#specifically the 'hang on a rope or bated breath' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandom-monium · 3 years

Text

Alive Together - Day 1

Summary: Welcome to the Monsterpocalypse. You’re a lone wanderer trying to survive. Until you meet Joel Dawson and Boy.

WC: 4k

Tag/Warnings: light themes of death and grief?? Cursing but minimal. Slow burn. Enemies to friends to lovers?

AN: MEET CUTE? NO. MEET UGLY.

(Entry 2#3#)

Hungry. I have nothing else to report today except that I, (Your Name), am starving. Grilled spiders and roasted centipedes are starting to get old.

I've mentioned it before and I'll do it again, but I miss home cooked meals. Even Dad's shoddy attempts at recreating Mom's recipes. The last time I think was… nevermind.

It hurts; I barely remember the last time I had dinner with Dad, much less Mom, flashes of the memories I have left blurring. Probably from the tears. I used to cry at the slightest thought of Mom and then Dad. Now my heart clenches whenever I try because I shouldn't have to try to remember my own family. Believe it or not, it’s progress.

Maybe it's my fault. I hadn't bothered to snag any mementos that reminded me of them before fleeing the bunker, like an album or something. There weren't many personal items that they'd given me, now that I think about it. Too much clutter, the Captain said.

Or maybe it's the lack of consistent stimulus to my brain. I can't read as much as I'd like to, mainly because it's too dangerous to be distracted (constant vigilance is an important virtue in this world, if you hadn’t noticed). Most books that I've stumbled across (literally, I tripped over a hill of hardcovers. Not fun. Very painful) were either tattered or worn beyond comprehension, destroyed by rain or monster attacks.

Speaking of, my stomach grumbled. I need to start hunting before it gets dark... and before I attract another monster to myself. Again.

-(Your Name) (Your Last Name)

Day 1 - First Impressions

You shut the journal as an ominous roar thunders in the distance. Heart in your throat, you’re already on your feet, shoving the book into your pack and gathering the rest of your things. Once you’re certain there’s no trace left of you on the roof, you gaze at the neighborhood below, shielding your eyes as you scan for signs of alerted monsters.

Greenery and ruins go on for miles, unperturbed.

It’s high noon, rays of sunlight seeping through the clouds and warming your exposed skin. A gust of wind brushes your face and hair, and you suppress a smile. It’s not everyday the weather is this nice, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d relish in it.

Good thing you do know better.

You trace your path to the hills. The town is a maze of torn down buildings and overgrowth, winding roads littered with abandoned houses and wrecked vehicles, and, of course, hidden monsters. There’s only a couple hours before nightfall, and you’re far from your destination.

Better start walking. You’ve wasted enough time.

You climb down the side of the dilapidated house, dropping to the ground with a thump. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since the start of the apocalypse, it’s that residential areas harbored the most monsters, aside from the cities. Too many alcoves perfect for nesting. It’s safer away from the old world.

Safer, not safe.

You keep to the shadows, avoiding the open whenever you can despite the barren streets, darting between urban remnants. Your heart eventually settles as you scan your surroundings like anything and everything will pounce on you the second you let your guard down. By the time you cross the residential area and asphalt roads bleed into dry fields (from years of neglect, you somberly note), the sun has crept out from behind the clouds and the sky is clear blue.

You find a barn after hours of trudging through shrubs and your sore feet. It looms at the top of the hill leading to a dense forest, tall enough that as you step into its shadow it blocks out the sun. Walking closer, you tense as you scrutinize the place, eyes combing over the immediate vicinity.

Nothing. Nothing moves or breathes. You don’t see or hear a peep. Not from the barn or the woods beyond. It’s completely isolated from the nearby town, a perfect fort.

Or a nest.

You huff; shit like this has happened one too many times and you’d be a fool if you haven’t learnt your lesson by now. You pull out your javelin and approach with caution, leaves and grass crunching under your boots as you take in the chipped paint and boarded up windows, steadily making your way around the decrepit building. You frown at the clear deterioration, unable to spot any visible breaches.

Reaching the front of the barn, you gaze warily at the lone entrance. Tall doors ajar, old boards are still nailed across the slim gap or hanging precariously. As if someone or something pried them off, busted through.

In or out, you can’t tell.

For a moment, you weigh your options. You doubt the place had anything to offer, pillaged long before you stumbled upon it. Hell, there’s probably a monster nesting somewhere inside, or a bunch of monster eggs.

But you need food, supplies, rest. Are you willing to risk your life on the small chance this rickety barn can provide those things?

You stare down the the opening and it stares back, deceptively innocent. But it’s mocking you, you can hear it. Just daring you to walk away.

You shuffle on aching feet, making your clothes rub against your sweaty skin.

As if on cue, your stomach growls.

Groaning, you adjust your grip on the spear before ducking inside.

You let your eyes adjust to the dark interior. Light seeps through the rotted ceiling and cracks from the boarded windows, enough that you don’t need a flashlight to see the place is deserted. You glance around the huge room, javelin ready as you wait with bated breath, ears straining to hear over your pounding heartbeat.

Nothing. You don’t hear anything, except the trees rustling outside. Nothing shifts or darts out of sight. No signs of life, not even eggs (that you can see).

It doesn’t mean you're clear, but it’s a start.

Biting your lip, you take a careful step, and another and another, your eyes sweeping the room as you tread over straw and debris. You pause mid-step when you catch a pulley system attached to the ceiling. It’s dark, but you recognize its outline. Frowning, you trace its small, thin woven ropes as they split in different directions against the ceiling and walls, hitting and crossing the floor until they disappear under a thick layer of hay.

You raise your foot, gently kicking away the straw. You step back.

A net. A decent sized one by the width of the patch of hay.

You sigh, shoulders dropping in relief. If you hadn’t been cautious you’d never have noticed it.

You make your rounds quickly as you check for resources. At this point, it’s muscle memory for you as you move through the room with silent purpose, efficient and controlled. You dig through every storage unit, every container, pulling open cabinets and drawers, tearing through the floor with precision as you toss aside rusted tools and empty cans, a pit burning in your stomach. You snarl, throwing down another torn rag. It hits the floor with a thud.

You knew this would happen. You know the chances, but after all this time you still feel the crushing disappointment? You let out a shaky breath, nostrils flaring as you attempt to quell your frustration.

You can practically hear your mother snap at you. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you, (Your Nickname), unless you want to die, her stern voice echoes. You unclench your teeth with a sigh.

It doesn’t take long, your anger simmering down with each exhale, and when you’re sure you’re calm enough, you resume your initial task: scavenging the barn. Is it a waste of time and energy? Yes. Will you find anything useful? Unlikely. Are you going to try anyway?

You head for the stairs to the hayloft. Even if there seems to be nothing left, you need to make sure.

A few minutes later, you're sifting through another trunk when a yelp cuts across the dusty air, followed by the shrill sound of grinding metal. You startle, hissing as you bang your head against the trunk lid. Pushing down the throbbing pain, you snatch your spear and clamber down the stairs, stumbling forward as your eyes darting around the dust drifting in the air. Something barks over you and you look up.

Huh. Did not expect that.

You were prepared for a snarling, limb crushing insect. Or maybe a triple jawed mammal. Even a mega-pig. You’ve seen enough of those and managed.

But a dog? More specifically, a dog caught in the net you barely avoided. It’s tangled in the ropes suspended just above your head, gently swaying. It seems it does not care for the swinging because it starts barking again, louder and more urgent than before.

“Ah, poor doggy,” you croon, lowering your weapon. To your surprise, the dog stops and jerks to face you, its dark eyes gleaming in the shadows. You eye the seemingly calm animal. “Now, how did you get here? Were you following me?”

The dog whines, squirming in a sad attempt to escape. Your lips quirk up. Aside from the occasional bird, you haven’t seen a normal animal in what feels like forever, much less a dog. Most regular animals were consumed by monsters or by people for food.

Food. You haven’t eaten.

You study the dog; its dark brown fur, sleek and short, its body small⎼almost medium sized, with pointed ears and a long snout. And by the way it looks at you, it has some intelligence.

Your stomach grumbles, and the creature cocks its head at you, ears forward.

Shit.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you grimace at the dog, adjusting your hold before aiming the tip at it. “It’s nothing personal, okay? I’m hungry, and you’re the first thing I’ve seen that hasn’t tried to kill me in a while.”

Which isn’t a lie. Hunting is crazy difficult these days. But you swallow as your eyes meet, its stare unwavering like you aren’t pointing a weapon at his little body. Just one motion and you could end its life painlessly (lucky bastard), but your knuckles go white and you grip falters. Why are you hesitating now?

The dog, as if sensing your battle, barks again, this time more composed than panicked, as if trying to communicate with you. You’re grateful you can’t speak Dog. It’s probably saying something like ‘No, you’re better than this’ or ‘Please don’t do this’ or⎼

“Put him down!”

Or that.

Dear Aimee,

Guess what?

I got a dog! And he’s the coolest, his name is Boy.

He saved my life from a giant frog in a pool who tried to eat me with his tongue, and then we hung out in his bus! Man, do we make a great team. We found out that we have a ton in common too. I feel like we can talk about anything.

You gotta see us out here; we’re like this iconic duo. I don’t know, feels like when we’re together, we’re unstoppable.

“Right, Boy? Boy?” Joel glances at his side, doing a double take. The dog’s gone. His shoulders slump, “Of course, the first friend I’ve made outside and he leaves me. Sounds about right.”

He didn’t think he could gain and lose a friend within the span of two days. This has to be some kind of record.

He jerks when he hears Boy’s faint barking, guiding him as he drags himself back to the old barn they just passed. For good reasons. The decaying barn looks like it’s in need of a new contractor and a paint job… or three. And an exterminator.

God, the surface is terrifying.

Gulping down his dread, Joel crouches to peer through the gaping hole in the wall. This must be where Boy came through. “Whatcha got there?”

The barking ceases, and so does Joel’s heart.

You stand in the dark like an apparition, back turned to him so he can’t make out your features. Your attention is fixed on the shadowed lump hanging over you, and while it’s dark and he doesn’t have a good vantage point, Joel’s mouth goes dry as he seeks out Boy.

Boy woofs again, and Joel’s heart drops. You step closer to the lump.

For a split second, he sees a flash of his mother’s face, her tears streaming down her cheeks.

He doesn’t think; no thoughts, head empty. Blood roars in his ears. His hands tremble. But he doesn’t hesitate, ripping the makeshift crossbow from his back as he scrambles under the opening.

“Put him down!”

He’s not entirely sure what he expects. He’s read enough comic books to understand the situation; the hero drops in to save damsel in distress then proceeds to demolish the bad guys. Technically, he has the upper-hand here. Right?

But realization slams into him. It knocks the air out of him, and he forgets to breathe.

He shouldn’t have barged in like an idiot. He isn’t a hero. He’s nothing like the superheroes in comics and movies and graphic novels. He doesn’t have super strength or speed or highly advanced tech and he sure as hell is not a genius.

What he does have: a freezing problem.

He’s already lost feeling in his hands, and he almost drops the weapon as you look over your shoulder at him.

On the other hand, you have a pretty clear idea before you face your captor (seeing him now, can you even consider him that?). With the apocalypse, governments crumbled with ease along with laws and morals, so it’d make sense for people to disregard them. You’ve met quite a few… characters, and you’ve chalked it up to these main categories; garbage thieves, sleazy scavengers, and shitty thugs.

In short, humans are selfish creatures. Prepare for the worst.

You’ve thrown down, fought dirty, bartered with them all and still managed to come out on top, the scars across your body a constant reminder. Nothing surprises you at this point.

A fumbling boy though? You mask your amusement, raising an eyebrow as you take him in. The guy, tall and disheveled, blocks the only exit out of this godforsaken place, his red jacket rumpled and dusty like he’s fallen one too many times. However, what nearly sends you is, as he steps further into the light, you bite your lip, his eyes round and small lips pressed together as the crossbow quakes in his hands.

Who let this puppy out of their sight?

“Listen, buddy,” You finally speak, making Joel flinch. Your eyes narrow as his fingers jerk on the trigger. That’s not good. “If you’re gonna point that thing at me, you better know how to use it.”

He sucks in air, clearing his throat as his eyes dart between Boy and you. He cringes when his voice comes out octaves higher than he expected, “Let Boy go.”

“’Boy’?” You glance up, your weapon still raised at the squirming little fellow. “Oh, you mean Dinner?”

“You were gonna eat him?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Depends how this goes.”

“Okay,” Joel swallows, a futile attempt to keep his tone even as nausea sprouts in him. You plan to eat Boy? How can someone eat something so cute? “Let him go, and we’ll leave you alone. How ‘bout that?”

Beads of sweat drip down his temple as his breaths come out shuddered. He’s not used to this; he’s gone from being the chef of his colony to making demands, negotiating with a possible psycho. He never trained for this! Well, he’d never been trained, period.

What if he says the wrong thing and sets you off, hurting Boy in the process? He might faint⎼no⎼he will faint. He doesn’t think his heart can handle losing more people… or animals. How is he supposed to save Boy? His fingers twitch against the trigger.

You don’t miss it.

“I don't know about that,” You reply, studying him. His hands tremble as they clutch the weapon. He may not be a scavenger or a thief, but that just makes him all the more unpredictable. Goons, you’d expect them to shoot first, ask questions later, but the fact this guy is making an effort to talk? You want to know his angle, his intentions.

Whether it’s good or bad.

“I’m hungry. It’s going to be dark soon, and Boy here,” You jerk your head at the canine, “was unlucky enough to fall into this ol’ trap.”

You watch, withholding a sneer as emotions and thoughts flit across Joel’s face like an open book. It seems a lightbulb goes off because he looks back at you, eyes wide and hopeful. “You want food? I have some in my backpack. If I give it to you, you let him go?”

He tries not to squirm, the little courage he has waning as your eyes bore into him.

“…Put the crossbow and the bag down. Slowly.”

“You too.” You tilt your head curiously as Joel stutters, “Your spear⎼I mean, if you could stop pointing it at my dog. Please.”

Your brows shoot up. Since the moment he entered⎼wait⎼floundered in here, he could not have made it more obvious that he has no idea what he’s doing. If it wasn’t the way he carried that exposed him, it was definitely his facial expressions, and if not his face, you can hear it trickle through the cracks in his voice. Yet despite how unfair the situation is for him, he’s trying to cover his terror. Failing miserably but trying. All for this cute, little doggy.

And he said please. You ignore the way it warmed you, his tone so…. genuine.

Manners, sincere or not, in the face of danger? You have to respect that.

“It’s a javelin, actually, but I agree to your terms.” Your grip slackens. He might be a wimp, but you have to give it to him. He’s got balls.

A flicker of relief crosses his face, and you both comply with your instructions. In spite of his obvious fear, you roll your eyes as he unzips his bag unnecessarily slower than you meant him to, throwing you a look.

On second thought, he’s either really brave or really stupid. It’s fifty-fifty at this point.

Joel pulls out an aluminum can. It glints in the light as he holds it up and tosses it to you. You catch it easily, inspecting it in your hands.

“Now will you let my dog go⎼Boy!” His scream tears through the barn.

You’re already composed. Uncoiling like a snake, you seize your spear and swing, all in one motion. He lunges for you, but you’re too far. He hits the ground.

Groaning in pain, he berates himself. He should have known; they had no reason to trust each other, so of course this stranger, this psycho, would betray him. He tries to brush it off, the false sense of security dissipating, the relief replaced with crushing betrayal and horror.

This is what the surface is like? His chest clenches. He can’t breath, but this isn’t like when he freezes up on a monster. At least, not those monsters. This is worse. So much worse.

The net rips, then a pained grunt. Joel shields his eyes, burying his face in his hands as tears trail down his dirt-smudged cheeks. His heart thunders in his ears as he prepares for the inescapable sound of Boy’s pained yelps, the squelch of metal piercing flesh. He chokes down a sob.

He only knew Boy for less than two days, but within that timespan he bared his soul to the animal. He probably knew him better than his own colony. In the short time they had together, he became his best friend⎼

Okay, ew. What is licking him?

“Boy?” Joel groans, flinching away as the dog bombards him with wet kisses. “Wait, you’re not dead?”

You step into the light, javelin in hand as you snort, “Of course not. Did you think I was gonna kill him?”

Yes. Joel sits up and cradles Boy to his chest, gawking at you.

You glare at him, almost offended. “I’m not a monster.”

No. No you are not.

Decked in a faded blue jacket, you stand relaxed, spear perched over your shoulder (or a jav⎼java-something). Your eyes glint in the sunlight like steel, hard and piercing, with dark circles under them. You watch him with a slight frown. And like him, there’s smudges of dirt on your face and clothes, but you manage to make it look cool and purposeful.

You don’t look like a monster, but you kind of acted like one. Joel is conflicted.

He opens his mouth to respond, but he's not sure what to say in this situation, overwhelmed by a cocktail of emotions that he’s still coming down from. Before he conjures an appropriate response (is there even one?), you're shouldering your backpack and slipping through the gap. Joel rushes to his feet. “Hey, wait!”

You continue up the hill, not bothering to turn to him as you purse your lips. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“Yeah, I’m ‘still here’! You held my dog hostage; kind of hard to get over,” he grumbles, panting as he trudges after you with Boy at his heels. You’re faster than you look. “So⎼uh⎼where you heading?”

“Away.”

He nods almost sage-like, wringing his hands together. “Cool, cool. So mysterious,” He pauses, inhaling deeply. His voice, now deeper and a bit more relaxed, comes in a rush as he asks, “Is there any chance we could go with you?”

You freeze, and Joel almost crashes into your back. You whirl around and suddenly you’re faced to face, but you’re too astonished by his question to care that he’s in your personal bubble.

His breathes come in heaves. His eyes are big and round, brown and bright with… hope?

It occurs to you that this guy, who hasn’t even given you his name, is a loser. A hopeful, naive loser.

And it’s for that reason you come to a decision⎼you’ll entertain him.

“Where are you going?”

“West,” Joel’s shoulders hunch, his voice self-assured as he adds, “to the coast.”

Yeah... fuck that.

You turn to walk away. “No.”

“Wait!”

You glower at him, stopping him in his tracks. “Dude, we got what we wanted. I got food, you got your dog. End of transaction.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, like he’s debating how far he can test you. He seems to think better of it as his shoulders sag and he caves, “Fine, I’ll head west without you. I can do it.” The last part he says more to himself before turning on his heel, starting in the direction opposite of you.

You nod. This is good, for the both of you. And safer, you tell yourself as you turn to begin your trek again. You’re two strangers in the apocalypse; you don’t know who he is, where he’s been, and, from your experience, it’s best to travel alone. It’s inconspicuous, efficient and⎼

Where the hell is he going?

You halt, squinting as you watch him hike away from the west coast. “Hey!”

He looks at you over his shoulder, his face surprised but expectant. Hopeful. He reminds you of a puppy being called over by their owner.

He thinks you’re caving into him.

Well, jokes on you, loser. You raise an eyebrow, “You know that’s not West, right?”

“Oh,” Joel’s eyes widen, clearing his throat. Boy woofs and he shoots him a withered look, altering his trajectory. “I knew that.”

“That’s not West either.”

He switches directions again.

You shake your head. “No.“

And again.

“Nope.”

Joel’s face reddens, unable to meet your eyes as he stops trying so he doesn’t further humiliate himself.

You make your way over to him, rolling your eyes. He seems to make you do that a lot. “Okay, how much food you got on you?”

“Enough to last me a week? Why⎼”

That’s all you needed to hear.

“Then it’s settled,” You decide, clapping him on the shoulder. He winces. “You share your rations with me, and I’ll help you get to the West coast.”

He blinks, clearly taken aback as you begin your trek once again, gesturing him to follow you. You feel his eyes on your back. “Really?”

“Really. You are a food source. Also I’m pretty sure you’d die before getting halfway.” You add, unabashed.

He frowns, unsure whether to be grateful or not. He decides on the latter. “Oh…thanks anyway?”

“You're really not from around here, are you?” You pause, looking back at him.

He scratches the back of his neck. “No. Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully. So free advice,” You, with a hand on your hip and tone clipped, gesture up and down at his⎼well⎼everything. “Try not to let anyone know you’re a newb. Might keep you alive.” With that, you start heading West, not bothering to see if he’s comprehended the note you bestowed on him.

Joel glances down at himself before trailing after you. “Good to know.”

AN: I want to make it clear: I would never eat a dog, you would never eat a dog, no one would ever eat. A. Dog. That was a joke for this part 1. I even wrote emphasis on your character’s hesitation. It’s just that this is the apocalypse, so it’s safe to assume that survivors are driven into corners, desperate and have to make some hard choices.

The end dialogue is reference to @teenwolffanclub-me TW rewrite bc i love it and them so if you like Dylan O’ Brien and Stiles pls read their shit. <333

This part is a slow starter, but I don’t want to rush this, your intro and your development. But, now that you’ve finally met, hopefully the rest won’t seem any slower than the beginning.

I’ve never wrote for a lone survivor kind of character before. I hope you enjoyed the intro nonetheless!

I think I’ll forgo the 7 parts idea, but that’s a goal.

Part 2 in progress.

Also, how to get a beta reader??

#joel dawson x reader #dylan o'brien x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #joel dawson #love and monsters #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brian imagine #stiles stilinksi imagine #joel dawson x you #joel dawson x y/n #love and monsters x reader #reader insert

490 notes · View notes

citrinekay · 3 years

Text

and I'd hate to fade alone

@bambikieren and I were talking about the pros and cons of S2 a few days ago, and we both agreed the richness of tension and relationship development between Bill and Holden would have been greatly improved by incorporating Holden's panic attacks. I said something along the lines of "their opposing personal traumas could have made them both feel as if they were alone in the investigation, their partnership from S1 abandoned." She suggested I write a fic about Holden calling Bill after a panic attack in Atlanta, so here it is:

A brief yet unsettling nightmare wakes Bill with a jolt. He was once again treading through the lightning dust to the basement of the house on Cimarron Court. It was pure daylight, full of warm sun. Then he reached the place where he’d witnessed the chalky shape of a cross laden with a toddler’s fragile form, but instead of a cleaned-out crime scene, he laid eyes on Brian hunched over a squirming figure.

Brian is a small kid - doesn’t look capable of anything violent; but behind Bill’s eyelids, he saw the worst possible version of what happened that day the boy died. His son - his own chosen child - smothering the life from the baby. In the dream, Brian looks up from the arduous task, his dark eyes gleaming with infernal impulse.

“Dad,” he says, calmly. “Is the fish dead yet?”

Bill is awake in the next instant, his heart thundering against his ribs and sweat itching in the creases of his armpits and down his back. His mouth is dry, tasting of the three beers he washed down before passing out on the couch.

It takes him a moment to convince himself it was a product of his mind encumbered by stress and fatigue and dread, and nothing more. When he gets his bearings again, he realizes that the clock on the wall isn’t indicating the afternoon but well past one o’clock in the morning. The only light Nancy had left on when she went to bed was the lamp beside the couch. The kitchen and dining area are draped in shadow, familiar fixtures undefined and murky and disconnected from his little pool of yellow light.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, Bill sits up slowly with a groan, and scrubs his hands over his face. The next logical step is getting up from the couch to walk himself to bed where his weary heap of bones belong, but the lingering dread in the pit of his stomach keeps him chained in place.

He isn’t certain when coming home on the weekends from Atlanta began feeling like a second job, but the joylessness is inescapable. Facing Nancy with the noble reassurance that he’s trying to save the lives of children no longer seems feasible just like facing Holden with the lie that he’s dedicated enough to his family to be flying home every weekend for no other reason than to spend time with them had reached the end of it’s credibility.

Perhaps that’s why going back to Atlanta now seems like less work than coming home. In a few short months, his life had become a careful manipulation, a tight-rope walk of convincing everyone in Atlanta, Quantico, and here at home of a specific narrative. While in Atlanta, don’t mention Brian. While at home, don’t mention Atlanta. At Quantico, don’t mention either one. The drive to keep his stories straight burned exhaustion through him like a hot fuse. At least now he isn’t bold-faced lying to Holden.

Rousing himself from the couch, Bill grabs his cigarettes from the side table, and ambles into the darkness of the kitchen. He doesn’t bother to turn on a light as he finds the cupboard by memory, and fills a glass with water from the tap. He washes away the stale taste of beer, and when his throat is no longer aching, replaces it with the heat and nicotine of a cigarette.

Standing over the kitchen sink, he taps ashes down the drain, and studies the night sky beyond the window. Constellations emerge against a tapestry of black, unhindered by clouds. In the silence, despite Nancy and Brian sleeping only a few walls away, he feels utterly alone.

The shrill ring of the telephone jars him from his sinking malaise. He has little time to ponder just who the hell would be calling this late at night as he rushes to grab the receiver and stop it’s ringing from waking Nancy or Brian.

“Hello?”

Raspy, labored breathing rustles across the line, startling his defenses.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Bill …” Holden whispers, his voice low and trembling, nearly unrecognizable. “Don’t hang up.”

Instant worry seizes Bill’s chest, those hassled defenses migrating into protective alarm. “I’m not. Are you okay?”

He hears Holden swallow thickly.

“It’s so late. Did something happen?” Bill presses.

“I … No.” Holden’s hesitation shines dishonesty clearly through the affirmation.

“Then why are you calling me?”

Silence registers across the miles of phone line between them, but Bill can hear the slight hiccup in Holden’s breathing, the undercurrent of distress that he recognizes because he’s been feeling it bubbling up within his own chest for weeks.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s okay.”

Bill presses his eyes shut as the rushed reassurance rouses another bout of silence, this one rife with confusion.

“It is?” Holden asks, at last.

“Yeah, of course. Look, Holden, I know things have been … rocky between us lately, but I know you care about this case. I know it’s been hard on you.”

“And you,” Holden whispers, carefully.

Bill takes a drag of his cigarette, and steadily exhales smoke past pursed lips. The nicotine doesn’t have the calming affect he’s searching for. Despite his honesty last week, he and Holden haven’t spoken about what happened with Brian. Part of him knows they should, but as the prospect approaches now it twists the knot in his gut tighter.

“Yeah,” he mutters at length.

“If it makes you feel any better, you hid it incredibly well. I had no idea.”

“It doesn’t, but thanks.”

“Got any tips?” Holden asks, offering a hapless chuckle.

“What? For lying to everyone and pretending I’m fine?”

“Yes.”

“None that I’d wish on anyone … least of all a friend.”

Holden’s muted sigh is tremulous. “Are we still … friends?”

Bill adjusts his grip on the phone, and bends to brace his elbows against the edge of the counter. Staring down at the ashes dwindling into the sink, he tries to come up with a response that doesn’t make him the bad guy in this situation. His thoughts are nothing more than an empty roar, taken by exhaustion and panic.

“I want us to be. Is that good enough?” he asks.

“Yes,” Holden agrees, his tone perking up. “I can live with that.”

“Then I guess I should apologize for lying to you and pretending everything was fine.”

“Mhm.”

“So … I’m sorry.”

“Me too. If I’d known-”

“But you didn’t.”

“I could have been a better profiler. Instead, I’ve been completely wrapped up in my own shit. You know, I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now, surrounded by the dozens of people who are on this task force. God, I really miss those early days when it was just you and me on the road.”

Bill’s instinctive reply is, “why would you miss me?” But he bites it down because he misses Holden too, and maybe he’s still too burdened by pride to admit it.

“Those were the days,” he says, instead.

“We weren’t so alone then,” Holden sighs, then stifles a yawn.

“You sound tired. I should let you go.”

“No, it’s just … it’s the Valium sinking in.”

Bill chest flinches at the mention of medication, the insinuation it invites - that Holden’s first impulse after surviving a panic attack was to call him.

“Are you okay?” he asks once more.

“I guess I would be lying and pretending I’m fine if I said ‘yes.’”

“Probably.”

“It’s okay. You can ask me about it.”

Bill draws in a slow breath against buzzing nerves. This isn't them. They don’t ask each other personal questions or talk about it. Holden is floating out of reality on benzodiazepine and Bill is too morbidly curious about someone else’s pain rather than his own; but it’s late and they’re both loath to fade alone.

“Does it happen often?” Bill asks, softly.

“Hmm … yes. Not enough to impede me from doing my job, but more often than I’d like.”

“What triggers it?”

“Sometimes the obvious things - a bad dream, a bad thought, a crime scene, a smiling picture of a kid who I know is dead and died terribly. Sometimes nothing. It’s unpredictable - that’s in the nature of panic disorder.”

“But the Valium helps?”

“It does damage control.”

Bill nods, biting the inside of his cheek as he processes this information. What he’d said by the riverside lashes across the back of his mind, and it looks utterly cruel from this perspective.

“What does it feel like?” he asks, closing his eyes against the surroundings of the kitchen.

He waits with bated breath while Holden thinks. His lungs burn with anticipation as if to say “sell me your pain; let’s make a fair trade of it; you try on mine, I’ll try on yours.”

“It feels like … suffocating. Very slowly. My lungs hurt, my head hurts. I can’t think or breathe, and I feel very small and trapped and …”

“And what?”

“Helpless.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It is. Even if it only lasts a few minutes, I come out of it feeling like I ran a marathon. I’m exhausted for the rest of the day, but when I lay down, I can’t sleep. My mind races.”

“That’s why you called me?”

“Well, I couldn’t get up off the floor, but I could drag the telephone and the Valium off the nightstand,” Holden murmurs. “I wanted something to hold onto.”

Bill clenches his jaw as he imagines Holden lying on the hotel floor in his pajamas, his pallor white and clammy with sickness, his body trembling. He wants to say that if he were there now, he would leave his own room and come over, he’d pick Holden up off the floor. They could hold onto each other.

When he opens his eyes, however, he sees that he’s still standing in his dark kitchen, and the only warm body to hold onto within touching distance wants nothing to do with him right now.

“There isn’t much left,” he says with a grim chuckle. “For you to, you know … hold onto.”

“Because of what happened?” Holden asks, gingerly. “With Brian?”

Bill smothers his rising hackles. Holden opened the door by offering to talk about his panic attacks, but Bill had kicked it wide open by even asking the questions. Talking about Brian is quid pro quo. Now all that’s left is putting a price tag on his own pain.

“Ever since it happened, I’ve just been trying to hold everything together. Here at home, Quantico, down there in Atlanta. It’s like there isn’t enough of me to go around, and I keep cutting myself into smaller and smaller pieces, dividing them across the problems I need to control. You were right when you told me I was distracted, that I wasn’t there when I was there. Truth is, I can hardly focus on one thing. Every time I close my eyes or my thoughts wander just a little, it goes back there - to a baby dying, and my kid saying absolutely nothing about it to me or Nancy.”

Holden is quiet for a moment before breaching the invisible wall. “How did it happen?”

Bill inhales a steadying breath, and blinks against the sting at the corners of his eyes. “A group of them were playing in the park. They ended up over at the house Nancy is the realtor for. Things got out of hand. The older boys somehow suffocated the toddler. They put him in the basement of the house, but … they didn’t just leave him. They - well Brian - he-”

“What did he do?” Holden asks, his tone lacking condemnation but rather perking with twisted curiosity.

“There was some old flooring in the basement. They made it into a cross, laid the baby across it like … like he was Jesus, and he was going to somehow fucking rise from the dead. It was all Brian’s idea. It was …”

Holden’s breathing quickens against the line. “God, Bill-”

“How do I reconcile that? How do I fucking forgive him? It was weeks before they found him, Holden. Brian left a baby lying there for weeks, and said nothing. I mean what the hell is wrong with someone who does something like that?”

“Maybe he was scared-”

“No, he knows he can come to us. We’ve never mistreated him, hit him, yelled at him. Never once made him think he couldn’t talk to us.”

Holden falls quiet.

The silence over the line thickens, and pretense falls away. Bill can hear the normal reassurances splinter. Holden studies the mind, and he understands darkness. He can read Bill’s fears even from across the country - and he recognizes their validity.

“You think he didn’t feel anything?” Holden asks. “That he’s just like the subjects in our study.”

Bill’s throat chafes with mounting emotion. He hasn’t dared admit it to himself, but it is what he thinks. It haunts his every nightmare.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Bill, we don’t know everything. Especially when it comes to children. Remember when we talked about intervention, and we wondered if somewhere along the line, something could have been done to stop these men from killing?”

“Yes.”

“This is the time to do something. Get him help. Nothing is written in stone.”

Bill rubs his eyes hard. “You really believe that?”

“Aren’t we beholden to at least try?”

Try. Yes, all he has done for the last few months is try, but that is the god-forsaken truth of the human condition. Trying, and trying, failing and trying. Learning one or two things along the way. It’s inescapable.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“You’re welcome.”

They sit in silence for a long moment.

It feels better with some of the weight off Bill’s chest. He imagines it will be back in the morning. All the more reason not to hang up.

Holden yawns softly against the receiver, his rustling breath prickling down Bill’s spine. He presses the phone closer to his ear, and waits for the indolent moan at the end. When it comes, low and throaty, it doesn’t last nearly long enough.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Wanna go to bed?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. We can keep talking.”

“Okay. About what?”

“Something else,” Bill suggests, angling for a lighter tone. “Something not so fucking depressing.”

“Okay. Here’s something.” Holden’s voice takes on an impish tone. “A few weeks ago, I threw your betting sheets out the window of the car.”

“What?” Bill asks, a choked laugh fighting its way past the calcified emotion in his chest. “I wondered where those went.”

“You weren’t talking to me then. Christ, that makes me sound bitchy doesn’t it?”

“Yep. It does.”

“Fine. But since when do you bet on ponies?”

Bill bites his lower lip. This conversation isn’t heavy enough for honesty, at least not yet. It isn’t important for the truth that he hadn’t been interested in racing until Ted Gunn plopped the analogy in his brain right next to the trigger points that are Holden.

“Not long,” he says. “Just something to distract myself. Mindless entertainment.”

“With a price tag.”

“Everything has a price tag. It’s just a matter of scale.”

“What’s the price tag on this conversation?”

“Nothing. It’s an even trade.”

Holden hums something indistinct.

“What?” Bill asks. “You want me to take something from you?”

“Or I could take something from you.”

“You already took my betting sheets.”

Holden laughs, softly. “I did. Okay, what do you want?”

Bill’s levity disappears into a panicked, heady ether. Before Atlanta, he’d often wished for Holden to say those exact words for him; then his world came crashing down, and those wayward thoughts were available to blame for his own lack of dedication to his family. Holden was an easy target for a rage he doesn’t have the will to hold onto anymore.

“I want you to take care of yourself,” Bill says, finally. “Get some rest.”

Holden sighs, unhappily. “It is almost two o’clock.”

“Exactly. I’ll be back tomorrow. We can talk then if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, as long as we can both keep our eyes open. This surveillance is killing me.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to get him. If not tomorrow, then the next night.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Well …. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bill.”

They linger a moment longer before muttering further goodbyes. When the phone hits the cradle, a deep and abiding silence replaces the hiss of static across the line and the warm cadence of Holden’s voice. Outside the window, the stars are the same even as time marches forward, dragging him towards an inevitable precipice. It’s some small comfort that he won’t be making that fall into the abyss alone.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing

28 notes · View notes

helgabatwrittings · 3 years

Text

When your world comes crashing down don't cry

Chapter 3 - Confessing

AO3

I’m baaaack!

And even though his world seemed to be crashing down at that very moment, his tired brain came up with a plan. He would get his confirmation. And after Nino told him what he already knew, Adrien would stop being selfish for once in his life. He would leave them alone. He would ask his father to take him out of school, and his classmates would never have to deal with him again.

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

“Adrien, are you there? Dude, please, say something, I can’t see you…” Nino was speaking to him. Somehow, the fall his phone suffered had made it accept the call, and so Nino was currently trying to get Adrien to speak to him.

“C’mon dude, at least turn your phone so I can see you… I’m only seeing the sky, where are you?” The subconscious fear of abandonment that followed Adrien everywhere was screaming at him to say something. To let Nino know that he was there so he wouldn’t get sick of being ignored and leave. But he couldn’t find his voice!

Adrien opened his mouth, but no sound came out, only a weak strangled cry seemed to have made its way out of his throat. He wanted to let Nino know he was there, but he couldn’t show him how miserable he must have looked at that moment. Adrien felt the tears cascading down his face and saw them hit the floor beneath him through his blurry vision.

“Adrien… please… I’m worried about you…” Nino was speaking slowly as if he was deliberately giving time for Adrien’s numb brain to process the words.

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

Nino squinted at his phone, but no matter where he looked all he saw was the blue sky that was covering Paris. He waited in silence, giving time for Adrien to react.

“Can we… can we just stay like this ...” Adrien’s voice quivered, but at least Nino got an answer, and he released the breath he didn’t know he was holding in relief.

“Sure, dude!” He knew how Adrien struggled to get anything out of his system, so anything to make his best friend comfortable. But still, Nino was worried. Adrien hasn’t been his normal self lately, he needed to at least know if his best friend was safe.

“But, uh… Could you tell me where you are?”

A couple of seconds passed. Nino could hear his own rushed heartbeat.

“I’m uh…” Adrien’s voice sounded despondent. “I’m on a rooftop.”

Nino’s heart stopped beating.

“You’re what?”

Now, there were plenty of reasons why Adrien would be on a rooftop. He could be just chilling. The dude was weird like that. He could have been wandering and somehow found himself on that rooftop and was now enjoying the view. He could have been kidnapped by a crazy fan who was akumatised and gained wings so that they could specifically carry Adrien to a place high enough no one could reach and now his fate was in the hands of Ladybug and Chat Noir!

Or…

He could be there because he purposedly climbed it knowing that if he took a single misstep he would fall and-

No! His brain would not go down that road. Adrien was fine! Yes, he had been a bit weird lately, but he was fine! He had to be fine. He was okay! Nino would talk to him, and maybe convince him to hang out, they would laugh all afternoon while they played videogames, or took a stroll in the city, and this would all be left behind, they would laugh about how Adrien managed to get himself on a rooftop, and that was it!

“Why are you on a rooftop?” Nino had to get to the bottom of this. He needed to make sure his best friend was safe. He waited with bated breath for Adrien to reply.

A couple of seconds went by.

“I fell…” He heard his despondent voice, and he felt a stab in his chest. His eyes widened.

“You what??!” How did he fall on the rooftop?? What the heck was he even doing on a rooftop? That was it. Nino had to see him in that very moment, or he would have a stroke from sheer stress. He was sure of it. He could already feel his heart race, his brain going a thousand thoughts per second, thinking of every possible explanation as to why Adrien was on a rooftop, how he fell, if he was safe. Nino had to see him!

“How did that happen?? Dude!! Are you okay?” He really was trying his best to be patient, to let Adrien speak at his own pace. But worriedness was consuming his entire being at an alarming rate, and if he wasn’t reassured that Adrien was safe soon, he knew, he just knew that he was not going to be able to handle all of this, he would lose it for sure.

“I don’t know…”

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

He really was sick of lying, and Plagg was glaring at him, prompting him to speak.

His whole body was burning, an agonising slow fire that spread through his every muscle and gathered in his chest. His hands were shaking so badly. Dark spots were dancing right in front of his eyes. He was exhausted. So utterly exhausted from all the pain he was feeling, from all the lying and the isolation the universe had forced upon him.

He wished Nino was there beside him. He wished Nino would wrap his arms around him and tell him everything would be alright, that he didn’t hate him, that he wasn’t alone. He wished he could tell him the whole truth, but his identity must remain a secret. He couldn’t risk losing him, nor Plagg! He would never survive that loss!

Adrien gasped as he tried to gather his voice.

“I don’t know…” His voice wobbled. His eyes drifted to Plagg, who nodded at him. The dark spots across his vision were coalescing and Adrien blinked rapidly in a futile attempt to make them vanish.

He raised his right hand to his face, biting the back of it to try to keep himself grounded. He felt the tears rapidly hitting his hand.

“Adrien…” He was being so pathetic; all he could get from Nino was pity. He could tell it by the soft sigh his best friend made after he called his name in a whisper.

God! He tried to be flawless, he really did! He hid all the broken pieces deep inside his heart, covered all the cracks in his persona, because he knew, HE KNEW this would happen! He knew that the second he showed a single flaw to his friends they would get sick of him, just like his family did.

And don’t get him wrong, he did it! He managed to fool them all… he was perfect!

He just never thought his friends would also see all the ugliness he never cared to hide as Chat Noir. That was his mistake… Of course, Ladybug would never fall for that loud and obnoxious persona. Of course, his best friend would take a single look at him and immediately conclude that he wasn’t worth being around.

The pit on his stomach was growing heavier and heavier. Just one more question. He only had to ask a single question and that was it.

“Nino…” Adrien rasped, “Are you alone right now?”

“Yes! I’m in my bedroom. You can” Adrien ended the call in a rush, not caring to hear the rest.

He stood up abruptly and his head swarmed, but he would not be deterred. Just one more question.

Adrenaline flowed all over his bloodstream.

“Kid, what are you doing?” Plagg rushed to his side, looking at him as if he has finally gone mad. And maybe he had, it would explain what he was about to do anyway.

“Plagg claws out!” He wasn’t even completely transformed when he started to run.

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

He hung up.

Adrien was possibly seriously injured on a conspicuous rooftop somewhere in Paris, and he hung up on him.

That call might as well have been the last time Nino spoke to his best friend, and all he could do right now was stare dumbfounded at the black screen of his phone. And so, while his body was stuck, his feet rooted to his bedroom’s floor, his mind was increasingly catastrophising any thought he was having about Adrien’s current situation.

It was like the entire world stopped working for a minute.

And then, just as fast as it stopped working, it restarted, and his feet automatically moved towards the backpack that had been carelessly thrown at his bed in his rush to call Adrien in the first place.

He grabbed it while formulating an emergency plan to find Adrien and shove some sense into him. He was so out of his depth, maybe he should call the girls. Alya and Marinette are geniuses with emergencies. They would know what to do. Marinette always knows where Adrien is, it’s like the girl has a superpower. She would find him.

And Alya would prevent them both from freaking out because he was damn certain he was on the verge of a panic attack. And Marinette was no better. Especially when it concerned Adrien.

Yeah…

He would call them, and they would find him.

His chest was burning so badly, as if someone was pulling a thick rope around it, constricting him more and more each second.

Nino threw his backpack to his back and grabbed his phone as he started walking towards his bedroom door. But as soon as he unlocked his phone; he heard a soft tap at his window. He paused and looked at the source of the noise.

Nino’s eyes widened and he released a gasp as he saw Chat Noir perched on his window. His green feline eyes were staring at him urgently like they were telling him to let him in right away.

Nino moved in his direction, and as soon as he opened the window, Chat Noir practically threw himself inside, making him jump in surprise.

“Dude…” Nino could immediately tell something was seriously wrong with him. His whole posture was wrong. Chat Noir was supposed to be this confident, larger than life hero, but his vacant green eyes and the way his shoulders hunched while he turned his back at him made him look devoid of any of the characteristics Nino knew and adored.

Yes, Nino had been a jerk to him, and he has deeply regretted behaving the way he did ever since, but he never thought that day would cause such an impact on Chat Noir. It’s almost as if he was scared of Nino! He looked like he was trying to make himself appear as small as possible... so that Nino wouldn’t explode on him. Like he did last time they interacted….

His heart panged for the hero. And he looked down in shame. His eyes drifted to the phone in his hand and all the panic that had been momentarily interrupted by Chat Noir’s impromptu visit came back with a vengeance.

He hated to have to leave Chat when he clearly wasn’t okay. But his best friend was lost on a rooftop somewhere. And he would always prioritise Adrien.

“Dude, I’m sorry, but”

Chat Noir suddenly turned and before Nino could react, he grabbed his shoulders harshly, and somehow, being careful not to hurt him. Chat Noir was shaking so badly, and now that Nino managed to look closer at him, he saw that he had been crying. The tears’ tracks were still fresh on his masked face.

“Nino, do you really think I’m annoying?” Chat blurted. A fatalistic vibe on the air lingered between them, like Nino’s answer would determine Chat’s entire fate.

“What?” He whispered in a daze.

Nino was so confused. When had he become such an important piece in Chat Noir’s life? And how did he even come up with that question?? When did Chat Noir so wrongfully conclude that Nino found him annoying?

“I’ve asked if you really think I’m a-annoying…” Chat’s voice cracked.

“I’ve heard the first time, but why are you asking me…” Wait a minute. He remembered this conversation. He was in the school’s basement. He had been enraged because he thought Chat Noir and Alya were secretly dating. He was so unfairly mad at Chat Noir, and he had gathered all that evidence he thought was so accurate. He had ranted about it in that basement to…

His eyes widened as he finally really looked at the disarrayed boy in front of him.

“Adrien…” He whispered. The other boy flinched.

“Nino, I need to know.” Adrien’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, his lower lip trembled as he bit into it.

Suddenly all his protective senses activated, and the urge to grab the boy in front of him in a crushing hug overwhelmed him. How had he not noticed it? It was so clear! Adrien’s puns that he only shared with Nino. Chat Noir’s timid posture when he thought no one was looking. Adrien’s detached smile when surrounded by strangers. Chat Noir’s confidence when he was the centre of attention. It was so obvious! And Nino never noticed.

“Adrien, I was so mad that day… I was so unfair to you…” He released a sob. “Ever since that awful, awful day that I’ve regretted ever saying those words, ever treating you the way I did!” He pulled his best friend into a crushing hug, sending them both to the floor, feeling Adrien freeze in position.

Gradually, he felt Adrien relax in his embrace. Nino had his eyes closed for he could not look into his best friend’s eyes at that moment. He had failed him so badly. He felt like trash. Adrien was hurting, and it was all because of him.

“I’m so sorry, dude.” He sobbed, “I don’t find you annoying, I never did! Not Adrien, and not Chat Noir! I’ve always adored you! I was so stupid!”

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

Adrien didn’t know how to react. Nino was hugging him. Clinging to him like he was his only lifeline. No one has ever treated him like this, he had to reassure him that he wasn’t mad. That all he ever wanted was to feel validated for once in his life, for someone to care.

“So, you don’t hate me?” He muttered in shock.

Nino immediately released him from the hug, and Adrien felt a gelid cold falling upon him suddenly. That hug was like someone had finally given him a droplet of water after years of being stranded in the desert, however, it was far from being enough for him.

Nino looked him in the eyes, and Adrien found himself looking down immediately, afraid that he had said the wrong thing.

“Adrien, look at me.” It wasn’t that stern disappointed tone his father always used when Adrien failed to meet his expectations. Those three words had been said softly, granting a strange sense of safety he had rarely been exposed to. His eyes slowly drifted upwards.

“I could never hate you. It’s literally impossible for me to hate you, dude.” Nino squeezed his shoulders.

Adrien wanted to believe him. Rationally, he knew that Nino was being completely honest with him, but everyone was leaving him behind. His family, Chloé, Ladybug…

So, no matter how sure he was that Nino’s words were sincere, there was always this small nagging part of his brain that kept telling him not to trust anyone, that he was all alone in the world and that that’s how it should be.

Nino must have noticed his hesitation as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

He looked down. Now that the adrenaline in his system was dissipating, exhaustion took hold of him, and his brain finally processed what had just happened. He already said too much. He broke the one rule that had been imposed on him ever since day one. He broke a rule that could potentially take his miraculous away from him, and strangely enough, that didn’t send him straight into a panic attack as it used to whenever he thought about that possibility. In fact, all he felt was relief.

Like a weight that had been crushing him had finally been lifted, and he was finally able to breathe! Like he finally had something to grab onto while the violent waves that had been sweeping all over him passed. And with this realisation, Adrien didn’t stand a chance. The dam was open now, and no barrier in the world would prevent the flood of words that started leaving his mouth.

“Everyone is leaving, Nino!” he took a sharp intake of breath. “Everyone is leaving, and no one cares that I’m left behind, no one cares to look back! And I can’t say anything about it because I’ll just add to the massive stress Ladybug is under and I’m supposed to be helping her! But she’s replacing me, right in front of my eyes, and I know she’s not doing it on purpose but I can’t help but think that this is exactly what people have always done. So, I don’t even know why I’m crying about this, because I should really be used to it!”

His brain was producing so many thoughts by the second, overwhelming his entire system and now that he had started speaking, he realised that he still had so much to say. But his head was going too fast for his mouth to follow, and so he found himself completely unable to utter a single word.

He pulled his hair to keep himself grounded, shutting his eyes in the process so that he could block out the entire universe, and focus on his disorganised thoughts.

Adrien felt Nino’s hands resting on top of his own, squeezing them softly, which helped him relax the tense hold he had on his hair.

“Adrien, I know that this is really hard to believe, especially how I’ve been such a terrible friend to you lately, but I promise you that I will never leave you. I love you, dude! Every single day I think about how lucky I am that you’re my best friend… If anything happened to you, I don’t think I could ever move on!” Adrien was looking so intensely at him, his brown eyes so bright, as if he was making sure the meaning of his words entered Adrien’s brain and stayed there.

“Adrien, you can always count on me,” Nino spoke slowly.

And for the first time, Adrien felt like someone cared. For the first time in his life, he knew he finally had someone on his side, who would stick with him no matter how awful things would get.

A warm wave spread across his chest, as his heart swelled with joy. Tears started to fall down his face, but for the first time in a long time, they weren’t accompanied by desperation and helplessness.

“Dude, don’t cry or else I’m going to start crying too!” Nino hugged him tight, his face was already wet as both boys burst into tears in each other’s arms.

Everything was so far from being over. Adrien still couldn’t say that he was fine. Ladybug was still leaving him behind. But now he had someone to share all his burdens with. Adrien was simply enough to someone! He was wanted! And he couldn’t find anything more perfect than that.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #When your world comes crashing down don't cry #final chapter #hope you like it!

6 notes · View notes

petewentzisblack1312 · 3 years

Note

You're Crashing but you're no wave!!! It's one of my favourites

oh GOD i think about youre crashing but youre no wave so much these days.

so i love when fob gets political but due to the nature of petes style its usually very shrouded in metaphor, yknow? but in this song pete said im not letting that 3/4 of a polisci degree go to waste no sir. the wordplay in this song is SO good. like "the headline reads 'the man hangs' but the jury doesnt" "case open, case shut, you can pay to close it like a casket" "hang on a rope or bated breath, whichever you prefer" like its just so incredibly concise and intricate and well put together. they shoulda played this at the inauguration!!! get his ass. its just a really good example of the tongue in cheek and elaborate word play i absolutely adore in fall out boy lyrics.

i also think this is one of, if not the most cohesive prehiatus fob songs? like post hiatus lyrics are more often written with the intent of all going into one song, whereas prehiatus pete would often dump his poems on patrick and hed piece them into a song. this one feels like the lyrics were written way more linearly. considering the careful wordplay and the narrative of a courtroom and the fact that its about a specific event that makes sense, but i honestly think its a fuckin masterpiece of lyricism. i could go on about the production, i love the use of ambient noise, i think the composition really captures a feeling of suspense and slight dread and injustice, its just. REALLY good.

#thank u!!!#ive been listening to it nonstop lately :]#literally love lyrics like that #its the style i write #dils declares #dils dissects #youre crashing but youre no wave #ioh

20 notes · View notes

my-whumpy-little-heart · 4 years

Text

Llyr and the Pirates - Day 13

Day 13: Fishhooks

For @amonthofwhump‘s Water Whump May, where I write a part of this story every day according to the prompt. Alright, a little late, but a longer part today as promised! The real good whump is coming tomorrow, but I accidentally wrote too much ominous dialogue to fit it in.

Oh, and this is the second whumper I’ve named after a knight of the round table; someone please stop me now lol Tag list: @spiffythespook, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insanitywishes, @whumpingonarainyday Content warnings: manhandling/noncon touching, threats of death

They stepped through a doorway and came out right in the area Llyr had entered through just earlier, and he could see both Ray and Hugh, halfway across the sand, now staring up at the unexpected company.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the man in front of Llyr said, “how may I help you this fine evening? You look like you might be lost.”

Ray made eye contact with the man, but turned its eyes to Llyr for just a second, shooting a concerned glance.

“Well, we’ve just crashed on the beach nearby and were looking for shelter and a missing crew member, but I see that you found him before we did. I’m really sorry if he’s done anything to offend you, but if you let him go now we’ll get out of your hair and I’ll handle him from there.” Ray said, face held in a blank mask of compliance even though fear and anxiety were hidden just beneath.

“Mmh…” the man seemed to consider it for a moment, looking both other humans up and down. “...what did you say your names were?” Hugh and Ray shared a quick glance.

“We didn’t…” Hugh started, obviously considering questioning this person before realizing what a disadvantage he had in that situation. “...I’m Hugh Williams.”

“And I’m Captain Raymond Bates of The Thief’s Halyard.”

“Thief’s Halyard,” the man parroted thoughtfully, “Yes, that does sound right.”

“The name is only exaggerated of course,” Ray amended, waving his hands in front of him. “Keeps others from mistaking us for weaklings, though we try not to make a habit of outright thievery…”

“Raymond, I’m not sure I agree with you. I found the name fitting, really, considering how this little one seemed dead set on stealing right out from under our noses tonight, weren’t you?” It turned to Llyr, giving a wide, predatory smile.

“No, I didn’t,” he grumbled, “I thought it was abandoned. I just wanted to get dry.”

“Oh, but apparently getting dry also involves digging through the chests of current residents to steal their possessions,” it responded dryly, and Llyr narrowed his eyes.

“I didn’t do that,” he insisted, “and I wouldn’t have even had the chance to before you all found me.”

“Really? So if I searched your pockets, you’re sure I wouldn’t find anything in there that proves what you did?” It turned to him with a curious tilt of the head and he paused. It felt like a trap. A dirty trick where he’d be found guilty whether he confessed or not. But he genuinely hadn’t taken anything from them, so there was no way to prove it in the first place.

So then why did this human still look so satisfied with itself?

“I. Didn’t. Do. Anything.” Llyr huffed through gritted teeth, and he felt the grip around his arms tighten.

“Alright, okay. We’re just going to make sure you’re telling the truth.” It raised its hands in a mocking surrender before gesturing to one of his men. It was shorter than Llyr, and possibly even shorter than Ray, but it still looked like it could snap his arm in two with the flick of a finger.

It wasted no time in checking his pockets, reaching first into the one in his shirt, then the ones in his pants. Llyr squirmed the whole way through, trying to get away from the invasive hands, but he was braced against someone else’s chest behind him, allowing the quick search. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the hands left, only to see something long, metallic, and shiny in the man’s hand. What the hell?

“Look familiar?” it held the chain up, metal glinting in the light of the lantern. There was a pendant hanging at the bottom that it grabbed and squinted at to read. “There’s an engraving here that reads… oh, huh. It’s your name, captain.”

Llyr’s breath catches in his throat as the leading man, the so called ‘captain’, leans over behind him. “Would you look at that? ‘Gawain Davis,’ it says. My precious, prized locket indeed.” it said, a thin frown across its face. “I keep that in my personal quarters at all times. You filthy wretch; did your foolish captain really send you snooping around in there?” Gawain asked, but Llyr was still staring in disbelief at the locket. He hadn’t stolen that, obviously, but he hadn’t even noticed anyone putting it in his pocket. It was the captain’s own too; did he have this planned the whole time?

“Knew it,” Hugh muttered, almost too quietly to hear, “Come on, Ray, we’re going. Leave the kid to the sharks and we’ll go find Mabel.” It tugged on Ray’s elbow, and Llyr looked up, shooting both of them a pleading glance. He didn’t want to die, and no matter their intentions, they hadn’t wanted him to either. They couldn’t leave him with these ruthless humans.

“No. We’re not leaving him. I don’t believe what Sir Gawain is saying,” it mocked the name specifically, but he wasn’t sure why, “because I didn’t order any of this. We crashed here on a smaller craft and need a dry place to sleep. I’m sure that’s what Llyr was thinking too.”

“Is that all you needed, then?” Gawain asked, contemplatively. Ray hesitated.

“...yes.”

“Oh, we’re definitely open to helping, then, if that’s your problem!” it said, tone of voice flipped completely on its head, but his face still stone cold and impassive. Without warning, it reached for the sword around its waist, drew it, and laid the blade flat across Llyr’s neck. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes went wide. This was it.

“Stop it! What the hell are you doing?!” Ray shouted, shifting its weight anxiously between feet. It looked like it was seconds away from taking off towards him, but was only held back by the threat held tight against Llyr’s throat.

“If you want him to live, you will stand completely still and hold your hands out, palms up.” Gawain commanded, voice chillingly cool again within a matter of seconds. The crew members that had been standing back came forward then, chains and manacles in their hands, just like the pair they’d forced on Llyr.

Part of him wanted to whine and shout that it wasn’t worth it; they should just leave him to die and let that be the end of it… but the other part of him knew he wasn’t that brave.

No, that wasn’t it. He just didn’t care so much about these humans. Justifiably, too. One had already hurt him, and one was clearly planning to. So if they had to stay here and suffer with him, he wouldn’t be so upset.

He looked up to see Ray hesitantly holding out its hands, confusion and fear still clouding its eyes, but Hugh didn’t seem to be relenting just yet. It looked like it was about to bolt even as the sailors approached, and as soon as it seemed like they might try and force it into the cuffs, it did run.

“Fuck this, I don’t care about the brat! Kill him if you wanna, I don’t care I don’t care-!” It only made it a few meters before two people were on it, wrestling it into the sand and wrenching a pained shout from it. When they finally secured the chains and lifted Hugh from the ground, Llyr saw that it’d landed directly on a splintering piece of wood and scratched up its chest which was now beading up with blood.

He stood very still now that both of the others had been restrained and the sword was still pressed against his neck. He expected it to cut in at any moment, bleeding him dry on its blade, but instead Gawain pulled it away and sheathed it, clean of blood.

“What do you want from us?” Ray asked, looking at Llyr, then back to the captain.

“From you? Nothing, really. I’ll give you your nice, dry night of sleep, but before that, both of you need to be taught a lesson on lying to a nobleman,” it scoffed, but that name didn’t mean very much to Llyr. Ray held its ground as well.

“I didn’t lie to you, and neither did he.”

“Do you have anything to genuinely prove that? Both of you seem to be spitting accusations and forgetting the locket I had to fish out of this brat’s pocket.” Gawain smiled when Ray didn’t respond, and took hold of the chain between Llyr’s wrists.

“You being a nobleman means nothing,” it tried again, but even it seemed to realize this was futile. Hugh shook its head in disappointment.

“Oh, it doesn’t mean anything out on the open seas, of course. But if I were to take you back to the palace I’m not so sure they’d be so merciful to a lot of pirates like yourselves. You could all be dead right now. So, be grateful.”

Gawain yanked on the chain again and Llyr stumbled behind him to outside the ship where, surprisingly, the rain had nearly stopped. It was more of a mist through the air that dotted the landscape. The sun wasn’t up quite yet, but it was already lighter than it had been earlier.

It led him over to a wet, puddling, sandy patch near the ship, seemingly testing it with its foot before deeming it alright for Llyr to stand on. Gawain looked up to the deck above where… there were ropes lowering down. What were those for? Who had set them up?

“Hands up, over your head,” it commanded, and he looked around shakily. The ropes were lower now, and on the edges there were sharp hooks, like fishhooks but larger, sharper, and more menacing. He swallowed nervously, raising shaky hands.

“What- what are those for?”

“They’re to pull you out when we’re done.” it replied, simply, and he gave a puzzled look. Pull him out of what, exactly?

Llyr glanced around himself, feeling the sand shift and squish below his feet. It took him a few more seconds to realize he was sinking alarmingly quickly into it, but the panic only set in when he realized-

He couldn’t pull his feet out.

Next part

#just posted this and then remembered i should pROBABLY TAG IT OOPS #whump #WaterWhump2020 #ww-no.13 #like a minute after midnight this is fine this is fine #held at knifepoint #sword knife same difference #sword to the neck #whatever #manhandling #noncon touching tw #threats of death #pirate whump #selkie whump #hurrah

18 notes · View notes

yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years

Text

S.T REWRITE - S1:E7; Chapter Seven, The Bathtub - [Pt. 3 - FINAL PART]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

While on the run, Y/n uncovers a startling truth. Eleven struggles to contact Will and the party joins forces with Joyce and Hopper.

Warnings: unedited (kinda?)

||Reader's POV||

The sun had set behind the trees by the time the chief's car pulled up in front of the Byers home. Strangely, it feels like years since we were last here when it had only been three days ago. As we all exited the vehicle, three figures emerged from the house; Nancy, Jonathan, and Ms. Byers.

"Mike. Oh, my God. Mike!" Nancy exclaimed, running towards Mike.

He stepped forward and she engulfed him in a hug.

Grabbing him by the shoulders, she pulled away. "I was so worried about you." She scolded.

"Yeah, uh... me, too." He said awkwardly.

Nancy's eyes trailed over to El and an odd look crossed her face and she tilted her head slightly.

"Is that my dress?"

El looked to me not knowing what to do and then back at the older girl. For some reason, and what I can only assume to be my state of mind and being under so much stress i begin to chuckle, finding the whole situation kinda funny.

+++

"Okay, so, in this example, we're the acrobat."

We had all made it inside and currently, we were all gathered around the living room. The boys, El and I were sitting on the floor surrounding the coffee table while the others were seated on the furniture. Mike had drawn up Mr. Clark's diagram of the flea and the acrobat and was catching everybody else up with what we've learned so far. They all stayed quiet for the most part -occasionally jumping in to ask clarifying questions which we were more than happy to answer - and listened intently. I, however, remained quiet. I was still trying to process what had happened during my encounter with the men. I was also transfixed in the living room around me. Wondering how the once welcoming and cozy second home had changed so drastically.

"Will and Barbara, and that monster, they're this flea. And this is the Upside Down, where Will is hiding. Mr. Clarke said that the only way to get there is through a rip of time and space,"

"A gate," Dustin interjected.

"That we tracked to Hawkins Lab"

"With our compasses,"

"And El's help of course," I added, smiling at El who shyly returned it.

The others exchanged confused glances.

Dustin took this as his cue to talk.

"Okay, so the gate has a really strong electromagnetic field, and that can change the directions of a compass needle.

Hopper spoke up for the first time in a while.

"Is this gate underground?"

Surprising us all, El answered almost immediately. "Yes."

The two made eye contact. "Near a large water tank?" He asked.

She nodded and her gaze dropped to the floor. "Yes."

Beginning to feel more on edge, I spoke up, my voice faltering. "H-How do you know all that?"

The man said nothing and only kept his gaze. Mike looked to the drawing. "He's seen it."

I frowned at his odd behavior and I didn't try to hide my confusion and anxiety from him, I then dropped my gaze to my hands, growing tenser at the thought that these horrible people could be out to get me.

Ms. Byers spoke up, addressing El. "Is there any way that you could... that you could reach Will? That you could talk to him in this--"

"The Upside Down." El finished.

Joyce's voice fell into a whisper. "Down. Yeah."

El nodded her head yes.

"And my friend Barbara?" Nancy spoke up hesitantly. "Can you find her, too?"

I could see the confidence build in El and it was then that I knew she was willing do everything she could to help us.

+++

We were all gathered around the dining room table, watching with bated breath as El attempted to find Will and Barb. She had breifly explained that she could sometimes find people telepathically somehow. She required white noise, hence Will's walkie was on the table, switched to a blank station so static filled the silence and she had her eyes closed.

Nancy had offered a once torn up photo of Barb sitting on the edge of a pool as a reference for El. What felt like minutes passed and suddenly the lamp overhead flickered and El opened her eyes. Her voice was hoarse.

"I'm sorry."

"What? What's wrong? What's happened?" Mrs. Byers stuttered.

El was blinking back tears and her voice broke. "I can't find them."

+++

El had excused herself to the bathroom, probably to catch her breath. I just hope she wasn't blaming herself. The rest of us are still at the kitchen table, processing everything. My attention was pulled to the boys when they began elaborating more on her powers.

"Whenever she uses her powers, she gets weak." Mike said.

My head perked up at this.

"The more energy she uses, the more tired she gets," Dustin added.

I've had a lot of time to think about what had happened and what I had done earlier today and in that time I could never help but assume that however, whenever El got her powers, I got mine. Whatever it may be, we must be connected somehow.

I recalled that in the short time I've known her and seen her use her powers, I've seen the toll it takes on her.

If it makes her weak, that must have been why I passed out earlier... my body had never grown accustomed to the exertion.

"Like, she flipped a van earlier."

"It was awesome."

"But she's drained."

"Like a bad battery."

I sat there, my eyes glued to the floor as I listened to the boys unknowingly talk about the similarities between me and El.

I felt a pair of eyes on me and I hesitantly lifted my head and briefly made eye contact with the chief who seemed the slightest bit suspicious of me. I quickly looked away and tried to focus back on the group.

"Well..." Ms. Byers stuttered. "How do we make her better?"

"We don't. We just have to wait and try again." Mike said.

"Well, how long?" Nancy asked.

Mike shrugged his shoulders weakly. "I don't know."

"The bath." El's quiet voice grabbed everyone's attention and we all turned to see her standing just outside the kitchen.

"What?" I asked.

"I can find them." She seemed very hesitant, almost afraid of what she was going to say next. "In the bath."

+++

Well, this is happening.

We really are calling our science teacher at ten o'clock on a Saturday and asking about sensory deprivation tanks and how to build them.

That won't be weird at all.

Nevertheless, we all watched nervously as Dustin stood by the phone and made the call.

"Mr. Clarke? It's Dustin."

"..."

"Yeah, yeah. I just, I... I have a science question,"

I cringed, unable to imagine any scenario in which this would pan out.

"..."

"Do you know anything about sensory deprivation tanks? Specifically how to build one?"

I run my hands through my hair.

"..."

"Fun."

I furrowed my brows and then sighed defeatedly before putting my face in my hands.

"..."

"You always say we should never stop being curious. To always open any curiosity door we find. Why are you keeping this curiosity door locked?"

I couldn't help but let a small chuckle escape, slightly impressed he threw Mr. Clarke's words back in his face and I looked back up.

"..."

All of the sudden Dustin motioned for something to write on and with and Jonathan grabbed a spare notepad and a pencil and Dustin sat at the table, listening to the instructions and writing them down.

"Uh-huh... uh-huh. How much? Uh-huh. Yep, all right. Yeah, we'll be careful. Definitely. All right, Mr. Clarke. Yeah, I'll see you on Monday. I'll see you on Monday, Mr. Clarke bye." Dustin quickly trailed off and was quick to hang up the phone.

"Do you still have that kiddie pool we bobbed for apples in?" Dustin asked Ms. Byers almost immediately after hanging up.

"Uhh, I think so, yeah."

"Good. Then we just need salt. Lots of it."

"How much is 'lots'?" The chief asked.

Dustin took a look at the notepad and looked back at the chief.

"1,500 pounds."

"Well, where are we gonna get that much salt?" Nancy asked the question everybody seemed to be wondering.

+++

The school. It was the chiefs idea. We all headed to the school, taking separate cars.

The chief and Jonathan went to the shed to grab the bags of salt, Mike and Nancy were getting the hoses while Dustin, Lucas and I set up the pool in the gym.

"Damn, this thing is heavy." Dustin panted as we both rolled the folded up kiddie pool to the center of the gym.

Together we undid the ropes holding it together and attempted to unfold it. After much trial and error we finally were able to get the pool set up. The water temperature had been tested just as much as the bouncy of the egg to determine if there was enough salt.

The finishing touch; Will's walkie switched on to static nearby. Finally, we were ready.

Ms. Byers and and I had helped El into the bath. She had just taken off her shoes and socks as well as the digital watch Mike had given her almost a week ago. Ms. Byers and her seemed to have constructed a waterproof blindfold with ducttape and goggles from the science lab.

We all sat nearby, ready in case she needed anything and it was almost chilling to watch her float on her back. Suddenly, the lights in the gym flickered accompanied by the sounds of the electricity surging and lights went out. We all looked cautiously towards the ceiling before looking back to El.

Seconds felt like hours when suddenly, El spoke. Her voice broke, she sounded fearful.

"Barbara?"

My heart began to faster once more.

El's breathing became frantic and the lights flickered once more.

"What's going on?" Nancy asked worriedly towards us.

"I don't know." Mike said, just as panicked.

"Is Barb okay? Is she okay?" Nancy asked frantically to El.

El began whimpering.

"Gone. Gone. Gone."

I looked to Nancy, who brought a hand to her mouth to mask her sobs. My heart ached for her.

My heart was pounding by now. My hands were shaking.

Ms. Byers immediately reached a hand out to El and held her hand, and rubbed her arm comfortingly.

"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." She cooed.

"Gone. Gone!"

I felt like I was stuck in the middle of a storm, unable to move. Unable to help. Useless. Waiting for the worst.

"It's okay. It's okay. Hey. It's okay." Ms. Byers was doing everything in her power to calm the girl.

Even the chief gently grabbed her other hand to try and soothe her.

"It's okay, we're right here. We're right here, honey. It's okay. I got you. Don't be afraid. I'm right here with you. It's okay. You're safe."

||3rd Person POV||

Eleven found the wave of panic dissolve into nothing as she heard the distant echo of Joyce's voice reassuring her.

For the first time she felt somewhat calm in this horrifying place. Suddenly she saw something the distance.

It was a small hit roughly her height, made from large sticks and branches. It was decorated with flags and a painted sign that read

《•••》

"Castle Byers." El muttered.

My eyes widen in shock and my eyes were glued to the girl in front of me. Terrified of hearing the word "gone".

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My fingers grasped the edge of the pool and my knuckles began to turn white.

《•••》

Eleven slowly approached the fort, scared of what she might find. But she knew she had to. She needed to.

After everything everyone had done for her. How kind Mike and [Y/N] had been. She felt she owed it to them. Facing her fears she brought her hand up to the blanket entrance and brushed it aside as she stepped inside.

There he was. Drenched in sweat and slime and shivering from the cold conditions, laid Will Byers unconscious, but clinging to life.

She lowered herself to the ground and sat on her knees.

"Will."

《•••》

"Will?" El asked hopefully.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and everyone around us gasped.

《•••》

In his life-threatening state, he saw the girl kneeling before him and like a mirage, his mind chose to see the girl he grew so fond of.

《•••》

"[Y/N]?" The voice over the walkie talkie echoed all throughout the gym.

My heart stopped and I felt everyone's eyes on me and everyone gasped.

The voice, the sad and broken voice of Will Byers crackled over the radio saying my name causing me to stare at the walkie talkie.

My eyes became glassy and my vision blurred.

He's alive. He's alive and that all that matters.

"That's Will! Tell- You tell him... tell him I'm coming."

《•••》

Eleven spoke the words that echoed in her brain. She grasped the boys hand shook it ever so slightly.

"No, but she's looking for you. Your mom... she's coming for you. Everybody is looking for you."

Finally gathering enough strength to open his eyes, he looked to her and spoke.

||Reader's POV||

"Hurry."

His voice echoed through the gym once more and we all watched feeling helpless.

Ms. Byers began feeding words to El once more.

"Okay. Listen, you tell him to... to stay where he is. We're coming. We're coming, okay? We're coming, honey."

We heard whimpering on the radio and suddenly El shot up, gasping for air making us all jump back. She scrambled backward into Ms. Byers arms and she softly calmed the girl down.

Tears were now freely falling down my cheeks as I try to process everything that just happened.

"Oh, okay, okay. I've got you. It's okay. I got you. I got you. I got you, honey. You did so good. Are you okay?"

I quickly attempt to wipe my tears away with the back of my sleeve as I watch everything unfold. I wanted to be strong for El.

For Will.

+++

Tag List: @fuckwaad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa@miscellaneoustoasts

DM me if you want to be added!

89 notes · View notes