a knowing glance his way before adding, “Y tu coche te está esperando.”

“Muchas gracias,” Helmut replies.

The woman takes a step back to acknowledge his company. Sam gives the woman a polite smile and James acknowledges her presence with a nod.

“There’s a car waiting for us,” Helmut tells them. “Come with me.”

“Man, how many people work for you anyway?” Sam asks, looking back at the plane, watching as Oeznik descends the stairwell and the woman waves over the maintenance crew.

“Very few really,” Helmut says. James scoffs at his reply.

But true to his word, a car waits on the street; a dark classic model, freshly polished with wide leather seats.

“Gentleman,” Helmut gestures toward the car you sent, “our carriage awaits.”

It was hardly discreet, but that was the point.

You did exactly as he asked.

***

When he promised to take care of you, you rejected out of a sense of humility. Humility, however, could not ensure your survival, let alone your well-being.

Simply put, you had nowhere else to go. The long shadows cast by the sunset cast over your face, highlighting all of your tired, tear-streaked features. But when you looked at him, there was recognition in your gaze, an acknowledgment of the grief that sat between you like a weight.

“I… I appreciate it, thank you.” You sniffed, “And I… I’ll be there for you too.”

He guided you away from your husband’s grave a moment later, vowing he would find you a better tomorrow.

There was no helping Sokovia; war and dissension plagued its streets long before Ultron. So Helmut gathered what he could from the rubble of his father’s home and made arrangements for a jet to be ready at the nearest functioning airport.

The airport was a dome of steel. Its once white titles were scuffed and crowded with people taking shelter and vying for seats on commercial flights.

You were quiet, your eyes glued to the broadcast showing on nearly every TV. There was a video playing, some newly uncovered camera footage of Novi Grad being lifted in the air.

“Come on,” he told you, leading you away with his hand upon your shoulder. You didn’t have much, not physically, just a duffle of what you salvaged from your home and the letter Dominik carried.

Oeznik was waiting in front of the plane, and it relieved Helmut to see him. His faithful butler had been on vacation in Belgium with his family, but once he saw what became of Novi Grad, he came back early.

“It’s glad to see you in good health, Sir.” He said.

“Thank you, Old Friend.”

They kissed cheeks and Helmut escorted you inside the plane, which carried the distinctive smell of cleaning supplies though neither said a word about it.

It wasn’t until you reached the cloudless blue sky that you spoke of what you saw.

“I was in the city that day,” you told him. “I was saved but… I don’t remember how I reached the boat to the helicarrier.” Confusion colored your expression, entangled with sorrow and relief.

Your eyes met his and flickered away just as quickly as guilt—survivors’ guilt—overtook you. He’s seen that look on far too many times on the faces of the soldiers he commanded not to know what that look was. “It happened so suddenly,” You continued, “I was on the ground and then… I was there. It was like someone picked me up and… I was just...there, on the boat with the others.”

“You were rescued by one of the Avengers?” Helmut leaned forward in his seat. “Thor maybe?”

“It must have been, but I don’t recall him being capable of such a thing.” You looked down at your feet.

“We didn’t think them capable of many things.” If there was an edge to his voice, you didn’t seem to notice or care. He continued. “The very idea of the Avengers has always been troubling; they’ve become idols, icons, something more than human. We are meant to forget their flaws and the destruction left in their wake. Remember New York? London? Washington D.C? Did we not watch the Hulk rampage through Johannesburg mere days before Sokovia was destroyed? It was always a mistake, allowing them to act freely.”

You looked at him then, your head tilted to the side in contemplation, taking in all he had to say.

“Has anyone said where Ultron came from yet? No one seems to know if he is an alien or some sort of rogue government experiment.”

“No. But one thing is clear; so long as the Avengers exist, someone will rise to challenge them; They will fight, and Sokovia will not be the last place they bring to ruin.”

You nodded, consciously or not he didn’t know, but on some level, you agreed.

***

Helmut’s thoughts are interrupted when the car turns onto a street lined with elegant townhomes with low-pitched roofs.

James breaks the silence that settled between the three.

“Where are we going?”

“My home.” He announces as the car stops before a large house made of grand arched windows and a sand-colored stone.

“Is this where you lived when you were plotting against us?” Sam sends him an incredulous look, as though the idea of stepping into his home offended him somehow.

“My home in Sokovia was destroyed, Sam. I needed to live somewhere—but yes,” Helmut shrugs, “you’re exactly right.”

“Oh great,” James mutters, but Helmut pays him little mind.

Two columns embrace the grand archway that sits above the ornately carved wooden door.

Upon it he knocks loudly, ignoring the questioning looks he gains.

He waits.

The air is dry and his attention drifts toward a fallen leaf on the pavement; it’s deep green and browning at the edges, its middle eaten through by an insect. The leaf skitters away when the door flies open and he’s forced to confront his worry.

He looks at you. You stare at him in disbelief. The world falls away into nothing.

“Helmut,” you finally say, breathing his name out in relief. “Estás de vuelta.” You’re back.

Your hands are trembling as they reach for him, as your thumbs brush across the curve of his cheek.

For so long your face was but a fragmented memory, your voice the chorus of a song. Only now, as you stand before him, are you complete. You smile.

“Sí, estoy en casa ahora mi amiga.” Yes, I’m home now my friend.

He touches his hand to your own, basking in the simple joy of your touch.

But then you glance behind him, your eyes narrow and the moment ends.

“Helmut! “You hiss. “¿Has traído a los Avengers a mi casa? ¡Por qué!”

Sam and James exchange glances. Whether either spoke Spanish is a matter of speculation, but they surely recognized the name of their allies.

“I’ll explain everything once we settle in.” He raises his palms in surrender to you, looking for all the world like a man abdicating his control.

You don’t move.

“I would like to see the paintings you mentioned in your letters.”

Your scowl deepens, your stare sharpening to a knifes-edge.

“I promise to have a good explanation.”

Finally, you step aside, ‘come in’ you say, and Helmut leads Sam and James further inside. The two have been quiet so far, observant of their new surroundings. He can’t be sure what they assume is happening, but Sam thanks you as he passes. James nods but says nothing.

The house is just as lovely as he remembers it to be; tall white walls, polished tile, an overabundance of lamps, and a painting on every wall. He never agreed with your sense of design but the home was undoubtedly welcoming.

“Make yourself at home,” you lead them inside, into the parlor where a fresh bouquet of thick-stemmed roses sits in a vase beside the entryway.

The rest of the room is familiar to him; red cushioned seats and glass-top tables, and rugs that sit just so beside the bookcase.

He briefly wonders where Anežka, your young housekeeper, is. The paper cranes she’s so fond of sit artfully on the shelves but there’s no evidence of her presence there.

You must have given her leave in anticipation of your meeting, he reasons.

You wanted to be alone with him.

His heart swells at the thought of what you might have done together.

Unfortunately, he sighs, Helmut isn’t alone with you. So instead of the immeasurable amount of fun his mind conjured, he watches you look between your guests—Sam, then James, then Sam again.

“I believe introductions are in order,” He finally announces, draping his coat across the back of his favorite chair.

“Yeah. That would be nice,” Sam retorts. He lingers near the entryway, unsure of the space. “Is this really your house?”

“It is. Well, it was. It now belongs to my lovely associate, gifted to her before I left on my mission.”

“Your mission,” James scoffs. He leans back against the wall near the bookcase, fixing him with a heavy stare.

You skirt the moving to stand at Helmut’s side as you wait for his promised explanation.

“Sam, James,” He calls for their attention, “This is my partner,” he tells them, introducing you by name.

***

Thanks for Reading!

I debated the ending for quite a while. It changes the initial trajectory of the story but it provides for a dramatic ending. Next time, we'll see how your relationship with Zemo changed from persons with mutual friends to 'partners.'

There's a deleted scene that I'll post as a special chapter soon!

Taglist:

@actuallyanita

@fillechatoyante!

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#baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #zemo x reader #I understand and read Spanish much better than I speak and write it #I did everything I could but I fear it's very academic

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lune-hime · 4 years

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Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Once Upon an Attack on Titan

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

This is a little one shot within the au of my fic inspired by Grimm’s fairy tales.

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“Jean, I’m leaving now!” You sang out the window that overlooked the garden of your quaint cottage. You slipped your boots on with a leather pop and pulled up the scarlet hood of your cloak. As you padded out the door you grabbed the wicker basket from the table that smelled of wine and warm tartes.

The late afternoon sun was at its strongest, basking your modest abode in an aura of warmth. And within the pumpkin patch that bloomed bronze in the sunlight was a sight to behold indeed.

“ Move asshole.” Jean groaned as he put all of his strength into attempting to push your cow. She was unaffected and continued to happily graze on the dandelions you had forgotten to weed out near the edge of the garden. She flicked her tail in annoyance as if Jean was an incessant fly when he smacked her on the rear.

“Whose being the asshole? How would you like it if you were eating and someone slapped you?” You chided playfully. Jean deadpanned in exhaustion and gave you the middle finger. His irritation rose with every non-existent step your bovine took.

“Yeah well, it’s almost noon. That means the auction starts in one hour.” His statement turned into a groan as he gave another big ineffective push. “If we don’t sell her that means-”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re broke.” You finished his sentence and made a swiping motion across your neck. Selling your beloved cow was the last resort and a stark reminder of how desperately you both needed money. Not only did you siblings have each other to support, but your aging grandmother as well.

“ Exactly . So get over here and help me push her!” Jean pleaded. You sighed and placed the handle of your basket in the crook of your elbow. You knelt down in the plush autumn grass and cradled her large head in between your hands. She immediately stopped eating and regarded you doe eyed. Parting with the sweet creature made you want to cry, but you knew you really had no other option at this point.

“Come on, Milky-White. I promise you will get to eat your fair share of hay at the auction house.” You cooed at her and she gave a sloppy lick to the side of your palm. Jean scoffed when you took the lead to the rope around her neck and she walked compliantly behind you.

“Are you ready to go?” You asked your brother with a smug grin. He rolled his eyes and nodded, brushing the dirt from his vest. When he fell in step with you, you handed him the rope and adjusted your basket to rest on your forearm.

“I’ll walk with you part of the way. The auction is on the way to Oma’s.” You said and rested your free hand on Milky-White’s back comfortably as you strolled down the cobblestone path.

Once you had gotten a fair ways down into the sparse village, the crunching of foreign feet against pine needles alerted you. A decrepit woman emerged out of the thicket a few paces ahead. Her graying brunette locks were pulled back into a ponytail that made the most prominent feature of her face her bold nose. From behind her dirtied glasses she wore a smile that bordered insanity as she waddled closer to the siblings. You immediately halted and put a protective hand on Jean’s arm.

“Well hello pretties. A fine day to take your cow for a walk, isn’t it?” The woman remarked shrilly.

“Yes it is.” Your response was curt as you stood your ground. The old woman let out a chuckle that sounded as if she were squeezing air out of a dusty bellow.

“Would either of you like some candy?” She offered. You assumed she intended to sound inviting but the rising pitch of her voice made it feel like you were listening to someone drag their nails across an endless chalkboard. The woman reached into her beige cloak and pulled out a large lollipop. You squinted at the fine print on the translucent wrapping.

~Confectionaries by HZ~

“We’ll pass, thanks.” Jean replied coldly. The haggard woman began looking him up and down and licking her encrusted lips.

“Are you sure? I’m a candy maker by trade and can assure you that you will never taste anything more-” She began, waddling closer to you. She bypassed your side and began circling you.

“Exquisite.” She finished as she rounded her path behind you. You were now thoroughly repulsed.

“I could give you a tour of my kitchen. I have a grand oven where I bake my treats, unlike the likes of any other. I bet it’s big enough to even fit you in it, my tall boy.” She bubbled and grabbed Jean’s arm. She gave it a good squeeze, feeling around the lean muscle.

“Lady, we don’t want your food!” Jean bristled, his voice cracking nervously. Her jerked his elbow out of her grasp but spooked Milky-White in the process. She took a few clumsy steps backwards and caused Jean to stumble. You moved to calm her, all the while not taking an eye off of the woman. Once Jean had regained himself you stepped in front of your family.

“Ma’am, thank you for the offer, but we really need to get going. We have an appointment we cannot miss.” You declared with a grin as sugary as her candy. She spat in frustration when you lifted the edge of your crimson cloak to reveal a concealed dagger strapped to your belt.

“The feisty ones always taste the spiciest.” You heard her mumble as she creeped away in the direction from whence you came.

Once she was out of sight, you turned to Jean and your precious cow. They both were breathing heavily. You gave them comforting pats and began walking again.

“We need to move out of this village.” Jean whined and urged Milky-White to follow.

Several scarecrows and window sills holding freshly baked pies later, you arrived at the crossroads to the auction.

“Goodbye sweet girl. I hope that your new owners are as loving as me and nothing like my brother.” You said. You gave Milky-White one final smooch and scratched behind her ears. Soon Jean had to pry your pets and coos away from the animal. You backed off with a pout.

"Make sure you sell her for at least 200 dollars or something valuable we can sell. And stay away from that weird wizard, he's for sure a scam artist." You instructed Jean.

“Aw but I like Mike. He's got these beans that make you feel like you're floa-" You cut Jean's ramblings off with the sharpness of your glare.

"Fine fine. Alright, I’m off. Remember to stay on the path and make sure you keep your hand on your knife at all times. And most importantly, be back before nightfall.” Jean instructed and gave you a look that tried to be stern but fell slightly short.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, I’m always careful.” You replied to his nagging.

“Yeah but you can’t afford to just be careful. Anyway, tell Oma hello from her favorite grandchild.” He called as he turned down the right fork in the path. You snorted and pushed forward, trodding over the stones that took you deeper into the woods.

For a while it was just you and the conifers until an alluring song was carried by the light breeze to your ears. Delving deeper into the brush, you came upon a familiar face.

“Hi Mikasa. Hello Armin, Eren.” You grinned happily as you passed the group. The war maiden was sitting on a large tree stump along the edge of the path. Her ornate shield rested in her lap as she lazily polished it with one hand and bit into a crisp apple with the other.

She was a mercenary that had recently come to work in your village. As an apprentice at Master Connie’s blacksmith shop, you had interacted with the knight many times when she came in to sharpen her sword or shop for some wares. The two of you had grown quite fond of one another’s company and were on friendly terms.

Her dwarven companions sat on either side of her; Eren’s intensely green glare watched you like a hawk while Armin peacefully beamed up at you. Mikasa wiped the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her palm. Her hand brushed against the bright red headband that held her shortly chopped locks in place.

“Hello Y/N. Lovely to see you.” She greeted, her voice rough with battle experience but as honeyed as the candy the weird woman had tried to tempt you with earlier.

“You too.” You answered, feeling the flames of her firey gaze flushing your cheeks.

“I must say that this gorgeous afternoon is much more beautiful now that you are here.” She sang and flashed you a charmingly captivating smile. As Mikasa spoke, sparrows flitted down from the canopy above to perch along her polished iron shoulder guards. They chirped at the melodic cadence of her voice but soon squawked when she shook them off in annoyance.

The sun was making you borderline sweaty. Yeah, it was definitely the sun.

You nodded in agreement, feeling speechless, and inhaled the fresh pine scent.

“Where are you off to?” Armin piped up while Eren still gave you the stink eye.

“I’m off to my grandmother’s to deliver her some wine and homemade tartes.” You said and patted the top of the basket.

“Would you like me to escort you the rest of the way? It will be dark soon and who knows what wolves or other creatures are lurking in the shadows.” Mikasa offered and stood from the stump. The waning daylight bounced off of her armor and made her look as if she had crafted it out of pure sun rays.

“No, it’s alright. I don’t have that much further to go.” You replied, flattered by her sweet gesture but unwilling to waste her time. Plus you were sure Eren would try to nip at your heels as you walked.

“If you insist. But you’ll have to invite me over soon, okay? I would be honored to taste your cooking.” She said and delicately reached for your hand. She brought it up to her lips and placed a plush kiss to your skin. The fire that was once burning on your face was now rushing through every limb.

“Yes of course!” You stammered bashfully, attempting to portray yourself as unaffected as possible. She chuckled at your reaction and regarded you gracefully.

“Be careful, Y/N. Oh, and tell your stalker of a brother to stop following me into the forest. He’s not the one I want to spend time with.” Mikasa bid you a farewell that left you feeling as if you had drank half of the wine bottle you carried.

“Yeah, or he’s gonna get a knife to the Achilles tendon.” Eren spat aggressively and brandished a cheese knife. You grimaced and turned on your heel to resume your journey.

The remainder of your walk was delightfully uneventful, however, the mistress of time was not favoring you. When dusk began to nestle into the sky you quickened your pace in hopes to beat the celestial blanket to your destination. As you were beginning to trouble yourself with what you could cook that would impress the shield maiden, you arrived at the familiar picketed gates to Oma’s cottage. The calmness of the night almost lulled you into a false sense of security that you rarely felt at this hour.

But it was unusually quiet. Even for nightfall.

Nightfall.

You had broken your and Jean’s golden rule. But you were here now, so it should be okay...right?

None of the usual crickets were singing, none of the usual squirrels were scampering through the freshly fallen leaves, and none of Oma’s usual lights were on.

With your hand placed securely over your dagger, you cautiously approached the residence. You tried to convince yourself that she had gone to bed early, that she was indulging in her pipe on her back porch, or that she had stepped out for a bit to get some last minute ingredients for dinner.

The apprehension in your gut grew as you turned the door knob, only to be met with the door already open. Narrowing your eyes, you proceeded inside. The house was too devoid of light to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

“Oma-” You called tentatively. The only reply was the shrill groaning of her weathered timber under your boots as you shuffled around to find some matches. Your hand sporadically patted down the top of the cabinet she kept in her foyer until your fingers brushed against the match box. You gripped the fire starters and lit the nearest candle. Picking it up by the brass handle, you padded into the living room.

Immediately the viscous stench of iron assaulted your nostrils and caused you to audibly gag. You brought the hand with which you held the candle to your nose instinctively. The illumination this motion created uncovered a pale, delicate hand resting along one of Oma’s armchairs. You gasped in fright, inhaling even more of the putrid smell as you stumbled backwards. The wine bottle wiggled dangerously as you placed your hand on the fireplace shelving to steady yourself.

“WHO’S THERE?” You yelled into the void. Your voice creaked like the floorboards under invisible footfalls that grew closer to your shaking form. In one fluid motion your dagger was unsheathed and held defensively in front of you.

A deep chuckle that was as rich as your wine cut through the shadows.

“Easy with the silver. I’m a friend.” It’s welcome was warm but the voice could not have sounded more frigid.

“Oma doesn’t have any friends.” You declared through ragged breaths. Your head twisted and turned to pinpoint the source of the voice.

“Hm. So the woman who lives here is your oma?” The voice asked ominously.

You swallowed hard and tested the air; cutting through the space in front of you and meeting nothing but emptiness.

“How did you know a woman lives here?” Your inquiry was ended with a sharp inhale as you felt a feather light touch to your shoulder. You were giving yourself whiplash as the voice seemed to be existing within the walls of the house itself.

Was Oma still here? Hiding from this stranger? Or worse…

“A simple guess by the décor.” The voice answered smoothly.

The presence in the room intensified and now you felt palpable forms whirling on all sides of you.

“Where is she?” You demanded, hastily pointing your knife wherever you heard a nefarious laugh or a murmur.

“That is something I would like to know as well. I took time to come all the way out here.” Your mysterious company said.

“It’s awfully late for someone to be traveling alone this far into the woods, don’t you think my dear?” The voice whispered incredibly close to the back of your ear. You startled and turned around, now facing the fireplace and leaving your back tantalizingly exposed.

“Especially for one so-” It continued. Suddenly the pale hand gripped your wrist with such a force that it crippled your palm in pain and made your fingers grow numb. The dagger instantly dropped from your grasp and clattered to the floor.

“Supple.” It cooed. The seductively sinister words slithered under your skin and seeped the oxygen from your lungs. Puffs of icy breath caressed the pulse point of your neck while a nimble hand traveled up your arm that held the candle and raised it to your eye level. You were whipped around and were met with a face accentuated by the soft glow of the candle light.

Your antagonizer took corporeal form in the shape of a man who looked as if he was carved from exquisite marble. His skin was ashen as the stone itself and as flawless as a sculpture. His eyes shown with an argent luster that put your dagger to shame and regarded you with the molten intensity of a forge fire. He drew his face closer to yours ever so slowly.

“Supple indeed.” He praised darkly. His tongue darted languishly along his smirk as if he was already tasting your every feature.

“What did you do to her?” You got out despite the building dread of prey bubbling inside of you. The porcelain man clicked his tongue.

“Absolutely nothing. That’s my problem. That there’s a lack of something to be done.” He explained and continued to smile at you devilishly. He stopped inching towards you once he heard your back hit the fireplace. With nowhere for you to go, he was now able to press his body flush against yours. His leg came to prod at your inner thighs while his hands pinned yours upwards by your wrists. His sharp nails dug into the already tender flesh and threatened to puncture your veins. You let out a cry at the stinging sensation and your mind screamed at you to knee him in the balls.

But you couldn’t move. From the moment his eyes connected with yours, your body fell unresponsive. You couldn’t think a single thought without those silver bullets boring into your brain. Your rapids breaths were constricted against his broad chest as you teetered on the edge of death.

“But I must confess I am quite happy with this outcome.” He said with a satin glee. The last thing you saw before he instantly blew out your candle were the brilliant pearlescent fangs that elongated from his idyllic grin.

You heard a squelching as the flesh below your ear was torn open. It felt as though a flower with scorching petals was placed in the now gaping hole of your neck. Your limbs flailed like one of the chickens Oma placed on the chopping block. The stranger let out a velvety moan that only intensified the burning by sending shockwaves of vibrations across your torso. The longer he drank from your sweet nectar, the paler the flame ran until the pain became as white hot as his complexion.

The man had just begun clenching his jaw to delve in deeper when a gunshot pierced the window in the foyer. Your captor ceased his drinking and listened. He turned his head towards the ruckus with his teeth still embedded with you. Suddenly, a silver arrow flew through the broken glass.

“Come out, vampire. Or I will smoke you out.” A husky voice boomed from the yard. The man retracted his fangs and detached himself from your bleeding neck. The beast chuckled with the crispness of a newborn spring morning. He maneuvered your body so you could walk in front of him with your hands held securely behind your back. You weren’t sure if you even had the strength to use your legs. Walls, did you even still have legs?

“Don’t struggle.” He ordered with a maniacal sing-song to his tone. You barely registered his command. The draining sensation of your bodily fluids freshly leaving you left you feeling like an overused blood bag. Your eyes widened as he began shuffling you to the doorway.

“No-I can’t go-” Your voice cracked as you mediocrely attempted to grab at his arms. You stumbled into his chest as your legs struggled to work properly. He showed no signs of stopping as he continued to walk to the entryway.

“Please…” You pleaded weakly as the rising moonlight peeked through the crevasses of the front door.

The vampire kicked down the door with one fluid motion. The hunter was stationed in the main walkway of your grandmother’s front yard, crossbow loaded and aimed directly at the two of you. His leather tailcoat flapped along the gentle breeze and the bullet casings that rested along his chest reflected the cool gray of the stars.

“We finally are reunited.” The hunter spat. His weapon tracked the vampire’s every movement with the precision of a seasoned expert as he dragged you out further into the yard.

“Smith.” The stranger greeted the hunter like an old friend. He smiled, revealing teeth coated in your thick blood that dribbled down his chin like tumbling rubies.

“Ackerman.” The hunter replied in a hardened tone. “It’s a shame that you resorted to your old delicacies.”

Ackerman hummed and licked the front of his teeth, sighing in satisfaction as he reveled in your metallic palate.

“Squirrels just didn't satisfy me.” He snickered and walked his pointed fingers up your shoulder. A single digit entered your gaping wound and swirled in your juices. You shuddered at the needle-like pressure. Smith’s prominent brow furrowed in disgust when Ackerman brought his finger to his mouth and sucked.

“Drop the girl, she’s almost dead anyway.” Smith said, his stance unwavering.

“Want my leftovers, eh?” Ackerman laughed. “I guess I only ever see you by the light of the moon so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of us.”

In your delirium you had begun disconnecting yourself from reality. But the vampire’s last phrase kept the final, unspooling thread from snapping. You heaved your neck sideways with the remaining strength you harbored to gaze up at Ackerman. His lips were as red as a summer cherry and his skin looked even more iridescent next to the moon. He looked like he could have fallen from the celestial body itself.

The moon.

The instant your eyes gazed upon its circumferential radiance your pupils dilated as the lunar rays rocketed into your eye sockets.

The full moon.

Be back before nightfall.

You can’t afford to just be careful.

Your brother's words echoed in your mind as the moon began bathing you in luminous ivory pain.

“Oh no.” You whimpered. You squeezed out a wail as the searing ripping of your joints elongating and reconnecting overtook your entire being. The convulsions of your body caused Levi to release you from his grip with a hiss. The vampire hunter and hunted could only watch as you hunched over agony with freshly punctured claws raking through Oma’s neat lawn. Coarse hair soon sprouted out of your exposed skin and your strained cries grew octaves lower. The buttons of your dress flew free with crisp pops and the seams of your poor dress were pulled apart by your bulging muscles. Your jaw unhinged and lengthened until your face resembled the wolves that Milky-White used to chase from your chicken coop.

Your tortuous yelps suddenly mingled with a deafening gun shot from the gate.

“What in the Peter Piper’d fuck is going on at my house?” Oma hollered, rifle pointed at the sky, as you let a howl pierce through the night.

Suddenly you were jolting awake and pawing at the sheets. Your heart was beating erratically as you shakily brought your hands to your lap.

They looked blissfully normal.

You heard shuffling from outside of the bedroom and Levi was soon standing in the doorway with concern mapping his face.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He asked in minor alarm as he came to sit next to you. He was already in his harnesses and uniform so you gaged it must have been early morning. Levi’s eyes searched your clammy form for any signs of outward distress. You sighed in relief seeing your usual pillows, usual closet, usual bathroom, and most importantly; usual Levi.

It had all felt so real.

“I’m fine, Levi. I just had the strangest dream though.” You exhaled as you came down from the high of your slumbered adventure.

“I think your weird dreams stress you out more than being a squad leader does.” Levi chuckled as he ran a gentle hand along your back. You closed your eyes and revealed in the peaceful feeling of his palm along your night shirt. It was a stark contrast to the gory fantasy you just emerged from.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He added with more seriousness in his voice.

You just stared at him. He stared right back, blinking blankly as you analyzed his features. Your hands reached up and took his jaw between your hands. Your thumbs lightly pushed up the corners of his upper lip to reveal his teeth. Levi made a noise of complaint but didn’t swat you away. You leaned in closer to check his canines for any vampiric qualities. When you were assured they were of normal length, you pulled back satisfied.

“Nope, I’m good.” You smiled and planted a quick peck to his lips before jumping out of bed to get ready for the day. Levi watched you pad into the bathroom as he felt his teeth in confusion.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Eren looked at you nervously as you eyed him from your place behind him in line to get lunch. He looked down at you and gulped.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” He asked apprehensively. You narrowed your eyes and placed your hand level with the top of your head. You brought it straight out towards Eren, hitting him square in the forehead.

“You’ve always been taller than me, right?” You questioned, looking from your hand down to his feet.

“Uh, yeah.” He confirmed, regarding you suspiciously. He fidgeted with the sides of his plate as you puffed your cheeks in contemplation. Finally you nodded in satisfaction.

“Do you own a cheese knife?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“Hange, have you ever thought about owning a candy shop?”

“Y/N. Why would I do that when I barely have time to analyze the retinal samples from Bean’s eye?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“You’re dismissed, Y/N.” Erwin’s parting smile betrayed the professionalism of his order. You bowed your head respectfully and walked to the doors to his office. Your fingers dusted over the brass handle but hesitated to grab it. You turned back towards your commander and paused.

When Erwin didn’t hear you leave, he looked up from his desk.

“Is there something else you need, Y/N?” He asked.

You stared at him long enough to lace his brow in slight concern. His coat was the same length, same color, same style as your own.

“I-I like your coat.” You laughed nervously and threw him an awkward grin. Before he had the chance to answer you had bowed your head and hurried out the door.

“Thank...you?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Today it seemed like you were playing errand girl more than squad leader. You questioned why you even put on these chafing harnesses as you ferried yet another stack of documents back to your office.

“Hi Y/N, do you want to get dinner together later? I still have some tartes too that I bought when we were in town last.” Mikasa smiled at you as she passed you in the hall. You involuntarily began blushing furiously.

“Definitely, I’ll see you in a couple hours!” You sputtered as you hurried down the hall, slapping your cheeks as you went.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“Jean.” You called, looking up from the paperwork that littered your desk. The boy who was lazily sprawled out on your office couch hummed into his book.

“We’ve never owned a cow together, right?”

“What the fuck?”

#levi #levi x reader #LEVI ACKERMAN #levi/reader #snk #snk x reader #AoT #aot x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #hange zoe #jean kirschstein #bisexual jean #fluff #imagine #aot imagine #levi imagine

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courtofsapphiresandshadows · 5 years

Text

Chapter Sixteen- Sasha

The rain pounded against the roof of Nesta’s old home relentlessly, a few of the shingles threatening to fall off. It was a ruthless, cold rain storm- winter was coming, and fast. And by the looks of how the planks of the house trembled against the wind, Sasha knew that it wouldn’t last for the entirety of winter.

Nevertheless, Sasha had bought the house from Nesta under another alias, and would be staying here when training her and Estelle- none of them actually knew she was here. If they knew where she resided, then the Inner Circle did as well. So it was best that Sasha kept that information to herself.

She extended a rain soaked hand towards the house, watching some of the damage repair itself- a broken window, a hole in the roof. All minimal, to keep suspicion down. Already some of her neighbors have tried to pry information from her- they left with the threat that their house would mysteriously disappear if they didn’t leave her alone.

She brushed a strand of wet hair out of her face, inspected the house one last time before going inside. She would add more changes tomorrow, after training. They had continued practicing different weapons and styles of combat- Nesta was advancing wonderfully with the sword, and Estelle had shown promise with archery.

She smiled to herself. Aegan would’ve been proud, watching her friends progress. Sasha knew that the Illyrian was dying to train them herself- they would benefit greatly from her. However, Aegan was stuck in the mountains until the end of the month, and not even the strongest army could force her out. Not with Rhysand and Azriel keeping a sharp eye on her.

Sasha glanced around once more, before stepping inside the house, the thick wooden door slamming behind her. Instantly, the smell of must slammed into her- that needed to change, and fast. A flick of her wrist had the smell- and whatever it’s source was- disappear, leaving a not-as-nasty smell of sawdust. Was Nesta woodworking in here?

Collapsing onto the worn green sofa, she pulled out her throwing knives, a whetstone and a cloth to polish them. Aegan had gifted them to her years before being taken by Hybern- they were celebrating her 18th birthday, and while many female fae might’ve gotten new clothes or fancy jewelry, she had gotten knives. And to her, they were the best birthday present ever.

She poured some oil onto her cloth and started to clean the blades. It was a relaxing activity- all she needed was a glass of wine and she would truly feel at ease. Her own passive face started back at her as she wiped the knives clean of blood and grime, the steel glinting in the candle light.

Her mind naturally began to wander, as she set one knife down and picked up another. Of course, Aegan’s well being was the main subject. The way she looked yesterday was horrifying- never in her life had she seen the Illyrian cry for mercy. The power that Sasha had taken from her, that now resided deep within her own chest, was nothing she had ever seen before. For her friend, it was eating her alive, but for her…. It stirred a little from day to day, but otherwise was quiet. As if it were waiting for something.

She prodded that power once again, for the millionth time today. Again, nothing extraordinary happened. It was almost disappointing- usually, she was able to use the power that she took from others. Maybe it was a blessing from above that she couldn’t use Aegan’s.

Nesta’s power was another thing to be curious about. Sasha was amazed- and slightly terrified- when she felt that raw, gruesome power in the female’s body that day. How she managed to get gifted by the cauldron was beyond her, but the only thing she wanted to know was what Nesta could do with it. She had tried asking her today, but she dodged it effortlessly. Even though Sasha could just take that power from her and try it out herself, she wouldn’t be able to give it back to her- yet, at least. She had been using almost all of her free time to practice the transferring of powers to individuals, leaving her too exhausted to function on most days. For now, she merely trapped them in Hybern Crystal- like quartz, it was a milky white, but when introduced to a well of power, it would change color.

A few crystals laid next to her on the small coffee table. A good number of her crystals were filled with the powers of the Illyrians unlucky enough to suffer her wrath during Aegan’s disappearance. Many others were filled with the powers of Fae all across Hybern and Prythian. It was like a souvenir from her travels- an icy blue one was from some Winter Court buffoon, an orange one from a Day Court gentleman.

Her favorite one was a red crystal, hidden beneath a pile of clothes. It gifted her amazing pyrokinesis abilities- fire had always been her favorite ability. She loved the way it could burn and destroy everything she despised, while also being a source of warmth and light. However, she had not used it in awhile, as she hadn’t needed to burn down anything- yet.

A loud knock at the door caused her to jump. “Who could that be?” She muttered to herself, keeping one of her blades close by her side as she crept towards the door. Nesta and Estelle didn’t know she lived here, and most of her neighbors knew to leave her alone. ‘Could it be the inner circle?’ She thought to herself, suspicion swishing around in her gut.

“Hello?” A voice called out from behind the door. “Nes, are you home?”

It was Cassian, clearly here to bother poor Nesta. Why he wasn’t in the Illyrian Mountains, doing his job, was unbeknownst to her. But he was interrupting her one relaxing activity of the day- he had to go.

“You have the wrong address” she called out, not bothering to open the door. “There is no ‘Nes’ here anymore.”

She heard him scoff. “And who is this?”

Sasha rolled her eyes, swinging open the door. “Me, you damn idiot. Are you always this annoying?” She asked, enjoying the way his face paled dramatically. Clearly, he wasn’t suspecting to see the girl he locked up to be standing in Nesta’s old home.

He cleared his throat, in an attempt to compose himself slightly. “My apologies, Miss…”

“Kore.”

Cassian grinned. “Okay, Ms. Kore. Do you know where Nesta is?”

Sasha crossed her arms, not returning his smile. “Why should I tell you anything?” She snapped. “Mother above, you locked me up in the Prison for 300 years.”

“You were sending innocent Illyrians to their graves, Sasha. I had no choice but to go after you.”

She felt her power rile up within her, that red crystal silently beckoning her to burn this prick to the ground. “Your ‘innocent Illyrians’ had raped and slaughtered Aegan’s mother, and had harassed her and Aegan for years. They were the ones who brought Hybern to those mountains to take Aegan away from me” she seethed, her hand gripping the doorframe roughly.

Cassian’s smile dropped. “You don’t know that” he told her all too softly.

“Don’t I?” She smiled sickly, before slamming the door in his face, going back to the green sofa. She knew he still stood in the doorway, probably contemplating whether to let himself in. If he did…. She had three knives freshly polished and sharpened at her side. She would hate it if she had to use them just after cleaning them.

Eventually, she heard his heavy footsteps march down the wooden steps, growing quieter as he walked away.

Sasha released a sigh she didn’t know she was holding. Grabbing another knife, she went back to sharpening, gripping the whetstone tightly. She did not regret killing those Ironcrest males all those years ago. And if they dared to come after any of her friends, especially Estelle or Nesta…. There would be no hesitation- Sasha would broil them alive. And let Aegan rip them apart.

Yesterday’s rain had caused the forest floor to be a pit of mud and loose debris, proving to be quite the obstacle for Sasha and Nesta as they raced through the trees. Estelle had injured her knee the other day- she was forced to stay home to heal. Although Sasha hoped that the Illyrian healed soon, she was thankful for this time alone with Nesta. Perhaps they would finally discuss her gifts- a task already proven to be difficult.

“How’s Estelle?” Sasha asked, as she leapt over a fallen tree. She hadn’t been able to swing by to check on her, and she couldn’t just ask the inner circle if she was feeling better. In fact, the three of them had agreed to keep Estelle’s injury a secret, to avoid any unwanted questions.

Nesta shrugged. “She said she would try doing some easy exercise later, once the Inner Circle was out doing their own thing,” she told her, going around a large rock. “I told her to be careful- her knee was swelling last night.”

She frowned. How Estelle had managed to injure herself was still a mystery to her- one second, she was on her feet, the next, on the ground, gripping her knee like there was no tomorrow. “I’ll send her more salve tonight- she needs to apply it an hour before going to bed.”

Nesta nodded. “So, what are we doing today, if Estelle’s not here?” She asked, slowing down as they reached their clearing.

Sasha merely sat on a boulder. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you” she began to say, sending her a look.

Shaking her head, Nesta began to back up. “No, we are not talking about that-”

“Nesta.” Sasha met her friend’s fiery gaze. “You might not like your gift, but it’ll protect you well.”

Her face twisted slightly. “I haven’t been able to summon that power ever since the war against Hybern. I doubt I’ll be able to summon it ever again” she told her, balling her fists at her side. As if she was expecting some sort of fight.

Sasha pursed her lips. It would be no use for her to try to get Nesta to learn how to wield her power if she was unwilling. Even with the threat of Ironcrest loaming dangerously over the horizon… It was best for both of them to focus on one thing at a time, and not try anything new.

Still, her curiosity got the best of her. “May I at least see it? You would’ve have to do anything” Sasha asked, her power already reaching out towards the hidden well of destruction deep in her friend. “After that, I promise to leave you alone about it.”

She looked hesitant. “Fine,” Nesta finally blurted out. “Just don’t try to use it in any way, okay?”

Sasha would have responded, but she had instantly latched to that dark power, awed at the way it hummed and burned her all the same. It was like fire, but deadlier. This was a weapon that could level any army. The Cauldron had gifted her in an… interesting way. If only she could explore it further…

Sasha pulled away before things got out of hand. It pained her so- so much power thundered there- but she did promise not to use it for herself. Maybe some other time, then.

“Well?” Nesta called out, knocking Sasha out of her daze. “What did you find?”

She felt a grin plaster itself on her face. “A weapon stronger than anything I’ve ever seen. And trust me, I’ve seen just about every blade and magic in Prythian.”

Nesta let out a shudder. “It’s probably a good thing that I can’t use it- I might accidentally hurt you or Estelle.”

Sasha sent her a pointed look. “Which is why you need to learn how to control it. I can teach you just as easily as I do Estelle with her blades. If you want help, don’t be afraid to ask” she told her, turning around briefly to slip off the boulder. She then walked over to the hollowed out tree, where the dulled swords were stored. “So, do you want spar for a couple minutes, before practicing with the bow?”

She was met with silence. Sasha turned around, arching an eyebrow. “Well?”

Nesta hadn’t moved from her spot. “I’ll do it,” she whispered, her eyes not leaving the ground.

“Okay, come grab your sword-”

“No”, she interrupted. “I’ll learn how to use my ‘gift’, if that’ll make you feel any better.”

“I just want you to feel confident with magic, Nesta” Sasha told her, her face softening as she saw the despair in her friend’s eyes. “Think of it as a second suit of armor- even if you only have only a basic understanding of it, it’ll still be hard for most to harm you with that sort of power on your side.”

Nesta’s eyes lifted. “I guess you have a point. But I don’t even know how to summon it in the first place.”

Sasha tapped her finger on her chin. “Well, it usually takes something to trigger your powers,” she began to say, setting the practice swords back into the tree. “Emotions can cause your magic to flare up- the stronger the emotion, the more reactive your powers get.”

She then twirled a throwing knife in her hand. “Anger and fear might be the easiest to summon, wouldn’t you agree?” Sasha asked, before hurtling the knife straight at Nesta’s head.

~Nesta’s POV~

It took all of her training to avoid that blade, which had embedded itself in the tree behind her and not her head, thankfully. Still, it kicked her nerves into overdrive, as she watched Sasha pull out two more knives.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, before diving sideways, the knives whistling just past her ear.

Sasha merely grinned. “Getting a rile out of you, of course. I’m also testing your reflexes- if you can’t dodge these throws, then I’m doing a terrible job training you.”

Nesta growled, before grabbing one of the blades thrown at her. Hurling it at Sasha, she had hoped it would at least distract the redhead long enough for her to tackle her to the ground. Of course, it didn’t work- the knife sailed a foot above Sasha’s head, before disappearing into the woods beyond.

Frustration burned deep within her, Nesta feeling something white hot course through her veins. Sasha must’ve been looking for any sign of her powers, desperate for at least a flicker-

There. A small crackle of lightning. A tiny ember glowing in her chest. Nesta hastily grabbed at it, and poured all of her frustrations and anger into it, watching it grow and grow before her eyes. It wasn’t like how she was during the war, but it was a start.

“Release, Nesta!” She heard Sasha tell her- the redhead was back on that rock, a knife in each hand. “Fire it all at me!”

Any concern for her friend’s well-being was quickly washed away in a maelstrom of fire and lightning. Raising her hand, she unleashed that power straight at the stone.

And watched the boulder crumble to dust.

@callie-bear15

@thisgryffindorlllyrian

@nestaarcheronwillkillme

@dreamworld-1997

@rairrai

@deezrmuhsheeple

@my-fan-side

@homicidalbaker

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what-even-is-thiss · 6 years

Text

Talking is Hard

My friend @puns-and-patton gave me the prompt of Logicality enemies to frenemies to friends. I might not have included all of that but it did guide my process.

My ko-fi

Warnings: None I can think of. Let me know if any are needed.

Abstract: Between the death of Vine and Losing My Motivation. Patton doesn’t have a way with words and Logan thinks he’s always right.

“It’s not always about winning or gaining.” Logic said. “You are aware of this. I know you are.”

“But I still want it. That’s the thing.” Morality said.

They both stared at the closed binder in front of them on the counter and took sips from their glasses of coffee. They stayed silent for a few moments longer. Logic’s room smelled like fresh paper and cleaning chemicals. Sanitizing wipes and bleach and soap. Never mixed together of course. It was surprisingly good at keeping the mind sharp. Calming, but ready to inspire alertness at the same time. An environment that could make even Patton go quiet.

“So do we continue?” Logic asked after a moment.

Morality had a look on his face. It was that same look Thomas had when faced with an impossible question. The kind of question that logic couldn’t help with. The kind of question that other forces had to weigh in on. Questions that balanced on the edge of a freshly sharpened knife and found a different but equally confusing landscape no matter where they fell off. Questions that required Morality to come here, where emotions didn’t become objective per say, but separate. Easy to look at and easy to ignore in equal measure. The expression wasn’t one of confusion but of a final decision. Of conviction, gentle firmness. A sadness and a determination mixed with an absolute certainty.

“Yes.”

Morality picked up the binder, put it under his arm, and left.

Logic gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white.

“He’s actually going to do it. I thought... It was supposed to be hypothetical.”

..........

“What’s up, L?” Morality asked.

“You’re not Anxiety.” Logic deadpanned.

“Right. Sorry, teach. I was wondering...”

“No, I don’t want to watch television. Please leave my room.”

Morality crossed the length between the window and the couch.

“I think it would be fun!”

“Fun doesn’t pay bills, Morality.” Logic said.

“You’re always the one that says Thomas needs to think about himself more, right?” Morality said.

“And I do think that. However, watching television does not fulfill any real needs.”

“It does though! You have to know that.”

“I don’t want us to watch television!”

“Well we’re going to!”

He made sure to leave through a door so that Logic would hear it slam.

..........

“No one around here ever talks to each other.” Roman said, handing Morality’s newly polished glasses back to him.

“Thanks, Princey.”

“Aren’t you going to say anything about it?”

Morality put his glasses on. It looked better when Logic cleaned them but right now he and Logic weren’t talking and Roman was right. Nobody else was talking lately either.

“I’m not really good at saying things.” Patton laughed.

“Right, I apologize. Are you good at complimenting me?”

“You’re doing amazing. Our follower count is going up up up! But it’s not about that, right?”

“Oh, it sort of is padre.”

“It’s also about spreading happiness.”

Roman gave him a look.

“Okay, I’m really happy about it.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been wanting to ask you something?”

“Yeah, Roman?”

“My name, Roman. Do you think it’s alright?”

“Yes, I think it’s great!”

“May I ask, Morality... What’s your name?”

“Well...”

..........

Logic continued to crumple up papers and throw them in the trash. Nothing worked. Nothing was working. Why wasn’t anything working? This was supposed to work.

“Logic!”

Logan turned around quickly. It was Morality. He had to ask him what the answer was. This clearly had to do with emotions so...

“I have a question!” Morality said.

“Uh, I have a question for you as well.” Logic said. “You go first.”

“Do you hate me?”

Logic felt his own hand clamp tightly over his mouth. Broken glass seemed to hang in the air.

Morality had that look on his face again. He considered hard. His face scrunched up like a six year old trying to figure out a math problem. He held all the cards now. He alone had the power to assess the situation now. If he didn’t want this moment to end the conversation it didn’t have to.

“Bye.” he said, before sinking out.

..........

“He’s crying in his room thinking about how much you hate him.” Deceit said.

“Well see if I care or if I believe you then.” Logic said calmly going back to his book.

“You know what you’re thinking.” Deceit said before sinking out.

Logic his the book against his head. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

..........

Anxiety turned up his headphones louder. Still the screaming match from Patton’s room could be heard and echoed around in his imaginary skull.

“It was your idea to leave that job in the first place! You took the planner from my room! How can I trust your judgement after that!? I thought it was hypothetical!”

“I regret nothing about what I did! YOU were the one that wanted him to be unhappy!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I just wanted to... I... We, we wanted... AH! Videos!”

“Use your words!”

“Words are hard!”

“You are so moronic at times I wonder at how we are still here.”

“STOP! JUST STOP!”

There was the sound of breaking plates followed by regretful sobbing and sputtered apologies that were never answered. Anxiety just turned up the volume on his headphones.

..........

“I know you don’t listen to me but they are fighting so much. They hate each other and they have no idea that they do.”

Anxiety knelt next to Thomas lying down on the couch and listening to music. Thomas either couldn’t see him or didn’t care. Or maybe this was something he was imagining to help himself.

“I know you don’t want to listen to me but the problem is sitting right in front of you.” Anxiety said

Thomas turned up the volume on his headphones.

“Stop ignoring it, moron. You need. To figure this out. Talk to them.”

Thomas sat up like he had just realized something. He pulled his headphones off and let them hang around his neck.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, quickly falling off the couch and stumbling to where he had been keeping his camera.

..........

Logic stepped over the toys on the floor and Morality smiled at him. Logic handed over the mug of hot chocolate and sat on the floor beneath the couch.

“Why a cat onesie?” Logic asked.

“I like cats. Why a unicorn?”

“They’re fictional but intelligent. Mostly because Roman threw it at me and it turned out to be comfortable.”

“So we’ve been fighting huh?”

“It would appear so. I think we need to trust each other’s judgement more.”

They sat for a while, experiencing a comfortable silence that hadn’t sat between them in years. Both of them looked at books. Logan at a science book, Patton at an old photo album. The sounds of Anxiety and Thomas listening to music echoed somewhere outside. An indie beat unusually cheery and calm. It was during this beat that Logic broke the silence.

“If we are speaking again I feel I must tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything.” Morality said.

“My name is Logan.”

“My name is Patton!”

Logan nodded. “That fits.”

“What does? My onesie?”

“No, your name.”

“Sorry, just had to make onesie more misunderstanding for the road.”

“I’m leaving.”

#logicality #platonic logicality #patton sanders #morality sanders #logic sanders #logan sanders #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction

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theoreticallyawriter · 6 years

Text

Chapter 14: Sharpen Your Knife

The next morning comes too fast. I doubt that I slept more than two hours, but I don’t regret it in the slightest. This is the first time I haven’t been one of the first few people up, instead when I drag myself to the bathroom the only one missing is Tris. Myra and I exchange tired, but satisfied glances as I come in, setting my things on the counters with the sinks and then getting in the shower.

That was the first night that I really felt Dauntless, like it wasn’t all just me trying to be something that I’m not. It was great, and if I’m being honest with myself then I hope that the rest of my life is like that. Maybe not the ziplining part, but the feeling of it all, actually getting to take part in Dauntless culture which is now my culture rather than feeling like an outsider or someone who only has one foot in the door. For the first time, everything that I want to do actually feels achievable and attaching the Dauntless label to myself feels natural. This is my home, this is where I belong and I can be here knowing chose it for myself and not because I was trying to live up to the vision that someone else had for me. I am only the person that I want to be, and I think that I’m starting to get a little bit clearer of an idea as to who that person really is. I’m still ambitious like an Erudite, I think that I always will be and finally feeling like I belong here only makes me more resolute in my goals.

When I get out of the shower, Myra is gone but Tris has gotten up. She greets me with a yawn and when I walk to the mirror to do my hair, I nudge her shoulder with my own.

“Tired?” I say.

“Wiped. You?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

We both laugh and it sounds strained and tired, but sincere. Christina gives us a quizzical look, but for now says nothing.

As usual, we all wait for each other before going to breakfast. I like the routine that we’re all falling into, the way that training is pretty much almost always the same. I’m beginning to see that not everything about Dauntless is just random and chaotic 24/7. There’s a routine here that people seem to stick to for the most part and a way of life that they’ve carved out for themselves. That said, there really is no such thing as a dull moment.

“Where did you two go last night?” Will asks when we sit down at our usual table. “Mimi, Marlene pulled you away to talk to you for a second and then you were just gone.”

Tris and I exchange grins, neither of us are quite sure if we should spill the Dauntless-born’s secret. I also don’t want to say anything because I don’t want them to feel left out. It was great and I had tons of fun but I also think that it would have been cool to have them there.

“We took an alternate route back,” Tris says.

Will raises his eyebrows. “That was a pretty long ass route. You didn’t come back until after we were all in bed.”

“Yeah.” Tris nods. “It was a little…complex.”

Al is all but asleep in his breakfast, his head dipped down as he blinks slowly in an attempt to keep himself awake.

“You doing alright, buddy?” I ask.

He groans in response, rubbing his eyes.

“My sentiments exactly,” Will says.

I take another long drink of my coffee, refusing to let my eyes glaze over. I can handle a little less sleep than usual, Dauntless hasn’t changed me that much.

“God, you know I just cannot wait to spend all day beating my knuckles bloody against a punching bag after last night,” Christina says. “That’s just,” she interrupts herself with a yawn, “buckets of fun.”

“Beats getting punched in the face,” I point out.

“Yeah, but if you get knocked out that’s an extra few minutes of free sleep,” Will jokes.

I snort. “How very optimistic of you.”

“Yep.” He leans back in his chain and puts his arms behind his head. “I’m just here to brighten your day, it’s one of the things you love about me.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure it is, Will.”

I glimpse Marlene on the way over to her table her tray and she sees me too. We smile at each other across the dining hall and them she goes to join the rest of her friends.

After we’re all done with breakfast, or more accurately as close to adequately caffeinated as we can get within our time frame, we walk to the training room. Though I’m freshly determined to do well, I can’t say that I’m especially excited about training today. Maybe I’d be a little more so if it didn’t start at six in the morning. I’m sure no one else is faring any better, but the Dauntless don’t stop for anything and doing things the hard way is just a part of their way of life.

Eric doesn’t show for the morning half of training, which means that it’s for the most part more chill than usual. However, it seems that his victory last night has done nothing to soften Four; he prowls around making all the same criticisms that he usually does and never even making the most half assed attempt at positive reinforcement. It really doesn’t help that most of us are basically falling asleep standing up. Last night really took it out of me, I thought that I could just continue on like I used to in Erudite but that was a different kind of exhaustion. With that it was just my brain that was fried and I could fix that, but with training being the way that it is, we have no time to recover and so this hits us all hard. Even Peter and Edward aren’t quite a hundred percent.

Lunch comes and goes too fast and part of me seriously considered going back to the dorms and just taking a nap like Drew and a few others do. But I also know from experience that training sucks on an empty stomach even more than it does with a full one. It’s also a really good thing that the Dauntless cooks make a lot of food because ever since I’ve started gaining muscle mass I’m basically ravenously hungry all the time, which is almost as bad as being sore all the time. But I won’t pretend like I don’t think it’s a little cool how I can see just a little bit of definition in my muscles. Sore as I am, I feel a lot stronger than I did when I first arrived in Dauntless; I’m not the delicate Erudite girl with perfect makeup and shiny hair anymore. In fact, by Erudite standards, I look like shit most days; I’m bruised, I hardly ever wear makeup, I no longer have all the product that kept my hair so nice. But honestly, I don’t care; in fact, in some ways, I no longer feel any sort of pressure to be perfect because I can’t get much further away from everything that I used to consider perfect than the way I am now.

When we all trudge back to the training room, Eric is there and a line of human shaped targets have been set up, the circles being painted around the stomach. About fifteen feet from the targets is as a table full of polished silver knives with black grips wrapped around the hilts. The sight of them makes me smile a little, finally something that I actually know how to do. Now granted, I’m not as good as Melanie, but she was the one who showed me how. She’s got some sort of fascination with knives just like Minerva used to have with fighting.

“Apparently Four failed to mention this to you this morning,” Eric says, “but you all only have three weeks left of training. Your final fights are on the fourteenth of October, but training proceeds as normal so you’d all better be wide awake on Monday. Today though, you’ll be learning how to throw knives. Everyone pick up three knives and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them.”

No one moves toward the table for a few seconds.

“Now!” Eric yells.

We all scramble toward the table to pick up our three.

“He’s in a bad mood today,” Christina mutters.

“Is he ever in a good mood?” Tris mutters back.

“When is he not?” I say at the same time.

Judging by the death glare that Eric gives Four when he isn’t paying attention, last night’s loss bothers him a lot more than he’d care to let on. Capture the flag is important to Dauntless, a matter of pride for the team and captains alike and pride is very important to the Dauntless.

We all watch Four throw his three knives very carefully. I am familiar with this subject, but I wouldn’t dare think I’m good enough that I shouldn’t pay attention. Four is very precise about his throws, but relaxed and confident as well like he’s been doing this all his life. Actually it wouldn’t really surprise me if Four just sprang forth fully formed from some hole in the ground already brandishing a knife. The three knives he throws stick in the center of the board so closely that the edges almost brush.

“Line up!” Eric orders as Four goes to the board to collect his knives.

I slip two of the knives into the pocket of my pants for now and easily toss one of them back from hand to hand, adjusting my grip and generally trying to get a feel for the way that the blade is balanced. They’re obviously well made, lovingly crafted though nothing like the custom, decorative ones Melanie has that I’ve only seen a handful of times.

When she was teaching me to throw, she told me that really what it came down to was physics and practice. General mental math can be applied in order to get the basics down. It’s a very Erudite way of approaching something like this, very fitting for my Erudite sister, approaching it like a scientist and picking it apart in order to achieve the desired results.

These are weighted a little differently than the ones I remember her letting me practice with, but the same rules still apply. I flip the blade in my hand and hold it the way I was taught so as not to cut myself, which she did a lot when she was first starting out I remember, and draw my arm back.

‘The easiest way to do this is to match your throws to your breaths,’ I recall her telling me as she drew my arm back for me. I can almost hear her voice, feel her fingers ghosting over my arm and shoulders to adjust my stance. ‘Exhale. Inhale. Exhale and throw.’

I hit the target, only slightly above the center dot, but I didn’t throw with enough force and so the blade slides out of the wood after a few seconds. I retrieve the second knife from my pocket and try again, adjusting my aim slightly and throwing harder. That one slams into the board but down and to the left of the dot. I try again with the third knife, shutting out all the other distractions and just trying to focus on what’s in front of me.

That’s the one that divides that tiny center dot down the middle.

“Hey,” Christina says. “You’re pretty good at that.” She throws her third knife and while it gets within the circle it’s still pretty far off from the center.

Most of us finish with our three around the same time, so we walk up to the board to retrieve them. I pick my first up off the floor and then start at getting the other two out of the wood. They’re really stuck in there too, maybe I threw them a little too hard.

“Thanks,” I say while still struggling to pull out the third knife. “My older sister taught me.” The knife pops out and I nearly fall backward but Will’s arm shoots out and grabs mine before I hit the ground.

“Careful,” he teases.

I roll my eyes, but smile at him. “My hero.”

“Yep.” He grins. “This makes, what, the second or third time I’ve saved you from falling? It’s what you love about me.”

“I thought I love you because you’re an optimist.” We walk back to our spots away from the board.

He shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”

“Hold on,” Christina interjects. “Can we just rewind to that part where you said your sister taught you to do this?”

“I mean, she had an instructor first but yeah she showed me a few things.”

“Didn’t you say you were Erudite?” Christina says, no less confused.

“Yeah, it’s just a skill like any other. Calculus, gymnastics, knife throwing; they’ve all got the same basic principle to learning them, practice until you get it right. Really it can be applied to anything.” I remember learning very early that anyone could do anything if they wanted it badly enough, if they worked hard enough. My sister can throw knives, my mother can lead a faction, I can be Dauntless. All I have to do is try, and if there’s one thing I know how to do it’s try.

Christina smiles and shakes her head in disbelief, but doesn’t say anything else.

An hour and a half later, every one of us has managed to at least get our knives within the circle if not at the center save for Al. Unlike fighting, he just can’t seem to get the hang of it and while the rest of us go up to pull our knives from the board he hunts the floor for his. Part of me wants to help him, but I’m not close enough to just talk him through it and with Eric and Four watching us I can’t say with any certainty that I wouldn’t get in trouble for that. Eric’s in a foul mood as it is and I have no desire to poke that particular bear.

The next time he misses, Eric nearly snarls under his breath and storms toward him.

“How slow are you, Candor?!” he demands. Do you need glasses?! Should we move the target closer?!”

Al doesn’t respond, but his face turns bright red. He throws another knife and this one runs out of momentum before it can even reach the board, scraping and clattering against the concrete floor.

“What was that, initiate?” Eric’s voice drops and he leans closer to Al. I watch this exchange out of the corner of my eye while trying to mostly keep my focus on the board. It really shows where my attentions gone when I throw and miss the target by a mile.

“It – It slipped,” Al says meekly.

“Well I think you should go get it.” Apparently everyone was paying attention, because as soon as the words leave Eric’s mouth everybody stops throwing. Even Peter, who I wouldn’t put it past to stab any one of us.

Eric’s head whips around. “Did I tell you to stop.”

We start throwing again. All of us have seen Eric angry before, but this is different, this is like when he made Christina hang over the Chasm. I glance at her, and I know that she notices it too.

Al’s eyes widen. “Go get it? But everyone’s still throwing.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want to get hit.”

“I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you.” He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes or really the rest of his face at all. “Go get your knife.”

Al usually complies with everything we’re told to do without argument. Not because he’s afraid, but because he knows that arguing with Eric and Four is about as effective as arguing with a brick wall. I think that we all know that, but it’s never stopped most of us from trying at least once.

This time is different; this time he stands straight and meets Eric’s eye, setting his jaw. He’s finally at the end of his rope, walking across a floor of people throwing knives with varying degrees of proficiency, and one of the people throwing is Peter, is where he draws the line. It’s an understandable line, but Eric isn’t really the understanding type.

“No.”

“Why not?” Eric’s eyes narrow and venom positively drips from his words. “Are you afraid.”

“Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife? Yeah, I am.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He should have just continued to refuse, Eric might have just accepted that. He should have just insulted us all and said that he didn’t think our aim was good enough not to hit him, or that he didn’t think one of us wouldn’t hit him on purpose; Eric might have gotten a kick out of that.

But he didn’t and now Eric’s face contorts with rage and he shouts, “Everyone stop!”

He didn’t really have to shout, we were all paying attention to him anyways. Eric is completely unpredictable when it comes to punishments, sometimes he just berates the person and sometimes he tries to kill them. On this though I think the latter is about to take place, I can only hope that Al won’t walk away from this with too many injuries.

“Clear out of the ring.” Eric turns back to Al. “Everybody except you.”

We put our knives back on the table and move to the edge of the room by the pillars in a tight cluster. Christina breathes heavily, her terror evident in her eyes. I remember what she said to me a while back after she had to hang over the Chasm and had a nightmare later that night, ‘I can’t stop thinking about how many ways it could have killed me, and how it could have killed you guys if you were in my place’. And that’s what she’s thinking now, her nightmare come true. She takes Will’s arm and squeezes it tight.

“Stand in front of the target,” Eric says.

Al listens to him this time, and as he stands there his knees begin to shake.

“Hey, Four.” Eric glances over his shoulder. “Give me a hand here.”

Four scratches his eyebrow with the point of a knife and then walks very slowly to stand beside Eric.

“You’re going to stand there while Four throws those knives, and if you flinch, you’re out.”

Four gives a put-upon sigh. “Is this really necessary?”

Apathetic as ever, I see. Whereas Eric actively wants to torture us, Four just doesn’t give a single shit about us, our wellbeing, or even our lives.

Eric stares Four down, waiting for him to submit to his authority. But Four just stares back blankly.

After a minute Eric sneers at him. “I have the authority here, remember? Here and everywhere else.”

Four shows no emotion as he turns back toward Al, who’s whole body is trembling now. I feel sorry for him, just like I felt sorry for Christina, but there’s nothing that we can do for him either.

The seconds that pass as Four takes aim feel like hours to me, and the tension in the room is palpable.

“Stop,” Tris blurts out. Eric and Four both whirl around, Four nearly dropping the knife in surprise when she speaks.

“Any idiot can stand in front of a target,” she hardly even seems to notice everyone else’s stares. “It doesn’t prove anything except that you’re bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice.”

“Then it should be easy for you to take his place,” Eric says with a cruel smile. “Same rules apply, but if you flinch he takes your place and then you can both be factionless.”

Tris walks away from the crowd slowly and with her head held high.

“There goes your pretty face,” Peter taunts her. “Oh wait, you don’t have one.”

She says nothing, betraying as little emotion as Four when she switches places with Al at the target. Al is very nearly in tears and he looks guilty that Tris is having to take his place, but relieved.

I look at the wicked sharp knives in Four’s hand, one in his right that he draws back and three in his left. I consider all of the times I’ve insisted that they can’t actually kill us and not for the first time I wonder if I might actually be wrong about that.

Four’s knife embeds just at the edge of the human shaped target, a fair distance from Tris’ left hand. Christina buries her head in Will’s chest when it hits and he wraps his arms around her. Though the most of us cringe at the sound, Tris doesn’t flinch; she does close her eyes though, waiting for the next.

“You done, Stiff?” Four taunts.

Tris’ jaw clenches. “No.”

“Eyes open then.”

Her hands clench into fists at her sides as she steels herself for the next knife, which Four very casually tosses from his left hand into his right. It’s little more than a flash as it flies through the air and then sticks in the head of the target, which is far above Tris’ own.

“Come on, Four,” Eric says. “You can get a little closer than that.”

Four shrugs at him. “Come on, Stiff. Let someone else stand there and take it.”

“Shut up, Four!” she snaps and I have to suppress the urge to laugh at the face he makes when she says that.

He throws the third knife and it embeds into the wood far to the right of Tris’ head.

“Closer,” Eric goads.

Four glances back at him. “Want me to give her a little trim?”

“Yeah. Maybe just a little off the top.”

He throws the fourth knife, this one seeming to be aimed right at Tris’ head. I close my eyes for a second as the knife makes contact. But not with her; it wedges in the wood right above her ear. She inches away from the knife and touches her fingertips to the shell of her ear, grimacing. He cut her.

“Well,” Eric says grandly, “as much as I would love to stick around and see if you’re all as bold as she is, we’re done for the day. Get out.” He points at Tris. “Points for bravery, Stiff, but not as many as you just lost for opening your mouth.”

The others start to leave but Christina, Will, Al, and I go toward Tris; she sees us, but holds up her finger for us to give her a minute. I nod and walk out and back toward the dormitory with the others following me. Will and Christina have let go of each other, and none of us breathe a word the whole way back.

The dormitory is quiet when we walk in, Myra and Peter are gone but no one else is. Eric let us go early so we all have time to kill until dinner.

Tris is back another minute later and, save for Drew and Molly, the dorm bursts into applause. My friends and I meet her as soon as she walks through the door.

“You do have a death wish!” Christina exclaims, wrapping her arm around Tris’ shoulder.

Will claps her on the back. “I cannot believe you said that you Eric.”

“Or that you told Four to shut up,” I say. “I think that makes you worse than me at this point.”

“That was amazing,” Al gushes.

“No one’s ever stood up to him like that,” Edward adds, hanging around near us.

“Hey, Tris.” Molly approaches us and I feel immediately defensive. “That was pretty cool.”

“Yeah, impressive stuff.” Peter slithered back into the dormitory at some point, except now he’s holding a tablet.

“Shut up,” Will snaps.

“What? No, I mean it.” Peter’s eyes are wide with fake innocence. I don’t consider myself a violent person but I really, really want to punch him. “You’re famous now.” He pauses as we give him blank stares. “Not because of the thing with Eric, no that was…whatever. You’re in the news, the article just dropped this morning.” He brings the tablet closer to his face. “Recent transfers of Beatrice and Caleb Prior children of Andrew Prior call into question the soundness of Abnegations teachings and values. What prompted them to leave?”

We start walking away, trying to skirt around him but he follows.

“Perhaps the answer lies in the corrupted ideals of an entire faction,” he continues to read. “The theft of resources, the general incompetence, the abuse of their children.” He looks up and at Tris with mock sympathy. “Did your parents beat you, Tris, like Marcus Eaton’s kid?”

“They didn’t beat anyone,” Tris snaps. “The Abnegation are good people.”

“And that’s why you chose to leave?”

Tris makes a frustrated noise and walks away, the others going with her but I hang back.

“Was it something I said?” Peter says.

“Peter,” I sigh, tipping the tablet up in his hand and pressing it into his chest. “You and I both know that those claims are nothing more nothing more than tabloid drivel and have nothing to do with anything. Honestly, I’m surprised that you can read at all but gossip magazines, really? That’s the best ammunition you can find?”

“That a challenge, Ice Queen?” he hisses, stepping closer to me.

“It’s a critique. I could go on, but frankly I have better things to do with my time.” I walk away before he can manage a retort or even a threat.

I’ve met the woman who I suspect writes all the articles about Abnegation, she writes under a pseudonym to protect her reputation but it’s fairly obvious to most. Lucy Sharp, the head of the journalism department in Erudite, can hardly be called a journalist at all. Sure, there was a time when she was one of the greats and that’s what secured her the position that she currently holds; but as of recent years she seems to have found that it’s far more fun to drag people’s names through the mud than actually write about anything of note, she has the rest of the department for that. In person, she’s a gossip, a snob, and a very good friend of my parents. I know her because we socialized with her at all the dinner parties and other classy events I was all but obligated to attend.

“Don’t listen to him,” Christina says to Tris right as I catch up with them. “He’s an idiot.”

“Yep,” Tris says. “I know. It’s okay.”

We turn a corner and Will pauses muttering, “What’s she doing at Dauntless?”

Walking down the hallway right toward us is Jeanine, my mother and Gwendolyn on either side of her, and a small crowd of Erudite trailing behind them. Max walks a few feet away with his hands clasped behind his back, nodding every so often as Jeanine talks.

We move to the edge of the hallways, waiting for them to pass. I catch Gwendolyn’s eye and she nods at me in acknowledgement; I wave back in response, smiling.

Jeanine and my mother stop in front of us, my mother waving off the crowd and most of them leave quickly as Gwendolyn begins speaking and some of them nearly having to jog to keep up with her pace.

“Mimette,” Jeanine says, smiling.

“Let Dr. Morgan lead, she can explain it just as well. We’ll be there in five, don’t wait,” my mother mutters to one of the people at the tail end of the crowd and I recognize him as Ryan Chantanelle, my mother’s secretary.

He nods, brushing a swoop of brown and gray hair away from his eyes. “You got it, Boss.” He glances at me, smiling and giving a mock two-finger salute with the same exaggerated swagger he does everything with. “Mini.”

“Ryan.” I smile at him, my voice dripping with amusement, and return the gesture.

He smiles back and then walks away to join the rest of the crowd. Most people find him kind of insufferable, but I’ve spent enough time around him to know he’s not so bad. He and the rest of the people he works with on Support Crew, the team of people who keep basically everything in order in Erudite. He’s known me since I was a kid and insists on calling me Mini though which is…a lot. I don’t love it but he’s given a nickname to all of my siblings and I could have done much worse. He’s been calling Minerva ‘Scrappy’ since she was twelve.

My mother hugs me and says in my ear, “It’s good to see you, my dear girl.”

“Hi, Mom. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon either. I’m really happy you’re both here though.”

I don’t bother to hide my affection for them both, like with Mark, my mother is a faction leader and no one is going to correct her.

“Happy belated birthday, Jeanine.”

She smiles. “Thank you very much. How have you been?”

I shrug. “Well I mean we haven’t got our rankings yet but I’m pretty good at training, I mean I’m not like the best but-”

“No,” Jeanine corrects me. “I didn’t ask about your ranking, I asked how you’ve been. Are you eating properly? Have you taken up any hobbies? Do you like it here?” She glances at the others. “I see your making plenty of new friends.”

The four of them have sort of stepped back to give me some space and they seem surprised Jeanine acknowledged them at all.

“Uh, yeah.” I look back at all my new friends. “Um this is Will, Christina, Al, and Tris. Everyone, my mother and Jeanine, who’s kind of a family friend.”

“How lovely to meet you all,” my mother says.

“Prior,” Jeanine says, pointing at Tris. “Aren’t you Andrew Prior’s daughter, Beatrice?”

“Uh, yeah.” She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly. “But I sort of changed it to just Tris.”

“You made an impressive choice, both of you actually. Given your respective families and your test results.”

“Y-you’ve seen our test results.” Tris stares at her with wide eyes.

“Of course.” Jeanine glances back at my mother. “Well, we should probably get going. If you ever need anything, Mimi, let me know.”

“I will. It was really good to see you again.” I hug her. We’re almost the same height now that I don’t wear heels anymore.

“I’ll see you on Visiting Day, Mim.” My mother kisses the top of my head and then they both walk away, talking quietly to each other.

“That was…weird,” Will mutters.

“Really weird,” Christina agrees and then turns to Tris and I. “What was that?”

I shrug. “Like I said, Jeanine’s a really close friend of my parents. She’s kind of just…always been around for me. Tris, I don’t know what the hell you did to get her attention?”

Well, I can think of one thing but other than that I don’t think she’s ever actually met Jeanine or my mother before.

She shrugs too. “I mean my father’s on the council. That might have had something to do with it.”

“Yeah,” Will says, “but they hate each other; what’s she got to gain from paying attention to you?”

Tris furrows her brow. “Good question.”

As we’re walking, I look back in the direction of the doors they went through. They never did mention a reason for coming.

“You guys look alike.” Al says to me, snapping me from my thoughts. “You and Jeanine.”

“Yeah actually,” Will agrees. “Like, now that you mention it I can definitely see it.”

I shrug. I don’t really, we have the same hair color but the similarities stop there. But I guess at a glance maybe.

I wonder if I should have told them that I changed my name. I think that it would have made Jeanine happy; she gave me that name and now it’s the one that I’ll be using for the rest of my life. It’s not just that I haven’t forgotten my Erudite roots completely, it’s that I haven’t forgotten my Erudite roots at all and I don’t think that I ever will.

“So what do you think they were here for?” Tris says.

“Erudite makes all the tech in the city, right?” Will says. “It was probably just that.”

“Yeah, but why would that need to involve the faction’s leader, representative, and head of the chemistry department?” I say.

“Yeah, fair enough.”

We walk away from that hallway towards the Pit; we still have a lot of time to kill before dinner.

As we pass by the tattoo parlor while taking a lap around the second floor of the Pit, I pause and then duck inside. My friends follow close behind, curious.

I glance back at them. “You guys can go on ahead if you’d like. There’s…something I’ve kind of been looking at.”

Christina shrugs and then so does Will. “It’s cool,” she says.

Tris and Al go on ahead though and then the two of them are drifting behind me as I open one of the catalogues to a page I made a note to myself to come back to at some point. In the top right corner of the page is a simple diamond outline. I glance up at the artist who has been sort of watching me since I came in, an older woman with black hair pulled into a bun.

“Find something you like?” she says.

“Yeah, actually.” I flip the book around to show her. “Can I get four of these sort of…arranged in a bigger diamond o-on my inner right wrist?”

She hums. “Interesting. Yeah, come with me.” She beckons for me to follow her, then stops and looks back at Will and Christina. “And I suppose your friends can come if they want.”

The three of us follow her to one of the many rooms and I take a seat in the chair, my hands are already starting to tremble. I glimpsed Al and Tris do this only a couple of weeks ago but it’s different doing it myself, different doing it after I said that I wouldn’t.

“So this is sudden,” Will says after a minute while the woman puts on a pair of rubber gloves and wipes down my skin with antiseptic. “I thought you and I were supposed to be the sensible ones?” Christina laughs at that.

Explaining the truth of the matter would be too sentimental, bordering on traitorous given how we’re supposed to devote ourselves to our new lives. But the truth is that I miss Erudite – I miss my home, I miss my friends, I miss my family. Seeing Jeanine and my mother earlier only rubbed that in.

I was never one of those kids that didn’t get along with their parents; I didn’t pick fights, I didn’t really have a reason to rebel, there was so little that they asked of me that there was never any reason to do either of those things. I love and am very, very close to both of my parents, and the other two people that raised me like parents – whom I do think of as my secondary mom and dad. Jeanine and Damascus were and still are important to me, integral to who I am. My siblings and I are – if nothing else – a byproduct of their love for us and we are built on the foundations they laid.

I ought to recognize that.

“Mimi?” Will puts his hand on the arm that isn’t currently held out to Tori. He chuckles. “Are you really that nervous?”

“Hm?” I look over at him rather than the intimidating tattoo gun about to go to work on my wrist.

“You totally zoned out for a second, didn’t even answer my question.”

For a split second there’s a sharp pain and then a buzzing and I gasp, my whole body tensing. Will and Christina look alarmed; but I relax again, quickly getting used to the pain and so do they.

“Can’t a girl be spontaneous once in a while?” I smile at him and he starts laughing.

“Sure, sure, why not?” Christina nudges him. “That is what being Dauntless is all about, Brainiac.”

He nudges her back. “I know that. But still, it’s Mimi.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say indignantly.

Both of them laugh and Will doesn’t bother to explain himself. I know exactly what he meant honestly, and it’s hard to take it as a joke when it’s so painfully accurate. I’m not Dauntless enough, not really, I don’t look the part and I’m not exactly itching to get there. I like the way that I look, would be fine in any other faction but not here when the Look is a whole part of the culture. Erudite’s like that too, in a way. The easiest thing for a person to change is their appearance, it should be the first of many signs of commitment.

Here’s hoping people will take this as mine.

The next day when I wake up I’m a little less tired, though still wholly not looking forward to training or doing much of anything really and my wrist is killing me. I let out a big yawn and stretch, accidentally slamming my fist into the bunk above me.

“Ah!” Will exclaims and I hear him start above me.

“Sorry,” I murmur, rubbing my stinging knuckles.

“You scared the hell out of me.” I can just imagine the way that he presses his hand to his heart as though trying to calm it.

I murmur incoherently in the response. I start to get up but he jumps off his bunk and lands just inches from me, startling me into sitting back down.

“Will!” I hiss.

“Oh, that is so karma.” He snickers and rubs at his tired eyes. “Also, I do that basically every morning, you’d think you’d be used to it by know.”

“Yeah. You’d think.” I kneel down to rifle through my basket of laundry for something, anything, that doesn’t stink to high heaven. Will drops down next to me, doing something similar. He leans forward and rests his forehead against my bed like he intends to go back to sleep like that. I pat him on the back and he makes a noise in protest.

“Fine.” I get to my feet. “Stay there.”

I trudge into the bathroom with sections of my hair still hanging in my face and still a little bleary eyed. All of the showers are already occupied and there’s a small crowd in front of the mirror talking. I wedge myself in next to the wall and that’s when I spot Myra out of the corner of my eye.

“Myra!” I exclaim, suddenly awake. “Your hair!”

She twirls a lock of it around her finger. “Neat, right? I did it myself last night; I was up till like midnight with the bleach and everything but it was so worth it.”

“Oh my god, I love it. And you said you did this yourself?”

She nods. “I did my last color by myself too. It’s just easier than, like, being stuck in a salon chair for two and a half hours.”

“Well it looks great.” I start running my hairbrush through my own hair, slowly picking through the tangles.

“I could do yours too, if you want.”

“No. I don’t really think that I’m a hair dye sort of person.” I hold up my wrist. “Besides, I think this is enough of a change for me, for now at least.”

She gasps, apparently delighted to the change. “That’s so cool!” She gingerly takes my hand and extends my arm, the fingers on her free hand hovering just over the clear bandage. “What’s it meant to be?”

I shrug. “Nothing really, it just looked cool.”

She takes the statement at face value and lets me go. “So you’ll ink a random symbol into your skin forever, but you won’t dye your hair for, like, a couple months?”

I shrug.

“Come on, you’ll never know unless you try.” She nudges me with her elbow. “I think you’d look really good with, like, blue hair. Like really bright blue hair.”

I roll my eyes. “I really don’t think that dyeing my hair my old faction’s color is exactly ‘letting go’.” I haven’t really let go yet of course, but I have to maintain some sense of subtlty.

She grins. “Does that mean you’d be open to doing a different color?”

“I’m going to go with no on that one.”

“Well I don’t exactly think that staying prim, perfect, and proper is exactly letting go either. Come on, practically everyone’s got something new.”

I shake my head and then start on braiding back my hair. “I just want it to mean something, you know? I don’t want to make some drastic change on a whim. It’s got to be for a reason.”

“And your reason for getting the tattoo was?”

Shit. Really backed myself into a corner with that one, didn’t I?

“Um…” I sigh. “Yeah, there’s a reason but…I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s a little personal.”

She raises her eyebrows, clearly only more intrigued but drops it. “Well, at any rate, I think you’ve chosen the wrong faction if everything you do is for a reason. Doing drastic things on a whim are practically all Dauntless does; zipline, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“Did that mean something? Did that have some deeper reason or did we just do it because we could, because we’re Dauntless and that’s what we do?” She grins at me and after a second I return it.

“Okay fine, you’ve got me there.” Her grin widens and I shake my head slightly. “I’m still not dying my hair though.”

The others make their way in alone or in small clusters as others trickle out. We’ve reached a point in our training where most of us can’t manage more than the bare minimum of effort. If my father’s right and to look good is to feel good, I could probably stand to put a little more effort into at least my hair if for no one else’s sake than my own.

Some of the others comment on Myra’s hair and she seems to glow with pride when they do, occasionally twisting a lock around her finger and beaming. At breakfast, which I wait up for the rest of my group to walk to and to my surprise she waits with me, Myra waves me over to the table that she and Edward occupy alone. I glance back at my other friends and Christina shooes me away with a flap of her hand. Will tilts his head to the side like a curious bird but doesn’t say anything. I follow Myra to her table and sit with a seat in between the two of us. Over here, we’re much closer to Peter’s table. He and his group talk and joke like they don’t find joy in being jerks to other people. I guess no one can be evil a hundred percent of the time.

Edward gives me a quizzical look as I sit down. “Finally get tired of Will?” I scoff. “No. What’s your problem with him anyways?” He opens his mouth but Myra gives him a warning look and he frowns, obviously selecting his words very carefully. Finally, he shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him?”

A couple more of the Erudite transfers sit down at our table. I recognize them by the way that they sit, their appearances, it’s all more familiar to me. I guess some people did take Edward up on his idea that the Erudite ought to stick together. I recognize some of them from school, some of them from events that I went to but not many and they don’t seem to know me either (thank god).

One of the girls, Viola, shows off a new tattoo she’d gotten just yesterday. It’s a bouquet of wilted roses with the clear bandage still wrapped around it, she seems very pleased with it and herself. Her closer friends admire it and brush their fingers over her arm, pulling back when she flinches. In turn I show off mine, drawing similar reactions from them. I’m a little surprised at how easily I fold into them, with all of our similarities, it’s not like my other friends but they’re a warm group of people who welcome me.

“I’m learning to love it,” says one of the boys when the topic turns to our new lives here in Dauntless. “I think…I’ll always miss Erudite but I know that this is where I belong.”

“What about you, Mimi,” Myra turns to me, “do you think very much about home?”

I shrug, swallowing the answer that I think about it all the time. Even though we’re all Erudite transfers, I’m still different from them. “I try not to. I did leave for a reason.”

Don’t ask me what it was, I mentally tack on.

“I would certainly hope so.” Edward chuckles. “Just because we’re Dauntless now doesn’t mean we have to abandon reason completely.”

One girl snorts. “Tell that to our instructors; I’ve never met two more unreasonable people.” That gets a laugh out of most of the table.

“I had first hour math with Elizabeth Reynolds,” says one boy, “so I’m going to have to disagree with you there.” My blood runs cold, I know that Eliza’s kind of an…acquired taste, but I’ve never heard anyone talk about her the way that she, Casey, and I used to talk about Dahlia.

“That’s fair,” another chimes in.

I clench my jaw to keep myself from saying something stupid. I know exactly why people didn’t – still don’t – like Eliza; it’s not really something I can argue against, but she was always good to me.

“Why the face, Mimi.” Myra nudges me.

I don’t respond. Instead I grip my fork so hard that the metal bites sharply into my hand.

“Mimi.” She nudges me again, her voice lilting in a way that reminds me painfully of Casey.

“Nothing,” I lie, my voice a little too sharp and she seems taken aback.

“Uh-huh,” she replies, mercifully losing that tone.

The topic changes and I can relax again, though the memories of my old friends linger. I wish that I’d seen Casey with Mark at the fence, I hope he told her what I asked him to, I hope she knows that I still care about her.

“Can’t believe there’s only like a month left in initiation,” Edward says.

“We can’t be done soon enough if you ask me,” says a boy with very gelled hair. “I’m sick of getting punched in the face every day.”

“That’s Dauntless for you,” says another boy, snickering.

The first rolls his eyes. “It’s something.”

“Who do you guys think is going to get cut?” I say.

“Out of us?” Myra replies. “Could be anyone really, except for, like, Edward.”

“And Peter,” adds one of the guys with a grimace. “Unfortunately.”

“Here’s hoping that it’s one or both of his cronies,” says the person next to him. “Molly snores so much.”

“Rumi, you snore,” the boy replies.

Rumi gives an indignant scoff and folds their arms. “Well she also hogs the shower and I have a right to complain about that too.”

“I can’t really imagine any of us not being here,” says one of the girls, her hair wrapped up in a black headscarf.

“That’s because we’re all amazing,” Rumi replies, showing off their incredibly white teeth.

“No but, like, I guess I’ve just gotten used to having you all with me. I can’t imagine my life without you.” Her statement is met with sarcastic coos and joking accusations of sentimentality.

They remind me of my old friends, my old classmates. I probably had some of them in my class at least once, but it makes me smile. It’s familiar in a way that doesn’t make we want to scream, in a way that gives me a warm feeling in my chest.

“I mean that’s kind of everyone, right?” Myra says. “Like, I couldn’t imagine not seeing Mimi and her friends either and I barely know them.”

“I don’t know about that,” the girl in the headscarf says as she rests her chin on her palm. “I think that there’s plenty of people here that I could go the rest of my life without having to deal with that ever again.”

The person next to rolls their eyes. “Quin, I can guarantee that half the reason you think that is because we live together.”

Quin raises her eyebrow. “Yeah, so what if it is? Some of these people are shitty roommates, sue me.”

Chuckles ripple through the table. She’s right though, I’ve never had to share a room before initiation and I’ve thoroughly decided that I hate it. As nice as it is to have my friends just a few feet away, it’s loud, and it smells, and I just in general hate having to deal with other people’s annoying habits as they probably hate to deal with mine.

Semi-reluctantly, we get up at the end of breakfast and head to training. Without anyone else noticing, I hang back from the group and eventually fall in with the rest of my friends.

“So how was breakfast with the brainiacs?” Christina asks.

Will and I share a fondly exasperated look. I shrug and don’t get into how I’ve always been the odd one out among the Erudite, how I didn’t expect anything to be different now that we’re Dauntless-Erudite but in a way it is and it fills me with a kind of happiness I can’t describe.

The knives are set up in the training room again, so are the shooting targets. Four lets us take our pick of what we do and I wander more than I don’t. Not as much as some others though, who seem like all they do is pace around and try to look busy when Four’s around.

Tris and I spar pathetically, joking around with each other more than we don’t and over-exaggerating the pain from the other’s blows.

“Oh, you have done me in!” I cry as Tris tries to kick me and just grazes my leg. I fall to the ground in an overdramatic fashion, laughing all the way down.

“Get up, Ice Queen,” Four snaps as he paces past our mat. He rolls his eyes at me and all I do is laugh harder.

“Careful, Mimi,” Myra calls from the punching bags. “Else he’ll wind up chucking knives at your head.”

I don’t laugh and neither does Tris, it’s not that funny to her; she had to go through it.

Myra notices our silence. “Did that…cut too deep.”

We both groan at the pun and Will laughs so hard he trips has he’s running past, prompting most of us to burst out laughing whether we heard Myra’s joke or not.

“Hey!” Four yells over our laughing. “Back to work, all of you.”

I bite back a sarcastic comment and Tris and I continue with our sparing.

“You’re getting stronger,” I comment as I duck a punch.

Tris beams at the praise. “Thank you.”

“I’d say you could probably give Peter a run for his money if you fought him now.”

“Alright,” she chuckles, “you don’t have to stretch the truth that much.” She lands a hit that knocks me off balance.

“It’s not a lie.” I retaliate with a kick to her legs. “I’m not the sort of person who flatters without a reason.”

She snorts. “I’ve noticed.”

I laugh at the figurative jab as I make a literal one.

“Quit pulling your punches you two,” Four chides as he passes by us. “I’ve seen you both do better than that.”

“Careful, Four,” I drawl, ducking another punch, “that almost sounded like a compliment. Next thing you know you might be feeling the urge to actually be nice.”

He lets out a sigh through his nose. “Ice Queen, that’ll be five laps.”

I shrug. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

As I start running, Christina slows down to let me catch up with her.

“Antagonizing him already?” she laughs.

I shrug. “Perhaps.”

She hums. “Might just be the one thing that actually makes training entertaining.” “Well, I am here to entertain.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you and Will. I swear, the two of you are like the same person and I haven’t decided if I love it or hate it.”

I laugh. “Not really, I mean…” As I try to find reasons, I realize that she’s right. Will and I are entirely too similar. “Whatever.”

She giggles. “Oh, you know I’m right.”

“Maybe so.” I like Will well enough that being like him is actually a thought that I like. We have similar personalities I suppose, the same kind of humor and shared origins. As much as I pretend to tolerate him at best, he’s someone that I can’t help but like.

And speaking of, he falls back to keep in step with us.

“Don’t you get bored of getting punished with laps?” he says, glancing over at Four. “You’d think by now he’d have gotten a little more creative.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t give him any ideas. The last thing I need is him getting creative.”

“You could just not antagonize him,” Will suggests.

I laugh. “But where’s the fun in that.” The other two laugh with me and Will tips his head to the side like he’s considering it.

“Yeah,” he concedes, “that’s fair I guess. It’s certainly fun to watch.”

“That’s what I said,” Christina agrees.

“Well, great minds do think alike.” He grins.

“Oh of course,” she agrees, snickering.

They’re similar too, I think. In different ways though, ways that I for some reason find incredibly endearing. We spend the remainder of our training day just like that, joking. And, despite everything, all of us are able to laugh at least once.

#fanfic #my writing #the anthem series #divergent

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frillyfacefics · 6 years

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The Knights’ Pet - Chapter 9

Fandom: Star Wars Rating: Explicit Relationships: Kylo Ren/Clan Techie, Kylo Ren/Armitage Hux (secondary) Warnings: Unhealthy Relationships, Abusive Relationships, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Non-Consensual Touching, Slavery, Body Horror (specifically eye-related body horror), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm Chapter: 9/14

Uhm, there is a LOT of bad stuff happening in this chapter. If you get triggered or squicked out by child abuse, torture, death, etc., just be careful.

Also, there is gonna be sex in this chapter. Kind of a wild ride, but well.

Also on AO3

Read the first chapter here

Except for a few teasing remarks by Kolka when he came to get the helmet, nothing significant happened in the next few days, which made Techie feel happier than he had in a long time. He finally felt secure, for a lack of a better word; he had a feeling that his mistress didn’t actually plan to do anything bad to him, he got along better and better with Sizzly, who didn’t talk a lot in general, but whose silent companionship was still really comfortable, and he was getting along with the other techs, not just those from Eff’s friend group, but also most of those he had met at the weekly briefings. He still didn’t talk much, but when he did, nobody made fun of his stutter, nobody rushed him to speak faster, and if he made a mistake, which had only happened once in the two weeks he had been here now, he wasn’t yelled at or talked down to, but Sizzly or one of the other security techs just explained what he had done wrong. He enjoyed his work, he liked the people he worked with, and he wasn’t even especially afraid of Kolka anymore. And as far as he had heard, Lord Kylo was supposed to come back any day now. He might not know what exactly Kylo felt for him, but he still felt his stomach flutter just at the thought of being in the same room as him again.

So when he walked around a corner in the Knights’ wing after their weekly briefing, Kolka’s repaired helmet in his hands, and saw Lady Kull standing right in front of him, he suddenly felt his heart drop into his stomach. He had forgotten about this. And now reality was coming to punish him for thinking he could just be happy.

The fear that welled up in him made him see everything that happened as if in slow motion. Lady Kull was not wearing her mask, so Techie could watch as her facial expression changed. She was surprised at first, her eyes opening wider as she saw him, her brown eyebrows rising, her jaw falling slack. But that was only for a second, and then her jaw clenched, her brows drew down, her eyes narrowed. She bared her teeth at him as she came walking towards him. Techie knew that he should turn on his heel and run, but his legs wouldn’t obey him; like always, when he was in danger, he was absolutely useless. Helpless. Frozen in place.

“Why are you still here?!” Kull snarled, then her hand shot out and grabbed Techie’s throat, whirled him around, slammed him into the wall. Techie let out a scared squeak that hardly got through his closed-up throat, and dropped the helmet as his body slammed into the wall. The clattering of the metal on the floor hardly registered in his ears over the panicked beating of his own heart.

Kull was shorter than him, so the pressure of her hand pushed at the bottom of his jaw, made him feel queasy and kept him from looking down, from actually looking at her.

“Why the fuck are you still here?!” she demanded again, yelling this time. Her hand yanked him to the side, and at the same time one of her leg kicked against the side of Techie’s ankle, and he fell to the floor at her feet.

She kicked his thigh, then his side, faster than Techie could react. He let out another pathetic whimper and rolled up into a ball, hoping to give her as little a target as possible.

“Do you think you fucking belong here, huh? Do you think you have any fucking right to be alive?! Just looking at you makes me sick, and I’ve fucking killed people for less, so why the fuck shouldn’t I just kick your ugly, stamped head in, huh?! Fucking answer me, you piece of off-market trash,” she yelled and pulled her leg back for another kick when Techie finally found his voice again.

“Please, please, stop,” he whimpered, his voice high-pitched and panicked. He managed to roll on all fours, still half curled up, putting his forehead on the floor, prostrating himself in front of her. “Please, please, Mistress, please, I’ll do anything, please, don’t hurt me, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me…”

The kick he was expecting didn’t come.

Confused, relieved, and still afraid for his life, Techie dared to peek up, and regretted it instantly. Kull was looking at him with a look in her eyes he had never seen before. Her face was paler than it had just been, and he thought he could see shock, confusion, but there was also something so intense, so burning that he thought the mere power of her eyes would make him vaporize in an instant. Hatred, he thought, that was what he was seeing. It was so rare, he had seen it so few times, that he hardly recognized it, but it couldn’t be anything else. Lady Kull was looking at him with a hatred so vibrant that he was wondering why the walls around them were not crumbling to dust.

And then something grabbed him, something invisible, irresistible, and he was hurled across the hallway, smashed against a wall and thrown on his back. And then Kull was there, over him, her face just inches away from him, one hand on his throat, the other hand slamming into his forehead.

He fell, fell, fell into a vortex of darkness, a storm of black lightning, deeper and deeper until nothing existed anymore.

And out of this nothing, images emerged.

He knew these images. He remembered. Or yet, something inside of him remembered, because the conscious part of his mind had long pushed away these memories, had buried them as deep as possible. But that didn’t matter, because now they came back, pushing into him like freshly sharpened knives.

The face of Orny, the old servant who had taken care of him when he had come to his first master, who had helped him find his way in the large house, had secretly reminded him of duties he had forgotten, so he wouldn’t be punished, had even lied for him when he had destroyed a rug from some distant planet by spilling cleaning bleach on it.

Now his face was slowly turning blue, as his body was crushed beneath another large rock, and another, and another, a pyramid built on his frail, old body. It was the punishment for theft, carried out in front of the whole household, and Techie had to watch, just like all the other children. He was standing next to the boy who had actually stolen the brooch, who had been caught nearly red-handed because they had found it under his mattress; who would have been in Orny’s place if the old man hadn’t told their master that it was him who had put the brooch there to hide it, that he had stolen it, that the boy had nothing to do with it.

Techie would only learn about all the other children after his horrible death, after the last crack of his breaking bones, after his last wheezing breath, about all the other children he had helped, just as he had helped him.

The bench in the kitchen yard, where he was made to bend over by their foreman, because he had done bad work with the silverware, again. He felt the bite of the whip on his skin, the first time ever, and he cried like any nine-year-old would, and the whip just came down harder, and he could smell his own blood…

The intricate pattern of the floor in the reception hall, after a large party, the dirt in the joints between the marble tiles where the master’s son had been sick, the cramps in his fingers, the blood smears his knees left behind, through his trousers; the endless, burning pain as he kept trying to get rid of that blood before anybody saw, but there was so much of it, and it just kept coming…

The rough hands of the market medic his master had taken him to before selling him to a trader, the pain when he had pushed his fingers into his additional hole, the incredible pain in his head when they had inked the world ‘male’ into his forehead, the feeling as if they were carving it in his skull, the nauseating knowledge that he was damaged, that he was what the traders called off-market, barely good enough to be sold in the stinking pens at the edge of the slave market, a bargain, hardly worth enough credits for his master to cover the expense of his trip to this trading planet…

The first time he had seen MaMa. The grin on her face, exposing blackened teeth, the way she had grabbed his jaw to take a closer look at him. “Good enough.” Her voice, forever the narration of his nightmares.

The chain they had used to make sure he didn’t leave his screens the first few years.

The copper wires that had been his only diversion. The pain when MaMa had bound them around his fingers and had waited for them to turn blue before she allowed him to beg her to take them off.

MaMa’s knife.

The look on MaMa’s face when he woke up after he had fallen asleep after working for far too long. The change in her eyes when he begged her for mercy, stuttered that his eyes had hurt so badly, that he had just closed them for a minute to make the burning stop, that he had never wanted to disobey. The way she had run her fingers over his cheek. The sound of her tutting, her honeyed words, so unusual for her that they took Techie completely aback. “Oh, my poor boy. Poor little tired baby. Those pretty green eyes of yours just don’t seem to be strong enough to let you do your work, hmm?”

The burn on his scalp, the shock that went through him when she hauled him off his chair, over to an empty table. The feeling of the hands of her bodyguards when they pushed into his biceps, holding him still. His own screaming, strangely distant.

Her fingers coming closer, long nails dotted with rests of chipping black polish.

Pain, incredible pain, red, and then complete, utter darkness, and a stench he would never forget as vicious fluid ran down his cheeks.

The first time he had seen his bionic eyes in a mirror.

Suddenly there was a pain that didn’t come from his memories. His throat felt as if somebody had ripped it open, his head burned like fire, and somebody was screaming.

No, he was screaming.

Kylo was above him, masked, his hand around Kull’s throat like hers had been around Techie’s. He was lifting her in the air, then he threw her with unnatural ease against the wall, telling her to get out of his sight, now.

At the edge of his mind, Techie registered that there were other Knights in the hallway now; he didn’t know where they had come from, and he didn’t care, because all he saw was Kylo, Kylo who was shaking, who seemed to be surrounded by a red glow. He whirled around and came to him, grabbed him by his arm and pulled him up, then put the hand to the scruff of his neck and marched him off. Techie’s body followed without any input of his mind. He still didn’t feel like he was quite there, quite at the same place, in the same universe as Kylo. He felt as if his mind was caught behind a wall of transparisteel, watching his body react to a world he couldn’t reach.

Kylo dragged him through a door, then slammed his hand on the closing mechanism.

Before Techie could say anything, ask anything, Kylo grabbed him again, by his collar this time, pulling him with him to another door, a smaller one, which he opened and then shoved Techie inside. The door slammed close behind him, and Techie only needed to look around for a split-second before he realized that he was in a closet. Panic filled him again, made his heart push into his throat. Was he going to be punished? Was this some kind of cell? Was Kylo angry with –

Suddenly he heard a noise coming from outside, an angry scream, then a loud crash, and another, and another. It sounded as if the Temple was coming down; he could feel the vibrations rattle the walls of the closet. He didn’t know what was going on, but the noises were enough to frighten him into the backmost corner of the closet, where he covered his ears with his shaking hands and pressed his eyes closed, trying to escape, trying to be anything but here, in a tiny closet while the world seemed to be ending outside its door.

He was cowering in his corner, his arms crossed in front of his face to cover his ears and his eyes at the same time, when the closet stopped shaking around him. There was a moment of complete quiet, and even though he lowered his arms, he stayed cowered into a tiny ball, ready to pull his arms over his head at any moment to protect himself from whatever was happening out there; from whatever Kylo was doing out there. The fear was acrid and ice-cold in his chest, but it had pulled him back through the pane of transparisteel, had brought him back into the here and now.

His breath was still coming fast, and he pushed farther back into the corner when he suddenly heard the noise of booted feet – a noise he knew so well – approach his closet. The opening mechanism triggered, and the door slid to the side, revealing Kylo’s broad silhouette against the bright light of the room beyond. He couldn’t see Kylo’s face, and he stayed in his corner, not knowing if he was still angry, but Kylo didn’t come charging forward, and he didn’t yell at him, and those were already two very good signs in Techie’s book.

“Come out,” he said, his voice rough but not angry; it just sounded like he had yelled too much. Techie was still shaking, but he nevertheless stood up and slowly walked towards Kylo, who stepped aside to let him into the room.

He had not had a chance to take a good look at the room before he had been pushed into the closet, but he was pretty sure he would have noticed if it had looked like this before. There were parts of… things… strewn everywhere. He thought he could make out a table leg between a couple of pieces of metal, and there were cables hanging out of the wall, over a heap of metal and hard cast-plast that might have been a console at some point. Everything seemed to be charred; the metal’s edges were half melted and half burned, parts of the cast-plast had melted and gave off that disgusting smell of burnt plastic. There were even charred parts on the wall, as if somebody had worked them over with a huge blow-torch.

The cold fear from before came over him again, but now it settled deeper, in his stomach instead of his chest. A deep shiver came over him as he looked around at Kylo; not his face, he wasn’t courageous enough to do that just yet, but his hands. There was no trace of any burning there, or on his clothes, but he had been the only person in this room, this had to be his doing. He knew what the Knights could do, he had seen enough of it through his security screens, and he had seen Kylo’s red sword as well, had seen the way it cut through people as if they were no thicker than flimsi, but this…

It was different, being in a destructed room than watching the destruction from the safety of a security room.

Kylo came closer to him. Techie instinctively pulled his arms up, but Kylo caught his wrists, holding them with such strength and at the same time such care that he didn’t even think to struggle.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. “I won’t hurt you.”

He let go of his wrists, and Techie let them sink down slowly. He knew that there was no guarantee that he was telling the truth, but what other option did he have? He definitely would not disobey him.

“That’s good,” he said, and then one of those long hands grabbed his chin and pushed his face up so he was looking into Kylo’s. The look in his eyes was completely breathtaking.

Techie couldn’t describe this look, but later he would still remember the feeling it caused him. His fear melted and was replaced with prickling surprise, and then with tingly warmth that came up all the way to his eyes and once again made him wish he could still cry. Kylo looked at him like that for a long moment, then he leaned forward and kissed his lips, slow and painfully gentle. Techie closed his eyes, pushed into the kiss. His hands found some of the fabric of Kylo’s robes, and he held on to him as one of Kylo’s hands ran through his hair.

But unlike every other time they had kissed, this time it was Techie who ended it. He didn’t know what happened – it felt as if a wall he had built haphazardly, with nothing but loose cables and scrap metal, which he had kept in his back so he didn’t have to fight on two sides at the same time, now became obsolete, because there was no fight in front of him anymore. The wall crumbled, and ugly sobs started to pour out of Techie, and he pulled back from Kylo and pushed his hand against his mouth to keep them in. The memories weren’t gone. He wasn’t caught in his head anymore, but the memories were still there, and now that he had remembered, he couldn’t stop the looping images in his head. His owner. Orny. The Foreman.

MaMa.

He felt his whole body shiver with the pure horror of MaMa’s memory, and his legs gave out. He sank to the floor, in front of Kylo, his hands braced just inches from his boots, his terror-filled sobs turning into heaving as he started to hyperventilate in his panic, whining, high-pitched noises as his lungs seemed to close up.

There were hands again, and suddenly he was being pulled up, then lifted into Kylo’s arms. His clammy fingers immediately sought the fabric of Kylo’s robe again, clinging to it as he closed his eyes and tried to get air into his lungs, just a little bit. Kylo carried him out of the room and into another, smaller part of the quarters, where a large bed took up most of the space. He was laid down on the soft blankets. Kylo leaned over him, ran his hand over his forehead.

“Relax,” he whispered, and Techie could feel the painful tension drain out of his body, could feel his lungs opening up. He let out another sob in relief, but this time wasn’t as wonderful as the other two times had been. His body was relaxed, and his mind was not spiraling anymore, yes, but…

Kylo stood up. “You can sleep here tonight,” he said, and turned to go.

Techie did not know where he took the courage to reach out and grab his sleeve; it was likely a deed of desperation.

“P-Please,” he whispered, his own throat still raw from screaming earlier and sobbing now. “Please…” Kylo turned around, a frown on his face, and Techie swallowed and looked down. He didn’t know if he was going too far, but he couldn’t be alone now, he just couldn’t, so he licked his dry lips and looked at Kylo’s face again.

“Please don’t leave me… It’s…” His voice broke, and he tried again. “It’s still there…”

He didn’t know how to explain, but Kylo seemed to understand. He sat down next to him on the bed and ran his hand over his forehead again.

“It’s a torture technique,” he said lowly, and Techie shivered, either from his words or the fingertips touching his temple. “She should never have used it on you…”

Techie hesitated for a moment before he reached up and grasped Kylo’s hand. Carefully, ready to let go as soon as Kylo showed any sign that he wanted him to, he pulled it down to his lips, and kissed his knuckles reverently. Kylo had saved him. Kylo had pulled him out of his head. And now he was sitting here, being so incredibly kind even though he was the leader of all these powerful people and Techie was nothing…

“Please don’t leave me alone…” he whispered again, and looked up into Kylo’s dark eyes.

There was hesitation in his eyes, and for a moment Techie was sure he’d pull away, leave him alone in the room, alone with his regrets, but then Kylo leaned down and kissed him again.

Something bloomed in Techie’s chest like it hadn’t during any of the other kisses. All of those other times had been spontaneous, spur of the moment, and over before they had even begun. This time was deliberate, and the slow pressure of Kylo’s lips, the wetness of his tongue, told Techie that this was not going to be another five-second kiss that would end with Kylo storming off.

Techie opened his mouth for his tongue, and pushed his own against him. He tasted like iron and heat, and the strange feeling of two tongues sliding against each other drove Techie crazy. He had been kissed a few times, but never like this. The kiss kept going, and Kylo’s hand, which Techie had relinquished by now, ran down his shoulder, to the zipper of his uniform jacket.

The low, purring noise of the zipper made Techie shiver into the kiss. He dared to put one hand on the back of Kylo’s head, just to thread his fingers through his hair and at least feel like he could keep him close. He hardly dared to hope that Kylo would fuck him, he still believed that something would happen that would keep him from doing it, that he might just undress him and then tuck him in and say goodnight, but by all the planets in the galaxy, he wanted him to fuck him so badly. If he could have Master Kylo inside of him, if he could feel his skin against his own, everything would be well, everything would turn out right…

He wanted to beg, but he didn’t dare break the kiss, or break the silence around them. If anything happened, maybe this dream would burst like a soap bubble. Kylo put one hand on the back of his neck and gently pulled him up so he could take off his jacket, then that same hand ran over his neck, his throat, dipped under his collar and tugged on it. Techie had to break the kiss now, no matter how much he didn’t want to do it, and lift his arms so Kylo could take off his shirt.

When the shirt hit the floor beside the bed, Techie opened his lips for another kiss, but Kylo just put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. He looked up at Kylo with insecurity and fear gnawing on his insides, but the look Kylo gave him just made another shiver run down his body, made even more blood pool between his legs. Kylo’s eyes looked black with how wide his pupils were, his mouth was slightly open and his nostrils flaring with the strength of his breath. He was staring at him with an intensity that nearly frightened Techie, but then he leaned down and kissed him again, harder than the time before, more demanding, pushing his tongue into his mouth and lapping into him and sucking at his lips.

His hands were warm against his naked skin, so different from Krel’s. And they were big, too, spanning his whole chest as he put both of them on his ribs, running them down the sensitive skin of his torso. Fingertips rubbed over his nipples, dipped into his navel, ran over the bones of his hips.

“So soft,” Kylo rumbled against his lips, then his mouth moved down, over his jaw to his throat. Techie stiffened slightly when he felt those warm lips at his Adam’s apple, sure he’d be bitten, but there was no pain, just the delicious heat of a tongue lapping at skin that he couldn’t remember had ever been touched like that. It felt incredible, made him moan out loud, made his brain send sparks to every part of his body. Kylo’s hands were resting on his hips now, just the thumbs running over the bit of skin right over his trousers.

“Please,” Techie whispered, closing his eyes to feel as much of this as he could. “Please, m-my lord…”

Kylo came up from his throat, but just to let his tongue run back over his jaw and then behind his ear, making Techie quake. “What is it that you want?” he whispered, enticingly, with the smallest bit of amusement in his voice that gave Techie the courage to actually ask.

“Please…” He swallowed, then bent his head away from Kylo so he had more space to lick his neck there, “please f-fuck me…”

He could feel Kylo’s broad mouth widen even more as he grinned. “As you wish,” he said, but then he pulled back, and Techie grabbed his arm in panic.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice high and hardly audible.

Kylo ran his free hand over Techie’s head. “If I want to fuck you, I need a few things first.”

But Techie didn’t want to let him go, and even though he could feel his cheeks burning up, he whispered: “You can do it raw, I don’t mind…”

Kylo looked at him for a moment, then he leaned down and kissed his lips again, short and soft. “I won’t do that to you.” Then he pulled back, shaking Techie’s now loose hand off, and went to a cupboard in the corner.

Techie didn’t know if Kylo wanted to do the rest of his undressing or if he was expecting him to do that, but his cock was so hard and painful by now that he took the liberty to shuffle awkwardly out of his pants. Kylo hadn’t been very authoritative up to now, so he hoped that it would be okay that he’d done something without his express permission. But when Kylo turned around and saw him naked on the bed, the look he gave him was definitely approving.

He came back to the bed and put a packet of lube and a packaged barrier next to Techie, then he climbed over him again and immediately caught his lips in another kiss. His hands ran down Techie’s chest again, and then there was a hand around his cock, and Techie felt as if he was going to die; there was just no way anything could feel this good.

He moaned into Kylo’s mouth, a begging, helpless little noise that seemed to draw forth from the depths of his body, and Kylo pulled his hand over the length of his cock, then pushed back down, stroking him slowly, deliberately. There were calluses on his hands, scars and patches of burnt skin that Techie had never paid any particular attention to with his eyes, but now that they were rubbing against his most sensitive part, he couldn’t help but register every single one of them. He put his hand on the back of Kylo’s head again, grabbed hold of him, not just to keep him close but to keep himself anchored, and pushed his tongue into Kylo’s mouth with a brazenness he had never felt before.

This time it was Kylo who moaned, and the noise drove through Techie like fire, fire that gathered right between his legs and made him push up into the wonderful touch of that huge hand. Kylo’s tongue pushed against Techie’s now, playing around it and caressing it until Techie was gasping not just from the touch on his cock. Finally, Kylo pulled out of the kiss and let his lips glide over his chin, down to his neck, where he started to lick and kiss his sensitive skin, the hand that wasn’t dealing with his cock now running over his belly, his chest, fingertips rubbing over a nipple. Techie arched into the touches, whining and moaning as he felt the first drops of precum drip off his tip, smoothening the motions of Kylo’s hand.

It had been so very long since another person had touched him in this way, and even though Techie had dreaded Krel or Kolka doing this, now that he was with Kylo, out of his own volition, because he had asked for it, he just felt so absolutely wonderful, so absolutely overwhelmed that he really didn’t know how much more he would be able to take. If he kept rubbing his cock like that, he’d likely be spilling before Kylo could even make use of that barrier that was still lying next to them… And Kylo didn’t seem to be making any attempt to start fucking him.

So he took that into his own hands again. With his face flushing so hot that he felt like boiling, he pushed Kylo away, then put his hand under one of his knees and pulled it up, presenting himself to Kylo with his legs spread like a needy whore. “P-please,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Please put it in…”

Kylo seemed surprised for a moment, but then his eyes clouded and he leaned forward to push another kiss against Techie’s lips. “You’re dangerously sweet,” he whispered as his hand ran over the underside of the thigh he was stretching up. “A lesser man might just devour you whole…” His hand reached his buttock now, and a long finger ran down his crease, touching the very outside of his entrance and making the breath hitch in Techie’s chest.

Kylo licked over his lips, licked over his tongue when Techie dutifully opened his mouth. He licked into him for a moment, then broke the kiss again as his finger started rubbing gentle circles into his muscle.

“So sweet…” he murmured, “you’re going to feel so good around my cock… I bet you’d never even fight if I’d use you just for my pleasure, just push in and take you until you’re crying…”

Techie knew it was perverse, that those words should make him feel frightened, should make him want to fight, to run away, but they just sent a visible shiver down his body. “Oh fuck,” he whispered, lips parted around his hard breathing. “Oh please… Please…”

A small smile appeared on that large mouth, and then Kylo bent down again and kissed his cheek, let his lips run to his ear and gently bit his earlobe. “I know you’d be happy if I did that, sweet thing, but I want to make you enjoy it too…”

The finger pulled away, and then came back just a moment later, wet with lube now.

“Relax,” Kylo whispered. There was no magical command behind his voice now, but still Techie felt his body grow softer in anticipation. His finger pushed into him, slowly, carefully, and Techie let out a groan. The leg he was holding up was shaking by now, but he kept his grip on it, too afraid that Kylo might stop if he changed his position. Broad, soft lips were kissing his neck again, and he stared at the ceiling, his lips parted, listening to his own heavy breath and the softer breath of the Knight who was about to take him.

After the first finger had been moving inside of him for a while, getting him used to the feeling of being filled, a second finger pushed against his entrance. He gasped lowly, but did his best to relax enough to let Kylo push that finger in as well. His fingers weren’t just long, but also thick enough to drive sweat onto Techie’s forehead. His breath came in shivering bursts now, and he had started biting his lip to have somewhere to put the nervous energy his body was producing.

Kylo didn’t need long to push a third finger into him, and by that point, Techie was trembling all over and gasping with every breath. His hand was nearly unable to keep his leg up any longer, but he persevered, until Kylo finally pulled out and reached for the barrier.

“Put your leg down,” the Knight ordered, and Techie let out a relieved little sigh as he obeyed. He watched as Kylo shrugged out of his tunic and breeches and then attached the barrier and lubed his cock up. The mere sight of it made Techie shiver – he had assumed that Kylo would be proportionate, and he had been imagining his cock quite a few times now, but actually seeing it was quite a different thing. It was glorious, true; an instrument fitting for somebody so grand and powerful. But he wondered if he would be strong enough to take it – if he would manage to relax enough to let him in. He didn’t want to disappoint him, and if Kylo didn’t want to take him by force, it’d be Techie’s responsibility to try and get that in without hurting himself.

“When have you done this last?” Kylo asked, his fingers rubbing over his hole again.

Techie blushed again. “Not… not in a few years…” he mumbled, averting his eyes a little so he didn’t have to show Kylo just how embarrassed that question was making him. To be honest, he had not the slightest right to be embarrassed. After all, it was him who had asked for this, and who had begged Kylo to fuck him. He couldn’t be both a willing slut and a blushing prude. He really should stick with one.

“Alright,” Kylo said, then he bent down and kissed Techie’s lips again. The touch made Techie’s thoughts melt into the background, and he closed his eyes and opened his mouth to enjoy what Kylo was giving him. They kissed for a while, with Kylo’s hands running over his thighs, his belly, his buttocks, drawing little gasps and shudders from Techie. He was so hot, so full of need, but he didn’t dare push Kylo again; and anyway, he loved the way he was touching him so much, he wouldn’t have made Kylo stop even if his cock threatened to explode with pleasure.

Kylo finally pulled back from the kiss and got up on his knees.

“It’s likely going to hurt a bit right when I get in. It should be a dull pain, and only weak. If it hurts too much, or if you feel a piercing pain, I want you to tell me.” He took Techie’s chin in hand and moved his head so that Techie had to look into his eyes. “That is an order. Understood?”

The slightly rougher tone of his voice at those last words made Techie’s entire skin tingle with heat.

“Yes, my lord,” he whispered.

“Good…” Kylo grabbed his ankles and pushed his legs back, then he settled as close to him as he could. He let one of his legs rest on his shoulders to free up one hand, and then Techie could feel the blunt head of his cock against his already slick hole.

“Just keep calm and breath,” Kylo said, and then he pushed in.

It felt strange at first. It wasn’t painful, not really, just a dull pressure as his muscles tried to keep Kylo out. But it was strange to feel filled – to feel something enter him, even if it wasn’t forced inside. He knew the pain of being fucked without adequate preparation, or just with too much zest and not enough patience, and he would lie if he didn’t admit that he had sometimes tried to replicate this pain when he was touching himself, but this was just slow and intrusive and overwhelming; and then something seemed to give, and Kylo just slid into him, farther and farther.

He breathed slowly, tried to relax around the massive cock inside of him. He felt as if Kylo’s cock was pushing against his stomach, so deep did he seem to be. Every part of his body seemed to be focused on nothing but the pressure inside of him, a pressure that was hardly bearable, not because it had suddenly started to hurt, but because it was just so much. He let out a little whimper, wriggled a little under Kylo to see if he couldn’t get a little relief, but then Kylo touched his cock and the whimper turned into a moan. Yes, this was better, definitely.

Kylo bent over him again and kissed his chin. His whole body was pushing against Techie now, naked skin to naked skin, and again Techie shivered. This was what he had wanted; having Kylo inside of him, against him, completely engulfing him with his huge, massive body. Kylo let go of his cock and grabbed his wrists, pulled them up over his head, holding him there as his lips met Techie’s again. The kiss was slow and lazy, as if Kylo wasn’t balls-deep inside of him, as if Techie’s cock wasn’t rubbing up against a set of firm, smooth abs. Kylo seemed to be everywhere, taking in his whole world, and it absolutely drove him crazy.

He only started to move when Techie got so impatient that he actually pushed back against his cock. Kylo was still kissing him, and Techie, greedy for every touch he would give him, welcomed every sweep of his tongue. With his mouth open to grant complete access to the Knight, every single one of his noises came flowing out freely. He wanted to give Kylo everything of himself, and as his thrusts became faster, harder, and his moans became louder; he felt as if he was evaporating, turning into heat, being absorbed into Kylo’s equally hot body.

They were both sweating by now. Kylo’s skin was sliding against Techie’s, his body was pushing him farther into the mattress, his mouth was devouring him, his cock splitting him in half. Techie could feel his own precum searing between their two bellies, could feel his orgasm build in the depth of his loins. But it was just not enough yet… It wasn’t, quite, just…

“If you want to come, you have to tell me what you need,” Kylo whispered against his lips, and with a little gasp Techie realized that he had been reading his thoughts. He really would never get used to that. But if Kylo already knew what he was thinking… Putting it into actual words wouldn’t hurt, right?

“P-please… Can you… go a bit harder?”

He could feel Kylo’s grin against his lips, and then he pulled away, let go of his hands and grabbed his knees again to push them back and change his angle.

“Of course, sweet thing,” he whispered, then thrust into him quite a bit harder than any of his movements before. Techie moaned and threw his head back, pushing himself closer to Kylo, but to no avail, since his legs were held firmly in his grasp.

“Anything else?” he asked with a grin, and Techie swallowed and gave a tiny nod.

“Can you… can you… can you t-touch like, both of my…?”

Before he had managed to finish his request, Kylo had already changed his grip on his legs so that he was now holding both of them in the air in front of him, his hand around both of his ankles, as his other hand grabbed his cock with his fingers and his thumb went down to the little additional hole just beneath.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he moaned, and Techie felt a rush of pride at just how aroused he sounded. That thumb rubbed along the edge for a few moments, then pushed in and started to move in and out. He started thrusting again, and timed his thrusts with the movement of the hand caressing Techie’s genitals – thrust forward, hand down, thumb in; pull back, hand up, thumb out.

Techie couldn’t remember ever feeling so good. His body was vibrating with pleasure, heat was boiling between his legs, he felt as if he was going to burst at any moment. He closed his eyes, bit his lip, concentrated on all those feelings. It was dizzying and overwhelming and incredible and yet it soon became too much, too good, too hot. He felt a shudder run through his whole body and he pushed harder against Kylo, whining, pleading. The thrusts became harder, the touches rougher, and then, finally, Techie came with a high-pitched sob. His seed sprayed all over his belly and up to his chest, while Kylo’s thrusts became harder, more erratic, and finally the Knight himself stopped moving and, one hand still grasping Techie’s genitals hard, spilled deep inside of him.

The ebbing waves of his body’s excitement rolled over Techie as he slowly came down from his climax. Kylo remained inside of him for a few moments, then he leaned forward – not giving the mess on Techie’s belly that now also stuck to his own a second thought – and kissed his lips again.

He didn’t say anything after that, just grabbed a piece of clothing from somewhere and cleaned the jizz off both of their bellies and from between Techie’s thighs, then he laid down next to him and pulled him into his arms. The sex had been wonderful, but this was even more than that; it made Techie’s heart melt, feeling those strong arms holding him, feeling Kylo’s chest against his cheek, hearing his heart beating. He closed his eyes and let out a low sigh as he let himself sink into the feelings in his body, the relaxed, warm, vibrant calm of satisfaction that had spread inside of him. His head felt woozy, heavy, and empty all at the same time. He felt Kylo’s breath sync up with his own, felt his warmth, his firmness. He felt absolutely safe for the first time in so long…

A few more moments later, he was deep asleep, and not a single nightmare found its way into his dreams.

#star wars fanfiction #kylo ren #clan techie #clan techie/kylo ren #the knights pet

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deathnoting · 7 years

Text

abecedarian (5/26)

some more lxb bullshit. :-)

previous parts: a b c d

e. ego death (c. 1988)

—

Winter thins the forest. The sodden ground sticks to their boots, muddied tracks chase each other across Sara Petrova’s freshly polished floors, and even at the peak of the day the light is milky and halfhearted.

L and Q make a trip to Lisbon. B, finding the door to the attic staircase locked, climbs the oak that guards the house and, from a precariously dipping branch, clobbers the latch on the highest window and pulls himself in with a hand braced on the sill and his bare feet scrabbling against the brick facade. The room smells like bergamot and stale air, and it becomes his chapel.

He tries on the clothes L left behind, sleeps in his unlaundered sheets, and inhales him out of the atmosphere. There are open case files everywhere, empty tea cups and sticky saucers, a trail of ants patrolling the perimeter, a moth that emerges when the lights turn on and disappears when they turn off. Books by authors that B has seen spoken of in other books with casual familiarity, as if such people are universal and everybody is born knowing about them. There’s a cassette player and a VHS, both shrinking under a layer of dust, and a desk with too many drawers, full of manilla folders, dried out pens, and abandoned science projects. The only window is the one B had come in through.

L’s mirror, shy from disuse, brightens up when it sees B looking right into it. He sucks in his cheeks and cuts his hair with a pair of craft scissors, hunches and blinks and tucks his knees to his chin. He reads every word on every page in the entire room, and only comes out for meals and lessons.

A says, when he sees him, “You look,”—and doesn’t finish.

B says, “I’m better at this than you are.”

A blinks. “I’m fine with that.”

—

Sarah Hyde destroys L’s floor with her vacuum cleaner, violates his bed with a fresh pair of linens, and props open the window so that his recycled oxygen escapes. B makes circles through the room, trying to find some relic to preserve, a crusted wad of hair or stray bacterium, something small and precious of L’s that he can use to keep them connected. He finds a crumpled handful of candy wrappers behind the desk and an unmatched sock under the bed. He spends a lot of time under the bed, camped out with a book and flashlight, toast and jam, essay drafts sticky with fingerprints. He notches his name into the solid wood of the frame with a penknife he’d stolen from the groundskeeper and, over the course of the next two months, accumulates: two pillows, a change of shoes, six books—four read, two unread—a kitchen knife, a Swiss Army knife, seven matchbooks, and a pair of R’s reading glasses.

By the time L returns, thinner, less reactive, and the subject of headlines in almost every major newspaper in Portugal and a few outside of it, B has made himself a nest.

The homecoming is not announced. One evening the car with the tinted windows just reappears in the drive. A wheeled suitcase rolls through the hallways, thuds up the stairs, and stops behind the attic door. B watches from the slit between where the quilt ends and the floor begins as L toes off his shoes, turns on his desk lamp, powers up his computer, and opens up a box of fudge. He listens to his fingers on the keys and his pen against paper. He watches his toes slide in between one another, curling into the cushion of his chair. He listens to him sigh and sniff and cough.

When the light goes off and the mattress dips above him, B counts to one hundred and fifty-six—a number he saved for good luck after he saw it on the license plate of a truck R almost collided with when taking them into town for winter clothes—and then crawls on his stomach to the edge of the bed, slides his arm up between the sheets until he can feel warmth radiating, and brushes his fingertips along the sole of L’s foot.

The jolt is instant, but the reaction is slower. He feels the shift as L sits up in bed, hears his breath come more heavily. Tremble of his hands as he switches the bedside lamp on. Metal fixtures clattering against one another. He listens to L listen for him. He hopes his smile is not too loud.

Eventually, L turns the light off and lies back down.

B does it again, after another one hundred and fifty-six seconds, though L’s prepared this time, jumping after B as soon as the touch connects, scrabbling for his hand and catching him momentarily by the wrist only to lose him in the shuffle of bedclothes. B doesn’t mind being caught, likes it even. L’s fear makes the whole room hot. Every movement he makes is loud in the dark. He wracks the floor with his footsteps, energy coiled tight in the balls of his feet, palms of his hands. B takes a swipe at his toe, teasing him.

He does not expect the weight of the grip on his arm, nor the bullying force with which he’s pulled out and dropped face-forward on the ground, and especially not whatever thuds twice, with punishing bulk, into the back of his head.

He feels the blood hot on his scalp, tastes the sulfuric grit of resurrection on his tongue. He doesn’t think he dies all the way but he comes close enough that if he were anybody else he’d need to go to hospital. His thoughts blur then sharpen to dizzying effect. It hurts but he enjoys it, because it is L who hit him, L who turns on the lamp again with his shaky hands, L who is standing over him holding a cricket bat.

“Oh,” he says, blinking down at what could have been B’s corpse.

B smiles blearily up at him. “I didn’t know you played.”

“Huh? I don’t. It’s for,”—he mimes what he’d just done to B for a moment, then freezes mid-motion, appearing to think better of it. “I—I need to call someone. I need to—Wammy will know what to do.” He looks at the door but doesn’t move. He hasn’t put down the bat.

B sits up. “It’s fine.” Blood drips down his forehead and over his brow. He slicks it back hurriedly, almost shyly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re definitely concussed. Probably you’ve got cerebral contusions, which could lead to hemorrhaging if you don’t,”—

“You’re worried about me?”

L stops mid-sentence, swallows, and leans back on his heels. “I’m inevitably going to be a household name one day, and I don’t want it coming out later that I killed one of my classmates in childhood.”

He’s ruthless. B’s tickled. He reassures him: “It’s okay. I’m unkillable.”

L’s nostrils flare. He looks like he believes that more than he’d liked to. He drops to his knees beside B, parts his hair from his scalp with unsympathetic roughness, and frowns at his wounds. They’ve already mostly healed, but B doesn’t want him to know that, so he jerks out of L’s grip even though all the nerves in his neck, face, and skull jitter with unearthly gratitude. He rises jerkily, shuffling on instinct toward his cave below the bed.

L’s eyes narrow. “What were you doing down there?”

“Waiting.”

“What for?”

“This.”

“To get your brains bashed in with a cricket bat?”

B nods and shows the whites of his teeth. L scoffs. He looks especially exhausted right now, and even smaller than he had. B feels like he could shed his skin and crawl inside of L’s, bulk him up a little bit, fill out the hollows where his flesh collapses toward his bones. He doesn’t know the right way to say that, so he just says, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

“What? No. You’re—you’re old enough not to,”—

“Can I sleep under your bed?”

“No. In fact, you can get out of my room right now, or I’ll tell Wammy that,”—

“That you tried to kill me because I touched your foot?”

“I thought you were an attacker.”

B sniffs, licks his lips. He likes this English word, he bends its dips and rises over his tongue: “Paranoia.”

L’s getting a little bit flustered. B can see it in the blooming pink capillaries beneath his skin. “You’d be paranoid too if you were worth as much money as I am.”

L’s ego is so vast that it can only crush B or absorb him. B makes himself incorporeal enough to seep right in. B is not a whole thing, but an appendage, a loose claw, a roving pair of eyeballs. L is full of himself, full of facts and dates and disparities, but he’s large enough to have room for one more. B will make space for himself.

“How much is that?” he asks.

L doesn’t tell him.

—

The next night, the table is set for five.

L almost never takes meals in the dining room, but 7 o’clock sees him hunching into A’s usual chair, tucking his knees to his chin, and regarding the food served to him with uninvested distaste, while A is mutely shunted to the opposite side of the table, where, shoulder-to-shoulder with B, he locks his eyes on his plate and dodges covert kicks beneath the tablecloth. From either head, R and Q discuss L’s work abroad with distant adult composure, nodding in solemn agreement at some moments and gesticulating mildly with the cutlery at others.

“I didn’t do much, really,” L says, mashing his fork into his potatoes without looking at them. “They only wanted me for code-breaking. Processing data.”

“Aren’t there machines that do that?” B asks. He takes a sip from his water glass and gnashes on the ice.

L’s expression barely shifts. “Someone has to maintain the programs, and in cases where there is a human element involved, computing is not necessarily as expedient or predictive as intuition.”

“So, when you said you didn’t do much, you were just being needlessly modest?”

The smile that twitches onto A’s face quickly disappears behind his napkin. R coughs ostentatiously. Q shoots an eager look across the table between the two of them, tracing B’s goading to L’s inattention and back again, testing the authenticity of each.

“Yes,” L says. He’s annoyed but does what he can not to show it. He butters a roll he isn’t going to eat, faces Q and asks, “How are A’s grades?”

It’s a left-hook. It’s playing dirty. A’s body stiffens beside B’s, knees locking, spine snapping straight, jaw clicking shut. He shudders closed, keeps his eyes downcast. B likes that L is using A to jab at him, because it means he’s interested enough in B to have to feign disinterest.

“His maths scores are,”—R begins.

L sniffs. “Essays?”

Q says, “Recalling that English is his second language, he’s performing quite adequately.”

“Adequate.” L nods, vindicated by the word. “Of course, anyone working in my position would need absolute fluency in at least,”—

“He’s eight years old, L.”

“Of course.” L blinks, the flatness of his expression concealing his viciousness. He does not say that he is only one year older, but the fact of it hangs over the table with the crystalline chandelier and the ghosts of long dead members of the Ruvie family.

B scrapes his fork across his plate just as Q opens his mouth. The noise it makes is abrupt and spine-tickling. Roger shoots him a denigrating look, while A, unmoved, continues to eat his peas.

“A and I found a nest of bats,” B says, eyes locked on L’s face. “Last night a bat flew straight at my head.”

The panic that flits through L’s eyes makes B’s fire spark. Warmth drips from his scalp down to his toes. B could swap bodies with him with a well-worded incantation. He could be looking at himself from L’s eyes, nestled against the cap of skull, crowded by his bulging pink brain, subject to his immovable letters and numbers, feeling his fear and preparing his excuses.

“At this time of year?” R says, dabbing at a spill of gravy on his chin, grateful for the change of subject. “What was the species?” He looks to A, who always has an answer to that kind of question.

A shrugs. “There were no bats. B just made that up.”

B shrugs, too. L looks as if he cannot decide how afraid of him to be. The ice clinks in the pitcher as Sarah Hyde moves around the table, filling up their glasses. Her wide, clean hands begin to tremble when she reaches B, and the clinking gets louder.

#death note #lxb #l lawliet #beyond birthday #jaye writes fic #abecedarian #ah yes. this shit

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